Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic I: Genesis - Vol. 1

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

SITH WARSHIPINIQUITOUS

The Star DestroyerIniquitous, its hull plating gleaming silver as it reflected sunlight from the system's primary star, speared through the blackness of space, orbiting high above a planet.

Admiral Saul Karath, Supreme Commander of the Sith Fleet, glanced up from his station and took in the view before him; the dark green world of Vurdon Ka spun slowly beneath the Iniquitous, the wisps of white cloud that formed the planet’s dense, moist atmosphere seeming to gracefully dance in the admiral’s vision. A mauve-tinted nebula floated behind Vurdon Ka, acting almost as a backdrop to the planet.

Karath knew that the planet was practically a paradise. The native species, the Vuvrians, had evolved with almost no natural predators, and so they were known as a peaceful people famed for their exceptional piloting and problem-solving abilities.

But... then again... thought Karath, those heads look bloody ugly.

The Vuvrians were not blessed with the most handsome of looks; with twelve eyes, distributed almost randomly around their entire head, a Vuvrian had omnidirectional sight, which also made their alien faces even more alien to the casual observer.

Lord Revan had arrived at Vurdon Ka to secure the Vuvrians’ partnership in his Sith Empire. Whether that was to be achieved diplomatically — or at the end of a lightsabre blade — was entirely up to them. Their planetary leader, Governor Mylthea, had been awoken in the early hours to find Lord Revan’s shuttle practically right on her front doorstep; seeing the Sith Lord flanked by his best troops was, Karath imagined, probably quite provoking.

Revan had been planetside for almost four hours now. His apprentice, Lord Malak, had attempted to contact Revan several times, but to no avail; he had even gone out of his way to disturb Karath a handful of times to get the admiral to contact Revan, and even he had only been able to receive a terse message from the group captain stating that they would be in touch once an agreement had been reached.

Karath turned to the officer working at his right, a dark-skinned human woman. “Lieutenant, is there any update from the surface?” he asked for what felt like the thousandth time.

She shook her head. “Not yet, sir.” A trilling began to sound at her station. “Admiral, sir. There’s a communiqué coming in, your eyes only.”

Karath nodded. “I’ll take it in my office, Lieutenant.”

Admiral Karath’s personal office was just off the main bridge, only a short distance down the corridor that connected it to the main turbolift network. As he entered, the room brightened as the motion sensors detected his presence, and he paced toward his computer screen. Tapping a few buttons, Karath brought up the communiqué that the lieutenant had forwarded to his office.

Immediately, Karath’s screen was filled with the startling visage of Darth Malak. “Lord Malak,” he said by way of greeting.

“Admiral Karath,” Malak replied. His voice was distorted by the tinny vocoder in his metal jaw and throat prosthetic, the remnant of an old duelling wound. “There’s a situation developing that requires your personal attention.”

“A situation, Lord Malak?” he asked carefully.

Malak’s yellow eyes seemed to bore straight through the admiral’s head. “Where do your loyalties lie, Admiral?”

“My... my loyalties, my lord?” Karath felt his jaw tensing slightly.

“If there were to be a... rearranging of the command structure,” Malak said, “would you remain loyal to the Dark Lord of the Sith?” He paused. “Whoever that may be,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Karath suddenly found himself in a dangerous position. If Malak was going to try to challenge Revan’s rule and take the mantle of Dark Lord for himself, Karath would naturally have to make a choice between the two Sith. Should he remain loyal to Darth Revan, or would his life last longer if he pledged his allegiance to Darth Malak? Either way, his life was forfeit if he now made the wrong move.

He also knew that the majority of the fleet would follow Karath himself, whichever choice he made; the commanders, generals, and admirals would fall in line, though a handful would require... subtle persuasion. Both Sith Lords had their own followers within the command structure, and that itself would cause hiccups along the way.

However, Karath also knew that Malak had his own spies aboard the Iniquitous. They were there primarily to keep tabs on Revan’s forces — Revan had also placed spies on Malak’s flagship, theLeviathan — and Karath was sure that if he were to say that he remained loyal to Revan, Malak would ensure his spies rapidly brought Karath’s life to a rather unnatural conclusion.

It was that image that settled the argument in the admiral’s mind.
“Lord Malak, you shall have my support.”

Malak nodded slowly. “Very good, Admiral. When the time comes, my people shall contact with you. Until then, I trust this conversation will remain between us.”

“Yes, Lord Malak,” said Karath, but Malak’s face had already disappeared from the screen.

Before the admiral could even begin to think of what life would be like serving under Darth Malak’s rule, the comm chirped to life. “Admiral Karath, Lord Revan’s shuttle has signalled that they are returning to the Iniquitous.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll meet them in the main hangar bay.”

********************

“Addendum: the massacre you unleashed was, without a doubt, the bloodiest massacre I have had the utmost honour of participating in.”

Revan’s personal droid, a rust-red HK unit that he’d built himself shortly after the Battle of Malachor, had been pontificating on the recent ‘talks’ with the Vuvrian leadership; Revan had been hoping to bring the Vuvrians into his empire through relatively peaceful means, but he’d always suspected that Governor Mylthea would more than likely turn against the Sith Lord.

Which was why Revan had filled his shuttle with two full squads of his best troops.

Following Revan’s arrival, the governor had proceeded with the charade of hosting a lavish meal set on his personal veranda, even though the Sith Lord had arrived in the early hours of the morning. Revan grew weary of the song and dance within an hour, and he had signalled HK-47 to begin firing on the manse.

Which was when Governor Mylthea signalled her own troops to attack.
As it turned out, the governor had been keeping her own army in the manse’s basem*nt level. Clearly, she had been prepared for Revan to initiate aggressive negotiations.

Mylthea’s forces had put up a brave stand against Revan, but she hadn’t foreseen HK-47 detonating bombs he had set up within the basem*nt level after her forces had left it. Revan then left the droid to blast his way through the detritus of the collapsed manse, putting an end to Governor Mylthea’s scheming one soldier at a time.

The governor herself had attempted to flee through a passage dug into the rock below; it hadn’t taken long for Revan to catch up with her — and bring her around to his point of view.

Now, Mylthea was being led off Revan’s shuttle, wrists bound, flanked by four troopers. Her nightgown was ripped in places, and she had a nasty bruise on the left of her face.

Revan looked around as he exited the shuttle. The mask Revan wore, a prize taken from the Mandalorian leader during the climactic Battle of Malachor at the end of the Mandalorian Wars, reflected the lights from around the hangar, and the Sith Lord’s eyes could not be seen beneath the black slits of the mask’s visor. Admiral Karath stood at attention, awaiting their return, as did a legion of Sith troopers. “With me, Admiral,” the Dark Lord said, and the admiral followed along as they made their way to the detention cells on deck 30.

They crowded into the spacious turbolift, and the doors closed behind them. “The planet is now under our control,” said Revan. “The Vuvrians will take orders from Governor Mylthea’s replacement, who will take orders from me.” He looked over at Mylthea, who shrank away slightly. “I don’t foresee any setbacks.”

“Very good, Lord Revan,” Karath replied. “What is to be done with Mylthea?”

Revan remained silent for a long moment, hoping to increase the former governor’s dread. “She is to be interrogated.” The lift stopped, and the doors opened. “Then she is to be terminated.”

As Revan ordered the troopers to continue escorting her to her cell, Mylthea gave the Dark Lord a look halfway between anger, denial, and terror. The doors closed again. “Bridge,” said Revan aloud, and the lift went on its way as ordered.

********************

REPUBLIC CRUISERINDOMITABLE

Admiral Forn Dodonna, supreme commander of the Republic Navy, stood on the bridge of the Republic cruiser Indomitable, watching the blue of hyperspace blast past the ship. They were due to rendezvous with a squadron of Jedi fighters in the Outer Rim system of Belsavis, and the admiral was waiting for the Council to contact her with the added details of the upcoming mission.

A half-hour later, the officer at the nav station, Lieutenant Gallea, announced that the Indomitable was to arrive at Belsavis in one minute. Forn knew she didn’t need to issue orders; she had a fine crew, and they worked together seamlessly.

The ship reverted to relativistic space, the sublight engines humming into life and reverberating through the deck plating beneath Forn’s feet. Outside the ports, the off-white orb of Belsavis, the seventh planet in the star system, expanded into view. As they came closer to the planet, Forn began to notice the patches of verdant green dotted around the globe; they were, she knew, the last remnants of Belsavis’ pre-glacial jungles, and the inhabitants had adapted to living in these jungles.

“Sensors, confirm that the Jedi ships are here,” Forn ordered.

“Confirmed, sir,” answered a young lieutenant. “Twenty-five Aurek-class fighters, as well as the Light of Alderaan, one of the old Praetorian-class ships.” Following the Great Sith War thirty years previously, the modern Hammerhead-class had superseded the Praetorian, and so the Jedi had acquired the surviving ships for their own use around the galaxy.

“Advise the fighters that we can only carry an additional tenAureks, should the pilots wish to stretch their legs. Hail the Alderaan,” she said, and the shadowy blue holographic image of Zhar Lestin, a Lethan Twi’lek and Jedi Master, appeared before her a moment later.

“Master Zhar, I wasn’t aware of your presence on this mission.”

“The Council feels this mission required one of us here to oversee events,” Zhar replied. “I simply volunteered my services.”

“I suppose you want to come aboard my ship?”

“That would be most hospitable of you, Admiral.”

“Well. Just be sure to not make a repeat of what happened the last time you were on the Indomitable,” said Forn, a grin creeping onto her face.

********************

Zhar popped the canopy and exited his fighter. It wasn’t often he was called upon to lead a military mission — owing to the fact that Zhar was more cerebral than high-octane — but this particular mission was... a special case. Zhar had been the only choice to lead the mission. If Kreia had been on Dantooine... if Kreia had heard about this attack, she would have been the first to denounce us, he thought to himself wistfully. Kreia would have had a personal stake in the mission, having been Darth Revan’s first master when he was still a Jedi. She would have hindered us, but to what extent? Zhar wondered.

Beside him, Zhar could see a handful of the other Jedi handpicked for this mission. Bastila Shan, a human woman in her early twenties, stood at the head of the group. Though she had only recently passed her Trials and become a Jedi Knight, Bastila was uniquely strong in the Force. Besides, her natural affinity for battle meditation made her presence on this mission a necessity. There had been very few Jedi who possessed the ability; even the ancient Masters of the Order had only the barest grasp of the technique. It was something that came around once in a generation, Zhar knew, and the Force had willed Bastila to be the next vessel.

Seeing him looking at her, Bastila walked over to Zhar, her navy-green flight suit sitting loosely upon her body. She offered him a smile.

“It seems we made it in time, Master.”

“I never doubted it,” he replied. Turning to his left, Zhar noticed a young Nikto officer making his way toward the group of Jedi. His red and black uniform softly reflected the light from the overheads in the hangar bay.

“Master Jedi,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Admiral Dodonna has asked me to escort you up to the bridge.” Smiling inwardly, Zhar nodded his assent to the officer, and he and Bastila followed him across the hangar bay.

********************

“Master Zhar, welcome aboard the Indomitable.”

The Twi’lek Jedi came toward Forn convivially, a broad smile upon his green visage. “Thank you, Admiral.” He clasped her hands fondly, and she returned the gesture. “It’s been too long since last we met.”

“Yes, that business on Geonosis left an indelible mark on my life. And my service record.”

“Yet you still made the admiralty within a decade.”

Forn turned toward the ports at the front of the bridge. “We’re just about to send the signal to Coruscant that we’re in position. Will you be leading the fighter squadron on this mission?”

Zhar shook his head, his lekku softly brushing against the back of his robes. “No, Admiral. Bastila here will be leading our Jedi squadrons.” The young woman behind him looked at him for a fraction of a moment, almost quizzically — as if Zhar had only now informed her of this decision. “Shall we get the attack underway?”

Forn nodded. Turning to her comms officer, Forn said, “Lieutenant, is the fleet reporting ready for departure?”

Lieutenant Tique, a female Duros from Chandrila, listened to her earpiece for a moment before responding. “All ships report ready, Admiral.”

“Very well, Lieutenant, open a channel to the fleet.” Forn strode to the centre of her bridge. “All ships, this is Admiral Dodonna. Set course for Vurdon Ka, and stand ready for immediate attack. Under no circ*mstances can this ambush be allowed to fail. Revan cannot be allowed to escape.”

The helm officer, a pilot Lieutenant Hobii, nodded at Forn; the hyperdrive was primed for the jump to hyperspace.

“All ships — jump on my command.”

With any luck, this would be the final battle in a war that had dragged on for far too long.

********************

SITH WARSHIPINIQUITOUS

The droid hammered its metal fist into Mylthea’s abdomen for what felt like the thousandth time and felt yet another bone crack inside her damaged body. Both of her arms were broken. Several of her toes had been detached, as had her left leg, all of which lay on the floor neatly lined in a row before her. Some kind of rod had been inserted into the open wound at her hip, and when activated via a console, it would heat or cool at a command. Three of her eyes had been removed. One was left dangling by the nerve. And yet, through all this, the droid still would not just... shut up. Throughout the ‘interrogation,’ the blasted thing had proceeded to give its personal opinion regarding organic life forms such as herself. He calls us ‘meatbags,’ she thought ironically. Searing heat overwhelmed her senses as the droid activated the rod inside her hip joint, and just before Mylthea thought she’d pass out from the pain, it disappeared and was replaced by a deep cold touch that was just as painful. Icy tendrils, like tiny daggers, clawed their way up her abdomen.

The metal door slid open suddenly as Mylthea heard heavy footsteps enter the torture chamber. “Aitch-Kay Forty-Seven, Lord Revan has a new mission for you.” Mylthea recognized the voice almost at once — the human admiral, Karath.

“Irritation: Admiral, I must say your timing is as illogical as always; my work here is not yet completed to the standards required by my programming.”

“The prisoner is to be terminated shortly, droid. Your mission here is ended; your priority is now to follow Lord Revan’s new orders.” Mylthea heard definite frustration in the admiral’s words.

The silence as HK-47 considered his response was palpable. It was almost as if the droid was imagining going against the admiral’s — and Darth Revan’s — orders, his programming be damned. Mylthea was turned away from the door; for all she knew, the droid was already raising his hand to crush Karath’s throat.

“Weary answer: Very well, Admiral Karath.”

“Very good, droid. Follow me, and I’ll brief you on the way to your ship.”

The sound of their steps died when the doors closed once again, leaving Governor Mylthea to her thoughts and to her pain.

********************

HK-47’s personal fighter, the Fiend, glided out of the Iniquitous’ hangar bay. His new mission was a target deep in Mandalorian territory. A female meatbag named Enfys Jakobi was making a name for herself as the leader of a local band of Mandalorians, using guerrilla tactics to strike at Sith bases throughout the Mandalorian sector. Clearly, this was not a state of affairs that Lord Revan could allow, and HK-47 was tasked with assassinating Jakobi before she could continue to build her forces and become a rallying figure within Mandalorian society. With any luck (not that he believed in such a thing, of course), HK-47 would return to his master following yet another successful mission, at which point he would indulge himself in a full soak in an oil bath.

HK-47 entered the hyperspace coordinates, and the Fiend accelerated into super-luminal flight.

********************

It is done, my Lord.

Karath reflected on the last words he had spoken to Lord Malak following the assassin droid’s departure. The Sith Lord had decided that HK-47’s presence was too dangerous for his plan to oust Revan as Dark Lord, and Karath had agreed with that assessment. The droid had racked up quite the tally for killing Jedi since Revan’s fleet had emerged from the Unknown Regions. If HK-47 was capable of killing a Jedi, he was also capable of killing a Sith Lord. Both Malak and Karath knew that if he were to have remained aboard the Iniquitous, the droid would have been a major problem, and they only had the one single chance to kill Darth Revan. And so HK-47 needed to be out of range. Now, Karath had only to ensure Revan was alone with Malak for the deed to be complete.

I’m sure as hell not going to get trapped alone in a room with Lord Revan, he thought to himself. Not that I’m anywhere near that foolish.

The intercom built into the wall in his quarters trilled, and the admiral moved to activate it with a press of a button. “Karath here.”

“Bridge, sir. We’re detecting a large Republic fleet emerging from behind the second moon.”

“On my way. Raise shields, ready weapons, and deploy fighter screens. Karath out.”

Exceptional timing, Karath thought ironically, his eyes rolling as he rushed out of his quarters toward the bridge.

********************

REPUBLIC CRUISERINDOMITABLE

The bridge crew worked feverishly as Forn watched them performing their tasks. The fleet had returned to sublight speed within the Vurdon Ka system. Using intelligence gathered by spies positioned in the Sith fleet, Forn knew the real-time positions of all of Revan’s ships orbiting Vurdon Ka. Hence why she had ordered her fleet to hide itself behind one of the planets’ moons.

Master Zhar stood to her left, his purple eyes focused on the view outside the bridge ports. Revan’s fleet was just now coming into view behind Vurdon Ka’s second moon. Forn counted at least eleven of the large Interdictor-class cruisers, four massive Centurion-class battlecruisers, three old and battered Derriphan-class battleships, as well as tiny pinpoints of light that represented the engines of hundreds of Sith fighters.

“This is going to be a tough nut to crack.”

Lieutenant Tique’s red eyes turned toward her. “Admiral, the enemy is turning to flee, their hyperdrives are powering up.”

Forn raised an eyebrow. “Oh, no you don’t, Lord Revan. Give it just a few moments, Lieutenant.” She turned to Zhar. “Any minute now.”

Just then, four Republic cruisers appeared in front of the fleeing Sith fleet. These ships had been retrofitted with the only interdiction systems that Forn could scrounge up from the Muscave Fleet Museum for this mission.

“Republic Interdictors have activated their gravity well projectors, Admiral, and have begun to unload fighters. The Sith fleet is trapped,” stated Tique.

“So far, so good,” said Forn. She turned to the Jedi Master next to her.

“Zhar, you may give the order.”

He nodded and activated the comm unit on his wrist. “All fighters, you are go for launch.”

“Acknowledged. Fighter squadrons launching now.”

Forn stood and strode to Tique. “Give me fleetwide.”

“Yes, sir.” She pressed a couple of buttons, and the intercom trilled.

“All ships, release fighters, and raise shields. We’re in for a rough couple of hours, I’m afraid. But we have a job to do get done, so let’s get it done. Dodonna out.”

********************

REPUBLIC CRUISEREXCALIBUR

Captain Hiyax Meru stood at the forward port on the Excalibur’s bridge, watching his fighters heading out to engage their Sith counterparts. I could very well have served with some of those Sith, he thought to himself. Even some friends.

But those friends had almost killed him back when they’d attacked his homeworld of Telos. Now, Telos was a barren wasteland. No animals, no plants. No life whatsoever. Just dead wasteland.

And to make it even worse, his own wife had turned traitor and joined the Sith ranks before the conflagration. She held just as much culpability for Telos’ bombardment as Malak or Saul Karath. Oh, she had attempted to lure him over, to convince him it was the right decision to make, that Revan’s empire would be better than the Galactic Republic. It was when she’d used their dead son’s memory, claiming that he would’ve done the same, that Meru had lashed out — hit his own wife — and left their home. An hour later he had left the planet. And he had never looked back.

He assumed, as he always did in combat, that his wife was on one of the enemy ships right now, working at one of the bridge stations. Maybe even commanding one of them. Which gave him all the more incentive to want to wipe the scourge of the Sith from the galaxy.

The Excalibur herself had been part of the mothball fleet in orbit of Muscave in the Coruscant system. The ships were there primarily for posterity but, like now, they were capable of being brought back into active service at a moment’s notice.

A stray turbolaser blast struck the ship’s shields close to the bridge tower, lightly rolling the Excalibur as if she were an ancient ship on the ocean. A few icons on the bridge stations around Meru blinked off and back on again in response.

“Comms,” said Meru. “Contact the Windward and the Mobius, tell them to begin strafing the Sith lines. Then let Captain Stryke on the Corvin follow us into the fray. The enemy isn’t getting out of this if we have anything to say about it.”

The comms officer, a human male from Coruscant, had been newly-assigned to the Excalibur direct from the academy. This was his first naval engagement. “Yes, Captain.”

Green turbolaser fire began to hit the Excalibur’s shields with more intensity as the gleaming silver ship joined her sister ships in attacking the enemy directly.

It wasn’t until about thirty seconds later that the Sith fighter squadrons started hitting them. Hard. Meru was dismayed to see sparks beginning to fly from some of the work stations at the rear of the bridge.

“What’s our shield status?” he asked.

“Fore shields at seventy-two percent and falling, Captain,” replied Commander Pash Dotellai, a native of Dantooine and Meru’s first officer. “Port shields at eighty-five percent, and starboard shields holding at ninety.”

Meru nodded. This information wasn’t surprising to him, nor was it particularly encouraging. If the shields fell, he wouldn’t be around long enough to complain about it. “Continue firing on that warship ahead of us. We’re going through their lines whether they like it or not.”

A squadron of Republic fighters raced past the Excalibur’s viewports, almost a blur to Meru’s eyes. Flashes of green and red marked the spray of weapons fire, and explosions marked the end of pilots’ lives in the cold vacuum of open space.

The bridge rocked as the Excalibur’s shields took a beating from the Sith warship it was fast approaching, the silver hull plating reflecting the light from the system’s primary. Hot golden sparks flew from a console to Meru’s right, the acrid smell of burned circuits assaulting his nostrils.

Another hit, stronger this time. Followed by another, and another. Sirens began to blare around him. “Captain! The Sith are focusing their fire on us; shields are failing!”

The enemy loomed large before Excalibur now. “Where’s the Corvin?” Meru asked.

“A hundred meters to starboard, sir. Her shields are failing, too.”
Meru nodded to himself. With the Corvin with them, they might just pull this off, with or without shields to protect them from certain death.

“Comms, tell Stryke to keep heading for the enemy ship ahead. Remind him of what happened at Randon.” The ship rocked again.

The comms officer gave him a somewhat confused affirmative. He listened in his earpiece, then said, “The captain asks ‘are you up or down?’”

“We’ll go up, ensign.”

“Yes, sir.” He relayed the message to the Corvin.

“Lieutenant, how good was your rating at the academy?”

The helm officer, Lieutenant Veronyka Opala, turned to face Meru.

“Top of my class, Captain.”

“Oh, good,” said Meru. “I was worried this might never work.” As an afterthought, he asked, “Did you ever hear about Randon, Lieutenant?”

Opala replied, “Sir. I know that this move worked against the Mandalorians.”

Another explosion tore through the Excalibur, sending yet more sparks flying.

“Yes, Lieutenant, it did. Barely.”

The lieutenant’s eyes went wide for half a moment before she returned her gaze to her console.

“Just be ready to kick into full gear on my mark, Opala,” said Meru. “Keep a channel open to the Corvin, Ensign.”

He began to make out individual viewports on the Sith ship now. Red turbolaser fire battered his ship, as well as the Corvin off their starboard bow. Jedi and Sith fighters continued to swarm around them, their dogfights raging through the bridge viewports.

“On my mark, people,” said Meru.

The Sith warship was so close now, Meru imagined he could almost see the faces of the bastards who populated it.

“Mark!”

Responding to his order, Opala sent the Excalibur flying above the enemy ship, while Captain Stryke’s own helmsman sent the Corvin diving below.

“Target their bridge and fire at will, Commander!” Meru ordered his second-in-command.

Dotellai hastened to acknowledge the order by activating the point-defence laser cannons on the Excalibur’s port hull. Though not powerful enough to punch through a ship’s shields alone, they were more than capable of damaging an enemy ship when within the shield perimeter.

Like they were right now.

The Excalibur’s lasers strafed the shining hull of the warship, causing explosions to violently erupt from the enemy craft. Then, faster than Meru could blink, Opala brought the Excalibur swinging around, allowing Dotellai to open fire with the ship’s forward cannons.

Meru never saw the damage inflicted as the Excalibur continued its 360-degree turn, but sensors told him all he needed to know; the enemy bridge had been obliterated and the warship had lost full attitude control, leaving her adrift in space. If her engineers didn’t work quickly, she would soon be drawn into Vurdon Ka’s gravity well.

“Very well done, everybody,” Meru said. “Opala, get us back on course and take us down into the atmosphere. Dotellai, ensure our troops are ready for a ground assault.”

*********************

Bastila sat cross-legged on the floor of the vacant science lab, her eyes closed and her concentration unwavering. She was deep in the Force, using its ebbs and flows in an attempt to influence the morale — and martial might — of troops, officers, and pilots from both Republic and Sith sides of this battle.

Through the Force, Bastila was able to use this gift, called battle meditation. It was an ancient technique requiring the user to delve deeply into the Force to rally allied forces — whilst disheartening enemy forces. The ability itself had been used by hundreds of Jedi and Sith during the many conflicts the pair had shared in the last millennia or so. By far the most powerful Jedi accomplished in battle meditation was Master Arca Jeth, who had fought in the Great Hyperspace Wars almost thirty years previously.

Six minutes into the battle, Bastila had influenced a great deal of the warzone; Jedi and Republic forces proceeded to take greater confidence in their battle manoeuvres, and the Sith forces began to fall apart in their inability to defend against the onslaught. All of this, Bastila could feel through the Force.

She could also feel two very strong presences in the Force, both strong enough to ignore her influence. Bastila knew that they could only be Revan and Malak.

She pulled herself back into the physical universe and opened her eyes. Sweat had begun to gather on her forehead, and the palms of her hands were just as slick.

Her wrist comm signalled, and Bastila answered to Zhar’s holographic image.

“Bastila, the Sith forces have become uncoordinated,” the Jedi Master reported. “It is time.”

She nodded. “Yes, Master,” she replied. “I’ll make my way to my fighter now.”

Zhar looked at her. “May the Force be with you, young one.” His grave face winked out of existence.

Bastila stood, smoothed her tan robes, and headed for the hangar bay.

********************

Eighteen Jedi fighters eventually followed Bastila into the Iniquitous’ main hangar bay. Republic fighters continued to draw fire away from the Jedi, though a few of Bastila’s wing-mates were cut to pieces in the crossfire. The remaining Jedi increased their speed, slamming through the Iniquitous’ force field and skidding to a halt on the hangar deck. The hangar was deserted of Sith troopers — all the interceptors had been launched, and there was a very low chance of anyone even daring to attempt boarding a Star Destroyer. Bastila popped open her co*ckpit canopy and leapt out.

Outside the hangar was a very different story altogether. Along every corridor, up every turbolift shaft, around every corner, Sith trooper after Sith trooper kept coming and coming, giving no quarter. After several minutes, the Jedi were slowly being pushed back the way they’d come.

That was when the young apprentice to Bastila’s immediate right had the uncanny idea to use the Force to bring the heavily damaged ceiling down upon an advancing group of Sith troops. Unfortunately, this same apprentice lacked the insight to beat a hasty retreat — as Bastila did — and ended up crushing himself in the process. The Force will guide him to where he needs to be, thought Bastila sombrely.

Deactivating her lightsabre, the Jedi directly behind Bastila — a Cathar named Anyara — said, “Great, now we’re trapped.”

“Not quite,” Bastila cut in. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” As my father used to say. With that, Bastila thrust her golden-hued lightsabre into the right-hand wall, and after a few seconds, had cut a Jedi-sized hole in the centre. “This corridor should lead directly to the bridge. Let’s move!”

Several hundred meters of running didn’t tire a Jedi. What did, however, was the constant threat of attack by Sith troopers interspersed at several intervals down the corridor. At the end of the passageway, a small contingent of enemy troopers were guarding the doorway to the Iniquitous’ bridge.

Bastila started forward, letting the Force propel her toward the troopers. Three of the other Jedi followed suit, while those remaining dealt with the troopers who were attempting to pin them down by showering grenades down upon them. The resulting explosion sent Bastila, the other Jedi, and the Sith troopers flying in all directions; Bastila and the Jedi flew through the bridge blast doors. With a flourish, Bastila landed on her feet and looked ahead of her.

She was immediately assaulted by a Dark Jedi, his red blade swinging for her throat. Arching backward to avoid the attack, Bastila then kicked the man square in the jaw as she flipped over. She sprang forward, not allowing the hooded man to return to the offensive and forcing him to remain on the defensive.

Behind her, her remaining companions were dealing with their own assailants.

Bastila’s golden blade clashed with her enemy’s; it was entirely plausible that they had previously known each other, from before Revan turned him to the Dark Side of the Force, but Bastila couldn’t afford to take that into account.

Their blades held together, testing their physical strength, until Bastila sensed a weakness in her opponent, turned on the spot and slashed at his abdomen. He fell to the deck, the life force draining quickly from him.

She looked to the fore of the bridge as her companions rallied around her.

The sight before them was staggering. Darth Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith, was Force-choking his second-in-command, a male human admiral. A mere moment later, he used the Force to throw the admiral across the bridge, intending to strike Bastila; the Jedi ducked and rolled forward, and through the Force jumped up into the air, somersaulting head over heels until she placed her lightsaber into a classic spearing manoeuvre. Revan easily dodged this, activating his own lightsabre in a blinding flash of crimson.

Bastila rolled as she landed, parrying an attack from Revan. She kicked out with her left leg, and connected with the Mandalorian mask that Revan had worn ever since his victory at Malachor V. The Sith Lord recoiled, somersaulting backward toward the front of the bridge, and Bastila imagined that she could see a sneer of contempt beneath his mask.

Revan propelled himself at her, his blade held low and feinted a slash at her legs. Bastila was ready, her yellow blade clashing with the crimson of Revan’s weapon.

Suddenly, Revan hurled Bastila backward with the Force, slamming her onto the deck with a bone-jarring thud. The three other Jedi helped Bastila to her feet as Revan used the Force to choke another of his subordinates. Walking forward, her lightsabre raised defensively, Bastila warned, “You cannot win, Revan.”

Any further confrontation was nullified as all were abruptly knocked to the deck as disrupter fire flew at the Iniquitous from a nearby warship — one of Revan’s own, no less. The resulting explosion ripped through the Iniquitous’ shields and hull plating, smacking the group to the deck yet again, before a rush of escaping air blew past them and attempted to pull them into the empty vacuum of interstellar space.

The explosion faded as the air blew into space. Bastila, as well as the others on the bridge, used the Force to pull themselves toward the deck, and then, continuing with the Force, held themselves there. Darkness began to creep into the edges of Bastila’s vision as her body succumbed to the first pangs of unconsciousness. Just as she was reaching the limits of her endurance, Bastila felt rather than saw a force shield being raised to cover the exposed hull plating.

Pitch-black smoke began to slowly clog the environmental systems, even as those systems were struggling to pump fresh oxygen-rich air into the bridge area. Golden sparks sprayed intermittently from bridge stations.

Silence punctuated the returning atmosphere as Bastila looked around for Revan, ready for another assault. But it was an assault that never materialized; crumpled on the deck below a computer console on the port side of the bridge, was the unconscious form of Darth Revan, fallen Jedi and Dark Lord of the Sith. His face burnt, bloodied, and bruised from the explosions. The mask that he’d taken great pains to wear in public had been knocked off and lay next to the Sith Lord. His black robes were shredded, and pockmarked with burns. There was no sign of his lightsabre.

Bastila reached out with the Force. A moment went by, a moment that was interspersed with continuing fire from other Star Destroyers, as she felt for Revan’s presence in the Force.

What she felt made her gasp.

Revan was dying.

Chapter 2: Chapter One

Notes:

6 months later...

Chapter Text

WARSHIPENDAR SPIRE,
TARIS ORBIT

Trask Ulgo looked up from the readout on his bridge terminal. A member of House Ulgo on Alderaan, Trask was a commissioned ensign in the Galactic Republic Navy, serving aboard the Hammerhead-class Endar Spire as a member of the ship’s tactical officer compliment. Today just happened to be his turn at bridge duty.

The ship was currently stationed in orbit of Taris, a planet just off the Hydian Way in the Outer Rim of the galaxy, along with a number of other support vessels as part of the seventh fleet. An ecumenopolis, Taris had once been known as the Coruscant of the Outer Rim until rampant overpopulation had stymied the planet’s morals — tens of billions of beings had lived on Taris, though now it was reported there were only six billion inhabitants. Then there were those karking rakghouls that infested the Undercity to contend with...

Trask looked through the transparisteel port in front of him; the planet was revolving slowly, with storm systems making their way through the atmosphere while lightning flashed through the clouds. Some of the taller spacescrapers could be seen poking through the topmost wisps of cloud, and the lights from the traffic strafed the atmosphere.

A signal came through on the computer display. It was from a Lieutenant Pryze, the tactical officer aboard the Ferocity, the flagship of the Republic’s seventh fleet — according to the lieutenant, the Ferocity would rendezvous with the Endar Spire in less than an hour, bringing the total number of ships at Taris to thirteen.

********************

Bastila Shan stepped out of the umbilical connecting the Endar Spire to the Ferocity, and watched as a pair of security officers came to attention before her. “Commander Shan, I’m Ensign Ulgo. We’ve been sent to escort you to the bridge.”

“Very well, Ensign. Lead the way.”

The Endar Spire was a Hammerhead-class cruiser, like the Ferocity. As Bastila was led through the corridors, she stretched out with the Force and felt the tension throughout the ship.

Stepping onto the Spire’s relatively cramped bridge, Bastila was immediately greeted by a ruggedly handsome man wearing an orange nerf-hide jacket and light stubble upon his face. “Commander Onasi, I presume,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the commander. “What are your orders?”

Bastila strode toward one of the bridge ports and gazed out over Taris. “What’s the condition on the surface?”

“Unknown at the moment, Commander,” Onasi replied. “So far, we’ve been ordered to remain in orbit or within the confines of the military base in the Upper City.” He coughed. “Our mole working for Davik Kang has failed to report in as scheduled.”

She pondered this development. “That will have to wait, I’m afraid, Commander Onasi.” She noticed a flash of lightning hundreds of miles below. “I’m not the only person of interest who’s come aboard from the Ferocity; there is an ensign — he used to be a smuggler before the war, but he was recruited after the Battle of Mon Gazza after his ship was impounded by one of our warships.”

“What about him?” Carth asked, furrowing his brow.

“I’m not asking for preferential treatment, Commander. But just keep an eye on him. He’s... well, I’m not entirely sure how much I can say, but the Council is watching him.”

********************

STAR DESTROYERLEVIATHAN

Darth Malak, Dark Lord of the Sith, stood on the bridge of his flagship, the Star Destroyer Leviathan, staring out of the ports watching the blue streaks of hyperspace flash past as the Leviathan tunnelled toward Taris. His apprentice, Darth Bandon, stood just behind him.

It was actually intelligence gathered by Bandon that brought Malak to Taris; a mole working for his apprentice had learned that the Jedi Knight Bastila Shan would be taking command of the Republic forces in-system for the foreseeable future.

Bastila had been partly responsible for the death of his master and former friend, Darth Revan — though Malak was really the one to blame for his death, owing to the fact that he had been the one to destroy the Iniquitous with Revan and Bastila’s strike team aboard. Though Bastila and a handful of other Jedi had survived the former flagship’s fiery end, Revan had been dead for months.

Malak knew that Bastila was strong in the Force, and highly proficient in the use of battle meditation; that ability was a pain in his ass, but over the last few weeks, Malak had been toying with the idea of capturing Bastila, turning her to the Dark Side, and using that ability against the Republic.

And now he was on his way to not only meet his own destiny, but to change the course of Bastila’s also.

Not that Bandon needed to know he was about to be pushed aside...

A lieutenant broke his reverie. “Lord Malak, sir?” Malak turned to gaze upon the visage of a human male, who appeared to be in his early 30s. “Our spy indicates that the target is definitely at Taris. He reports that she has recently transferred aboard the Endar Spire, a Hammerhead-class ship, my lord.”

“Good,” replied Malak. “Signal the fleet to encircle the Republic ships. They are to target and destroy all ships — aside from the Endar Spire. That one is ours."

********************

ENDAR SPIRE

Carth left the refresher in his quarters and stood by the small port by his bed. As a senior officer aboard the Endar Spire, Carth was afforded the luxury of private quarters, while junior officers such as Ensign Ulgo were forced to bunk together in pairs.

He looked down at Taris, slowly rotating miles below the ship. He could see atmospheric traffic lanes, the lights of thousands of personal shuttles and ships encircling the globe. He picked up the snifter of Tarisian ale and took a swig from it; the ale had been brought up in the last cargo transfer run and had been shared between the Spire’s crew.

Somewhere down there, a gangster controlled this sector’s branch of the Exchange. His ship, the Ebon Hawk, had strafed the Spire’s sensors a couple of times coming in and out of Taris; since Carth had no reason to hassle the Ebon Hawk, he allowed the Exchange to continue their activities.

Somewhere down there, a group of Jedi had massacred their padawans. Carth had never known much about the Jedi Tower incident, but what he’d heard from the Jedi Zayne Carrick was enough to dissipate any further questions on the subject.

Somewhere down there, millions of non-human beings suffered under the xenophobia highly prevalent all over the planet, especially so as the rich population — usually human — became richer and richer, while Taris’ poor, the aliens, ended up living in squalor and decay. There were even reports of the poorest living on Taris’ ground level, below the Upper and Lower Cities, forced to live in destitution and rampant viral infections — though there was currently no veracity to these claims.

Somewhere down there, people just tried to live. And, one way or another, most of them failed.

Sirens began to ring out throughout the Endar Spire, and the lights in Carth’s quarters turned to a vivid shade of red. He activated his wrist comm. “Commander Onasi to the bridge. Report!”

“We’ve detected a Sith fleet approaching from behind the planet, sir!”

“Get our shields up, I’ll be right there!”

********************

When Bastila arrived on the Endar Spire’s bridge, she walked into what seemed like controlled chaos. Commander Onasi was facing the forward ports, coordinating the fleet’s defences with his fellow commanders. Orders and reports were being relayed from station to station.

“Commander Onasi!” She was forced to shout above the alarm.

He turned to her. “Commander Shan, the Sith fleet was hidden behind Taris, where our sensors couldn’t detect them. It’s my guess that they were waiting there in ambush.”

“How many?”

“Twenty ships in all, with hundreds of fighters providing defence.” Carth shook his head. “We may not survive this ambush, Bastila.”

Before Bastila could try to make sense of the situation, Ensign Ulgo shouted to Carth. “Sir! The fleet reports that they are all target locked... except for us, sir!”

A cold realisation dawned upon Bastila. It was confirmed when Ulgo reported the arrival of the Star Destroyer Leviathan, ten thousand metres to starboard.

“We’re being hailed, sir! It’s... it’s Darth Malak, aboard the Leviathan.”
Carth’s face hardened. “Put him through, Ensign.”

“Republic Warship Endar Spire, we have arrived to accept your surrender,” Malak’s mechanical voice echoed ominously through the bridge. “You will then be boarded and searched, and all personnel will be transferred into the custody of my ship."

“Lord Malak, this is Commander Onasi of the Endar Spire.” He didn’t fail to notice Bastila looking at him. “We will not be surrendering to you today. You have encroached on Republic territory, and we will defend this system with everything we have. Leave this system immediately, or we will be forced to open fire.”

“You disappoint me, Commander Onasi. Your insignificant fleet is surrounded. I outgun you, and outnumber you three-to-one. I’m perfectly willing to destroy your entire fleet in order to acquire what I want.”

“And just what would that be?” Carth asked.

“A certain Jedi who’s no doubt on your bridge right this very moment, Commander. Bastila.”

The bridge officers remained silent as their eyes turned to Bastila. She could feel their eyes boring into her from all directions. Even Carth was looking at her.

Malak broke the silence. “Come now, Bastila. I’m sure we’d all be delighted to hear what you have to say about this.”

She could feel fear beginning to creep into her mind, the adrenaline beginning to flood her veins. “Alek,” she said finally, using Malak’s birth name as an insult to the Sith Lord. “I will never surrender to you, or become a pawn of the Dark Side of the Force. You are a fool, Alek, and you will be forced to kill me just as you killed Revan, and thousands of innocent beings.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of yourself, young Bastila. I’ve made arrangements for my apprentice to... pay you a visit. Until then, feel free to watch as my fleet obliterates yours.” He laughed maniacally as the comm channel closed.

Bastila and Carth simply looked at each other.

“All hands, this is Commander Onasi. Battle stations.”

Bastila suddenly turned and headed over to Ulgo. “Ensign, I need you to check on our passenger.”

********************

“This is Carth Onasi. The Sith are threatening to overrun our position! We can’t hold out long against their firepower — all hands to the bridge!”

Darkness receded from Aaryn Savo’s sight as he opened his eyes. The corridor around him was barely lit, and sparks flew from the walls. A red T3 utility droid was busy attempting repairs, its multi-function arm fusing two optical cables together.

I’ve only been on board for a few hours, and already we’re being shot at, Aaryn thought sardonically as he lifted himself from the metal deck plating. “I should’ve stuck to smuggling.”

Before he could properly stand, the doors in front of Aaryn opened to reveal a young blond man, in his mid-twenties, running toward him. The ship listed again, and sparks shot out of a computer panel behind the approaching man.

“We’ve been ambushed by a Sith battle fleet!” The man sounded rather winded. “The Endar Spire is under attack — hurry up, we don’t have much time!” He barely managed to complete his sentence before the ship reverberated from another assault.

“Who are you?” Aaryn asked as he followed the officer toward the bridge.

“Ensign Trask Ulgo. I’m a tactical officer here on the Endar Spire.” The ship shook again. “I know all about your reputation,” he said, and raised a hand to silence Aaryn before he could respond. “How you used to smuggle spice and blasters along the Corellian Run. I guess the Republic figured since they couldn’t catch you, they might as well hire you.”

Aaryn had the wind knocked out of him by another Sith assault before he could respond to Trask’s statements. Picking himself up, he continued to follow Trask as the ensign led the way to another door in the bulkhead ahead. On the other side of the door, however, was a sight that he had not been expecting. Two Sith troopers were engaged in a firefight with a pair of Republic troops. Trask faced his bunkmate with a steely determination and brought his blaster up level with his chest. Aaryn followed suit.

“These Sith must be the advanced boarding party. For the Republic!”

Both Sith were surprised by Trask’s sudden battle cry — they obviously hadn’t been expecting anyone to rout their position from behind. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t given much opportunity to respond, as the combined Republic force quickly dispatched them.

Both Republic troopers stood to attention as Trask and his bunkmate holstered their weapons. “Sir, our position is untenable. Did you get Commander Onasi’s transmission?”

“That I did, soldier,” said Trask. “Now, come on, follow us!”

“Aye, sir.” This was the usual militaristic response.

Before the group arrived at yet another locked door, an explosion blasted through the two Republic soldiers, tearing them to burning shreds and splaying their bodies open. A fierce shower of sparks followed, and the corridor’s wall was blasted open, leaving the ship open to vacuum. The atmosphere, as well as the remains of the pair of soldiers, was immediately blown out, reducing the amount of oxygen in the corridor. Aaryn felt his feet ripped off the deck and found himself flying toward the breach. Nanoseconds before his expected internal biological decompression, Trask grabbed onto his hand with a vice-like grip.

As oxygen raced through the breach into open vacuum, a force field was gradually brought up to create a non-permeable energy barrier between space and the ship’s internal atmosphere. Ironically, this also meant a rather painful landing for Trask as he dropped face-first to the deck. Aaryn simply lowered himself to the deck, one leg at a time.

“Someone on the bridge is doing their job,” muttered the smuggler before helping Trask to his feet. Aaryn led the way this time, and once again waited for Trask to use his ID code to unlock the next door. The sight that beheld them as the heavy durasteel door opened stopped them dead in their tracks.

A female Jedi was engaged in a lightsabre duel with a male Sith warrior.

The Sith ducked and rolled to his right, bringing his crimson blade spinning up over his head, intending to cleave through the Jedi’s abdomen. She easily parried, somersaulting backward to land on the duracrete wall, then springing off that to slam straight into her opponent.

Aaryn and Trask simply stood in the doorway, almost star-struck. “This fight is too much for us!” exclaimed Trask. “We’d better stay back. All we’d do is get in the way.”

While the Jedi was still soaring through the air, the warrior concentrated and, with a flick of his wrist, sent the Jedi hurtling back away from him. With a flick of her own, she also summoned command of the Force, sending her energy weapon flying toward the Sith. It bisected his skull before flying back into the Jedi’s open hand. She swiftly deactivated the shimmering blue blade and strode confidently toward Trask.

“Thank you for staying out of the fight, ensigns,” she said. “Commander Shan is in grave danger. We must get to the bridge, quickly.”

They’d walked barely a couple of metres before yet another high-yield explosion threw the trio into the wall, hailing sparks and debris down upon them. Trask picked himself up and looked over to the Jedi. He checked the pulse on her neck, a neck that lay at an unnatural angle — she was dead.

“Damn,” he said.

Undeterred, the pair continued on through the next few doorways until they finally entered the main bridge. Trask dispatched the three Sith troops before saying, “Bastila’s not here on the bridge; they must’ve retreated to the escape pods. We better head there, too. The Sith want Bastila alive, but once she’s off the ship, there’s nothing stopping the Sith from blasting the Endar Spire into galactic dust!”

With that in mind, the two of them rushed off through the bridge’s only other exit, encountering no more resistance from the Sith. Eventually, they reached a junction in the corridor. Trask motioned for his bunkmate to take cover behind a near desk console, and he walked over to one of the doors, keying in his ID code. The door opened, only to reveal another Sith warrior. He activated his lightsabre — a pair of twin crimson blades, one at each end of the weapon — shimmered like bloodstained lights.

Trask immediately turned to Aaryn, a determined look on his face that Aaryn immediately recognised. “Damn! Another Dark Jedi! I’ll try to hold him off; you get to the escape pods — go!”

Chapter 3: Chapter Two

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

Smoke lashed from the smouldering holes in the metallic chests of the war droids. A blaster bolt flew over Carth’s head and hit the ceramic wall panelling behind him. Aaryn rolled and landed nimbly behind a plasteel crate, then followed up with several shots to the Sith lieutenant’s torso. He was brought down in a hail of energy bolts, hitting the floor with a slight thud.

The surviving Duros peeked out from behind a second crate, then stood — with his hands over his head. He proceeded to lower them to a more comfortable level as he saw Carth and Aaryn holstering their weapons.

“Poor Ixgil,” he stated in Durese. “He should never have talked back to that Sith. Thankfully, you were here to step in and help us, humans. This isn’t the first time the Sith have come in here to cause trouble for us, but hopefully it will be the last.”

Aaryn held out his hand and, the Duros taking it in his own, they shook hands. “I’m just glad we could help.”

“Don’t worry about the body and the debris. I will move them so it looks like they were attacked elsewhere. That should throw the Sith off the track. With any luck, they won’t be bothering us again for a while.”

Aaryn and Carth bid good luck and farewell to the Duros, then continued to walk out of the apartment complex and into the Upper City streets.

Buildings dozens of floors tall stood like sentinels amid the Tarisian skyline; they continued downward for hundreds — if not thousands — of feet, reminding Aaryn of the few times he’d visited Coruscant, the Republic’s capital planet, on smuggling runs. Shuttles and cloud cars teemed through the air above and below, as well as patrolling Sith fighters. Hundreds of Taris’ denizens gilded the walkways and thoroughfares throughout the visible Upper City, though — as it seemed to Aaryn at least — there was an apparently high ratio of humans to non-humans. Clearly, the Sith lieutenant’s xenophobia wasn’t a one-off event. The air itself smelled slightly salty, as if there were an ocean breeze cutting through, and Aaryn recalled that Taris, unlike Coruscant, had yet to build over its waterways. Taris’ primary hung high — it must’ve been around midday.

He turned to Carth.

“Yes?” his CO responded after a moment.

“I’d like to know more about you, Carth.”

“Me?” he replied. “Well, I’ve been a star-pilot for the Republic for years. I’ve seen more than my fair share of wars... I fought in the Mandalorian Wars before all this started. But with all that, I’ve never experienced anything like the slaughter these Sith animals can unleash — not even the Mandalorians were that senseless.” Carth appeared to turn slightly paler. “My homeworld was one of the first planets to fall to Revan’s fleet. The Sith bombarded it into submission, and there wasn’t a kriffing thing our Republic forces could do to stop them!”

Aaryn felt true compassion for Carth in that moment. “I’m sorry, Carth. This must be very painful for you.”

Carth’s reply came just a fraction of a second too soon for Aaryn’s liking. “I know. Don’t worry about it. I just...” He sighed. “I just must not be making much sense; you probably mean well with your questions. I’m just not accustomed to talking about my past very much — at all, actually. I’m more used to taking action; keeping my mind focused on the task at hand. So let’s do just that. If you have more questions, feel free to ask them later.”

Another half hour of walking followed. On Carth’s decision, the pair made a stop in a local tapcaf, sampling the Tarisian ale as they did so (Aaryn found it prolifically enticing), then moved on as soon as their feet no longer felt sore. Immediately to the left-hand side, they found themselves drawn to a local junk and droid exchange shop, and decided to step inside in order to purchase some supplies.

The proprietor, incidentally, noticed them almost as soon as they stepped through the door.

“Hello there!” she said cheerfully. “I haven’t seen you in my shop before... allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kebla Yurt. Welcome to my Equipment Emporium. You looking to buy some supplies?” She noticed the look on Carth’s face, so decided to push on. “My shop’s the largest one in all of Upper Taris. Best selection on the planet. Whatever you need, I’ve got.” Her cheeks flushed momentarily. “Mostly,” she added.

Carth chimed in. “Mostly? What do you mean by that?”

Kebla seemed almost over-embarrassed by the question. “Err... the Sith confiscated all my heavy weapons. And they impounded all my ships and swoop bikes. But I’ve still got a real nice selection, if you’re interested.”

Intuitively, Aaryn believed a different tactic was needed. “May we ask you some more questions, Miss Yurt?”

Kebla smiled broadly. “Anything I can do for a potential customer! What do you want to know?”

“Do you know anything about those escape pods that crashed here on Taris?”

Kebla scratched her chin as she offered seats to Aaryn and Carth, and taking one for her own. “Hmm. I heard a couple of pods crashed down into the Undercity. I bet the crash sites have already been stripped of anything by the Sith, though — unless the swoop gangs or Davik’s men got there first.”

Aaryn grew concerned about the mention of swoop gangs. Had Bastila been found by one of them? “Swoop gangs? What can you tell me about them?”

“I don’t have anything to say that’s good about the swoop gangs; zooming around like a bunch of animals, terrorising the Lower City on their swoop bikes! Things weren’t too bad when the Hidden Beks were running the show, but ever since the Black Vulkar gang took over the Lower City has been nothing short of a war zone! The Sith haven’t bothered trying to maintain order down there, and I heard a rumour that Davik’s own people are having problems with the Black Vulkars now.”

Growing fidgety, Aaryn asked, “What do you know about this Davik?”

“Oh, Davik’s a legitimate businessman, if you know what I mean,” began Kebla. “Smuggling, extortion, and so on. They say he’s a member of the Exchange; you know, the big intergalactic crime organisation.”

Carth let out a long-held sigh. “I’ve heard of the Exchange (as had Aaryn — being a smuggler — but he kept quiet). Bad organisation to cross. If anyone has blockade breaking ships, it’s them.”

Kebla continued. “I have to pay him a protection fee every month, but it’s reasonable. And I get most of my inventory through Davik and his suppliers. I’m just smart enough not to ask where it came from, you understand?”

Aaryn rose abruptly from his seat. “Davik’s nothing but a petty crime lord! I’ve dealt with worse than him in my time.”

Kebla pulled him back down to his seat by the sleeve of his arm, and spoke in a hushed tone. “Careful where you say that! Davik’s got spies and agents everywhere. Besides, he’s as much a part of Taris as the skyscrapers or the swoop gangs.”

“I realise we may be taking up some of your time, Miss Yurt,” said Carth after a few uncomfortable moments. “But we need some general information on Taris.”

“Ohhh, you’re a couple of off-worlders, aren’t you? Come to Taris for a short business trip and end up stuck here because of the Sith quarantine, right? Oh, you can’t be too happy, trapped on an unfamiliar world and all. But Taris isn’t so bad, so long as you stay in the Upper City. Just try to avoid the Sith. And stay out of the Lower City; the swoop gangs are totally out of control. Even Davik’s men are getting trouble down there.”

Aaryn and Carth rose from their seats and each shook Kebla’s outstretched hand. “Well, if that’s all,” said Aaryn. “I think we’ll be going now.”

“Good day to you then! Remember to come on back to my shop if you ever need supplies.” Kebla waved to them, and they were gone.

Aaryn followed Carth’s lead, and turned right out of the shop, heading toward what looked to be a local cantina.

“Is it me,” said Aaryn, “or did Kebla repeat herself a couple of times?”

********************

Bastila screamed in horror as she was tortured once again by Brejik’s henchmen. Nothing seemed to ease her pain; even her Jedi training had proven futile in the end. All that mattered now was survival. And she was determined to see that she got it.

A final jolt of electricity ran through the length of her body, and once again Bastila fell into silent unconsciousness.

Chapter 4: Chapter Three

Chapter Text

STAR DESTROYERLEVIATHAN

3,957 BBY

Darth Malak, newly-christened Dark Lord of the Sith, paced the perimeter of his personal quarters. Something was wrong. Something out of place. As if the Force itself were trying to communicate to him. One of the only Jedi techniques he had truly valued was that which allowed its user to tune in with his or her intuition; to become swept up and taken away — but to a point. It was best compared to a search and rescue attempt on choppy waters when explaining to non-Force users.

Malak sat cross-legged in his meditation chamber, his black cloak and red-orange body armour left loosely by the locked doorway, and stretched out into the Force. The war effort would last at least another year, that much he was certain of. He knew that the Republic would fall to its knees, begging for true leadership, true power; not the puppeteering of the current supreme chancellor, the rash fool Tarkin. He, Malak, would give that to the citizens of his Empire. That was what the Force had told him, and thus he had deceived and killed his old master, Darth Revan.

Revan had been everything to Malak once; confidant, friend… they’d spent almost every minute of every day together, searching for a reason to leave the Jedi and the Republic behind them. And then the war began.

The Mandalorian Wars had been the most destructive conflict the galaxy had known for thousands of years, often the bloodiest. As such, families were torn asunder, whole worlds annihilated, species eradicated. Millions of Republic troops were sent out to the Outer Rim worlds in order to fend off the approaching Mandalorian armada. It was no use, however; Mandalorian shields were far stronger than those of the Republic, and so entire fleets burnt in front of the eyes of every Republic admiral. Dantooine had threatened to secede, allowing hundreds of like-minded senators to follow suit. The Republic began to crumble.

And yet the Jedi were doing nothing.

Whole fleets were routed, whole worlds ripped apart, and yet the Jedi Order sat back in their halls debating the origins of the Mandalorian aggression. Many apprentices, even masters, had voiced their concerns, and still the council did nothing. Revan, however, could not be placated so easily, and so he, Malak, and several Jedi marched straight out of the enclave on Dantooine and straight on to the flagship of the Republic fleet, the Hammer. Needless to say, the Jedi Council, in particular Master Atris, was not happy. Vrook, ever blunt, had given Revan and Malak an ultimatum: return to Coruscant to face the council, or be renounced by the Order. The stakes were too high either way; in the end, they’d chosen their convictions and duty over their masters’ needs. The Order cut all communications with them.

For a few days, they’d believed they were on their own. It wasn’t until the First Battle of Omonoth that the Republic’s Rear Admiral Saul Karath began to realise what a resource the Jedi could be; even though all sides were forced to evacuate the Arkanian Legacy at the last minute, Karath gradually brought the Jedi, in particular Revan, into his mission briefings. Before long, Jedi General Revan, Jedi Commander Malak, and Jedi Commander Min Xhosa were representing the Republic in many of the major campaigns of the war. Revan was given ultimate command of the Republic fleet, and Malak promoted to the rank of general, but a setback in the Charros system brought news that Xhosa was killed in action, so Revan chose another, a Jedi Knight named Meetra Surik, to promote to general, giving her almost as much leeway as Malak himself. There were certainly times when he had believed Surik was plotting against him, but victory after victory under her command raised the morale of the troops on the frontlines, and so Malak grew to grudgingly respect her skills. It wasn’t until a few months later that everything would change.

The infamous Battle of Malachor V was the single most vicious and bloodthirsty campaign in the history of the Republic. Ordering virtually all of his Jedi to remain behind, Revan had lured the multitude of the Mandalorian fleet to an agricultural world in the Malachor system in the Outer Rim. The system itself was taboo among Mandalorian culture - as it was in the Jedi Order — though it appeared that this did not phase the Taung Mando’ade, Mandalore the Ultimate, who was struck down by Revan himself in single combat. Revan took the Mandalore’s mask for himself, and the Republic fleet began to rout the Mandalorians. Unbeknownst to almost everyone though, Revan ordered his prized General Surik to activate a single weapon, the mass shadow generator.

What came next was horrifying — even for Malak.

The generator was set up in the planetary core of Malachor V, above which the two enemy armadas were fighting. After its activation, the generator artificially increased the mass (and therefore, the gravity well) of the planet and in return the great warships of both fleets were drawn into a descending arc of burning flames. What was once a pastoral world was now a rotting, roiling ball of metal, planetary debris, and blood. The remainder of the Mandalorian fleet transmitted an unconditional surrender. Revan, however, wasn’t buying it. He and Malak took what was left of the Republic’s fleet and pursued the Mandalorians into the heart of the Unknown Regions, giving the people of the Republic, and the Jedi Order, the idea that they were lost, forever missing in action. A year later, they were all proven wrong.

There was something connected to these events that the Force was now showing him, Malak was led to believe. He immediately discounted the possibility of Revan; Malak himself had felt his old master’s Force presence diminish as he fired upon and destroyed the Star Destroyer Iniquitous.

The Force may well have been guiding him toward the Jedi commander he had heard rumours of, the one in command of the strike team that had boarded and left the dying Iniquitous’ hangar bay. Darth Malak immersed himself still further into the Force.

After a moment — or maybe an hour? — he found himself in what he recognised as one of the apartment complexes of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He looked at the door to his left: Apartment 2-228-Kappa was written in standard Aurebesh. He walked forward, instinctively knowing that his presence would pass through the door, rather than it opening for him, as it would with a physical body. Inside, a 40-something woman was undressing after a rigorous bout of combat training — the bruising on her back, shoulders, and thighs gave it away. Her brunette hair, hanging only to the base of her neck, appeared sticky and gleaming with sweat. Then she looked round.

She couldn’t see him of course, not physically — Malak was certain. But he was fairly sure that she, whoever she was, could see him through the Force. Her eyes widened in abject shock as she clearly realised who he was and, keeping her gaze at Malak’s eye-level, she pressed her intercom.

********************

Bastila had never known such surprise; in all her life as a disciple of the Force, no one — no one at all–had been able to freely enter her apartment through use of the Force. She knew instinctively who the intruder was just from his mere presence in the Force — Darth Malak, newly-crowned Dark Lord of the Sith. Thinking that he wouldn’t be able to physically stop her, Bastila reached for the intercom to her left. She had barely activated the channel to Master Zez-Kai Ell before a massive surge of Force energy slammed her into the ceiling and pinned her there.

You’re the commander of the Jedi strike team sent to kill my old master, aren’t you?

“What?” she replied. Was that Malak asking her, or Master Ell? She couldn’t tell, for her mind was racing faster than any swoop race on Tatooine.

“Bastila, this is Master Ell. Are you okay?” That came from the intercom, she was sure of it.

She inhaled to answer, but Malak’s presence pushed against her throat, choking off her reply.

Bastila, is it? Well, Bastila, you and I are going to start seeing more of each other in the future. I sincerely hope that will accommodate my needs, for I have need of you. And your Force capabilities — in particular that famed battle meditation which you prize above all else. Running footsteps could be heard coming toward them from down the corridor. I will have you, Bastila. That much is certain.

Malak’s Force presence vanished, dropping Bastila to the floor with a painful bump just as Jedi Master Zez-Kai Ell entered the apartment. The middle-aged man, a bushy moustache lining his upper lip, peered around the room, attempting to discern any residual Force presence.

********************

Malak slumped onto the black tiled floor of his meditation chamber. This session had tired him more than any previously. This Jedi — this Bastila — was strong-willed and determined, that much he could sense. But below that, on a more intuitive plane of existence, Malak knew that the Force had led him to her. Bastila was the disturbance he had sensed. He had already found an apprentice… but where Darth Bandon had little if no experience with battle meditation, Bastila did not. And that was what could win the war in favour of the Sith.

Chapter 5: Chapter Four

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

3,956 BBY

Aaryn and Carth had entered the Tumbling Dice, the local cantina in this part of the Upper City. At the door they’d encountered a Sith guard. Probably just the bouncer dressed up trying to scare away potential trouble, thought Carth. Carth had seen a lot in his time with the Republic Navy, so it really wouldn’t surprise him in the least. Fortunately, he was happily surprised to find that the cantina itself was clean — as far as cantinas went, at least. A couple of green-skinned female Twi’leks sat at a pazaak table, eagerly grabbing their winnings from the hands of their opponent, a burly-faced woman of a species Carth did not recognise. The woman, over-sized ear lobes and tan-orange skin reinforcing Carth’s inability to recall her species, was congratulating her opponents.

“It seems you two are a force to be reckoned with,” she said.

“Of course we are,” began one Twi’lek.

“What can we say?” continued the other. “You must have inherited your mother’s pazaak skills.”

As the Twi’leks laughed to themselves, the woman leaned forward menacingly. “Never make fun of my mother — Rule of Acquisition number thirty-one.”

“Oh, please, Oshta! Your kind are too hard on yourselves! Isn’t that why those Mandalorians conquered your homeworld, to bring you some civility? After all, you wouldn’t even allow your women to wear clothes until the Republic rose to power!”

At that, the Twi’lek pairing upped and left, leaving the woman to stew in her own anger.

Peering toward the bar, Carth noted the Tarisian bartender handing drinks to a triplet of small, furry Chadra-Fan. Carth had met members of their species, having served with many in the Navy during the Wars. Though most of the time, he’d tended to run into them in the corridors rather embarrassingly, tripping over their small metre-high forms. During the Mandalorians Wars, their homeworld, Chad, was besieged by the Mando’ade invaders. Its inhabitants were forced into domestic slavery for years before the Republic Navy, led by Revan himself, finally liberated the oceanic world.

Since then, the Chadra-Fan, as a whole, had kept quiet on the galactic scene, but some individuals had taken the time to head off-world, making their way to several other Outer Rim worlds, such as Dantooine or Christophsis. As a general rule of thumb, Carth tried never to judge people, but he couldn’t help himself from wondering if this was really the best planet to live on, especially now, what with the Sith in control.

Aaryn had found a quiet table away from the bar, obviously intending to keep the less-discernible folk from interacting with them. He looked at the electronic beverage menu set into the table. “What do you want, an abrax?”

Carth batted him a dirty look. “Well, okay,” said the ensign. “While — technically — we’re still on duty… we have no commanding officer in-system. We can drink all we like, Celestials know I need it.” Aaryn continued to peruse the menu, until he’d apparently decided upon some ancient alcoholic beverage called tequila, while Carth agreed to a pint of Kashyyykan bitter berry beer. A minute later the server droid, a GE3-series protocol droid answering by the designation 9C-1Q, set their order down on the table, and swiftly left after receiving Carth’s payment.

Carth was surprised to see that Ensign Savo downed his shot of tequila within a second. Maybe he’d finally found a drinking partner who could actually keep up with him…

“Want another?” asked Aaryn. “Oh, no, sorry… I kinda forgot guys your age can’t keep up.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Ensign?” Carth asked, placing heavy emphasis on Aaryn’s rank.

Aaryn was about to snap a witty retort when a young woman, clearly inebriated, stumbled into the table and spilling Carth’s pint on his chest as he was taking a ship. The woman stood, and faltered once more eventually taking ahold of the back of Aaryn’s chair to straighten herself. “Hi there,” she said. Her eyes were ever-so-slightly unfocused. “I haven’t seen you around before. Of course, they don’t give us Sith officers from the military much time off.”

Aaryn looked somewhat taken aback. “You’re from the military base? You don’t look like one of the Sith.”

The Sith officer, or so she claimed, bent down over Carth suggestively. “I’m off-duty right now, so I’m out of my uniform. My name is Sarna — junior officer, first class, with the Sith occupation force.”

“Nice to meet you, Sarna,” said Aaryn. “I’m Ben, and this is Uthar.” Carth eyed his junior officer.

Sarna turned her to face to ‘Ben.’ “I’m actually a little surprised you’re talking to me at all,” she said, before turning her gaze back to ‘Uthar.’ “Most of the people here on Taris can’t stand us Sith. It makes this job pretty lonely…” Sarna winked at Carth. Surely she doesn’t think anything could possibly happen between the two of us…?

Before Carth could say anything to cool Sarna off, Aaryn interjected on his behalf. “You’re just doing your job, right? I don’t hold that against you.”

“Save the sympathetic best friend act. I’m not buying it.” Sarna more or less spat the words at Aaryn.

“Sorry,” said Carth. “We’re not trying to judge you.”

Sighing, Sarna nonchalantly took the third seat at the table, sloshing her glass of Alderaanian rosé next to Aaryn’s empty shot glass. “Ah, it’s okay. I might have overreacted a bit. But can you blame me? Everywhere I look, I see one of you Tarisians glaring at me with hate in your eyes.”

“We’re not actually from Taris,” Aaryn pointed out. “We’re just stuck here until the quarantine ends.”

Sarna’s eyes widened a touch. “You’re offworlders? Huh, I figure you’d be even more angry, being stuck on a foreign planet and all.”

The server droid was collecting glasses nearby, Carth saw; he gulped the remainder of his beer, and called out to the droid. “Nine-cee, can we get another round here for the two of us?” he asked, pointing to himself and Aaryn.

The droid looked at Carth with what could only have been blankness — though, had it owned a face Carth was sure it would’ve given him a face full of spitefulness — before taking the empty glasses and walking back toward the bar. When 9C returned with their refilled drinks, Aaryn was saying to Sarna, “Hey, we’re both strangers on Taris. We have to stick together.”

“You’re right!” replied Sarna. “It’s like everyone on this backwater planet is in a permanent bad mood. Don’t they know they have to make the best of things?”

“Everybody has their ups and downs… it’s how you deal with them that counts.”

“Exactly!” the Sith officer explained. “It’s all about attitude. I didn’t ask to be assigned to this backwater planet, but I try to make the best of it!” She downed the last of her drink. “It’s pretty easy to get depressed on an assignment that’s like this, but we do what we can to keep our spirits up.”

“It must be tough, being stationed on a hostile world,” Carth chimed in.

Sarna looked at him gratefully. “That’s true. It’s nice to meet someone who understands what I’m going though. It’s good to talk about this stuff — it gets pretty lonely up at the military base. I have to get going soon; I’ve got a shift at the base. But some of us junior officers are having a party tonight to blow off some steam. I’d really like to see you both there. Why don’t you drop by the party? It’s at my place — Fryd Sector, Za’Fraan Towers, one hundred sixth floor, apartment fifty-two.”

Carth swiftly memorised the address — and by the looks of it, so did Aaryn — and said, “Sounds good! We’ll be there.”

“Don’t be late. We’re starting right after our shifts end at eighteen hundred hours. Most of us won’t even be going back to the base to lock up our uniforms.” Sarna stood somewhat unsteadily. “I look forward to seeing you there.” And before anyone could stop her, she’d bent down and planted a lustrous kiss on Carth’s lips. After a few seconds she finally let go, and left.

A moment of silence passed

Aaryn whistled. “And here I thought she wasn’t into you,” he mused.

Chapter 6: Chapter Five

Chapter Text

PALESIA CENTRAL COMMAND, LANNIK

Forn Dodonna, admiral and Supreme Commander of the Republic Fleet, was rarely — if ever — allowed a chance to sleep. What with the Sith Empire running rings around the Republic fleet, combined with Republic soldiers deserting left, right, and centre; many were left wondering as to just how Dodonna managed to keep on going. The answer, as her happy-go-lucky aide would say, was a nightly routine of an hour-long soak in the bath, quickly followed by a relaxing massage from the best Twi’lek masseurs credits could buy. The truth, as told by Admiral Dodonna, was an hourly routine of caf, caf, and more caf. Most nights she barely got a minute’s rest due to the sheer amount of caffeine coursing through her blood.

Thank the Force for make-up.

And so it was that Dodonna had taken to piling duties onto her aide; in turn he’d begun to pile those same duties upon his own aides. It wasn’t every day that dozens of junior under-secretaries to Republic senators were expected to draft a plan of action to retake a system here, or destroy a shipyard there, but Dodonna simply needed a break. Preferably before she made a fatal mistake and accidentally allowed Coruscant to be overrun with Sith Acolytes bearing lightsabres.

Fortunately, that was not about to happen any time soon. Almost a full year ago, the Republic had routed a massive Sith fleet in orbit of Lannik, and the enemy garrisons had been on the defensive ever since. Now, Dodonna was in the midst of a full inspection tour of duty on the front lines, and she’d chosen Palesia, capital city of Lannik, as her base of operations for the time being. Unfortunately for the Republic’s annual budget. Dodonna’s move also meant that the entire defence department had to up sticks and move with her. Already, the HoloNet was awash with anti-Dodonna sentiments, most of which sprouted, unofficially of course, from those working within the senate itself. As long as Dodonna kept fighting the good fight, the supreme chancellor couldn’t afford to fire her.

Or, at least, she hoped.

Dodonna was career military, so it was unsurprising to note that she lived like a Mandalorian, thus the only items to be found in her quarters were a large, wroshyr bookcase, a small durasteel desk flanked either side by a pair of uncomfortable durasteel chairs, and a considerably large ceiling fan, which Dodonna had requested be fit after two days of profuse sweating in the dry Lannik heat. To the left of the desk, an antique wroshyr door opened to a hall with similar doors leading to a small bedroom, a refresher egress, and a personal dining room. Apart from a small pile of flimsi on her desk, Dodonna’s quarters were spotless. Her aide, Marloon Zher, often commented on Dodonna’s lack of personal touch; not a single holo of her family or close friends in sight. She’d even kept the Lannik decorators from changing the colour scheme from the neutral greys and whites that adorned the room.

Already in the middle of her twelfth cup of caf that morning, Dodonna, sat behind her desk, was expecting a call from the supreme chancellor’s office on Coruscant. She did not, however, truly expect anything different from the last time she’d been commed. The loss of whole systems, the admiral knew, would force the chancellor to place the blame squarely on her shoulders, yet again — if only to save his own ass. For the sake of argument, Dodonna would play along. But when the time came to write her memoirs, the admiral would reveal everything she had on the chancellor; all the dirt, lies, and scandal — from his family’s background, to how he’d managed to win a landslide victory mere days after the previous chancellor, Jhorash B’etann, was killed in the Battle of Vanquo. All in all, Dodonna surmised the chancellor would take up at least five or six chapters of her memoirs alone.

Dodonna’s personal holocomm beeped, interrupting her musings. She keyed in her access code, and waited with bated breath.

Supreme Chancellor Fiennes Tarkin, regaled in a red shimmersilk robe, had been in his mid-fifties when he’d been sworn in six years ago, with black hair in a fashionable Eriaduan style. Dark brown eyes, deep-set and rimmed in a prominent brow, had always been regarded (though Dodonna would whole-heartedly disagree, if only in secret) as one of the kindest, most caring pair of eyes ever to grace the Galactic Senate. Now though, the black hair was gone, entirely replaced with deep grey. The so-called kind and caring eyes were beset by wrinkles and scare that weren’t present when last they’d spoken. The smile was the worst part of the man, though; a smile that had always reached his eyes, even when he lied through his teeth, and Dodonna secretly regarded it as the bane of the Republic. Still, the senate regarded Tarkin as their saviour, their knight in shining armour, and Dodonna was not prepared to deny them that.

“Supreme Chancellor. To what do I own the pleasure?”

“Admiral Dodonna,” Tarkin acknowledged. “May I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.”

Dodonna co*cked an eyebrow. “Naturally.”

Tarkin, a man who always kept his face neutral, unusually mimicked her expression for a split-second before going on. “I’ll endeavour to keep this brief. I trust I need not remind you of the status of the Sith fleet.”

Dodonna chose instead to answer Tarkin’s rhetorical question. “Of course, Chancellor,” she said. “Malak has our forces effectively on the defensive. Hell, if a lieutenant on Ryloth sneezed, the Dark Lord would know about it. I trust I need not tell you, Chancellor, that we are losing this war; we simply do not have the resources necessary to strategically rout Malak’s forces.”

Tarkin’s holographic gaze became hard as durasteel. “It would be bad for morale, Admiral, if any of the troops on the front lines knew about this."

By bad, you mean that I’d be out of a job, thought Dodonna sourly. “Believe me, Chancellor, there is absolutely no risk of our men losing morale.”

Unnervingly, Tarkin produced one of his famous — infamous, in Dodonna’s mind — smiles. He remained like this — still, silent, and smiling — for a short moment, before returning to his usual neutral self. But it was a moment fraught with warning, nonetheless. “Grand Master Vrook reports that some of his Jedi have disappeared.”

“Yes, Chancellor,” replied Dodonna. “Marloon informed me of the Endar Spire’s disappearance over Taris. The reports I’ve received are, thus far, sketchy.”

“Did Marloon also report that Taris is now under Sith control, Admiral?”

Dodonna swallowed loudly. She had hoped to have kept that little piece of intel under wraps until she could put together a rescue mission.

“Did he also tell you, Admiral, that the Endar Spire was destroyed rather than having disappeared?”

That got her attention. No one, no one, was supposed to about what had happened at Taris, and the loss of the Endar Spire. Well, no one aside from herself, Marloon, and the Jedi Council. Chancellor Tarkin, ideally, should never have even heard about the whole debacle until weeks after any survivors had been debriefed. That the chancellor knew put Dodonna very much on edge. She downed the remainder of her caf. “Excuse me, Chancellor, but I bel—”

“Cannok got your tongue, Admiral?” Tarkin interrupted. His face became dark, as if the lighting had lowered on Coruscant. “The Endar Spire may have been just one ship, but Taris is an entire system that’s now lost to the Sith. You are not on the senate’s payroll to lose our systems, Admiral Dodonna. From Taris, the Sith are a couple of dozen victories away from taking the entirety of the Hydian Way. After that, they’ll only be a couple of jumps away from Coruscant itself. The casualties will be atrocious; it will be a bloodbath akin to nothing we have ever before known in the Republic’s history!” Tarkin’s gaze stared daggers through the HoloNet connection. “On your head be it, Admiral Dodonna.” The chancellor ended the communication.

Dodonna stood in silence. She couldn’t yet decide if she felt furious at being treated like a schoolgirl, or terrified of the chancellor’s wrath.

All she knew was that she was in desperate need of another cup of caf.

Chapter 7: Chapter Six

Chapter Text

JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

To the denizens of the Republic, Jedi Council meetings were thought of as mind-numbingly boring, with the Masters sitting in their high-backed chairs debating whatever subject the senate found to be too petty.

Master Vandar, usually the infectious calm in the storm, had walked from the chamber over an hour previously in order to head back to his responsibilities at the Dantooine enclave. Master Chitt, the only Toydarian in the Order, fluttered in front of the Order’s historian, Master Atris, all the while flailing his arms around in disgust as Atris continued to argue her point all-too vehemently. The Geonosian Master Prilka Doj’s powerfully built wings beat in the air in frustration, practically every time the bearded Master Veryte uttered a word. Masters Vrook Lamar, Zhar Lestin, Tiimah, Dorak, Lonna Vash, and Zez-Kai Ell simply sat in their places in silence, their eyes closed and thoughts shut off from the physical world. The messenger who’d brought about this particular argument, the Rodian Vice-Chancellor Hreeda Tan, had gracefully entered, spoken eloquently, answered what questions the Masters had put to him, and left without uttering another word.

Kavar was the first to admit he’d been particularly ready to defend any of Tan’s actions, past or present, and his actions today — well, his manners, really — had only proven Kavar’s opinion of the Rodian.

The argument was beginning to gain volume. Doj’s wings were beating so fast he was actually gaining height. Within minutes, Vrook was on his feet and raising his voice, augmenting it with the Force so that he was heard above the ruckus.

“Stop this! All of you!”

The Masters who were currently on their feet, and, in Doj’s case, in the air - fell silent immediately and turned to face Vrook. The sixty-seven-year old Jedi Grand Master simply gave each of them a highly condescending look. This apparently held enough sway with them, Kavar mused, that the Masters returned to their seats, egos bruised and tempers cooling. Only after the last, Chitt, had sat did Vrook return to his own place in the chamber.

“If anyone here wishes to continue acting like a babbling, bumbling band of bantha,” said Vrook, “they will kindly leave this Temple at once.” When silence continued in the chamber, Vrook went on. “Now, we must decide what we are going to do about the Taris debacle.”

“If what Chairman Tan told us is true,” Dorak said, “the chancellor will use this ambush to discredit the Order.”

Chitt’s wings sprang up in anger. “He wouldn’t dare!” he said, his clicking language in full flow. “The Galactic Senate would never be swayed by manoeuvring so transparent!”

“Calm yourself, Chitt,” Vash spoke. “Your faith in the senate is commendable, but even you know that the senators have always supported Chancellor Tarkin. Remember Malachor Five.”

Tiimah, his four hands resting on his powerful thighs, spoke with a weariness not easily acknowledged. “Lonna, I am sure none of us here need reminding of that terrible day.” The Besalisk turned to Vandar. “Master Vandar, your empathic abilities are legend; can you sense nothing of Bastila?”

Vandar, his eyes closing, sat still for a long moment. Eventually he opened his eyes and Kavar could immediately see that his old master had failed. “I sense nothing of Bastila, Master Tiimah, though I suspect we all would have sensed her passing, were she indeed dead.”

Atris, her long white hair cascading down around the back of her waist, admitted, “It is not Bastila we need to worry over; it is her… companion… who truly holds the key to a Republic victory. If he dies, so does the Order.”

“There is no need to repeat this argument again, Atris,” said Vrook. “I, for one, would like to return to the subject at hand.”

“Taris cannot remain in Malak’s hands,” Zhar said. “There are simply too many resources for Malak to exploit. The Republic could very well lose this war.”

“Just one of many reasons the chancellor cannot afford to turn against us, not fully,” said Vash, nodding.

Kavar, and several on the council, were nodding, too. The council had long suspected Chancellor Tarkin of spreading, unofficially, anti-Jedi sentiment throughout the Republic and several of the outlying systems since the beginning of the Jedi Civil War. The senate, ever-indebted to their glorious leader, had backed Tarkin’s appeals behind the scenes, and so the Jedi had been forced to start taking a back-seat in the war against Malak. And like every other part of the Republic, the Jedi relied on a yearly budget.

A budget that had been cut quite severely.

Because of the lower funding, the Jedi Temple had suffered; the exterior paint-work was peeling, and light fixtures were routinely falling from the ceilings. The chancellor had even gone so far as to cut the electricity supply to the Temple, leaving the lowest rooms in the sub-levels bathed in utter darkness both day and night. All in the name of “assisting the war effort.”

Atris’ face was one of scorn. “Bah! We are down to ten percent of reserve power and refresher systems are beginning to shut down! It won’t be long until we’re forced to recharge out lightsabres using a public terminal.”

“I suspect that is what the chancellor is trying to do,” Kavar said in measured tones. “I also suspect that he would not wish any further Jedi involvement on Taris.”

Zhar was appalled. “Surely the chancellor cannot expect us to attempt another project like the Jedi Tower — it’s preposterous!”

Vrook was on his feet. “The Jedi Tower was an abject failure, an embarrassment to our Order. I can only hope to the Force that the general public does not gain knowledge of those eve—”

The Jedi Master halted mid-sentence. Kavar felt a series of vibrations under his booted feet, and a low murmur was heard in the air. But the worst was yet to hit them.

********************

The blast tore through the ferrocrete walls of the Jedi Temple in a spectacular array of shrapnel. Two Jedi, meditating in silence around neighbouring fountains, were forced off their backsides and dozens of metres into the air, before being hit by the airborne projectiles that previously made up the nearby wall. The Jedi fell to the floor with sickening crunches, and neither moved again.

For every Jedi taken into the Temple here on Coruscant, at least five were accepted into the Sith Academy on Korriban, Darth Bandon knew. The Academy, founded during the Great Sith War almost four and a half decades previously, was one of the many such institutions spread throughout the known galaxy, training would-be acolytes in the ways of the Dark Side of the Force. Bandon himself had been accepted into the academy on Korriban. He’d excelled on all levels, and before long had caught the eye and admiration of a certain Darth Malak.

After the treacherous Jedi attempted to destroy Darth Revan, Malak’s former master, Malak had travelled back to Korriban in order to search for an apprentice of his own. And since all the other candidates had met with “unfortunate accidents” in the Valley of the Sith Lords, Bandon was the only acolyte left in one piece for Malak to take on as his apprentice. Over the months, Malak and Bandon had become so entwined with the Force, that onlookers had fled in sheer terror at the sight of the pair mowing down unwary enemies.

Suddenly, Bandon felt the tell-tale presence of those strong in the Light Side of the Force. The Sith Apprentice wrapped his Force aura tight around himself, lowering his own presence so as not to give himself away too soon. As several Jedi began to gather in the nearby doorway, Bandon slipped into the shadows beneath a large waterfall, mindful to keep his aura cloaked.

A lanky, somewhat non-descript Togruta, who to Bandon’s eye could be no more than twenty or thirty years of age, was the first to enter the enormous Room of a Thousand Fountains and, trading words with the human comrade on his left, cautiously stepped forward to survey the once-tranquil room. It took all of Bandon’s self-control not to place his hand on his lightsabre and ignite the twin crimson blades; he longed to cleave those filthy Jedi heads from their filthy Jedi bodies.

The Togruta continued stepping gradually forward, lightsabre at the ready. Within moments he’d passed beneath Bandon’s hiding place and entered a large copse of assari trees. Bandon’s lips curled into a vicious smile. The Togruta, unwittingly, had just elected himself to be the next to die.

The Sith Apprentice, mindful to keep his aura gathered tightly to his body, silently slipped through the shadows from under the waterfall and stalked the Togruta. It wasn’t particularly difficult, mused Bandon. All he had to do was pounce on the alien Jedi from behind and the filthy Togruta’s body would fall limply to the floor.

In pieces, added Bandon inwardly.

********************

Kavar ran into the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and came to an abrupt stop. To his left, the Jedi Master saw a gaping hole in the wall, with blue sky in the distance, mostly obscured by heavy smoke. Two apprentices, Gallar Styles and M’Tas-Lioe, lay in unnatural positions on the debris-ravaged floor. What a snap-hiss Kavar activated his lightsabres, the usual blue blade paired with a shoto of the same colour. Up ahead was danger, and he knew he was walking directly into the thick of it.

Kavar stalked further into the room, wary of an ambush. Clearly, the attacker — whoever they were — had known exactly what they were doing. Kavar, however, had absolutely no clue as to what the attacker had planned. Stretching out with the Force, Kavar’s eyes widened in shock; the attacker was trained in the Force, attempting to cloak themselves within the mystical energy field. He smiled knowingly… had the infiltrator learnt that particular talent from Master Vash, they most likely would’ve been able to elude him. It was fortunate that they had not.

The Jedi Master, using the Force as his aid, sprang thirty or so metres into the air and propelled himself like the expert acrobat he was. His blades ready to stab into the attacker as he hit his mark, Kavar fell through the assari treetops. The blue blades plunged into the floor up to their hilts. His expected opponent — his expectantly dead opponent — was not there.

Before he could peer around his location, Kavar was blasted back by a powerful by a powerful wave of Force energy. Rolling to his feet as he landed, the Jedi Master raised his lightsabres in the Jar’Kai variant of a Form VI defence. He was momentarily taken aback as he saw a lone figure, wielding a crimson blade of their own, racing toward him.

The blades of the two opponents clashed with a heat all of their own. Master Kavar, almost stunned by the sheer raw power possessed by the infiltrator, attempted to drive his opponent back, but to no avail. In fact, it was Kavar who was being driven back. Step by step, his opponent’s blade slammed into his own with amazingly deft and agile grace, which almost made Kavar wonder whether his opponent had studied under an actual blademaster.

Spotting an opening, Kavar feinted with his off-hand, bringing his right-hand lightsabre over his opponent’s blade so as to decapitate that dark warrior and bring the duel to an abrupt halt. His opponent wasn’t fooled so easily, however. As soon as Kavar’s blade swung back for his neck, the warrior dived down and almost took Kavar’s legs off at the knees. Kavar flipped into the air and landed nimbly on the floor two metres from the warrior’s left. From the smell Kavar deduced that the warrior had come just a tad too close for comfort; the legs of his robe pants were badly singed. He had to bring this to an end, and quickly.

Deactivating his lightsabres, Kavar stood facing his enemy. “You are foolish to believe you can end my life, warrior.”

“My master has allowed me to kill all who attempt to stop me. This is the beginning of a new age — the Age of the Sith!” The warrior cackled with hatred so strong that it stung Kavar’s eyes. “And no Jedi shall have a place in the New Order. You time is at an end, Kavar. Face it, and die with what little honour you still command.”

The warrior hefted his lightsabre above his head, preparing to sweep the weapon through the air and cut Kavar in two. The Jedi Master gathered the Force around him, feeling its currents and eddies, until he could take no more. Finally, before the warrior could hurl his blade, Kavar unleashed a blast of pure Force energy that hit the warrior, lifted him off his feet, and sent him flying toward the other side of the enormous room — some thousand hundred metres away.

“After you, sir,” said Kavar as the warrior hit the wall with a loud smack.

Unfortunately, the warrior recovered quickly enough to escape before Kavar or the other Jedi could capture him.

Chapter 8: Chapter Seven

Chapter Text

UNDERCITY, TARIS

She woke with a start. Her torturers had finished with her… how long ago? Must be several hours, at least, she thought.

Bastila’s world was pitch blackness; her eyes failed her after a particularly lengthy “interrogation” had over-stimulated the occipital lobe in her brain, causing her to scream in pain as her vision brightened to painfully bright white light for several minutes, before turning to blackness and causing her to fall unconscious once more.

Apparently her torturers had considered that unworthy of continuing with the sadism.

Hearing wasn’t good, either — in fact, she was virtually deaf. One of the sad*sts, an Anzat of lithe body, blue eyes and red hair, had unsheathed the pair of proboscises she kept hidden in her cheeks and proceeded to guide them into her ear canals so as to simply amuse herself. The pain of feeling her tympanic membranes perforated bordered on the extreme. Now that she’d awakened, she could feel the blood and the pus dried down her neck and her exposed body.

Yet she wasn’t going to be defeated.

All in all, Bastila was thoroughly skrogged off. And whenever — however — she escaped, her captors would have the worst kriffing day of their lives.

********************

UPPER CITY

Night had fallen. Taris’ moon Rogue was high in the sky — soon to be followed by the remaining three satellites — and yet the ecumenopolis of Taris continued to be as lively as it ever was during the height of daylight. Carth was taking a power nap on one of the apartment’s single beds. Aaryn, however, wasn’t getting much rest due to Carth’s incessant snoring. Instead of attempting to get some shut-eye, Aaryn had wandered over to one of the apartment’s windows, opened it a few inches, and basked in the cool Tarisian breeze.

The city-scape was almost breath-taking — or at least it would be if one could wipe away the racism and inherent arrogance from the faces of many of Taris’ upper class. Aaryn and Carth had seen it for themselves the moment they stepped out of their apartment just that morning. Then there was an old man who was whining on about how “alien scum were poised to invade!” — as if he had any kind of right to dictate who could and could not walk the free streets of Taris. Aaryn hadn’t long been able to remain composed; Carth, fortunately, had stopped him from lashing out in any way, shape, or form, before any innocent (and no-so-innocent) passers-by could get hurt through any ensuing violence.

Hundreds of pairs of blazing lights signalled the headlamps of Taris’ night traffic, each pair corresponding to several varieties of airspeeder whizzing along at high speed. Aaryn found himself wondering about the passengers of those speeders; who they were, what species they were, where they might be going. Unfortunately, the Sith conquest had grounded all non-Sith ships from leaving the planet’s atmosphere, as well as any planet-wide traffic throughout the ecumenopolis. Usually, Aaryn surmised, there would have been thousands — tens of thousands — of speeders in the air, even in the of night.

A drawn out yawn signalled Carth’s awakening from his slumber. “Feels almost like home,” he mumbled to himself after a lengthy pause.

Home… for Aaryn, home was on Deralia, a planet in the Outer Rim. Located within the Tammuz sector, Deralia held a pair amount of trade due to being close to a major hyperspace route connecting the Perlemian Trade Route with the Corellian Run. During the Mandalorian Wars, the planet had taken in hundreds of human and Stereb refugees after the Mandalorians devastated their ancient homeworld, and Aaryn, then a full-time smuggler, had been present among the Republic forces who had ferried the survivors from the destruction. Aaryn’s world had twice resisted Mandalorian forces, pushing them back into Hutt Space on both occasions, and so Admiral Dodonna had personally recommended the agricultural biosphere as a site for relocation.

For most worlds, taking in refugees involved a certain loss to that particular world’s economy. But the Deralian economy had in fact been dramatically bolstered by the influx of population.

“Yeh,” Aaryn replied. “I guess so.”

Carth sighed silently. “Before the Sith came, Thani — our capital city — was much like this; kilometre-high skyscrapers, etcetera. At night, there would be crowds of people bustling through the walkways.” He moved over to stand next to Aaryn, his forearms resting on the seam of the open window. The cool dusk air fanned at Carth’s dark brown hair.

Without looking at his companion, Aaryn motioned toward the door. “We should get going, if you’re ready.”

The commander nodded, and made his way to the ensuite to shower and change.

********************

Having left their apartment tower behind them, Carth and Aaryn were pacing toward the elevator across the walkway that would take them to Sarna’s place, which was located on the neighbouring tower’s 114th floor. Hidden in the shadows, before the elevator doors, was an elderly human man. Another human, of not-so-gentile nature, and an Aqualish were standing in front of him, both carrying heavyweight weaponry — a mark III Zabrak Tystel on the Aqualish, and an Arkanian heavy pistol on the human.

“Davik says you missed your payments,” stated the human.

“Davik don’t like you missing payments,” added the Aqualish, apparently the lesser of two evils.

The old man looked scared half to death. “Here – I’ve got fifty credits! A down payment, that should buy me some time, right?”

The human thug tutted and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, hefting his pistol. “You’re out of time. Now, it’s all or nothing. Davik can’t have people not paying his debts.”

The Aqualish grew agitated and slowly began to raise his weapon. Carth whispered into Aaryn’s ear. “I know we have to be careful about drawing attention to ourselves, but are we just going to let them drag this guy off?”

“That too bad,” the Aqualish was saying. “Davik going to want us to make example out of you! You’re coming with us!”

“No! Help; somebody help!” The old man was sobbing uncontrollably as he backed himself into the wall. “They’re going to kill me!”

The human thug noticed Carth and Aaryn watching the situation unfold, and held out a hand to stop his companion from inadvertently shooting the blithering man. “Hold on a second. Lookays like we got ourselves a couple of witnesses here.

The Aqualish turned to the Republic officers. “Davik don’t like witnesses.”

Aaryn, however, wasn’t intimidated, and Carth was left wondering as to whether the young officer would even be bothered by having a blaster waving picometres from his face. Aaryn pointed his blaster at the human. “Leave this man alone, or you’ll have to deal with us.”

The thug’s eyebrows flew up into his hairline. The Aqualish’s mouth leapt agape in utter shock, as if no one had ever before thought to fight back.

“Guess we have to teach you two to mind your business,” said the human, recovering from his shock.

Before either thug had their weapons raised to fire, Carth and Aaryn had sent at least six shots each into the pair, sending them over the edge of the walkway and down into the abyss below.

********************

Brejik was not in the mood for games. It had been almost a week since his men had captured the woman, and only now had Brejik finally gleaned some kind of information on her. She went by the name Bastila Shan. She was born on the planet of Talravin in the Core, nearly 27 standard years ago. She worked for the Galactic Republic, and not just as an officer in the armed forces. It turned out that Bastila was a Jedi. A Jedi of all things! At last Brejik could begin to understand her resilience to torture.

Which was when he’d decided to hire in the services of an Anzat to help the process along. Anzat were known for their immunity to certain Force-based abilities, and this particular Anzat female came at quite a price — but in Brejik’s mind, she was worth every deci-cred. Though her body couldn’t quite amount to Bastila’s, not with years of gruelling training in the Jedi Arts at least, Nakia Yoru had been highly recommended by the bounty hunter Calo Nord and, as such, Brejik had secured a one-to-one meeting with the torture specialist.

Nakia was not what he’d expected. Her hair was red as blood, contrasting perfectly with the icy blue of her eyes. Her skin was pale enough to suggest she’d spent many a year on somewhere like Hoth or Ando Prime. She wore deep red lipstick and very little mascara, and wore skin-tight rancor hide that did not leave much to the imagination. Brejik had given Nakia 50,000 credits — just over half of her full payment — upfront, and gave her the chance to demonstrate her abilities first-hand by allowing her access to Bastila. After just ten minutes, Nakia had left a bleeding, temporarily blind and deaf prisoner, who was literally gagging for more abuse.

It made Brejik’s mouth salivate. Luckily for the leader of the Black Vulkars, Bastila could easily take more punishment.

Oh, yes. Brejik was most certainly in the mood for games.

Brejik’s thoughts were interrupted as Kandon Ark paced into his private sanctum. “What is it?”

Kandon swallowed. “There are several strange men making their way through the Undercity. Witnesses report they used the main elevator from the surface, and that Taris is now under direct control of someone they called Darth Malak. The newcomers see—”

“Sith!” spat Brejik. “Sith in the Undercity! We must stop them. I want everyone to ready their swoops.”

“Brejik?”

Brejik stopped, his mind in full gear. “No… round up eight of our best and have them meet us in the garage in half an hour. It is imperative we strike now!”
Kandon nodded. “Yes, Brejik.” He left.

********************

UPPER CITY

“Hey! You made it!”

Aaryn and Carth had just stepped inside Sarna’s apartment, to be greeted by a cacophony of music and laughter, and by a warm hug from Sarna herself. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show! The party’s in full swing — come on in!” Sarna, apparently drunk, handed both of them pints of some yellowish, semi-translucent alcoholic liquid. “You have to try this Tarisian ale — it’s fantastic!” Sarna immediately threw her head back and downed her own pint of ale in only a few huge gulps.

“We should’ve conquered this planet ages ago!” And with that, Sarna left to rejoin the party.

Aaryn and Carth slowly turned their heads and faced one another and snorted in laughter. “Don’t look at me,” said Aaryn. “You’re the one who agreed for us to come here.”

Chapter 9: Chapter Eight

Chapter Text

JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT

Kavar had led the teams of Jedi from the pinnacles of the Temple’s spires to the darkest caverns of the catacombs below the foundations. The Dark Jedi had yet to be found — even Master Vandar had crept through the ventilation systems throughout the Temple’s infrastructure, but to no avail. The warrior hadn’t even let his guard down accidentally.

The only other places to search were the four council chambers.

Kavar stood outside the main double doors, with Atris and the Rodian Jedi Knight Fel Druorr backing him up. “Masters, what happens if this warrior is not here?” asked Druorr.

Atris scoffed at him. “He is still here in the Temple. I sense him.”

Kavar knew that Atris could be abrupt with those she considered to be below her. He also knew her to be strong in the Force. But Kavar was sure beyond a doubt that his Force potential was greater than that of Atris’ own. And he had absolutely no sense of the Dark Jedi within the High Council Chamber, or indeed within the Temple itself. “Atris—”

“He is here, Kavar. He is here, and once we find him he shall die.”

She was resolute, of that Kavar was certain. But he had to admit that Atris’ attitude had become disturbing of late. Since Meetra Surik had been forced to leave the Order after the closing of the Mandalorian Wars, Atris had become brusque, standoffish, boastful — and arrogantly so. Kavar often thought about where his old sparring partner was, what she was doing. The day Meetra stood in the council chamber, the day they had exiled her, she had seemed so right, so… full of conviction for her actions in the war. And yet there was something else — deeper, past the surface.

Meetra Surik had been empty. As if she’d let go of the Force.

Or had the Force let go of her? Kavar wondered.

Kavar turned to Atris. “No, Atris. If he is to die, it will be Malak who swings the blade. Not us.”

“We are Jedi. We will do what we have to; if that means killing those who defile our Temple, so be it.”

“Calm, Atris,” said Kavar. “We are Jedi, yes... but that gives us neither the need nor the right to take any life.” He looked into his colleague’s eyes, pleading with her inner nature. “All of us took that same oath. This Dark Jedi, should we find him, will only die by my hand if there is no other course available. Will you do the same?”

Atris’ face seemed to soften a little, but it hardened once again in a flash as her personality reasserted itself. “Do what you will, Kavar, and I will do as I will; as the Force bids me.”

********************

Darth Bandon, hanging upside-down in the rafters of the High Council chamber, and concealing himself in the Force, had almost had enough. He could hear two of the Jedi talking just outside the doors. Instead of entering in an attempt to locate him, the Jedi were squabbling. Perhaps Malak had a few sympathisers in the temple…?

Perhaps another Great Schism was on the horizon.

Bandon grimaced at the thought. That was all he needed; more Jedi turning to the Dark Side, becoming stronger in the Force for the effort, and all the while his master would continually search for Bandon’s replacement among their ranks.

Before he could continue with his line of thought, Bandon heard the faint hum of the opening double doors. Three Jedi entered — a Rodian and two humans; the Rodian Bandon didn’t immediately recognise, however he knew the man and the woman from his prior life as a Jedi Apprentice.

Kavar had barely escaped with his life in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Now it seemed he believed three of them could stand against a Sith warrior. No matter. Bandon had yet to unleash his full capability against him, and then he would fall upon his blade. The Rodian would fall. As would the vaunted Master Atris.

“I sense your presence, warrior! Come out and face us, instead of hiding like the coward you are!”

Atris was certainly feisty. Bandon knew to be on his guard when facing her; Jedi historian or no, she was still a lethal weapon when provoked.

Therefore, she was a threat to him.

Darth Bandon, apprentice to Darth Malak, Dark Lord of the Sith, leapt down from his position and activated both of his twin crimson blades.

********************

Within moments of hearing the distinctive him of lightsabre blades igniting, Kavar activated his own lightsabres and spun on the spot — only to see Fel Druorr quartered by a rapidly spinning twin-bladed weapon. Atris leapt into the air, her mastery of Ataru slipping into lethal gear. This allowed Kavar to pivot to his right — exactly where Atris had been — and block a horizontal swing by the Dark Jedi, who immediately bounded toward Master Chitt’s council seat in an attempt to gain some ground.

Kavar caught up to him and swung his primary sabre through Chitt’s seat; the warrior leapt over Kavar, who had to duck and roll to avoid a fast and furious death, and the top portion of the seat fell to the marbled floor with a loud crack. Atris landed nimbly to Kavar’s left.

Three Jedi blades, against two Sith blades. Two masters against an apprentice.

They stood stock-still, stares piercing each combatant like bolts of lightning thrown from an ancient deity.

Atris was the first to break the silence. “You have no hope of victory here, warrior. You will leave, or you will die.”

The dark warrior laughed. “You are wrong, Master Atris. It is you who will die, not I — I have foreseen it. The Jedi Order shall crumble and fall, and I shall lead the galaxy into a new dawn!”

“You?” Kavar asked, astounded at the very notion. “What of Malak? You foresee your master’s death, too?” This was a bluff; Kavar had no idea whether this warrior was connected to Malak in any way.

The response was that of a large sneer from the warrior’s mouth. “Naturally. He is weak, and I am strong. It is the role of the apprentice to kill the master. As Malak did to Revan, I will do to Malak. For I am Sith.”

“And it is the role of the Jedi,” spat Atris, “to eradicate the Sith and restore balance to the Force.” She brought her brilliant blue blade up in a defensive posture as she spoke.

The warrior smiled. “Then, by all means, follow me.”

Before either Atris or Kavar could act, the warrior used the Force to shatter the glass window behind him, leaping out onto the roof of the temple a metre below. Prior to landing, however, he hurled the shattered glass toward the two Jedi Masters. Atris Force-leapt out of the way, though Kavar was caught unprepared and sent flying through the opposite pane of glass. Without stopping to check on her colleague, Atris sped out of the chamber, lightsabre in hand, intent on following the assailant.

********************

The roof of the Jedi Temple was close to six hundred metres square, covering the main temple precinct used by the Order in a patchwork of durasteel tiles. Coruscant’s false surface of durasteel and flexiglass surrounded the vista like a snug blanket. The air was still.

The Dark Jedi threw his left arm out behind him and sent Force lightning hurling toward Atris, who interposed the crackling blue energy with her blade. The pair continued to run along the roof; the warrior heading toward the north-west, and Atris in pursuit. Suddenly, the Dark Jedi leapt into the air and brought himself down behind Atris, who kept running forward without abandon. Before she could reposition herself, she felt her body lift into the air and tossed around and around in a dizzying spin. Every so often, Atris caught a glimpse of the warrior — laughing with a crackling evilness that she could’ve sworn she could feel in her bones.

It took almost twenty long seconds of this before Atris saw black creeping into the edges of her eyesight. Wind was being swept up around her, and her extremities were beginning to feel the effects of paraesthesia, and her stomach felt as if it were performing backflips.

Before she began to vomit, Atris blacked out.

********************

Bandon cackled as the Jedi Master Atris fell limp in the centre of his Force-induced maelstrom. Clearly she was not a true threat to him or his plans. Master Kavar hadn’t pursued, so the Sith Apprentice assumed that the weapons master had been injured by his impromptu attack.

Bandon used the Force to stop the maelstrom, watching as the Jedi Master fell hard on to the durasteel tiles, before continuing toward the temple’s archives. His master had ordered him to make the feint look as real as possible, and Bandon had taken it upon himself to make a stop by the holocron chambers.

It wasn’t as if Malak ever had to know what Bandon was really here for.

Bandon used a Force-augmented leap to clear the last fifty metres to the approximate location of the archives; before landing, he swept his blade in a rough circle and dropped through the durasteel roof, landing a hundred and fifty metres on the tan coloured marble flooring, using the Force to cushion the fall.

All around him were selves of nerf-hide bound books three metres high — the Jedi had yet to convert to the new holographic form — spread out over sixteen levels.

Unfortunately there were no Jedi milling about for Bandon’s bloodlust to consume. They were all too busy searching for him. Opening himself to the Force, Bandon began a systematic sweep for the holocron chamber. Holocrons — especially the more powerful ones — often gave off a strong presence in the Force; Jedi, Sith, and all manner of Force-users included a portion of their will inside the handheld device. No one quite knew how this transference created the Force presence, but it was undeniable to those who called the Force their tool.

There was only one holocron Darth Bandon had his sights set on.

He paced toward the central computer stations. The archives truly were deserted — he sensed no presences in the entire archival chamber. It made Bandon’s mission that much easier.

Though, he’d be the first to admit that he was massively disappointed.

********************

Captain Hiyax Meru followed Vice Admiral Tiran Cede through the shuffling crowds. The admiral had chosen Monument Plaza as his own — and his senior officers’ — personal de-stress area on Coruscant. Hiyax wasn’t all that surprised, to be honest. The Republic Navy was taking quite the beating at the hands of the traitors Malak and Karath out in the Mid Rim, and Cede had been appointed as the commander of the Coruscant Home Fleet. Hiyax doubted Cede had actually wanted the assignment, not least because the admiral was not on the best of terms with fellow officer Admiral Dodonna.

The admiral looked older with each passing week. The current war, already being called the Jedi Civil War, had lasted for roughly one and a half years now, and practically every officer’s hair had turned grey since the beginning, with wrinkles not too far behind. Dodonna herself had gone from a deep brunette to plasteel grey in less than six months, though her commanding demeanour had fortunately not borne the brunt of time’s assault.

The alternating intonations of emergency sirens interrupted Hiyax’s ruminations. Dozens of metres above Monument Plaza, Coruscant Security Force speeders shot through the atmosphere, sirens screaming and lights blaring. Looking back at Cede, Hiyax saw that the admiral was speaking animatedly into his comlink, a look of grave concern on his face. After several minutes, Cede returned his comlink to his belt and strode over to the colonel. “That was the Anti-Terrorism Unit. They’re responding to reports of incidents in the Jedi Temple, in which several Jedi are believed to have been injured.”

“The Jedi Temple?” Hiyax almost didn’t believe it. The temple was supposedly impenetrable against any form of assault, easily dissuading anyone from attempting such a feat. “Surely everyone would know that attacking the Jedi would be suicide — what would possess anyone to do that?”

Cede appeared to frown at the suggestion, his dark face a mask of concern. “From what I’ve been told, there’re supposed to be lightsabres involved — red lightsabres.”

Hiyax paled at those words.Sith, here on Coruscant?he thought. Was it possible that Malak could be lining up to assault the Republic’s capital?

Chapter 10: Chapter Nine

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

"Get ready for me, love,
'cos I'm a commer
I simply gotta march,
My heart's a drummer!
Nobody, no, nobody is gonna
Rain on my parade!"

Belting out the final lyric, Sarna bent over double, her back screaming with pain that was dulled down by the sheer amount of Tarisian ale in her body. Not one to announce such weakness, she decided to drop her microphone, then hurl her legs up into the air and over her body, performing a perfectly drunken part-somersault and landing flat on her gluteus muscles.

Without even batting an eyelid, Sarna returned to her feet and immediately fell once again — this time being caught by the arms of one of the most masculine men she’d ever known. “You okay?” Uthar asked, and Sarna’s heart fluttered.

She batted her eyelids, before replying. “Kiss me!”

And she slapped her hands onto both of Uthar’s cheeks and forced her lips to mate with his.

********************

Carth and Aaryn watched as Sarna attempted to perform a somersault. Landing on her backside after incomprehensibly screaming the lyrics to an ancient song that no one seemed to have enjoyed. Carth was forced to rush forward as the drunk performer stood and immediately began to fall again. Landing in his arms, Carth said to her, “You okay?”

The Sith officer’s eyelids appeared to flutter, before she said something that resembled an incredibly vulgar word, slapped both her hands onto Carth’s cheeks and put her lips to his own.

The kiss was so unexpected that Carth simply couldn’t pull away from Sarna before feeling her tongue press against his lips, attempting to gain entry to his mouth. Then it got worse.

In the span of seconds, Sarna vomited all over Carth — breaking the kiss — and fell to the floor unconscious. She then vomited again, spewing partly-digested alcohol over the floor of her apartment.

Carth turned to face Aaryn. The junior officer was struggling to stifle a laugh, and Carth had to admit that he was beginning to do the same. The contents of Sarna’s stomach dripped from his face, either landing on the floor or on his prized orange flight jacket. “Don’t say it."

“I never realised your kissing was so bad.”

Carth simply raised an eyebrow by way of response.

Aaryn slugged the remainder of his drink, then went to the bar to pour another for himself.

********************

UNDERCITY

Leaving the door ajar, Brejik exited the ‘fresher and padded, naked, to his bed. He lay down, and brought his hand sweeping across the equally naked body of a fair-skinned young woman. Her body was so tempting to Brejik, so much a reminder of Bastila’s own that he almost forgot the subtle differences.

Almost.

“My dear, sweet Ada.” He spoke into her ear, his voice softly lilting.

Ada woke, her dark eyes opening and turning to meet his. She wasn’t unlovely, certainly not by any sane person’s standards, but she was by no means a match for Bastila’s beauty.

And Brejik told this to Ada.

Tears pooled in her eyes, finally streaming down her face and neck, and eventually her breasts. To Brejik, it was highly erotic, reminiscent of some of his previous sexual relationships. He and Kandon Ark, for instance, had been friends here on Taris for years before finally giving in to their hormonal urges. Kandon was originally from Sleheyron, a planet in Hutt Space, and they’d first met when Kandon’s family had fled their homeworld after the Hutts began to subjugate the population to slavery. Omeesh, a particularly vile Hutt and self-styled governor of Sleheyron, had been viciously stabbed to death by one of his slaves, a Twi’lek girl named Yuthura who’d been enslaved during the Hutt’s rise to power.

After their first night together, Kandon had admitted to Brejik that Yuthura was his cousin, and that she’d been missing ever since Omeesh’s death. Kandon had been so upset (and Brejik so bloody uncomfortable at his outburst) that he’d left his Twi’lek lover to calm himself down.

That roughly translated to Brejik finding another lover — Ashana, the lead vocalist of the Twisted Rancor Trio.

A sharp pain flared in Brejik’s left cheek, jolting him out of his reverie. Ada had slapped him, though the hit was pathetically weak. Brejik simply slapped her face with the back of his hand, tossing her to the floor in a heap.

“Don’t you ever slap me again, you kriffing piece of filth!” He grabbed Ada’s clothing from the floor, opened the door that led from his room, and flung them out. He then proceeded to seize Ada’s hair in his right hand, and dragged her out into the corridor and throwing her down roughly. “You will be put to work in the kitchens! And I shall personally see to it that every member of this swoop gang has access to your bunk.” He slammed the door on her.

********************

UPPER CITY

Aaryn opened the draw beside Sarna’s bed. He caught a glimpse of light reflected from a large piece of polished plasteel. Beneath it were more pieces, and Aaryn felt his luck increase. Perhaps all that Force-kark the Jedi keep going on about it true. He’d only been able to gain access to the chest of drawers after waiting hours for every other member of the party to either leave or fall unconscious. Even Carth had succumbed to blacking out once or twice.

Heaving the armour back to their apartment — he’d left Carth at Sarna’s party to sleep off the alcohol — Aaryn laid it out on the table and systematically placed the pieces of plasteel in the best way he could guess the armour was worn. It didn’t help that he’d never worn a full set of armour in his life. After sorting the Sith armour, Aaryn got undressed and slipped into bed, his mind beginning to ache slightly from the drink.

Looking to his right and out through one of the apartment’s windows, Aaryn’s mind wandered. Taris was in the grips of Malak’s Sith Empire, but the Republic hadn’t — thus far — seen fit to retake the system, though naturally the Sith were censoring any and all incoming news from the Tarisian population, so it wasn’t difficult for Aaryn to imagine Taris was virtually blind to the rest of the galaxy.

Taris had only just begun to recover from the Mandalorian Wars, barring the somewhat dramatic rise of humanocentrism via the Tarisian nobles, and Darth Malak had predominantly halted that progress. The Sith Lord is nothing more than a brute. A coward.

A shadow rushing across the window jarred Aaryn from his thoughts, and he leapt up out of the bed in shock. Taking his blaster from under the pillow, Aaryn squinted his eyes and struggled to detect any presence in the darkness. He activated the lights.

The apartment brightened. Aaryn took a full minute to peer around — nothing. The apartment was as secure as when he’d returned from the party, with no possible source of the shadow.

“You seem well, old friend.”

Aaryn virtually jumped out of his skin, spun and fired several times at the precise location of the voice. The coherent bolts of laser energy hit the wall in front of him, passing through the ghostly visage of an old woman. The cowled, greying twin plaits and slightly hunched stance felt familiar to Aaryn, though he knew he’d never met the woman before.

The ghostly woman’s face emitted a lopsided grin. “Blasters were never effective against me in the past,” she said, her low alto voice seeming to echo throughout the apartment. She paused for a couple of seconds. “You don’t recall me.”

Her face took on a funny sort of look, that of a disappointed mother expecting more of her child. Aaryn’s face, meanwhile, had remained white as a sheet of flimsiplast. “Should I?”

The woman remained silent for a long moment before answering. “Perhaps.”

Still pointing his blaster at the woman, Aaryn retreated and sank back onto the ruffled bed. “Who are you?” he asked.

She smiled.

Then she simply disappeared, evaporating into the air like mist, the air around her glowing with a dim white blur for a second before Aaryn was left alone, his thoughts and his heart racing.

Chapter 11: Chapter Ten

Chapter Text

SENATE BUILDING, CORUSCANT

To the general population of the Galactic Republic, the holding office of the Supreme Chancellor, directly beneath the Grand Convocation Chamber, was only ever glimpsed at during HoloNet reruns of Rema Lamar’s The Life and Lies of Fiennes Tarkin, that were repeated only on the lesser-tuned and pirated channels. By 53, Rema — admittedly not the best of holojournalists — had been reporting on the machinations of Republic politics for over three decades. Her first major job had been to document an eyewitness account of the financial and ecological crisis on Deralia a few days prior to her 24th birthday. Naturally, being (as most impetuous youths recall of themselves) ‘so good’ at her job back then, the documentary was redrafted as a bestselling docu-novel.

Literally overnight, Rema Lamar had become a galactic celebrity. Her reports were being broadcast everywhere from Bothawui to Rodia, from Manaan to N’Zoth — although the N’Zoth broadcasts had produced a full-scale revolt among the entire Yevethan population, resulting in the mass-destruction of every HoloNet transmitter in the Koornacht Cluster.

And then the Mandalorian Wars began.

Rema’s boss, Nichelle Kyar, was adamant that she be sent out on assignment to the front lines, and Rema’s first wartime assignment was on Onderon. Iziz was in the first throes invasion by Mandalore’s primary fleet. Needless to say, the city didn’t last long under Mandalorian assault, leaving Rema to drop into Iziz in disguise, making herself out to be a Mandalorian warrior — an experience she never wished to repeat — eventually securing a bolthole in the back rooms of The Latinum Mine, a local cantina owned by a Hutt named Pablax.

Pablax, rather fortuitously for Rema, was no friend of the Mandalorians, and by constantly bribing the drunk warriors who came too close to stumbling upon Rema’s hideout the Hutt and the journalist became quite the pairing. In return, Rema kept business coming into the cantina in droves, with Iziz’s non-Mandalorian citizens virtually bulging the cantina’s walls to breaking point. And that was how it worked for three long, terrifying years.

The night the Occupation came to an end, Rema and Pablax were on a date — a karking date for Force’s sake! They’d drifted past Ov Taraba, Onderon’s premier university, and were about to set foot — and tail — onto Per Lakrea beach, when an astoundingly loud boom cracked through the air, startling the pair of would-be lovers enough to make Rema yelp and leap into Pablax’s pudgy arms. Dxun, Onderon’s primary satellite and would-be sister planet, was high in the sky, stretching across a vast swath of the panorama. As Rema looked on, she began to make out a rather large cloud of smoke drifting from Dxun into Onderon’s own atmosphere. Eventually a huge stretch of tropical forest became cast in flame, producing far more toxic levels of smoke to come spooling from Dxun.

Pablax crooned as the staccato of blaster fire drew his attention to the south-east. Without so much as a warning, Ov Taraba exploded, showering durasteel and transparisteel shrapnel upon the surrounding area. A dozen Centurion-class Republic battlecruisers appeared, seeming to explode forth from the fireball, an escort of Foray-class blockade runners and hundreds of Aurek-class fighters screaming through the air overhead. Basilisk war droids, piloted by Mandalorian warriors, raced to meet the invaders.

“Mee dwanna go stupa!” Pablax blurted. “U wamma wonker?”

“Me?” asked Rema, stupefied. “Why would I want to pay for this? And of course I didn’t order this, the Mandalorians did, in their own way.”

“Kuna kee wabdah nenoleeya.” Without so much as another word, Pablax literally turned on his tail and fled, his stubby arms flying around in sheer terror.

More explosions tore through Iziz, barely allowing Rema the chance to feel hurt or angry. As she watched, dazed, dozens of NR2 gully jumpers — used by the Republic navy for just shy of two decades — proceeded to spill from the ventral hangars of the battlecruisers and landed at different locations in an around Iziz. One such craft descended and grounded not a hundred metres from Rema, and she sprinted toward it at full pelt. The hull parted, revealing the craft’s innards, which immediately spewed white-armoured Republic troops and brown-robed Jedi Knights, blasters and lightsabres held at the ready.

The lead Jedi, a brunette woman who appeared to be in her late-twenties, held her blue blade with a grace borne of years of training. Green blaster bolts sped at her; some travelling past her, missing by mere nanometres, though more ended up being batted directly back at the entrenched Mandalorians. Other Jedi fell lifeless to the dirt three at a time, but the lead Jedi — who, Rema noticed, was sporting a bright red armband on her right bicep — simply advanced forward, continuing to swat the Mandalorian assault back at the enemy.

Three hours later, the Republic forces had pushed the Mandalorians back deeper into the Unifiar Temple, the official residence of Colonel Vaklu and sanctum of Onderon’s military history. The Mandalorian commandant, Mandalore the Ultimate himself, was rumoured to be awaiting the Jedi in the centre of the temple.

Within twenty minutes, the Jedi leader, flanked by nine other Jedi Knights, had made her way through the Mandalorian lines and breached the temple’s main entrance.

For close to an hour all anyone heard from the temple were sounds of blasterfire, random screams of pain, and phases of lingering silence. Eventually, the armbanded Jedi crashed through a thirty-sixth floor window and plummeted to the concrete plaza beneath. Showing an amazing feat of Force ability, the Jedi took control over her fall and, landing on the exterior wall of the temple, literally ran down the side of the building and landed in a crouch. As she sprang back to her feet, a loud bang threw everyone’s heads skyward. A Basilisk sped out of the temple and raced up and out of Onderon’s atmosphere.

Breathing heavily, the Jedi said, “He obviously can’t take the heat.”

Rema pushed her way through the crowd, intent on getting a primetime interview. Upon arriving at her target, Rema took her voice recorder from her pocket and held it at waist height. “You’re quite the acrobat. Where are the others who followed you in?”

The brunette woman looked Rema in the eye. “Dead. Mandalore slew them.” The Jedi recalled her lightsabre, which had landed twelve feet away, to her hand via the Force. “We’ll catch him. Revan and I will make sure of that.”

As the Jedi began to walk away, Rema noticed her stumble and limp slightly. “Are you okay, miss...?”

“Meetra Surik. I just took a bit of a beating, is all. Nothing to concern yourself about... I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Rema Lamar. I’m a holojournalist for the Kyar News Emporium. Been on location here in Iziz for the past three years.” Rema held her hand out to Meetra, and the Jedi Knight shook it in greetings. “So that was actually Mandalore? You must be... what is it you say — strong in the Force — to have survived a confrontation with the Mandalorian leader when dozens of your peers have not. I once heard of several Jedi Masters that were slain by him at Geonosis.”

Surik shook her head. “I’m afraid your information is incorrect, Miss Lamar. Those masters were slaughtered by a Sith Lord named Sion, but he was soon hunted down and defeated. Mandalore the Ultimate was busy bombing Serroco into submission at the time. Come, we must get you to a landing craft and get back to Coruscant before the Mandalorians return in greater numbers.”

And so Rema followed Meetra to the closest available NR2, and together they headed up to the battlecruiser Ravager, the flagship of the Republic’s third fleet. The view from the Ravager’s main bridge viewports allowed Rema to take in the vista of the Dxun moon aflame. From what she’d garnered from eavesdropping on conversations in The Latinum Mine, Rema knew that thousands upon thousands of Mandalorians resided in the dense jungles of the forest moon. Surely the Jedi wouldn’t be complicit in such blatant and, quite frankly, violent genocide?

The Ravager soon entered hyperspace and rocketed out of the Outer Rim toward the Core and Coruscant. The Centurion-class battlecruiser measured approximately 1,200 metres in length, carrying a crew of nearly 31,500. The fleet’s commanding officer, one Rear Admiral Saul Karath, approached Rema on the voyage home, proceeding to lightly interrogate her on her version of events during the Mandalorian occupation.

“You seem almost... unwelcome at the thought of returning to Coruscant, Miss Lamar. I assume Nichelle Kyar will be most pleased to hear of your survival.”

Rema attempted a wan smile. “She would, yes, Admiral. I imagine she’s rather concerned for my lack of reporting regarding the Occupation.”

Keeping silent, Karath stalked away from Rema, leaving her to stare into the maddening blue swirls of hyperspace.

After five hours, the Ravager reverted to realspace. Rema had spent the majority of the flight in one of the ship’s endless number of mess halls, and as the Ravager entered into Coruscant’s orbit, the holojournalist headed to Jedi Surik’s quarters on deck 16.

Upon hearing the customary chime at her cabin’s door, Meetra invited Rema inside and the pair sat on chairs occupying the Jedi’s desk at the aft end of the cabin.

“How can I be of service, Rema?” asked Meetra, pouring two glasses of perfectly clear water.

Reaching out to take the filled glassed offered, Rema answered, “As I’m sure you know, Jedi Surik, my cabin isn’t connected to the subspace comm system.”

“Ah yes,” said Meetra. “Admiral Karath’s insistence, unfortunately. He’s rather uncertain as to your true intentions, Rema. A holojournalist, stranded on a planet during an enemy occupation for three years without so much as a scratch on her.” Rema opened her mouth to rebuke Meetra’s words, but the Jedi held out a hand to stop her. “I know you’re no friend of the Mandalorians, Rema. Admiral Karath, however, does not. That’s all I’m saying.”

After a moment of shared silence in which both women sipped from their glasses, Rema said, “Well, I’m still a journalist, with a job that hasn’t been completed in quite a while. Is it asking too much to use your comm suite, Jedi Surik?”

Meetra drained her glass. “No, of course not. Go right ahead. I’m needed on the bridge, at any rate.”

Rema spoke to Nichelle Kyar for almost four hours straight, before being asked — courteously, of course — to attend an impromptu gala at Kyar’s home at 500 Republica that night. After schmoozing with the big brass of the Republic Senate, Rema was promoted to lead anchor of all political stories within the Galactic Republic, and she spent the time between the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi Civil War following the fall from grace of the then-Supreme Chancellor Tol Cressa.

Cressa had been a man intent on peace. Unfortunately for him, Senator Tarkin of Eriadu had taken a rather large disliking to him and succeeded in ending his chancellorship in due course, eventually replacing the disgraced politician the very day before the dual nightmare of Darth Malak and Darth Revan began. Chancellor Tarkin had fought back with the entire might of the Republic Navy — which was severely depleted thanks to Revan and Malak’s defections to the so-called Dark Side.

Admiral Karath’s defection had been a low blow to Tarkin’s leadership, due to the admiral’s handing over of sensitive Republic intelligence to the Sith, allowing Darth Malak to annihilate more than half of Bothawui’s home fleet. Eventually Karath, acting like the true bastard he was, commanded the Sith fleet that attacked Telos IV, destroying the planet’s ecosystem and murdering millions of innocent people. The fallout in the senate rotunda had been practically legendary; Senator Morvis of Chandrila, a raven haired woman with a reputation like durasteel and serving her fifth term in office, had almost ousted the chancellor with a vote of no confidence, though Tarkin was saved by the votes of senators bribed by the Kuati senator Lako Naberrie.

And now, Rema Lamar was stood in the entrance to Chancellor Tarkin’s private sanctum, preparing her notes for their upcoming interview. With Taris now under Malak’s control Tarkin had essentially barricaded himself inside of his office, cutting the galaxy’s media out of his public and private lives, albeit temporarily. Without Kyar’s influence, Rema would never have had a chance at landing with the chancellor — certainly not any time soon — and Rema had been prepared for that eventuality; she’d lined up several interviews with prominent senators: Ilex of Eriadu (Tarkin’s old stomping ground), Naberrie of Kuat (the ship-building capital of the Republic), Naylor of Nakadia (an agricultural world in the Mid Rim). In light of Kyar’s victory over Tarkin’s ego, Rema’s rival — Ejas Brunal — had willingly taken the senatorial interviews, much to Rema’s chagrin.

Vice-Chancellor Mikael Schooe, one of a pair of vice-chancellors, strode out to stand directly before Rema, blocking her view of the chancellor’s holding office. A somewhat ghastly human being, Schooe had been elected to his title just two months prior to Chancellor Cressa’s downfall. A few in the senate firmly believed that Tarkin and Schooe had worked together to oust Cressa from his esteemed position, though most remained sagely silent on the issue.

“Supreme Chancellor Tarkin will see you now,” said Schooe in the flattest monotone Rema had ever heard from a human mouth. Without preamble, Rema followed obediently until she was facing a seated Tarkin. The chancellor’s desk was empty, conveying nothing about his personality — which was “pretty much mute, anyways” according to Admiral Dodonna. What was practically a very large round room, the chancellor’s holding office was decorated with simple pale crimson walls and a dark ruby colour. Even the wood used to manufacture Tarkin’s desk had a slight red sheen to it, if one looked closely enough.

Tarkin’s grey eyes appeared to literally gaze into Rema’s soul. “Rema Lamar,” he said, his voice attempting warmth but, to Rema’s ears at least, utterly failing. The chancellor indicated the seat beside Rema. “Please, have a seat.”

Wanting to be as affable as possible, Rema cooperated, with a blithe smile on her lips issuing thanks to the leader of the Galactic Republic. “Chancellor Tarkin, may I take this opportunity to offer my deepest regrets for the loss of the Seventh Fleet at Taris. I understand this may become difficult for your political future.”

Tarkin’s faux smile was wiped from his face. “Rema Lamar, my political career is as healthy as it was ten years ago, if not healthier. I can assure you and your patrons that Taris will be taken back forthwith. I have ordered Admiral Dodonna to formulate a plan of action regarding the retaking of certain Outer Rim territories, including Taris, and I am certain the admiral will not disappoint me or the ever-faithful populace of the Galactic Republic.”

“Of course, Chancellor. Please forgive me if I sounded at all... derogatory in my phrasing.”

And so they continued on, back and forth, for the next hour or so, until she gradually began to draw the interview to a close. The answers she’d received had been insightful, though certainly controversial. Tarkin had essentially proclaimed an intensely anti-Jedi stance, and deepening Rema’s suspicions regarding the chancellor’s personal taste. As she exited the senate building and strode toward her personal airspeeder, she began to wonder about her brother. She’d never met her older sibling, but she knew he’d been accepted for training with the Jedi, and currently sat on the Jedi Council, but she also knew that Tarkin would become bad news for Vrook and his comrades.

She also wondered whether The Life and Lies of Fiennes Tarkin hadn’t been so far from the truth.

********************

Chancellor Tarkin remained seated as he watched the famed holojournalist leave his office. He had lied through his teeth to her throughout the entire interview, though he had to admit that the little speech he gave her — regarding the Jedi after the war’s conclusion — had been the icing on the cake . “In fact,” he said aloud, “I may go even farther.”

“Chancellor?” Schooe had remained stationary behind Tarkin’s right shoulder through the duration of the interview, and had obviously heard Tarkin’s rhetoric.

Tarkin didn’t answer immediately, instead standing and beginning to pace the circumference of his holding office. Coming to a stop only after striding the entire office, the chancellor finally deigned to answer his senior aide. “Bring me Admiral Sommos. She and I have business to discuss.”

Chapter 12: Chapter Eleven

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

Aaryn knew that he didn’t recognise her, and yet, at the same time, he did. The old woman was an amalgamation of mystery and certainty, truth and deception. Without knowledge as to who she really was, Aaryn wasn’t just about to take her at her word — though there weren’t many of them to begin with.

He gazed down at the bed. Carth had finally returned about an hour after the woman had disappeared, and practically fell forward onto the somewhat comfortable piece of furniture. Aaryn frowned as he saw the dried vomit still on Carth’s face, and hastily decided he would not be the one to clean the bed linen once dawn broke.

Without making enough sounds to rouse his CO, Aaryn lent over and began to don the Sith uniform piece by piece. There was only one way to test its effectiveness in the field, and he was the only member of Taris’ ‘Republic Underground’ who was not currently taking a nexu-nap. Putting the helmet on was challenge enough for him; the HUD on the inside gave Aaryn a 360 degree view of the environment around him. The heads-up display had been designed originally by the ancient Mandalorians to aid in their conquests, and had been used devastatingly during the Mandalorian Wars. Apparently Darth Malak, who had served in the war as a Jedi Knight, had the presence of mind to adopt his former enemy’s technology.

Aaryn had once been lucky enough as a boy to find a Mandalorian helmet. He and his parents were visiting Herdessa, which had previously been plundered by the Mandalorians during the Great Sith War. The helmet was laid atop a large mound of soil, and Aaryn’s parents had, somewhat hesitantly, allowed their son to wear the helmet for a few minutes. The HUD responded almost immediately, surprising given the amount of time since it must have received fresh power. Sights and sounds Aaryn had never discovered prior were being sent through his visual and auditory systems with such precision that it almost overwhelmed the seven year-old.

Fifteen minutes later, Aaryn was walking the moonlit streets of Taris’ upper levels. The first thing he noticed was how the locals kept their distance from him, even though he clearly wasn’t armed. Then it began to dawn on him — about 90% of all the locals he passed were human, with the rare exceptions being a few Ithorians, a couple of Twi’leks, and even an Iktotchi (though Aaryn only recognised her from the pair of horns that were hidden beneath the cowl of her robe). Even though he knew Malak’s empire was humanocentric, Aaryn believed there was a deeper reason behind the blatant discrimination.

The helmet beeped twice in Aaryn’s left ear, alerting him to a message being broadcast over the suit’s personal comlink. “Thesh Two, report in.”

His heart began to race. Taking a few quick breaths to steady himself, he tentatively answered. “Thesh Two reporting in as ordered.”

“Thesh Two, there is a disturbance on the Mewl/Ciras intersection three blocks from your current position. Report there immediately and respond with all necessary force.

“Oh, and the commander wishes to see you regarding your promotion.” Aaryn thought he could hear an air of condescension from the operator. “Base out.” The woman’s voice vanished, leaving his left ear ringing somewhat. In his HUD, he could see other Sith troops milling through the crowd, no doubt responding to just the same call-out. This was to be a true test of Aaryn’s infiltration skills, and the ex-smuggler was determined to do it right — preferably without getting killed in a shower of blaster bolts.

As Aaryn approached the intersection in question, he saw dozens of Sith troopers forming a defence perimeter around a group of fifteen aliens, all of different species; he saw Twi’leks, Rodians, a couple of Iridonians, and at least one Neimoidian — who was grasping a blaster in his violently shaking hands. The group was surrounded.

Aaryn pushed his way to the front of the Sith perimeter. One of the Twi’leks, a woman with pale green skin, was snarling in Twi’leki at the being who appeared to be the ranking Sith trooper; the trooper wore the rank insignia of an Imperial commander. He was also extremely tall... and appeared built enough to fight a group of Wookiees and live to tell the tale. “Thesh Two, reporting as ordered,” said Aaryn.

The commander turned and faced Aaryn. A clicking sound went off in the helmet — the commander had switched to a personal comm channel to speak privately to Aaryn. “Thesh Two, eh? I’ve heard of you, Lieutenant.” A click echoed in Aaryn’s helmet. “See to it that all this alien ‘schutta’ is disarmed and escorted to base. For interrogation.” The alien group appeared to shudder in response to the commander turning his blaster on them.

Aaryn gulped. “And if they don’t come quietly, Commander?”

The trooper laughed. “Then send them to the rakghouls! Like so...” The commander closed on the closest alien, one of the Twi’leks, and sent his knee into her gut. She yelped wildly, but before her compatriots could help her the commander hauled her up and, dragging her by her lekku, hurled her up and over the railing separating the public thoroughfare from oblivion. The commander kept her held there as he gazed around the alien group, looking each in the eye and almost daring them to intervene. The poor woman looked terrified beyond belief.

A shiver seemed to travel through the Sith ranks as one of the Iridonians, clearly the woman’s husband, tried — and failed — to rescue his beloved. The troopers opened fire on the remaining aliens followed the Iridonian’s lead. The commander hurled the screaming Twi’lek hard onto the thoroughfare, then brutally pummelled the innocent husband to within an inch of his life, at which point he unholstered his blaster and proceeded to use the Iridonian as target practice. The screams of pain were lost to the continuing whine of the Sith commander’s blaster.

The Twi’lek’s screams were silenced as bolts of energy hit her body. She lay there unmoving.

On the perimeter’s exterior, a throng of Tarisians had gathered to gaze upon the racist spectacle. The majority were simply watching — very few were openly shocked. Some even chanted xenophobic slurs. Aaryn actually noticed credits changing hands.

“Problem, Lieutenant?”

Aaryn felt sick to his stomach. Bile was building in the back of his throat and threatened to spill out into his helmet. The commander had finally decided to stop firing at the charred corpses. The abdomen of the Twi’lek woman had burst open from the sheer amount and pressure of energy thrown into her body, leaving entrails and superheated blood seeping from uncauterised wounds. The entire left side of her face was gone, reduced to organic slag seared onto the pavement.

“No problem, Commander.”

The commander then turned and strode off. “Somebody clear up this mess,” he said to no one in particular as he made his way back to base.

********************

ITHOR

Hundreds of individuals swarmed through the spaceport, determined to either enter or exit Coruscant territory. Fortunately, none were the wiser to one particular individual. Cloaked and hooded, the man made his way past Capital Terminal’s security bureau and aboard a shuttle bound for the Ottega system. Without making eye contact, he passed fellow passengers throughout the shuttle’s interior corridors and chose a starboard cabin as his temporary home. Sealing the door, the man removed the hood from his bald pate and took from his satchel a curious artefact many of the galaxy’s archaeologists would’ve prized.

As Coruscant’s space scrapers retreated from the cabin’s viewport, the man sat and crossed his legs on the floor. Placing the artefact directly in front of him, he closed his eyes. The man stayed this way for many hours, never opening his eyes nor flinching whenever the shuttle hit some minor hyperspace turbulence. Even when the shuttle’s orderly commed to inform the passengers of their arrival in-system, the man remained motionless.

After arriving at Ottega’s primary planet, known throughout the galaxy as Ithor, the cloaked man continued to reside within his cabin, though the shuttle was now empty of other passengers.

Several hours had passed, and still the man remained rooted to the spot. The shuttle’s pilot and mechanic had powered-down the vessel long ago; the only light being that of Tafanda Bay’s hangar complex. The capital city of Ithor, Tafanda Bay had been designed to float above the planet’s surface due to the Ithorian’s zealous worshipping of their so-called ‘Mother Jungle’ on Ithor’s surface. The cloaked man knew that to be a weakness.

It is a weakness the Jedi exploit, and they shall pay for their crimes.

The cabin’s door opened. A human male, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, stepped into the man’s cabin as the door slid shut. The newcomer was dressed in native Ruusanian costume — almost the perfect disguise for someone of his ilk.

The cloaked man, still refraining from opening his eyes, said, “You may dispense with the pleasantries, Jaq. What have you brought me?”

Jaq stepped forward and, bending down, handed a slip of flimsi to the man. Upon opening his eyes and reading the information printed on it, the man tore the sheet in two.

“How many thus far?”

“Seven,” replied Jaq. “Another two are targeted for thirty-nine hundred hours tonight, local time.” A thin smile came to his face. “It may well get... painful for them.”

The man contemplated this for a while, before slowly nodding his assent to Jaq’s plan. “Make a mess of them, I want the Order to know precisely what happened here. A time is soon approaching when their kind will be cast asunder by the Republic itself; when we will rule and the Jedi will be no more; when their precious temple will be swept away with the swing of a lightsabre. I have foreseen it.”

“Always, my Lord Bandon.” Jaq bowed, and left Darth Bandon to return to his meditations. Oh yes, thought Bandon. The Jedi shall indeed pay.

Chapter 13: Chapter Twelve

Chapter Text

DURO

3,962 BBY

The starfield was awash with destruction. Capital ships, pounding furiously away at Mandalorian Kandosii-class dreadnoughts, hung above the upper reaches of the planet’s atmosphere. The Mandalorians had pulverised Duro’s surface into an uninhabitable wasteland the day previous, forcing the Republic’s hand and sending the fleet to engage the barbarists.

“Sir, we’ve five Basilisks on our starboard bow,” reported Ensign Jayk, the Iniquitous’ helmsman. “Initiating evasive pattern Revan-Besh-Seven.”

Satisfied with his officer’s initiative under fire, the Jedi Knight Revan remained sitting upright in his command chair, using the Force to root himself there and keep from being thrown around during battle. “Admiral, have aft turbolasers fifteen through twenty-two target those droids and fire at will.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Rear Admiral Saul Karath. “You heard him, Lieutenant.”

Revan felt the Iniquitous turn as Jayk sent the warship rolling to port. The aft turbolasers flashed into deadly use, hitting their marks and more than easily destroying them without delay. An enemy dreadnought was bearing on them from directly ahead, Revan saw, and he ordered his crew to head on in. “Fore and starboard shields to maximum; take power from life support if you have to. All hands,” he said as he pressed a button on his chair, “Prepare to broadside.”

“Enemy shields failing,” stated Karath, who had transferred from the Ravager three months ago at Revan’s insistence. Then his eyes went wide. “So are ours.”

Revan didn’t hesitate. “So be it. We have the Force — the Mandalorians do not. Keep pounding them with everything we’ve got, Admiral.”

Explosions flared over the outer hulls of the two great ships. Revan had long ago devised a way of producing turbolaser fire that could punch through beskar — Mandalorian iron — with the ease of a knife through butter, and this was serving the Jedi Knight’s purpose.

The Iniquitous poured more and more destructive energy into the Mandalorian command ship. Fire was blazing within the interior, though the Republic flagship wasn’t faring any better, Revan had to admit. Perhaps, he thought to himself, it’s time to introduce the Dar’yaim to some friends of mine. “Admiral, contact the Ravager. Have Commander Surik come to our assistance immediately. We’re sending these Mandalorians into whatever hell they believe in!”

Revan and Karath saw the Ravager turn about and head to their position, coming in through the Dar’yaim’s sensor blind spot. After ten seconds, Surik’s personal flagship opened fire on the dreadnought. Under the combined assault the Dar’yaim began to implode; Karath commanded Jayk to take the Iniquitous out of combat range, before the Mandalorian dreadnought literally burst in a typhoon of fire, metal, and gas.

The holographic representation of Commander Meetra Surik, a Jedi Knight and quickly becoming one of Revan’s most trusted allies, appeared on the left arm of his command chair. “You called, General?”

Revan chuckled. “Even I’ll admit that was a close call.”

Surik’s smile came easily, and it added to her beauty. “I’ll assume that was your way of thanking me. The Mandalorian lines are breaking; if we push now they won’t be strong enough to resist.”

“I agree, sir,” added Karath. “We have a chance to turn the tide in this massacre. We all know the Haran is leading this force. Without their leadership the Mandalorians will crumble.”

Nodding his approval, Revan said, “Coordinate the push with the other commanders. I want the Haran surrounded, after which we will begin boarding actions.”

“Understood, General. May the Force be with you.” Surik’s image winked out.

The Haran was the Mandalorian flagship, commanded by Mandalore the Ultimate himself. The Republic had come close to capturing the enemy leader in the past - first at Onderon a couple of years ago, then more recently at Nazzri, and then Exodeen two weeks ago. Each time, the Mandalorian had evaded them, resulting in a mix of victory and massive losses, and now it was time to change that. Mandalore was a monster, of that even the famed Chancellor Cressa knew.

Six minutes later, the Iniquitous, flanked by the Ravager and fifteen other Republic ships — five Praetorian-class and three Axehead-class frigates, and seven Hammerhead-class cruisers — along with dozens of Aurek- and S250 Chela-class fighters, and a dozen Heraklon-class transports, were soaring toward the Mandalorian flagship and her own defence flotilla. When the two flotillas came to blows, the Mandalorian Basilisk droids charged them through the Republic’s fighter screen, tearing them to shreds.

A boom resonated throughout the Iniquitous’ bridge, hurling most of the assembled officers up and back down to the deck. Revan, still using the Force to hold himself in place in the command chair, heard several sickening cracks as bones were broken and limbs dislocated upon impact. He heard Ensign Jayk shouting, “We’ve lost helm control! We’re dead in the water; even the hyperdrive’s shot!”

Explosion after explosion ripped through the ship. Consoles began to spew flames, the heat coming into contact with and cracking the transparisteel viewports. Karath stumbled toward his commander. Revan noticed the admiral was clutching his arm — or rather, the stump that was left. Blood seeped through Karath’s fingers. Evidently the arm had been lost during the last large explosion. “General Revan,” he shouted over the background noise. “The Testament, the Champion of Iridonia, and the Veltraa were destroyed in that initial volley. Reports suggest Admiral Morvis is still alive along with the rest of the Veltraa’s crew.”

“Morvis is a survivor,” Revan commented under his breath.

“General! Thrusters are back online,” reported Jayk. “Our heading, General?”

Revan sat back in his chair and steeped his fingers. “Transfer all power — life support, shields, everything — into the thrusters, and set a collision course. Ram the Haran with everything we’ve got.”

“Sir?”

“You have your orders, Ensign.” Turning to Admiral Karath, he said, “Comm the fleet, inform them of what’s about to happen, and that I recommend they retreat to a safe distance. We’re boarding them, Admiral, whether they like it or not.”

The Iniquitous sped toward the Haran on thruster power alone. The fighter screen — what was left of it — backed off several dozen kilometres, as did the remaining Republic warships.

“Ten seconds,” said Jayk.

The Mandalorian flagship kept pouring wave after wave of turbolaser fire into the Iniquitous’ hull; whole sections of the interdictor warship were blasted off into the vacuum. Under Revan’s orders, the Republic flagship locked a tractor beam onto the Haran, keeping the warship stationary before they collided.

“Five seconds.”

“All hands, brace for impact,” said Revan over the ship’s comm system.

“Three seconds,” Jayk continued the countdown. “Two. One.”

A tremendous jolt, powerful enough even to break Revan’s Force-hold, threw every officer present on the bridge onto the deck with a resounding chorus of painful yelps. Horrendous screeching — that of durasteel against beskar — resounded throughout the Iniquitous and tearing at Revan’s tympanic membranes. Another jolt, followed by another and another, hurled the Iniquitous’ crew all over the bridge. Sparks flew from consoles; one such explosion caught a female lieutenant in the back, burning through her uniform and causing a scream to burst from her mouth in a fit of horror.

The blasts tore through the Iniquitous’ interior bulkheads, shearing the fore section of the warship off of the hull completely. The durasteel dug a swathe in the beskar hull plating of the Haran, tearing into the Kandosii-class’ bulkheads, and continuing to plough deeper. The acceleration of the Iniquitous’ thrusters forced the interdictor ship deeper still, cutting through crew quarters and med bays, destroying anything in its path.

Eventually, the great warship came to a bone-jarring halt. Revan, Karath, Jayk, and the other bridge officers (alive and dead) were sent flying forward to hit the bridge’s main viewports. Using the Force, Revan landed squarely on the helm console on his knees, lightsabre swinging from his belt.

“Admiral Karath?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

The rear admiral replied after a large amount of groaning. “Yes, General. I’m still here... I think.”

“I am going to board the Haran. You are in command, Admiral, until my return.”

“Thank you, sir.” Karath coughed violently. “I’ll try to tidy the place up for you. May the Force be with you.”

Revan nodded. “You, too, Saul.” And with that, he stood and sped off the bridge through the aft doorway, and into darkness...

********************

UPPER CITY, TARIS

3,956 BBY

Aaryn woke gradually from fitful sleep. What was he dreaming about? It seemed so real... like a memory. But of course, it couldn’t have been. Aaryn’s life had never seen him on the frontlines of the Mandalorian Wars, let alone serving on the bridge of the Republic warship Iniquitous under the command of the then-Jedi Knight and General Revan. And it was impossible for the dream to be showing the present to Aaryn — Darth Revan was very, very dead. Bastila and the Jedi had seen to that.

Admiral Karath was another individual of note. Saul Karath had served in the Republic navy under Generals Revan, Malak, and Surik, until the time when Revan and Malak had taken the fleet and disappeared into the unknown. A few months passed, and when they returned having fallen to the Dark Side, Darths Revan and Malak unleashed their newly-revamped fleet upon the Republic. Karath turned traitor and allowed Malak to bring devastation to Telos, destroying the planet’s ecology and turning all life upon it to ash. The admiral, while leaving with his new puppeteers, also left with plenty of traitorous Republic officers and soldiers in his shadow.

General and Jedi Knight Meetra Surik... she was one individual that Aaryn had next to no knowledge of. Surik fought with Revan during the Mandalorian Wars, but elected to return to Coruscant to face trial in preference to following her fellow generals into the Dark Side. After that, the galaxy had forgotten Surik. The Jedi obviously hadn’t executed her; instead, they would’ve sent her into exile — or perhaps she’d exiled herself. Either way, Meetra Surik had left no footprint, no breadcrumbs for anyone to follow where she walked now.

There’d been talk of Force-using bounty hunters for millennia, of course; there was every possibility that this was Surik’s fate, though Aaryn had no way of being sure of that. Without any evidence, the galaxy would just have to remain in wonder.

Aaryn’s musing was interrupted by some mumbled groaning to his right. Carth, his eyes screwed up in pain, continued to groan as he brought his hands to his forehead in an attempt to rub away the inevitable hangover. He began to open his eyes, though he soon regretted that decision as the morning sunlight streamed through the window and into Carth’s face. “For karking sake...” he muttered under his breath.

“Would you like a glass of water?” Aaryn asked, almost cheerfully — and perhaps a little too loud for Carth.

Carth raised his hand to ward off any more loud noise. “That would be great, thanks, Aaryn.” His voice was slightly hoarse.

Judging his stability, Aaryn stood slowly, eventually feeling stable enough to walk over to the apartment’s single sink. Retrieving a small glass from a cupboard, he poured a fair amount of water from the sink’s faucet and handed the glass to Carth’s waiting hand. The Endar Spire’s former commanding officer sipped from it regularly, keeping one hand rubbing circles into his forehead. “Great party, huh?” asked Aaryn.

“I couldn’t say,” said Carth. “Don’t remember much, well — any of it, really. What happened to that woman?”

“You mean Sarna? Oh, she was frizzled the entire night.” He frowned. “Do you want some anti-veisalgia tablets? You keep rubbing your head anymore, you’ll set your brain on fire from the friction.”

“I doubt you’ll find any in this place.”

Aaryn shrugged. “Fine. Suffer away.”

They laughed — or rather, Aaryn laughed while Carth chuckled quietly so as not to flare his aching head.

********************

They strode among the local Tarisians and Sith troops in the city centre. Sunlight poured through spaced between the spacescrapers, filling the duracrete streets with a golden glow. The towers, soaring to well over five kilometres into the atmosphere, created huge shadows on the upper boardwalks.

“The med centre should be on this street, according to the local maps,” said Carth. “Unless we get some on the black market, that’s the only place we’re gonna get some of those tablets.”

Aaryn smirked. “Are you sure we can’t just leave you there? I know I’ll definitely get a better night’s sleep that way.”

Carth gave Aaryn a dirty look, though they both knew he was being sarcastic.

“You’re certain that Sith uniform worked?” Carth asked, his voice hushed so as not to be overheard by any of the troops walking by.

“I would’ve been shot if it hadn’t, Carth. You’d rather I be in a bloody... mush... at the bottom of the Lower City? Wow, Commander, never knew I had that impression with you.” At Carth’s flustered look, Aaryn raised his arms in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m kriffing around.”

“I’ve been going over the battle on the Endar Spire over and over in my head since we crashed,” Carth said, seeming to ignore Aaryn’s jibe. He hesitated, as if second guessing his own thoughts. “Some things just don’t add up for me. Maybe you could tell me what happened — from your perspective.”

Aaryn raised an eyebrow. “It’s like you said when we first met; Bastila didn’t have time to use her powers.”

Nodding, Carth said, “True... Bastila is as powerful as they say. She’s the one who defeated Darth Revan, after all. Hmm,” he said, thinking to himself. “I guess that no Jedi ability, no matter how powerful, makes up for being completely surprised and outmatched.

“We didn’t choose that battle, anyway; it got forced on us. Hell, I’m just amazed that any of us are alive to talk about it.” They turned a corner in the street. “Come to think of it, it’s more than a little surprising that you happen to be here, isn’t it?” Carth stopped and turned to face Aaryn. “Just what is your position with the Republic fleet, anyway?”

Aaryn shrugged. “I used to be a smuggler, if you must know. A Jedi Knight worked with me on a run to Mygeeto a few years back, and she saved my life. I repaid the favour by joining the Republic navy as a hired gun, and using my knowledge to aid our people.” He remained silent on the specifics of the Mygeeto situation.

Carth smiled crookedly. “A smuggler, eh?” He chuckled. “I should’ve guessed. Still, isn’t it odd that a smuggler — who was added to the Spire’s crew at the last minute — just happens to be alive?”

“You’d rather I wasn’t?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Carth. “You’ve more than proved yourself since the crash... we wouldn’t have made it this far without you. But still...”

Aaryn mind raced. Is he accusing me...? “Are you implying I had something to do with the battle?”

The commander shook his head. “No. Well — maybe. Don’t get me wrong, it just seems odd that someone Bastila’s party specifically requested to transfer aboard happened to survive.”

Aaryn lost his patience. “It doesn’t make any difference, Commander,” he snapped. “Go ahead and be paranoid. We’re here.”

They entered the med centre. Owned by a Tarisian named Zelka Forn, the facility wasn’t the most popular in the Upper City, though Forn had always found a way to run a good business — from what Aaryn and Carth made out from the local HoloNet transmissions. The rear wall was lined with kolto tanks, while the entrance wall held three well-made beds recovering patients. Carth began to head further in, as Forn himself — a dark-skinned human man with dark eyes, greying black hair, and a greying moustache — walked out from his personal office. “Yes, gentlemen, how can I help you?”

********************

They left Zelka Forn to his business half an hour later. Carth was finally happy, though Aaryn was still in a foul mood after their conversation prior to entering the med centre.

It took them the walk back to the apartment for him to articulate his frustration. “Are you always this suspicious?”

From the look on Carth’s face, Aaryn saw the question had taken him by surprise, though he suspected there was a little trepidation, too.

“Look, okay... it has nothing to do with you, personally. I don’t trust anyone, and I have my reasons. But no, I am not going to discuss them — certainly not with someone I’ve only known all of five minutes. And I’m not trying to be paranoid. So can we just keep our minds on more important things?”

Aaryn stood facing the window. “I consider this important.”

His commander sighed as he sank into a dining chair. “You’re pretty damn tenacious, you know that? We’ll talk about it,” he said. “But later.”

********************

TAFANDA BAY, ITHOR

The Jedi stumbled and fell, her pulse already neutralised, her breathing permanently stalled. Red blood dripped from a curved blade, the weapon held in the hand of her killer, Jaq — as he was known to his associates — felt empty; killing Jedi made him feel, but only when seeing the death-look upon their faces. This time, he’d killed the Jedi from behind, and her face was covered by her fair hair.

The other Jedi, flowing white locks and bright green eyes staring at Jaq, twisted into the air and used the Force to throw herself at him. Jaq simply rolled and stabbed upward with the knife, piercing the Jedi’s defences and slicing through her chest. She died instantly.

Darth Bandon stepped forth, hands clasped in utter glee upon watching the spectacle. “Well done,” he said. “Very well done. Almost comical, even. And you say you’re not sensitive to the Force?”

“No more than a drunken bantha. I just kill Jedi by forcing emotion; that way they do not sense their end coming until it’s right on top of them.”

Bandon smiled. “You have one more test. There is a Jedi named Arren Kae. She was reported to have been killed when Revan destroyed Malachor Five. My spies tell me she lives still, and continues to train Jedi, though she is long-exiled from the vaunted Order. Kae is a Jedi Master, fully capable with the Force. She is the widow of the famed General Yusanis, and a mother to a single daughter. Kill both mother and child.

“Oh, and I should point out that you just killed her twin sister. Good luck, Jaq.”

Chapter 14: Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Text

UPPER CITY, TARIS

“Another patrol heading down into the Lower City?” asked the armoured guard. “Good luck; I’ve heard it’s pretty rough down there. There’s a big swoop gang war going on, you know? You better watch yourselves, those gangs will take a shot at anyone — even us! It’s too bad we don’t have the manpower to just sweep those slums clean.”

“Yeh, too bad, Lieutenant,” replied Carth. “Can we go down now? Or do I have to report to Admiral Karath that you’re obstructing our search for the Jedi?”

“Of-of course not, Lieutenant,” stammered the guard as he moved away from the elevator entrance. Aaryn and Carth got in, closed the door, and selected their destination via a button pad on the elevator’s interior.

As the elevator began to descend Taris’ levels, Aaryn said, “Good thing we found that Duros again.” Originally, they’d planned on using Aaryn as a mock prisoner, but then they’d run into the Duros they’d met a couple of days ago, and they quizzed him about where he’d hidden the dead Sith officer. And so it was that Aaryn was stuck wearing Sarna’s armour, while Carth took on the persona of the Sith officer.

“Good thing he remembered where he put the remains,” remarked Carth. “Is it me, or do you feel a chill?”

Aaryn frowned. “A chill? No... why?”

“I’m wearing the uniform of a dead man; that’s just... creepy, if you ask me.”

Sighing, Aaryn asked, “How long do you think this’ll take?”

Carth smiled. “Good thing I rescued my pazaak deck. What have you to bet, Mister Savo?”

The two Republic infiltrators played hand after hand of the infamous card game, with Aaryn winning practically every hand and Carth losing the vast majority of his credits to the younger officer. The match finally ended with Aaryn wearing the largest smirk that Carth had seen on anybody. “One minute to go,” said Aaryn.

They returned the apparel they’d removed during the descent to their bodies; Aaryn his helmet, Carth his nerfhide belt, boots, and military cap. The elevator began to whine down, and Aaryn felt vibrations through his feet. The doors opened.

Immediately, blaster fire singed the back of the elevator, forcing Aaryn and Carth to take cover beside the opening, blasters at the ready. Aaryn heard one of the assailants shouting, “Sith aren’t welcome here!”

Peering out through the door, Aaryn saw that there were three beings attacking them — one human, and two Nikto. He shot at the human, who screamed as the blaster bolt hit him in the centre of his chest. The Nikto were eventually brought down by Carth’s assault; one felled by a shot to the torso, the other by having the left half of his head blasted off.

“Too bad we aren’t Sith,” remarked Aaryn.

They hid the bodies in the elevator, returning the cart to the Upper City. Keeping their weapons in hand, Aaryn and Carth continued on down a long corridor, passing several doors until they came to one that was well-lit and guarded by a green-skinned Rodian. “Hoche apenkee,” he said. <<Welcome.>> “Kee hasa do blastoh.” <<Drop your weapons.>>

“We came here for a couple of drinks,” said Carth as Aaryn removed his helmet. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Kava doompa D’emperiolo stoopa,” continued the guard. <<You’re low-down Imperial fools.>>

“Da beesga coo palyeeya pityee bo tenya go kaka juju hoopa,” Aaryn replied, much to Carth’s surprise. <<The last fool who called me that got his antennae stuffed down his throat.>>

“Smeeleeya whao toupee upee,” replied the Rodian. <<Smile when you say that.>> “Go on in,” he said in heavily-accented Basic. The doors opened at the Rodian’s command on the keypad, and the two Republic soldiers entered.

Upon being blasted by a wall of sound and smell, Aaryn deduced that they’d walked into another cantina that wasn’t wholly unlike The Tumbling Dice in the Upper City. The main difference, or course, was the distinct addition of a menagerie of alien species. Here, a Nikto exchanged alcoholic beverages with an Ishi Tib; there, five Rodians dealt hands of pazaak with a couple of Rutian Twi’leks and a Dug. Interestingly, as they got toward the bar in the centre of the room, Aaryn noticed two Twi’leks and a Rodian appearing to admonish a human man. All three of the aliens wore similar garb to that of the gang members Aaryn and Carth killed when they’d arrived in the Lower City.

The human said, in a voice devoid of happiness, “Go away.” He didn’t even look at them; his back was turned as he was trying to enjoy a drink at the bar.

“Hey,” said the Rodian in accented Basic. “You not talk like that. We just want to say ‘hi’ to big, bad bounty hunter Calo Nord.”

One of the Twi’leks, olive-skinned with chunky lekku hanging from his bald head, frowned. “Nah... this can’t be Calo Nord. He’s supposed to be tough. This guy’s nothing but a runt,” he said, chuckling.

Calo simply said, “One.”

The three gang members laughed loudly. “One? What you mean?” asked the pink-skinned Twi’lek in broken Basic between bouts of laughter. “You be funny, tough guy!”

“You know who we are, Calo?” asked the olive Twi’lek. “We’re members of the Black Vulkar gang. You don’t want to be getting funny with us, tough guy!”

“Two.”

The pink Twi’lek, his thin lekku swung around his neck, said, “Me no understand. One? Two? Why he count?” He looked to his cohorts. “He trying to count how many of us is against him?”

The other Twi’lek turned back to Calo Nord and said, “It’s three against one, Calo. What do you think about those odds?” Silence. “Well?” he asked; still more silence. “You have something more to say?”

Calo smiled into his drink. “Three.”

In a split-second, Aaryn and Carth watched dumbfounded as Calo Nord launched a smoke grenade at the three Black Vulkars. Before the smoke cleared, Aaryn heard three thumps on the floor of the cantina. The bar had become silent — even the five-piece Bith band had stopped playing their Wroonian Blues stood watching as the smoke began to clear.

The gang was on the floor, dead. Calo was at the bar, downing the remainder of his drink. The bounty hunter placed the empty glass on the bar and strode briskly past Aaryn, only sparing him a quick glance as he went past.

As soon as the cantina’s door closed behind Calo, the Bith band started playing again — this time a Wroonian classic called The Keller’s Void — and the cantina’s usual chatter resumed in earnest.

“Don’t look so... wide-eyed.”

Carth turned to his partner, startled. “Me, wide-eyed? Aaryn, I’m a commander in the Republic Navy. This isn’t exactly the worst I’ve ever seen.” They got to the bar. Carth requested a pair of jawa juices from the Neimoidian barman. They both scanned the cantina over the top of their drinks, looking for anything, or anyone, that could lead to information on Bastila’s whereabouts.

Setting his drink on the bar, Aaryn noticed three Rodians heading toward a lone Rutian Twi’lek — he noted that she appeared around only fourteen or fifteen by human standards. They began to converse in Huttese. The Twi’lek girl told them, in no uncertain terms, “Get out of my face, you sleemos!” She then strode off and settled into another part of the cantina. Aaryn went back to his drink.

“You served in the war, didn’t you?” he asked Carth. “Against the Mandalorians.”

Carth took a final glug. “Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just... well, you know, I only ever fought the Mandalorians in skirmishes on the Outer Rim during smuggling runs; I never fought in the war proper.” He gazed at his jawa juice ponderously.

“Even by doing what seemed like small acts, you saved a lot of lives, Aaryn,” said Carth. “If that’s what you’re on about.”

Aaryn shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I... what do you know about Meetra Surik?”

The commander looked Aaryn in the eye. “She was a Jedi General, second only to Revan and Malak themselves. I never met her; I as posted to the fleet in the Ottega Sector through most of the war. I imagine her name may have cropped up a couple of times on the HoloNet.” He motioned the barman over for another drink. “From what I recall, Surik was a capable commander and her troops loved her.”

Taking a sip of his jawa juice, Aaryn asked, “What about Saul Karath?”

Carth seemed to visibly turn to stone at the question; his arm muscles tensed up, squeezing his newly-filled glass to breaking point.

“Carth?” asked Aaryn, becoming concerned. “Carth...?”

Aaryn’s commanding officer remained frozen for several long moments as he stared into his drink. Though they’d known each other only a few days, the two officers had begun to become accustomed to each other’s mannerisms, habits, and so on. Up until now, Aaryn had not before seen Carth react this way.

“Commander, are you okay?”

“He’s a traitor, that’s what he is,” Carth said, his voice barely a whisper. Aaryn followed his example and simply peered into his drink.

The pair remained that way for several long, quiet moments as the Bith band continued droning on with their music. Surprisingly discreet, a Wookiee strode across toward a gloomy table to Aaryn’s right, taking a tray of raw meat away from the bar to consume in semi-privacy.

They’d come down into the Lower City looking for information on the escape pod, or anything that could possibly lead to Bastila’s present whereabouts — but after that, then what? Obviously, they couldn’t simply blast their way through the Sith blockade, even if they had a ship, without the risk of Darth Malak trailing them and killing thousands — if not millions — of innocent individuals to capture the young Jedi Knight. And then even more would die. And Taris, Coruscant — the galaxy itself — would burn.

Perhaps they could appeal to the Jedi Council, seek sanctuary until the war ended. Even Malak wouldn’t dare to go toe-to-toe with the Masters, assuming they were willing to provide protection in the first place. But, thought Aaryn, first things first.

He looked to his left. The young Twi’lek girl was again being harassed by the same three Rodians. She did not appear happy, and nor did she sound it, judging by what he and Carth could hear.

“I told you to leave me alone!” she exclaimed. “So give me some space, bug-eye. Your breath smells like bantha poodoo!”

The leader, the ‘bug-eye’ on the right, gave her a witheringly contemptuous look. “Little girl should not be in bar,” he said in Rodian. “This is no place for little girl. If little girl smart, she run away home now.”

The Twi’lek raised her brow. “Who are you calling a little girl, chuba-face?”

“Little girl needs lesson in manners?” asked the lead Rodian, his body language suggesting he was becoming aggravated.

The girl sighed wearily. “Just a sec, boys.” She gave a short, sharp whistle. “Zaalbar... a little help here?” she called. “I need you to rip the legs off some insects.”

Zaalbar — the Wookiee who, up until this moment, had been quietly consuming his meal — replied in the gruff growls of his native Shyriiwook. [Mission, I’m busy. They just brought me my next course.]

“Quit complaining, you can finish your food later. Besides, you need the exercise, so get over here.”

Six Rodian eyes suddenly widened exponentially as three hundred pounds of Wookiee strode over from his table.

“We want no trouble with Wookiee,” said the leader. “Our problem is with you, little girl.”

The Twi’lek — Mission, as Zaalbar had called her (Aaryn found he’d unconsciously understood most of what the Wookiee had said, though he had never had any dealings with the furry beings in the past) — simply crossed her arms. “You got a problem with me, then you got a problem with Big Zee. So unless you want to take on my furry friend, I suggest you greenies hop on out of here.”

The Rodians hesitated for several long seconds. Finally the leader said, “Little girl lucky she has big friend.” They ran out of the cantina, and promptly went straight into the wall opposite the door, knocking themselves unconscious as onlookers turned their attention back to their own business.

Mission and Zaalbar turned to face Aaryn and Carth — the only two people in the cantina who were actually watching their exchange with the Rodians. “Say, I don’t recognise you two and I pretty much know everyone in the Lower City,” Mission said to the pair as they joined them. “I guess that makes me and Big Zee your official welcoming committee — even if you’re wearing Sith disguises.” She eyed the pair knowingly.

“What?” asked Aaryn apprehensively.

“Those uniforms. Unless the Sith have very bad fashion sense, they don’t fit you very well.” She put her hands on her hips. “Relax. No one here’s a friend of the Sith.”

Reluctantly, with a nod from Carth, Aaryn made introductions.

Carth smiled genially. “You showed a lot of guts dealing with those Vulkars, kid. You got a name?”

“My name’s Mission Vao,” she replied, grabbing a glug of her drink. “And this big Wookiee is my best friend, Zaalbar. I’d offer to give you a tour, but the streets down here aren’t safe. But if there’s anything else you need...?”

“So how do a Wookiee and a Twi’lek street urchin end up as best friends?” Aaryn asked, changing the subject.

Mission shrugged. “We just kind of fell in together, really. It ain’t easy on your own here in the Lower City, and everyone’s looking to push you around.”

“So we noticed,” said Carth. “Still... you seem like an odd pair.”

Mission sat on the vacant stool next to Carth. “When I first met up with Zaalbar, it seemed like a good match — I knew we would look out for each other. With my street smarts and his muscle, we make a great team.”

Aaryn emptied his glass. “What do you know about the Lower City gangs?” he asked.

“There’s only two gangs worth worrying about here in the Lower City: the Black Vulkars, and the Hidden Beks. Sometimes, Zaalbar and I hang out at the Bek base. The Beks are led by Gadon Thek — he’s a good guy,” she said, smiling to herself. “Lost his sight in a swoop bike accident a few years ago, but even blind he’s a great leader — not like that traitor, Brejik.” When several heads turned toward them, Mission hushed her voice. “Before he took over the Vulkars, he was a Hidden Bek. Gadon considered that ungrateful space slug his adopted son.”

“Why did he leave the Beks?”

Mission leant forward. “When Gadon went blind, everyone figured he’d step down and appoint Brejik in his place. But Gadon figured Brejik wasn’t ready yet; he wanted him to wait a few years. But Brejik was too impatient. He left to join the Vulkars, and ever since he’s been waging a war to wipe Gadon and Beks from the face of Taris! This gang war in the Lower City is totally Brejik’s fault. They’re the ones killed everything that moves out on the streets. It’s like they’ve gone insane.

“You know, this dive’s pretty boring. No action around here... come on, Big Zee, let’s go.”

[But I haven’t finished eating!] growled Zaalbar.

“Can’t you think of anything else besides your stomach for five minutes?” asked Mission, standing to shake Aaryn and Carth’s hands.

“Come on, we’ll go see if there’s anything good to eat at the Bek base.”

Watching the odd pairing leave, the Republic officers turned to face one another. “Interesting girl,” Carth remarked.

Aaryn raised an eyebrow. “Look, Carth, I know that Rutians can be quite... appealing to us men, but isn’t Mission a little young for you?”

“Oh, shut up, Ensign,” said Carth, wearing a sabacc-face. “Or I’ll personally see to it you face court martial.”

Not long after this, the pair removed their Sith uniforms and stashed them not far from the cantina.

********************

BELKADAN, OUTER RIM

The boy fell in two pieces, his green-hued training sabre lost from his grip, his chest bisected by the shining metallic blade.

“Try telling me where she is, and next time you’ll live.” Jaq looked down at the teenage boy’s bleeding corpse. Jedi scum.

He turned as fallen dalloralla sticks snapped not too far away to his left. Suddenly, Jaq felt himself thrown backward by an invisible force — the Force, he knew it to be — and landed roughly, twenty metres from the boy’s body. A young human man — late twenties by Jaq’s estimation — leapt through the forest and shoved the emitter of his lightsabre in Jaq’s temple. “What is your purpose here?”

Jaq laughed, his mouth twisted into a visage would’ve charmed any woman. “Your master. What is her name?”

The Jedi pushed the emitter harder into Jaq’s temple. “You are here for Master Kae? What business would the likes of you have with her?”

Much to Jaq’s delight, the Jedi screamed in pain and horror as the assassin’s dagger — that he’d hidden in his sleeve - tore into the Jedi’s abdomen. Clearly, Kae hadn’t taught her students how to manage severe pain. Disappointed, Jaq knelt over the dying Jedi.

“Try going back to school, Jedi. Maybe then you’ll learn not to give your enemy crucial information.”

Standing, he used his dagger to slit the Jedi’s throat, hastening his path to whatever afterlife the Jedi Order believed in. The man had just confirmed Jaq’s suspicions. He’d spent several thousand credits sifting through terabytes of data, tracing Kae’s movements since the destruction of Malachor V. Before arriving on Belkadan, Jaq initially headed to Scipio, and then on to Mygeeto. He had tracked one of Kae’s former students to the city of Jygat, but unfortunately Jaq had been forced to kill the Jedi before she could contact the local authorities. Amid the junk piles of Raxus he’d stumbled upon another group of Kae’s students studying the planet’s ecology. Jaq’s hand was forced once again.

Eventually, in a downtrodden bar in the Hapes Cluster, a mere smuggler had drunkenly informed him of a Jedi training facility on the very edge of the galaxy. The smuggler then died of a sudden brain haemorrhage several minutes later, having ingested a poison in his drink. After Hapes, Jaq headed to Gizer, followed by Corsin, and up above the galactic plane before heading to the coordinates provided by the dead smuggler.

What Jaq found was a planet covered in foliage, which hadn’t really surprised him. Arren Kae, typical of Jedi, would feel right at home on a planet abundant with life - the Jedi thrived on it. The native herbivorous life forms, quadrupeds that resembled Corellian traladon, bolted whenever he came close to them; this told Jaq that they’d had contact, however recent, with humanoids. That was when he’d seen the apprentice and ambushed him.

The smuggler had told Jaq that he’d sold provisions to a Jedi Knight by the name of Olon Hawer, and that she (and her academy) had been eager to employ a smuggler to provide regular information and supplies. Having approved of the deal, Hawer escorted the smuggler to the secret academy. That had now become her fatal mistake, though; the smuggler had never possessed the presence of mind to wipe his navicomp after returned to the civilised galaxy, and so the coordinates fell merrily into Jaq’s hands.

Jaq spent the next several hours searching for clues as to the location of the academy’s entrance. He knew he was close — the apprentice would never have been allowed too far from his superiors without a more experienced Jedi in tow.

Pretty soon Jaq heard rumbles of thunder off in the distance, all the while growing closer to his location. Bright green flashes flared to life through the forest canopy, the leaves silhouetted against the cerulean lightning. Jaq’s brain told him that this was a plasma storm — and a bad one, at that — a weather phenomenon the smuggler had warned him about. He needed to find shelter.

Without warning, a bolt of superheated plasma struck the tree next to him, cracking the trunk and setting the leaves aflame, hurling Jaq with the force of a hand grenade explosion. He landed on his right arm, forcing a grunt from his gut as he sprained his wrist. A sonorous howl of thunder roared overhead, reverberating throughout Jaq’s body. His arm flared into pain, leaving him clenching his jaw so as not to reveal his location to any would-be ambushers.

Jaq, hoping that the lightning would no longer consider him a target, decided to stand and try to make a run back to his ship. He got two steps forward before realising that his injured arm was bleeding as another bolt of plasma energy hit the ground five metres from him, throwing him up and back to land hard on his pelvis. Through the pain, Jaq realised he’d severely underestimated Arren Kae. There was no thunderous sound of rain coming from the treetops. This storm was one borne of the Force.

Only Jedi Masters and Dark Lords of the Sith had this kind of power, and Jaq doubted Malak or Bandon were here.

Jedi Master Arren Kae had arrived. And evidently she was well and truly pissed off.

Chapter 15: Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Text

“Master?”

The decades-old Jedi Master in-exile kept her eyes firmly closed, using the Force to concentrate on the matter at hand. Kae was far too used to having to multitask, and constantly being asked questions to which her students, by rights, should know — whilst also attempting to meditate. The assassin was being held in one of the academy’s sparring rooms, watched over by five of Kae’s more promising students, which happened to include a Wookiee. Even an assassin like this one would think twice about escaping. Especially after Kae herself had used the Force to capture him in the first place.

Master Kae had felt his presence in the Force the moment he entered orbit of the planet. She’d expected Revan to come for her eventually, but both the Order and Darth Malak had seen to him before that could happen. The assassin had come for her, of that much Kae was certain; both the Force and her own intuition told her so, and at least a couple of her students had commented upon the assassin’s Force aura.

The eager young padawan who’d approached her, a Kel Dor named Pol Temm, remained patiently waiting by her side, with his fingers interlinked before his body. It was said that prior to the formation of the Republic, the Kel Dor people had been an elegant and unobtrusive race. Temm, fortunately, was the epitome of his race.

“I will face him. Alone, Padawan Temm,” Kae said. She stood, flexed her muscles, and made her way through the academy.

The halls, illuminated by the flickering light of candles, were lined with stone imported from Belkadan’s sole lunar satellite — Kae herself had named the planet after one of her previous apprentices, Bel’kad’an - giving the academy an almost pale complexion. To her left and her right, as she paced the halls, doorways led to personal quarters, science labs, and leisure facilities. Kae had located the system after pouring through the gigaquads of data within the Jedi archives prior to her abrupt departure to Malachor.

Malachor. When uttered, veterans tensed at the mere reminder of the ordeal — no, the bloodbath. The carnage. Kae had escaped with her late husband, Yusanis, a fellow general who had aided the Republic forces during the war, before the planet’s destruction. Her former apprentice, Revan, had ultimately issued the order for his third-in-command, Meetra Surik, to activate the mass shadow generator which sealed Malachor’s fate, and the fate of the Mandalorian Wars. Hundreds upon thousands perished.

Coming to a juncture, Kae turned down the right-hand passage and came out into sunlight. She hadn’t left the academy; exterior light streamed through panes of glass set into the jungle floor above her — the entire academy was subterranean. Plant root growth was managed through use of the Force, so as to halt the slow destruction of the walls. Kae passed a couple of padawans on her journey, both human males. They appeared to be laughing between themselves, their hands firmly clasped in the other’s. Kae didn’t stop this. She had instead promoted romance and family within her academy. Love was an emotion nobody — especially the Jedi — had the right to deny.

Arren Kae had been exiled from the Order after the High Council were informed of her marriage to Yusanis and their young daughter Brianna. She had stood her ground, accepting the punishment while vocally denouncing the beliefs of the Order, that Jedi should be allowed to marry and raise families. Dorjander Kace had attempted to argue alongside her, imploring the council to allow her to remain. Grand Master Vandar was adamant, however; after the Sunrider situation, the council could no longer stand by and accept Jedi who disgraced the Order’s core tenets. Kae handed over her lightsabre, bid Kace farewell, and left Coruscant and the known galaxy behind.

Without a physical gesture, Kae used the Force to open the door to the assassin’s temporary accommodations.

********************

LOWER CITY, TARIS

Her breath came in shallow, ragged pants. Her arms had been broken and reset several times over, as had her legs, and her hair had been burned in random patches.

“Bastila, you really ought to stop this petty resistance,” said Brejik. “I promise you that when you do, this will be over.”

Bastila apparently had no strength left in her to vocalise a reaction. She instead spat at Brejik, spraying a mix of saliva and blood at his face. Brejik simply wiped it off with his hand, then backhanded the Jedi hard enough to fracture her jaw. “You will put a stop to this, Jedi,” he warned. He reached for his comlink. “Kandon, get in here.”

A few moments later, Brejik’s green-skinned Twi’lek lieutenant entered the chamber, carrying a copper tray. Brejik noted Bastila’s eyes turning tacitly to the objects atop the tray and quickly looking away again. He grinned.

“I will never join you,” said Bastila through gritted teeth. “I am a Jedi.”

Brejik’s lips thinned, and he bared his teeth. “Oh, this torture will be much worse, I assure you, Bastila.” Kandon handed him a syringe containing a translucent liquid, “This, in case you didn’t already know, is a little something called skirtopanol. We’ve been having it steamed into your cell throughout your sessions. Fortunately, I have worked out that it really needs to be directly injected to be fully functional.” Brejik took another syringe, this one filled with a yellow substance. “This one’s called tritroxinate. It’s supposed to be quite painful, but I have no idea about that.” He motioned for Kandon, who held up a third syringe. “And this last one is called bremelanotide. Simply put, it’s a love potion.” Both he and Kandon grinned wickedly at that.

Brejik nodded to his right-hand man, ordering him to begin the next round of sadism.

“I’ve heard about your vaunted Jedi techniques, Bastila. But are they powerful enough to stop these drugs from persuading you to see my point of view?”

Bastila remained stoically silent as Kandon injected a 10 nanolitre dose of skirtopanol, followed by 10 of bremelanotide.

Bastila was his — whether she liked it or not.

********************

BELKADAN

Jaq looked up to see a white-haired woman enter his holding area. It was the same woman who’d thrown him around in the forest — Arren Kae. He may not have been a shabla Jedi (that was what the Mandos called them, he knew) but he could still tell when one of their kind was struggling with their emotional control.

Unfortunately, Kae had recovered from her temporary lapse in the forest. Still gonna be fun, though.

Kae stood silent as the door closed behind her, blue eyes looking Jaq up and down as if judging his appearance. He wasn’t Force-sensitive (that he knew of, at any rate), but Jaq could feel the Jedi trying to get into his mind. After a moment she faltered, taking a step backward as if she’d been physically pushed. She recovered herself, and tried again. Again, Jaq mentally repelled her. So arrogant. You all think the rest of us are so weak-minded that we don’t know how to defend ourselves. You schutta Jedi.

“How are you doing that?” she asked him, her voice devoid of emotion.

He smiled. “Professional skill. Comes in hand when I’m taking out your kind.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what? Blocking you from my mind, or killing Jedi?”

“The latter,” Kae said as she began walking slowly toward him.

Jaq laughed. “There’s no point telling you if you don’t already know.”

The Jedi remained silent at that, either unwilling to provide an answer, or ignorant of what answer to give. She stopped walking as she got to where he sat, stun cuffs affixed to both his wrists and ankles. “You’re going to be sorely disappointed, assassin. While we’re here, in this academy, you cannot kill me or anyone else.”

Jaq raised an eyebrow. Time to change tac. “You think so, do you? Okay then... say I let you into my mind. What do you think you’ll see?”

Again, Kae didn’t answer. She simply closed her eyes and, to Jaq anyway, appeared to concentrate. That’s right, Jedi, go deeper. See my victims. Their faces. Hear their screams.

Without warning, the Jedi’s face blanched. She’d found the particular memory Jaq had wanted her to find. He grinned wickedly. Do you like watching me killed your sister, Jedi?

********************

LOWER CITY, TARIS

Having left Mission and Zaalbar a couple of days ago, Carth and Aaryn had concealed themselves in yet another abandoned apartment, and now were consuming field rations that Carth had saved from the Endar Spire. Meeting Mission and Zaalbar was an eye-opener. A young teenage girl and a Wookiee, together in the lower depths of Taris’ cityscape. Not exactly something you saw everyday around the galaxy. Nor was dreaming about a traitorous admiral and a dead Sith Lord.

“Commander,” began Aaryn.

Carth didn’t look up at him immediately, instead continuing to eat a concentrate stick. Between mouthfuls, he finally replied. “Yes, Ensign Savo?”

Aaryn swallowed silently in apprehension. “Commander, I wanted to apologise for earlier. You know, about bringing up Karath. I should’ve realised he’d be a sore subject for anyone in the Republic Navy, especially considering... especially after what he did.”

Carth remained stone silent. His expression was as lifeless as the surface of Peragus II, and Aaryn briefly wondered whether he’d offended his CO yet again. After a couple of long moments, Carth’s face became warm, and he smiled — though Aaryn could see that he was only doing it to soothe the situation. “Ever train to be a diplomat during your smuggling runs, Savo? You’d make a hell of an ambassador.”

“Only the most informal of training,” said Aaryn. “A couple of incidents, civil wars and such. Nothing too hectic.”

“Nothing too hectic?” Carth repeated.

He waved a hand. “Oh, I never got involved with the Mandalorians, if I could help it. Obviously, they’d get in the way every now and then, but I always had a couple of Jedi friends who dealt with them, if need be.” Aaryn took a final mouthful of rations before helping Carth to repack their survival kits.

They left the apartment and walked through the shadows, peering into crevices and doubling back on themselves to make sure they weren’t being followed by the Sith or the local swoop gangs. To Aaryn, Taris looked so alike to Coruscant, they were almost clones. From the spacescrapers which seemed to groan from the strain of Taris’ atmospheric winds, down to the deepest corridors, they would’ve felt right at home on the galactic capital.

Only twice had Aaryn actually visited Coruscant; the first with his parents after a spice run from Ruusan, the second via returning several Jedi to the Jedi Temple after a lethal ambush set by a being known only as Sion.

Rather abruptly, they came to a dead end — a locked door.

“Hey!”

Behind them a brown-skinned human woman, wearing a yellow and orange suit and carrying a longsword, came striding toward Carth and Aaryn from the direction they’d come. “You can’t just walk in here! This is Hidden Bek territory How do I know you’re not Vulkar spies sent to kill Gadon?” she asked. Her blade was held ready to strike.

Aaryn stepped up to her. Her dark eyes, radiating with ferocity, came up level with his chin. “We need Gadon’s help,” he said. “We were told to speak with him by Mission and Zaalbar.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A lot of people want to go inside and speak to Gadon; he’s a hero of the common folk. But the days of the Hidden Bek’s open door policy are long gone. Between the Sith and the Vulkar gang war, Gadon has more enemies than he used to.” She now stood firmly between the door and the Republic pair. She flexed her weapon arm as if to intimidate them. “We’re being careful about who we let in.”

Carth took a moment to respond. “Maybe we could be allies against all those enemies, ma’am.”

“Well,” she replied, evidently remaining cautious. “We do need all the help we can get. And you don’t look like you’re with the Vulkars — or the Sith. Besides,” she said, raising the point of her sword to within millimetres of Carth nose. “It’s not like you could harm Gadon in the heart of his own base. Not with Zaerdra watching him.”

“So you going to let us in?” Aaryn asked.

The guard stepped toward the door, prised open a panel, and entered a code into the unit hidden there. “You go in and speak to Gadon if you want. Just remember to be on your best behaviour... the Hidden Beks are watching you.”

********************

BELKADAN

Kae splashed cool water over her face. The assassin remained in his holding cell, until such time as she knew what to do with him. She couldn’t execute him; no matter what his allegiance, it went against everything she stood for as a Jedi. But keeping him here on Belkadan was foolish, also — Kae would be tempted by the Dark Side of the Force, and would take matters into her own hands. It was for this reason that Jedi were... ordinarily... forbidden to marry.

My sister is dead.

Kae slammed a clenched fist into the mirror hanging above her basin, smashing through the glass and clean into the stone wall. She’d used the Force unconsciously. She pulled her hand from the damaged wall, pieces of stone lodged into her knuckles and her wrist, bleeding. Using the Force again, Kae stemmed the flow of blood, feeling the wounded skin pull itself together as a temporary fix.

My sister is dead.

A well of tears threatened to erupt as Kae made her way through her quarters. She never made it out of the bedroom.

Your sister was killed.

Kae fell onto her bed, tears flooding down her cheeks, her fraught sobs aching her throat. She stayed that way for hours, eventually falling asleep as day turned into night.

She was awoken by Padawan Temm, who wore an almost fearful expression. “Master Kae, the assassin has escaped.”

That brought Kae back to her senses. “Escaped? How? When?”

We found Padawan Rivera comatose. We estimate she’d been there for half an hour before we found her... he’ll have made it deep into the forest by now, Master.”

Kae stretched out with the Force, searching for the assassin’s unique presence. “He’s here, in the academy. In the mess hall. Just... waiting.”

Temm swallowed. “How do we play this, Master?”

My sister is dead.

Your sister was killed.

He killed your own sister.

“We don’t,” she replied. “I must face him, alone.”

Kae swept from the room, leaving Padawan Temm in the darkness of her quarters.

Chapter 16: Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Text

LOWER CITY, TARIS

“You’ll have to forgive Zaerdra,” said Gadon. The leader of the Hidden Beks had met them in his base’s mess hall after Zaerdra, his Twi’lek right-hand woman, had questioned and escorted Carth and Aaryn to him. She now remained by Gadon’s side. “Ever since Brejik and the Vulkars began this war against us, she’s been a little over-zealous in her security duties. The problems with the Sith haven’t helped things. Zaerdra seems to think I can’t look after myself. Now, how can I help you?”

“Your lookout mentioned you have problems with the Sith,” said Carth.

“A foreign army invades Taris, declares martial law, and locks down travel to and from the planet? You damn well bet I have a problem with that!” He took a swig of his jawa juice. “If the Sith ever moved in down here, all the swoop gangs would unite against them. We’d use hit and run guerrilla tactics to pick them off... their casualties would be enormous.”

Carth shook his head. “Don’t fool yourself, Gadon. The Sith would never commit to that kind operation, not under Malak’s command. They’d... they’d probably do something grand and more deadly.” He paused. “Like Telos.”

There was an unexpected silence. Carth, Aaryn, Gadon, and Zaerdra each sipped their drinks in turn as the moment lengthened. Finally Gadon spoke. “But so far, the Sith have stayed out of the Lower City and our strength is wasted on this stupid gang war! I tried to explain this to Brejik, but he and his Vulkars won’t listen.”

Aaryn put his empty glass on the table. “We need information on those Republic escape pods that crashed in the Undercity a couple of days ago.”

“The escape pods?” asked Gadon. “You know, I heard the Sith have been asking around the Upper City about them as well...”

“They might be spies, Gadon!” spat Zaerdra, her teeth bared and a hand resting on the butt of her blaster. “They might be working for the Sith!”

Gadon placed placating hand on her arm. “Calm down, Zaerdra. If the Sith thought we knew anything useful, they’d have a battalion of troops kicking down our door. No,” he said slowly. “I think these offworlders have their own agenda.”

Aaryn gave a slight smile. “Don’t worry, we’re not working for the Sith.”

“I suppose I could tell you what I know. It’s not like it could do any harm to me or my gang... but it might cause problems for the Vulkars, and that’s okay in my book.” Gadon returned Aaryn’s smile as he spoke. “The Vulkars stripped those pods clean within hours after they landed. It’s too bad we didn’t get there first, considering what my spies reported the Vulkars found.” Gadon stood and headed for the galley to refill his jawa juice. When he returned, he said, “A female Republic officer named Bastila survived the crash. We Beks don’t believe in intergalactic slavery, but the Vulkars aren’t so picky. They took her prisoner.”

Carth and Aaryn looked at each other, This was potentially bad news; if she’d been captured, and her access to the Force was somehow denied to her, Bastila was in serious trouble. Carth turned back to Gadon. “Bastila’s a slave? What will happen to her now?”

“Normally,” Gadon replied, “the Vulkars would take a captured slave and sell them for a nice profit to Davik or an off-world slaver like that Trandoshan Cahhmakt. But a Republic officer is no ordinary catch.

“She’s too valuable to leave with the Vulkar scum at the base, either; Brejik’s probably got your Republic friend hidden away somewhere safe until the big swoop race. You’ll never find her.”

********************

Bastila shook herself from the pervading chill. Brejik had finally allowed her to wash, though to call it a bath would be a severe understatement. Now, she was standing in her cell, naked, her hair tousled about her shoulders, shivering like an icicle on Hoth.

The door opened unexpectedly. Brejik and his Twi’lek lieutenant entered. Bastila noticed that the Twi’lek was carrying some kind of whip, making her step back and flinch unconsciously. Brejik flashed her a crooked smile. “My brother used to say a lot of crap when we were younger. Before we killed our father, he said to me — ‘always leave some physical torture ‘til last,’” he said, all traces of mercy non-existent in his voice.

********************

“I’m afraid your friend has become a pawn in Brejik’s game to take over the Lower City,” Gadon explained. “He’s offered her up as the Vulkar’s share of the prize in the annual swoop gang race. By putting up such a valuable prize, Brejik hopes to win the loyalty of some of the smaller gangs. Their numbers will allow him to finally destroy me and my followers.”

Aaryn and Carth took a few moments to take in this new information. Carth was the one to ask the million-credit question. “So how do you propose we go about rescuing Bastila, then? We can’t fight all the gangs.”

“The only hope you have to rescuing Bastila is to somehow win the big season opener of the swoop race,” said Gadon.

Winning a swoop race? Carth was a fair pilot, Aaryn knew but a swoop bike was a completely different beast than a speeding escape pod. Aaryn himself had swoops before, but he was only a child then — and that was a very long time ago. He had no idea whether or not those piloting skills remained. Maybe if he’d been lucky enough to have been born with the Force... but Bastila was counting on him. Commander Bastila Shan, a Jedi Knight and Aaryn and Carth’s commanding officer, was counting on Ensign Aaryn Savo to pull her out of Brejik’s grasp.

“Gadon,” Aaryn implored. “Can you help us with this?”

The Bek leader thought for a minute. “I might be able to help you with this, if you would be willing to help us. We both have something to gain here — and much to lose.”

“What are you proposing?” asked Carth.

“The swoop race is for the Lower City gangs only. I could sponsor you as a rider for the Hidden Beks this year. If you win the race, you’ll win your friend’s freedom. But first you’ll have to do something for me.” Gadon took a breath. “My mechanics have developed an accelerator for a swoop engine. A bike with the accelerator installed can beat any other swoop out there! But the Vulkars stole the prototype from us. They plan to use it to guarantee a victory in this year’s race. I need you to break into their base and steal it back.”

“How are we supposed to get inside the Vulkar base?”

“Getting into the base won’t be easy,” Gadon replied. “The front doors are locked tight. But I know someone who might be able to get you in the back way. Mission Vao.”

“Mission?” Zaerdra asked suddenly, disbelieving. “Gadon, you can’t be serious! She’s just a kid — how’s she supposed to help them with this?”

“Mission’s explored every step of every back alley in the Lower City,” said Gadon placatingly. “Plus, she knows the Undercity sewers better than anyone. If anyone can get the inside the Vulkar base, it’s her.”

Aaryn’s eyes flickered between Gadon and Zaerdra as the two shared a rather tense moment. Finally, hesitantly, he asked, “Where can we find Mission? I mean, we’ve already met her back in Javyar’s Cantina, but...”

“She and her Wookiee friend Zaalbar are always looking to stir up a little excitement,” replied the Bek leader. “They like to go exploring in the Undercity, despite the dangers. Your best bet is to look for her there, but you’ll need some way past the Sith guard post at the elevator.”

“We’ve got some Sith uniforms to disguise ourselves,” explained Aaryn.

Gadon shook his head. “A simple disguise might have worked on the Upper City guard,” he said. “But the security down here is much tougher. You’ll need the proper papers to get past them. Luckily,” he said, smiling, “my gang ambushed one of the Sith patrols headed down to the Undercity. They never made it, and their security papers fell into my hands. Since we’re working together now, I suppose I could give them to you — in exchange for your uniforms.” Gadon waved down Carth’s coming rebuke. “With the security papers you won’t need a disguise anyway.”

Carth and Aaryn looked at each other. After a moment, the commander nodded, and Aaryn gave the location of where they’d stashed their disguises.

“Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”

Aaryn smiled. “We’ll be back when we get the accelerator.”

“I suggest you hurry,” said Gadon. “The swoop race is coming up in a few days, and we want you to have time to practice before the race. Good luck to you.”

Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic I: Genesis - Vol. 1 - AJLambert91 (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue

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Chapter 2: Chapter One

Notes:

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Chapter 3: Chapter Two

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Chapter 4: Chapter Three

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Chapter 5: Chapter Four

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Chapter 6: Chapter Five

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Chapter 7: Chapter Six

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Chapter 8: Chapter Seven

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Chapter 9: Chapter Eight

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Chapter 10: Chapter Nine

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Chapter 11: Chapter Ten

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Chapter 12: Chapter Eleven

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Chapter 13: Chapter Twelve

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Chapter 14: Chapter Thirteen

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Chapter 15: Chapter Fourteen

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Chapter 16: Chapter Fifteen

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References