Force Exile III: Liberator/Part 7

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Reaching for his chrono, Nebulax groggily realized that he had fallen asleep in his wardroom’s chair while reviewing starfighter patrol performances. Glancing down, he noticed that the datapad was still on his lap, and the officer knew that his fatigue was partly from the long hours he had stood on the bridge, dealing with both the precocious Convarion and the testy Ajaur. Rubbing his eyes, he slipped off his Imperial officer’s tunic, decorated with his rank tabs and cylinder. He was due back on the bridge in thirty minutes, time enough to grab a hasty shower and a fresh change of clothes. That would have to do in the way of waking him up-once he was on the bridge, he had to constantly exude authority and professionalism, no matter how irritable and tired he actually was.

By the time he made it back to the bridge, Nebulax could almost sense the anticipation surrounding his entry. As always, he was right on time, striding through the doors into the crowded compartment, his boots clicking on the metal deck in time to his purposeful stride. To their credit, the crewers barely looked up from their tasks, having found the discipline to maintain their composure instead of immediately looking up. Wasting no time, Nebulax immediately made his way to where Convarion was standing, having stood watch for the past six hours.
 * “Captain Nebulax,” said Convarion, greeting him as Nebulax approached the younger man.
 * “Lieutenant,” Nebulax returned. “I trust your watch went well?
 * “Aye, sir. Nothing but hyperspace and empty-handed scout patrols. The Corrupter is fully at your command.”
 * “And our dear Inquisitor?”
 * “Quiet as a grave. Haven’t heard from him all watch, sir.”
 * “In that case, you are relieved, Lieutenant,” said Nebulax.
 * “Thank you, sir.”

Nebulax did not waste time catching the view outside the ship or watching Convarion leave the bridge. While they were still in hyperspace, the transparisteel panels had been set to maximum opacity to prevent the crew from having to stare into the disturbingly twisted vortices of hyperspace travel. He checked his chrono again: five minutes until they were scheduled for reversion. That gave him enough time to pace up and down the bridge several times, inspecting each station with an exacting, practiced eye as he walked by. All of the crewers knew what he was doing, and he could see them sitting a little straighter as he walked by, fully aware that he was practically looking over their shoulders, but prevented from looking back at him by military discipline.

After the ship reverted from hyperspace, Nebulax finally turned his attention to the space around him as the transparisteel once again admitted the light from the stars outside. They were in the Metalorn system, whose sole feature of interest was a manufacturing world run by an Imperial governor. At a nod from Nebulax, the communications officer sent a standard message to the local space force, informing them of their mission and requesting any relevant information. As expected, there wasn’t any, and Nebulax approved the next leg of their journey, which would take them back out towards the Outer Rim. Yet another boring patrol stop, he figured as Metalorn diminished from the viewscreens. Ajaur had insisted they come here, as a Jedi Knight had once helped deal with a fortress on this world, but the local Imperial force had reported no problems, Jedi or otherwise, so the Corrupter prepared to depart to their next destination. Just as Corrupter was less than two minutes from re-entering hyperspace, the communications display winked red as it received a long-range Imperial transmission.
 * “Captain Nebulax, incoming signal,” reported the crewman.
 * “Delay hyperspace jump,” Nebulax said. “Where is the message from?”
 * “A local garrison in the Mid Rim, sir. Text only.”
 * “Let me see.”

Nebulax made his way down to the communications display and leaned in close to study the message scrolling down the screen. As he read the short and terse wording, a scowl developed on his face. With obvious reluctance, he pulled out his comlink and activated the device.
 * “Inquisitor Ajaur, this is Captain Nebulax.”
 * “Captain, I ordered you to not interrupt my meditations,” hissed Ajaur venomously, after a short delay.
 * “I understand that, Inquisitor. You also ordered me to inform you immediately of any reports of Jedi activity.”

The Inquisitor hissed silently and Nebulax wondered what sort of reaction he would give this time. To his surprise, Ajaur assumed something close to civility.
 * “Very well, Captain. I will be on the bridge shortly.”

The channel closed out, leaving Nebulax to stand there frowning at the comlink. A few minutes later, Ajaur stalked into the bridge, his cloak billowing slightly behind him. Despite the earlier prediction, it was painfully evident that the Inquisitor was in a fouler mood than usual. Sighting Nebulax, he quickly made his way over to the captain.
 * “I trust this is important?” Ajaur said.
 * “See for yourself, Inquisitor.”

Nebulax indicated the screen.
 * “Interesting,” Ajaur mused aloud. “A Jedi Knight in action, apparently. That is interesting indeed.”
 * “So it was important?” Nebulax inquired.
 * “This time, Captain, this time. You will immediately set course for Darlyn Boda. Instruct the local commander to seal off the spaceport near where the Jedi arrived, but to do it discreetly. We don’t want to flush our quarry.”
 * “Of course.”

Ajaur turned and began walking off, but Nebulax stopped him short with a question, his voice ringing across the room so everyone could hear him.
 * “What type of preparations should be made for our arrival, Inquisitor?”

The bald darksider stopped, but did not turn fully around to address him.
 * “I expect you and your ship to be ready for any command I give, Captain, and when I give it. That will be enough for now.”
 * “Be that as it may,” said Nebulax, not quite ready to concede the point. “Any advance notice would be very helpful.”
 * “Don’t push me, Captain. Get this ship to Darlyn Boda. That will suffice for now.”

With that, Ajaur stormed off of the bridge, leaving Nebulax feeling both intimidated and defiant. On the one hand, he had stood up to Ajaur again in front of his crew. However, the rewards of doing so had to be carefully balanced against incurring Ajaur’s wrath. Not only was the man theoretically in charge of his mission, Nebulax knew the Inquisitor was personally deadly. If he pushed his luck too much, he had little doubt that Ajaur would kill him should he feel it was necessary.

Pushing the thoughts of Ajaur’s scarred face with its expression of permanent displeasure away; Nebulax concentrated on making sure that the Corrupter was headed to Darlyn Boda at all maximum speed. Unfortunately, the journey was not a quick one. Hyperspace was not all smooth sailing, and anomalies such as gravity wells only complicated paths further. Despite the fact that Corrupter was not that far from Darlyn Boda in terms of stellar distance, the Victory-class Star Destroyer did not have the luxury of traveling in a semi-straight vector. Instead, the ship would have to adhere to a series of established hyperroutes used by Imperial ships. The added delay doubled the length of the trip, and Nebulax knew that Corrupter would not arrive over Darlyn Boda for over a week. The Inquisitor would not be happy.

Nebulax grimaced as he paced back towards the other end of Corrupter’s bridge. Inquisitor Ajaur had repeatedly ignored any attempts to determine the length of this mission, and Nebulax was thoroughly sick of it. Aside from that action on Susefvi months ago, Ajaur had done little but keep him and his crew on edge, ordering them around like his personal slaves. Every time he encountered that arrogant, caustic fool of man, Nebulax grew a little more resentful of his presence on his ship. However, there was nothing he could do about it. As far as he knew, Ajaur answered to Emperor Palpatine himself and was every bit as powerful as he claimed to be. One day, Nebulax vowed, he would no longer take orders from such people. He would give the orders.
 * Darlyn Boda

Milya sat cross-legged around a low brazier filled with glowing embers in a circle, staring into the flickering tongues of flame. Also sitting around the fire was Jahlel, her roommate Xlora, and Hasla, another Arkanian and Jahlel’s sister. The four of them had been assigned to work together since Milya’s arrival by Talortai, and Milya had spent virtually all the waking hours of the two weeks she had been here in their company. They had been sitting here since the crack of dawn, honing their focus and bodies to not move at all. It was an exercise in control over oneself, and, much like other aspects of Matukai training, one that Milya had found difficult. She had thought that her history as an Echani mercenary and her more recent training in the Jedi arts would make the basic precepts of the Matukai easy; however, that had not proven the case. In her first sparring match with a Matukai polearm, a training version of the wan-shen, she had gone up against Xlora and lost badly. Since then, Jahlel had put her through the paces of beginner-level Matukai training. Much of the drills had combined strenuous physical exercise with mental exercises. While Milya was certainly in good physical condition and had reasonable control over the Force, the Matukai viewed them as something to be done together, using physical activity as a form of meditation. The result had been grueling; Milya hadn’t sweated this much since her basic Echani training as a teenager, and even now she was glistening with sweat. The warm, damp air of the swamp hung around her even as she concentrated on keeping her protesting leg muscles from quavering. It had been mid-morning, and she already been put through a ten kilometer trek through the swamp that involved as much shimmying up tree trunks, crawling across branches, and swinging from vines as it did running-and all before dawn. Jahlel, the most experienced among them, had pushed them hard, as he always did, citing the Matukai principle of the Force being the fire of the forge and the body being the raw metal. He had certainly put her through fire, all right.

Finally, when she thought she could take it no more, Jahlel called a halt to the exercise. Slowly, the four of them stood, rubbing sore muscles.
 * “What did you see in your meditation?” Jahlel asked.
 * “I saw the fire of the brazier, how it survives and persists in spite of the water all around it,” said Hasla.
 * “What about it?”
 * “It knows that it is outnumbered and that it won’t last, but doesn’t burn any less brighter for that knowledge.”
 * “And how does that relate to the Force?”
 * “The Force burns within all of us, regardless of how weak we might be.”
 * “Good answers,” said Jahlel, and Milya sensed the wave of pleasure and appreciation roll off of the younger Arkanian in response to his compliment.
 * “And you, Xlora?”
 * “I, too, saw, the fire,” said Xlora.
 * “What did you see in it?”
 * “I saw how fire has potential for good, but must be placed under control in order to be used properly.”

Jahlel said nothing, so the Falleen continued.
 * “Fire provides warmth and light, but it can also destroy unless we keep it in the bowl. And then even when we do, there’s a possibility of an outside force disturbing that order.”

Milya didn’t let her features betray her understanding, but the very subtle glance that Xlora had shot at her made it very clear that the last comment had been indirectly pointed at her. Xlora, the most talented of the trainees behind Jahlel, had soon lost patience with Milya after the first few days of her training and often stopped to watch as the less-experienced Hasla and Milya struggled to keep up with her and Jahlel.
 * “How does this relate to the Force?” Jahlel asked in a low tone.
 * “The Force is something that each Matukai must control and bend for their own, constantly on guard against temptation.”
 * “Perhaps it might be better to say that each Matukai must control herself and her use of the Force rather than control the Force,” Jahlel admonished mildly. “The Force is far too large for any of us to completely master.”
 * “I stand corrected, Jahlel,” said Xlora, a hint of resentment seeping into her contrition.
 * “And you, Milya of the Jedi, what did your meditation show you?” Jahlel asked.
 * “To be honest, I spent a lot of time simply concentrating on controlling myself. I didn’t worry about looking for anything in the Force. I just let it find me.”
 * “And what did it tell you?”
 * “I sensed a great disturbance in the Force, coming here.”
 * “Would you mind explaining to rest of us what that was?”
 * “It was vague. I’m not sure what it means yet, but I know what I felt.”
 * “You’re just making it up,” Xlora scoffed. “Trying to cover up the fact that you were too busy hiding your discomfort to meditate.”
 * “I’ve already shown that I don’t care about discomfort,” Milya said. “I’m still doing the exercises, and I still listen to you, don’t I?”

The sharp retort caught the Falleen off guard, as she was used to Milya quietly taking whatever corrections or stinging comments she made.
 * “How dare you. . .” Xlora began.
 * “Peace, Xlora,” said Jahlel softly. “Milya, look at me.”

Milya looked into the Arkanian’s pearlescent eyes.
 * “Tell me what you felt.”

Meeting Jahlel’s intense gaze, Milya began collecting her thoughts, pulling up the memories and sensations she had felt during the exercise and organizing them into cohesive thoughts.
 * “There was the dark side,” she said slowly. “I’ve never run into it much before, but it was described to me as palpable evil, a concentration of malice and greed. I sensed death, and then . . . I was in the swamp, in the water. I was running for my life, and I didn’t why. Someone screamed. Then, the water started steaming, boiling. It was hot, burningly hot. That’s all. That’s all I can remember.”
 * “That’s fine,” Jahlel said. “That’s plenty.”
 * “Why do you ask?” she said.
 * “Because I saw the same thing,” he said grimly. “I think we need to talk to Templar Grysloth.”
 * “When?”
 * “Right now.”
 * “Now?” Milya asked in clear disbelief.
 * “Yes,” Jahlel said, his voice deadly serious. “Follow me. While we’re gone, Xlora, work with Hasla on the second through eleventh defensive stances.”
 * “As you wish,” Xlora said as Jahlel strode off through the complex, Milya following gamely in his wake.

His pace was firm, and Milya’s cramped leg muscles were contorting in pain as she followed him to Grysloth’s dwelling. She knew techniques for limiting physical discomfort thanks to Selu’s training and from Matukai exercises, but was still not as adept as them as Selu or Jahlel. By the time she caught up with Jahlel at the Talortai’s dwelling, he had already knocked on the door, forestalling any attempt by her to delay the conversation.
 * “Come in, Jahlel,” came Grysloth’s deep voice. “Bring Jedi Tayrce in as well.”
 * “Thank you, Templar,” Jahlel replied.
 * “Please, sit down. Would you two like some kopi tea?” Grysloth asked, waving at a tray and kettle resting on a hook over a larger version of the brazier which had been the focus of their earlier exercise.

The two gratefully accepted earthenware mugs filled with dark steaming liquid. Milya took a sip of her tea and found its warmth refreshing as it made its way down her throat.
 * “Now, it has to be something important to interrupt your training, Jahlel. What is it?”
 * “We were performing the Statue Meditation,” Jahlel explained. “When we finished, both Jedi Tayrce and I had the same experience through the Force. One of danger and death.”
 * “In this day and age, that is not a surprise,” Grysloth returned. “Much death occurs in the galaxy right now.”
 * “This wasn’t just in the galaxy,” Milya spoke up. “It was here. This place was destroyed.”
 * “Did you see that also, Jahlel?” the Talortai asked.
 * “I did, Templar. I sensed the dark side of the Force, saw it engulf us.”
 * “Interesting. I will meditate on this; see if I can discern it for myself.”
 * “Templar-“ began Jahlel.
 * “Enough,” interrupted Grysloth firmly. “I said I will consider it. You two should return to your training now.”
 * “That’s not good enough,” spoke up Milya.
 * “Explain yourself,” Grysloth said, a light glinting in his eyes, and Milya knew she was walking a thin line here.
 * “Are you the only one who can sense danger?” Milya asked. “By the time you finish meditating, it may be too late.”
 * “Too late for what?”
 * “If the danger that we’re sensing is the Empire, you’ll all be destroyed,” Milya responded. “What about the offer I made? To unite with other groups of Force users? You said you’d consider that, too.”
 * “Do you mean to spell out the depths of your impudence, Jedi?” growled Grysloth.
 * “I’ll do better than that. I’ll show you,” she said. “In the sparring circle.”
 * “Do you intend to challenge me?” Grysloth asked.

According to Matukai custom, a disagreement between two adepts could be settled with sparring with wan-shens, governed by a series of ancient codes. It was a rare occurrence, and Jahlel had told her that one hadn’t happened in at least thirty years. Most often, Matukai were encouraged to settle their disputes in peaceable manners. The challenge of the ring was only for when one party believed the other’s position would place the whole order at risk.
 * “I do,” she replied.
 * “Jedi Tayrce, you cannot be serious,” said Jahlel. “You haven’t the skill with the wan-shen to best me, much less Templar Grysloth. Don’t let her do it, Templar.”
 * “She’s made her challenge, Jahlel,” answered Grysloth. “She’ll get her match.”
 * “I’ll just have to trust that he’s good enough to beat me and noble enough not to kill me doing it,” said Milya.
 * “Meet me there in ten minutes, Jedi,” intoned Grysloth.

Taking that as their signal to leave, Milya and Jahlel thanked the Matukai leader for his time and made their way back to Milya’s residence so she could retrieve her wan-shen.
 * “You don’t have to do this,” said Jahlel, concern in his eyes.
 * “Yes, I do,” she replied, refusing to meet his gaze.
 * “Look, I’ve taught you. You have potential and talent, but you are no master with the wan-shen. Templar Grysloth has decades of experience.”
 * “It doesn’t matter.”
 * “Milya, the duel goes until there is a clear victor or one side concedes defeat.”
 * “I won’t be conceding defeat.”
 * “You’ll lose horribly, you know that.”
 * “Only if winning is the point.”
 * “What do you mean by that?”
 * “You’ll see. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to spend the next few minutes centering myself rather than arguing with you.”

Jahlel took the hint and let her go, standing outside her quarters. He had been impressed with the young Jedi, even if she had struggled to adopt the Matukai disciplines during her time here, but he knew that a match with Grysloth would leave her humiliated and injured, possibly killed. It saddened him to think of that, but even more chilling was the last part of his vision earlier, the part he hadn’t told Grysloth or Milya. The last thing he had seen before the premonition had ended was himself lying dead in the water.

Ten minutes later, Milya walked calmly into the sparring ring, holding the wan-shen she borrowed from Yask, the axe-bladed end up, as she had been taught. However, while it was similar in weight and make to the one Jahlel had her using in practice, this was no training weapon. The blade was sharp and she knew Grysloth would be using a real wan-shen also. Gathered around the dark green circle drawn on the gray stone of the floor were several other clusters of Matukai, some of whom she recognized. Jahlel and Hasla were standing off to one side, looking worried. Xlora was there, and Milya recognized the bemused smile she received from the Falleen, who anticipated her receiving a painful and humiliating lesson from Grysloth for challenging his authority.

The Talortai strode into the other side of the ring, clad in battle garb that consisted of a gray armored vest, metal lined boots, and a flexible set of leggings that Milya knew were reinforced with armorweave fibers. Grysloth was carrying a wan-shen also, if it could be called that. A four-meter ebony staff ten centimeters in diameter, its blade was larger than Milya’s head and gleamed faintly in the muted lighting of the sparring circle. Now that it came down to it, Milya was nervous, the idea of that enormous blade separating her head from her shoulders in one clear sweep running through her mind. Though it had been sunny earlier, the sky was now overcast and a deep gray, promising imminent rain.
 * “Step into the ring,” ordered Templar Grysloth. “State your challenge.”

Milya swallowed hard, focusing on what she was about to do. Walking deliberately into the ring, her wan-shen held across her body, she stopped short of Bolfwé Grysloth. The enormous Matukai warrior towered over her and she knew her head didn’t even come up to his chest. Rain drops began to fall, splattering on her robes and skin and dotting the surface of the ring with water. She had known it was coming; now she had to hope the duel didn’t get her killed. Thoughts of her friends swam in her mind, but so did an image of Brianna, the Echani handmaiden whose spirit had guided her through her training. The idea of making her guide proud stiffened her resolve, enabling her to find her voice.
 * “I, Milya Tayrce, challenge Bolfwé Grysloth. I charge that his pride has kept him from seeing threats to the Matukai, endangering all in the Order of the Matukai.”
 * “Do you accept the challenge, Templar?” asked Xlora, acting as ringmaster.
 * “I, Bolfwé Grysloth, accept the challenge of Milya Tayrce. This contest between us shall decide.”
 * “Let the Force be your judge,” Xlora said.

With that, Milya swung her wan-shen in an overhand strike meant to cleave Grysloth’s shoulder. The Talortai easily batted her blow away with the pole of his wan-shen, then, quick as a striking snake, knocked her legs out from under her with the flat of his axe-blade, dumping her to the ground. She quickly rolled aside, her already sore legs stinging from the impact, as Grysloth’s blade came around for a follow-up blow. She managed to recover her wan-shen in time to block his strike in a pole-to-pole parry, but the sheer force of his strike bore her down again and left her wrists quivering. Milya’s eyes widened and she knew that a prolonged duel with Grysloth would result in her being reduced to a battered mess.

Fighting him was like fighting Spectre, she decided, albeit a Spectre twice as large and with considerably more skill than her. However, she didn’t necessarily have to win. Her duel with Grysloth should tell her everything she needed to know about him. For the Echani, fighting was not just the physical representation of disagreement or ill will, but a form of communication, and how Grysloth used his weapons, how he moved, they all spoke volumes to Milya. By the end of the duel, she would be able to read his emotions and intentions as easily as if reading a book. If she was right and Grysloth was willing to admit he was wrong, she would be able to convince him. If not, then she was in trouble. Of course, that was an entirely moot point if she didn’t survive the end of the duel, which was not a foregone conclusion.

Desperate to get off the ground, she exerted all her strength to redirect his next thrust, the spearpoint above his axeblade driving first at her neck then over her head as her pole pushed his weapon away. Then, grabbing onto the rapidly rising shaft of his wan-shen, she pulled herself up to her feet, calling her wan-shen back to her hand with the Force. Once again assuming her guard, she circled Grysloth slowly, his movements matching hers as the two combatants studied each other.

His wan-shen thrust out, seeking an opening in her guard with a lunge as fast as lightning, but this time Milya went with the thrust, turning her body to side to let his weapon slide past her. Taking her right hand off of the wan-shen, she drove a quick elbow jab to his flank before he swept his pole back, sending her flying through the air. She was ready for it, though, and turned the maneuver into a Force-assisted somersault, landing at the edge of the ring easily.
 * “Your audacity is admirable, Jedi Tayrce, but it will not help you here,” Grysloth said and Milya saw his next attack coming.

Advancing on her, he closed in with wan-shen whirling and Milya found herself hard-pressed to counter or avoid all his blows. Mixing everything Selu and Brianna had taught her about Soresu with Jahlel’s wan-shen training, she fell into an improvised defensive routine, seeking to redirect Grysloth’s jabs and swings rather than block them; she would lose a strength to strength contest badly. The rain, which had rapidly risen from a sprinkle to a steady downfall to a driving torrent clouded her vision and made the floor slick, but she fought on against the Talortai’s relentless onslaught. To her surprise, she not only avoided being hit by his seeking axe-blade and spearpoint, but managed to land a few glancing blows with the butt end of her wan-shen on Grysloth, but they didn’t seem to slow him down in the least. Bringing her pole up over her head to divert a high thrust, Milya failed to see the subtle motion that indicated Grysloth’s feint. Diving on the opportunity, he whirled his wan-shen and drove the blunt end of the staff into her midsection. An explosion of pain filled Milya’s vision with stars and she fell to her knees breathlessly, coughing and choking on something. She thought she heard a shout of surprise from Jahlel. When her eyes cleared, she was staring at a small pool of blood that she vaguely remembered spitting up. Grysloth stood back, wan-shen at the ready, waiting for her to rise. The pain burned through her and she could feel her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe, her diaphragm spasming in protest. Then the thought of why she was in this ring, to save the Matukai, flashed through her mind. All of them-Jahlel, Hasla, Yask, even Xlora, would die if she didn’t convince Grysloth of the danger, and she knew this with crystal-clear certainty. Gritting her teeth, she summoned the Force to her until it felt like her cells would burst from the stored energy and then struggled to her feet, still short on breath.

Grysloth was fast, swinging his axe-blade in a short overhand chop that would split her open like a butchered nerf. However, the precognition afforded her by the Force let her see the blade fall before it actually did. Dropping back to her knees, she hooked her pole laterally under his axe blade and twisted it abruptly. The surprise of the move caught Grysloth off-guard and his massive wan-shen slid from his grasp for a moment. The onlookers gasped as Milya seized the opportunity and rammed the spearpoint at the head of her wan-shen into the Talortai’s right shoulder, seeking to deliver a blow that would end the match, but not kill or permanently injure Grysloth. From the force of her thrust, she would have expected the wan-shen to be well lodged within Grysloth’s flesh, but to her complete amazement, the spear point slid off Grysloth’s skin. A torn vest and faint scratch marked where she had attacked, but otherwise, no mark.
 * “We of the Matukai do not fall so easily,” barked Grysloth. “With the Force as my ally, my skin will not yield to your attack.”

Not yet bothering to retrieve his weapon, Grysloth flicked his clawed fingers and Milya shot into the air, floating helplessly in his telekinetic grasp, her wan-shen falling from nerveless fingers.
 * “Most Matukai cannot use telekinesis well, but I am not most Matukai, Jedi Tayrce. You have fought well, better than most I have faced throughout my long years. It is a rare person who can disarm me, and it is no shame to admit defeat. But now, you must yield,” he said commandingly.

Were she a Jedi with Selu’s command of the Force, she could have no doubt broken his grip easily and countered his skill and size with the power of the Force. But Milya was no Selu, and he was not here to save her this time. Still, she could not give up.
 * “Not . . . yet,” she said.
 * “So be it.”

Milya saw the drenched stone of the ground rush towards her rapidly and felt the jarring impact as Grysloth slammed her into the ground and lifted her back up, once, twice, three times. Exerting herself to break free of his grip, she managed to take the third impact half on her side instead of face-first, saving her a broken nose and ribs, but sending massive jolts of pain running up and down her left side. She attempted to stand back up, but her left knee buckled under her weight and she went down again.
 * “You would do well to admit your folly,” said Grysloth.
 * “Not . . . yet,” she managed, spitting out more blood from her mouth, which mixed with the rain pouring down her drenched face to splatter on the pavement.

Milya saw him walk forward until he was standing straight over her and tried to sweep his ankles out from under him with an Echani foot hook. She might as well have been trying to fell an ancient tree with her foot; it had no effect on his massive leg. Instead, he stomped on her stomach. Milya’s vision again exploded into brilliant stars as her already injured midsection had further damage inflicted upon it. She felt as if her eyes would explode out of her sockets and if her stomach had contained anything, she knew that it would have been vomited out. Gagging violently, Milya stared helplessly into the green alien eyes of Bolfwé Grysloth as he summoned his wan-shen back to his hand with a gesture and a small exertion in the Force.
 * “Yield,” he said, glowering at her, and she saw no mercy in those eyes.
 * “Not . . . yet,” she managed, her voice a hoarse whisper.
 * “Then you leave me no choice,” he replied and she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the next blow.

Would he simply kill her right there with a blow to the chest or head? Would he sever her arm, leaving her disfigured? Or would Grysloth simply beat her until she begged for mercy or lay in a bloody heap at his feet? She didn’t know. But the next blow never fell.

The shrill clang of metal on metal rang through the ring and Milya opened her eyes to see Jahlel standing defiantly over her, his wan-shen blocking Grysloth’s axe-blade from descending.
 * “Enough,” said Jahlel.
 * “This duel is not over, Jahlel,” said Grysloth, cold fury glittering in his eyes. “I will brook no interference from you.”
 * “She is unarmed and helpless,” Jahlel countered.
 * “She knew what she was doing,” said Grysloth. “I gave her three chances to yield. Now back down.”
 * “No,” said Jahlel. “I’ll take her place.”
 * “Will you?” growled Grysloth.

Hooking his blade inside Jahlel’s, the Talortai yanked Jahlel up close to him, bringing him in range to deliver a tremendous head-butt. Jahlel collapsed on the ground, his face a rictus of pain as blood poured from his nose. Grysloth didn’t stop there, though, and delivered a strike to the back of Jahlel’s neck with the staff of his wan-shen that landed with an audible meaty thwack. The Arkanian collapsed, going limp on the slick stone floor.
 * “No!” screamed Hasla, running into the ring herself.
 * “Stop,” said Milya. “You won’t do any better than Jahlel did, Hasla.”
 * “Have all of you gone mad?” rumbled Grysloth, parrying Hasla’s hasty thrust and twisting his wan-shen to spill her to the ground.
 * “Hasla,” said Milya, louder this time. “You don’t have any chance against him. None of us do. He’s too strong, too skilled. The only way we could stand up to him is if we all worked together, at the same time.”

Hasla and Grysloth stared mutely at Milya.
 * “Look at us. Even when we knew what we were up against, it didn’t help. We’re all lying on the ground, hoping that Templar Grysloth will be merciful because we know we’ve lost.”

Then, understanding replaced the aggression in Bolfwé Grysloth’s eyes and he lowered his ebony wan-shen, leaning in slightly towards Milya, who was still lying on the ground weakly propping herself up on her right arm. She could tell that he had realized that the whole duel had been an extended metaphor.
 * “You were right, Milya Tayrce,” he said softly. “We will join with you.”
 * Then, in a louder voice, he proclaimed, “Hear me! I, Bolfwé Grysloth, yield the duel to Milya Tayrce and proclaim her to be the victor. So let it be done!”

A murmur of surprise and confusion rippled across the audience, but Grysloth ignored them. As Hasla reached down to help Jahlel up, Grysloth bent down and scooped up the human he had been trying to beat to a bloody pulp seconds earlier, picking her up like a small youngling. Cradling her in his arms, he carried her to the healer’s dwelling. He felt no remorse for what he had done; that concept was foreign to the Talortai, but he knew she was right. They were allies again and he treated her like he would any other Matukai. She bobbed faintly in his arms in time to his stride, and Grysloth knew from long experience with humans that the paleness on the normally bronzed skin of her face did not bode well for her health.
 * “Be at peace, Jedi Tayrce,” he said. “You have passed the test and you will overcome.”

Though her eyes stayed closed, Grysloth thought he saw a faint smile cross her lips, an expression that he recognized as one of pleasure, but one his physiology would not let him reproduce. As he strode through the walkways, he pondered the danger that Milya and Jahlel had warned him about and the conviction it required to entire a battle heavily outmatched, knowing that one would lose, all on something as ephemeral as a vision. It was a quiet, solitary walk for Grysloth as he strode through the rain cradling Milya, the two Arkanians trailing behind him.

15

 * Yanibar

Standing in the shadows with Daara, Selu watched the people gathered around the roaring fires perhaps a hundred meters away. The blaze and the festivities down below were far enough away that he could see them, but the distance between him and the fire meant that he felt the full effects of the chill wind blowing through the cave. Shivering, he wrapped his cloak around him tighter, a parallel for the tight control he was keeping on his Force presence, muffled and discreet.

Olno Mada had been true to his word, and had arranged for the Zeison Sha elders of their ruling council to meet at Ayarolla, and now dozens more Zeison Sha were gathered down at a rocky shelf overlooking the spring of water, clustered around campfires. No doubt, greetings between old friends and family members long separated were being exchanged, and Selu and Spectre had been hard at work the last four days helping the community prepare food and temporary lodgings for the visitors. The Zeison Sha were a generous people, he determined, willing to give up much to help others, but independent and strong-willed. It would not be easy to convince them, but Selu knew he had no choice. From the looks of it, there could be a few thousand Force-sensitives among them, and they had tremendous skill in the telekinetic manifestations of the Force. He had been briefly invited to watch a group of Zeison Sha train-from a distance- and marveled at how all of them were far more adept with telekinesis than he had been at that age. Some of the more talented trainees even rivaled his own mastery-at least, before his encounter with Revan. Since then, Selusda had been loath to place his powers to the test. With great power came a great burden, and he knew it.

Eventually, Selu noticed that some order was beginning to form out of the merriment, with twelve Zeison Sha sitting around a fire. From the limited extent of power he diverted to his Force senses, he could tell they were all the brightest luminaries among them; their presences shone like stars against the others. Even from the shadows, he could see the distinctly muscular figure of Olno Mada addressing them and a lump rose in his throat as he knew that he would soon be called to go down there. Spectre would be with him, but the responsibility for convincing the elders would be on his shoulders. Now that he was actually facing what Revan had said was his destiny, it was far more intimidating than simply talking about it or even shipjacking the Imperial scout ship.
 * “Nervous?” asked Daara, who was also standing beside him and Spectre.

Despite the cold, she was still wearing the same loose robes that she had worn as she had during the much warmer day.
 * “A little,” Selu replied. “How did you know that?”
 * “Not everything has to be Force-based,” she answered with a slight smile. “Your facial expression gave it away.”
 * “That’s observant of you,” Selu replied. “Considering you’ve only known me for a few days.”
 * “I had all these unpleasant images of what a Jedi would be like,” Daara said, turning towards him suddenly. “I thought you would be haughty and inconsiderate. Maybe even a little sinister.”
 * “Apparently that’s not uncommon,” put in Spectre.
 * “I know, and I thought I could never grow to respect a Jedi, but . . . you’re different.”
 * “How so?” Selu asked.
 * “The way you saved my life from the Imperial scouts. The way you did whatever Papa wanted-and he gave you the dirtiest jobs. How you never complained about anything the whole time or tried to be all preachy.”
 * “Well, thank you.”
 * “So, whatever happens down there, you’ve at least got me on your side.”

Selu saw the sincerity in her youthful eyes and knew that her statement placed her at odds with the majority of her people. She was placing everything on the line for him and the cause he believed in. If for no other reason, he owed it to her, and to his crew, to do everything he could for the sake of uniting the Force exiles.”
 * “You have no idea what that means to me, Daara,” he said, laying his hand gently on her arm.

They stood there for a moment, until Spectre interrupted the silence.
 * “Selu, Olno Mada is signaling us.”
 * “Understood, Spectre,” Selu said, turning away from the Twi’lek warrior.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of slender red arms wrap around him and Daara leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, spreading a warm feeling across his face.
 * “Kiss for luck,” she said.

Selu gave her a brief smile, and then started walking down the rocky slope towards the campfires where Olno Mada and the ruling council were awaiting him, followed by Spectre and Daara.
 * “This is the reason you all have been called here on such short notice,” Olno Mada said as Selu made his way into the circle. “No matter what you hear, give them the same respect that you would give me as they speak.”
 * “That may prove to be a hard request to grant, Olno Mada,” spoke up an older human man sitting at the circle. “But we will hear what your guests have to say, and decide for ourselves what respect they deserve.”

By now, Selu was standing in front of the fire and to most of the circle, the roaring tongues of flame backlit him perfectly. As he slowly removed the hood of his cloak, the light from the fire marked his features with a dancing red glow and he stood there silently for a moment. His eyes moving from one elder to the next in turn, he solemnly cleared his mind and composed his thoughts, focusing on what he to say.
 * “Elders of the Zeison Sha, I bring you greetings and an apology, one that is centuries long overdue. My name is Selusda Kraen and this is my companion, Spectre.”

Here Selu gestured back at Spectre, who acknowledged him with a curt nod.
 * “What is this apology you speak of?” asked a wizened Duros elder.

Olno Mada looked as if he were about to speak up about something, but Selu stopped him with a subtle hand motion.
 * “The apology is for a terrible mistake made centuries ago by my kind,” Selu said. “Long ago, the Jedi Order fought a terrible war with the Sith, the servants of the dark side. Many friends and relatives of the Jedi were placed at risk by the conflict and they fled to a refuge in the Outer Rim, here on Yanibar, expecting to be rescued at the end of the war. We all know that that never happened. I tend to believe that the Jedi lost the knowledge of your people, not that they willingly abandoned them, but that is utterly irrelevant in the end. What does matter is that thousands of people who relied on the Jedi Order were let down in the worst way.”
 * “You speak to us of the past?” asked the Duros. “Do you mean to apologize for the actions of the whole Jedi Order?”
 * “I do,” Selu said. “I am no Jedi Master. I have not trained dozens of Jedi or earned fame in either war or peace, but as far as I know, no one has ever taken responsibility for your abandonment. On behalf of the Jedi Order, I humbly apologize to the Zeison Sha, past, present, and future, for the wrongs they have received from the Jedi.”
 * “Very courteous of you to apologize,” put in another elder, a human woman, who looked to be at least in her eighties. “But who are you to speak for the whole Jedi Order? Who sent you? What’s your true agenda on Yanibar?”
 * “Had I been coming here not three years ago, it would have been as a representative of an Order numbering in the thousands, supporting and supported by the major Galactic government. That was the life in the Jedi Order as I knew it. One fateful day, that all changed. The Sith, the enemies of the Jedi that had long been thought defeated, had returned and they exacted their revenge. First, they manipulated us into fighting a galactic war which divided the Jedi and killed dozens. Then, they took over the government, the army, and turned the power of the state against us. In the purge that followed, hundreds of Jedi perished. Aged Masters. Jedi Knights that I had grown up with. Younglings barely old enough to speak. Across the galaxy, they were all put to the blaster. So now, I’m here as one of the few survivors who managed to escape the wrath of the Sith and their Empire, and while I came to apologize, I also have a terrible warning for you: they will come for you tpp.”

Selu looked around at the elders. They had sat quietly through his whole speech, even as his voice had started trembling when he talked about the Jedi purge.
 * “On what do you base your warning, Jedi?” asked the human woman.
 * “The Sith will never stop until they have the whole galaxy under their control,” Selu answered. “They already have forces here. Some of my friends and I also intercepted an Imperial scout ship, which would have come here, looking for you. Once they found you, no one would have survived, even if the Empire had to melt the surface of the planet to kill the last survivors.”
 * “You said it’s been two years since the fall of the Jedi Order. If your warning was so urgent, why didn’t you come before?” asked Olno Mada, and Selu knew that his host still also had to be convinced.
 * “I was in exile,” Selu said. “Hiding from agents of the Empire. After escaping from one of their ships, my crew and I came upon a hidden refuge, where spirits of ancient Jedi spoke to us. They were the ones who gave us this warning and caused us to contact you. Even now, some of my other companions are speaking to two other groups, the Matukai and the Jal Shey, presenting them with the same offer I now wish to make you.”

At least, he hoped, his companions were speaking to the other two groups. A sense of guilt and concern swept through him, but he felt sure that he would have known if Sarth, Cassi, or Milya had died or were in trouble. That temporarily calmed his fears, allowing him to return to focusing on his audience.

A wave of suspicion rolled off of the group; to Selu’s Force senses, it was all but tangible. His next statement would have to be especially persuasive, or he would lose them altogether.
 * “The spirits I spoke to told me that unless all the Force users were united together, they would be unable to withstand the might of the Empire. We must stand together, or we will fall one by one. My proposal is simple: Let the others come here to live, and enjoy the harmony of fellow Force-users. It won’t be a settlement of Jedi, or of Zeison Sha, or of anyone else, though. It’ll be one of lightbearers, people committed to serving the light side of the Force. I promise you that I don’t seek to change your way of life or of studying the Force. I envision a community of equals, not of rivals.”
 * “Nice words, Jedi,” responded the Duros. “But how do you propose to do this? The Empire is already here, as you said, and they will not just let you build this refuge. You will kill us all!”
 * “That’s not going to happen,” Selu said. “The same spirits that guided me here gave me instruction. Do you all see my companion, Spectre?”
 * “Of course we do,” said one of the elders.
 * “In a moment, you won’t,” said Selu.

Closing his eyes, he immersed himself in the Force, drawing on its power and making it an extension of his will. Then, applying a technique he learned from Revan, he encased Spectre in layers of Force energy, and then mingled the layers of energy with the surrounding Force aura, blending and concealing them. When he was finished, he opened his eyes slowly. Spectre had completely disappeared from view.
 * “Please, try sensing him with the Force,” Selu said. “Tell me where he is. Spectre, walk around some. Let them guess.”

Selu sensed the elders reach out with their own Force senses, probing the shadows to find Spectre. While they could sense Selu, Selu knew that locating Spectre would be harder for them to do. Revan had showed him to conceal his illusions within the Force, masking everything within them until it resembled the ambient Force-signature of the surroundings, as he had with his own refuge. The only way they might find Spectre was by examining the air currents caused by Spectre’s movement, but Selu was in luck; none of them shouted that they sensed Spectre.
 * “Was he ever really here?” demanded one of the elders.
 * “Ask Daara,” Selu said. “She touched him as he came down here.”
 * “Daara?” asked the human woman.
 * “I did,” she said. “He was here.”
 * “You all sensed his presence when we first entered,” Selu said. “He was and is here, but now he’s hidden by a Force illusion.”
 * “How long will this illusion last?” asked Olno Mada.
 * “About an hour. This one is temporary,” Selu said. “But I can make one that is bigger. Permanent.”

At least, Selu thought to himself, in theory.
 * “Is it possible to see through these illusions?” spoke up another elder.
 * “Only if you know that they’re there,” Selu said. “I made this one, so I could break it.”
 * “Then do so.”
 * “As you wish.”

Selu made a thought, shaped it like a pin, and pricked the illusion with his mind, shattering it. The elders gasped as Spectre re-appeared sitting in front of the fire.
 * “I’ve been here the whole time,” Spectre said casually.
 * “There you have it,” Selu said.
 * “While I am personally impressed by your use of the Force,” began one of the elders after the ensuing hubbub had died down. “It will take more than a bit of showmanship, rhetoric, and Force power to persuade me that allowing other Force traditions to stay on Yanibar is a good idea.”

One by one, the other elders voiced their agreement and Selu watched months of preparation fall, all for nothing. As Revan had seemed to indicate that the Zeison Sha were the most numerous out of all the Force users, Selu had been counting on their cooperation, knowing that Yanibar would be the best haven out of the three worlds that the Hawk-bat’s crew had gone to. Shoulders slumping, he tried not to focus on the sudden dryness in his mouth or tightness around his eyes.
 * “There is one other matter,” spoke Olno Mada.
 * “What is that, Olno Mada? We have already listened plenty to this Jedi.”
 * “The spirits that Selusda spoke of that guided him here. One of them was that of Revan.”
 * “You speak of the prophecy of the heir of Revan?”
 * “I do.”
 * “Bah! The prophecy of Revan is a myth, another Jedi lie and another empty promise that led to our continued abandonment,” spat the human woman.
 * “That view is not held by all of us,” glowered Olno Mada.
 * “Do you claim to be the heir of Revan?” asked the Duros to Selu.

Selu faltered, searching for the right words. He had spent the last few days thinking long and hard about the prophecy. Revan had never spoke to him of this, but now he was being forced to answer a question to which he did not possess the answer.
 * “I-I . . .”
 * “Do you?” repeated the Duros.
 * “I do,” said Selu finally, exhaling deeply and dropping his head as he said it.
 * “And what proof do you have of that?”
 * “Here’s proof,” said Daara, reaching into a satchel and pulling out the ancient helmet that had belonged to Revan. “This is the helmet of Revan. Selusda has the rest of the armor also.”
 * “So what? The Jedi might have recovered the armor centuries ago,” scoffed the old woman.
 * “There’s also the matter of his lightsaber,” said Spectre, as Selu seemed to be unwilling or unable to expound further. “It’s powered by a solari crystal given to him by the spirit of Revan himself. I saw it myself.”
 * “If you are the heir of Revan, as you claim to be,” said the Duros. “Tell us this: In the last battle against the Sith, how did it end?”
 * Selu looked up, snatched from his internal conflicts, to look directly at the Duros. “Another Jedi who was with Revan sacrificed herself by drawing all the dark side out of the Sith and unleashing the power of the light. Her death marked the end of the battle.”

In response, the other elders began murmuring to one another quietly. Selu could have used his Force senses to listen on in them, but knew it would have been seen as being rude. Instead, he stood quietly, waiting for them to speak to him. Spectre and Daara stood beside him, the ARC as stolid as always, while Daara’s eyes darted from one elder to another. Eventually, the Duros seemed to notice them standing by the fire again and addressed them.
 * “In light of your claim as the heir of Revan, we will reconsider your suggestion-and whether you are the heir of Revan, should that prophecy be considered truthful-and discuss our decision, Selusda Kraen. You will be summoned back when we have reached a conclusion.”
 * “As the ruling council wishes,” Selu said, bowing slightly.
 * “I have one other question for you, though,” said the Duros.
 * “Ask me,” Selu said.
 * “Have you lost your companion yet?”
 * “Lost my companion?”
 * “The heir of Revan must face the same loss that Revan did, if he is to save the users of the Force. The one who you fear to lose the most must be pierced.”

Selu’s mind immediately flashed back to Serra Keto, his best friend who, had they not been in the Jedi Order, might have also been something more. She had been dead for over three years, killed in the attack on the Jedi Temple. Yet, he wasn’t sure. He had never really feared losing Serra; she had always been so skillful, so capable, that losing her, or Skip or any of his other friends, had never really entered his mind. Selu had just denied the possibility that it could happen, which had made the loss all the more devastating when it happened. He still had nightmares about it.
 * “I’m not sure,” he admitted.

The Duros favored him with what Selu suspected was the equivalent of a tight smile.
 * “You will know when it happens,” he said ominously.

A shiver ran down Selu’s spine and he gave the Duros one last distraught look before he shrugged it off and turned and left the council’s circle, followed once again by Daara and Spectre.
 * “You did well,” Daara said as they journeyed back up the inner slopes of Ayarolla towards Olno Mada’s dwelling.
 * “They don’t believe me yet,” Selu replied.
 * “Give them time,” she said simply. “Olno Mada believes you. I could tell.”
 * “That’s a start, at least,” Selu said.
 * “Pretty handy trick, that illusion,” Spectre remarked. “Never knew Revan had taught you that. What else can you do that I don’t know about?”
 * “There are a lot of things I can do that you don’t know about, old friend,” Selu said. “Where should I start?”

Somehow that answer didn’t quite please Spectre, and the ex-ARC didn’t press the issue. The rest of the hike was made in silence; Selu was worn out from his ordeal and allowing the elders to probe his mind as they had been throughout his entire speech and Spectre was no longer talkative. Daara went towards her own room and the two Jedi found their beds and cleared their minds in order that sleep might claim them swiftly, drowning out their fears, concerns, and worries.
 * Griffin

Kinman Doriana muttered impatiently as he strode back and forth in his spacious quarters onboard the Griffin. To his extreme vexation, the Griffin had yet to arrive at Wayland, and the hidebound Captain Hemfel had informed him that at their present speed, the ship would not reach there for another week. When he had been dispatched on this mission, the Emperor had failed to inform him that he would be traveling on a ship with a pathetic hyperdrive. Doriana was used to traveling on diplomatic couriers, private yachts, or proper warships-not this clunky, experimental prototype beast of a ship. Repairing the damage sustained in that pathetic pirate attack had been easy enough, but apparently a whole new round of system malfunctions had disrupted the hyperdrive system. Even if he at long last was able to deliver the Xi Charrians to the Death Star worksite, the Emperor would surely be displeased at the significant delays. He was already supposed to have returned to Imperial Center by now. The only benefit was that the local sector commander had detached a Carrack-class light cruiser as an escort. Doriana would have preferred a Star Destroyer or two, in case of further pirate attacks, but the sector had a particularly irritating senator with a vast network of informants and an even larger propensity for making a fuss in the Senate over bending of legalities, such as conscripting alien prisoners as forced labor. Palpatine had dispatched him here to deal with this matter and quietly, so Doriana knew that he had to keep a low profile, as impossible as that was after the pirate attack.

Seating himself at his desk, Doriana figured he might as well keep up with the happenings of the Empire. He had always prided himself on being informed and ingenious, which had contributed to his position as one of the Emperor’s special aides. Accessing the HoloNet, Doriana entered his high-level access code and tapped into his personal news feed, scrolling through reports, communiqués, and messages from a wide range of Imperial sources. As he read, a small red light at the bottom of the console began blinking: An incoming message. Pulling up its properties, Doriana saw it came from the highest level and was marked urgent. He paled and beads of sweat began forming on his forehead. If it was the Emperor himself, he would be furious at Doriana’s delay, but Doriana knew full well that he had no choice but to answer it-quickly. Jabbing the receive key, Doriana watched as a quarter-size hologram, not of the Emperor, but of his new favorite, Darth Vader, shimmered into existence. Not that Vader was much improvement; Doriana was well aware that the armored figure standing before him could be almost as ruthless as the Emperor. Even since his appearance on the political scene around the formation of the Empire, Vader had quickly been shown to be the iron fist of the Empire, crushing seditious worlds like Kashyyyk mercilessly.
 * “Kinman Doriana,” rumbled Vader, the rasp of his breathing mask audible through the transmission.
 * “My Lord Vader,” said Doriana, inclining his head slightly.
 * “The Emperor desires the status of your mission,” Vader responded, cutting through any pleasantries. “You have been lax in reporting back on your progress.”
 * “My deepest apologies, my lord,” Doriana said, injecting the proper note of humility into his voice.
 * “Make your report now and I will determine whether your apologies are worth my time,” Vader said, his reply laced with a not-so-veiled threat.
 * “My sources on Cato Neimoidia led me to a group of Xi Charrian prisoners and Separatist material, my lord,” Doriana said, the demanded honorific just slightly bitter as it slipped out of his mouth. “I appropriated the prisoners for transfer to the Death Star project and loaded the material for transfer to the Wayland facility.”
 * “Then why have you not completed your mission by now?”

Doriana shrugged.
 * “Even I cannot make ships move, Lord Vader. We came under attack by pirates, and my ship was damaged. The Emperor instructed me to keep this mission secret, so I did not wish to transfer the prisoners and cargo to another ship given their sensitivity. Then, our hyperdrive navigation systems appear to have broken down. Perhaps they were not properly maintained or aligned, but that is not my responsibility.”
 * “When will you reach Wayland?” Vader said, cutting him off.
 * “In a week, according to Captain Hemfel. Despayre is a three days’ journey from there. I should return to Imperial Center in two weeks, Lord Vader.”
 * “See that you do, Doriana, or it will go as ill for you as it will for Captain Hemfel,” Vader warned.

The hologram cut off abruptly before Doriana could inquire further. Rattled, he returned to his reading, hoping that the influx of new information would keep his mind of his disturbing conversation with Vader. He succeeded and thought nothing of Vader’s warning-he still had time to complete his entire mission and the engines could only break so many times-until after his next sleep cycle, when he arrived in the officer’s wardroom for his daily briefing from Trip and Hemfel.

Stepping into the wardroom, Doriana was surprised to see that Hemfel was missing, and a pallid Lieutenant was sitting in his place, eyes locked onto the glossy surface of the table.
 * “What is the meaning of this?” Doriana asked. “Where is Captain Hemfel?”
 * “Dead, sir,” said the lieutenant.
 * “What do you mean, dead?”
 * “An apparent suicide. He appears to have hanged himself. His aide found him in the morning. The body’s been stowed in the cold storage unit of the medical bay.”
 * “Well, that’s just great,” Doriana said sarcastically.

If Hemfel had been unmanageable, he had at least been competent and experienced. This lieutenant didn’t look like he was either. Mostly, he just looked scared stiff, a new man on the bridge who had yet to earn the respect of the crew. He had likely been placed with Hemfel to learn from the older man’s experience, and then rotate off to another ship. That would never happen now.
 * “According to Imperial regulations, that places me in charge,” said the lieutenant. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure that the Griffin reaches its destinations on schedule. Our engineering crews are working double shifts to keep the hyperdrives at peak performance. This ship will not be delayed further.”
 * “See that it isn’t,” said Doriana. “How is security, Commander Trip?”
 * “The ship is secure. We have constant guards stationed around the Xi Charrians and no crewmembers are allowed in areas with the prisoners or with sensitive cargo.”
 * “Good,” Doriana replied. “At least some parts of this ship are run with efficiency.”

Satisfied with pricking the new captain’s pride, Doriana was silent through the rest of the briefing, taking note of the important details while filtering out the irrelevant ones. It was only after he returned to his quarters that he realized how wrong Hemfel’s death was. There was no way that a veteran officer in the Imperial Navy with a well-established career would hang himself. It just didn’t make sense. Then it dawned on him: what if Hemfel hadn’t had a choice. The Sith were known to be able to influence minds to terrifying consequences. What if Hemfel hadn’t committed suicide? Doriana pulled the transmission logs and they revealed that Hemfel had indeed received a high-level transmission right after he had spoken with Vader. Correlating that with the estimated time of death given by the ship’s medical droids, Doriana saw that Hemfel died at the same as he received the message. Had Vader contacted Hemfel after his conversation? Could Vader have made Hemfel shoot himself with his mystical Force powers? Or did he just simply threaten him with a fate worse than mere death? Doriana was not sure, but the idea of casually dishing out a man’s death based on his imperfect performance was not one that sat entirely well with him. True, Hemfel had been the one responsible when the Griffin had been delayed, but he had also done an admirable job in fending off their pirate attackers and by all indications had been a loyal officer. The harsh reality remained, though, that there was no challenging Vader and Doriana did not have proof or the particular favor of the Emperor at the moment, given the way this mission had been dragging on, to request that His Imperial Majesty reprimand his favorite servant. It was more imperative than ever that nothing further go wrong.
 * Yanibar

A soft rap at the wooden door of Olno Mada’s guest room roused Selu and he saw Spectre similarly sit up, blinking sleep from eyes but instantly alert. Judging for the absence of light through the window, it was still some time before dawn. Reaching out with a fraction of his Force powers, he sensed Daara’s familiar presence standing at the door expectantly.
 * “What is it, Daara?” he asked, as pleasantly as possible given the hour.
 * “The ruling council has summoned you back,” she said, the words spilling rapidly from her mouth. “They’ve reached a decision.”

Selu sprang from the wooden frame bed, reaching for his robes, at the sound of her words. Splashing some cold water on his face to help wake himself up, Selu followed Daara back out of the house and into the Yanibar night. The unpolluted atmosphere afforded them a clear sky filled with the stars of the Outer Rim; they shone like ten thousand tiny lights against the black backdrop of the sky. Making their way back down to where the lone fire, now considerably dimmed from its earlier blaze, was glowering in a sizable pile of embers, Selu prepared himself mentally for their response. Walking back into the circle with Spectre and Daara close behind, Selu came to a halt near the fire, bowing respectfully again. As before, the elders were seated in a circle with him and his companions in the middle.
 * “Jedi Kraen, we have reached a decision regarding your proposal,” said the Duros who had addressed him earlier.
 * “We were prepared to reject you outright,” injected the older woman.
 * “However, in light of your claim as the heir of Revan,” continued the Duros resolutely. “We shall put you to the test.”
 * “What kind of test?” Spectre asked.
 * “If you are the heir of Revan, it is said that you will restore the Zeison Sha and change our fates forever. However, even if you hide us under a permanent illusion of your making, Selusda Kraen, the Empire threatens us. We would not be able to trade with the spacers and merchants who come to the spaceport without fear of discovery. You must defeat the Empire.”
 * “The whole Empire?” Selu asked incredulously.
 * “The Imperial presence on Yanibar will do for the moment,” said Olno Mada.
 * “If you succeed in driving the Empire off of Yanibar, you will have earned your refuge,” said the Duros. “Any Force users who serve the light side and wish to come live here may do so, provided they come in peace and respect our ways. There is one thing, though.”
 * “Always is,” Spectre remarked.
 * “This refuge will be your responsibility to keep safe and secure. You will defend it with your life or your death, if necessary,” said the Duros.
 * “Sounds like you’re promoted to commander of the Yanibar Defense Force,” Spectre said dryly to Selu.
 * “Great. Does it come with a hat?” Selu replied with a wry smile.

Turning back to the council, he composed himself and made his reply.
 * “Ruling council of the Zeison Sha, I accept your offer on behalf of the Jedi Order,” he said formally. “I will not let you down. I have but one final request.”
 * “Name it,” said the old woman.
 * “I ask for the aid of my companion, and for any Zeison Sha who wish to join me in destroying the Imperial base,” said Selu. “One person cannot stop the full power of the Empire, and I am just one man.”
 * “Your friend, and any Zeison Sha willing to aid a Jedi, may go with you,” said the Duros after a tense minute of hushed conversation between the elders.
 * “Thank you,” Selu said. “I will inform you when the Empire is gone.”

Bowing again, he turned and left the circle with Spectre and Daara.
 * “That went well,” he muttered.
 * “Hey, they agreed to your idea,” said Daara.
 * “No, they agreed to let me charge an Imperial base and if by some miracle I succeed, then they’ll have no choice but to agree to my idea. However, they’re probably counting on not having to worry about that.”
 * “Come on, Selu,” said Spectre. “It’s just one base.”
 * “Oh, is that all?” Selu said.
 * “Wasn’t a problem for me during the war,” Spectre said. “I usually worked alone, and against greater odds.”
 * “Well, I didn’t,” Selu said.
 * “It’s doable,” Spectre said. “I can certainly hold my own.”
 * “Good,” grunted Selu, increasing his stride to leave Daara and Spectre behind.

For some reason, Spectre’s comments had spoken to his sense of inferiority, making him feel less than capable. Already faced with a daunting task, he did not need the trooper’s belittlement or any suggestions that Jedi were inferior to everyone else. He had already had plenty of that subtext during his days with the Zeison Sha. There had been a tension between him and Spectre recently, and he suspected it was due to their mutual attraction for Milya. He silently gritted his teeth and reminded himself that getting involved with her was not on his agenda, but the thought remained nevertheless.
 * “Where are you going?” Spectre asked.
 * “I need to think and plan,” Selu said. “See if I can whip up a miracle.”

His cloak billowing out behind him, he walked off to the edge of Ayarolla’s sheer cliff face, the one place where he knew he wouldn’t be bothered.

Spectre let Selu go at first, knowing that the Jedi needed some time to cool off. He watched Selu sit down on the rock shelf and close his eyes in meditation. He let Daara go, and then followed his friend up to the rock shelf, his boots crunching on the loose gravel formed by erosion in between the layers of rock on the monolith’s roof Plopping down next to his friend, Spectre sat there quietly until a frown eventually formed on Selu’s face and his eyes opened.
 * “Could you use some help?” Spectre asked.
 * “Help with what?” Selu asked, his tone suggesting he knew the answer to the question and just didn’t want to discuss it.
 * “I don’t know . . . maybe on how to take out an Imperial base?”
 * “Not at the moment,” Selu said.
 * “Well, let me know when you do,” Spectre replied. “I do have some experience in that sort of thing, if you recall.”
 * “Look, Spectre,” Selu said heatedly, losing his temper in a very un-Jedi-like fashion. “I didn’t even want this job, okay? I realize that I am not the best Jedi Knight ever to grace the galaxy, but I am doing my best here. I don’t need my hand held every five seconds just because of who I am. So just . . . back off.”
 * “I’ll back off,” Spectre replied stiffly. “But you’ll need my help if you want to take out that base. I came here to help you because I knew that. I thought we were a team, but apparently I was wrong.”

The ARC stood abruptly and started walking off. As he did, Selu’s rational mind took over and reminded him of all the lessons on teamwork and cooperation that had been instilled in him during his Jedi training. He suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed at having blown up at Spectre like that.
 * “Wait,” said Selu. “Don’t go.”

Spectre stopped, waiting.
 * “I’m sorry for getting mad at you, Spectre,” Selu said. “I . . . just have had a lot on my mind recently. This whole journey we’ve been sent on-I never wanted this and now everyone seems to be telling me how I’m doing it wrong. That’s not much of an excuse, but I’m sorry.”
 * “Don’t worry about it, Selu,” said Spectre. “Anything I could help with?”
 * “Hmm,” Selu said, musing. “Do you know anything about how to take out an Imperial garrison single-handedly?”
 * “I might,” said Spectre. “Let’s get Daara up here, though, see what she knows about the base.”
 * “Good idea,” said Selu. “And thank you for your help, Spectre. Good to have you on the team.”

Spectre gave Selu a small smile and nodded in acknowledgement.
 * “You’re welcome.”

16
Lieutenant Almos Terthbak looked dejectedly at the empty ration pack wrapper lying next to him on the deck floor. Aside from the lingering crumbs, it was a dull gray piece of plastic and almost entirely uninteresting to look at, but Terthbak had nothing better to do. He and the others had figured that they had been locked in the cargo bay for the better part of two weeks, but they had no idea where they were. They knew that they had landed on a planet about a week ago, but didn’t know when exactly they had landed or where they were. There was fresh air, to be certain, and that seemed hopeful. One of their captors had left them sufficient food to last one more day, but the Imperial crew didn’t know what they would do for provisions after that. The door had been sealed after their jailer had dropped the food and some blankets and had resisted all attempts to open it. The stench in the room was unbearable; even with using an empty cargo container as a makeshift refresher and keeping it closed, there was no escaping the smell. With nothing else to do, Terthbak had paced up and down the cramped cargo bay for awhile, but the constant motion had eventually bored even him and now he sat slumped along the side of the wall, lethargic, like most of the others. Lacking good ventilation, the cargo bay was hot enough to be uncomfortable and Terthbak didn’t feel like doing anything in the heat. The others had carried on conversations for the first few days, but even Royner and Neach had run out of things to talk about. Moving his head around on the cargo cylinder that served as a makeshift pillow, Terthbak found another excuse to do one of his favorite things in their captivity: grumble.
 * “This cylinder is utterly uncomfortable and useless,” he growled.
 * “Yes, Terthbak,” agreed Neach lazily. “And so is the cargo bay. And so are the rations. And so are we. And so is our ‘fresher. And so is everything in this ship. We know already, so spare us please.”
 * “Wait a minute,” said Jasnan. “I think I might have had an idea.”
 * “So do I,” said Royner. “Jas, come here and I’ll let you know how I feel about you.”
 * “I’ve seen more feeling in a side of meat,” she said cuttingly.
 * “Ouch,” remarked Neach. “Score: Jas 126, Royner 2.”
 * “Knock it off with the running tally, will ya?” retorted Royner.
 * “Wait, what was your idea, Jasnan?” said Terthbak, who had finally dispensed with the regimen of formal ranks.
 * At that moment, the ship lurched, throwing them all to the deck in various states of disarray. The hull reverberated with motion, and they instantly associated the motion with the Observant preparing to take off. Wherever their captors had gone, they were apparently back.
 * “Remember that corpse we pulled into the cargo bay back in the Erediss system?” Jasnan said.
 * “Yes,” Terthbak replied slowly.
 * “Wasn’t there a Jedi lightsaber that went with it? It’s still in the cargo bay, right?”
 * “Right,” said Terthbak, snapping up. “Good thinking, Jasnan. That could be our key to getting out of here.”
 * “What about our shipjackers?” Royner pointed out. “I think they’ll take exception to our escaping, and I like my body parts where they are.”
 * “No, they’ll be too busy preparing for lift off,” said Terthbak. “It takes all hands to get the ship going, remember, and there are only five of them.”
 * “Actually, I think there’s less than that, since we felt the starfighter and that other ship undock,” Jasnan noted.
 * “Good point,” said Terthbak, rummaging around for the proper cylinder.

Finding what he was looking for, he entered the codes and opened the storage case, revealing the partially decayed corpse they had stored and the sealed package containing the Jedi lightsaber.
 * “Phew, that smells worse than your body odor, Terthbak,” said Neach, but the officer took the joke in stride, having learned to occasionally recognize their humor.
 * “Here we are,” Terthbak said, hefting the lightsaber. “Stand back. I think I know how to use this.”

Pressing a button gingerly, he started in surprise as a blue blade blazed into existence from the other end of the lightsaber, and he nearly dropped the weapon.
 * “Careful,” said Neach. “I hear those are awfully hard to use.”
 * “Here’s the plan,” Terthbak said, still holding the glowing blade. “We break out of here and secure the engineering station. Gillam, you’ll stay there and send a distress signal to Empire. They need to know about this. The rest of us will retrieve our weapons and rush the bridge and take them by surprise. Does that sound good?”

Throughout most of his command of the Observant, Terthbak would have rather died than ask for advice, but his imprisonment and Jasnan’s advice had taught him a few things.
 * “For once, I’m with you,” said Neach.

The others agreed, even Jasnan, so Terthbak slowly advanced on the cargo bay hatch, lightsaber at the ready.

Up in the bridge, Selu gently raised the Observant off of the Yanibar surface and set it into a lazy atmospheric course designed to mimic the slow sweeps of a scout ship scanning the surface on the scopes of the Imperial base. The plan today was to fly a scouting run over the base to determine how many Imperials they, Daara, and any Zeison Sha they could scare up, would have to fight. Spectre sat nearby, watching the sensors. Contrary to Terthbak’s statement, it did not take that much time to power up the Observant; the added delay was due to redundant Imperial regulations regarding preflight activities. Activating the autopilot, Selu noticed that Spectre was staring out across the Yanibar horizon, obviously distracted.
 * “What are you thinking about?” he inquired.
 * “Usually, my mind would be totally focused on the mission,” Spectre said. “But I can’t stop thinking about her for some reason.”
 * “You mean Milya?” Selu asked casually.
 * “Yes,” Spectre said. “I’ve never really missed someone until now. It’s different.”
 * “Have you told her how you feel?” Selu asked, half-dreading the answer.
 * “Not explicitly,” Spectre.

Inwardly, Selu breathed a sigh of relief. As much as he denied any attraction to Milya, the idea of her being with someone else was less than palatable.
 * “I’m no expert, here, Spectre, but I just hope you’re not setting yourself up for a disappointment, then.”
 * “What do you mean?”
 * “It doesn’t always work out between men and women, Spectre,” Selu chided gently. “Every time you think about entering a relationship, you have to be prepared for the possibility of rejection, and for any number of reasons.”
 * “Like what?”
 * “Spectre-I told you. I don’t have a lot of experience in this.”
 * “That’s fine. Now what were those reasons? You had to have thought of something.”

Selu realized that he was walking on a thin rope here. He was already pushing his knowledge of romantic matters, but it was too late now.
 * “Could be anything. Women are odd things, Spectre. She might not like you as a person, or she might like you as a person and think you’re better suited as a friend. Or she might have found someone else already.”
 * “Are you telling me this because I’m a clone?”
 * “No,” Selu answered, taken aback by Spectre’s sudden intensity. “I’m telling you this because I don’t want to see you get excited over something that, well, may not work.”
 * “Your feelings betray you,” Spectre said. “I’ve been sensing you closely the whole time you’ve been talking. You’re attracted to her, too, aren’t you?”

Selu froze, like a child caught in the act of doing something wrong. The idea that Spectre would be sensing his emotions had not occurred to him in the least bit.
 * “That’s not entirely true,” he managed.

Fury and jealousy boiled up inside Spectre as he realized that he had been playing into Selu’s hands the whole time. For all he knew, the Jedi had been deliberately leading him around, pretending to be only concerned for him, so he could have a chance at winning Milya’s attention also. Nothing was worse to an ARC than a traitor, and Spectre wondered if Selu had been planning on betraying him later all along.
 * “And you’ve been stringing me along this whole time, trying to subtly redirect my attentions. Soften the blow. So that’s the Jedi way.”
 * “Spectre, that’s not what I meant to do.”
 * “Sure it isn’t. Next thing, you’ll be trying to cloud my mind with the Force, too. Or have you already done that?”
 * “I would never do that to you,” Selu said, his own anger beginning to rise. “You’re being unreasonable.”
 * “Tell me: When did you first feel for her?” Spectre said coldly.
 * “I, uh, . . .”
 * “Answer me!” the ex-trooper bellowed.
 * “Spectre, from the first time we met, there was something there, something I tried to hide, but couldn’t deny,” he admitted helplessly.
 * “You felt that way all along and you never told me, hoping that I would just go away or something? Or did you plan on winning her over only after I got involved? You kriffing rodder!”

Spectre was standing over Selu now, shouting in his face with fists clenched. Selu was now fed up with Spectre’s attitude. He was vaguely aware that the ARC couldn’t be entirely blamed for his feelings and that he might have been right, but that did not occur to him. Nor did it occur to him that Spectre had had even less opportunity to understand and develop the proper ways of handling these feelings than he did. Something primeval was sparked within him, something angry.
 * “Sit down a minute,” Selu ordered, letting loose with a mild wave of the Force to send Spectre sprawling back in his chair. “Now listen to me. I have never spied on you or Milya, nor wished you anything but happiness. I’ve been trying to lose my feelings for her and I’ve never said a thing about it to anyone, not even Sarth. So don’t go accusing me of trying to steal anything from you. Got it? As far as I’m concerned, the only interests I have right now are unifying the Force exiles on this karking quest that I didn’t want and maybe becoming a better Jedi.”
 * “You’re a terrible liar,” Spectre said. “And a terrible friend, as it turns out. Keep working on those Force powers, Selu, ‘cause that’s all you’ve got.”
 * “This from the vat-grown killer,” Selu shot back, his judgment slowly ebbing away. “You’re a great judge of character.”
 * “At least they gave us honor,” Spectre said sharply. “I treated the bodies of Jedi killed in the purge with respect. I’ve seen you kill several troopers- my blood brothers- and not bat an eye.”
 * “We were betrayed!” Selu roared.
 * “We were following orders,” said Spectre. “And you didn’t look too betrayed when you cut them down on New Holstice, from what I’ve heard. Why don’t you finish what you started, Selu? Here’s one clone that’s not being jumped from behind.”
 * “If it comes down to a fight, not only will you lose badly, but we will both lose,” Selu said, composing himself somewhat. “The Zeison Sha will never be free of the Empire.”
 * “This isn’t about the past,” Spectre said. “I can forgive that. It’s about the present; about what you’re doing now- to me, and to Milya. I can’t help you until that’s settled.”
 * “Then we appear to be an impasse and we lose both ways,” Selu said.
 * “No,” said Spectre. “Let’s end this now. No weapons. No Force powers. Just you and me. The loser stops chasing her.”

Selu’s animal mind instantly accepted the challenge, before his rational mind could catch up and voice the fact that Milya was not a prize to be won. In his state of mind, Spectre probably wouldn’t have listened anyway. Before he knew it, he was unbuckling his utility belt.
 * “It’s awfully close for hand-to-hand,” Selu said.
 * “What’s the matter?” Spectre taunted as he removed his own weapons. “Afraid to fight close in? Maybe you’ll have to break your word and use the Force to win.”
 * “I promise you on my honor as a Jedi Knight that I will use neither weapon nor the Force,” Selu said, the seriousness of his oath calming him down some. “And this is not the way to settle this issue.”
 * “So now you want to back out?” Spectre said.

That last jibe removed the last vestiges of restraint and Selu lunged at Spectre, who met his charge. The confined spaces of the bridge made landing kicks difficult, and Selu found that, kilogram for kilogram and completely cut off from the Force, Spectre was easily as skilled a combatant as he was. The two battled back and forth from their positions, their blows and kicks blocked as often as they landed. Fully warmed to the fight, neither backed down as they rained punishment on the other. The awkwardness of fighting in such an enclosed area was evident in both of their styles, with Spectre employing more traditional teräs käsi techniques to counter Selu’s knowledge of K’thri. While Selu was more proficient in Hijkata, a technique that had been taught to Senate Guards, K’thri was more suited to up-close brawling, which this was. As it stood, his fighting style was a mix of several different disciplines, but the K’thri moves were the most prevalent-short, swift jabs, blocks, and attempts and throws that relied on balance and position. Unfortunately, Spectre also seemed to be familiar with K’thri and was countering most of his attacks. Having known each other for as long as they had, they were wise to each other’s tricks and their counter blows were timed to inflict the most damage.

Rocking the ex-ARC back with a punch to the jaw, Selu ducked under a powerful hand jab intended for his throat and returned a knee to Spectre’s stomach which drove him back for an instant as the wind was partially knocked out of him. Taking advantage of the Spectre’s distraction, Selu leapt up onto the raised deck by the captain’s chair, where he would be able to more effectively use his legs. With their near-equal footing and being outweighed by Spectre, it was his best chance to end this. If he continued too long, Spectre’s natural stamina and strength would bear him out, as Selu resolutely determined not to use the Force. Driving a short kick at Spectre’s head, Selu was already transitioning into his follow-up move when he was stopped short by Spectre’s iron grip on his kicking leg. The ex-trooper yanked him back down onto the horseshoe-shaped lower deck where most of the crew typically sat before he could react, and he landed on his back with his head closer to the bridge viewport. The next thing he knew, Spectre was straddling him, delivering smashing blows to his face.
 * “You’re so predictable,” the ARC said, the first words he had spoken during the fight.
 * “Predict this,” Selu shot back, hooking his leg around Spectre’s and rolling him over with the leverage gained by a quick thrust of his hips.

Now in the reverse position that they had been a second ago, Selu straddled Spectre, on guard for the same move he had just used. He punched the ex-trooper straight in the face, reveling in how good that felt, when suddenly it seemed like a durasteel ring had clamped around his neck. Gasping for breath, Selu looked straight into Spectre’s dark glittering eyes as he struggled against the two hands, corded with muscle and veins from the strain, firmly gripping his throat, pressing on the blood vessels that led to his brain. Selu attempted to drive his knee into Spectre’s groin, but the ex-trooper was wearing the bodysuit worn under his katarn-class commando armor. Padded and somewhat blaster resistant, it would take more than his relatively weak effort to loosen that grip. He tried to pry Spectre’s fingers off, but it was no use; it was like trying to rip apart metal bands. Flailing his arms in wild attempts at effective combinations, Selu began to see spots swimming in his vision. All he could hear was the throbbing of his own heartbeat against the pressure applied to his carotid artery. Spectre smiled, his lips a cruel slash across his face, as he increased the pressure on Selu’s neck. Soon, the Jedi would be unconscious and he would have won, won the right to pursue Milya, but something caught his attention. Even without the Force, his ARC training had afforded him a highly developed sense of situational awareness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an anomaly that threatened to develop with catastrophic effects. His deft mind rapidly analyzed all possible outcomes and came to one of two possible choices. Knowing that it was the right thing to do and that it would probably kill him, he took the first choice. Releasing his grip on Selu’s throat, he grabbed the Jedi bodily around the waist and threw him to the side with all his might as a lance of fire burned into his chest.

They had crept up to the bridge with the utmost of caution, the four Imperials, blaster pistols retrieved. When the ship had taken off so quickly, they had been worried than one of the shipjackers would emerge from the bridge, ruining their plan, but they had been lucky. The lightsaber had cut through the door with ease and Gillam was in the deserted engineering section sending out a distress signal. As he keyed the bridge door open, Terthbak found to his extreme surprise that instead of five people turning to look at the entryway, there were only two people and they were pummeling each other. Taking aim with glee, with sighted down the end of his blaster pistol and fired.

At the end of his rope, Selu suddenly realized that Spectre had thrown him off for no explicable reason, releasing him from the choke. His eyes widened with horror as a brilliant red bolt slammed into Spectre’s chest, leaving Spectre mouthing a warning, unable to say the words. Time slowed down and in a nanosecond, the Force came back to Selu, surging into him with its amazing power, like jumping into a pool of icy-cold water. Hyper-aware, he now registered the four other presences standing in the doorway of the bridge without even looking. The smell of seared flesh filled his nostrils and he was aware of the miniscule droplets of vaporized blood trailing from the wound. He turned his head, knowing before he did that he would see the Imperials standing there with blasters at the ready. What surprised him more was the sight of a lightsaber hanging on their belts, but he took advantage of it, his actions guided by instinct and the Force as he moved faster than a human eye could follow.

Extending a hand, the lightsaber shot off Jasnan’s belt into his hand, igniting in mid-air to bat away two more blaster bolts. His pain and lack of oxygen forgotten instantly, Selu sprang up and instantly closed the gap between him and the four Imperials. Their hasty snap shots were deflected with negligent ease as he drove into them, burning with anger. However, Selu kept himself under careful control with deliberate effort. With a flying scissor-kick, he knocked Neach and Royner back while he brought his lightsaber down on the barrel of Jasnan’s weapon. Landing, he brought the butt of the lightsaber across Jasnan’s forehead, knocking her to the deck, while a Force shove at Neach and Royner slammed them into the wall, blasters falling from nerveless fingers, out of commission. He sensed Terthbak raising his blaster for a point-blank shot, but, unlike a second ago, Selu was more than ready for it. He saw it coming in slow motion. Terthbak never had a chance. Selu swung the blue blade in a backhand parry, but this time didn’t just settle for taking out the lieutenant’s weapon. Terthbak screamed in pain as he stared in horror at the smoldering stub where his right hand and blaster had been. A blaster bolt sailed by Selu to impact on the forward bridge viewport and the Jedi Knight turned to see Gillam cradling a blaster, several dozen meters down the corridor from him. Launching a surge of Force energy towards him, Selu knocked him too back into the wall of the ship with enough force to render the engineer unconscious. Then, he turned back to the shivering Terthbak, his eyes blazing with his anger.

Terthbak stared back at him, speechless, and too shocked to notice the pain yet. Staring into Selu’s merciless eyes, he prepared to meet a horrible end at the hands of this avenger, an end that Selu was more than ready to provide.
 * Follow the light. Don’t be angry, Selu.

The words stopped him short, the words spoken to him by Serra Keto and Skip during the raid on the Jedi Temple, warnings to beware of the dark side of the Force. If he killed Terthbak now, he would forever taint himself with its seductive power, but he wanted revenge on the lieutenant, on himself for being so foolish and stubborn. He knew it would feel good to unleash his anger on the cowardly Imperial, but he knew it was not the right thing to do. It was the moment of decision.

Raising his lightsaber, he swung with deliberate slowness towards Terthbak’s head, watching the man’s eyes widen as the blow fell. The butt of the weapon connected with Terthbak’s temple, dropping him to the ground in a noiseless heap. He switched off the lightsaber and, clipping it to his belt, ran forward to kneel by Spectre.
 * “You saved my life,” he said.
 * “It was the only choice,” Spectre whispered hoarsely. “You needed to live.”
 * “No!” Selu said. “You’re not going to die.”
 * “Hurts a lot,” Spectre said.

Selu looked at the wound; to his relief, it had not hit anything vital. The bolt had more than partially been deflected by Spectre’s bodysuit, apparently and, while painful, it was little more than a flesh wound. Selu closed his eyes and placed his hands on Spectre’s injury and then called on the power of the Force. Revan had shown him how to heal injuries by the power of the Force and while he was not naturally talented like Cassi, the sheer magnitude of his powers had to count for something. The Force rippled through him and he felt the energy flowing through him. He focused further, sending the healing energy into the injury until every part of him ached. If the wound had been any more severe, there was no way that he could have healed it and this was by no means an immediate and total treatment. Finally, he released the pressure and was relieved to see the wound had shrunk somewhat.
 * “Hmph, feels better,” Spectre said hoarsely.
 * “Good,” Selu said, a little shaken himself by the effort. “On your feet, soldier. We’ve got a job to do.”

Turning back to where Neach and Royner were beginning to rise, Selu addressed them with a stern glare.
 * “Pick yourselves up and get your comrades back to the cargo bay,” Selu said coldly. “Try anything foolish and you won’t have time to regret it. I won’t be as merciful this time.”

Ashen-faced, they struggled to their feet and began carrying Jasnan and the others to the cargo bay, watched closely by Selu while Spectre found a medpac to more effectively treat his wound. There was an awkward silence as the two regarded each other. In light of the mortal danger they had just faced, their argument of a minute before seemed more than foolish. For Selu, the guilt was even worse, because Spectre had nearly given up his life to save him even in the midst of their fight.
 * “Spectre . . .” Selu said quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

The ex-trooper didn’t look up from where he was applying an antibiotic to his chest injury.
 * “Look,” he tried again. “I was wrong for what I said. I caused this mess in the first place, and I wasn’t honest with you. I was too focused on myself.”
 * “You were right about one thing,” Spectre said.
 * “What’s that?”
 * “We both lost.”

Selu considered Spectre’s statement and decided it was true on several levels. They had accomplished nothing besides nearly get killed and damage their friendship. While they might regret the insults they had hurled at each other, there was no way to erase them. Nothing had even been settled between them, and Selu knew that the potential for further conflict was high, which could be devastating for any plan to defeat the Empire. However, there was one question he couldn’t drive out of his mind.
 * “Why did you do it?”
 * “I saw them coming, you didn’t,” Spectre answered. “I knew you weren’t armored and that my bodysuit was better than your tunic. If they had shot you, I would have had a body to move off of me before I could respond. I knew you could handle them once you started using the Force again. It made sense.”
 * “So it was all logic, then?”
 * “I didn’t say that. You saved my life once, back on Boz Pity. That counts for a lot, and despite your current stubbornness and manipulation, you’re still my friend.”
 * “My stubbornness, huh?” Selu responded. “That’s gotten me into more trouble than I care to remember.”
 * “That’s such a surprise,” Spectre replied facetiously.
 * Selu paused and drew a deep breath. “Spectre, I don’t want to let anything, or anyone get in the way between our working together, our friendship.”
 * “Good to know,” Spectre said, applying a spray bandage to his burn and grunting as the cool mist hit his skin.
 * “So,” Selu continued gamely. “I think we have to be honest with each other, and with Milya. Let her make any decisions that need to be made.”
 * “I was going to suggest that myself,” Spectre said. “Tell me, though, since we’re being honest with each other, what do you feel for her?”

Selu looked at his friend and knew that this issue could be a wedge between them if it was allowed to fester. It was time to lay it to rest.
 * “Milya and I are friends and I suppose you could say companions, given that we’re on this insane mission. I have no interest in pursuing her, but I won’t deny that the thought has crossed my mind.”

The words burned in Selu’s mouth as he said them with reluctance. So this was what Revan had meant when he would always be alone. Perhaps it was better this way. The Jedi Order had sternly frowned on personal relationships; they led to attachment and that complicated one’s sense of duty. Free of the entanglement of having people too close to him, he would be free to make the hard decisions, even sacrificing himself if necessary. On the other hand, it had been those relationships that had kept him from dying after he had caused the destruction of Emberlene.
 * “That’s fair enough,” said Spectre. “Thank you.”
 * “Don’t mention it,” Selu said. “Anyway, I think we’ll call it a day. I’m suddenly not feeling well, and I imagine you’re about the same.”
 * “Did I bust you up that badly?” Spectre asked.
 * “No, it’s not that. I’ve already healed most of those injuries with the Force. It’s something else, something Force-related that’s bothering me.”
 * “Will you be fine?”
 * “Of course,” Selu assured him. “I’d just prefer not to be flying right now. Anyway, I’m going to go lock our Imperial friends in.”
 * “Good idea,” said Spectre. “Wonder where they got that lightsaber.”
 * “I don’t know. I’ll question them eventually, but not right now.”

Selu headed back towards the stern of the ship where the Imperials were sitting in the stern cargo bay in various states of injury. Except for Terthbak, who was lying on the floor semiconscious, they looked up when he entered and Selu assumed a mask of hardness. It was not hard; all he had to do was think about Spectre being blasted and cold fury welled up within him.
 * “If you try to escape again, I’ll kill you all,” he said. “And it won’t be fast.”
 * “What about his arm?” Jasnan said defiantly, indicating Terthbak’s arm where Selu had severed his hand.
 * “The wound appears to be cauterized. I don’t see what the problem is.”
 * “He needs medical attention,” she shot back. “It’s the least you could do.”
 * “I owe you nothing, Terena Jasnan,” Selu replied. “You’re very fortunate to be alive right now. You scum ambushed my companion and I and tried to kill us. Don’t ask me for favors.”
 * “So everything they say about Jedi is true,” Jasnan shot back at Selu as he turned to leave.

The remark stopped him cold.
 * “I would not say such things if I were you,” he said over his shoulder.

Walking out, he grabbed a second medpac from the locker and tossed it into the cargo bay for Jasnan, who wisely said nothing when it landed next to her. Instead, he decided what to do about the door, which, carved out of its frame, was lying on the floor. Taking a screen from Spectre’s datapad, he pulled a pair of infrared trip mines and mounted them on the door frame.
 * “These are laser-activated mines,” he informed the Imperials. “If you walk through this door, you and your friends will experience a swift and painful death. I advise you to stay inside.”

Neach nodded hastily; he at least was still terrified of him, and Selu turned and walked back to the bridge to help Spectre land the Observant. Should have thought of that in the first place, Selu thought, but then again he hadn’t considered the Imperials much of a threat in the first place. An error in judgment to be sure. Rubbing his hand against his suddenly upset stomach, he felt even worse than before than before. Still, the landing sequence went smoothly enough, with Selu and Spectre setting the ship down a decent distance from Ayarolla to preserve the secrecy of the Zeison Sha. By the time they set down, Olno Mada and Daara were waiting near the landing site for them, signaled via a comlink which Spectre had given them. As they shut down the engines and descended from the ship, the two Zeison Sha emerged from behind cover to meet them.
 * “What did you find?” Olno Mada started to say, before seeing Selu’s and Spectre’s condition.
 * “What happened?” Daara asked rapidly as she ran forward to help Spectre down the ramp.
 * “The Imperials escaped and attacked us,” Selu said.

Right then, a massive thunderclap sounded in Selu’s skull and he collapsed to the ground limply, clutching his head.
 * “Selu!” shouted Olno Mada, crouching to down to turn him over.

Selu convulsed on the ground for several moments, his eyes fluttering rapidly and heart racing before Olno Mada was able to calm down his mind with a subtle application of the Force.
 * “Ungh,” Selu groaned as his eyes opened again.
 * “What’s wrong?” the Zabrak asked concernedly.
 * “There was pain, lots of pain,” Selu said slowly, wincing at the recent memory. “And danger. I sensed imminent danger.”
 * “Here?” Daara asked.
 * “No,” Selu said. “Not here . . . I didn’t feel endangered, but . . .”
 * “I sense it too,” Spectre said slowly.

Selu closed his eyes again, concentrating on the murky vision and sensation he had just felt, trying to sift through the conflicting feelings and perceptions he had received. There, floating amidst the other strands of information in the abstract depths of the Force was something, someone he recognized.
 * “Milya,” he said at last. “She’s in trouble. She needs our help.”
 * “Who’s that?” Daara asked.
 * “One of our companions,” Spectre replied. “She was headed to Darlyn Boda, to speak with the Matukai.”
 * “We need to go, now,” Selu said firmly as he picked himself off of the ground. “Things are speeding up which we cannot control.”
 * “He’s right,” Spectre said. “I sense it, too.”
 * “What about your promise?” Olno Mada asked. “To rid us of the Empire.”

Selu had not forgotten about the promise, but the perception he was feeling through the Force told him that he was needed elsewhere, that Milya was in grave danger. If that was the case, then their mission probably was as well.
 * “Olno Mada, I keep my promises,” Selu said. “I will return, and when I do, we will clear the Empire from this place.”
 * “Besides,” Spectre put in. “Milya is a capable and canny warrior. We could use her help, especially if she’s recruited the Matukai.”
 * “That’s right,” Selu said. “Tell the council that we are going to bring some of our companions here, to help us in the battle against the Empire.”
 * “I will,” Olno Mada said. “May the Force be with you.”
 * “And with you, Olno Mada,” Selu said.

Then, Selu and Spectre started walking back into the Observant as fast as they could manage. Hopefully, Selu thought, they would be able to heal while the ship was in hyperspace.
 * “Wait,” said Daara. “Let me come with you.”
 * “Are you sure?” Selu asked.
 * The Twi’lek nodded. “I want to help.”

Selu looked at Olno Mada, who frowned at first, but then shrugged.
 * “She is old enough to make up her own mind,” he said. “If she wants go along, then that is her choice.”
 * “I’m fine with it,” Selu said.
 * “Besides, I’m not letting two crippled old humans go off on a crazy quest to get themselves killed before we take care of the Empire,” Daara said.
 * “Did you hear that, Spectre?” Selu asked his friend. “She called us crippled old humans.”
 * “Young people these days have no respect,” Spectre agreed mournfully.
 * “Hey, you can’t be more than a few years older than me!” Daara countered, and then she realized that they were pulling her leg and they chuckled as the Observant prepared to lift off.
 * “How long until we reach Darlyn Boda?” Spectre asked.
 * “Not long,” Selu said as they rocketed towards space. “Probably five hours in hyperspace, and then re-entry.”
 * “I’ve never been off-world,” Daara said as she peered through the viewport watching the azure blue of the Yanibar sky slowly recede to the black void of space.
 * “Well, once we get to hyperspace, I plan on doing some resting and healing,” said Selu. “Same for you, Spectre. No telling what we’ll run into on Darlyn Boda.”
 * “No arguments from me,” said Spectre.

As the Observant cleared Yanibar’s gravity well, Selu fed Darlyn Boda’s coordinates into the navicomputer. A minute later, it chirped back at him with the desired course, which Selu laid in before pulling the hyperdrive lever. The stars elongated and then twisted into the tunnel of hyperspace as the Observant transcended the standard spatial dimensions and achieved superluminal velocities.
 * Star Destroyer Corrupter'

As Corrupter reverted back into realspace in the Darlyn Boda system, Captain Jack Nebulax had already done his best to make sure that the ship was in trim fighting condition. The gunnery crews were all manning their weapons emplacements and the starfighter pilots were sitting in their cockpits, ready to launch within seconds of receiving the signal. While Nebulax didn’t think that they would be challenged in space-the Jedi had never had a navy of any remarkable size-there was always the possibility. The ship closed rapidly for Darlyn Boda and Nebulax spent those minutes tensely pacing the bridge or glancing over the sensor officer’s shoulder.
 * “Alert all commands,” he said finally. “Prepare for action.”

Just then, Ajaur walked into the bridge. The Inquisitor was wearing his usual black attire, but had clipped some sort of armored vest over it and now wore his lightsaber openly, probably for faster access to the weapon.
 * “I’ve sensed the Jedi,” he said. “They’re on the surface of the planet.”
 * “Shall we bombard from orbit?” Nebulax asked. “That’s probably the most effective way.”
 * “Perhaps,” said Ajaur. “But not necessarily the most thorough, particularly if they have sensed our approach. My own presence in the system may have been enough to alert them and we can’t let any escape.”
 * “Then what is your plan?” Nebulax asked.
 * “Prepare your troops for landing,” Ajaur said. “We’ll surround them and wipe them out.”
 * “As you wish,” Nebulax said. “I’ll contact the local garrison and have them supply additional troops.”
 * “If I may, sir,” put in Convarion, who had been standing quietly by Nebulax.
 * “Go ahead, Lieutenant,” replied Nebulax.
 * “We should have one squadron of fighters attached to help cover the assault. If any of the Jedi try to flee, they’ll be right there to shoot them down. The other squadron and Corrupter will be enough to catch any stragglers that escape.”
 * “Good idea,” Nebulax said, inwardly perturbed that he hadn’t thought of it himself.

Convarion smiled faintly, an indication of his pleasure at having shown up Nebulax, particularly in front of Ajaur.
 * “Instruct your troops that I am in command for this operation,” said Ajaur. “I do not want to have to deal with obstinate petty commanders in the midst of eliminating the danger of these Jedi. See to it, Captain.”
 * “I’ll do better than that,” Nebulax assured him. “Lieutenant Convarion, you will accompany Inquisitor Ajaur down to the surface and ensure that the command structure is properly enforced.”
 * “As you wish, sir,” Convarion said, but Nebulax knew he didn’t mean that.

From the way Convarion glowered at him from the corner of his eye, Nebulax knew the other man was both furious at him and petrified at the idea of accompanying the volatile Inquisitor down to the swamps of Darlyn Boda, but Nebulax had left him no choice. Satisfied that Convarion had been slapped down for his temerity, Nebulax saluted to signal an end to the conversation, waited for Convarion to return the salute, and then watched the other man depart stiffly in the direction of the landing bays, followed by the black shadow of Ajaur. Nebulax’s decision wasn’t entirely unpractical; Convarion had experience in ground-side work based on his Academy resume and had done well back on Susefvi. However, they both knew that his assignment to accompany Ajaur was a form of punishment and revenge.
 * “Prepare troops for landing,” Nebulax instructed the landing party commander by comlink. “Expect stiff resistance.”

Shutting the device off after receiving the commander’s affirmation, Nebulax smiled tightly. Any Jedi down there would pay for defying the Empire this long.
 * Darlyn Boda

Milya slept uneasily, dreaming that she was awash in a red sea, a sea of burning pain. It seemed her entire body was being hammered upon by a crew of brutish Gamorreans and she wondered if she was back in her youth, with dozens of spiteful girls attacking her at once until she curled up in a ball, trying to avert serious injury. But that felt wrong, and she continued to float in unconscious agony. Then, she felt something cool on her face and her eyes opened to see Hasla standing over her with a cool, damp cloth, having just obviously applied it to her forehead. She looked around and realized she was lying on a bed in the healer’s dwelling, judging by the smell. Milya had already been there once before, after Xlora had delivered a particularly hard knock with a wan-shen staff to her head and knocked her out. The pungent smell of the healer’s herbs and the pop-eyed expression of the ancient avian Mrlissi who attended her were hard to forget. Looking around, she realized that it had stopped raining and it was now late afternoon; about six hours after her fateful duel.
 * “How are you feeling?” Hasla asked.
 * “I’ll be fine,” said Milya, moving her limbs around tentatively around the blanket to make sure everything still worked.

So far, so good, she figured. While it hurt to move, she could feel all of her arms and legs working relatively well, albeit stiffly. It would have been much more convenient to have a medical droid or even Cassi here, but she could still speed up the healing process somewhat with the Force.
 * “How’s Jahlel?”
 * “He took a pretty good hit, but he’s got a hard head,” Hasla replied with a slight smile. “Mostly just a rancor of a headache.”
 * “That’s about what I feel like,” said Milya, sitting up in the bed despite the pain that the motion brought. “Except all over.”
 * “The healer said you should be up tomorrow, but that you should rest today and maybe tomorrow.”
 * “That bad, huh?”
 * “You escaped with nothing broken, but you earned a planet’s worth of bruises in return. Bruised ribs, bruised spleen, bruised face, bruised limbs-you’ve got it all, with a concussion and other minor cuts to boot.”
 * “In retrospect, I could have passed on all that.”
 * “True, but you did get Bolfwé Grysloth to see your point, and that doesn’t happen often. We’re already making preparations to leave.”
 * “Good,” Milya said. “The Jedi I told you about- Selusda Kraen- will be contacting me about a refuge. In fact, he might have already done so. As soon as I get out of here, I’ll need to head back and check my fighter’s message log.”
 * “That won’t be a problem,” said Hasla. “Jahlel and I can take you in whenever you’re well again.”
 * “Thanks,” said Milya. “Selu’s probably taken care of his part already and is waiting for me to respond.”
 * “You think highly of this Jedi,” Hasla said.
 * “I’ve seen him do some pretty incredible things, yes,” Milya answered.
 * “That’s not all I mean. The way you talk about him; you are not just friends, no?”

Milya found herself temporarily at a loss for words to reply to the perceptive Arkanian. She wanted to say yes, but knew that wasn’t true. Selu had been sending her mixed signals for as long as she had known him, and she didn’t know he felt about her. While Spectre had been actively pursuing her, she also didn’t feel the same way about him that she knew he did about her. However, a sudden interruption saved her from having to answer the question.

The earsplitting scream of a quartet of starfighters flying at high speed less than one thousand meters above the ground tore through the Matukai compound, and then another formation and another repeated the same maneuver. Some of the Matukai screamed from the sheer surprise and shock as they began running around frantically. The starfighters, V-wings, looped around and began firing their forward laser cannons, strafing the compound with green bolts of coherent light. The rounded-roof buildings of the complex, while sturdy and built to stand for years in the swampy environment, quickly succumbed to the laser cannon blasts. Bolts that struck walkways exploded in brilliant green flashes, vaporizing the duraplast instantly. Others hit the water, superheating it into clouds of white steam. Several Matukai, caught to close to the impact points, were thrown from the compound into the swamp from walkways and buildings. One of the buildings apparently had something flammable in it, as it erupted in a billowing cloud of smoke and fire. People ran across the compound as chaos erupted.
 * “We’re under attack!” shouted someone.

Hearing that, Milya instantly sprang out of bed, a surge of adrenaline blotting out all memory of her injuries. She glanced out the window; sure enough, fighters were roaring in to spray volleys of laser cannon fire over the Matukai settlement. Racing outside the healer’s house with Hasla right on her heels, Milya ran towards the dwelling where she had been staying to retrieve her lightsaber, comlink, and other essentials. The flights of fighters closed in for a third pass when suddenly several sizable chunks of debris shot into the air straight in their path. The result of a starfighter running into a boulder or permacrete slab at a speed of approximately fifteen kilometer was instant destruction for two of the Imperial ships; the other ten immediately broke off, some of them damaged by the explosions. Milya looked and saw Templar Grysloth roaring in victory and shaking his wan-shen at the retreating craft and knew that he had been responsible for the telekinetic attack. However, she also knew that wasn’t the last they’d seen of the Empire.

Milya hastily threw together a small pack of her effects before clipping her lightsaber to her belt and running back outside to where a group of thirty-nine of the more able-bodied and combat-trained Matukai, including Jahlel and Xlora, were standing in a loose circle around Bolfwé Grysloth. As she ran up, Grysloth regarded her with his eerie alien eyes.
 * “The Empire is here!” he said, his voice booming around the circle. “Escape is no longer possible for all of us. We must buy the rest of our people time to flee, or the Matukai will be utterly blotted out.”

The warriors stood in somber silence during his speech, rather than shouting in anticipation, with each seemingly having a face etched in stone. Then, Grysloth turned to Milya.
 * “For what it is worth, Jedi, you did all you could. Because of your actions, we are not as ill-prepared as we might have been. Some of us may yet live to see the next dawn.”

Milya sensed that there were no words apt to reply to Grysloth, so she merely bowed her head in acknowledgement and respect.
 * “They’re approaching,” said one of the Matukai calmly, a young Twi’lek male named Kacheen.
 * “Did you sense them in the Force?” Grysloth asked.
 * “No, but I felt the vibration of their vehicles on the land,” replied Kacheen.

Like many Matukai, Kacheen did not have the training or aptitude in the Force to extend his senses over any considerable distance beyond a few dozen meters, relying on heightened physical senses such as hearing or touch instead. However, Milya did. Stretching out her senses, she easily picked up the oncoming sensation of human presences and she was dismayed to find that there were hundreds of them.
 * “There are hundreds of them,” she reported.
 * “What direction are they coming from?” Grysloth inquired.
 * “The east,” she said after a moment, pointing a hand in the opposite direction of the setting sun.
 * “So much the better,” replied Grysloth. “We will come at them out with the sun in our backs.”

The Imperials burst into the compound, emerging from the swampy environment like khaki or white-armored ghosts, blasters at the ready. Their initial entrance met no resistance and the first hundred soldiers advanced into what appeared to be a deserted area. However, that assumption was soon proven to be mistaken. Springing from around corners, from inside buildings, Matukai adepts tore into the Imperials, cleaving them with swift blows of their wan-shens. The Imperials, armed with blaster rifles, were not only at a disadvantage in close quarters, but were simply no match for the Force-assisted warriors they encountered, who dodged their hastily fired blaster bolts or batted them away with their axe-blades The Imperials farther off were often unable to fire at the Matukai, either, due to the possibility of hitting one of their comrades. . Often, all they saw were whirling blurs diving into their midst. The orderly Imperial assault degenerated into a confused melee, with Matukai striking from cover to separate and scatter the stormtroopers. The casualties were horrendous; Bolfwé Grysloth took out an entire squad of eight by himself in the first minute alone. Easily seventy percent of the original assault unit of one hundred was killed or seriously wounded within two minutes of fighting and one officer managed to send a call for aid before Jahlel’s wan-shen separated his head from his shoulders. The murky swamp water ran red from the blood of the Imperial bodies knocked off of platforms. Though the Matukai had suffered their own casualties-two dead and three wounded-the battle seemed at first to be won.

However, the Empire was not so easily beaten. The second wave, consisting of more Imperial army troopers but also backed up by six bipedal AT-RT walkers advanced from three directions this time. The walkers let loose with a fusillade of mortar shells which rained down on the Matukai complex with shrill screams, indiscriminately blasting buildings, walkways, and people. Four Matukai, caught in the open, were killed instantly and more, concussed by the sound of the shells, were vulnerable to follow-up strikes or fire from the troopers. Still, though, the advancing Imperial troops found themselves under attack even before they entered the complex. Diving under the surface of the water in the lake under the complex, Xlora and some of the other aquatically-adept Matukai launched sneak attacks on Imperial troopers, striking at their legs. Confusion began to spread in the Imperial ranks and the hail of mortar shells was temporarily halted as the walker pilots began blasting at things in the water. Confiscating a pair of grenades from a fallen stormtrooper, Xlora armed and threw them at an AT-RT. The detonation was enough to shear off one of the legs, toppling the war machine. She laughed exuberantly before submerging again and propelling herself through the water with her powerful legs. Sensing a pair of Imperials nearby crouched near a fallen log, she surfaced right next to them, wan-shen at the ready, to reveal a sniper and spotter peering at the Matukai compound. A quick axe-blade slash and spear-point stab dealt with them and she turned, looking for more targets of opportunity, when she saw him.

Striding through the mists at the head of another hundred or so stormtroopers was an imposing human dressed in black with a scar running down his face and, more disturbingly, a blade of red energy held in his hands. His very presence oozed with hatred. Stifling a scream, she dove under water and swam as fast as she could back to the Matukai complex, all thoughts of bravado vanishing.

The Imperial troops, largely reduced to either firing ineffectual barrages of blaster fire at the compound from range or charging in to do hopeless combat with their small army-issued vibroblades against those terrible polearms, were at virtually a standstill when Ajaur arrived. Over one hundred of them had fallen already and one of the walkers was down. The Inquistor’s arrival changed that. For one, his troops were all not just stormtroopers, but all Fett clones grown on Kamino and Nebulax’s best unit. Second, they had been ordered to equip vibrobayonets on their blaster rifles, which would give them a fighting chance against the Matukai’s polearms.

As they drew near the compound, the second wave armed and threw grenades and detonators into the complex and it was soon lit up with the crackle and explosions of three dozen grenades. Another half-dozen Matukai fell in that assault, but Ajaur wasted no time. Striding confidently at the head of his troops, he walked into the Matukai compound like he was a superpredator and the Matukai were unsuspecting prey and, for all intents and purposes, they were. By now, there were used to surprising unsuspecting troopers, quickly hacking them down, and running to cover again. The first two adepts who tried that on Ajaur’s column leapt down from where they had been lying prone on a rooftop. One of them was impaled by Ajaur’s crimson blade in mid-air leap while the Inquistor sliced the other’s weapon arm off before three blaster bolts blew gaping wounds in his midsection, transfixing him forever as he fell in a noiseless heap to be trod on by white-armored boots.

Smiling grimly, Ajaur and his group of faceless minions advanced, the red blade bobbing up and down in time to his step, a harbinger of doom. While he had been expecting Jedi, the very fact that the light side of the Force was so strong here meant that this was a dangerous nest of traitors who deserved swift and final justice. Their arrival saw the Matukai fall in alarming rates, cut down by Ajaur, who was fully in the thralls of the dark side of the Force and far more skilled than any of his opponents, or gunned down by the stormtroopers. Their bodies, intermingled with dead Imperials, lay floating in the water or in grotesque poses in between burning buildings or charred walkways. That was not to say it was one-sided. A dozen stormtroopers were blown to pieces when a male human not twenty standard years of age grabbed a belt of grenades, armed them, and leapt into a group of the clones. More stormtroopers were lost through hopeless charges or desperate ambushes, but, guided by Ajaur’s senses and with sheer weight of numbers, the Matukai died. The vibrobayonets were a horrible surprise also, reflected Ajaur, as he trod on the corpse of a female H’nemthe, who had attacked a group of stormtroopers only to receive a bayonet through her torso before she could kill more than one. The delicious surprise at the wound was still evident, even on her alien face. These Matukai, though more numerous than the scum he had dealt with on Susefvi and better prepared, were no match for the power of the dark side of the Force.

Ajaur walked into the head of a large circular area, followed by a squad of stormtroopers, when suddenly he sensed a particularly powerful signature in the Force closing rapidly behind him. Bolfwé Grysloth leapt into the circle with a loud roar, wan-shen at the ready. Ajaur stared him down calmly, his face utterly expressionless. The fool, though twice his size, would die quickly.
 * “Shoot him,” he ordered.

The stormtroopers raised their blasters, but Grysloth flicked his hand in a familiar gesture and the troopers went flying back off the platforms that comprised the compound or to collide painfully with nearby pillars or moss-covered walls, out of the fight.
 * “So, you have some skill,” Ajaur taunted. “You must be the master here, but you’ve done a terrible job. I’ve already killed nine of your trainees and I’ve barely broken a sweat.”
 * “You’ll pay for that, Sith vermin,” grated Grysloth as the two circled each other in the dueling ring, light versus dark.
 * “You’re not even worthy of being dealt with by a Sith,” replied Ajaur acidly.
 * “Then you must be their bootlicker,” replied the enormous Talortai. “I’m glad that’s such a pleasure to you.”

If Ajaur had been darkly bemused before, all such notions were banished at Grysloth’s remark. Fury and rage boiled through his system, in a way they hadn’t since he had been humiliated and sworn to the Empire’s service. Every demeaning conversation, every reminder of his inferiority was brought to mind by the insult. And for an Imperial Inquistor, there was only one appropriate response, and Ajaur was more than happy to oblige his instincts. Roaring, he charged Grysloth, unleashing his wrath. Grysloth’s massive wan-shen swung out in a sweep that would have split him in half; instead, Ajaur leapt over the shaft, shearing the blade off the wan-shen as he did so. Powered by the dark side of the Force, his leap carried him over the Talortai’s right shoulder and he turned in mid-air to spear his lightsaber downward through the base of his opponent’s neck, cleaving through any number of vital organs and blood vessels. Mortally wounded, Bolfwé Grysloth fell to his knees with an anguished howl, but his eyes were already filming over in a precursor to his imminent death. Landing, Ajaur turned and raised his blade one more time to decapitate the Matukai. While a slow, torturous death would have been preferable recompense for the insult he had received, disfiguring his body would suffice. As the blow fell, he suddenly heard someone scream and his Force-heightened reflexes spun him around to block a sudden attack before he could finish off the Matukai leader.

Milya, Jahlel, and Hasla had been fighting as a team of three, and had been initially very successful against the first two waves of Imperial attackers. However, Hasla’s youth, combined with Milya’s and Jahlel’s injuries, meant that the third wave had posed considerable difficulty for them. Attacking a squad of stormtroopers attempting to set up a heavy blaster on a roof overlooking most of the compound, Milya’s whirling lightsaber quickly became the focus of several blaster rifles after she killed the first two troopers before Jahlel and Hasla moved in and finished off the last few with skillful wan-shen strikes. Suddenly, Hasla turned and saw Bolfwé Grysloth in the dueling ring, squared away against a lightsaber-armed figure. A chill ran down all of their backs as they all saw it.
 * “Let’s go,” said Jahlel, and they all raced off the roof towards the dueling ring as fast as they could manage, cutting down any stormtroopers in their path.

As Milya, ahead of the two Matukai, who had been caught up by a small knot of stormtroopers, rounded the corner into the ring, she watched in horror as the dark-clad Imperial somehow managed to break through Grysloth’s guard and pierce him with his red lightsaber.
 * “Noooo!” she screamed, charging forward with her blades whirling.

Ajaur found himself locked in furious combat with an angry female human, who was curiously enough, armed with a double-bladed lightsaber that shone with silvery-white light. The blades clashed over and over again, red against silver, but Ajaur slowly found himself beating her back against a wall with his furious strokes. He hadn’t managed to break through her whirling saberstaff, but her parries grew less forceful with every passing strike. It would soon be over. The Jedi, though skillful, was already injured, and obviously exhausted. Her defense would collapse, and he would kill her.
 * “You will pay!” roared Grysloth suddenly from behind him.

Instinct and reflex saved him then, as he backflipped into the air just in time to avoid being skewered by the sharp remains of Grysloth’s wan-shen staff.
 * “Will you die!” snarled Ajaur, as he rammed his lightsaber through the Talortai’s back again.

This time, the alien did stop and Ajaur sensed his life force leaving his body rapidly. Death was less than a second away, but he cruelly twisted his blade, hoping to prolong the agony in vengeance for the attempt to stab him.
 * “May . . . may the Force . . . be with you,” stammered Grysloth to Milya, and then he died, collapsing on the ground.

The death of the Matukai leader shook Milya to the core, but she was also filled with a flash of white-hot anger and would have charged Ajaur again had her Echani-molded situational awareness not warned her of the clatter of stormtrooper armor fast approaching the dueling ring. Jahlel and Hasla burst into the ring also, but she knew they would stand no chance against Grysloth’s killer once he was reinforced.
 * “Run!” she screamed, but there was no use. Caught between Ajaur and his troops, they were all doomed.

Then, a deafening roar rippled across the battlefield and flashes of green light light erupted in the midst of the stormtroopers. Like a diving bird of prey, the Observant swooped down on the Imperials, its turret pasting stormtroopers and AT-RT walkers alike as it circled the compound, laying down sheets of laser cannon fire. Troopers hit by the energy blasts simply evaporated as their tissues superheated and exploded. Those hit by near-misses were thrown every which way in a gruesome reminder of the earlier Imperial strafing runs. The arrival of the scout ship temporarily turned the tide of what was becoming a rout, and Milya, Jahlel, and Hasla took advantage of the momentary shock to scramble away past the astonished Ajaur, who scowled furiously at the ship as it soared over the compound again. Milya saw the Observant settle down to a hover at the far end of the compound, away from the Imperials, engines still roaring, but boarding ramp lowering. Run to the ship, she heard through the Force, and knew that it had to be Selu calling, both to her and to all the other Matukai. His presence in the Force was like looking at a light of a star, so brightly did it burn, and she ran as fast as she could, with Jahlel and Hasla just ahead of her.
 * “Counter attack!” roared Ajaur, sprinting forward as he realized the gravity of the situation. “Don’t let them escape! Kill them all!”

Spurred into action by his words, the stormtroopers charged. Milya could see the ship now, its turret now silent as a few Matukai raced up its boarding ramp. Several other stragglers besides her were now in the watery mud, wading as fast as they could towards the ship not fifty meters away. Suddenly, the scream of a mortar shell ripped through the air and the detonation knocked her and Kacheen down into the water face first as it exploded less than five meters away from her back.

Then, the stormtroopers emerged from the compound, firing to kill. Selu, helping a female Falleen soaked in water onto the ship, saw the troopers as they appeared into his vision, saw the mortar hit, knocking Milya and Kacheen down.
 * “Daara,” he shouted, turning to the Twi’lek standing beside him while Spectre, still weakened due to his injury but able to fly, sat in the cockpit. “Help me get those two out there!”

Nodding frantically, the Jedi and Zeison Sha leapt down into the soggy ground, sprinting towards Milya and Kacheen.

Jahlel and Hasla had been far enough way from the mortar round not to be knocked down and they had kept running towards the ship. However, Milya’s muffled moan as she fell had caught Jahlel’s attention. Swiftly he spun around with disciplined ease and smooth control from years of Matukai training, barely slowing as he raced back to help her up. Pulling her to his feet, he saw the stormtrooper aiming a rifle at her head, knew she was still too dazed to react. Milya was looking right at him and he smiled at her slightly as he pushed her aside and took the shot. The blaster bolt pierced him through the temple in a bloody mist and he died instantly, crumpling to the ground in a heap. Milya stared helplessly at him, frozen in shock, and then suddenly Selu appeared out of nowhere, his lightsaber lit to deflect blaster bolts, his other arm tugging her along towards the ship. A circular blade sailed out from behind her to bury itself into the throat of the stormtrooper who had shot Jahlel, and Milya vaguely recalled seeing a red-skinned Twi’lek throwing another blade at a second stormtrooper while helping Kacheen along, speaking words of encouragement to him. A volley of blaster bolts spit out from the Observant pinned down the other stormtroopers and she recalled running through the final meters of mud in a haze and leaping onto the boarding ramp of the scout ship, followed by the two Twi’leks and finally Selu, who was still batting away blaster bolts. Hasla, standing in the ramp of the Observant, saw Jahlel go down and instantly ran towards him. Suddenly, a pair of iron-hard arms grabbed her from behind, encircling her, not letting her go. She kicked and fought, but her captor was armored and much stronger than she was, dragging her back into the ship. Spectre, having emerged from the cockpit when he sensed trouble, had seen the same thing Hasla had even as he laid down suppression fire with his blaster rifle set on full autofire to cover Selu’s and Milya’s extraction. Anticipating Hasla’s reaction, he had dropped his weapon and held onto the struggling Arkanian, dragging her back into the ship and setting her on the floor in a heap. Then, he raced back to the cockpit as fast as he could manage, bringing the ship’s engines back fully online from standby mode in preparation for a rapid liftoff.
 * “Go!” shouted Selu from the hatch as he bounded in.

He barely had to say anything. Spectre punched the throttle and the ship shot into the air, blaster bolts deflecting off of its hull as stormtroopers fired in vain at it. Less than fifty meters away, Ajaur watched it leave and bitter hatred welled up in him again as he watched the ship depart. He and the silver-bladed Jedi would meet again, he vowed, and she would feel his blade. However, for the moment, the possibility of revenge still existed.
 * “Commander Convarion,” he said, whipping out his comlink.
 * “Go ahead, Inquistor,” came Convarion’s slightly unsteady voice.
 * “There is an outbound scout ship fleeing the system. Shoot it down, immediately.”

The Inquistor switched off the comlink before the unnerved Convarion could reply and glared spitefully around the ruins of the complex. He had done well so far, but the victory had not been complete. Some of the Force users had escaped, as had that Jedi. Both of them.

Selu, having just sealed the external hatch shut, started to race ahead to the cockpit, where he would be needed to escape the Imperial Victory-class Star Destroyer in orbit, but stopped short when he saw Milya sitting listlessly in the corridor. Knowing that he needed to be flying the ship, he nevertheless saw the pain in her eyes.
 * “I’m sorry about everything, Milya,” he said quietly. “You saved as many as you could, and they died to save their friends. There’s no greater call than that. When you’re ready to talk, come find me, okay?”

She nodded, biting back the tears, and Selu spared her one last concerned glance before rushing up to the bridge where Spectre was taking the Observant into orbit far faster than it was rated to.
 * “Never a dull moment,” replied Selu as he and the trooper changed seats so he could pilot. “Daara, take the turret please!”
 * “Got it,” she answered.

Selu strapped himself in and glanced at the sensor scopes. There were indeed twelve Imperial fighters rapidly closing in on them, with another nine trying to cut them off. In the Hawk-bat, Selu would have had a fair chance of evading or defeating them, but the Observant was both larger and less well-defended. Selu’s hands longed to have the familiar controls of the sleek Hawk-bat again, but it was no use; he would have to make due. The atmosphere of Darlyn Boda receded as they gained even more altitude and finally subsided entirely to the harsh vacuum of space. However, the V-wings slowly gained on them, their tight formations painfully evident on the sensor screen.
 * “Imperial fighters closing fast,” the ex-trooper reported tersely.
 * “What about the destroyer?”
 * “We should be safe from that as long as the fighters don’t slow us down too much. At this rate, they’ll cut off.”
 * “Any brilliant ideas?”
 * “You don’t have a plan?”
 * “Not really. I was a bit focused on getting us down there and I didn’t really think about getting out.”
 * “I suppose that claiming that we’re an Imperial courier ship on a priority mission won’t work twice?”
 * “Probably not, unless you know some high-level Imperial codes. Even then, the pilots up here are probably already wise to us.”
 * “The ones I’ve got are a bit dated. Not a chance.”
 * “I was afraid of that.”
 * “Why don’t you just cloak the ship?”
 * “With the Force?”
 * “Sure.”

Selu glanced at the screen. The fighters would be in firing range in less than a minute and they had two minutes before they were ready to jump to lightspeed.
 * “Spectre, I generally like a little more advance notice before I try that trick.”
 * “Are you saying you can’t do it?”
 * “I’m saying I don’t know! This isn’t exactly something I’m an expert at yet.”
 * “Better figure something out then,” Spectre replied dryly.
 * “All right! I’ll try it.”

Selu closed his eyes and concentrated on forming a shielding bubble of the Force around the ship. The energy surged through him and he fought to drowning in the undertow of its currents even as he sought to keep the flow of the Force under control, formed into a stable illusion. Gritting his teeth, he could feel sweat begin to first bead, and then pour down his face. However, the exertion paid off. Slowly, the pursuing fighters began flying in the wrong direction, spreading out, having lost sight and signature of their target. Pouring all his strength into the Force, Selu felt Spectre’s power, drew on it to help relieve the strain of concentrating so much energy through his body.

Spectre felt the tendril of Selu’s mind reach out to him for strength and he opened his mind to let his friend receive it. Selu wouldn’t have asked for his help unless he needed it, and Spectre was happy to oblige. Having taken over the piloting duties once again to let Selu focus, Spectre looked at the Jedi and was startled to see that his skin was glowing faintly even as sweat poured down his body. The mental draw on his own strength was sapping and he couldn’t imagine what Selu was experiencing, though he suspected that Selu’s years of experience and practice in using the Force afforded him a type of mental conditioning. From the inside of the Observant, nothing seemed different, but Spectre knew from the sensors that the fighters had lost them-their tightly focused intercept vectors seemed confused rather than locked onto their course. Altering their heading slightly confirmed his hypothesis, as the fighters sailed off in the wrong direction.
 * “Hold fire, Daara,” he said. “We don’t want to reveal our position.”
 * “Whatever,” she answered, descending lightly from the turret. “What the kriff is he doing?” she asked, indicating Selu.
 * “Saving our skins” Spectre said.
 * “I hope he’ll be okay,” Daara said. “He’s glowing.”
 * “I’ll . . . be fine,” Selu said through gritted teeth. “Just get us to hyperspace.”
 * “On it,” Spectre replied, punching the hyperdrive control.

The Observant’s drive accelerated the ship beyond lightspeed as the scout ship shot out of the Darlyn Boda system, safe from their pursuers. Selu breathed a huge sigh of relief and released the Force energy he had been controlling, allowing it to bleed off into space. He felt bone-tired; shielding a fast-moving object on an unpredictable course and one that already was under observation was incredibly harder than a fixed location that nobody was watching, even for just a couple minutes. The energy dissipated away from him and he didn’t feel as nearly as hot as he did a minute ago; too much longer and he would not have been able to keep up the illusion.
 * “You still one hundred percent?” Spectre asked, looking at Selu.
 * “A little thirsty,” Selu said, grinning faintly as he mopped away sweat from his brow. “I need to practice that particular technique more.”
 * “Good news is, it worked.”
 * “That it did,” Selu said. Then, changing topics to something more serious, he asked, “How many did we save?”
 * “Eleven,” reported Spectre. “We were almost too late.”
 * “I know,” said Selu gravely. “And I have a bad feeling about our escape.”
 * “Why is that?”
 * “Well, our exact location might have been hidden, but I’m sure that was an Imperial Force-user down on the planet. There’s no way he didn’t sense all that power. It means he knows a lot more about me than I want him to.”
 * “Great.”
 * “So, where are we headed?”
 * “Somewhere in deep space.”
 * “Could you be a little more specific?”
 * “Not really,” Spectre replied. “Sarth and Cassi sent me rendezvous coordinates to an Outer Rim world named Generis as soon as we arrived here. We were busy, so I thought we would meet them there on our way out after making a couple intermediate jumps to throw off any attempts at tracking us.”
 * “Good idea,” Selu said. “What else did they say?”
 * “They have news,” Spectre answered, pulling up the communications console. “See for yourself.”