Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II: Vima's Saga/Chapter One

Chapter One


 * The world around her was eerily silent as she bobbed about in the kolto tank’s gooey interior, with life-support tubes intruding into her being at various strategic places. But that wasn’t the strangest part – what was truly odd was that sound, echoing through the void of her unconscious mind. Someone was beckoning her, almost desperately, to shrug off this all-encompassing stupor. And, at last, she did.
 * “Awaken!”
 * Something intense, yet subtle flowed through the mind of Vima Sunrider, leading her gently back into the world of the living. It was such a quiet thing, almost on the edge of hearing, but her years of prior training, first at the hands of her mother, Nomi, then the ex-Sith Lord Ulic Qel-Droma, enabled her to know what it was that had called out to her almost at once. When she finally opened her eyes to take in where she had ended up, all that Vima could see was a series of monitors, arrayed in a circle around the platform upon which she was laid, clad only in her undergarments.
 * How she had emerged from the tank was not something she was too concerned about, at least it wasn’t high on her list of priorities. For it was that Vima had absolutely no idea where she was; what planet, what star system, or even what sector of the Republic she had wound up in. A nagging feeling in the back of her head told her that she was missing several key bits of information, but she was not sure exactly where or when the gaps were.
 * But what Vima did know told her that she wouldn’t find out anything by continuing to lie in that circle in her underwear. Gingerly at first, the woman got back to her feet, and took in her surroundings. The room was filled with several other kolto tanks&mdash;all of which were occupied&mdash;so it was obvious to her that this was some sort of infirmary.
 * “I’d better get out of here,” Vima muttered to herself as she looked absentmindedly into the nearest tank. The person inside, a uniformed man of about thirty, was dead, hovering in the tank as though that were his tomb. “Wherever ‘here’ is…”
 * Her mouth dry and pasty, Vima exited the kolto tank room. Once outside, she noticed a damaged door at the end of the small corridor, which was decorated in military fashion&mdash;not at all. To her right was yet another door, labeled “Morgue”, and to her left, what looked like the medical computer and supply room. At the end of the hallway, a door was sparking as one of the locking mechanisms continued to bash uselessly against the barrier’s central hub. When she peered closer, a computerized female voice uttered a warning, noting that emergency protocols were in effect.
 * Got to find some kind of tool... Vima thought to herself. Turning about, she entered the computer room and logged onto the system, hoping to find a clue to indicate where she was, how she got here, or how she could find some living person to aid her. After browsing the medical logs, she began to understand a small bit of what the place was; a mining facility producing fuel of some sort. Also, it was apparent that she had arrived aboard some sort of freighter, damaged by forces and in a manner that were both unknown to her, three days prior, along with some old woman (deceased) and a protocol droid that she could not recall ever having owned. In addition, it seemed that she, along with the rest of the miners in the kolto tanks around her, had been given a high dose of sedatives that had proven lethal to all but herself. However, what truly called to Vima was what the medical officer&mdash;and others by the sound of it&mdash;had learned about her.
 * It had been so long since anyone had thought of her as a Jedi Knight, and though part of her wished to hold onto that title still, Vima knew better then to cling to such hopes. Too much had changed in the galaxy since she had withdrawn herself from it and the Force, its everyday ebb and flow, but now it seemed as though she was being thrust right back into it by forces outside of her control. Ever since her childhood as the daughter of a famous Jedi Master, she had never liked being the object of manipulation. Not one bit. However, her training had taught her to never resist the subtle currents of galactic events, but instead to ride them to whatever destination they would take her.
 * It had been ten years since her exile, imposed upon her by the High Council of the Jedi Order on Coruscant after the close of the Mandalorian Wars. But even after all that had happened, all of the wandering, thinking, and reflecting she had done, Vima was still unsure what had prompted her return to the Republic a decade ago. The only thing that she knew for certain was that around that time, something – or someone – had stripped away her ability to touch the Force, and it had left in her a wound; an empty space within her soul that she desperately wished to set aside.
 * But that was no longer possible. It probably never had been.
 * As a Jedi, Vima Sunrider had been known as a woman as skilled with a lightsaber as she was with her mind and the Force. During the Wars, she had commanded large companies of Republic troops, and fleets of Republic starships. The worlds of Dagory Minor, Serroco, Dxun, and countless others in addition to the wastelands of Malachor V bore not only the scars of the Mandalorian aggressors, but of Vima’s own handiwork in battle. As a general in Revan and Malak’s army, soldiers, technicians, star pilots, and even other Jedi Knights had looked up to Vima as a leader, and they had done what she had told them to do without question. And she had seen the copious amounts of blood that the men and women under her command had shed to carry out her orders. It was not because of her name nor the exploits of her exalted mother that they followed her, but because of her mere presence, and it had worked many more times than not.
 * But that was all in the past, ghosts of another era, of another chapter in her life that was now read and closed. Or so she had thought.
 * As Vima continued to browse through the medical computer and the nearby supply cylinders, that subtle, nagging voice called out to her again. Tearing her eyes away from the lab station, Vima looked over at the morgue’s door, and at last, she understood, as though she knew all along what was beyond that slab of durasteel. After unlocking it through the computer’s controls, she shut the terminal down, crossed the corridor, and entered the room.
 * There were three bodies, laid out on slabs. Two were covered in sheets, but one was not; the third, a human female of considerable age dressed in layered robes, appeared, at first, to be dead as well. It seemed strange to Vima that no one had covered her over, or that she showed no signs of what might have killed her. But as she extracted a plasma torch from the cold hand of one of the other bodies, the woman stirred, rose from her bed still unseen, and strode purposefully to the center of the room.
 * “Did you find what you are looking for amongst the dead?” she asked, her voice low and shadowy. It was a tone that Vima knew all too well, though it had belonged to a different voice.
 * “No,” she said, matter-of-factly, as she turned to face the woman. The elder’s face was lined not only with age, but with what could best be described as “hard living.” It was difficult to tell just what she was thinking or what she was regarding, however, because she wore her hood up and over her face. “Just more mysteries, and a voice inside my head. Who are you?”
 * “I am your rescuer, as you are mine,” the woman replied, still in that sagelike manner. “I had slept for too long, and was unable to awaken; it is possible that I reached out unconsciously. It seems that my message was heard after all…most interesting.”
 * “So you can feign death, and communicate by thought,” Vima began, unsatisfied with such a cryptic response. There were times when being cryptic was a useful tool, such as when shaping the mind of a young Jedi. But Vima knew that this was not one of them. “However, that still does not answer my question. Who are you?”
 * “Indeed it does not. I am Kreia,” the woman said finally. “Do you recall what happened to you?”
 * Vima racked her brains once again. The gaps in her memory were easier to place this time; the last thing she remembered was traveling Coreward aboard a Republic warship. “The last thing I remember, I was onboard the Harbinger, a Republic cruiser. What happened to it?”
 * “The Harbinger is no more; it was attacked, and you are the only survivor. A result of your Jedi training, no doubt…” Kreia paused; as though she knew what she had just said would be the source of some confusion in Vima. It was.
 * “I don’t understand,” Vima began, fixing the old woman with a curious stare as she ruffled her own red hair. “How do you know I was a Jedi? I’ve been exiled…”
 * She responded to this further query with that same cryptic monotone, but Vima thought she detected a grain of insight in it. “Your stance, your walk, tells me that you are a Jedi.” She paused for a moment. “Your walk is heavy; you carry something that weighs you down…”
 * The urge to explain herself was on the tip of Vima’s tongue, but she resisted the temptation to run off on this tangent. The two beings seemed to be alone in this place, and whatever the situation that had prompted her arrival on this world was, it needed to be addressed.
 * “Let’s focus on the present,” Vima said after a pause. “We seem to be in some sort of mining facility, do you know what happened here?”
 * Kreia thought for a moment before replying. “No, I do not – as I said, I was in a deep sleep and thus was detached from the events of this world. Perhaps investigating the rest of this facility will yield the results you seek. The ship we arrived in is still here; we should recover it and leave.”
 * Though Vima was inclined to agree with Kreia’s assessment, she was nonetheless curious why the woman was so anxious to leave, and she asked her as much.
 * “We were attacked once,” she said, her voice more urgent this time. “And I fear that our attackers will not give up on you so easily. Without transport, weapons, and information, they will find us easy prey indeed.”
 * Vima nodded in response, acknowledging the oldster’s wisdom. Still, there was something about this woman that seemed familiar. She seemed to understand much about the Force – both the light side and the dark – and also seemed to know an awful lot about herself. If what she had said was true, then it had been Kreia who had somehow gotten her off of the Harbinger on the ship now docked here. More lost memories – perhaps she had been incapacitated somehow.
 * “Indeed,” Vima said flatly. “There has to be someone left alive in here. I’ll be back once I get an idea of what happened.”
 * As she made to leave the room, Kreia gave Vima a sideways glance. “You may wish to extend your search to some clothes, if only for the right first impression.”
 * “Right,” Vima remarked. “It is a bit cold in here…”
 * “I leave you to explore at your leisure, though it is ill-advised to loiter unnecessarily. I will remain here and attempt to center myself for what lies ahead.”


 * With introductions behind them, the two humans parted ways; Kreia knelt down to meditate, and Vima walked off to explore the eerily quiet facility. The damaged door yielded easily to the recovered plasma torch, but what lay beyond put a frown on the exile’s face and wrinkled her nose. Several corpses, the battered and hacked remains of miners killed by some unknown assailant, lay where they fell. The cold, gray hand of one body still clutched a vibroblade; Vima took the weapon, tested it for balance, and continued on through another door.
 * As she entered the chamber beyond, without warning a pair of droids bore down upon her, opening up on Vima with beam weapons. Reacting quickly, the exile darted to the right, clobbering the first mechanical hard on its braincase, rendering it useless. The second missed with a barrage of poorly-aimed laser bolts, but Vima was behind it in no time. Barely five seconds had passed, and the fight was over.
 * The next chamber went the same as the previous; the droids inside seemed no match for Vima, despite the fact that it had been so long since she had wielded a weapon with intent. However, there was one thing different here; in the far left corner of the room, an emergency hatchway was sealed shut. As she leaned close to examine the door, a voice echoed in the back of her head.
 * ...this is the exit...but it is sealed...strange, in my visions, it was open...
 * “Kreia?” Vima asked the stale, stilled air. She was answered only by the thunderous silence that swirled all around her like a fog.
 * It was indeed odd that this emergency hatch was sealed; if there was a lockdown, then it should allow access to whatever lay beyond. Wherever it led, though, there seemed to be no way to open it, so Vima left it behind and continued on, finding the facility’s security office beyond the next hatchway. A thorough search of the security lockers revealed a stealth field generator, a mining laser, and a small clutch of grenades.
 * The logs in the computer terminal yielded yet more information. Apparently, the facility had been suffering casualties caused by the mining droids ever since Vima had arrived. The staff seemed utterly perplexed as to what could be causing the robots to turn on their operators, and the situation seemed to be getting worse. This explained the droids that Vima had encountered thus far – and the corpses&mdash;but still, there had to be someone alive somewhere. Another tidbit seemed to indicate that a certain miner named Coorta had wanted to sell “the Jedi” to someone on Nar Shaddaa, supposedly there was an enormous bounty placed on live Jedi by a group called the Exchange. Vima knew of them and the Smuggler’s Moon by reputation; the Exchange was one of those galaxy-spanning criminal groups that often lurked in the shadows of many old and established worlds both in the Core and further Rimward. Nar Shaddaa, she knew, was practically the hub of all criminal activity in the Outer Rim.
 * Another log entry, encrypted this time, detailed how the security officer had programmed a failsafe for himself in case the droids went totally berserk and decided to overwhelm the facility. In the end, Vima decided that her best bet was to continue onward, towards the communications blister nearby. If the failsafe was still active and she could reach it, Vima thought that she might be able use it to gain access to the lower levels, or maybe to someone who could help her do that.
 * It was just as she was about to open a second door that led to another chamber that the voice&mdash;Kreia’s voice&mdash;floated into her mind once again. She seemed to be warning her.
 * ...be careful...there is much energy coming from the room beyond...yet it stems from nothing that lives...
 * “Kreia? What the&mdash;“
 * ...can you not sense them…? cast aside your sight...cast aside what you see, and instead reach out with your perceptions...
 * There was a very pregnant pause as something began to tickle at the consciousness of the former Jedi Knight. It was familiar, but faint, on the tip of her tongue...
 * ...ahh, you can feel them...the droids you cannot perceive, but the small oscillations of energy...that you can feel...echoing outwards...
 * It was something she had not felt for a decade, ever since the massacre at Malachor. She knew what it was only because she had been trained to; but it was faint, weak, as through from far away. At last, Vima opened the door...
 * ...where three mining droids were waiting for her, just as she and Kreia had felt.
 * What happened next was a flurry of action. With speed borne of all of her physical training while in the Order, and honed in exile when use of the Force was lost to her, Vima Sunrider struck out at the frenzied mechanicals. A blur of flashing metal cut through the droids’ outer plating, and the trio was swiftly dispatched. As she caught her breath from the fight, another telepathic message from Kreia wound its way into Vima’s mind.
 * ...ah, you can feel it...it is faint, but it is there...
 * “I feel strange,” Vima replied as she felt what she could only describe as a second awakening. “It’s like the sedatives are finally wearing off...”
 * ...it is the Force you feel... the disembodied voice continued. it has not been so long as for you to forget...
 * “But it doesn’t feel like it did before...” She paused, again gathering her thoughts. “It feels like it is coming from across a great distance.”
 * ...do not turn away from it...listen...feel it echoing within you... come, I shall guide you down the familiar paths... you will need to relearn if we are to survive and escape this place...'
 * And the voice in Vima’s mind fell silent.


 * It was indeed as she had told Kreia in their telepathic communications. Though Vima had absolutely no idea just who the woman was or could possibly be, it was clear that she had a good deal of Jedi training to fall back on. Or, she noted with a shiver, she could be a Sith Lord. Yet somehow, her thoughts and words bore none of the hallmarks of either end of the spectrum of Force-users. Instead, she seemed to be content to stand in the middle and watch the ebb and flow of the two philosophies as they battled for control. And yet...
 * Vima knew of the last time the Sith had risen to challenge the Republic. It was nearly sixty years ago that Exar Kun, a fallen Jedi Knight, had led hordes of Krath warriors in a drive of conquest that wrought considerable damage to and strain upon the galactic infrastructure. Back then many other Jedi, seduced by Kun’s dark side teachings and promises of power, had turned on their Masters and peers, and began to destroy the Order from within as soldiers recruited by Kun tore at the galaxy as a whole. Her mentor, Ulic, had been Kun’s right-hand man until her mother had stripped the Force from him. By the time the Mandalorians had returned to attack the Republic, the recovery from the previous conflict was still not complete. Remembering all this history made Vima’s skin crawl as she made her way to the comm blister.
 * As she continued to turn over the thoughts in her mind, she felt within herself as Kreia had instructed; after a time, she managed it. She could once again touch it, that spark of her connection to the Force. Though faint, it was power enough to fry the circuits of the next droid she met, when focused and concentrated properly.
 * When she opened the last door into the communications blister, Vima saw the droid almost immediately. Reacting on instinct, her weaponless hand shot out, and a small stream of Force-energy arched out and into the droid as it advanced rapidly upon her. The thing moaned, stuttered, and fell over, and a stroke of Vima’s vibroblade rent the robot into a smoking pile of scrap.
 * Attracted by the commotion, several other mining droids scuttled over to join the fray. Now that she had begun to feel that small bit of the Force again, Vima was able to dispatch them with relative ease, moving faster then she had before, dealing greater damage with each attack. She was relearning, and before she knew it, the way to the communication console was clear.
 * “Ah, sithspit,” she muttered under her breath as she accessed the interface. The terminal was locked down tight, but a thorough examination revealed the security officer’s manual override. Flipping the switch, Vima looked back toward a set of holding cells and an energy shield that she had seen through the blister’s holocam. The shimmering field had now dissipated, and Vima walked over to the door. Almost predictably, Kreia’s voice once again poked into her brain.
 * ...beyond this door, someone yet lives...but be wary, his thoughts...they are difficult to read... There was a pause, and then ...but I sense that you have nothing to fear from this one...and he may yet prove useful...
 * As the voice faded out, a picture of the room beyond filled Vima’s mind. A man, perhaps the same age as she, maybe younger, stood in a force cage. The man seemed to be standing there, unaware of what had gone on outside of that room, and Vima didn’t blame her. She had nothing to lose, after all, so finally, she opened the door and walked inside, vibroblade still held firmly in her hand.


 * “Nice outfit,” the man said with a sly grin. “What, you miners change uniforms while I’ve been here or something?”
 * Almost at once, Vima could tell that this man was quite happy to see her, but she decided to play it cool. “Who are you?” she asked as she strode up to the activated force cage that contained the stranger. She looked at him askance, taking in his physical being; he wasn’t unattractive, and for a brief moment she toyed with the idea of herself in his arms. The thought was dismissed almost as soon as it had manifested itself.
 * “Atton, Atton Rand.” the man replied. His voice and accent was unmistakable, and bore all the signs of the cocky, sure-as-hell attitude of half the star pilots Vima had ever known; he was definitely either Corellian or Commenorian. “You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t shake hands. The field only causes mild electrical burns…”
 * Atton himself was about two centimeters shorter then Vima was, but built quite differently. While Vima was fit and trim from her years of discipline and physical training, both in the Order and in her exile, Atton seemed to be quite a bit more down-to-earth, preferring to stand easy and to walk lazily. With his black hair arranged haphazardly off to one side, his thin face always carrying a grin and eyes that never stood still, the man seemed every bit the scoundrel&mdash;at least, from without. This was in contrast with how Vima carried herself; upright and strong, as she had been trained to do. Jedi are trained to be the guardians of peace, after all, and that training extended right down to physical mannerisms and appearances, though individual expression was by no means limited. To top the differences off, while Vima was lean and muscular, Atton was just lean&mdash;and un-muscular.
 * Vima suppressed a mild chuckle at the man’s reply. Though she always appreciated a good sense of humor during troubled times, now was not the time to break out into a joke-telling session, and it seemed that Atton knew this as well, even as the first vestiges of lust began to creep into his visage.
 * “Care to explain how you got put in here?” Vima asked, deadpan.
 * “Ask security,” Atton replied just as flatly, giving an annoyed shrug. “Some trumped-up charge or another, you know the drill. But they stopped listening to me shortly before they stopped feeding me. Now that’s criminal.”
 * “So what is this place?” Vima asked, now that the introductions were done with.
 * “You mean you didn’t come here on purpose? I’m shocked, I really am!”
 * Vima was not amused.
 * “Just tell me,” she replied with a scowl.
 * “Fine, fine,” Atton said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “This slice of paradise is the Paragus Mining Facility. It’s the only supplier of shipping-grade engine fuel to this corner of the galaxy. The stuff plays havoc with starship engines, but it gets the job done…so long as you don’t mind the toxic fumes it puts out or trying to mine it without getting vaporized.”
 * “Doesn’t sound too safe,” Vima muttered. Atton seemed to agree.
 * “Yep, this asteroid belt is one giant minefield,” Atton sighed. “One proton torpedo, even a stray blaster shot could start a chain-reaction explosion that would make the one that shattered Paragus II look like a kid’s pop detonator.”
 * “And just how big of an explosion are we talking about?” Vima asked with a cock-eyed expression. She knew from experience that people like this Atton Rand character were prone to exaggeration, and were capable of flat-out lying&mdash;even to a Jedi&mdash;to achieve whatever ends they served.
 * “You know that planet with the exposed core you saw while flying in?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders exasperatedly. “That hole was caused by the first station that tried to siphon fuel from the surface. Blew a whole chunk out of the planet, and sent it drifting out here in a mass of cooled-off rock that’s rich in the stuff. That’s why they don’t allow blasters in here; you just can’t trust a miner drunk on juma juice to not fire off that stray shot that turns the whole field into a giant thermal detonator.”
 * This whole situation was getting more interesting by the minute, it seemed to Vima. Not only was this place abandoned, it seemed that the very machines that drove its wheels of production had caused the abandonment, and to top that off, the whole place was built into a giant powder keg that could go off with the slightest wrong move. Slowly, Vima was beginning to piece together what had happened here, but there was still a lot of information missing. Without letting this Atton character know who she was, or that she already knew some small bits of what he had said, Vima continued her questioning; she wasn’t counting this guy out as having some role in this whole thing just yet...
 * “But this facility is deserted. What happened?”
 * Atton had to think for a moment before responding. “You mean, before or after that Jedi showed up? Either way, the story’s a short one.” He paused again.
 * “You see, this Jedi shows up in the medical bay of a battered freighter,” Atton continued, in that same cock-sure tone of voice. “The damn thing looked like it had been ravaged by a Sith warship or something, and from what I hear, the Jedi wasn’t much better off. But anyway, where there’s one Jedi, the Republic will soon be up your engine exhaust trying to get hold of it.
 * “The story gets better. You see, some of the miners get it into their ferrocrete skulls that since the Jedi’s unconscious, they can sell her to Nar Shaddaa to collect the bounty the Exchange’s posted on live Jedi. Well, what passes for the law around here didn’t like that idea – for good reasons, mind you – and so the two sides start fighting over what to do with her. Then there’s this explosion, the lockdown activates, I get crammed in here for a long time, and then some half-naked miner shows up and suddenly things get a whole lot better...”
 * With his tale finally finished, Atton gave a huge, fake sigh of relief, the effect of which was slightly ruined by the wink he tossed her way. Vima needed to know more, however; though she had learned of the bounty from the logs she had accessed, there was still a chance that Atton possessed more knowledge.
 * “There’s a bounty on Jedi? Why?”
 * “Dunno,” Atton shrugged. “Maybe the Exchange wants one as a trophy, or maybe someone’s got a grudge against Jedi and is looking to collect. Not many Jedi left, or so I hear, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the bounty’s a big one. Just about any miner here would like to buy their way off this rock, so I’m not surprised so many of the numbskulls went for her.”
 * Not many Jedi left? Vima thought to herself, unsure if she should believe what the man in the cage was telling her. While it was true that the war had seen the deaths of many Jedi, including some with whom she had trained, there should still have been thousands more left, including those who had heeded the Jedi Council’s advice to wait and had remained behind. Tempted though she was to explore this tangent of philosophical thought, including her own rationale for going off to fight, Vima resisted, and instead concentrated on finding out what the current situation might be. She had not been completely detached during her decade of wandering; some rumors had snaked their way out to her. According to some of them, there had been another war, but they were not clear as to who the combatants were. Some suggested a reemergence of the Sith, while others insisted that Revan and Malak – both of whom Vima had known very well – had turned their attention back against the Republic. One rambling Neimoidian, whom Vima had at the time thought was high on spice, had insisted that Revan had somehow triple-crossed the Sith, and actually saved the Republic – again. But through all the torrent of new possibilities that had invaded her psyche, Vima kept her cool, and kept to her questions.
 * “I had heard rumors of another war...” she said under her breath. “But the Jedi can’t all be gone...what happened to them?”
 * Atton seemed to be mildly surprised that Vima didn’t know what had happened since the Mandalorian Wars. Whether it was by force of habit, or that he was just relieved that a live being&mdash;and a woman at that&mdash;was talking to him, she didn’t know, but for some reason, Atton felt compelled to tell this woman all that he knew, even though she was a complete stranger.
 * “Yeah,” he began at last. “The ones who weren’t killed in the Jedi Civil War ended up switching off the lightsabers long ago. I hear there isn’t even a Jedi Council anymore. And in case you’re totally in the dark, shortly after the Mandalorian Wars were done with, both Revan and Malak came back with all the Jedi and Republic troops they had beaten the Mandalorians with, and turned them against the Republic. That little scrap nearly laid waste to the whole galaxy...heh, heh, where in space have you been?”
 * Vima looked at her feet, nearly overwhelmed by this revelation.
 * “I’ve been...away…since the Mandalorian Wars,” she said in a small voice.
 * Atton gave a snort. “Doesn’t matter to me,” he said bluntly. “But anyway, like all Sith, Revan and Malak ended up turning on each other. After turning on the Jedi, of course.”
 * Vima looked back up at this, and her gaze met Atton’s.
 * “I heard somewhere that Revan ended up saving both the Republic and the Jedi, but if that’s true, then I can’t imagine why the Jedi are all gone now.”
 * “There’s rumors all over space about it,” Atton replied with a pitying sigh. “I’d imagine you would have to go all the way Coreward to find out the whole story. But all I heard was that Revan went to pay Malak back for trying to kill her in the first place.” He rolled his eyes. “Women...”
 * This time Vima really did laugh, though it was not her usual mirth, and it was soon suppressed. She had known Revan personally, both before and during the war, and Revan was no woman.
 * “Just how long have you been in that cage, mister?” Vima replied, her hands posted to her hips in an 'I have you now' gesture. “Revan was a man!”
 * Atton rolled his eyes again. “Heh, maybe you’re right. Maybe I just hoped that Revan was a woman.”
 * “But anyway,” Vima pressed on. “I had some more questions&mdash;“
 * “Look, no offense or anything,” Atton interrupted. “, it’s not like your half-naked interrogation isn’t a longtime fantasy of mine but&mdash;hey, wait a minute...you’re that Jedi the miners were talking about! Where is everybody?”
 * Vima shrugged. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I’ve seen bodies lying around, and I’ve been attacked by several groups of droids roaming the corridors, but the whole place seems abandoned…”
 * This time Atton really did sigh, but this was no sigh of relief. For the first time, he seemed to be concerned.
 * “They can’t all be gone,” he said in a low, awed voice. After thinking it over for a moment, he continued. “But if they’re all gone&mdash;hey, look, let me out of here, and I can help you. Really, I can...I’ve gotten out of trouble countless times...”
 * Vima was not about to leave this man to rot in this force cage, her training and conscience would not permit it, but she also couldn’t risk letting this guy out and having him scampering off to the only escape pod without her. However, it was not for nothing that had she once earned the title of Jedi Knight...
 * “Tell me your plan, and I’ll let you out,” Vima said simply. Atton nodded in agreement.
 * “This isn’t a military instillation,” he began, “so we still have a chance. You let me out of this force cage, and I can reroute the emergency systems through the communications array. We can bypass the lockdown and get to the hanger, grab a ship, and fly out of here.”
 * “Good idea,” Vima agreed. “Let me get you out of there…”


 * A minute later, the two humans were at the communications console at the far end of the comm blister. Atton dove right into the console almost immediately, and began to slice into the system as he explained how it worked.
 * “Pure pazaak,” Atton muttered after about two minutes’ work, “the console’s ours. Now I’ve gotta just cancel the lockdown, reactivate the turbolifts and&mdash;sithspit!”
 * “What was that?” Vima asked, her ears perking. “Sounds like something’s wrong...”
 * “Someone’s severed this console from the main hub&mdash;after it was locked down from remote. I can’t reroute the system, it’s been cut clean.”
 * “That wouldn’t be standard procedure in an emergency lockdown,” Vima muttered under her breath.
 * “No, it wouldn’t,” Atton sighed. “Someone wanted to lock down this level tight, and leave us here. Trapped.”
 * “There must be something we can do,” Vima prodded, not ready to give up hope.
 * “I doubt it, all we have is communications back,” Atton sighed again, now resigned to his fate. “For all the good shouting in a vacuum will do us.”
 * “Could we contact the miners in the dormitories?” Vima asked. Maybe they would get lucky, and reach the mine administrator, or someone else who had been on 'her' side in the last several days.
 * “We could try, I suppose,” Atton agreed. Then his sarcasm reflex kicked in. “But hey, if the miners trapped you up here and possibly wanted to kill you, then why not call’em up and have a chat! I doubt a friendly message or fifty will wake them up.”
 * “Well, I’m not ready to give up yet,” Vima replied determinedly. “Maybe there’s something logged in this terminal that will help.”
 * “Be my guest,” Atton breathed as he moved aside. “Not much else to do, is there? The comm. is all yours.”
 * There was, in fact, some useful information in the administration officer’s logs that were kept on this station. The contents tied in with what both the medical officer and security officer had been saying&mdash;about the Jedi, about the droids, and about the ship which had brought her to Peragus. Even so, Vima knew that she didn’t have all of the facts. It seemed that the protocol droid mentioned by the medical officer wasn’t the only droid aboard her ship&mdash;apparently called the Ebon Hawk, possibly a smuggling vessel&mdash;because there was also a T3 model utility droid mentioned. When she had finished scouring the logs, Vima then tried the communications system.
 * Predictably, the dormitory comm was unresponsive, but when she tried to hail the hangar comm unit, something happened. A series of low, mournful beeps, hoots, and whertles filtered through, and with a pang, Vima realized that there was a utility droid on the other end. Let’s hope he’s operational, the exile thought to herself...