Force Exile III: Liberator/Part 4

7
Small and mostly white, the planet of Belsavis hung in the void between the stars like a tiny pearl floating in deep space. The obscure orb of solid matter was relatively insignificant to the galaxy at large. No great leaders or innovations had ever come from Belsavis; in fact, it was barely considered habitable. The majority of the planet was covered in meters upon meters of ice, frozen and packed solid, which contributed in large part to its appearance from orbit. The settlers who had established a colony here lived in valleys heated by geothermal energy, where reportedly lush jungles thrived in the heat provided by hot volcanic magma.

They were a stubborn and independent bunch, the Belsavans, to live on such an untamed world, hacking a meager existence out of the harsh environment. Their main exports were the produce grown in the rifts between the ice, vine-coffeine, vine-silk, and sweetberries among others. More recently, after the end of the wars, the planet’s trade had boomed with an upswing in demand for luxury goods such as the high-priced fruits and fibers grown on Belsavis. Numerous corporations had either started or expressed interest in setting up operations on the planet.

However, to Lieutenant Almos Terthbak, that information was all irrelevant. He and his ship, the Observant, were not in the system to conduct a diplomatic mission or even to make contact with the people there, nor was he interested in economic possibilities. Their sole purpose in the system was to conduct scans and search for any possible traces of the treasonous Jedi Knights. They had been at this job for the better part of a year now, their only other human contact being with a supply ship; that had been three months ago, and it had only been a tiny junkpile of a craft. And for the duration of the mission, they had yet to locate any trace of the Jedi, save for an old abandoned starfighter which was now strapped to the scout ship for further investigation at a later time. They had tried to at least unload the derelict craft on the supply ship captain, but he had refused as his ship was barely bigger than Observant and all arguments about how it greatly expanded their sensor profile fell on deaf ears, much to the exasperation of the crew. Instead, the Observant had had its mission extended yet again and dutifully cruised the little-traveled spacelanes of the galactic Outer Rim until but a week ago, when a priority transmission from Imperial Command had sent them scrambling to Belsavis to confirm the rumors that an enclave of Jedi were hiding there.

Despite the seeming urgency behind their sudden course change, her crew largely took it in stride, well familiar with the routine jumping at shadows practiced by some in the upper echelons of the Imperial admiralty. Their mission and tasks would be the same, no matter what system they were sent off to. Her captain was the one exception, as he had only slightly relaxed his previous highly-strung antics that had amused his crew. By and large, the crew of the Observant considered Terthbak to be the same tense, officious, inexperienced lieutenant that had tripped over his own feet when boarding the ship for the first time.
 * “Sensors, prepare for primary scanning sequence of the target world,” ordered Terthbak. “We wouldn’t have been sent to this world for nothing, and I want a good scan of this place.”
 * “Aye, sir,” said Warrant Officer Neach from his seat in front of the various sensor consoles, his voice carefully modulated to conceal his skepticism at the lieutenant’s words.

In his opinion, it would be just like High Command to send a scout across the galaxy for no reason. The scouting routine, having been repeated for the forty-third time on this cruise, was mind-numbingly boring: Bring the ship in close enough for the sensors to be useful. Scan the world or object. Report no findings. Set an outbound vector and jump out to the next destination. Start over. It had been the same on forty-two of the forty-three locations, and the crew, minus Terthbak, expected nothing less. However, this time, they were wrong.
 * “Contact,” said Neach, perking up and sitting more straightly at his chair. “I’m getting a significant reading from the black box. Tracing it now, sir.”

The black box, a mysterious cluster of sensors of some classified nature, had been specially installed on Observant and its findings had been declared of utmost importance. Until now, it had never done anything, and some of the crew suspected it was a sham.
 * “Is it working correctly?” Terthbak demanded tersely.
 * “Aye, sir, just finished a diagnostic on it,” said Neach. “The array is fully functional.”
 * “Run a double-check,” Terthbak said.

Neach didn’t reply, instead engrossing himself in operating the delicate sensor equipment and focusing it on the world of Belsavis. For several moments, he waited as the sensor boards whirred and beeped at him. Eventually, the results came through.
 * “Still positive contact, sir,” Neach reported.
 * “That means, Warrant Officer, that we have found them: The Jedi Knights, sworn enemies of the Empire. This information must immediately be sent to Imperial High Command,” said Terthbak in the officious manner the others had rapidly come to detest.

The lieutenant immediately activated his private communications display from his command chair. The crew surreptitiously watched him converse, first with one military officer, than another. Eventually, though, he was patched through to a dark-cloaked figure. Terthbak spent several minutes talking to the cloaked man, but his physical appearance diminished considerably through the course of the conversation. His face grew pallid and his eyes widened, with sweat trickling down his back. At times, he would fidget, and the other crewmembers wondered what had instilled such apparent anxiety in their superior, so often fawning and obsequious when addressing high-ranking officers. However, their curiosity was somewhat lessened by the menacing air, even through a miniature hologram, that the cloaked figure displayed, so casually contemptuous of the Observant. Finally, the conversation, if it could be called that, ended and Terthbak was released from enduring the agonizing process of holding discourse with the cloaked figure. Mopping a bead of sweat from his brow, he took a deep breath and returned to his crew.
 * “Crew, we’ve been commended on a job well done. Our report has confirmed what the Empire suspected; the Jedi were hiding here.”
 * “What is our next course of action, sir?” asked Jasnan from the pilot’s chair.
 * “Unsurprisingly, our orders are to return to our previously scheduled set of scouting locations. The Empire will deal with this threat as it sees fit, but our mission is not completed yet,” said Terthbak.
 * “Well, they give us a pat on the back for a job well done and then it’s back off to the drudgework,” said Neach.
 * “Could I have a trip to the nearest cantina instead?” commented Marsden sardonically.
 * “Refrain from personal comments, and focus on the task,” said Terthbak, but there was no energy in his speech. “I’ll return shortly.”

With that, Terthbak got up and walked off the bridge before the ship had even re-entered hyperspace, which was unlike him. Neach leaned over to Jasnan’s seat.
 * “What’s up with the lieutenant? He should be jumping with joy.”
 * “I think that talk with the weird robed guy upset him,” said Jasnan. “Whoever that was, that voice was unsettling, and I thought I heard a respirator in the background.”
 * “A respirator? That’s strange,” said Neach.
 * “Also, I think Terthbak was expecting a little more in the way of reward than getting to talk to Mystery Man.”
 * “What makes you say that?” Neach asked.
 * “I know how Terthbak thinks,” she replied secretively.
 * “Uh-huh. And that’s from all the drinks of caf in the galley you’ve been sharing,” said Neach.
 * “Has it gotten him to lighten up, or not?” said Jasnan, whose long conversations and large amounts of time spent with their impossible superior had frequently been a source of astonishment and hushed discussion for her crewmates.
 * “Well, true, but still, I don’t think I could stomach any more time with him than I already spend,” said Neach.
 * “Why don’t you spend it with a real man like me?” offered Royner with a smirk.
 * “Because you’re not a real man,” retorted Jasnan.
 * “Ouch,” said Neach. “She got you.”
 * “It’s okay,” said Royner lightly with a shrug of his shoulders. “She’ll come around. The ladies always do. Especially in comparison with Lieutenant Stuffy over there.”
 * “Is that so? I might just surprise you then, Royner,” purred Jasnan.
 * “Not another lecture on how Terthbak is just as human as the rest of us,” groaned Royner.
 * “Jas, your infatuation with Terthbak is sort of creepy, seriously. And it takes a lot to creep me out,” said Neach. “I bunk with Royner.”
 * “Exactly,” said Royner, not comprehending the insult at first. “Hey, wait!”
 * “It’s not infatuation,” said Jasnan. “It’s making this trip even somewhat bearable. Men like Terthbak need their egos fed and assuaged. Believe me; it’s in your best interests to have him happy rather than an unbearable grouch.”
 * “Whatever you say, Jas,” said Neach. “I still think your engines aren’t fully lit, though.”
 * “It’s not the first time you’ve been wrong,” she replied simply. “Besides, I have something special in mind for the lieutenant.”

At that point, Terthbak returned to the bridge, still somewhat ashen-faced and as sapped of energy as he had been when he had left. He said nothing as Jasnan brought the ship around and accelerated them back into hyperspace, but continued staring straight ahead. Her duties on the bridge completed, Jasnan stood and addressed the officer.
 * “Lieutenant, permission to leave the bridge? My shift ended two hours ago, sir.”

Terthbak nodded listlessly. As Jasnan walked by his chair towards the door leading astern of the chair, she made sure to stoop low and softly speak to the superior officer.
 * “You look down, Lieutenant. Maybe I can help with that . . . we can talk in your quarters later if you’d like,” she purred, her voice dripping with lascivious suggestiveness.
 * “Mm . .  . ? Uh, yes, I’d like that,” he said, startled. “I mean, I’ll consider your request, Warrant Officer. You are dismissed.”

As Jasnan sauntered off the bridge, she smiled knowingly as Royner and Neach faced away from their commanding officer and suppressed guffaws of laughter at his futile attempt to recover his composure. They were unsure of exactly what Jasnan had said, but Terthbak had sounded like a red-faced schoolboy and had looked like one too. Jasnan knew that, come rest hours, he’d find a way to get her into his quarters in his own clumsy fashion, likely using some failed attempt at subtlety. Well, she couldn’t say she was looking forward to the experience, but it would certainly be memorable.
 * Cato Neimoidia

The Theta-class shuttle’s repulsorlifts whined as it lowered itself towards a landing pad on the former Neimoidian purse world. The tri-winged craft’s landing gear soon made contact with the flat surface of the landing pad, though not nearly quick enough for her passenger. By the time the boarding ramp had lowered, he was absolutely fuming with impatience unbefitting of his important status within the Imperial hierarchy and dripping with sweat from dank air of the world that converted his layered and heavy garments into a portable sauna.

Kinman Doriana, special assistant to His Imperial Majesty himself, strode off the shuttle in the humidity of Cato Neimoidia, completely ignoring the breathtaking vistas that the landing platform, built into the side of a natural arching bridge spanning two mountain ranges, afforded him. Walking through a gilded archway constructed by wealthy Trade Federation lords at the height of their power, he kept his steely-eyed gaze straight ahead. Tall and distinguished of appearance, his face was now lined with wrinkles from years of service to match the gray hair that covered the sides of his head only. His pace was that of a man on a mission, causing his sizable overcoat to billow out behind him, and he scarcely noticed the white-armored stormtroopers waiting for him, except for waving his credentials at them so that they would let him pass. He knew that to them, he was a civilian and a government lackey, but that wasn’t the half of it, so Doriana didn’t deign to speak with them. The man he was here to meet, some nameless and unimportant military officer, was supposed to be waiting for him here, and Doriana didn’t see anything but armored troopers, compounding his annoyance. Reaching the end of the walkway, which ended in a T-junction, he stopped, temporarily unsure of which way to go.
 * “Advisor Doriana,” spoke the helmet-filtered voice of one of the troopers standing beside him.
 * “Yes,” he said, turning.
 * “Commander CC-3433 reporting,” the trooper replied. “I’ve been assigned as your local contact, sir.”
 * “Really?” said Doriana, surprised. “I’m not used to seeing stormtroopers with such high ranks.”
 * “I grew up in similar armor. It doesn’t impede me, sir,” replied the trooper.

At first, Doriana thought the soldier was making an analogy, but the tone hadn’t been quite right, he determined even through the helmet static.
 * “Commander, I understand that it’s quite common for you to wear it, but would you mind removing your helmet unless the situation absolutely demands it?”
 * “As you wish, sir,” CC-3433 replied, removing his helmet.

Doriana’s suspicions were confirmed upon seeing the man’s face: CC-3433 was one of the original Jango Fett clones employed by the Grand Army of the Republic during the Clone Wars and, judging by the extensive scarring on his face, had borne his share of frontline action during the inferno of the wars. It was Fett all right; that tanned skin and a face that could have been etched out of duracrete and accented with close-set coal-black eyes. There was a hardness about the man not found in any but the most seasoned veterans, but was intrinsic in the vat-grown replicas of Fett, and Doriana knew it well. However, the Republic had emerged from the crucible of war reforged into the durasteel of the Empire thanks to the efforts of men like CC-3433, who were absolutely loyal to it. Of course, it was the only thing they had.
 * “Tell me, Commander,” said Doriana, “I understand that many of the later clone commanders had adopted names instead of designations. Do you have a name?”

CC-3433 hesitated briefly before replying, somewhat surprised at the civilian’s knowledge of clones.
 * “I used to be referred to as Trip, sir” he said.
 * “Then that is how I shall refer to you as,” said Doriana. “Now, explain to me again why we are just now completing the subjugation of this world? And dispense with the “sir” business; the one time I held military command, it was nearly disastrous and I’d prefer not to be reminded of it.”
 * “Cato Neimodia is a large world, with most of its largest settlements on the bridge cities or in other elevated locations. Even after the formal end of the war, we faced considerable resistance from Neimoidian dissidents hiding in the valleys and operating from hidden holdings. Several high-ranking officers were assassinated by Neimoidian snipers or remotely piloted starfighter raids. I assumed command about two standard months ago after one such incident.”
 * “And?”
 * “I began a systematic push to seize control of the remaining valleys and hidden settlements once controlled by the Trade Federation and their Neimoidian overlords,” reported Trip. “It was while retaking one of their isolated old luxury estates that we discovered the reason for your arrival here.”
 * “Why did you send this report straight to the highest channels?” said Doriana. “Several high-ranking generals were rather annoyed about your bypassing the chain of command.”
 * “With all due respect, they would have been prejudiced against any report I sent.”
 * “And why is that?”
 * “Because of the conditions of my entry into the service.”

In other words, thought Doriana, because you were grown for service in the army on Kamino, shaped in the image of a legendary bounty hunter, and entirely efficient, loyal, and obedient, unlike your superiors. The new Empire had some kinks to be worked out, and one of them was an alarming tendency for not appreciating talent, no matter in what form it was found.
 * “I see. Well, you said it was a critical discovery, but your report did not detail exactly what you found. I presume you intend to rectify that oversight?”
 * “Correct. The location isn’t far, and I did not want any transmission to be compromised. If I had sent you exactly what we found, then you would not have believed it.”
 * “Very well. I’d better have a look then,” said Doriana.

Trip led him through the spaceport to a waiting LAAT/i gunship. As soon as it took off, Doriana immediately was made aware of the fact that the military craft had no creature comforts such as dampeners for its roaring repulsorlift engines, or anything but hardened benches to sit on. With each passing minute, his ears were assailed by the combination of the engines and the wind whipping through the exposed crew cabin. The flight took them through misty valleys and past green mountains covered with foliage. If it hadn’t been for the discomfort, Doriana might have admitted that the view was rather picturesque, though he knew that the other troopers on the gunship likely found the terrain interesting only due to the defensibility and cover it provided. As the gunship roared across the planet, two starfighters took up position alongside the craft, maintaining escort formation. Ahead of them, the distant exhaust trails of two more starfighters could be seen.
 * “Are such precautions necessary?” asked Doriana, having to shout just to make himself heard.

Trip nodded sagely, and left it at that, so Doriana did not inquire further. Finally, the craft reached a hidden valley tucked away into between two craggy mountain ranges. As they descended through the mists, Doriana noticed giant arches and monoliths flashing by them in a blur. Alarmed by the rather small distance between the gunship and one of the giant rocks, Doriana turned to Trip.:“Does the pilot know about these large rock formations?”
 * “Of course,” Trip chuckled. “This is the safest way.”

Doriana shuddered and returned to his hard seat, refusing to look outside for the rest of the trip. By the time they landed, Doriana noticed that they were several thousand meters below cloud level, and thus the humidity level had only increased, if that was possible. Stepping out into the sweltering heat, Doriana noticed that they were standing near an opulent palace carved into the walls of a sizable cliff. The landing pad was situated on a gently sloping plateau that extended a kilometer or so beyond the sheer cliff face and estate entrance and was largely occupied with gardens, statuary, archways, and other such ornate trappings of luxury. There were faint ruins that might have been defensive turrets, but the Empire’s seizure of this location must have knocked them out. Stormtroopers were patrolling the area, and Doriana even noticed a pair of light bipedal walkers, AT-RTs, each manned by a single trooper, striding ungainly around the open plateau that lay in front of the estate, their blasters and searchlights trained at the perimeter. He assumed that the heavy security was due to the value of the prize located here.

Trip led him into the estate proper, and Doriana passed through a series of rooms and halls lavishly decorated in a manner considered tasteful by the Neimoidians, until they descended into some of the lower levels, where the lighting was considerably more muted and the furnishings not quite as extravagant. That was fine with Doriana, though, as the subdued illumination helped hide the blood spatters and blaster scorches on the walls. Eventually, Trip led him to a large door guarded by a quartet of stormtroopers. The clone spoke with the guards, and they opened the doors-warship grade blast doors, Doriana noted-and admitted them into the room beyond. As he entered, Doriana saw that they were standing on a balcony overlooking a vast chamber. The chamber was not as heavily decorated, but large stacks of machinery and other manufacturing equipment of unknown origins were stacked against both of the main walls of the room. On the floor below, guarded by ranks of white-armored troopers, was a seemingly nondescript mass of chittering insectoid bodies, their slits of red eyes faint blurs against the gray mass.

Doriana gasped in surprise at seeing the mass of aliens.
 * “Xi Charrian engineers and scientists,” said Trip. “Well over three thousand of them. They had been working for Neimoidian overlords, constructing weapons and arms for them until we overran this place. Most of them surrendered peacefully. Seemed rather clueless for a bunch of arms manufacturers.”
 * “Engineering isn’t just a job for them,” said Doriana. “It’s a passion. They don’t see political realities as we do.”
 * “Whatever the case, we’ve kept them interned here, until a proper authority could decide what to do with them. That’s you.”
 * “I see,” said Doriana.

A thousand thoughts were racing through his mind. Most of the Xi Charrians that had comprised the renowned Haor Chall Engineering Corporation that constructed much of the Confederacy arsenal during the war had fled into unknown depths on their homeworld, and no one in the Empire had been foolish enough to propose sending troops in to root out brilliant weapons engineers who were already backed into a corner. A find of workers like this, so brilliant and willing to work on whatever challenges were ahead of them, was a tibanna mine for the Empire. Doriana considered his previous mission, diverted to Cato Neimoidia by the Emperor himself, and its objectives, and then decided that they converged. Surely Palpatine had foreseen that they would, and that was why he had been sent here.

Doriana’s original mission had been to take a new experimental craft, some of sort of mobile weapons factory, that the Emperor had loaded with Jedi artifacts, a private collection of the Imperial archives, and other such trinkets as he had deemed fit, to his private storehouse on a remote world called Wayland. Largely automated, the ship, codenamed the Griffin, had required little crew and had carried surprisingly little cargo. Doing a little research into the origins of the Griffin, a rather ungainly sixteen-hundred meter long box of a vessel that was designed to set down on a planet’s surface and churn out supplies of Imperial war machinery, Doriana had found that it had been a prototype of an experimental weapon expected to be reaching Imperial service in several years, part of a series of Imperial projects designed to create larger and more effective craft. The Griffin was equipped with four molecular furnaces, giant chambers that altered matter into new vehicles and weaponry to fit various blueprints programmed into the ship’s central computer. However, the furnaces had not had an efficient means of harvesting raw materials, and so the flawed prototype had been discarded in favor of a return to the drawing holo for the warship. The Emperor, never forgetting a thing, had instructed him to convey the vessel to his private storehouse on Wayland. Doriana had also been ordered to stop off at Despayre to check on the Emperor’s latest project, a mammoth battlestation known as the Death Star. Perhaps the only thing in the galaxy even larger than the navy’s new dreadnaughts, the Death Star project had been rumored to be behind schedule, and the Emperor was taking no chances with its supervisor, the ambitious and cunning Moff Tarkin.

However, the discovery of the Xi Charrians changed that equation. Were three thousand highly motivated, highly skilled workers dispatched to the construction of the Death Star, Doriana knew that the construction would be hastened greatly. He could take the credit, and Palpatine would reward him for his diligence. On the other hand, it was possible that the Emperor would prefer for him to seek his opinion on the matter. Pacing the balcony for several moments, Doriana thought long and hard, but eventually made his decision.
 * “I’ve made up my mind. I need to signal the captain of my ship,” said Doriana, who had left the Griffin on the outskirts of the system for security reasons.

Despite its ponderous size, the Griffin had been little more than a concept demonstrator and primarily a power system testbed for the molecular furnaces. As such, while its shielding and hyperdrive had been fully upgraded, its weapons systems were meager at best. Thankfully, that meant fairly few naval crew were needed to man the vessel, as the Emperor had something special in mind for them upon the conclusion of the trip. Not just anyone could know about the Wayland storehouse, and keeping a larger number in isolation until they could be contained would have been difficult.
 * “I’ll arrange for a holocomm to be brought down here,” said Trip.
 * “Very good, Commander. What kind of ground-to-space personnel transport do you have under your command?”
 * “Up to a dozen CR20 transports, some smaller personnel couriers,” said Trip.
 * “Get as many of those transports as you can over here,” said Doriana. “As soon as you can, immediately begin transporting the Xi Charrians up to my ship. There’s plenty of space, so don’t crowd them or make them uncomfortable on purpose. We want this to go through nice and easy, no complications.”
 * “What about security?” Trip asked.
 * “It just so happens that I am carrying over three hundred freshly reprogrammed dwarf spider droids,” said Doriana. “That should handle most of the security needs, but not of all of them. Commander, I’m ordering you to hand-pick a platoon of your best troops and accompany me.”

Trip would not be going to Wayland, Doriana figured. Should the trooper prove as competent as he seemed to be so far, Doriana planned on leaving the trooper on the Death Star, with a recommendation that he placed in charge of security for the station. Doriana figured that the efficient clone would relish dealing with the unruly convicts helping to construct the Emperor’s new weapon.
 * “As you wish, sir. May I ask what we will be doing with the Xi Charrians?”
 * “They are going to be of great value to the Empire,” Doriana replied.
 * “What about the data cores?”
 * “What data cores?”
 * “We also recovered extensive amounts of data archives formerly belonging to the Neimoidians. Our commandos secured them before they could be destroyed.”

Doriana made the decision in a split second.
 * “Bring them too.”
 * “On it,” said Trip.
 * “How soon can you have them all up?” asked Doriana.
 * “Depending on the facilities on your craft, within twelve hours,” said Trip. “I’ll need some engineers and material to assist me.”
 * “Whatever you need, it’s yours,” Doriana replied firmly. “If anyone challenges you, direct them to me. I take my orders from the Emperor himself, and he directed me to look into this personally.”
 * “Understood,” said Trip.
 * “Oh, and good work, Commander,” said Doriana. “You were right to call me in; your career is about to take a serious turn.”

Trip smiled.
 * “Thank you,” he said, then curtly turned and began organizing the transfer.

As the clone walked off, Doriana clasped his hands in front of him, peering down at the swarm of Xi Charrians massed on the floor below. The hideous-looking insects were about to escalate his rising star even further. Wouldn’t Tarkin be surprised when he dropped by and explained the reason for his visit? The thought brought a smile to Kinman Doriana’s face, and he did his best to stay out of the troopers’ way as they went about their business, knowing that there was little he needed or wanted to do. It was better for all concerned that he remained detached, talking to as few as possible, so as to lend credence to his appearance as an uppity high-ranking Imperial official. For the remainder of the day, Doriana observed the transfer, only returning to the Griffin once Trip had assured him that everything was under control. Confident, Doriana had gone to his private quarters onboard the expansive ship assured of the correctness of his decisions. Palpatine would be pleased with him indeed.

8
Selusda Kraen stared out across the crater floor that held Revan’s tower and its strange enclosure of alien sculptures, foreign and alien at the same time. The mottled, warped sky overhead was a riot of color from the nebula and the Force illusion that concealed the refuge and sealed breathable air into the crater allowed great clarity for viewing the sky. The place had become almost like home to him, and understandably so considering how long they had been here. Time passed strangely here, and with no discernable night against the glowing backdrop of the nebula, the crew of the Hawk-bat only noticed the elapsing of days by their chronos or datapads. Most of the time, their training had occupied too much of their waking hours for them to notice.

They had been here for about eight months, Selu had figured, learning the ways of the Force from the spirits of Revan and his followers. Each member of the Hawk-bat’s crew, imbued and empowered by a wave of Force energy they had experienced, had become sensitive to its power in ways that they had never known existed. Even Selu, raised to be a Jedi Knight, was astounded by how his command of his abilities had grown. They had all been instructed by different members of Revan’s company to befit their respective strengths, Revan had said. Half of their waking was day was spent with their guides, learning the ways of the Force and other more conventional skills, such as they could teach. For the other half, they worked with each other, with Selu often taking the lead when it came to Force-related aspects of training, or learning lessons from holocrons and datacards from both Selu’s meager and Revan’s more expansive collection. Indeed, his alleged destiny as a leader already seemed to bearing out, with the others coming to him with questions and viewing him as an instructor almost on the level of Revan, or one of the other millennia-old spirits that inhabited this place.

Amazingly, the others had progressed rapidly, Selu noted. In eight months, they had learned to speak to the Force and comprehended skills that took many Padawans eight years to grasp. Selu had been puzzled by the incredible speed with which they acquired things, and had asked Revan about it. Revan had responded that the Force was nearer in the crater, more saturated in its energy, which made it easier for learners to touch. Sarth, always one for a technical analogy, had compared it to breathing in a hyperbaric chamber. Revan had told him that Jedi had been and would later be trained in such a short time, but Selu was somewhat skeptical of that. As impressed as he was with their progress, Selu knew that they all had a long way to go. None of the others had yet to build a lightsaber, or truly confront the dark side in a way like the Jedi trials. They had trained with the lightsabers that Selu had in his possession, with his own two blades and the other two that he had recovered from Jedi friends fallen in the attack on the Jedi Temple, but had yet to construct their own. While each of them was strong in the Force and even proficient in certain areas of its use, none of them had truly had enough overall progress to be called a Jedi Knight. And Selu still wondered why they- why he- of all people had been called to this destiny. Though he had accepted it, Selu was unsure.

Sure, the experience of having such a wave of Force energy wash over them had been life-changing and had numerous ramifications. Their personal relationships had changed to some level, conspicuously so on some occasions. Sarth and Cassi had had their eyes opened to the depth of other’s love for each other, and if anything had grown even closer, bonded together in the Force like an atomic bond between them, where the boundaries between them were sometimes vague and indefinable due to their proximity. Selu had seen it and been filled with joy for his brother, but that was not all. Spectre and Milya, once rivals and bitterly competitive, were now at ease with each other. The Force had let them understand the other’s perspective, and while they still held their differing opinions and philosophies, they now worked together for a common purpose, rather than at odds. With Force powers added to their already considerably combative backgrounds, they were a dynamic duo. The crew overall related to each other in new ways, more at ease and relaxed with the others. Being able to sense the other’s emotions had led to respect and a harmony between them that was simply unnatural. However, while the others had clearly benefited by being able to touch the Force, Selu grew more and more aloof of the others. To their credit, they had tried to keep him involved, particularly Sarth, Spectre, and Milya, but he had slowly withdrawn more and more, wracked with concern and worry. Revan had named him as the leader, and already his mind was filled with doubt over his calling.

Everything about their training had been focused on how to touch and use the Force, not appreciate it. It had seemed hurried and had lacked the more conventional attribute-building skills that Jedi training incorporated. The discipline that Selu had experienced from nineteen years of life in study was missing to some degree. But those were excuses, and Selu knew it. The truth was that Selu did not trust himself to make the right decisions. He looked down at his hands, callused and worn from years in conflict, and knew that the blood of thousands, if not millions, was on them. While the strength of the Force had allowed him to more easily quell the haunting nightmares that plagued him, they had not gone away. He had purposefully taken separate quarters from the others in the tower just to keep them from hearing him when he woke up screaming, having just re-experienced the slaughter at the Jedi Temple or the destruction of Emberlene. He had avoided the subject with Revan or any of the other guides, knowing that it was his burden, his pain to bear for his actions. Never before had his eidetic memory seemed like such a curse.

Then, he had appeared. A dark apparition cloaked in shadow, Selu had only seen him occasionally at first, but with increasing frequency. Alarmed, he had asked Revan about it, and the Jedi had replied that no creature of the dark side could survive in this place without being illuminated by the light side of the Force. Instead, he had been told, the ominous figure was a figment of his imagination, something in his mind. Selu believed Revan, trusting him explicitly, but the knowledge had done little to cease the stalking shadow. It taunted and mocked him, affecting his conversation. The first time Spectre and Milya had defeated him in unarmed combat as a team, Selu had seen the shadow pressing its foot down on his neck as he lay on the ground. He knew that it wasn’t pride; he had never cared about being the best in anything, and his inability to explain the shadow’s appearance had only made it all the more maddening. Neither had any of the others seen anything, so he had also concealed its existence from them.

As he stood on the ledge overlooking the crater, the shadow appeared again, glaring at him from behind its hood as it floated towards him. Selu began feeling a weight pressing down on his chest, compressing his rib cage and making breathing difficult. He scowled at the shadow, but the pressure increased, causing him to gasp for breath and sweat droplets began rolling down, making him feel that he might have to use the Force just for respiration.
 * “Go away,” said Selu bitterly, knowing that it would be of no use. “You are a figment of my imagination. I am a Jedi Knight, and the dark side has no place in my mind.”

The apparition ignored him, continuing its steady approach.
 * “Don’t underestimate my abilities,” Selu warned.

Previously, the others or one of the spirits had been nearby, preventing him from dealing with it as he would have liked to, but now they were truly alone.
 * “I have overcome you once; I can do it again,” said Selu, recalling the dark figure he had confronted in his Jedi trials years before.

As the shadow, silent as always, stretched out a hand toward him, Selu made his move. Summoning the Force to him, he let its energy flow into him freely, forming and containing it as his body acted as a giant capacitor. Filled with the rushing surge of power, he extended both his hands and released the Force in the form of coherent bolts of energy.

Plo Koon had showed him the technique, known as Electric Judgment, years before, but warned him that it was controversial at best and should only be used when no other option presented itself. Selu had largely followed Koon’s advice, all too aware of how closely it resembled the lightning reputed to be favored by the Sith of old. However, that had not stopped Revan from instructing him further in its uses. Revan had once been a Sith before he was redeemed, and knew how to refine and increase the power, assuring him that it was not inherently evil when used properly. Indeed, Selu had seen no problems with using it on droids or other non-living threats. Or dark side emanations, he reminded himself. His foe had been warned; it was time to end this.

The bolts of energy burst from his hand, forking and sparking in tendrils of green energy as they left his digits and struck the spirit. It was an impressive display of pure Force power, and Selu knew that any living human would have been instantly struck dead, even a Jedi. However, the bolts of energy passed through the shadow to sail off to hit the Force illusion behind it. The shadow threw back its head and laughed at his failure as Selu stared incredulous at it. Then it dropped and plunged down the sheer cliff wall.
 * “Come after me. Catch me, defeat me,” said a thin, evil whisper of a voice.

Selu was completely enthralled by that sound, so obviously evil. Peering down over the edge of the cliff, he prepared to jump after it, lightsaber blazing, to end it once and for all. His transfixion was such that he did not notice that the cliff, well over three kilometers high, was far too great of a distance for even a Jedi to survive the fall and had jagged boulders at its base. To someone more aware of his surroundings, the base of the cliff appeared to be a gaping maw with stone teeth, but this was lost on Selu. In his burning desire to end the shadow, he disregarded all those facts and was in fact preparing to leap.
 * “Selusda Kraen,” said a stern voice from beside him.

Selu, startled out of his fixation, nearly fell off of the cliff in surprise, but caught himself. Recovering his balance, he turned to see the spirit of Revan standing beside him, glaring down at him.
 * “Yes, Master Revan?” he asked.
 * “What are you doing?” Revan replied.
 * “I-uh,” Selu answered, at a loss for words. “I can’t say.”
 * “Cannot, or will not?”

Selu sighed.
 * “I’ve been troubled, Master Revan. In my mind and in my heart, I cannot find peace here. At least, not yet.”
 * “What troubles you?”
 * “I see a dark shadow, mocking me, reminding me of the past. I have doubts and worries. I know the weakness that flows through me.”
 * “Whatever it is, it has to stop.”

The finality in Revan’s voice surprised Selu.
 * “Yes, I understand that, Master.”
 * “Do you? Are you aware that you nearly destroyed the Force illusion that keeps this crater habitable and concealed? Do you know that you nearly jumped off a cliff to your doom?”
 * “What?”

Selu stood in stunned silence, searching Revan’s face to discern whether the Jedi Master was exaggerating. So far as he could tell, Revan was completely in earnest.
 * “You have great power in the Force, Selu, but what use is it if you are not responsible in how you use it?”
 * “I don’t know,” said Selu brokenly, filled with shame and remorse, as well as guilt, for what he had just done.

Had his Electric Judgment blown through the Force illusion, the entire crew would have been killed, sucked out into the vacuum of space, if they were outside the tower. Either action would have certainly killed him.
 * “Selu, Jedi do not just commit suicide. It doesn’t happen. You must confront the source of your worries.”
 * “I tried that, and I nearly killed us all,” Selu said, dropping to sit on the ground, his shoulders slumping abjectly.
 * “That is because the manifestation you see is not the source of your worries.”
 * “Then what is?”
 * “It’s you.”
 * “What? I already laid down myself, my desires, and my doubts. That was months ago.”
 * “Selu, on that day you allowed yourself to become part of a greater destiny, but your trials will never cease. You must constantly release your doubts and fear.”
 * “I know how to do that, but for some reason, I can’t seem to do it.”

Revan smiled sadly at him, laying a ghostly blue hand on his shoulder.
 * “That’s because you don’t want to.”
 * “I would love to be rid of this burden.”
 * “Is that so true? You feed your doubt and grow your worry, while isolating those that could reassure you.”
 * “They’re not ready,” Selu insisted.
 * “When considering the will of the Force, nobody is any more or less ready than they should be. Stop seeing the flaws in yourself and your companions, in their training. A leader has to take what he has and turn it into greatness.”
 * “What about my past, about all the death I’ve seen and even caused? I’ll never forget it, Revan.”
 * “Nor should you. Consider this, Selusda. I led the Republic against the Mandalorians in an all-out war of annihilation. After I shamed, humiliated, and subjugated their warrior clans, I turned to the dark side and killed or subverted a full third of the Jedi Order in my initial predations. I then masterminded a war of conquest to take over the Republic as a dark lord of the Sith. You helped destroy one world; I conquered dozens. Don’t you think I have more of a claim than you to feel guilt for the past?”
 * “Well, true,” Selu admitted.
 * “I acknowledge and I admit what I have done, but the guilt doesn’t haunt or paralyze me, because I don’t let it. Mistakes are meant to teach us, Selu, and not even being a Jedi Master grants one perfection.”
 * “I wish,” Selu replied ruefully.
 * “The only thing we can do is live one day at a time, staying in the light. So release your guilt, doubt, fear, and I suspect your apparition will disappear. Let your friends help you, and it will stay gone.”

Selu folded his legs under him a meditation pose and relaxed into a Jedi calming exercise. Taking a deep breath, he slowly exhaled, letting all his doubts, guilt, and anxiety slip away with the breath. He repeated the routine seven times, purposefully dislodging the mental knots of fear or grief that had grown into his personality and flushing them out. As they were washed away, Selu felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, freeing him. He no longer felt pressed by concerns, and hard it as it was for him to let go, he realized that the reason he had been repeating processes of cleansing and release over the years had been because he had refused to learn from the experience and reconcile to the fact that he would constantly have to purify himself from his worries and allow the living Force to be his guide.

When he opened his eyes, Selu saw that Revan was still standing there, but he also sensed two other presences were nearby. Glancing down, Selu saw Milya and Spectre strolling casually along the ridgeline, chatting idly. They were clad in training wear that the droid T3-M4, aided by Cassi and Sarth, had also helped create, but their demeanor was casual, not intense as if they were training hard. Selu, his presence focused inward, figured that they hadn’t sensed him. One part of him wanted to go meet them, to seek some level of normality after the fright and then release he had been through, but another part of his will kept him from doing so. Instead, he observed them discreetly, keeping his presence in the Force withdrawn tightly.

Spectre walked casually up the faint trail with Milya beside him. They were both appropriately clad for a hike in the rocks, and her hair was in a single braid behind her back to keep it out of the way. The pair had been hiking for about three hours now, maintaining a steady pace as they worked their way around the rocky terrain surrounding the crater. The first portion, ascending to the top, had been mostly rope work, but for two fit adults empowered by the Force, it had not been difficult to navigate. In fact, they had been drawing on the Force to replenish the energy, and though they had been hiking for some time, neither felt that tired. Finally, the narrow path along the rim gave way to a more level, open area, a balcony extending from the cliff wall. Spectre had spotted it from a distance a week ago and resolved to climb up to investigate it.
 * “So, what gave you the idea for hiking the rim of the crater?” asked Milya.
 * “Something new to do,” said Spectre simply.

Accessing the Force had opened him up from his usual taciturn self and he had begun to explore aspects of humanity that an artificial birth, abbreviated youth, and life of service in the army had denied him. Even crewing on the Hawk-bat hadn’t allowed him to fully explore what it meant to be human. Since feeling the Force though, Spectre knew that he would never be the same, and he had felt more human than ever, even in the midst of grueling mental and physical training. He no longer identified himself as a mere clone of another man, but as a distinct, separate individual.
 * “That it is,” said Milya. “The ground is fairly level here. Should we take a break?”
 * “I’m ready for one if you are.”
 * “In that case, let’s rest for a minute.”
 * “Are you tired?”
 * “No, but I could use a drink.”
 * “Sounds good to me.”

The two halted and pulled water flasks from their belts, savoring the coolness of the water as it slid down their throats.
 * “Look at the view,” said Milya. “Too bad the others didn’t want to come.”
 * “Cassi and Sarth aren’t much for rock climbing,” said Spectre.
 * “What about Selu?”
 * “What about him? He’s probably off being by himself, like he usually is.”
 * “True. He’s been pretty busy. Not to mention grim.”
 * “He’ll come around eventually. I’m just glad that you’re here,” Spectre said.
 * “Oh and why is that?”
 * “Because I can’t think of a better way to spend my time,” he said.
 * “That coming from a Mandalorian to an Echani?”
 * “No,” Spectre said with quiet earnestness. “From one friend and student of the Force to another.”
 * “Well, thank you,” she said. “You’re right- this was a great idea.”

The two enjoyed the view from the cliffs for some time, soaking in the panorama that lay before them. Despite the lack of plants in the crater, there was a strange beauty in the tints in the rocks and the alien architecture of the grounds, lit by the unearthly light of the nebula.
 * “Shall we continue?” said Milya after a good long while. “If we stay up here too long, the others will be concerned, and we are almost finished.”
 * “Agreed, but there is one thing before we start again,” Spectre said.
 * “What is that?”
 * “I believe it is customary to give gifts on Dsalka Fenni Echanos,” Spectre replied.
 * “How did you know about that?” asked Milya, completely surprised.

Dsalka Fenni Echanos was an ancient Echani custom, celebrated when an Echani warrior turned twenty. At that age, Raskta Fenni, a legendary Echani duelist from years past, had gained entry into adulthood as a full warrior when she defeated three older foes at once. Since then, in honor of Fenni’s legacy, the Echani had made the occasion something of a ritual festivity that combined a trial by combat with a celebration if the warrior was successful. Milya hadn’t told anyone about that hers was approaching, except for the spirit of Brianna.
 * “You taught me well,” said Spectre. “The Echani learn about their opponent through combat, right?”
 * “Then you read me well,” she said. “So is that why you insisted on that second sparring session earlier with Brianna watching?”
 * “Yes,” he said. “I talked to her afterwards, and your victory was sign of your maturity and skill. You passed.”
 * “I wondered what you two were talking about,” she said.
 * “So, here’s the gift,” said Spectre, pulling a cloth-wrapped bundle from his belt and placing it in her hands.

As he did so, Spectre noted the difference between his sizable hand, and Milya’s much smaller and more slender palm. Carefully, she unfolded the cloth to reveal a sparkling diamond jewel, carefully cut so each ray of light that passed through it was refracted in a brilliant burst of color.
 * “What kind of jewel is this?” she asked.
 * “A diamond,” he replied. “Hardest of all the stones found here, and the most beautiful. When I saw it, I was reminded of you and I knew you would like it.”
 * “I love it; it’s so pretty. But really, why a gem? That’s not as practical as I would expect a gift from you to be.” she asked, holding up the gem to admire its sparkling, coruscating faces.
 * “It’s practical. We’re training in the Jedi arts, aren’t we?” asked Spectre. “That means we’ll need lightsabers of our own. Juhani told me that a diamond, properly set and controlled when the saber is constructed, will give it a whitish blade.”

Spectre’s careful planning and timing of this event were rewarded at seeing the delighted look on Milya’s face. She was clearly elated, and Spectre sensed that she was inwardly overwhelmed with gratitude.
 * “Thank you, Spectre,” she said, throwing her arms around him in a warm hug.
 * “This means a lot to me. I don’t even know how to thank you for thinking of me,” Milya whispered into his ear as she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I don’t know what Mandalorian holidays are, but if you have any good ones, just let me know.”
 * “I’ll be sure to do that,” said Spectre, his face feeling a twinge of heat where she kissed him.

Then, they parted and continued their hike, picking their way across the rocks. When they encountered a difficult stretch, the two helped each other, with Spectre lending a hand when Milya was clambering up tall boulders, and she belaying him in turn when ropes were needed. To any who were sensing them with the Force, their camaraderie and friendship shone like a brilliant beacon, but Spectre’s feelings betrayed more than mere amicability.

Selu sat quietly through the whole thing, his eyes and ears not missing a thing as he observed from directly above them. His abilities in the areas of stealth had already been developed before arriving at Revan’s Tower, and training with Revan and Juhani had only augmented them. Camouflaging himself both in the Force and in the visible world was second nature to him now, and he had put the skill to good use. He had even somehow managed to keep his mouth shut when he saw Milya kiss Spectre.

Despite his earlier resolution to give up his feelings for Milya, Selu couldn’t deny that they had existed. So far, it had been easy, particularly since he generally avoided her outside of training settings. He had even deluded himself into thinking burying his emotions had made them cease to exist. That pleasant illusion had just been shattered by the pang in his heart at seeing Milya and Spectre together. Being open to the Force hadn’t just allowed them to work together and respect each other; they had become close, and he had ignored it in favor of pursuing his supposed destiny. Selu felt the conflict burning within him, and a lump built in his throat as he tried to somehow force words through his vocal cords.
 * “Tell me,” he said hoarsely to Revan. “Did you ever love someone?”
 * “Yes,” he said.
 * “What happened between you and her?” he asked.
 * “She was the one who redeemed me,” said Revan. “We journeyed together for a time until she fell into darkness.”
 * “What did you do?”
 * “I confronted her. I had to. She was strong in the dark side, but our love was stronger and I drew her back out from the darkness she had fallen into.”
 * “So you were able to have a relationship with her as a Jedi?”
 * “No,” Revan said. “I had to leave everything behind to fulfill my destiny. I never saw her alive again.”
 * “Never?”
 * “Not until Bastila died and her spirit came here did I again speak with her,” said Revan.
 * “You were in love with Bastila Shan?” Selu said.
 * “Yes, and it was a passionate love fueled by our bond in the Force,” said Revan. “But my fate was not to follow that path, and I abandoned it to battle evil.”
 * “Then I know what I must do,” said Selu. “My path will be no different.”

Reconciling himself to his destiny, he stood up, preparing to head back down the cliff.
 * “The others will be waiting for me,” he said simply to Revan. “Thank you for your aid.”

As Revan’s spirit shimmered into nothingness, Selu walked back down the mountain, free of guilt and fear, but still troubled of heart. He appeared light-hearted, fully free of tension, and that was mostly true. The only ache he could not dispel was that of his heart, longing to express his feelings for Milya. However, he denied the emotion. That path was not to be his.

Hours later, as she finally prepared for bed, Milya Tayrce yawned as she made her way towards her bed. The other crewmembers of the Hawk-bat had, with the limited resources in food and drink available, gathered around to congratulate her on her Dsalka Fenni Echanos and she had spent a pleasurable evening in their company talking and eating and drinking. Cassi and Sarth had prepared a surprising variety of foods from the plants in the hydroponics chamber, even a cake. Spectre hadn’t told the others about the occasion, but she figured that Brianna must have informed them. She had been a little hurt and disappointed that Selu had not done anything special for her, as he probably discovered its significance when they had joined minds those months ago. It was just another point in a long line of subtle acts of shunning that he had been engaging in during their training. However, he had been with the others and more outgoing and carefree than he had been in awhile, so she was not discontent, though she didn’t interact with him as much as she might have.

At any rate, she was tired but joyful and grateful to have friends like she did. As she pulled back the covers on her bed, she noticed that a small bundle was resting on the pillow. She wondered who had placed it there; it could have been anyone as she hadn’t returned to her bed since rising at the start of the day. It was wrapped in cloth and she pulled off the cover to reveal a durindfire jewel, its many facets cut with care, resting on the cloth. There was a piece of flimsy left there also, with her name written on it. Picking up the rather crumpled piece of flimsy, she read:
 * “Milya, a shining Dsalka Fenni Echanos to you and may you succeed in your trials and deeds today and always hereafter.”-The traditional Echani saying on the occasion, Milya noted- “This durindfire is a token for you on your happy occasion, a jewel for the lightsaber that you will someday construct. I already know that you will pass your challenges and earn this. The gem once belonged to another Echani, Brianna, and imbued her own weapon with a silver blade. I hope it will serve you equally well. Humbly yours, Selusda Kraen.”

Milya read the note carefully. Selu must have left this here early in the day, because it clearly had been written prior to her match with Spectre, which had taken place in what they called morning. He had figured she would win and had left the jewel for her to find later in the day. Milya suddenly realized that Selu hadn’t forgotten about the occasion, and her prior judgment of him had been incorrect. Even more puzzling to her was how both Spectre and Selusda had given her similar gifts. Selu had apparently left his gift before Spectre had given her his, and now she wondered if Spectre had seen his idea. As Selu had isolated himself over the past few months, she had assumed that he had no feelings for her aside from friendship, and his becoming more of a teacher had increased the distance between them. With Selu often away and Sarth and Cassi not as inclined to combat arts, she had spent more time with Spectre and grown to understand and care for him, though in a different way than she had for Selu. Spectre was more like a brother to her, or so it had been in her mind. Tucking the durindfire back into its cloth wrapper, she placed both it and the diamond in a small locker underneath her bed, trying not to think about the enigmatic person that was Selusda Kraen.

9
Sleek and stern, its foreboding bow like a dagger aimed at the heart of the Empire’s foes, the Corrupter plunged through realspace towards the asteroid field. The destroyer was at full readiness, her stations fully manned, and her captain eager for the hunt. A small cloud of tiny starfighters emerged from her ventral hangar, rolling out and over the bone-white hull of the destroyer like a nest of angered fire wasps. Barely visible from the bridge of the Star Destroyer, the small conglomerate of rocks was home to a nest of pirates operating from this area. However, the Corrupter soon planned on rectifying that error. As far as her captain was concerned, this was the destroyer’s primary mission: eliminating lawless elements. And the ship had done that job quite well over the past nine months, aside from a two-month layover over the backworld moon of Susefvi on special assignment.

On the bridge, calmly giving orders, Captain Jack Nebulax watched as the asteroids grew ever larger in the forward viewport. He smiled grimly as the ship advanced resolutely, its batteries waiting to swivel, track, and fire on targets of opportunity. No doubt the pirates were trying to figure out how they might escape the oncoming Star Destroyer as they frantically readied their presumably rag-tag flotilla for liftoff. Nebulax glanced at the tactical briefing he had received on the pirates, but then dismissed it. There was no way a group of pirates this small could operate anything that posed a threat to his nine-hundred-meter long vessel.

Gun batteries onboard Corrupter trained towards the pirate outpost, their crews of gunners waiting for the order to let loose the destructive green bolts of turbolaser energy at the pirate base. Targeting computers plotted firing solutions on dimly glowing screens inside the turrets and gunnery stations as the vessel closed to some abstract point in space where the overlapping fields of turbolaser and ion cannon fire would have maximum effect on the asteroids. At a signal from their controller, the two squadrons of starfighters split and banked to either side of the destroyer so that none of their number would be caught in the stellar firestorm that the larger vessel was soon to unleash.
 * “Guns report optimum firing range, Captain,” called out the chief gunner, a crusted veteran of the Clone Wars.
 * “Commence fire,” Nebulax said briskly.

A maelstrom of energy pelted the asteroid base’s meager shields as the Corrupter released Imperial wrath in a storm of brilliant green turbolaser bolts. A volley of ion cannon bolts, more of an azure tint, struck the shields next, sending skittering trails of ion energy across it in search of electronic components to fry. For a moment, Nebulax couldn’t even see the asteroid behind the flicker of all its shield impacts. To his surprise, not only was the asteroid not atomized space dust, but its shields were still up, though considerably diminished.
 * “Fire a second volley as soon as the guns are recharged,” he ordered. “Keep the fighters close to us.”
 * “Sir, sensors report a contact, capital ship class or better, emerging from the asteroid.”
 * “Stand by guns,” Nebulax snapped. “Sensors, identify that ship.”
 * “Sir, appears to be Providence-class.”
 * “Appears to be?” Nebulax responded sternly
 * “Confirm Providence, sir,” replied a more experienced sensor officer.

Nebulax scowled at the sensor board operators, resisting the very unprofessional urge to swear profusely. Shaped like fat lances, the Providence-class had been the primary capital ship for the Confederacy back during the Clone Wars, and easily a match for Corrupter. Their distinctive observation towers and rounded appearance made them longer and more slender than his own command, but they were evenly matched in firepower and shielding. The vessels required surprising little crew and the pirates had likely found a derelict one and patched it together; many Separatist war depots had yet to be found and located, even three years after the end of the war, and looters had taken advantage of that fact. Indeed, many renegade Separatist commanders had already been defeated by the Imperial navy, and these pirates, posing as Confederacy remnants, were about to be next. However, first they had to defeat the opposing destroyer. Combined with the other smaller vessels the pirates were likely to field, the Providence could easily give his ship a serious fight in open space, even without the throng of droid starfighters that had accompanied Confederacy destroyers during the war. However, it was not in open space yet, and Nebulax decided to take advantage of that.
 * “You had better be clever, Captain Nebulax. We cannot afford our mission to be slowed or delayed due to damage sustained against mangy pirates,” hissed Ajaur menacingly, sidling up besides him in that ever so annoying fashion.

Nebulax arched an eyebrow at the Inquisitor.
 * “Patience, Inquisitor. Guns, have the turbolasers target every unshielded asteroid within a sphere fifty kilometers of that cruiser. Aim to fragment, not destroy. The ion cannons should continue firing on their main base.”

The gunnery officer, experienced enough to not question orders, immediately passed on the order to the individual battery sergeants, and soon the turbolasers were blasting the floating chunks of rock and metal into smaller pieces that went flying in every direction. Soon, Nebulax’s tactic became clear as hundreds of asteroid fragments impacted on the Providence’s shields. Numerous smaller craft and fighters launched by the pirates that had been flying in tight formation alongside it were hit by the deadly shrapnel and exploded, rewarding Nebulax with the sight of tiny flashes of light as the craft were pulverized. Still, the Providence came inexorably forward, swiftly clearing the deathfield of asteroids. Its own forward batteries returned fire at the Corrupter, and Nebulax felt the ship shudder as it was hit.
 * “Concentrate on the destroyer. Deploy starfighters to intercept torpedoes.”
 * “Aye, sir.”
 * “Lieutenant Convarion, how many smaller craft are accompanying that cruiser?”
 * “About twenty, sir, ranging from starfighters to small freighters and gunships. Several of them appear to be more of transports than warship, sir.”
 * “I see. Order one squadron of fighters to loop around and make hit and run strikes on the smaller craft. Tell them to keep away from the cruiser, but I want that commander hearing his comrades scream for help.”
 * “Won’t the hit-and-run tactics limit them to negligible damage, sir?” questioned Convarion.
 * “I don’t need them to do damage, Lieutenant. Now implement the order.”
 * “Yes sir.”

Convarion called down to the starfighter coordinator, who listened and nodded intently as Nebulax studied the enemy destroyer opposing him. The two behemoth warships traded shots from their batteries, Corrupter’s greater number of turbolasers and ion cannons holding it in good stead as they wore down the Providence’s shields. However, the real danger of engaging a Providence-class starship was not its energy weaponry, but rather in its proton torpedo tubes. Soon, the opposing commander unleashed the deadly missiles, the flares of light blossoming from the tubes as forty explosive-packed projectiles sailed out towards Corrupter. A whole squadron of Imperial starfighters roared in, blasting away at the missiles in a desperate attempt to stave off damage on their mother ship. The tiny craft wove patterns between the fusillades of turbolaser and ion cannon fire between the ships as they passed each other broadside to whip around and repeat the maneuver.

Corrupter lurched as two dozen missiles struck home, dimming the lights and causing hull plates and bulkheads on several decks to buckle as they absorbed the impact of the detonations.
 * “Port shield integrity failing,” reported one of the officers. “Fire control for three of the port turbolasers is offline.”
 * “Lieutenant Convarion, what is their status?” Nebulax said as the full damage report scrolled past him.
 * “Fairly battered, sir. They’re losing shield power also, and seem to have sustained damage to their sublight engines.”

In other words, it was still a fair fight. Nebulax was pleased, though. The Providence-class sported over one hundred proton torpedo tubes. That less than half had been fired at him meant one of three things: The captain did not want his precious ammo on one salvo, or they were running low on ammunition, or they had inefficient fire control directing. Either of the scenarios worked to Nebulax’s advantage, he decided.
 * “Lieutenant, does the enemy cruiser still have torpedoes?”
 * “They’re still trying to get missile locks on us, sir.”
 * “I see.”

Nebulax turned to Ajaur.
 * “I have them,” he said confidently.
 * “Helm, take us farther away from them. Keep some space between them, but be prepared to vector us bridgeward and emergency roll us on our long axis at my mark. Guns, keep up the fire, but hold off on port ion cannons. I want them to set for maximum diffusion on their weapons, and stand by tractor beams. Order all the starfighters to press the attack on the enemy ships.”
 * “Aye, sir,” said Convarion, but he appeared a bit confused.

Sure enough, the Providence rolled to bring the other half of its torpedo tubes to bear, hoping to blast through Corrupter’s weakened port shield as the two warships circled like angry nek battle dogs, exchanging body blows in the form of turbolaser, laser cannon, and ion cannon salvoes. The other commander was experienced, but Nebulax doubted that they had any idea of what he was planning. As another forty-two torpedoes launched, Nebulax glanced out at the readout. One hundred kilometers and closing.
 * “Port ion cannons, fire full spread. Aim for the torpedoes,” he said, his voice tinged with urgency. “Helm, bring us closer to them.”

The gunners responded to their commander’s urgency, filling space with fat bursts of energy that were diffused to the point of being practically useless against a shielded target, as they lacked the focused intensity to penetrate a destroyer’s shield and cripple a ship’s electrical components. However, against the much smaller proton torpedoes, the warship-grade ion cannon bolts worked beautifully, and Nebulax noted with satisfaction that the barrage had done exactly what he had wanted it to: Scramble all the guidance, self-destruct, and evasion systems on many of the missiles. Furthermore, the large blue bursts of energy had to be wreaking havoc on the enemy’s visual sensors. Still, there wasn’t much time; Corrupter’s shields were barely intact on the port side.
 * “Activate tractor beams on the missiles,” Nebulax said. “Stand by for bridgeward vectoring and roll on my mark.”

The missiles, flying in a straight line, soon had their courses altered by invisible fields of energy emanating from Corrupter and began arcing towards it. Meanwhile, the port shield flared and failed. Turbolaser and proton torpedo strikes began impacting on the armored hull instead, and Nebulax was thrown to the floor of the bridge from a near miss. Thankfully, the pirate crew wasn’t disciplined enough to concentrate their fire into one crippling volley, their firing patterns much sloppier and more disorganized. Then, he heard an aggravating alien voice, possibly Devaronian, on an open channel.
 * “Foolish Imperial- if you survive, you will remember this as the day you nearly defeated Captain Sula’nbask of the Bloodlust.”

Nebulax ignored him, staggering to his feet as Convarion helped him up. Hurriedly he glanced at the rangefinder for the torpedoes.
 * “Vector and roll!” he thundered.
 * “You are too late, Imperial,” continued the pirate.
 * “Inquisitor,” Nebulax said, “Either you talk to that scum, or shut his voice off.”
 * “With pleasure,” said Ajaur malevolently, moving over to the communications relay. “Put me on the holocomm with him.”

That distraction dealt with, Nebulax focused on the sensor boards. The torpedoes, still dragged along by the tractor beams, whipped around the Corrupter as the ship vectored away from them and rolled on its aft-to-fore axis. As the missiles passed around the ship and started circling back towards the top of the ship, Nebulax gave his order.
 * “Release tractor beams.”

As the bow of the ship whirled around, Nebulax saw the faint trails of the missiles as twenty-plus arcs of missile propellant made a complete circle around the ship and, released of the tractor beams, continued on their flight paths, directly towards the Providence-class destroyer.
 * “Keep up the fire on them,” said Nebulax. “Use the ion cannons on the engines and lock tractor beams. I don’t want them going anywhere.”

The pirate vessel continued to fire upon them, but most of the impacts did glancing damage to the full-strength starboard shield. The already damaged engines on the Bloodlust soon grew more and more unresponsive as the ion cannons blew out their control circuitry and power relays, while the tractor beams slowed the ship’s motion as invisible hands reached out to tug it backwards. The Imperial gunners pressed their advantage on the already weakened vessel, concentrating their fire with precision to blast away at shield integrity. Then eleven of the twenty torpedoes that had whipped back at the cruiser hit and detonated. The first four explosions tore into the shields and blew them apart. The other seven missiles tore open gaping holes into the destroyer, exposing its internal structure.
 * “Finish them off,” said Nebulax.

The crew of the Corrupter was more than happy to comply, and the turbolasers bit ever more deeply into the hull of the wounded Bloodlust. It attempted to roll to present its uninjured side to Corrupter, but Nebulax closed in and matched their maneuver, sending barrages of green turbolaser bolts and streams of ion cannon beams into the weakened areas. Directed by Convarion, Imperial starfighters broke off their attacks on the smaller vessels and now made strafing runs on the enemy destroyer, inflicting pinpricks of damage as the pilots loosed laser bolts and concussion missiles into damaged points, exploiting the ship’s injuries further.

Hull armor superheated into glowing metal as it was struck by the turbolaser bolts, and weapons batteries exploded as they took direct hits. Other areas of the ship, their armor already breached, exploded in brief fireballs as the oxygen in the compartments ignited, only to be snuffed out in the vacuum of space. The stern engine casings took the most battering, pinpointed for destruction by Nebulax’s gunners. Shattered components trailed from the destroyer as bulkheads collapsed under the withering storm of energy. Structural members deformed and buckled, while the engine cores, their protective shielding breached, began glowing from internal light. Finally, as they were blasted into by green lances of light, the reactor chambers began detonating, literally ripping the Bloodlust apart. The ship blew apart in a series of explosions, throwing debris into space in every direction. A few escape pods launched from the doomed vessel before that happened, but most of them were consumed by Bloodlust’s fiery demise. As it exploded, Nebulax breathed a sigh of relief.

The few pirate vessels that didn’t immediately flee into hyperspace were quickly destroyed by Corrupter, and the pirate base similarly posed little threat without long-range weaponry. Nebulax watched with satisfaction as his Victory-class destroyer mopped up the rest of the pirates. Surprisingly few of them had escaped, only seven small vessels according to his count, and they would not be troubling anyone in this sector any time soon. No doubt they were too busy looking for a hole to crawl into and hide from the Empire.
 * “Damage report, Lieutenant Convarion,” Nebulax said as the pirate base was reduced to boulders and space dust.
 * “We’ve lost eight starfighters, Captain. No major hull breaches. Port side has sustained moderate damage, mostly in the form of armor buckling and damage to the sensors. Two port turbolaser batteries are offline. One ion cannon overheated and suffered internal ruptures, so fire control for one port quadrant is offline. About one hundred-forty casualties; mostly injured except for the ion cannon crew, who died when the energy hit their nervous system. Engineering reports that the sublight engines and vector plates are not fully functional after your . . . maneuver, sir.”

Nebulax considered the damage as more than he wanted to sustain, but considering what he had been up against, well within the boundaries of acceptable, both in his mind and in the eyes of the Imperial High Command.
 * “Commence repairs, Lieutenant. Award two days extra shore leave at our next shipyard dock to any crewers who display particular efficiency. All hands will be at their stations until we are combat-ready again, aside from the starfighter pilots. We’ll need them rested if they have to screen us against any other attackers. Can we make hyperspace?”
 * “Yes, sir.”
 * “Then prepare to jump to lightspeed. Set a course for our next destination, but send a message to Imperial High Command with the battle logs first.”
 * “Aye, Captain.”

Convarion saluted and departed, and Nebulax thought he heard genuine admiration in the man’s voice for the first time. As he watched Convarion’s khaki-uniformed figure disappear into the crew pit, Nebulax noted the sweat soaking his own tunic and the tension with which he had been clasping his black-gloved hands during the battle. He started to relax again, only to tense up again at the sound of Ajaur’s voice.
 * “You have done well, Captain. This vessel has escaped significant damage.”
 * “Thank you, Inquisitor,” Nebulax grated. “Did you have a pleasant conversation with Captain Sula’nbask?”
 * “I did. Rest assured that his final moments were filled with terror and fear,” Ajaur hissed, a delighted but venomous grimace of a smile creasing his scarred face.
 * “I’m glad it was productive,” said Nebulax.
 * “The timing of that maneuver with the torpedoes, Captain, that was very precise.”
 * “I suppose it was.”
 * “I am no student of naval tactics, Captain, but even I know that what you did was very unorthodox and required perfect timing to accomplish; most officers would not attempt that even if they had precognition of its success.”
 * “I’ll take that as a compliment then, Inquisitor.”
 * “Indeed. You are sharper than you appear, Captain Nebulax. Carry on, but I shall be watching you closely in the future.”

With that Ajaur turned and stalked off towards his quarters, slightly hunched over as always. Nebulax had never been quite as irritated by anyone’s voice as he had by Ajaur’s- though that Devaronian pirate’s had come close-and was always relieved at the end of a conversation with the irascible and impatient Inquisitor. Running a hand across his brow to mop up any stray beads of sweat, he returned to his work. Secretly, he knew that Ajaur had been right, that only perfect timing would have allowed his torpedo slingshot to work. It had been risky, but he had known that it was the only chance of breaking the status quo. Without some kind of gamble, the Corrupter would have sustained serious damage or possibly even been lost. Thankfully, his crew had respected and responded to him as they correctly should to their commander, and Nebulax knew that they trusted his leadership. The thought encouraged him even as he set about directing the repairs.
 * Commenor

Annita walked up to the door of Jorge’s apartment, hand-in-hand with her fiancé. Their wedding was so close, within a month, and she was brimming full of excitement, scarcely able to believe it. There were still so many preparations to be made, but the day was finally approaching when she and Jorge would be joined together in front of her friends and loved ones. For now, they were enjoying a brief lull in the frenzy of wedding activities, spending an afternoon together. The weather had been pleasant and the rain of earlier that week had moved on to reveal sunny skies typical of spring in Commenor. Jorge had already taken her to a local xenobotanical garden, and they had packed a lunch to eat in between strolls through the exotic plants. All in all, traversing paths filled with resplendent, exquisite bushes, vines, flowers, grasses, and trees from across the galaxy had been relaxing. The sweet smell of the Ithorian roses still lingered in her nostrils, and she vividly recalled the delight she had felt upon walking through an archway of violet arallutes imported of Alderaan. Jorge had told her that the flowers held special significance to Alderaanians and were seen as signs of good luck if found growing near the homes of newlyweds, and it had made her wistful, longing for her own wedding.

Jorge unlocked the door and led the way into the interior of his characteristically unkempt apartment. It was cozy, built for a single inhabitant and composed of an adjoining kitchen/common area with a refresher and single bedroom in the back. A pair of closets completed the floor plan, but Jorge had made the most of his restricted space. Living on Commenor for two years had yet to cure him of all his spacer habits, and while he had improved, his apartment was habitually somewhat strewn with various things. It had been one of the little things that Annita and Jorge had had to work through, and it rarely bothered her now. While not the most pleasant experience of their relationship, she knew that overcoming difficulties had made them stronger, and wasn’t naïve enough to believe that more such differences wouldn’t surface during their marriage. After they were married, they had already decided to live in Annita’s more spacious apartment, but thankfully some of Jorge’s friends had promised to move his things over while they were honeymooning.
 * “Wait a minute,” said Jorge. “Something’s wrong here.”
 * “What do you mean?” asked Annita.
 * “These pants. They were lying on the floor of the main closet, not across this chair,” said Jorge, picking up a pair of dark pants from a piece of furniture.
 * “Are you sure?”
 * “I’m sure,” said Jorge. “And the holo of Captain R’hask has been moved from the low table.”

Annita walked over to a small color holo image of Jorge’s former partner and captain of the Hawk-bat, which had been placed in the center of a low duraplast table occupying a prominent position in the common area between a couch and a chair. Sure enough, it had been moved, a faint circle of relatively dust-free duraplast evidence that someone had moved it. Her mind immediately shifted into her professional mode.
 * “Don’t touch anything,” she said.

All of her instincts, honed by years in the Investigators, were telling her that she was standing in a crime scene, or something like it. Everything in the apartment was now evidence to her mind and her hazel eyes were darting back and forth from point to point, taking in all the details.
 * “What? Oh, okay, Nita,” Jorge said, calling her by a pet name as he realized that she was analyzing the room.
 * “You’re right- something’s definitely wrong. The place was searched, and whoever did it was trying to be subtle about it. Well, they didn’t do a very good job.”
 * “Searched? But why? And wouldn’t you know about it if it was done? I thought the Investigators were supposed to have warrants to do that.”
 * “I don’t know to the first question. To the second, I should know about it- if it was the Investigators who did the search. I haven’t heard about it in the office, so I either wasn’t supposed to know, or it wasn’t us.”
 * “Look, love, I know I’ve told you about my past, but there’s nobody after my head, and I don’t owe anyone money, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Annita snorted.
 * “That’s obvious. If it was an angry gambling partner, there’d be someone here with a blaster waiting for you. No, bounty hunters generally don’t bother with searching the homes of their victims. They’d case the apartment, sure, but not actually enter unless they were setting up a trap; it might set off their quarry.”
 * “Well, that’s comforting. So if it wasn’t Investigators, and it wasn’t criminals, who was it?”
 * “I have a hunch, but I’m not sure.”
 * “I know your hunches, and they’re usually right. Why don’t you tell me?”
 * “Remember how I told you that Captain Norres has been making sidelong attempts to ferret information out of me about the old Mistryl case?”
 * “I recall how upset you were and how mad it made me that he was giving you so much trouble over an already painful memory.”
 * “Yes, well, I wouldn’t put it past him to-Jorge, do you remember the old spacer’s rule when entering a new cantina?”
 * “Uh, sure. Always check and see what and if the locals are drinking. Then drink what they have or leave out the back door if they’re not drinking, because it means a fight’s about to start.”
 * “Yes, that one. I think your spacer past may have messed with your mind, and I might be overly paranoid. Anyway, when did you first hear that?”

Annita carefully began searching the floors, furnishings, and walls of Jorge’s apartment as they talked, casually chatting about spacer slang and customs. It was sort of a code between that they had adopted shortly after Norres had started being suspicious of Annita, and it meant that they suspected some one was spying on them. Annita’s search didn’t take long, though, and she soon found three listening devices- one in a corner of a glowpanel housing, one in the conservator in the kitchen, and one implanted on the underside of Jorge’s couch. Without betraying her discoveries, Annita held up the three devices and Jorge’s eyes widened.
 * “Jorge, I think I cut myself on some thorn bushes while walking in the gardens,” Annita said. “And there’s mud in my shoes. Do you mind if I wash it off?”
 * “Oh really? A cut? I don’t remember that.”

Then Jorge caught the look in her eyes and played along.
 * “Ah, right, how could I forget? Sure, go ahead- let me get the medpac and the antiseptic out of the closet.”

Annita replaced the bugs while Jorge grabbed the medpac. Then they walked back into the refresher, and Annita turned on the water flow in the sanisteam and closed the door.
 * “There,” she said softly. “The running water should mask our voices, but keep it down.”
 * “This is definitely not good,” said Jorge.
 * “No, it’s not. Now that I’ve found the bugs, I’m sure it’s Norres. He’s not onto us yet, Jorge, but he will be soon.”
 * “Annita, love . . . should we cancel the wedding? Are we in danger?”
 * “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “But we have to be careful. Jorge, if he finds out about our old friend, then I can’t say what will happen to us. The Empire has been pushing its jurisdiction, and Norres has virtually free reign in the matters of Imperial security.”
 * “What are you saying?”
 * “I’m saying that people have disappeared into the night before. Not on Munto, but in other cities. People who were caught collaborating with Jedi or rebels.”
 * “I see,” said Jorge, fully understanding what she meant by disappearing into the night.

That meant that the body might or might not turn up in an alleyway weeks later, partially destroyed and showing evidence of torture. The cause of death was usually a blaster bolt to the head, and some criminal gang was inevitably blamed, despite the fact that it had Imperial Security Bureau’s noseprints all over it. Not that any sane being would ever voice that opinion in public. The ISB was reputed to have a long reach and was unaccountable to local officials, who could only look the other way or face scrutiny themselves.
 * “Nita, I know how much this day means to you, and if you say we’ll be fine, then I believe you, but I want us to be safe and free on our wedding day, not looking over our shoulders or in Imperial custody.”
 * “No, we’ll be fine,” Annita insisted. “Norres doesn’t have anything on us yet, and this bug job means that he’s getting desperate. I thought he had given up this line of investigation months ago, but apparently something has gotten him interested in me again.”
 * “So what do we do?”
 * “We’ll have to be careful. We can’t say anything loosely in this apartment, and we can’t get rid of the bugs, or he’ll know that we’re onto his plan.”
 * “In your place too. Ten credits says that it’s been bugged too.”

Annita sighed and ran a hand through her long brown hair. Usually she pulled it up for work, but she had worn it down today since she was off-duty.
 * “You’re right. And that means that Jorge’s Folly is being watched, too.”
 * “It’s not going to be pleasant until they stop watching us,” said Jorge.
 * “I know what you’re thinking, and we can’t just leave,” said Annita. “Not only will it make us look guilty, but then the Kraens will get into trouble also.”
 * “It was easier when you could just jump port and make space,” Jorge groused.
 * “Well, it’s not that simple, dear.”
 * “Here’s what we should do then- we carry on with the wedding plans as before. However, I think it’s time for a few contingency plans in case our dear Captain Norres doesn’t get bored,” Jorge said with a twinkle in his eye.
 * “What kind of contingency plans?” Annita said, a note of suspicion entering her voice.
 * “Oh, probably better you don’t know yet,” said Jorge. “The less you know, the less you can arrest me for.”
 * “Like I would arrest you.”
 * “Are you sure about that?”

Annita paused and reconsidered.
 * “Depends on what the reward on your head is.”
 * “I’ll make sure that it’s worth the credits.”
 * “I’m sure you will. You can always find something funny, even with Norres haunting our steps.”
 * “I try. Oh, and there’s one other little thing.”
 * “What?”
 * “Need to contact Sarth and the rest of them on the Hawk-bat. They need to know what’s going on, see if they have any ideas.”
 * “What about the elder Kraens?”
 * “Can’t risk a visit. If we’re being watched, then so are they. I’ll try to pass on a message quietly.”
 * “I’m concerned about Sarth, Jorge. He hasn’t sent a message in months.”
 * “I wouldn’t worry too much, Nita. Spacers tend to disappear for awhile if they’re involved in certain activities.”

Jorge left it unsaid exactly what those activities would be. It was one of the several subjects they had mutually agreed not to broach so as to not place Annita in a position that might compromise her integrity.
 * “But for over seven months, Jorge? That’s unlike them.”
 * “They’re probably looking for an appropriate wedding gift for you.”
 * “I hope you’re right, and they’re not in trouble or anything.”
 * “Sarth can take care of himself, and so can the others. Besides, they know when the wedding is. They wouldn’t miss it- he’d never be able to show his face around here again, or you’d arrest him.”

Annita chuckled at his joke in spite of herself, her attempt to glare and look annoyed at Jorge utterly failing.
 * “Well, I think we have about one more minute before whoever is on the other end of those bugs starts wondering about what we’re doing.”
 * “Let them wonder,” said Jorge. “We’re young, irresponsible, and engaged. We’re supposed to do strange things.”
 * “I love you,” Annita said as she leaned in for a kiss.
 * “Mmm, I love you too,” said Jorge after the kiss ended.
 * “I can’t wait until the wedding,” she said.
 * “Me neither,” he said.

Finally, realizing the absurdity of sitting in the refresher with the sanisteam’s water flow activated, Jorge and Annita broke off their embrace and returned to their earlier planned activities, sitting down in the common room to look at decorators for their reception. They both tried to relax back into the casual manner of an engaged couple planning their wedding, chatting light-heartedly about the virtues of one decorator versus another, or a particular favorite vintage of wine served by one establishment. However, neither of them could shake the feeling that they were being observed and, to one who knew them, they seemed visibly ill at ease.

When Annita left the apartment several hours later, she headed back to her own apartment, but frequently checked to see if she was being followed. Several times she thought that a non-descript speeder was following hers, but she couldn’t be certain. The skin on the back of her neck was prickling with gooseflesh, though, and her instructor at the Investigator Academy had assured her that was an indication that she was being watched. She hadn’t fully believed the old man at the time, but experience had washed away her doubts, and she was scared as she had been since the Mistryl experience. What if Norres really was onto her and Jorge? Would she even have the chance to flee with him or would they disappear, never to be seen again? A new storm cloud of uncertainty had fallen over her future, and she remained troubled for the rest of day.