Knights of the Old Republic: Convict's Dawn/5-6

Chapter 6

Outer Rim space

Ralina Venli was awakened by the sharp chime of the ship’s chrono. Under normal circumstances, the computer would have ignored the command and let her sleep, but apparently someone on the bridge was trying to reach her. Rolling out of bed, Ralina struggled to her feet and donned a cream-colored shirt and black leather trousers before heading out the door of her chambers.

Her ship, the Cerulean Wolf, was a heavily modified Quartermaster-class carrier. Though the ship itself was very lightly armored and had no weapon system to speak of, the crew had overlooked those faults and transformed the Cerulean Wolf into a transport vessel. Its primary goal was not to engage enemy vessels in combat, but to carry the crew’s starfighters from target to target. Ralina and her crew had altered the vast cargo hold of the Cerulean Wolf and transformed it into a hangar that held five vessels – one for each crewmember and one spare. In all, there were three Aurek tactical fighters and two S-250 Chela-class starfighters.

Ralina made her way through the empty, metallic-colored hallways of the Cerulean Wolf at a relatively quick pace. Opening the command deck’s defensive door, Ralina strode into the room with pride. It was, after all, her ship. From the viewport, she could see the distorted outline of stars and nebulae as their vessel soared through the realm of hyperspace. It was almost surreal to watch: a single, lone vessel rushing by thousands of stars every minute without interruption. Quite a feat, despite the fact it was often overlooked as a commodity instead of a privilege.

Gracefully making her way to her captain’s seat, Ralina sat down without a word and brought up the technical readouts of the ship from the personal computer located on the arm of her chair. Her eyes quickly ran through them; the ship seemed to be in working order and everything was working at optimal capacity. Glancing at her crew, she waited for someone to speak up. She was quite eager to discover why she had been summoned here unexpectedly.

Finally, one of her crewmembers took notice of her anxiety. A tall, broad-shouldered male Human, his tan skin was scarred and bruised: old wounds from his time in a Republic penal colony. His hair was dark like coal and his eyes were similarly lacking in vibrant color. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, the Human approached his Captain and stood nearby.

“Captain, we’re approaching the Sernpidal. Do we have permission to use our weapon systems against hostile targets?”

Ralina shook her head. “No, Delvin. Our client requested that we avoid casualties as much as possible. We are to attack the military transport shuttle and capture the intended target and the goods. That is all.” “I see,” Delvin replied. “So, shall we take our stations?”

Ralina nodded. “Of course. Manda, how are our lasers functioning – just in case?”

The Devaronian tech specialist and mechanic, Manda, cursed under her breath. Kicking the wall nearby, she attempted to vent her rage through violence before responding to her Captain.

“Well Captain, these lasers aren’t exactly military grade weapons; these cheap guns would probably have trouble taking down a waste transport!”

“Manda,” their Shistavanean pilot growled. “That’s enough. No need to take out your anger on the Captain.”

“Shut up doggy!” Manda shot back. “If this equipment wasn’t so cheap, I wouldn’t get so stressed out all the time…”

“Enough, both of you,” Ralina commanded. “Fetcher, take us out of hyperspace. Lay low until we confirm our target. Manda, prepare the ship for boarding procedures. Delvin, keep an eye on our weapons, just in case.”

The crew complied with orders as quickly as they could. While they took their positions, Ralina bit her lip, a common sign of her growing impatience and anxiety. Taking another glance at their target, she confirmed everything they knew about the ship. Their target was a Ministry-class shuttle by the name of Obelisk, which was making its way to Sernpidal from Onderon. It had three sentient beings onboard as it left Onderon. Two Sith officers – both pilots – and a Sith scientist. This scientist was crucial to the Sith war effort, or so Ralina had been told. He, specifically, along with the valuable Sith artifacts on board, was their target.

“Captain,” Fetcher replied. “We’re dropping out of hyperspace now. Preparing viewscreen.”

As the thin, distorted lines of hyperspace slowly faded away and gave way to identifiable celestial bodies and distant enigmatic objects, Ralina quickly scoped out their surroundings. Though Sernpidal was a Sith world, in fact, it was actually one of the most important Sith naval bases, there were rather minimal orbital defenses designed to combat smaller vessels.

“I have three objects on radar,” announced Manda. “Two Sith scout ships are patrolling the planet’s orbit, though they’re not close enough to identify us. About four hundred meters starboard is our target; the shuttle is closing in on Serpidal quickly. I would suggest swift action before the ship finds itself protected from our assault.”

“Agreed,” called back Ralina. “Fetcher, fly us in close. Pass out the masks and guns, Delvin.” Delvin followed his orders quickly and without question. Opening a footlocker by his station, Delvin passed around black leather masks that concealed the wearer’s entire face. After each crew member had received one, Delvin gave each of his allies a blaster rifle and a small vibroblade to defend themselves; they didn’t know how well-defended their target was and going in without any sort of weapons was, for all intents and purposes, suicide.

As the Cerulean Wolf II accelerated and glided through space at an ever-quickening pace, the crew beamed with excitement as their vessel moved in to intercept their target’s shuttle. Slowing down now, the Quartermaster-class transport smoothly lined up with the shuttle’s port side and magnetically attached itself to the shuttle’s large, sealed door. While Fetcher stayed behind to guide the ship, the other three crewmembers, including the Captain, made their way to the boarding ramp, where they used fusion coils and electromagnetic heating devices to force their way inside the enemy’s vessel.

Once the trio had made their way inside, reaching the command deck was simple. Passing through three small, interconnected rooms, the three smugglers arrived at the bridge, where the three opposing members of the enemy’s crew had been expecting them. While Delvin locked the door behind him, Manda and Ralina pointed their blaster rifles toward the crew, as if they were silently demanding that the Sith pilots drop their weapons and surrender.

“Give up your weapons and put your hands behind your head,” Manda said, her voice hoarse and as frightening as she could make it. “You don’t stand a chance against Death’s Angels.”

“Who the hell are Death’s Angels?” growled the co-pilot in reply.

“The Death’s Angels are the most feared and notorious assassin’s guild this side of the Corellian Spine,” this time it was Ralina who spoke. “If you want to live, you’ll surrender Mr. Alrond over there,” she added, motioning toward their passenger.

Alrond Bacho was a Coruscanti noble who entered the field of science over twenty-five years ago. Now well past sixty-five, Alrond’s receding, gray hairline and wrinkled, pale face reflected the years he had spent alone in a laboratory. Though his forte was bacteriology and genetics, he had some skill with weapon manufacturing and metallurgy. The Sith used this to their advantage when he was bribed to build missiles and next-generation combat vehicles for the Sith war effort.

“Can’t let you do that,” sneered the pilot. “He’s very valuable to the Sith war effort. We won’t let him fall into your hands.”

To the bewilderment of the three smugglers, the Sith pilot pulled his blaster from its holster. Though Ralina prepared to fire at him in self-defense, it was clear he had no interest in hitting them. Turning to Professor Alrond, the pilot pulled the trigger on his blaster twice in quick succession. Almost instantaneously, two vibrant, crimson beams of energy shot from his blaster, scorching Professor Alrond’s light armor vest and piercing his flesh, striking at his heart. While the aged professor collapsed onto the ground, struggling to breath in his last moments, Ralina shot two quick blaster shots at the surviving Sith officers, landing two headshots and sending them to the floor, now lifeless corpses.

“Damn,” Ralina muttered. “Let’s get out of here, you two. No reason to stick around now.”

“But Captain – wait,” Delvin paused. “Did anyone hear that?”

“Hear what?” Manda asked, puzzled.

“Nobody move; don’t even turn around,” a voice hissed from behind Manda and Delvin. As soon as the voice crept from the shadows, Manda and Delvin felt the cold, metallic barrel of a blaster pistol press against the back of their heads. “Drop your weapons and kneel. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Both hostages slowly let go of their weapons, allowing their blaster rifles to collide with the durasteel floor before getting on their knees and holding their hands above their heads. Ralina, however, turned around and pointed her blaster rifle at the figure behind her allies. The figure, though it was in the shadows, had defining features that made him easily identifiable. His long, auburn locks dropped down his head and across his face and neck, his dark, tight-fitting uniform suggested that he was a Sith officer, and his green eyes were clearly visible, even in the darkness.

“You’re a funny woman,” the man said. “So, you think killing me will save your friends? What if I fire first? Are you really willing to risk the lives of your crew in such a frivolous manner?”

Ralina bit her lip again. Cold sweat dripped down from underneath her oaken-brown hair, and she pondered her options. She could either take her shot and kill the man and protect her friends or she could drop her weapon and play along, thus disarming herself and rendering herself helpless. However, if she didn’t shoot first, then one or both of her crewmates would die. Though she hated it, she saw no other option but to submit to his demands. Dropping her weapon, Ralina sat against the wall where their captor could still see her.

“Excellent,” the man bellowed. Quickly pulling off Manda’s mask, he nodded contently to himself as he reveled in the discovery of her identity. “My first victim will be your Devaronian ally. I hope you’ve given your final prayers, because you’re life is over now.”

“No! Don’t!” Ralina screamed.

A roar erupted behind Manda and Delvin’s captor, as though to respond to Ralina’s cry for help. Startled, the captor turned around, only to see a furious Fetcher behind him, his eyes bloodshot with anger and his mouth seething with foam. Grabbing a footlocker that was situated nearby, Fetcher smashed the box over the figure’s head, rending him unconscious and helpless.

“Good work, Fetcher. You saved ours lives,” Ralina said, relieved, albeit still a bit jumpy.

“You should have come earlier, doggy,” joked Manda. “You nearly gave our Captain a heart attack.”

“That’s enough. Let’s get out of here. We’ve failed our mission, no need to stick around here,” said Ralina, picking up her discarded weapon.

“What should we do about him?” Fetcher motioned toward their unconscious captor.

“Leave – no, wait. Take him along. We might be able to sell him back to the Sith for a hefty sum,” Ralina replied, smiling.

“As you wish. Help me here, Delvin. I’m not carrying him by myself,” Fetcher called out.

“But you’re a Shistavanean!” Delvin said, exasperated. “You’re huge! And strong! You could lift him in your sleep.”

“Less talking, more lifting, please,” Fetcher responded dryly.

Making their way back to the Cerulean Wolf II, the crew quickly entered the bridge and took their positions. Detaching themselves from the Obelisk, the crew of the Cerulean Wolf II quickly sped away from the now empty Sith shuttle and back into the realm of hyerpspace, effectively fleeing any would-be pursuers.

Sullust space

Raen Benax had stayed up all night, ignoring his body’s desire to rest. Guiding his small vessel through hyperspace was a very simple task, but Raen was paranoid and desired to do what little he could to guide his ship to its destination. His ship, the Rocket One, was one of the older ships that his father owned; it dated back to the beginning of the Mandalorian Wars and had gone under extensive repair and retrofitting just to keep it flyable.

Though he initially assumed he was alone on the vessel, Raen discovered several hours ago that an old astromech droid, T1-N7, had been left in this ship for repairs. Though Raen had no knowledge of droid repair, he did manage to get its basic functions and commands working so it could help up around the ship. At the very least, it would make Raen’s trip a little less lonely.

“Bleep boop beep!” T1 called out.

“The hyperdrive? What about it?”

“Beep beep,” his droid replied.

“Why isn’t it working?” Raen asked. “Is it too old? Doesn’t work with this vessel model? Answer me!”

Though his droid gave no response, Raen took a quick glance at the engine and discovered that the astrodroid was correct. The hyperdrive engine was quickly being worn out and would be rendered useless long before he reached Taris. He needed to find a new hyperdrive so he could continue on his way. Glancing at a star map of the Outer Rim, Raen quickly identified the nearest industrial world where he could purchase a new hyperdrive engine. Sullust, the homeworld of the Sullustans and SoroSuub Corporation, would be the quickest stop and probably have cheaper prices than other markets in the area.

“We’re headed to Sullust, T1. Prepare the ship to exit hyperspace on my command,” Raen called back to his droid companion.

The droid answered back with a series of chimes and whistles that didn’t actually mean anything, but probably signified he understood the command. Turning his attention back to the ship controls, Raen waited almost an hour for the Rocket One to reach Sullust’s orbit before slowly pulling his ship out of hyperspace.

The Rocket One’s engines waned as the sluggish vessel entered realspace over Sullust. The planet’s surface was barren and volcanic; nauseous gases clouded the atmosphere and the surface was caked with ash. Due to the harsh, unforgiving nature of the planet’s surface, the native population of Sullustans, Humans, and other species quickly migrated underground, creating thousands of subterranean cities to protect themselves from the elements.

Entering the planet’s atmosphere, Raen eyed the volcanic landscape with a curious eye. He hadn’t traveled offworld since his years as an infant and even then, he traveled to agrarian or cityscape worlds like Naboo or Coruscant. Keeping one eye on the viewport and another on the ships’s radar, Raen kept a constant eye out for lifeforms. When he found life, he would find a city. Traveling northward, Raen scoped out the underground city of G’rinn Go, a merchant city that was often an offworlder’s first stop.

Letting the Rocket One approach the city, Raen spotted the entryway to the hangars. Though it was a tight squeeze, Raen brought the Rocket One into hangar eighty-eight, carefully setting his ship down before switching off all primary systems. As he hopped out of the pilot’s chair to leave the ship and explore the city, Raen made sure to grab his comlink, datapad, credit bag, and Tor’Chal’s lightsaber and cloak before heading out. Ignoring his droid’s cries for attention, Raen donned the cloak’s hood and placed his weapon on his belt before heading out.

Marching through the otherwise empty hangar bay, Raen made his way to the dockmaster’s terminal, which was located just outside of hangar eighty-eight. The dockmaster, an elderly Twi’lek of about fifty years of age, looked worn and ragged. Though he attempted to shield his pain with a halfhearted smile, it was obvious to Raen that the Twi’lek was exasperated and suffering; he didn’t enjoy the job.

“That will be three hundred credits,” the Twi’lek croaked.

“Excuse me?” asked Raen.

“Three hundred credits. For landing your ship. It would’ve been one fifty, but you aren’t on the list of registered ships for today so you’ll be charged extra,” he explained.

Raen waved his hand in a swift horizontal motion. “I don't have to pay you anything,” he replied, his voice an inviting and cordial whisper.

“You don’t need to pay me anything,” the Twi’lek responded, his voice hoarse and dry. His mind was weak and he had been easily affected by Raen’s Force-empowered persuasive techniques.

“Move along,” Raen added.

“Move along,” the Twi’lek repeated. Opening the docking bay doors, the Twi’lek waved and grumbled as Raen walked by him and into the citywide bazaar.

Raen quickened his pace as he left the hangar, hoping to find a hyperdrive quickly and leave the planet without much trouble. However, even with his unrealistic expectations, Raen knew that it would take several days to install a hyperdrive on such an outdated ship. For now, however, Raen was content with absorbing the vivid sights and the intoxicating smells of the street-side stores and seedy shops.

Even so, Raen continued on his way undeterred, ignoring the appealing dishes and aromatic spices that were assembled around him. Making his way from the foodstuffs of the first market district and to the weapons and vehicle equipment of the second district, Raen was pleased to discover that the weapon and vehicle goods district was considerably seedier with much less eye-candy. Though he wasn’t exactly looking for a bargain, Raen hoped that he could find a trustworthy merchant who he could exploit. Raen didn’t have any money, but he did have his wits, strength, and the Force, which he intended to exploit as necessary.

“Excuse me, good sir! But you look like you are in need of a merchant!” a swift, light-hearted voice beckoned from behind Raen. Turning around, Raen spotted a petite, elderly Sullustan merchant, who was only about half Raen’s size, though he stood tall and proud, as though he were nobility.

“Bug off, scum,” Raen muttered with a sigh. “I’m not in the mood for your games.”

“Ohoho!” the Sullustan chuckled. “No, no, Sir Neebs is not here to play games. Sir Neebs knows your needs and wants, good sir. You are looking for something special. You want to come into my shop and examine my wares.”

Raen’s morose expression became darker as his anger boiled. He wasn’t in the spirits to play word games with cheap merchants, nor did he feel like being bothered.

“Didn’t you here me? Go away, I’m done with you!”

“No, no. You need what I have, and you have what I need. Please, come inside and I’ll explain; I’ll even show you the hyperdrive.”

Raen’s eyes lit up with shock. He didn’t know how the Sullustan knew he needed a hyperdrive, but he assumed that he was spying on him. Raen attempted to flee from the Sullustan merchant, however, the lithe salesman was quick and he managed to grab hold of his right sleeve. Tugging on it, the Sullustan motioned toward his shop, urging Raen to step inside. Though he was irritated by the Sullustan’s badgering and worn out attempting to argue with him, Raen decided to entertain the annoying merchant. For now.

Following the Sullustan to his hovel – which doubled as his shop – Raen was escorted to a small, two-person table by the aged Sullustan. Though it was cramped, lacked any sort of lively wallpaper or color, and had a particularly rancid smell, Raen managed to hold his tongue. The Sullustan returned in a matter of minutes, holding a ceramic kettle with two small cups.

“Tea?” the Sullustan asked.

“No,” Raen growled back.

“Very well,” the Sullustan replied, ignoring Raen’s gruff response. Pouring himself a small cup of tea, the Sullustan sat at the opposite end of the table from Raen. “Now then, was there anything you wanted to ask me?”

Raen thought for a moment. “Yes. How did you know I needed a hyperdrive?”

“Lucky guess,” the Sullustan responded cheerfully.

Raen gave the Sullustan a blank stare, indicating his disbelief. However, the merchant ignored Raen’s stare and finished his cup of tea instead. Refilling his cup with the kettle, the Sullustan returned his attention to the increasingly impatient former Sith.

“Regardless, you need a hyperdrive. I need your assistance. I’m sure we can work something out, don’t you, Master Jedi?” the Sullustan said, glancing at the weapon that was partially revealed from underneath Raen’s cloak.

Startled, Raen used the cloak to cover the lightsaber hilt in its entirety. Still emotional over the means by which he had acquired the weapon, Raen momentarily ignored the merchant before staring at him, his rage evident.

“You don’t know anything, so keep your mouth shut,” Raen said quickly, his tongue burning with a scalding fury.

“Very well, I’ll hold my tongue. But you can’t be a Sith, you’d have killed me already.”

“Perhaps I killed a Jedi,” Raen mused bitterly. “Took it from him.”

“Very well then!” beamed the merchant. “You’re just the person, Sir Neebs needs. Sir Neebs’ daughter, Cadasta, has gone missing in the wastes. I haven’t seen her for three days; I’d be forever in your debt if you recovered her for me, Master – I mean, good sir.”

Though Raen’s mind had been wandering, mostly attempting to rectify the images of Tor’Chal’s death, his gaze eerily returned to Neebs when he mentioned the wastes. He suspected this would require some sort of errand, but he didn’t know that he was going to have to fetch someone’s daughter.

“I see. And if I return her here, you’ll give me a hyperdrive? What if she’s already dead?” Raen asked, his voice returning to normal.

“I shall give you the hyperdrive, yes,” Neebs replied. He sighed and shook his head, contemplating the worst. “Even if she’s dead. At least return her family amulet to me, so I know for a fact she’s dead.”

“I’ll do that,” Raen replied, standing from his chair and heading toward the door.

“Oh, Master not-Jedi,” Neebs called to Raen. “Be careful. There have been hooligans around our fair planet lately. Use my speeder to get around, it’s in lot across the street. I take it they won’t show mercy to helpless wanderers.”

“Good thing I’m not helpless, then,” Raen replied with a hint of sarcasm, still facing away from the old Sullustan. Grabbing the speeder’s keycard before making his way out of the door, Raen headed back into the busy marketplace.

Walking through a thick, mindless crowd across the street and into a vacated lot, Raen spotted Neebs’ worn-down used speeder craft. Using the Force to leap inside without having to walk all the way across the lot, Raen inserted the vehicle’s keycard, allowing him to start the ignition and start its engine. Though it was unnecessarily noisy and its engines gave off obnoxiously foul smelling fumes, Raen ignored the issues as best as he could and headed through the backstreets of G’rinn Go toward the edge of town, where he would make his way to the abandoned surface of Sullust.

Sullust orbit

Two Davaab-type starfighters gracefully emerged from hyperspace near Sullust’s atmosphere. Though they were aged Mandalorian fighters that had undergone extensive retrofitting and refurbishing, the crafts were still durable and flyable. Mandalorian vessels were rare and were not sold to the public due to their associations with the dreaded Mandalorian clans whose attacks against the Republic ended about than five years before. However, their pilots had connections to the underworld and high-ranking Sith organizations, who still had many smaller Mandalorian craft on hand for research purposes.

The pilot of the first Davaab-class fighter, an aging Human male, was armored extensively, his body shielded from attacks aimed at his neck, feet, and everything in between. In addition, his face was shielded and hidden by a modified Sith Commando helmet. The helmet was a new addition to his armor; it still possessed the Sith emblem on the inside of the helmet and was still adorned in a rich scarlet color.

“Okay men,” the Human growled into his communication system. “We’re going to head down there, find and identify the traitor, and then we’re going to kill him as requested. Simple enough, right? Any questions?”

“Yeah,” replied his gunner, a Zabrak who was at least ten years younger than the Human, though he was just as heavily armed, sans the helmet. “Do they need a body?”

“Yes,” replied the Human. “No disintegrations, if that’s what you’re implying. He needs to be identified. Understood?”

“Understood,” chimed in the pilot of the second Davaab-class fighter, a Gen’Dai warrior armed in Neo-Crusader armor. “Dead or alive, no disintegrations, kill on contact?”

“Yes,” replied the captain. “Now let’s go. We’ve got a lead that informs us he’s stationed in hangar eighty-eight. So that’s where we begin. Let’s go.”

A cry of victory was heard across his channel before switching of his comm and guiding his starfighter planetward, toward the city of G’rinn Go.

Chapter 7

Sullust – G’rinn Go hangars

The four bounty hunters made their way from hangar one hundred and seven where their starfighters were docked and into the long, cramped passageways that led to the remaining hangars. Each of them was concealed in long, flowing robes that concealed them from head to toe. Though it was bulky and uncomfortable, the captain had convinced them each to don the robe to keep their identities hidden. If no one knew who they were, then they wouldn’t have to worry about betraying their employers identity.

The Human commander approached the Twi’lek dockmaster, his heavy boots clanking with each step, echoing in the darkness. Flanked by his allies, the bounty hunter placed a single, colossal shoulder on the dockmaster’s desk.

“So, dockmaster, would you like to tell us where the last person who docked in here landed? We’re looking for him,” he asked, his voice light and hinting at a false sense of nonchalance.

“I’m sorry,” the old Twi’lek replied. “But that information is none of your concern.”

“Then I’ll make it my concern you senile fool!” barked the commander, propelling his fist into the dockmaster’s skull, sending the aged Twi’lek into the wall behind his desk.

The Duros bounty hunter took the opportunity to scan the Twi’lek’s computer to figure out which docks were vacant and which weren’t and the other bounty hunters moved quickly to secure the hangars for themselves. While the Gen’Dai made quick work in disposing of the dockmaster’s injured body by consuming it in the flames of her wrist-flamethrower and the Zabrak and commander collected the dockmaster’s duplicate set of keycards and locked the main door of the hangar, sealing the entrance.

Turning the hangars into a temporary pseudo-fortress, the bounty hunters began to search each hangar for the Conductor-class cruiser that had been reported missing from an Alderaanian dock. During their tedious search, the Human commander of the hunters received a message on his personal transceiver.

“Who is it?” the commander asked, unable to see the holographic image that normally accompanied transceiver messages.

“The Watcher,” the voice replied.

“My lord,” the commander answered reverently. “What is your will?”

“We have received word that Raen is, in fact, on Sullust. Our spies have confirmed it. Wait in the hangar bay, he’ll show up soon enough,” the Watcher explained.

“Yes. My lord.”

Sullust’s wastelands

Though he had been driving through the wastes on the planet’s surface for some time now, Raen had yet to discover a trace of Neebs’ daughter. The speeder he had borrowed made travel significantly easier, but there was still an entire planet to explore. Driving pass the towering nests of the ash angels of Sullust, large avians that devoured nothing but ash, Raen stared in awe at the amazing works of natural beauty.

Continuing on his way, however, was rather dull. The planet’s surface was composed entirely of ash and hardened volcanic rock, making travel difficult. In addition, the frequent eruptions sent magma and smoke spewing into the air, poisoning the atmosphere and hindering most forms of sentient life. Raen could already feel the effects of the ash as he slowly developed a dry, hoarse cough in an attempt to drive the ashy residue from his lungs.

It was in this vast wasteland that Raen spotted a single figure, some five hundred meters in the distance. Hoping it was Neebs’ daughter, Raen hit the accelerator on his speeder and soared toward the figure’s location. Much to his dismay, he discovered the figure was actually male as he made his approach. Pulling up his speeder beside the figure, Raen slowed the vehicle so it had almost completely stopped in an attempt to converse with the man.

“Hey you! What are you doing out here?” Raen asked. When there was no reply, Raen asked again. “Hello! Why are you out here all alone?”

“I heard you the first time,” the hooded, enigmatic figure responded. “What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Not really,” Raen replied, now slightly irritated. “You look like you’re lost or something.”

The man turned toward Raen and held out his hand, waving it in the air with a mystifying charm. Almost without warning, Raen’s speeder flipped over, throwing its rider from the pilot’s seat and into the barren wastes while the vehicle itself tumbled through the ash and landed several meters from Raen’s position. Turning to face the man, Raen was startled when he realized that his target was already standing before him, his previously hidden violet-bladed lightsaber ignited and drawn. The weapon’s energy blade was hovering in the air several centimeters from Raen’s neck in a threatening manner.

Using a quick Force pull to draw his lightsaber into his hand, Raen ignited Tor’Chal’s green lightsaber and parried away his opponent’s blade. His opponent made no attempt to counterattack; instead, he performed a Force-empowered leap backwards, landing in the ash several meters in front of Raen. Rushing forward, Raen thrust his lightsaber toward his enemy’s chest, but his attack failed and his opponent deflected the attack and kicked Raen in the jaw in one smooth motion. Falling on his back, Raen lost his grip on Tor’Chal’s weapon and found it swept away from him in a blinding gale of ash and wind. During his temporary blindness, the enemy had used the Force to guide Raen’s weapon into his hand.

Now dual-wielding his lightsabers, Raen’s foe approached the weaponless ex-Sith and held both lightsabers above his head. Panicking, Raen picked up a handful of ash and threw it in his opponent’s eyes and managed to roll out of the way before his blinded opponent brought down his lightsabers. Now standing, Raen realized he still didn’t have a weapon.

“All right boy, let’s calm down,” Raen’s opponent said.

“Calm down? You’re trying to kill me!” Raen roared back.

“No, no, I’m not trying to kill you,” the figure responded. Switching Tor’Chal’s lightsaber off, Raen’s foe threw the weapon toward Raen, who snatched t it out of the air with a Force-empowered pull. “I’m testing you.”

“Testing me?” Raen scoffed. “I don’t need to be tested by you.”

“Yes you do. You just lost to me, Sith.”

Raen’s clenched his fist at the mention of the Sith. Igniting his lightsaber again, Raen glared at his opponent and held his weapon at shoulder height, pointing the green blade toward his opponent. Preparing for another chance to attack, Raen charged toward his opponent and leapt at the final second, coming in for an overhead swipe. However, Raen’s foe saw it coming and repelled Raen with a powerful shockwave guided by the Force. Crashing into the ground yet again, Raen didn’t stand up this time; he deactivated his lightsaber and threw it into the air.

“Go ahead. Kill me. I’m too weak to even think of challenging you.”

“I don’t think so,” replied Raen’s opponent. Walking toward Raen, he stood over the defeated rogue and held out his hand, offering to assist the young warrior. Taking his hand, Raen stood up, grabbing his lightsaber out of the ash with another Force pull. Removing his hood, Raen’s opponent revealed his face; his light blond hair, despite being concealed under his hood, was still littered with ash, and his equally blond goatee was trimmed short, grazing his lightly-tanned skin.

“I’m Celsus Djan, Jedi Knight.”

“I’m Raen. I’m out here searching for a lost child.”

“Oh?” asked Celsus. “You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a Sullustan named Cadasta Neebs, would you?”

Raen’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Yes I am. How did you know?”

“I was sent looking for her several weeks ago. I’ve been out here searching for her, but I haven’t found any leads – until now. Follow me,” he said, motioning for Raen to trail him. Walking several about twenty meters east, Raen and Celsus arrived at a rocky outcropping in the middle of the wasteland.

“What is it?” Raen asked.

“Oh, I’m not interested in the rocks. Look on the ground,” he explained.

Sure enough, two pairs of footprints were present on the ground near the rocks and they headed eastward into the distance. These footprints were very fresh and it was obvious that they had been made less than half a day before.

“I see,” Raen said. “Come with me, I have a speeder. It’ll be faster.”

“Much obliged,” responded Celsus.

The two Force-sensitives made their way to Raen’s speeder with haste and quickly flipped the overturned vehicle right side up. Raen waited for Celsus to get in the copilot’s seat before inserting the keypad and heading east, pursuing the footprints that had been made near the rock formation. While they drove alongside the footprints, Raen’s mind analyzed his situation. Celsus knew he was a Sith and Celsus was a Jedi Knight who was much stronger than he was. If Celsus reported Raen’s existence to the Jedi Council, then Raen suspected Celsus would be ordered to kill him, since they knew Raen was the one who killed Tor’Chal.

Glancing over at the Jedi Knight sitting next to him, Raen contemplated his options. His opponent was much more muscular and significantly larger than he was, so even if Raen did disarm him, he suspected he would be beaten senseless by the battle-hardened Knight. Even if he did manage to avoid being pummeled, Celsus’ skill and connection to the Force was much stronger than Raen’s; Celsus’ abilities alone managed to subdue Raen the first time, he doubted a second encounter would turn out much different. Even so, Raen knew that Celsus Djan had to die.

The speeder eventually tracked down the footprints to a small cave carved into the edge of an eroded hill, where they abruptly stopped. Without a word, Raen and Celsus disembarked from the speeder and headed inside the cave; Celsus used his glowrod to illuminate the foreboding cave. Taking several steps inside, Raen was lightly startled when he realized that a knife had been placed against his back. Raen acted quickly, jumping forward and igniting his lightsaber simultaneously, pointing the weapon toward his assaulter. “Drop the knife, scumbag,” Raen ordered. Though he couldn’t see his foe, Raen heard the soft clinking sound of metal hitting the ground. “Good. Now step into the light, where I can see you.”

Raen was startled when a Twi’lek male, probably two years younger than Raen, revealed himself in the evening light. Raen had been expected Neebs’ daughter and had assumed she had been traveling alone and was being pursued, due to the second set of footprints.

“Did you kidnap Neeb’s daughter?” Raen asked gruffly.

“No! She’s just my friend! We left to get away from our parents for a while,” the Twi’lek responded sheepishly.

“I don’t believe you. If she is your friend, where the hell is she?” Raen demanded.

“Right here,” Celsus responded. Making his way toward Raen, he revealed the young Sullustan female by his side. “She was armed with a blaster rifle. Luckily for me, she isn’t too good of a shot.”

Raen turned toward Cadasta, ignoring the Twi’lek for a moment. “What the hell where you thinking? Your father is worried sick about you.”

“Why do you care? You’re both just some offworld lowlifes looking for a handout,” Cadasta shot back.

Raen’s blood boiled in response to the insult; he had enough of playing games here. Using the lightsaber that he still held in his right hand, Raen swung at Cadasta in a fit of rage. However, Celsus threw up his own blade just in time to deflect Raen’s blow. Caught in a saberlock with the Jedi Knight, Raen glared at the Knight, hoping to convince him to withdraw his blade.

“Move your sword!” growled Raen.

“You move yours!” replied Celsus. “We bring them both back to Sir Neebs. Alive,” he stressed.

“I don’t listen to you,” hissed Raen.

“You better listen to me or you’ll be the only corpse in this cave when we’re through.”

Though Raen was furious, he knew that he couldn’t best Celsus, so he lightened the pressure he was exerting on his weapon, allowing Celsus to break the saberlock. Switching off his weapon, Raen turned to head out of the cave.

“Come on. All of you better hurry up, or I’m leaving without you,” Raen stated.

 Sir Neebs’ shop

After several hours, Raen and his company had returned to G’rinn Go and made their way through the dark, empty streets of the once-vibrant city toward Sir Neebs’ abode. Raen attempted to open the door, but found it locked. Struggling with the door, Raen eventually forced it open with a swift kick. Walking inside, Raen switched on the lights and searched the tiny hovel.

“Neebs! Neebs! We’ve got your daughter! Neebs?” Raen called.

“I don’t think he’s home,” Celsus thought out loud. “He must be out somewhere. Assisting a client, perhaps?”

“He might be at the docks. He does a lot of maintenance work down there,” Cadasta mentioned. “If he isn’t there, he might be at my uncle’s house.”

“We’ll split up, then,” Celsus replied. “I’ll take Celsus and go to her uncle’s house. Raen, you and…” he looked at the Twi’lek, realizing he hadn’t learned his name.

“Lhanx,” he stammered.

“Lhanx. You and Lhanx will head for the docks. Any objections?” Celsus asked. When none where found, Celsus smiled contently. “Cadasta and I will go on foot, Lhanx and Raen will take the speeder.”

With the party in agreement, they quickly split up into their pairs and headed off in their own direction. While Celsus and Cadasta headed toward Neebs’ brother’s home across town, Raen and Lhanx headed to the speeder, hopping aboard and heading toward the docks. Though the drive was accompanied by an awkward silence, Raen took notice of the fact that Lhanx continued to eye him cautiously; Raen assumed he was still suspicious of him because he almost killed the young Twi’lek twice. Raen hoped that his petty hate wouldn’t get in the way of the their mission.

Once the pair had reached the entrance to the starport, Raen parked their vehicle in front of the spaceport, allowing the engine to cool down before they advanced. The subterranean city provided no source of light except for artificial light sources that used solar power to light the city during daylight hours; even if they were above ground, however, the moons of Sullust did not illuminate the night sky under the thick layers of ash that constantly shrouded over the planet’s surface.

The pair sat in tranquil silence, neither exiting the speeder nor making any sudden movements. Raen thought that Lhanx was still having issues trusting him after their heated encounter in the Sullust wastes and decided that it was good for the mission if he left the subject lingering in the air much longer.

“Lhanx, listen, I…” Raen began. But then he paused; there was a disturbance in the Force.

Although Lhanx eyed him curiously for his unnatural pause, Raen ignored him for a moment and focused on the Force, the omnipresent life force that breathed its vital energy into all things. His feeling was a lapse between the present and the future; he was granted a moment of foresight by the Force, warning him of impending danger. And sure enough, Raen sensed a dangerous presence atop a nearby wall, close enough to attack his vehicle with a firearm but far enough away where they would be difficult to spot if he didn’t know where he was looking.

Acting quickly and instinctively, Raen created a ripple in the air with his telekinetic abilities that began to look like a small orb of chaotic energy. Though Lhanx didn't understand was going on, he attempted to cause Raen to lose focus, fearing that the ex-Sith was attacking him. However, as soon as Raen lost his concentration, the ball of energy exploded, repulsing the pair and sending them flying in opposite directions away from the speeder. Almost immediately after the two had been thrown from their seats, a rocket was fired from the location on the wall where Raen had sensed the hostile presence. The rocket collided with the speeder almost perfectly; the defenseless machine was destroyed immediately and flaming bits of debris and metal scattered everywhere as the bulk of the speeder erupted into a raging inferno.

Landing on top of a parked landspeeder in the distance, Raen struggled to his feet and used the Force to empower the muscles in his legs, allowing its mystic and subtle energy to meld with the blood in his veins. This fusion of Force and flesh allowed Raen to run at superhuman speeds, and he sprinted through the abandoned courtyard where his speeder had been and into the alleyway that Lhanx had flown into, avoiding sniper fire from a second opponent that was hidden elsewhere.

“Lhanx, are you okay? Are you injured?” asked Raen, entering the dark alley.

“Yes…” a soft voice moaned. “I think I broke my wrist when I landed on it. I can’t feel it and I can see some of the bone. I can walk and I can still fight.”

Raen shook his head. “Don’t be stupid. You’ll be killed. Just stay here and use that knife to defend yourself, just in case.”

“What about you?” inquired Lhanx.

“I’m going to go rough up our assailants a bit,” Raen replied sadistically. “See if you can get hold of Celsus and Cadasta. I’m going to need help.”

Though he didn’t receive a response, Raen could sense that the young Twi’lek had reached for his comlink in an attempt to follow instructions. Grasping at the lightsaber he had hidden under his cloak, Raen ignited the green blade in one swift motion. Heading out of the alleyway with confidence, Raen positioned himself in a basic defensive stance, ready to ward off sharpshooters. However, Raen no longer sensed the presence of his opponents on the walls, instead, they had moved toward the starport.

“Congratulations, Raen,” a voice echoed from behind him.

“Who are you?” Raen asked, whipping around and facing the darkness that the voice originated from.

“I am Gausse, a mercenary commander,” his voice echoed under his Sith commando helmet and he appeared heavily armored, almost as though he was a seasoned soldier, not a lowlife hunter like Raen initially presumed. “My four-man hunting party has been spread thin searching for you, but it seems you have taken the liberty of coming to us. Now, if you come with us, no harm will come to the old Sullustan we have tied up in your hangar bay.”

Raen’s expression altered quickly between a visage of shock and a look of hate. Grasping his lightsaber, he silently prepared for combat against the mercenary leader.

“Not so fast,” another voice responded from the shadows. This time, a male Zabrak, who was about as heavily armored as Gausse but at least ten years younger, spoke. “You may be Force-sensitive, but there are four of us here. There’s no way you can win.”

“Perhaps,” Raen whispered with a hint of cruelty in his voice. “But I’m going to hurt you all so you’ll never be able to hurt anyone again!”

Flailing his lightsaber about like a ravaging madman, Raen rushed at Gausse, hoping to catch him off guard. However, the Zabrak protected his commander by blocking Raen’s predictable strike with his force pike. While the two found themselves locked in melee combat, Gausse utilized his jet pack to take to the skies and flee from the close-range combat going on below. As Raen began to apply pressure to the Zabrak’s defense, his opponent jumped back and avoided a follow-up blow by the young Force-user. However, the Zabrak had purposely escaped from Raen; as he jumped away, their sniper, the Duros mercenary stationed in the shadows atop a rooftop bordering the starport, utilized his rifle to rain scarlet arrows upon Raen’s position.

Though Raen took notice of their ploy at the last moment, he still managed to deflect most of the Duros’ blaster fire, dodging the rest with a Force-empowered sprint. Charging at the Zabrak with a renewed sense of awareness and urgency, Raen hoped to take down his blade-wielding opponent so he could better focus on the sniper in the rooftops. However, Raen’s efforts proved fruitless; as he rushed toward the Zabrak, another mercenary emerged from the shadows – their final member – and blocked Raen’s strike with a large vibrosword. This new mercenary was colossal, towering about Raen by at least half a meter and fully adorned in Mandalorian shocktrooper armor from the Mandalorian Wars. Moving on the offensive immediately, Raen was forced to return to the defensive as the giant mercenary began its hulking lunges and large, gaping swings.

“That’s quite enough of that,” Gausse shouted. At his word, the giant mercenary stopped swinging at Raen, giving him a moment to catch his breath. “Now Raen. You either drop your weapon and surrender to us, or you’re friend here dies,” Gausse shouted again, revealing that he had captured Lhanx and had positioned his knife directly below his chin.

Though Raen didn’t move or change his expression to reflect his emotions, he was divided internally. He was unwilling to sacrifice his ally, though he was also hesitant to surrender to scum like these mercenaries. Even so, Raen was prepared to give up his weapon to spare Lhanx when the body of the Duros mercenary-sniper fell to the ground, his body tumbling from two stories headfirst into solid concrete. Gausse was so startled by the death of his fellow mercenary that he didn’t take notice to Cadasta sneaking up behind him and beating him over the back of the head with a piece of iron rubble, causing the mercenary commander to release Lhanx and his knife. The Force informed Raen of Gausse’s incapacitation and he used the moment to toss his lightsaber toward the mercenary leader; the lightsaber flew on the air as though it was suspended by colorless strings, making their way from Raen’s gloved hand into Gausse’s chest, piercing his armor immediately. Baffled, Gausse made no attempt to remove the weapon or fight back; instead, he allowed his legs to give way and his breath to leave his body without struggling.

Without a leader, even Raen, with his limited knowledge of the Force, could sense that the remaining two mercenaries lost a considerable amount of morale. It was as if they had just awoken from a vivid nightmare; they were rendered utterly clueless. Celsus utilized their dazed state to his advantage, leaping from the rooftop where he killed the Duros sniper; Celsus dropped and brought his violet lightsaber into the Zabrak’s shoulders, effectively severing his right shoulder and leg from his body. Celsus fluidly leapt over his deceased target, now targeting the colossal, shocktrooper mercenary. Though the mercenary attempted to defend from Celsus’ blows with a large pair of vibroknucklers, Celsus’ attacks easily broke through his opponents’ defenses and sliced at his foe’s waist, easily penetrating the Mandalorian armor and dividing his opponent into two lifeless parts.

“Good work, Raen. I think that’s all of them,” Celsus said, attempting to catch his breath. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Raen responded quickly. “Though I believe Lhanx’s wrist might be broken.”

“Cadasta will take care of him, don’t worry. Now come, we must get you off this planet,” Celsus insisted, heading inside the docks.

“Why? What’s so urgent that I’ve got to leave immediately?” Raen replied, rushing after him.

“Those were professional bounty hunters, Raen. They were hired because of their unique ability of killing their targets. Whoever is hunting you knows you’re here and staying here won’t protect you. You’re only effort is to flee this place,” Celsus explained.

“But where shall I go? And will you come with me?”

Celsus shook his head. “I cannot go with you, Raen. Our paths must diverge here. Someday, perhaps, our paths will intertwine yet again. For now, though, you have your own destiny, and I have my own destiny.”

“I see,” Raen said, his voice cracking due to a sliver of regret in his heart. “Then I will head for Taris; I have relatives there.”

“Good plan,” Celsus assured him. “I shall remain here for a few months watching over Cadasta, Lhanx, and Sir Neebs – who is still in here somewhere, if I recall correctly. Don’t worry; he installed a new hyperdrive on the Rocket One before they captured him, I can see into his mind with in the Force.”

Raen made his way back to hangar eighty-eight, pleased to find the Rocket One was still there and hadn’t been tampered with. Opening up the boarding ramp with his keycard, Raen slowly walked up the metallic platform, but turned back to Celsus one last time.

“May the Force be with you, Master Celsus.”

Celsus grinned. “And may the light dwell upon you, young Raen.”

This time, Raen didn’t look back. Heading inside his small cruiser, Raen closed the ramp behind him, sealing him inside. Alone with his droid yet again, Raen somberly headed toward the controls of the Rocket One, where he quickly skimmed over the instructions for the new hypedrive before starting the ship’s ignition.

“Next stop: Taris,” Raen muttered to himself.

Chapter 8

Sluis Van – Arvandora City

The apartment complex groaned under the strain of the Sith’s heavy artillery shells. As chunks of duracrete and bits of steel flew from the broken walls, the Republic soldiers scrambled to avoid being smashed by the debris. The worn down building located in the center of town had become a Republic stronghold, the only Republic stronghold, in the city. The city had fallen to the Sith no more than four days ago and the majority of Arvandora’s infrastructure and supplies were already under Sith control. In a daring and risky gambit, six Republic combat squads had attacked the city and secured an abandoned apartment structure and fortified it to serve as a temporary foothold.

However, the archaic stone and steel were no match for the ferocious assaults led by Sith cannons. With each attack, the artillery would take voracious bites out of the ill-supported Republic barricades. Out of the eighty Republic soldiers who had founded their base, only thirty-five remained; outmanned and outmaneuvered, the Republic troops were barely holding out in their bunker and many of their number were low on supplies or rations.

The bulk of the Republic force had stationed itself on the eighth floor of ten while the remaining troops remained in the building’s lobby to defend it from advancing Sith infantry. Utilizing their slug-turrets and rocket launchers for maximum effect, Republic soldiers had successfully staved off several Sith attacks while taking heavy casualties. Several floors, including the eighth, had become pseudo-moratoriums; rotting corpses and fetid limbs were strewn across the floor and many of the fallen were no longer recognizable.

The commander of the operation, a Sergeant Major who commanded Coruscant Squad, had led his men into battle expecting a quick and effortless recapturing mission. His expectations were quickly shattered and he had been forced into a battle of attrition with Sith troops of the city. Like most of his men, the Sergeant Major’s cadaverous face was sickly and pale and his eyes were a bloodshot red. His frail legs had long since lost the ability to support his weight and he was forced to squat against a wall near their turret embrasures. He had several jammed rifles by his side, mostly those from comrades who had perished or leftover emergency weapons for the gunners.

“Sergeant Major!” a gunner yelled to the commander. “Our gunners are taking heavy casualties. At this rate, we’re not going to be able to hold out.”

Acknowledging the gunner’s concern, the Sergeant Major reached for his comlink to contact a squad for assistance: “Alderaan Squad, requesting assistance. Alderaan Squad, come in.”

No response.

“Alderaan Squad! This is Sergeant Major Mallory. Respond!”

“Sorry sir, unable to provide assistance,” a garbled voice responded. “We were escorting Sluissi refugees out of the city, but we got pinned down by a Sith commando unit at a nearby cantina – I’m sending you the coordinates now. Requesting backup.”

“Bloody hell,” grumbled Mallory. Switching his comlink channel, he searched for aid elsewhere. “Kuat Squad, Corellia Squad, Alsakan Squad, come in.”

“Yes sir?” the three squad leaders replied in unison.

“Kuat Squad, provide cover fire for our turrets. They’re being killed by the enemy’s cannons. Corellia Squad, find and escort Alderaan Squad back to HQ. Alsakan Squad, stay where you are. Update me on the battle regularly,” he added.

Corellia Squad was the first to move out. Though the squad itself was originally a fourteen man squad, though they had lost four men and had now been reduced to ten. Though they had faired better than some of the other squads in terms of causalities, they had lost their more experienced soldiers early and now most of their squad was comprised of novices.

The squad had silently gathered their weapons and headed down the long, spiraling staircase that led down to the apartment lobby. From this lobby, Corellia Squad left their base through the rear entrance – which was heavily guarded by Republic soldiers – and headed for the city’s sewage system via an exposed manhole that led underground.

Once the squad had assembled in the subterranean tunnel ways, the commander of Corellia Squad stopped their advance. A massive Aqualish of considerable stature and girth, the commander was a fifteen-year veteran who had served in the Ando Security Forces before being conscripted into the Republic military.

“Okay men,” he said in muddled Basic. “We’re going to divide our forces to get this done faster. Corellia Three, Four, Five, Eight, and Nine, you’re with me. We’re going to head straight from the sewers to the cantina. Corellia Two, you’ll lead Seven, Eleven, and Twelve to the cantina via a roundabout path to cover our flank.”

“Yes sir,” responded Corellia Two, a Mon Calamari who served as their sniper and second-in-command.

The squad did its best to split up quickly, though it took a while to assemble their supplies and head down their predetermined paths. Corellia One led his five troops down a long roadway that ran parallel to the river of sludge and grime that ran from the sanitation plant and back. Corellia Two and his three men took a shorter path that led to an alleyway several blocks from the cantina. While Corellia Two and Seven, their other sniper, defended the Republic’s flank, Corellia Eleven and Twelve would rush inside the cantina and provide cover fire for Corellia Squad’s vanguard unit. “So,” muttered Corellia Seven, a soft-spoken, darkly tanned Coruscanti. “Are you guys ready? We’re about to reach our position; prepare your rifles.”

“I was born ready,” beamed Corellia Eleven, a much more youthful and fair-skinned male from Corulag.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Corellia Two reprimanded him.

“He’s not cocky, just excited,” responded Corellia Twelve, an Anaxsi male.

“Don’t talk back, just get ready,” responded Corellia Two.

As the four soldiers climbed the rusted, fragile ladder that led out of the sewers and into the abandoned alleyway, they each took a moment to check their weapons and make sure they were in working order. As expected, each of their rifles and blasters were fully charged and ready for use, including the two sniper rifles that would be used by Corellia Two and Seven. While Eleven and Twelve situated themselves near the edge of the alley wall, Two and Seven primed their rifles and searched the area for hostiles, their eyes dotting back and forth scanning for danger.

“We’re in position,” Corellia One announced through Corellia Two’s radio-com. “Send Eleven and Twelve in.”

At One’s urging and Two’s command, Eleven and Twelve sprinted across the empty intersection between them and the cantina, reaching the back door which usually served as a fire escape. Eleven kicked the moldy wooden door down with a swift strike from his steel-toed boots and immediately opened fire upon the three Sith commandos who were lined up with their backs facing the door. Twelve followed suit and served as Eleven’s backup; the two soldiers stormed inside the cantina and took cover behind the nearest bartender’s counter.

The other half of Corellia Squad entered via the front entrance simultaneously with Eleven and Twelve, their rifles blazing and grenades flying. Though the Sith troopers outnumbered them four-to-one, the Republic soldiers had the element of surprise on their side and the skilled headshots scored by the snipers firing through the cantina windows quickly evened the playing field. Fourteen Sith soldiers died in the initial grenade frenzy and six more died to the initial firefight. As blaster shots flew from one end of the cantina to the other, the Republic gunmen managed to fell three more troopers, their armor failing them as their lives expired. By the time only six Sith soldiers were still living, Alderaan Squad emerged from a back room where they had set up a defense against the besieging Sith soldiers and joined their allies in the fray. Within a matter of minutes, the last Sith troopers had been killed by the Republic gunmen.

“Thanks, Voln,” Alderaan One said to the commander of Corellia Squad. A Quarren soldier, his eyes appeared dazed and he had his left arm in a brace, restricting him to using a single blaster pistol. “Your assistance and timing are perfect, as usual.

“Of course Quao,” Voln teased. “Now then, what’s say we return to HQ? I’m sure Sergeant Mallory will be glad to see you.”

“Sure. Let me go round out the Slussi refugees, though. We told them to remain in the back room, just in case,” Quao said quickly.

Once Quao had gathered their Slussi allies – numbering twenty in all – the bulk of Corellia and Alderaan Squad had already made their way out of the cantina and through the back door. The soldiers made their way to the alleyway, where they found Two and Seven sitting idly against the wall, waiting for instructions.

“Jacque and Horan, let’s go…” Voln began.

“Attention, all units in Arvandora,” he was interrupted by a voice that was transmitted on all Republic radio frequencies. “This is Colonel Eto. All forces stationed in Arvandora are to fall back to the dropzone Defender immediately. Sith forces have killed Sergeant Mallory and have destroyed your base of operations. Survivors, retreat to the dropzone so we can give you a pickup. Eto out.”

The soldiers stared at each other with a grim expression; no one said a word, but it was clear what everyone was thinking. No sooner had the message cut off did a Sith patrol come around the corner, spotting them before the Republic soldiers could react. Taking shots at the Republic forces, the Sith succeeded in taking down four soldiers before the Republic responded with their counterattack. While blaster fire around the alleyway, the leaders of Corellia and Alderaan Squad began escorting the Slussi into the sewers. As soon as the last Sith soldier collapsed, a lifeless corpse at last, the remaining Republic soldiers scurried from their positions into the sewers like rats.

Once they were inside, most of the Republic soldiers, in a sort of mindless panic, dropped any excess weapons they had on them and sprinted for the other end of the sewer tunnel, hoping to reach the back alley of the apartment complex. Though the more reserved officers kept their weapons and armor in check, they too joined the rush to reach their former base.

As soon as the majority of the Slussi and Republic soldiers had made their way to the staircase that led above ground, the commander of Corellia Squad forced his men to a halt. Standing in front of the entire force of soldiers, the Aqualish waited until their murmuring and chaotic rambling subsided before addressing them.

“Soldiers, we’re about to enter a combat zone. Not all of us will make it out. We’re dividing you into three squads of four each: Alderaan Four, Corellia Five, and Alderaan Nine, and myself will be one group. Alderaan One, Corellia Three, Alderaan Six, and Corellia Eight will be another group. Corellia Two, Corellia Seven, Corellia Eleven, and Corellia Twelve will be the last group. Each group will escort a number of Slussi. We rendezvous at the dropzone. Any questions?”

“No sir!” the soldiers shouted.

Hardpoint base

Colonel Ramon Eto sat at his desk, eyeing a holographic layout of Sluis Van. Though his map focused on the tactical layout of troops on the surface, Eto also had a pretty good depiction of the naval forces that fought in the planet’s orbit from his map. His map reminded him of a large, real-time chessboard – a vivid and surreal game of life and death. But Eto had the advantage; he never lost at chess.

At the moment, however, Eto was particularly worried about the soldiers he had sent to recapture Arvandora City from the Sith. Based on Sergeant Major Mallory’s records, he should have proved to be the perfect commanding officer for the job; his missions at Rhen Var, Abregado-rae, and Kashyyyk proved his skill at raiding and capturing enemy fortifications. Despite his track record, Mallory had been killed and Eto’s forces had fallen into a rout; without a commander, their training was meaningless. They were like lost sheep without a good shepherd. And a good shepherd never abandoned his flock.

Scratching his dusty-blond hair with the handle of his vibroblade, Eto pulled on the collar of his Republic officer uniform in annoyance. He had commanded the survivors of Arvandora to retreat to the dropzone Defender, which was eight kilometers away and he assumed that most would fall, but the lucky few would reach the dropzone and return to Hardpoint base to be nourished and debriefed.

“Colonel Eto!” the young Colonel’s Twi’lek aide exclaimed, entering the room in a worrying sense of urgency. “Iridorian mercenaries! They’ve arrived and have captured the dropzone Defender!”

The Colonel’s azure eyes widened and glared at his assistant, his focus taken away from the viewscreen of the battle. “What? How do you know? When did they arrive?”

“Several hours ago, sir,” his aide began, now much more calm. “We received reports from Slussi scouts in the area. All communications have been lost with Fondor Squad.”

“Damn,” murmured Colonel Eto. “I didn’t foresee this feint. Vice Admiral Kvorkasir, despite being a tool for the Sith, is certainly a cunning adversary.”

“What shall we do, sir?” his aide asked. “Most of our troops from Arvandora are headed straight for Defender. They’ll be killed if we don’t give them some sort of forewarning…”

“They’ve disabled our communications,” Eto mused. “It’s an obvious addition to their trap. Don’t bother contacting them; you’d be wasting your time. Instead, send Khendive Kebroo a message: tell him to send Major Broons with an auxiliary force of Republic and Slussi troops to Defender via troop transports and inform him to pick up any surviving Republic soldiers. Clear?”

“Like the waters of Dac, sir.”

Dropzone Defender

The Iridorian commandos were stationed around the former Republic dropzone, known colloquially as the Defender. Though they numbered only about seventy strong, their ferocity and bloodlust were well known amongst skilled or veteran soldiers; their mindless savagery knew no bounds. And that is what enabled them to capture Defender from a Republic garrison almost twice their number. Though there were many Iridorian clans, only one clan had been specifically called to action – the Iulis clan. Led by Chieftain Bretanius Iulis, the Iridorians had claimed victory over the weakened Republic soldiers and had claimed this dropzone in the name of Revan’s Sith Empire and the imperial military.

“Chieftain Bretanius,” the chieftain’s holotransceiver activated, revealing a stout, pale-skinned Sith naval officer on the other end. “Your actions have impressed me and my men; your soldiers have certainly proved your worth on the battlefield. However, you will be relieved of your command; I am sending a Dark Jedi – who served under Lord Revan himself – to personally command your legion.”

The Chieftain scowled. “I thank you for your compliments, vice admiral. However, I must politely refuse your offer of a new commander. My men are familiar with my style of leadership and your men are unfamiliar with my tactics.”

“I don’t think you understand, Bretanius,” the vice admiral growled. “This is not a request or a suggestion. This is an order. Your men are to follow the Dark Jedi’s commands or be executed for treason. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he spat.

As the holographic image of the vice admiral disappeared from view, the chieftain kicked the transceiver with his armored boots in a rage, unwilling to accept this violation of his honor.

“Sir,” another Iridorian approached the chieftain. “We’ve done enough here. We’ve received our payment. Let’s leave. The Sith will take over from here.”

“No, G’aal,” Bretanius said, sighing. “We’ve been assigned a duty by the Sith. We must accept their leadership, even if it ignores the honor of our society.

“But we cannot…”

The chieftain interrupted him. “Be still. Prepare for combat; the enemy comes.”

Nodding obediently, G’aal left his chieftain alone and went to tend to his rifle. While the majority of his soldiers were resting, a good number of them were intently watching and waiting for a possible Republic counterattack. In their history of fighting against the Republic military, the Iridorians had learned of their stubborn nature; the Republican army would fight and continue to do so until they no longer had any able-bodied men to do so. In that way, they fought similarly to the Iridorians and were respected for it, even though they were currently their enemies.

“Sir!” a scout yelled at the chieftain. “We’ve spotted Republic forces, coupled with a attachment of locals, coming this way! What are you orders?”

The chieftain’s disappointment vanished almost immediately. The Sith commander had not yet arrived and their troops were battle-ready. There was no reason to wait around and expose themselves to enemy fire. The Iridorians would prove themselves to the Sith; their soldiers would slay the Republic forces that dared to strike back against them.

“Alert the troops! We attack them as soon as they emerge from the underbrush,” the chieftain bellowed.

Outskirts of Arvandora

“Get down, private!”

A single voice rang out from the obnoxious ringing of artillery fire and deafening cries of hundreds of blaster rifles. Corellia Twelve, an Anaxsi private, dropped to the ground at the last second, barely dodging a rocket that had been fired in his direction. His face in the mud, Corellia Twelve found himself unable to get up; the armor he was wearing was preventing his ascent to his feet. Struggling to free himself from the murky grime he had been caught in, Corellia Twelve furiously squirmed about in feverish futility until one of his allies came to his aid. Grasping the young private’s ammo-pack on his back, Corellia Two, the same soldier who had alerted Corellia Twelve to get down, rescued the private from the muck he had found himself in.

“Don’t worry; I’ve got you. Gather your bearings and then join us in the brush,” the Mon Calamari officer assured him.

“Thank… thank you,” the private struggled to mutter.

Nodding kindly, Corellia Two headed off to join the other soldiers and their Sluissi allies in the forested area between Arvandora City and the dropzone. Once had was out of sight, Corellia Twelve took a moment to head to a nearby brook and clean himself off. Removing the mud that caked his usually pale skin and blond hair, the private used the water to vigorously clean his face and any equipment that had become dirty.

Rising at last, the private picked up the damp equipment he had strewn out along the ground by his side and headed after his allies in the underbrush. After several minutes, he had caught up with his compatriots, who were crawling along the underbrush to avoid any enemy spies. Though there were many of them – at least twenty with the Slussi – they managed to keep themselves concealed in the heavy foliage.

“On the ground, you damned idiot!” barked Corellia Seven.

“Watch your tongue, Horan,” Corellia Two reprimanded him. “I give orders around here.”

“Yes sir,” Horan responded sheepishly.

Despite the fact it was not an official order, the Anaxsi dropped to the ground immediately, his stomach colliding with the dry leaves in the soil, sending a sharp, stinging pain throughout his chest. Crawling proved rather difficult due to the weapons the private was forced to carry, though he managed well enough.

A sharp-pitched screech was heard in the distance, about forty yards ahead. As if the squad had heard a ghost, they stopped in their tracks, chilled to the bone. Slowly rising from his position in the grass, Horan placed his sniper rifle on his leg, ready to fire as soon as a hostile emerged from the grass. Corellia Two followed suit, and Corellia Eleven and Twelve stood up and positioned themselves in front of the snipers, armed with battle rifles.

No sooner had they assembled into a – somewhat sloppy – battle position did the Iridorian attack force charge into the brush, screaming and howling with madness and blind rage as they advanced. Horan got the first shot, piercing the fragile visor on the Iridorian battle helmet and killing its wearer instantly. However, the Iridorian forces were quick and reckless and met their opponents in close-range combat in a matter of seconds. Unsheathing their vibroaxes and virboswords, the warrior tribe engaged in melee combat with the undermanned Republic force.

Corellia Eleven moved in first, drawing his double-sided vibrosword and attacking an Iridorian warrior head-on. As their blades clashed, a Slussi refugee came by his side and utilized his small, single-handed battle ax to cleave off their foe’s dominant hand, rendering him unable to fight and allowing Corellia Eleven to score an easy kill. Corellia Twelve, by contrast, waited for their enemies to approach him before he attacked them, drawing his vibroweapon at the last second. Thrusting the short blade through his opponent’s chest, the private barely managed to pierce the Iridorian’s breastplate and slay him.

The snipers, on the other hand, were forced to back up from their initial positions to avoid being swarmed by the countless Iridorian soldiers. Jacque and Horan moved away from the vanguard and found their way into a low-hanging tree and used their unique vantage point to assist the Republic infantry forces stuck on the surface. Much to their delight, the Iridorians had no skilled gunmen and relied almost exclusively on close-range combatants; this kept the snipers safe from most hostilities.

Corellia Twelve barely managed to decapitate his third opponent when he noticed Corellia Eleven was having difficultly fighting a heavily armored Iridorian warrior. Though the Anaxsi couldn’t be sure, he assumed that the warrior was one of the captains that commanded the Iridorian fighting force, a stronger combatant than the others. By himself, Corellia Eleven wouldn’t stand a chance.

Fighting his way through the sea of soldiers and making his way to Corellia Eleven’s position, the private assaulted the Iridiorian from the right side, hoping to catch him off guard. However, the Iridorian had noticed the Anaxsi’s approach and had prepared to counter his assault. Ducking back and avoiding both of the Republic soldier’s blows, Corellia Eleven and Twelve found their weapons locked as they accidentally clashed against each other. The Iridorian captain used his momentum to kick Corellia Eleven backwards, sending the Republic soldier flying into a pile of corpses comprised mostly of Iridorians.

Turning to his new opponent, the Iridorian silently acknowledged the Anaxsi’s presence before beginning his ferocious attack. Performing raging vertical swings backed by a powerful arm, the Iridorian commander’s strikes successfully forced the young Republic soldier onto the defensive. While the Republic soldier successfully parried his opponent’s initial attacks, he noted that his defense paled in comparison to his opponent’s savagery; his defense wouldn’t hold out much longer against the sheer rage utilized by the Iridorian.

“You are a powerful warrior,” the private said, hoping to stall for time.

“Likewise,” the Iridorian responded, his voice gruff and tingling with madness. “Perhaps you would grant me with your name? It is disrespectful for me to slay you without learning your name.”

“Caleb,” the Anaxsi responded. “Private Caleb Lasarus.”

“I am G’aal of the clan Iulis,” the Iridorian responded. “Now you must die, Caleb. Do not fear; death is a road which we all must travel.”

Utilizing his dialog as a distraction, G’aal had successfully forced Caleb into a blade lock against him; neither of them could separate their swords without risking a quick counterattack. Instead, G’aal utilized his free hand – since he could use his weapon single-handedly – to grasp the blaster pistol at his belt and fire at Caleb, hitting him at point-blank range in the chest. Caleb coughed up blood and dropped the sword he had been holding in both his hands, his legs feebly attempting to support him to no avail. Collapsing before G’aal’s feet, the victorious Iridorian roared triumphantly as he stood, towering, over his fallen victim.

However, as soon as G’aal had earned his victory, Republic troop transports arrived on the battlefront; armored fortresses designed with thick durasteel for the sole purpose of troop rescue, escort, and protection. Though it had no armament, the colossal tanks had slits that allowed passengers to utilize their blaster weapons against enemies. The three troop transports rolled through the underbrush, crushing the corpses of Slussi, Republic, and Iridorian forces alike. Stopping at the edge of the melee occurring between Republic and Iridorian troops, Republic soldiers stormed out by the dozen from their armored escort carriers, their blaster rifle fire forcing the Iridorian swordfighters to fall back and flee. While the Iridorians retreated at full speed, the Republic soldiers assembled Republic corpses and rescued the injured before bringing them into the troop transports – including Caleb. Once the dead and wounded were successfully loaded into the machines, the soldiers who hadn’t received many wounds or who could walk on their own boarded the final transport.

Once the entire Republic force had repositioned themselves inside the mobile fortresses, the three carriers reversed their direction and headed back for the Republic base near the planet’s equator.

Chapter 9

Sluis Van – Aurek base

Colonel Eto had been repositioned to the Aurek Base after the Sith made a foolhardy attack against the Republic Army’s central headquarters. Though he disliked his relocation and viewed it as a form of surrender, Republic High Command insisted that he be moved to the much safer Aurek Base; the base itself was carved out of the mountain, a former Slussi military fortress. It was a perfect combination of technological defenses and natural fortifications and served as the Republic’s second largest base on Sluis Van.

The colonel was now viewing a new viewscreen, this one was much less detailed and had less accurate portrayal of the overall battlefield. Eto assumed that this lack of information wouldn’t make much of a difference, in fact, with the arrival of Republic naval reinforcements several days prior, the arrival of any new Sith forces were irrelevant. Once the Republic controlled the planet’s orbit, the battle would be conclusively over.

Eto messaged his Twi’lek aide, asking him to send him a parchment containing a record of the battle thus far. Though it took several hours, the Twi’lek security eventually arrived with Eto’s paperwork.

“Sir,” the aide began. “We have reports that the Republic forces from Arvandora made it out safely.”

“Excellent,” Eto lauded his aide. “Now then, thank you for the paperwork…”

“I’m not finished, sir.”

“Blast,” Eto grumbled. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Sadly,” the aide said, forlorn, “our naval force was annihilated. We have lost control of Sluis Van’s orbit.”

Eto’s eyes lit with a flaming rage. “What? How the hell did they manage to accomplish that? They outnumbered us, true, but we had superior troops and more supplies.”

“Indeed we did, sir,” began the aide. “However, battle reports from the late Slussi shipmaster indicate that an unknown fleet has recently warped in from hyperspace. This fleet assisted Vice Admiral Kvorkasir’s forces in eliminating our navy.”

“Who? Who was responsible for these reinforcements?”

“Darth Revan, sir.”

Eto’s eyes lit up again. But this time, they were not filled with any sort of rage or courage. Rather, they were cowering. Fearful, weak, delusional. The colonel’s eyes avoided his Twi’lek aide’s, instead focusing on the progressing battles happening around the surface of the planet. Sure enough, glancing at the viewscreen’s orbital display, he spotted a new armada of Sith ships, mopping up whatever pitiful resistance to the Sith’s dominance of the skies remained.

“Darth Revan, you say?”

“So I say,” replied the aide. “We have reports from our agents that he is going to attack Hardpoint Base. Shall we order a retreat?”

“Yes,” Eto responded quickly, his voice raspy and coarse. “Pull everyone back. We need to secure our position here. Command all forces to return to Aurek Base.”

“But sir…”

“Those are my orders!”

Nodding silently, the aide bowed a quick, irreverent bow and showed himself out of Eto’s office. Returning his attention to the strategic holomap set up before him, Eto was surprised at the speed at which his soldiers received the order to retreat and complied. The colonel watched the bulk of his forces flee from the frontlines, falling back into an organized flight toward Aurek Base. Though Eto expected the Sith to follow his soldiers, the enemy did no such thing. Instead, they began to regroup and reorganize their ranks. Eto nodded and prepared to adjust his plan accordingly; his tactics were relative to the progress of the battle so they were easily changed.

Eto knew what he was doing, but the maneuver he was going to perform would be a gamble. With the majority of his forces stationed in Aurek Base, they would be subject to the entirety of the Sith attacks. However, it would also bolster his troops morale and encourage them to fight on; after all, there was strength in numbers. Eto wasn’t stupid enough to assume he could outlast the coming siege, however. Instead, Eto determined to hold off the waves of Sith soldiers for several hours until nightfall. Once the sun had set on Sluis Van, Eto and his troops would evacuate the base as quickly as they could and make it to the nearest dropzone – namely, they would have to recapture Defender – where they could be evacuated.

This game had gone on long enough and Eto had realized that. He had finally drawn out their king – a foolish feint, to say the least. Eto took notice of the possibility of assaulting and capturing Revan, though he decided against it. His own survival and the preservation of his men were his top priorities for the coming storm.

Aurek base – medical ward

“Private Lasarus?” a voice beckoned the young Anaxsi back to consciousness.

“Who…?”

“I’m a friend,” the voice responded.

Opening his weary blue eyes, Caleb spotted the source of the voice; a pale-skinned Human female, probably some five years older than him was sitting by his bedside, accompanied by several medical droids. She wore archaic battle robes, their colors bland and dull, and donned a hooded cloak over the robes, oak-colored and caked in grime and blood. Caleb quickly took notice of her gnarled left hand, disfigured and grotesque by his standards. However, her hand deformed hand emanated a faint glow of golden light – a healing light. As Caleb sat motionless in his medical cot, he felt the radiant glow filling his body with energy, replenishing his war-torn body.

“There. You should be better now,” the gentle valkyrie of healing smiled. She stepped away from his cot, heading toward the next wounded soldier.

“Wait!” Caleb called out.

“Yes?” she asked, her silver locks swaying in the air as she shifted her gaze.

“Who are you?”

“I am Verita. Verita Laudarum. Don’t worry, I’m a friend,” she said again, smiling. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must tend to other patients.”

Entranced by her beauty, the young Anaxsi soldier lay speechless and dumbfounded for several minutes, replaying their meeting over and over in his head. He was so enthralled by the moment that he didn’t notice Jacque approach his cot and stand by his bedside.

“You doing well, Twelve?” Jacque asked.

Snapping out of his fantasy world, Caleb turned toward his commander: “Yes sir? I’m doing well, sir.”

“Excellent. I’ve been told you’re well enough to move and well enough to fight, so come with me. Gather your things.”

As Jacque turned away from Caleb and headed out, the young soldier acted quickly to reclaim his things. Rising from his cot, Caleb walked briskly toward the foot of his bed, where a locker-box that contained all his things was conveniently located. Finding it unlocked, Caleb reached inside and recovered his weapons and armor, reequipping himself as quickly as he could. Grabbing his rifle last, Caleb slung it over his back and made his way out of the hospital and into the herbal garden beyond.

Though the unique aromas of the herbs and spices were overbearing and unnecessarily strong, Caleb managed to ignore the stinging sensation in his nostrils as he proceeded through the verdant gardens. As he was passing by the myrrh trees, Caleb took notice of a congregation of people situated near a small lake on the other side of the garden. Redirecting his path, Caleb headed toward the group quickly and quietly.

Upon arrival, Caleb was greeted by dozens of somber, Republic warriors, painted with intricate patterns of blood, sweat, and dirt. Some had lost one or more limbs and others were covered in massive bandages to hide their wounds. Though Caleb felt sick at the stomach seeing all these wounded and dying, he held his discomfort inside. Spotting Jacque in the farther end of the crowd, Caleb attempted to wade through the sea of soldiers in an attempt to reach him, though its efforts were hindered by the soldiers’ disinterest in moving.

“Men and women of the Republic!” a voice bellowed from behind Caleb. Caleb recognized it as Colonel Eto’s. “This is our final stand – our last hour. This battle will decide who lives and who dies. You will be assailed by the foe from every corner, but give him no mercy! For you shall receive none! For the Chancellor, her glory, and the Republic!”

As cheers engulfed the crowd of troops, Caleb was pulled aside by Jacque. The Mon Calamari soldier’s expression was grim; he didn’t visualize the same excited euphoria as the rest of the soldiers and this worried the neophyte soldier.

“I’ve gathered Corellia Squad’s survivors. We’re going with Alderaan Squad to attack Defender,” Jacque explained, his voice booming through the crowd of people.

“Defender? But we were almost destroyed at Defender!” Caleb argued.

“Not this time. This time, we have Colonel Eto backing us; we can’t lose, because he’s never lost.”

“It sounds too good to be true.”

The Mon Calamari shrugged. “Perhaps. For now, though, prepare for combat. We leave in three hours.”

Subjugation

Arci Mord stood on the bridge of his ship, the Subjugation, overlooking the bridge with a watchful eye. Fleet Commander Mord had been the commander of the Subjugation for almost ten years; his first years of service were in the Mandalorian Wars. However, he had long since defected to the Sith military and sided with Darth Revan’s forces. He had hoped to receive a promotion for his decade of service to the naval corps, though it didn’t seem likely, as young hot-shots were joining the Sith armada every day and they would soon outsmart and outshine him in every aspect of naval combat and command.

Despite the elderly, scarlet-colored Twi’lek’s disdain for this new generation of officers, the veteran commander did have respect for one of these new, rising stars. This officer was Petty Officer Vaerk Luus, a very new recruit to the Sith navy. In fact, Vaerk had defected to the Sith during this battle, surrendering to them before they destroyed his vessel. Mord could tell that this officer had potential; he would be a powerful commander some day. Mord hadn’t seen him in combat, nor had he witnessed any charismatic, shining moments from the young Sith officer, so it was more intuition than anything.

“Luus,” Mord called out, his voice haggard and dry.

“Yes sir?” the officer replied.

“Darth Revan has given us our first orders. We are to bombard the Republic’s Hardpoint base with our vessel’s turbolasers. Alert the bombardiers to prepare for attack,” the red Twi’lek explained.

“Yes sir,” the officer replied again.

While Luus headed on his way, Mord returned his attention to the bridge. Overall, his crew was competent and experienced. Not many recruits found their way onto the bridge of the Subjugation. Regardless, whenever new cadets were assigned to the Subjugation, Mord and his crew were quick to drill them on everything and anything they needed to know until it was ingrained in their memory. Mord would not tolerate failure, nor would he accept excuses.

“Bombardiers ready, sir,” a middle-aged Cathar officer informed the Fleet Commander.

“Excellent, thank you, Penen,” Mord replied. “Fire all weapons upon the Hardpoint base. Raze it to the ground; I want no survivors.”

Dropzone Defender

Caleb Lasarus stood in anxious silence. He couldn’t wait for his troop to begin their attack. While Jacque and Horan led the attack from the rear, he and Corellia Eleven, known as Toredo Amad, would lead the vanguard of the forces into the fray. Their opponents, the Iridorians, were largely comprised of close-range combatants. To counter this, al the Republic soldiers in the Alderaan and Corellia Squads were trained gunmen, armed with blasters and grenades to hold off the Iridorian swarm. Only a few soldiers were armed with vibroswords to counter the Iridorians’ offensive should they get too close.

Though their entire force was hidden in the underbrush around Defender, the dry leaves and dying foliage caused a commotion when they met with a soldier’s boots, and the cessation of bird songs would alert a wary soldier to the fact that other sentients were nearby.

“Ready, corporal?” Toredo teased Caleb.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Caleb said smiling.

The two Republic commanders led the charge, leaping out from the brush and yelling at the top of their lungs while firing their blaster rifles at the Iridorian guardsmen stationed near the edge of the dropzone. It was only a matter of time before the rest of their soldiers joined them and the entire Republic force had lined up at the edge of the forest, opening fire on the Iridorian camp. Though they had much more troops, the Iridorians were concentrated more closely than the Republic soldiers, allowing them to be slain by the dozen by Republican grenades.

“Charge you worms!” bellowed the Iridorian chieftain.

The Iridorian soldiers responded fervently, charging into the rain of blaster fire with their swords in their attempt to approach the Republic’s battle lines. However, they found themselves at a disadvantage against the Republic’s blasters and the majority of the Iridorians were felled by the incoming fire launched by the Republic forces. The Iridorians adapted quickly and began to utilize Sith artillery guns on the Republican gunmen, felling them as the shells collided with the ground and exploded into a chaotic panic of blazing chemicals and metallic shrapnel.

Soldiers around Caleb groaned with pain and fright as their allies were struck by the Iridorian’s artillery, sending helpless, severed bodies flying through the air and across the battlefield. Those who were not stuck by the shells were subjected to either the shrapnel, which found itself lodged in the majority of soldier’s armor, or to the advancing Iridorian horde.

“Reinforcements coming in,” a soldier standing beside Caleb noted, pointing into the sky at a low-flying troop carrier.

As the hovering vehicle found a place to land near the outskirts of the battlefront, Caleb took notice of the warrior who spearheaded their ranks – the same woman who had healed him before. Caleb wanted to meet her again, but he knew it had to wait until the battle was over. For now, though, he could attempt to unite his troops with the reinforcements that she led. Fighting his way through the Iridorian melee combatants, Caleb struggled through the crowd of warriors in an attempt to reach Verita.

“Caleb Lasarus!” a familar voice shouted from behind the Anaxsi.

“Who…?” he asked, though the question was rhetorical; he knew who it was.

“I am G’aal Iulis! You disgraced my honor by coming back to life after I had slain you. For that, I shall kill you and send you to hell twenty times over!” he boasted.

Caleb gave the Iridorian no reply; he didn’t deserve one. Tossing his blaster rifle aside, Caleb drew his vibrosword, brandishing the long blade from its sheath. Unlike their last encounter, the Anaxsi warrior noted how heavily damaged G’aal’s armor was; the yellow armor had been cracked at the breastplate and a part of his visor had been shattered, revealing his ghostly flesh and blood-red eyes.

G’aal too, drew his weapon quickly, and the duel erupted. Charging toward the young Republic officer, G’aal’s onslaught began as a number of ferocious and unpredictable swings, forcing Caleb to jump backwards and roll to the side to dodge all of his attacks. Countering, Caleb used his blade to direct several vertical strikes at the Iridorian’s chest, though the Iridorian warrior had counter on this maneuver; he blocked the attack perfectly and repelled his foe by applying pressure to his weapon and shoving Caleb away.

Stunned, Caleb attempted to leap out of the way, but his feet failed him. G’aal sprinted toward the Republic soldier and drove his weapon into Caleb, piercing through his opponent’s weakened armor and tender flesh with a single blow. As the vibrating weapon shredded the inside of Caleb’ stomach, G’aal cackled with glee as the fresh blood streamed from Caleb’ skin, flowing profusely from the wound. However, G’aal was so involved in gutting Caleb that he didn't notice the battle around him, and certainly didn’t notice Verita approach him from behind and thrust her lightsaber – an argent blade that shimmered in contrast to the sunlight – into G’aal’s chest. Using the Force to push the wounded warrior away from Caleb, Verita snatched Caleb’ wounded body out the air before he hit the ground, letting his body slowly rest against the ground. Verita used her gnarled hand to heal Caleb; the shining light that created an aura around her deformed limb sent waves of invigorating energy into the young Anaxsi, quelling the pain and cleansing the wound.

“You’ll be safe, don’t worry,” Verita assured the young soldier.

“But…”

“Shh. Don’t talk, you’ll strain yourself. You’ll be safe here, so try not to move. I have to tend to the other wounded,” she said before rising up and heading away from the motionless officer.

While the Republic soldiers fought around him, Caleb was forced to watch helplessly as his allies were skewered by the Iridorian’s combat swords, their appendages severed and their torsos split in two, sending blood gushing across the ground. As the Iridorians advanced against the broken Republic forces, Caleb didn’t realize why they weren’t attacking him and why they didn’t just stab him in the throat and end his life. Even his Republic officers didn’t pay attention to him, they just kept fighting – kept dying.

Caleb watched as G’aal, who was lying in the blood-drunk dirt several meters away from him, tried to crawl toward his vibroblade. His wound was fatal, though, and the blood was escaping his body faster than the Iridorian combatant expected. Finally grasping his weapon, G’aal held his sword above him as he turned over, revealing his wounded chest and broken armor. Even his helmet, which had once covered his entire head, had been deformed and twisted, his cadaverous face and crimson eyes barely being held together by the blood that had encrusted underneath his helmet.

Caleb watched with a sense of shock as the Iridorian took a last deep breath, bellowed a name in the Iridiorian tongue, and thrust the blade through his own chest, piercing his heart and killing him almost instantly. In a matter of seconds, the dead warrior’s cold, lifeless digits released the hilt of his blade and collapsed near the side of his corpse, his body sprawled upon the ground.

Caleb struggled to stand, but his feet once again failed him. Collapsing to the ground, he punched the stained dirt with his fist, sobbing as the helplessness and pain finally set in. However, his tears were interrupted as he heard Republic soldiers cheering. Glancing around, Caleb identified the source of the excitement; two Republic blockade runners had arrived in the dropzone to pick up the survivors and get them off this hellhole. As Republic soldiers all around him threw their weapons to the ground and sprinted toward their freedom, the Iridorians fled as the survivors from Aurek base – including Colonel Eto – temporary disembarked from the blockade runners and provided reinforcements to help their allies reach the dropzone.

Finally, a soldier took notice of Caleb. Though he looked like he had seen a ghost, he helped the wounded Anaxsi to his feet and let the corporal use his body as a crutch. Though their walk was long, the two eventually made it to the first blockade runner, where three Republic soldiers picked up Caleb and placed him inside a makeshift stretcher before sending him inside the blockade runner’s retrofitted hangar. As the soldiers stormed inside, Colonel Eto took notice of Caleb.

“Hello, soldier. Are you going to be okay?” he said, crouching so that he could see the young soldier’s face better.

“Yes… yes sir,” Caleb said. “Don’t worry about me. Help the rest of our allies.”

Eto understood the corporal’s wishes and made his way toward the entryway to the hangar. Armed with his blaster rifle, he assisted his allies in repelling the remaining Iridorian combatants from the fleeing Republic soldiers, allowing them to hop inside the vessel. While the first vessel took off, Eto commanded that his vessel stay on the surface for another minute to pick up the stragglers.

“Over here! I need help!” Verita yelled.

The Jedi healer was carrying a Republic soldier on her back who was bleeding extensively and very pale. He had lost one his legs, making him lighter to carry but his condition more critical. Her robes were drenched in his blood and her face was caked in soot and scarred with shrapnel residue. Running as fast as she could with the aide of the Force, she began to approach the hangar bay opening. As she approached their position, Sith reinforcements charged out of the woods, attacking the vessel with their artillery and makeshift Molotov cocktails. Startled, the pilot of the blockade runner began to ascend, threatening to leave Verita and her patient on the planet’s surface.

“Throw the soldier!” shouted Jacque, who was standing near the hangar bay doors along with about a dozen other solders.

“But he’ll get even more hurt!” shouted Verita.

“You won’t make the jump with him on your back! Throw him inside and we’ll catch him, then help you!”

Complying, Verita threw the man as gently as he could, using the Force to slow his flight, and carefully guided him toward the Republic soldiers, who caught him as gracefully as they could and put him in another makeshift cot which would be sent to the medical bay as soon as they arrived in space. Verita utilized the Force to make a towering leap, jumping almost four meters into the air after the hangar; she lost her footing upon landing on the hangar bay entryway, but she was rescued by Eto, who grabbed hold of her arm.

“Thank you,” sighed Verita. “I thought I was going to die.”

“No problem at all, Master Jedi,” Eto replied, curtly.

“Be careful,” Verita urged. “Your grip is weakening. Pull me in so we can close these doors.”

Suddenly, Eto’s expression changed. His azure eyes became clouded; a mist had overcome his youthful eyes. His hair stood on end as he sneered at the Jedi Knight. Pulling the blaster pistol off his holster, he let go of the Jedi and took several shots at the young healer. Though she jumped inside and blocked the first few attacks with her silver lightsaber, she missed her chance to strike back at the Colonel with her lightsaber by utilizing a quick throw. The Colonel dodged her attack with lighting reflexes and the lightsaber deactivated itself as it failed to return to her, landing near the wounded Caleb.

“Dissention is not something to be taken lightly,” Eto whispered, his voice cloaked with rage. “Vengeance is mine.”

Taking three more shots at Verita, the Colonel’s point-blank shots were true and hit their mark – the young Jedi’s chest. Kicking her dying body off the hangar’s loading platform, the colonel cackled with glee as her corpse fell several hundred meters toward the ground below. Before he could see her fateful collision with the planet’s surface, the hangar bay doors closed as they began to approach Sluis Van’s atmosphere.

Caleb, now in a blind rage of his own, charged at Eto with a vibroblade, hoping to strike the colonel down with his weapon. However, the colonel foresaw the attack and turned around just in time, striking the young corporal’s skull with the butte of his weapon, knocking him unconscious.

The remaining soldiers, initially stunned and unwilling to get involved with the colonel’s assault, refused to stand around idly while their commander struck down one of their brothers. Jacque moved in first, grabbing the colonel’s arm in an effort to subdue him. When he refused to surrender peacefully, several other soldiers attempted to apprehend the crazed Eto, eventually tackling him to the ground and rendering him helpless by utilizing stun cuffs. While the soldiers dragged him to the brig – with difficultly, he continued to scream and wail, resisting his capture like a young brat.

As Eto and the other soldiers left the injured soldier and Caleb alone, the injured corporal began fading in and out of consciousness. He managed to grasp Verita’s weapon and placed it in his satchel, hoping to find some use for it, or at least keep it as a memento. As he safely hid the weapon amongst his things, his mind attempted to gnaw at the issues surrounding the battle.

“Did all those soldiers really have to die? Why do we fight on when we know we will lose? Why am I fighting?” Caleb thought out loud, to no one in particular before fading into unconsciousness.