Unrest in the City Part 3

- Somewhere in empty space
- Not long ago

“Councilor Nine, I believe the time has come.” Came from the silhouette in front of the rather vibrantly dressed nobleman.

For a moment, Jalian Melantha said nothing, and wasted their time by stroking his goatee thoughtfully. “I don’t know that I believe the same thing.” he said at length. “I’m not about to risk my ship in case they’re more prepared than YOU expect.”

Another of the councilors waved a hand away. “Your pathetic attachment to that broken down relic of a past war is unbecoming.” came the accented snark from another of the Councilors. Jalian felt his hands twitch in annoyance, and had to fight the urge to do what tended to come next.

“Gentlepersons,” the Tapani nobleman said through clenched teeth. “Need I remind you, the Pandora is one of the true marvels of early Imperial engineering, and by considering her age as an indication to her strength, you’ve done my fine lady the greatest of disservices.”

“Be that as it may, it is our collective decision that your resources are the most fitting to the task at hand. Need you be reminded of the finances we’ve directed towards that very vessel?” Yet another Councilor said. “And consider the bragging rights, Councilor Nine, at being responsible for the defeat of the Jedi?”

“You’ve twisted my arm, Councilor Three,” the nobleman said as he rose to his feet. He was planning to do it the whole time, but an effort to get more from his colleagues was always worth the effort. “I presume Noona wasn’t worth the effort?”

“Not necessarily, we managed to gather valuable holographic surveillance from his implants. We’ll forward everything we have to you.” Said Councilor Six.

“Very well,” Jalian said. “I’ll bring the Pandora back into civilized space, see if I can’t stir up something. I have their fleet profile.”

“You’ll find them in the Stereghast system, we’ve planted false information concerning some supply ships coming in, and likewise tipped the Galactic Alliance about a pirate raid, so show caution.” Councilor two.

With that, the captain of the ship cut the communications line, and stepped from his ready room onto the bridge. While he called his ship a marvel of Imperial engineering, she certainly didn’t much look it anymore. Much of the original construction had been changed out, or replaced, turning the command pit into less a sterile Imperial place, and more of a comfortable, if extravagant, Pirate’s nest.

“Captain on the bridge!” The bosun trilled, turning to fully face her boss so quickly that her head tails whipped about.

“Shay’reya,” Jalian said in a charming tone as he approached her. “How many times must I tell you, you needn’t yell.”

The red Twi’Lek smiled at the captain, noting he’d chosen colorful silks and velvets for his day’s dress. “But, how else will everyone know to stop trying to steal the ship for themselves?”

“Why stop, I encourage a level of forward thinking initiative, don’t I?” He said to her, and then turned to his people, but not before resting his hand on her rather taut behind.

“Alright, you scallywags, we’re putting our sights on something a bit more… esoteric.” Jalian said, and let the statement sink in. “So let’s hope they’ve got holds full of swag before we get there!”

To punctuate the point, he grasped to his waist, and drew his weapon, hoisting it into the air, and then flicked the switch, letting a violent purple blade erupt from the ancient lightsaber. The snap-hiss was a rallying cry to the lot of them, and the bridge crew stood up and cheered.

Inwardly, Jalian smiled. The lightsaber he’d hoisted in the air was an heirloom of incredible age, passed among the Melanthan line since the time of the Mecrosa order. While the rest of the Organization had hoped to eliminate the Jedi, the Tapani pirate was instead more interested in ruling them.

“Helm, make your course for the Stereghat system, I have a good feeling we’ll find them there.” He said. It didn’t matter that he had no idea when they‘d be there, he was a lucky sonofabitch. Always had been.

Bridge, VAC Despot
Hyperspace, Orian System

The trip thru hyperspace wouldn’t be a long one, only a few minutes before the two ships would intercept the Organization's Convoy right as they passed the edge of Naga Sadow’s Domain. As the Sith Pirate let the noise of the bridge fill his ears once more, he could hear Naga Sadow’s Madman barking orders to the crew members at the tactical stations. Everything was set and in less than a minute everyone aboard the Despot and Turmoil would see if the intel was correct. Sub-Lieutenant Kalisch came running up to Jeric’s position.

“Sir, both teams are loaded into our assault shuttles and ready to deploy once we drop out of hyperspace. Be advised our sensor have no read on any vessels at the location.”

Jeric turn to look at the Lieutenant. “They must have jammers, intel places them at that location in five, four, three, two.” The two watched as the vortex of hyperspace dissipated around them, coming to a complete stop Jeric’s and Lieutenant Kalisch’s faces were that of surprise. Nothing, there was nothing here.

Bridge, VAC Despot
Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

“Lieutenant find out what the hell is going on.”

The Despot’s First Officer darted off. The intel must have been off, either they were early or to late. Jeric’s anger level rose, if they had missed this opportunity he would be more than upset. The command line beeped, it was the Chief Personnel Officer on board the Turmoil.

“We have a problem it seems Senior Commander.”

“Thanks for noticing, we are double checking the intel now. I am hoping we are just early.”

“For your sake I hope we are. The Corporation will be highly upset if it doesn't get the goods from this convoy.”

Lynyrd shut off the comlink, furious Jeric slammed his fist on the command consul in front of him. Sparks flew out as he pulled his fist from the consul. Seconds later Macron came running to Jeric’s position.

“Cyrin, we have contacts closing in on our position. I don’t think its the convoy, there are only two ship.”

“Well its something thats for sure. Return to your position and lets hope its somethi...”

Before Jeric could even finish his sentence alarms began to sound across the entire ship. He could here people yelling ‘contacts’ and other shouting ‘its the alliance.’ Macron sprinted back to the tactical station. Lieutenant Kalisch came running up.

“Sir two Majestic-class heavy cruisers have just dropped out of hyperspace on our starboard side. They are lunching fighters and hailing us Sir.”

A transmission came over the bridge. "This is Captain Larin of the Galactic Alliance Defense Fleet, you are suspected of Piracy, stand down and prepare to be bored." The sound of the female Alliance officer's voice wasn't enough to scare Jeric. There was bound to be lots of valuable cargo aboard those vessels, he could even commandeer one and take it as his own.

“Damn straight we are suspected of piracy, Ion Cannons now!" Jeric yelled as he cut the transmission. "Tell our fighter escort to keep our assault shuttles clear, we are going to destroy them from the inside out.” Jeric order, then sprinted to the turbo lift.

“Jeric to Jade, don’t launch, plans have changed. I’m jumping on your shuttle give me a minute.”

This was a job he would have to do himself. Jeric could feel the ship shake, the ion cannons must have not worked on those cruisers. Back on the bridge the Despot’s First Officer ran back and forth as he tried to bring order to the chaos. Orders were being shouted from one end to the other, crew members running from station to station, radio chatter and beeping nosies everywhere. Then the worst sound of them all, explosions....

Escort to VAC Despot
Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems


Not a moment after Captain Larin’s message, the VAC Despot transmitted new orders to Locke, instructing him to protect the assault shuttles. Inside the cramped cockpit, Locke could hear the droid behind him beeping away, telling him about the enemy fighters launching. At the very least, it seemed they were launching their own X-Wings, and A-Wings as well. Locke had a sinking feeling at the sight of those; A-Wings were much faster and more agile; capable of flying circles around an X-Wing in the hands of a skilled pilot. Locke hoped these weren’t skilled pilots.

But that wasn’t Locke’s only concern. A twisting knot grew in his stomach the moment Captain Larin had said the words “Galactic Alliance.” Locke had once served with the Galactic Alliance, and he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to fight against them. His personal dislike was for the Jedi; the Galactic Alliance had suffered for their methods just as Locke had. He tried to tell himself this was not much different than fighting the Peace Brigade, but that did not help much; Locke had seen them as casualties of the Jedi’s indecisiveness as well; even if not as smart as the rest of the galaxy. Heart-racing, Locke argued with himself. He had fought alongside pilots just like the ones he was facing now, but if he didn’t engage, he would be in a lot of trouble with his Summit. Either way; he had to, or the Alliance ships would kill him; they had no idea who he was.

Suddenly the astromech’s warning alarm blared loudly and Locke was snapped away from his thoughts. Acting on instinct, Locke turned his X-Wing hard to port, popping it up vertical to the plane it had just been on, scarlet lasers shooting through the space it had just occupied, the X-Wing that was their origin shooting past not a second later. Cursing under his breath, Locke kept the flight stick held tightly to his chest and continued his roll, deploying his strike foils at the same moment. Risking a quick glance at his HUD, Locke realized he was deep in the middle of a group of enemy fighters. While he had been thinking, his X-Wing had covered quite a bit of distance. Locke mumbled another curse. If I missed orders… Having no time to finish his thought, Locke let instinct or luck - The Force He reminded himself – take over, and dived onto the tail of the fighter who had just been shooting at him. He fired immediately, his laser cannons pounding the other craft. Locke stuck with it a few seconds, matching every movement as his lasers punched through shield and hull, and then curved away as the other X-Wing exploded in fire.

Breathing deeply, Locke’s stomach unclenched a little. Just doing your job he told himself, no different than going against the Peace Brigade. He turned his X-Wing back toward the enemy fighters. They were maybe two squadrons to three X-Wings. Even piloted by Dark Jedi, those weren’t favorable odds. Regardless, they had to thin those squadrons out before they could get to the assault shuttles. “Come on Lady Luck, “Locke whispered as he dived back toward the enemy fighters, “don’t fail me now.”

Gallinore, Interior Region, Hapes Cluster
Zone O9, Inner Rim, Galactic Alliance Space

‘Cutting to the point, Trev,’ grumbled Eosara, ‘Stacia won’t talk about him and in six months my men have turned up nothing. It’s a dead end.’

Trevarus studied his majordomo carefully. If anyone else were to speak to the Oracle in such a blasé manner, they would likely have left the room in a body bag. Eosara Goratis, however, was different; he had faithfully served the lord of Kalekka for over two decades and, while Trevarus made few exceptions, Eosara had earned the right to speak his mind.

And that the Cohort commander did.

‘If this Kraitus is still alive like you’re claiming,’ Eosara continued, ‘he’s gone underground.’

Opposite the Oracle, Xanos sat cross legged in silence, his atrophied eyes gazing ahead blankly. From his inert outside appearance, it was impossible to divine whether or not his attention was on the present conversation; however, regardless upon whichever dimension the Falleen’s mind was currently wandering, Eosara’s attention was fixed squarely on Trevarus – in the end, it was the Oracle and the Oracle alone who would decide their next way forward.

‘What of these freight movements at Orian?’ Trevarus asked, putting aside the matter of Jaspen Kraitus for a moment. ‘You said the refugee restrictions have been lifted?’

Eosara nodded. ‘Stace told me the Jedi who got stranded in the refugee sector have all been found dead, making the quarantine you imposed redundant.’

Trevarus remembered the events of the war well. A breakaway sect of Jedi had disagreed with Skywalker’s tactics and taken it upon themselves to fight to the Vong alone. At Telos, one of their ships had then been scuttled when they naively tried – and unsurprisingly failed – to bring down the worldship stationed there all by themselves. Consequently, after securing transport on one of the refugee ships fleeing the planet, the Jedi had then ended up in Orian and so Trevarus had been forced to bar all civilian transport from leaving the system.

The corner of the sorcerer’s lip twitched slightly in amusement; it was mildly entertaining to think that yet another crisis had been weaved through his quiet ministrations. The refugee overflow had been troubling Dlarit for years. Amusing, reflected the Oracle...

Nevertheless, on the positive side, the Jedi had softened up the worldship for the subsequent assault by the Dlarit Navy that finally brought it down; on the other hand, the Jedi had also drawn the Far Outsiders’ attention to Orian, forcing Trevarus and Xanos to accelerate their plans ahead of schedule – not that the events on Lehon could ever have unfolded differently. It was therefore satisfying to know that the Jedi had got what they deserved – albeit a shame, the Oracle thought, that he had not had the pleasure of silencing them himself.

Rolling the thought over in his head, something clicked in Trevarus’s mind. ‘You said they were found dead,’ he said, pausing to give Eosara a chance to nod, ‘not killed, but found.’

Jedi did not normally turn up dead. Certainly, some may have died during the last few days of the war when the Vong laid siege to Orian directly, and others may later have been caught up in the Ekind uprising two years ago. But Jedi were not just found dead.

‘A couple were apparently found in dumpsters somewhere on Amphor,’ Eosara explained. ‘Then again,’ he added, ‘San Korinar always was a dive.’ Eosara snorted a laugh. ‘Even if the place wasn’t run by Sadow, we’re talking about a backwater mining colony here. The Outer Rim’s not exactly known for its hospitality.’ Eosara shook his head, bemused at the idea of the stranded Jedi getting killed in a random bar fight.

Trevarus closed his eyes, reaching out through the tapestry as he plucked at the complex web of threads that were woven around the Orian system. The white tangle that had arrived from Telos was not difficult to locate. Over the past few years, it had slowly come undone, with wisps occasionally falling off one at a time as each Jedi blinked out of existence. Except—

‘Except Kraitus,’ said Xanos, speaking for the first time and interrupting Trevarus’s thoughts.

Eosara turned to the Falleen, frowning. ‘Stacia refused to talk about him.’

‘He was there.’ The Elder did not bother to explain further.

Trevarus did not need to ask his apprentice whether or not he was sure. The patterns in the tapestry were clear. One of the white threads had not come from Telos but... elsewhere. Still, the tapestry was clouded. Something in the Weavery was masking its movements. But it was still there. Maybe no longer in Orian, but it had not yet reached the end of its journey.

Jaspen Kraitus wandered the galaxy still.

Eosara understood too. ‘That bitch,’ he muttered, ‘if she wasn’t such a good source, I’d—’

‘It seems this requires a more direct approach,’ the Oracle interrupted. Opening his eyes again, Trevarus looked directly at Eosara. ‘Tell Chris to ready the Sanguinus.’

Lazarus Stars Rental Garage, Nar Shaddaa,
Y' Toub System, Mid Rim

Consciousness began to arise from the pit of un-resting sleep. The fatigue consumed his entire body, enough to the point he couldn’t even groan from the weary pain he had endured for several days. He was strong, but with the blade still inside his abdomen and the burns from the shots on his limbs, only the force kept him alive; and that weak connection alone wouldn’t last long. It wasn’t long before Creon remembered what had happened. He sensed their presence but didn’t listen to the echo, thinking it was nothing. Which that stupidity threw him off guard and allowed him to be captured. Colossal chains and cuffs around his arms, shoulders, legs, neck and waist held him to a sealed wall where he could move nothing but his weary eyes. Everything was blurry at first until he could hear voices mumble from across the room.

“I don’t care anymore, whether he speaks or not he dies today, it’s too dangerous to keep a Jedi alive, much less a monster like this one” a voice said.

Then without a moment of realizing it, he was fully awake when a shot of adrenaline drained into his body filling him with some energy and fully responsive consciousness. “Alright meat bag, here’s the deal. The boss is getting tired of keeping you and I’ve only got till today to find out what you know. So, if you so decide to share with me I will transport you to a remote planet where you will rot away in a simple life no longer in our way.” That almost sounded tempting to take. “If not, I give you the slowest, most painful death with the amount of recourses I have to you. So before we begin the last level of this game,” he says picking up a small knife and a blaster pistol, “are you ready to make a wise decision?”

Now it all came back to him, The Lazarus Stars Gang, they wanted to know about the brotherhood’s existence and locations. Kidnapping a fresh apprentice would be the best target to find out. However a Zabrak’s loyalty was not the best choice either. He couldn’t use his brawn to get out; his best form of doing things. His power with the force was his only choice, and that didn’t give him reassurance. He was taught only very basic abilities from initiate trainers in the academy and some from his master. Sadly, the things he learned aren’t as powerful as he had wished. A lightsaber could cut through these easily, but he remembered the armory saber was still in his living quarters.

He screamed like an angered rancor when the shot burned his thigh. “Well meatbag? You plan on speaking?” the interrogator asked. Creon had to think, that pistol can burn the chains, but this will have to be fast, and his wounds will have to be numbed by the force enough for his escape, which hopefully he can manage. “If you don’t let me think about my decision,” Creon growled, “I will make you regret looking at my face.”

The mercenary laughed and pointed the blaster rifle to Creon’s head, “And what do you think you can possibly do chained up like this?” That’s when the dark apprentice used Force Strike on his torturer, which blew him out cold on the floor since it relied on his physical strength through his mind. Creon then concentrated for several minutes trying to lift the pistol off the ground; the pistol only shook in its place. Eventually over several tries he had his telekinetic hold over the blaster and kissed the barrel against the chain on his wrist. The blast fire burned a little, but he was able to snap off the chains from his arm and take the pistol and break off the others that concealed him.

Before he rose he pressed the button that fed him the adrenaline before removing the tube. The rush of it made his wounds and fatigue numb. Though only temporary, Creon only needed this temporary amount of energy to escape and find a place to rest before the adrenaline wore off.

After killing the other two members who were being lazy in what seemed to be a garage, Creon opened the entrance door to see a long path heading to the capturer’s ship on a landing pad. He was on Nar Shaddaa. He had the ship, he knew where to go, but he needed to find a pilot. He locked down the garage center and stuffed the bodies in a locker cell and proceeded to rest for the night.

***

In the marketplace of sinister dealings, thievery, and violence, Creon made his way to a droid salesman, a Twi’lek male. “Yessss, welcome to my inventory of droids, what can I assist you with Iridonian?”

Creon looked down at the sinister vendor with a dark stare, “I’m looking for a pilot, one that can operate on cheap ships.” The Twi’lek modeled and walked over to a rusty yet operational FA-5 pilot droid. Creon was pleased until the Twi’lek spoke again, “That will be 2,400 credits…”

Creon didn’t have time to haggle with this man, he needed that pilot droid. “I will promise much more payments by my master if you allow me to pay you later.” The twi’lek laughed, “No promises, money or no deal” he said reaching for a blaster pistol just in case. Creon wanted a droid pilot rather than a sentient being, the droid pilot could be easily memory wiped and be used for later rather than a hired pilot traveling to a new world they’ve never heard of and lose their life or risk the brotherhood’s secrecy. As Creon bowed and turned to leave, he used the force to yank the pistol away from his grip, and then grabbed the Twi’lek’s neck and slammed him down on the table. His wounds kept him sore, but a nights rest got him strong enough to ignore it. The Twi’lek agreed to the promise Creon had offered and the Zabrak left with the pilot droid back to the Lazarus Stars Gang’s starship.

The trip itself through hyperspace to Aeotheran from Nar Shaddaa took a long time to reach. Creon spent most of the time meditating and resting his body. He practiced using the force more and more, in hopes of it not having so much of a strain on him, and not taking that much concentration to use. He struggled, but he could feel the flow of the force travel through him, and sink deep into the raw power the dark side through his emotions fed in that flow. His wounds healed eventually, and the ship had arrived on Aeotheran.

Upon exiting the ship, Creon was greeted by soldiers with the Naga Sadow Clan insignia on their armor, “Halt, identify yourself and your reason-.” Creon walked past the decapitated corpses he ripped off with use of Enhance Ability in the force. Entering the main room, there was a clerk with her arms folded, “I didn’t like how you handled your greeting party. Creon slammed his fist onto the desk, making it slightly crack, “I demand to know where my master is NOW!!!!!!” he roared. The clerk wasn’t at all intimidated, instead annoyed. “Oh? And who is your master?” she replied. “Jeric Cyrin.”

At that name the clerk’s eyes widened in shock, if she wasn’t intimidated then, she was now. She immediately activated her hologram, “Please sir, make yourself comfortable while I contact your master immediately” she told Creon. Creon had a slight smirk and took his seat and kept his eyes on the clerk.

Pepoi Compound
Tarthos

Teu stood beside her husband, she held her son Thonas in her arms. Her daughter Darra stood in front of her, tears flowed down the child’s cheeks as she looked upon the freshly packed earth. She understood what had happened. Her older brother was not returning home to play dolls with her again, for this she was sad. She held a hand onto her mother’s cloak with slight desperation.

Teu glanced down at her daughter and smiled sadly, she then glared over at her husband. She had noticed the slight change in him, she was weary. Slowly people were leaving the compound duties still needed to be attended too. Teu turned on her heel, with Darra still holding onto her cloak the small trio moved towards the family’s home. She placed Thonas in a small play pen and Darra onto the couch.

“Stay sweety. I need to go get a few things from our rooms then we will go to mommy’s work ok?” Teu didn’t wait for an answer instead she went into each of the child’s room she gathered several outfits and toys as well as some diapers for Thonas. She stuffed these into a large bag. Collecting the two children she slung the bag over her shoulder and moved towards her speeder.

She strapped the two children into their seats and placed the bag into the small hold aboard the vehicle. Climbing aboard Teu set off towards Ragnos Cathedral.

Ragnos Cathedral

As the vehicle approached the giant building, Teu’s control on her emotions slowly started to crumble. She wanted revenge for her son’s death. She knew that whoever was responsible for the attack was enjoying the family’s grief. She wanted her children to be safe, whatever that was. Teu stopped the speeder as it approached the entrance to the building. She pulled the bag out and released her children from their seats.

“Come on Darra” Teu grasped her daughters hand with her own and moved towards the interior. Several Dlarit members saw her and saluted in passing. The trio moved quickly towards a lift, she took it to her office and private suite. As the doors opened she growled slightly at the security personnel on duty.

“Let no one through.”

“Yes Ma’am” The one acknowledged.

Teu entered her office, a blanket laid discarded on the couch against the wall. She locked the door and placed the children on the couch and the bag was thrown into a corner.

A second door was in the room leading deeper into the area, Teu opened this door and strode in. This room was in shambles, papers, datapads, datacards, and other items were strewn about haphazardly like a hurricane swept through the room. The room radiated anger to its core. Teu stepped within its bowels again, her blue eyes were now a pale gold as anger coursed through her body.

Escort to VAC Despot
Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems
Nachzerer

The Sadow escort fighters were guarding assault transport now approaching the enemy Majestic class cruisers.. They consisted of three XJ-3 X-wings against two squadrons of mixed A Wing and old style T-65 X-wings. Apparently, the force sent to deal with the “pirates” was expecting aging z-95 fighters and old hardware- Y-wings. Certainly they weren’t expecting Dark Jedi pilots. Still, it was a grim struggle. The odds did not look good- unless the Force served you.

“Locke to Nachzerer, I need fire support,” crackled the comlink across the Nachzerer’s command modules. “Now. Dragoon, form up on my six. You're flying wingman.”

“Roger, Roger. You got it space cowboy, Kick the tires and light the fires, hehe,” giggled the mad alchemist as the Nachzerer joined the space fracas. The beetle shaped transport was the largest of the transports at 45 meters- and the obvious target. “We’ll draw their fire and keep them away from the assault shuttles.” It was more important to keep the shuttles safe and support their three XJ3 X-wing comrades. Then, they would target the landing bay of the nearest cruiser and punch the way open for the assault shuttles to land while the fighters hammered at their escort.

“We have to make for the bay, and hold them. We have to dig their guts out from the inside- boarding operation,” yelled Jeric into the helmet comlink he wore over the mayhem in the echoing transport. “Drill ‘em from the inside out. Take as many fighters as you can out, but keep on course for their landing bay,” Jeric yelled as he fired the ion cannons from the top weapons well. The sputtering blue bolts caressed a careless A-wing, stripping it’s shields off like an onion’s skin in layers. Sparks hissed from it’s engines as they malfunctioned, leaving the ship careening forward. It now had no ability to maneuver. “Gotcha!” he yelled.

The enemy A-wing was shortly blown into atoms by the XJ-3 piloted by Lanius Sin. “That’s one you owe me, Master,” whispered the Sith Warrior into his comlink. "I take cash." His X-wing whipped by to step into lock-step with Locke's vessel.

“I hear you, Eldrad,” grumbled Macron as he set the turbolaser to weapons-free mode with a touch of the controls. His largely retired Sith student had a decidedly mercenary bent. Macron did not entirely approve, but Sin had always been a superb pilot. “Jade, give them Hell!”

“Copy that,” replied Jade from the gunner’s chair below decks. “I miss the old bird.” The Nachzerer was an odd vessel. At slightly more than 40 meters, it unusually could only hold minimal cargo. The usurped hold space was devoted to a huge powerplant, numerous shield generators, backup redundant systems, a few repair droids and one hardcore Sith-crystallized turbolaser. Said evil instrument was even now firing, sending a screaming lance of energy towards the attacking craft and the cruisers behind them. A GA X-wing streaked across the window in front of the turret defiantly.

Jade snarled, teeth flashing as the Force intuited to her the exact vector of one of the enemy X-wings. Her headset vibrated as an ear-splitting “VVVVVUUTTT” ripped from the turbolaser below her; her chair swiveled to track and intercept the target. The massive bolts completely overwhelmed the X-wing’s shields, splashing it into hot plasma and debris after a second. “Looks like pudu, average hyperdrive, bitch of a ‘puter and OS system. But man, this old bag can hit- and get hit,” she spat as a series of blaster bolts slammed into the side shields. They blunted most of the energy and the rest dissipated against the duranium-clad shell. "She hits like a Juma-juiced Hapan boxer twice her size."

“She survived… the Vong,” grunted Macron as he waved his hands in front of the holocontrols. The ship did a lateral barrel roll, internal gravity compensators groaning to equalize the stress. “Fracked them, in fact. Took me two years to get her…. Operational,” he snarled as a volley of baradium-laden advanced concussion missiles whipped from a pop-out pod on the ship’s side. It clanked shut like snapping turtle as the missiles began to target three of the x-wings. An R-5 droid plugged into the co-pilots chair continued to manage the shields and aim the missiles, bweeping excitedly at the information flow passing through it’s circuits.

“She’ll hold until we hit the bay. As long as their fighters are right on us, they won’t fire their main batteries. Fortunately, Galactic Alliance pilots do not share the philosophy of the Sith.” He grinned as the missiles flew towards their targets. It was a clever system- ion cannons to weaken the vessels, missiles to distract them. Macron knew full well the missiles had a less than one in three chance of hitting their targets. However, it was hard to defend yourself from a Dark-Jedi piloted XJ3 X-wing while dodging an advanced concussion missile, much less a high-powered ion beam or turbolaser. Hopefully, the Turmoil would arrive soon. Even with the privateer's best work, they were outnumbered and outgunned.

Escort to VAC Despot
Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

Aside from the Alchemist’s mad laughter crackling across his comlink, Locke could tune out most of the banter back and forth between the senior Dark Jedi. If he’d heard his name; he would know, but for now he was locked in a deadly dance with far superior numbers. At first he had been surprised he wasn’t flying alone; many times in the Vong war Locke had called for help and had found most of his squadron tangled in their own fights or simply gone. His luck had always seen him through to the end, but he had never flown with Dark Jedi wingmen before. Maybe they would survive. After all, they had the Force just as he did.

Even with the other two Dark Jedi, they had been hard-pressed to survive until that lumbering cargo transport rolled up into the battle and began firing its own weapons. Now those turbolasers and ion cannons lanced into the dogfight, giving the Galactic Alliance pilots another thing to worry about. Cleary the transport was more than it appeared. Locke hoped all this would be enough to distract the enemy away from the assault transports. So far it was working; the Alliance fighters kept themselves tight around the transport, but Locke occasionally checked his HUD just in case the transports would need help. If one of those A-Wings made a bee-line for the assault transports, Locke intended to notice and destroy it before it could use its superior speed to get too far ahead of him.

With the three X-Wings working together, they could punch one of the enemy’s similar craft apart in seconds and spin away almost as one. Locke had heard of the so-called “battle meld” the Jedi Knights had applied during the Vong war, but he didn’t think he was quite so close to trusting these Dark Jedi in a situation like that, allies or no. He preferred to let his wits keep him alive; they had done well this long. Even so, they worked closely together, matching each other’s movements more closely for each kill they got or complicated maneuver they performed.

Once the Galactic Alliance pilots realized the transport was more of a weapons platform than cargo carrier, they had applied standard procedures for attacking a capital ship, getting as close to the hull as they could to avoid the heavier weapons; but that in turn had caused the cruisers to stop firing, sitting there uselessly. If the enemy captain was any good, he would have known to pull his fighters away so he could bring his superior weapons arrays to bear. Locke might have mentioned as much, had he still been fighting for the Alliance. He tried not to think about that; he could regret killing former comrades when they weren’t trying to kill him.

Hanging close to the hull, Locke and the other Dark Jedi pilots were following a flight of A-Wings as the large transport streaked by below. In seconds, they reached the tail end. Locke bit back a curse, knowing the A-Wings could outmaneuver the craft the Dark Jedi were piloting, when two missiles streaked toward them. “Roll!” Locke shouted, suiting actions to words as one of the missiles suddenly detonated between the two groups of fighters. Blinking as that incandescent light briefly lit his cockpit like Bakura’s mid-day sun, Locke settled his craft and recovered, watching as the A-Wings scattered away from the bright explosion in a confused mess. He didn’t have to say anything to the other Dark Jedi; they each picked a target and descended on it, blowing the disoriented A-Wings apart before they knew what had happened. A brief second later, and the three X-Wings were back in formation, turning back to the battle to pick new targets.

Locke took a deep breath; had he tried a similar maneuver in the Vong war, both his wingmen would probably be dead. His lips parted in a small smile; for the first time, Locke could really appreciate fighting side by side with others like himself, others who would not hesitate to take full advantage of their Force abilities, unlike that damned Jedi Order. A quick check of the HUD told him the assault transports were still clear for the moment, and Locke’s eyes flickered back to the battle before him. Though the battle was more even now; there were still many Alliance pilots to kill. Then Macron said something over the comlink that made Locke pause for a second, reminding him of the Alliance’s foolish tactics. Mad as he may seem, the Warlord clearly knew battle well. Locke respected that; thinking he might be able to learn something new of combat from the Sith. “Those who keep learning keep surviving, “ one of his only living squadron commanders had said once. Locke took that statement to heart; he tried to learn everything he could, wherever he was. There was no telling when it would be useful.

Frowning for a moment, Locke realized the enemy starfighters might be completely eliminated before the larger ships could reach the Alliance cruisers. That would allow the cruisers to open fire, which wouldn’t be good… “Guys, “Locke said into his comlink, unable to pull their official ranks out of his head at the moment, if they had them, “make sure you harry the enemy pilots as much as possible before killing them. Remember; if we kill them too quickly, those larger cruisers will open up with their weapons, and then we’ll all be in trouble.” It was a dangerous game they were playing; going against superior capital ships and numbers as they were, but if anyone could pull it off, these Dark Jedi probably could. Locke laughed briefly; he certainly was enjoying this; for once his allies didn’t seem like just another liability. Maybe he could even make friends without having to worry that they might die in the next fight.

VAC Turmoil


The arrival of the Galactic Alliance was a surprise to Lynyrd as he stood in the back of the bridge. Voices had filled the room from both the staff on the VAC Turmoil as well as the other Dark Jedi on the VAC Despot and in various fighters. The Templar knew better than to get in the way of the staff in a space battle because it wasn’t his strong point.

Lynyrd used the moment to look over his datapad at members of the Black Guard that were currently in service. It only took him a second to tap a few keys that sent messages to all members that read: DISMISSED FROM DUTY.

The profiles for several other members of Clan Naga Sadow shot up on the small screen and Lynyrd looked over each of them. Quickly his finger tapped the screen on the images of the few that he thought deserved to be appointed to a position in the Black Guard.

Feeling that his selections were adequate Lynyrd opened a direct link to House Shar Dakhan’s Quaestor.

“Mirado, this is Lynyrd. I have a new Guardsmen heading your way. Only telling you because I don’t want you to kill him when he shows up.”

“You got it. I wont kill him.”

“By the way, you giving Jeric orders to take no prisoners was pretty ballsy, not that it matters because we are currently in a firefight with the Galactic Alliance.”

“I didn’t give that order. Wait, FIREFIGHT?!?! What the hell?”

“You didn’t give the order?” I will get back to you cousin.”

“Lynyrd, what is...”

Lynyrd closed the link before Mirado could finish talking and yelled at the closest staff member to him.

“Connect me with Jeric Cyrin at once!”

“He can’t be reached at this time Sir.”

“That gorram Sith...”

En-route to MJHC Vigilance
Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

The shuttle rocked as shots exploded all around the vessel. Jade kept peppering the space around them as the shuttle avoided debris from various fighters, friendly and enemy alike. It would be at least another minute till the shuttle blasted thru their landing bay. Two enemy fighters rolled right onto the shuttle’s stern, Jeric spun the ion cannons around and disable the two fighters before they could even lock weapons. “Macron, can’t this thing go any faster!” Jeric yelled from the top weapons well.

“Shes is pushing max, don’t worry we’ll make it.” Macron yelled, then looked back at the vessels control. “Here me, make it.”

Thank the force the Heavy Cruisers haven’t open fire with their main batteries. As long as their pilots were still flying around the shuttle the alliance wouldn’t risk it. More explosions this time to the shuttles port side, the sound of metal buckling almost made Jeric worry. Looking back towards the Despot, Jeric could see visible damage to the ship but the Corvette’s hell fire of blue and red keep the enemy fighters and cruisers at bay. Before he turned away a flash of light revealed the VAC Turmoil from the vortex of hyperspace.

“Good intel the Corporation gave us on this convoy, hope your happy.” Jeric whispered, directing it towards the CPO who came to babysit him, even though he couldn’t hear him. Jeric spun around and saw the landing bay doors of the MJHC Vigilance, the vessel Captain Larin was on, only a stones throw away from the shuttle.

“Jeric, our Corporation Babysitter is hailing us.” Macron yelled up into the top weapons well.

“I really don’t care. Now lets blast thru those doors!”

Jeric could hear cheering come from the lower weapons well, where Jade was, along with an evil laugh coming from the cockpit. Seconds later the doors to the landing bay exploded open. Enemy fighters began swarming the shuttle but its Dark Jedi escorts made sure no harm came to the shuttle. As the shuttle entered the landing bay Alliance Marines began to open fire, but the shuttles armament made quick work of them.

“Assault Shuttle 2-1-Alpha to Senior Commander Cyrin.” came a voice over Jeric’s helmet comlink.

“This is Cyrin, go ahead.”

“Roger Sir, Assault Shuttle 2-1-Alpha has breached the second MJHC’s landing bay and we are about to being boarding operations.”

“Good copy. Strike fast, strike deep. Cyrin out.” And with that Jeric could feel the landing gears of the shuttle touch down on the landing bay’s floor. Jeric unstrapped himself from the top weapons well and made his way to the shuttle’s exit. Macron and Jade were right behind him. Beeping came thru Jeric’s helmet comlink so he hit the switch to receive the transmission.

“Sir this is Kalisch, message from Aeotheran. It says your apprentice is back.”

Jeric stopped dead in his tracks. “Lieutenant, tell him to get his ass to this battle, time now.”

The transmission ended. Creon was still alive? That was the one good piece of news Jeric heard all day. But Creon was no use to him at the moment, at least not until he arrived.

Aeotheran,
Orian System, Outer Rim

“Erm… Creon is it?” the woman said to the lingering Zabrak, “Your master demands your immediate presence. He is currently in combat between the Stereghat and Orian Systems in the outskirts of Sith Space in the Outer Rim.”

Creon paused for a moment, he was where?! As if he knew what the hell she was saying! He knew only about Iridonia, he wasn’t a professional pilot. “Well then, get me a pilot who can take me there and can handle the combat situation.”

The clerk nodded in response, “I will summon one at once, in the mean time please feel free to take what you feel is necessary in the armory” she said opening the door to a long hallway with glass walls. Creon turned and began towards the armory. What would he need? It was a space battle! He shouldn’t need armor, but Master Cyrin was well aware of Creon’s remarkable piloting skills and would probably have something specific for him if he were to summon Creon.

Upon arrival in the armory Creon was greeted by a Givin who gave a short bow of respect. “I was told you were to be provided with supplies to undergo a combat situation. Allow me to answer any questions you have or recommend specific models. If neither I at least need to take accountability for the equipment you will utilize. My name is Ori; I help construct equipment within this facility.”

Immediately Creon pointed at the juggernaut sized Mandalorian armor being displayed, “I want that one.” The Givin was short of breath before answering, “Umm, unfortunately armors of certain tier cannot be issued unless specific permissions are given. I am sorry sir.” This only made Creon roll his eyes; of course he can’t use big toys.

“What can I use?” he asked.

“The highest recommendation that you are allowed to use without authorization of authority would be the imperial trooper model. It’s a bit old, but it’s still efficient against plasma lasers of a certain caliber.” The model shown to him looked like a stormtrooper. Creon hated the look of them; the tattoos on his skin resembled this armor. Creon refused to wear it. “I won’t need armor; I’ve fought without it before.”

“But sir, surely you should have some form of energy blast protection.”

“I don’t need your stormtrooper armor!!!!!” Creon roared. He then yanked an armory saber identical to his previous one and a vibroblade.

The Givin approached him with a white metal armband, “At least take this; it is an energy shield. These have been used for thousands of years, even in the Old Republic wars. The shielding is limited to a certain caliber and will run out of power with time, but it will recharge over a short time and its better than running into battle topless.”

Creon looked down at himself; he was topless. He had nothing but a cloak and the Dathomiri robes the brotherhood gave him. Creon took and put on the armband, “Do you have another?”

“Another sir?”

“If I had two, I could use one while the other is recharging.”

“The recharge time will be greater length than the other’s activation.”

“Two is better than one” Creon replied.

The Givin gave a smirk and nodded his head and gave Creon another in which he slipped on his other arm. “Thank you for this, you have earned my respect.”

“It is my job, sir. Please give your master my regards.” Ori said in a bow.

When Creon had arrived back to the clerk he had encountered in his arrival, a pilot in a black uniform greeted Creon. “My name is Ace Ferc Kent; I will be your escort. Jeric is currently engaged, but we can get to him. I’ve been in messes worse than your average skirmish.”

Creon nodded in response and joined him in boarding the ship. Inside he met seven other uniformed men. “These are the crew maintenance and the gunners” Ferc said. “You are in a Beta Class ETR-3 Escort Transport from Naga Sadow. Its hyperdrive is in good order, and it’s the fastest little bugger with the 250 SBD shield rating. It’ll get you from A to B.”

Creon had no idea what the pilot just said but he nodded as if he did. Shortly afterwards the ship took off into hyperspace after breaking the atmosphere of Aeotheran. Creon sat in the cockpit; trying to strengthen his connection through meditation anyway he could before meeting once again with his master.

Docking Bay
MJHC Vigilance
Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems


“I see your Apprentice is enroute,” chuckled Macron. The Sith donned his helm as the walkway opened fully. “I hope he hurries. He’ll miss the fun.” The mad alchemist touched a stud on his armor gauntlet as the egress hatch opened in front of him with a whoosh of gases. From behind in the cargo bay echoed a rumbling growl.

“What the hell was that?” asked Jeric as he and Jade ignited their liughtsabers and dashed down the ramp. “You had something back there in that crate?”

“Sith-spawned Nashtah,” remarked Jade as she casually tossed a thermal detonator ahead of them using the Force. The whump and flash of the actinic blast back-lit her face as she shrugged. Bodies flew up around it, those not already dead from the remote e-web blasters now blown to ashen shreds by the fury of the grenade’s baradium fire. “Insurance. Mac and I cooked that up to keep people off the ship- and out of the area. It won’t live more than a few more days, but in the meantime it’s a nasty beast.”

Macron merely giggled. He flexed his Armor Fist and ignited his own tangerine colored lightsaber. “Jeric, I don’t give a damn whether this was a personal vendetta or commanded action. I completely understand your anger,” commented the Warlord. “ It’s quite natural for a Darksider. As long as I get to hurt some sentients, I will be satisfied with this endeavor.”

“Right. Let’s move to the command center. It won’t be long before they send reinforcements.” Jeric looked sidelong at the madman. His reputation had proven to be accurate. He was indeed fully insane, and apparently his Apprentice and compatriot was as well. Still, they would be very useful in this assault. If the madman was a broadsword- a Juggernaut, his Apprentice was something of a cross between a Sorceress and a Marauder. Useful, indeed.

All three Dark Jedi screamed battle cries as they raced toward the turbolift. Macron’s R5 droid was plugged into a control console near the Nachzerer, opening the turbolift and hacking security controls ahead of the three raging warriors.

Command Center
MJHC Vigilance
Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

“Captain Larin, they’ve breached the bay and are moving in this direction,” shouted the communications officer. The bridge was a hive of activity. Lights blinked on and off, the consoles illuminated by readouts of the battle within both cruisers as well as out in space. The Falleen appeared calm amidst the chaos, typically for his species.

“Damn it Lieutenant Xaso! This was supposed to be a rag-tag bunch of pirates! Our intel did not indicate that they had this sort of armament- or skill!” The woman was furious. She suspected that they had been set up. And she was correct. “They cut through us like a knife through hot nerf butter.”

“There’s more to worry about than that,” whispered a nearby Ithorian in his odd bass stereo voice. “I sense evil about them. There are Dark Jedi in those fighters- and now aboard this ship.” His brown robes rustled as he withdrew a double-bladed lightsaber hilt from his belt. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Then you and your Apprentice better get to stopping them, Jedi Knight. Or none of us will be going home from this patrol,” spat the Captain. “Helm, get us away from those Vibres and prepare to jump.”

“Captain, we have several capital ships closing on this vector according to the long-range scanners,” replied the helmswoman. “One from the Telos hyperlane area, and two from Orian space. We are still too close to the gravity well of star 7853 to jump.”

VAC Turmoil


The Rollmaster’s anger flared as the crew member explained why Jeric was not replying to his comm signal.

“Sir, Jeric has boarded the enemy ship alongside that madman and a woman.”

Without warning the crew member was shoved aside and the battle hardened face of Seph Cutter appeared.

“From what I can tell the comm was completely ignored without even an attempt to reply.”

Lynyrd’s blood began to boil under his skin.

“Seph, prep a shuttle for the two of us. I want a fast one. Grab a few gunners to go as well. You have 3 minutes.”

The old sniper knew the look of insanity that had overtaken Lynyrd’s face and he liked that feeling of not knowing what was next.

“Yes Sir. I know just the one.”



Unknown Shuttle


Fighters flew by and Lynyrd watched as bolts of blue and red streaked the area around them.

“Seph, ETA?”

The old man grunted as he pulled a lever and the shuttle tilted wildly to the right.

“We might crash there in 45 seconds or land there in 50.”

“I don’t care which one it is, just get me on that ship.”

The shuttle bounced quickly to the left and Seph yelled back, “Crash landing in 20 seconds. Get a grip on something.”

The shuttle jarred around as it hit the ground on the enemy vessel and durasteel scraped against durasteel until the shuttle slid sideways into the very shuttle that Jeric had used to get on board the ship.
As the door slid open a blaster bolt flew into the shuttle and was met with a heavy barrage of bolts from Seph’s DC-15.

“I got you covered. Get your ass out there while there heads are down.”

“Follow behind me closely, you might be useful so I need you alive.”

L'eonheart Residence, Pepoi Compound
Outskirts of Mucenic, Tarthos

Compared to that of the main Pepoi residence, the L'eonheart lived in a much smaller and more humble abode. Within the main room, Arcturus crawled about the floor with happy giggles as he sought out any toys he could find. Nearby his mother watched with a smile as her mind seemed to be halfway across the galaxy. Naomi was always preoccupied whenever her husband took extended leave from her side, the man's dedication to his Clan and the Corporation seemed to have gotten him into tonnes of trouble since the pair had gotten married.

She had felt divided, she could feel her husband's presence just as well as her child's; while she knew Methyas was too far away for her mind to commune with, she could feel him as though he were within an arms reach. Arcturus puttered about before stopping at his mother's feet, a gigantic smile crossing his face as he wrapped his arms around his mother's leg. Returning a smile to her little one, Naomi reached down and lifted her son into her arms for a big hug; then it hit her.

A gasp escaped the woman, the feeling equivalent to that of a vacuum suddenly grasping at her soul appearing out of thin air. Arcturus could feel it too, the child crying loudly as his mother clutched him tightly to her chest. Her mind reeled, immediately leaping to the worst possible options as she knew why she suddenly felt so terrible. Her husband's presence had simply...disappeared; there was no sharp pain indicating some sort of trauma or, as he had put it so bluntly, death. It was almost as though he had severed their connection, or perhaps blocked it somehow, and simply disappeared. Naomi was certain it was the same for Arcturus, the young child having known his father's soothing presence all his life.

Naomi moved more swiftly than she ever had before. In a few steps the woman had set her son in his playpen and had activated their rarely used Nanny droid. She had to know what had happened and there was only one person in the Corporation who would know.

Executive Director’s Residential Island
Gilded Archipelago, Aeotheran

The isle had been silent were it not for the Bacta technicians lurking as far away from the Executive Director's reach as possible following their suggestions. As a shuttle touched down on one of the various landing pads of the estate, a few of the sparse security staff nearly leapt upon the descending ramp as soon as soon as an opening appeared, "The Executive Director is not accepting any guests right now..."

"Shut it you gorram coward, he won't keep me out..." The woman responded with nearly a growl as she swiftly pushed past the men and towards the main estate itself. She moved quickly and entered the main hall, her footfalls echoing throughout the chambers quickly as she moved through the structure, looking for her target with purpose. As usual, Mirado slunk from the shadows, his stature changing for a moment in shock before he spoke, "Well you're not who I expected...Naomi, what are you doing here?"

"Where is he?!" The woman bellowed in return as she grabbed the nearest vase, an ironic piece of art in a blind man's home, and attempted to fling it at his head.
The Force called to the older man as he deftly evaded the object with ease, even injured as he was the woman's rage could not give her an upper hand. At the same time, striking his brother's wife would be a little perturbing for him. Another vase quickly found its way towards his vicinity giving him pause from his thoughts to evade the fruitless projectile before the woman closed more of the distance between them.

"Where is he?!" Naomi bellowed yet again, the woman's anger sparking within the chamber through the Force as her extremely scarce signature sprang to life; a lithe fist leaping towards the Miraluka before he caught it in an open palm. Her anger flowed through her every action, but without training she couldn't harness it. She was a housewife and a doctor, she had been raised and trained to love and heal; not harm. Another strike, this one clipping his jaw as he was lost in thought, Naomi's screams echoing through the hall as Mirado quickly grabbed and restrained her in response.

He could feel her body quaking, tears streaming down her face in anger. He knew the reason for her sudden outburst, her unbridled rage. She had felt that same void open up in the Force as he had, Methyas had obviously taught her some minor skills with the Force, but nowhere near enough to effectively use against a member of the Brotherhood. He signature and skill itself though were enough to give him pause; his own brother had essencially harboured her from the other Jedi in the Brotherhood, kept her from her inevitable placement in the Shadow Academy. It was obvious now that the Methyas' leaking signature had more than kept her own hidden. The more he thought about it, any of the family could have overpowered her signature.

She had started to go limp in his arms, her sobs and tears no longer from anger, but overwhelming concern and fear. It was an unexpected, even unusual circumstance for the Dakhani Quaestor, he had no idea how to deal with a woman let allow when she seemed to be breaking down. The man slowly loosened his grip upon the woman as she fell to her knees at his feet in a complete wreck. He knew her anger, her concern...he had felt it himself after he had no choice but to leave his brother in the hands of that man. He could feel his own rage bubbling up now that he thought about it, the flat refusal of the Council to allow him to rescue his own flesh and blood. Naomi must have felt it, her own tears subsiding as she wiped her eyes clear and spoke, the venom still dripping from her lips, "Well Mirado? Where did you take him...why hasn't my husband come back?"

The words themselves stung, being held at fault for not returning with his brother was a feeling that even he could not entirely shake. Moving around the woman and kneeling before her so that he could be "eye-to-eye" with the Dlarit Doctor, he spoke succinctly, "He took a mission from our Council; reconnaissance of a high-profile target against our Brotherhood. The target knew we were coming, ambushed us. This man...he must have been powerful. I have never felt so much...fear, concern...from Methyas; it felt like you just now. He ensured that I could escape while sacrificing himself to this man."

He paused, just long enough for it to sink it, "Our target knew there was someone with control of the Force between us, Methyas' fountain and lightsided nature had given us away...so Methyas refused to let him take me at the risk of being captured."

Naomi tensed for a second, her voice rising weakly from her concern, "You...you knew that he wasn't...like the rest of you?"

A rare smile crossed Mirado's face as he responded, trying not to laugh as he spoke, "Your husband was slipping, Naomi. He couldn't keep his concern over some of our...methods, hidden very well."

A small laugh escaped Naomi before she asked again, "What happened then? He told me I might feel something if he was ever lost a limb or something. Or was..."
The woman trailed off as Mirado finished her sentence, "Killed?" He waited as the woman nodded, her hands tightly balling up into fists as she tried to avoid tears again.

"From what I can tell...he's sealed himself off from us; keeping whatever that bastard is doing to him away from us and out of the affairs of the Brotherhood. Its not the first time something like this has happened apparently, he mentioned that somehow he did the same when our parents..."

Naomi sighed for a second as this time it seemed like Mirado had given pause. She spoke up quickly, "So what's the bastard's name? I want to know who we're killing when we go rescue him."

Mirado's face shifted, immediately becoming as stone-like as ever before, "Oh no. No, no, no. Methyas would kill me if I brought you in there and something happened to you. Besides, even I've been barred from going after him."

Naomi's rage bubbled again, "You're telling me with all the power this Corporation has and whatever your Brotherhood has behind it, we can't challenge one man for my husband!" She waited as Mirado nodded before she continued, "Train me then, get me prepared for whatever may come."

Mirado tensed for a moment, raising a hand with his palm towards the woman before speaking, "Whoa, the Brotherhood has strict rules pertaining apprentices. Methyas himself would be in deep poodoo for what he's taught you so far."

Naomi seemed to growl as she raised to her feet, her hands opening and closing into tight fists quickly as she seemed ready to kill something, "I know that...he told me about that before he even took Masika on as his apprentice." She paused as her mind seemed to stumble upon a thought, "Wait, you were an assassin before your joined the Brotherhood. You can train me outside of the Force. You can train me to be an assassin."

The Dakhani Quaestor seemed taken aback for a moment, the idea was solid but the woman was a doctor and not a cold blooded killer. He rose to his feet himself, turning his back to the woman as he ran a hand through his hair in thought. It didn't take long with Naomi's eyes boring into the back of his skull for him to respond, "We could always use an extra hand when the time comes...and you'll be more of an asset trained than untrained when you come with us against our wishes anyway..."

The sudden outburst of glee surged through the woman as she nearly pounced on Mirado to give him a hug, "Thank you, thank you, thank you. I won't let you down."

Mirado struggled for a second to try and escape the awkward embrace before Naomi caught on, releasing the Assassin as he spoke, "You'll find I'm a harsher mentor than your husband..." He heard her laugh, obviously Methyas had been strict with what limited training she had received, "but we will start in the morning and I will summon you whenever I can spare the time. Remember, you will received absolutely no training through the Force."

The woman nodded, an action lost on the Miraluka as she spoke, "Agreed, I should be returning to Tarthos for the night I guess."

Mirado simply grunted in response, folding his arms across his chest as Naomi started towards the front door of his estate. She was nearly half-way down the hall when his voice rose up once more, "Oh and Naomi?" He paused just long enough for her to turn, "The bastard's name is Michael Halcyon."

Ragnos Catherdral

Kalei had seen Teu head towards Ragnos Cathedral, not looking to happy with something. The Priestess had decided to follow behind, someone had to know she was back, and what condition she was in. It had been quite some time since she had been anywhere near here, let alone talked to anyone she used to be extremely close to.

As she got closer to Teu's office, she noticed no one was even giving her a second glance. Had she really been gone that long? She knew that her appearance had changed, because for the moment she was more calm and collected than she had been in quite some time. But it seemed no one even recognized her at all.

She had to shrug it off as she finally got to Teu's office. But once she was there, she was informed that she was not allowed to enter. Kalei knew that she had to talk with Teu, she may be the only one that would listen. Now she could only hope that Teu would be able to feel her there, with a lot on her mind, and let her into the office.

Quaestor's Office
Ragnos Cathedral

Teu moved around her office, the room was mostly cast in shadow, the only light permeated from the four corners where 4 soft blue lamps sat. The young mother grinned slightly as she moved towards her private area she watched her two children sleep.

Teu moved back into the main office, her eyes cast a long glance around. As she sat into her chair, a stirring in the force alerted her that Darra was awake. She stood up and found her daughter sitting straight up in bed. Her eyes searched for her moms.

"Momma." The child held her arms up to be lifted.

Teu picked up her daughter. "What’s wrong sweetie? Bad dream?"

Darra nodded and hid her face in her mom’s shoulder. "Thomas."

Teu froze for a moment, however she felt someone approaching her office. It was someone that was familiar to her. She moved towards the door, she pushed the button to open the door.

"Kalei, long time no see." Teu looked the other woman up and down. She then glanced at the security guards. "Come in. Sorry about them. I'd rather not be bothered by some people."

Teu moved back into the room, Kalei behind her, after both were in the room Teu waved a hand causing the door to shut and lock.

"Would you like a drink?" Teu motioned to the small bar off to the side.

Thomas bowed slightly to the Herald and turned to his father, “Teu told me to tell you to leave your explosives in the workroom when you leave.”

It always bugged him when his son referred to his step-mother by name, “Explosives?”

Thomas bent down and picked up a box from the ground, “These.”

The explosion ripped through Thomas, the teenager becoming mere scraps of flesh and meat. Fremoc flew into the wall, shrapnel pelting his body, a large bone piercing right over his heart. The Fist of the Brotherhood looked dead. His body was peppered, he had a bone sticking in his heart, and his eyes were empty, but his mind still registered what was going on around him. He watched Shikyo run off to attack the Scholae shuttle as the rest of his family ran towards him. Teu crying with Thonas in her arms, while Darra holding onto her mother's pant leg staring at her father. Just then another explosion ripped through the office, throwing Darra, Teu, and the infant Thonas into the far wall. Shrapnel had lodged into their bodies. His wife looked at him from the far wall.

"Help me Fremoc."

Get up. His mind willed his body to move but it was unresponsive. His mind registered his wifes crying at the lifeless bodies around her. Rage building in his chest at his inability to protect his family.

GET UP! The anger exploded inside him, his body regaining motion as he stood, pulling the bone from his heart with his bare hand. Teu looked at him, her eyes in shock at the sight of her husband who was lifeless a moment before. The Fist of the Brotherhood roared at the top of his lungs.

Tarthos
Temple of Ragnos

The Fist of the Brotherhood continued to roar as his mind escaped the vision, the thunder drowning him out as he roared. He stopped after several moments, his anger still boiling, pouring out of him. He felt Methyas' presence wink out but knew that his cousin was far from dead. The rain pelting him as he watched Naomi leave the Pepoi Compound to the Hidden Hangars. The Fist followed her shuttle to the Executive Director’s Home on Aeotheran and made his Force signature as small as possible so that his cousin couldn't feel him, before starting to listen in on Naomi's and Mirado's conversation. The Fist knew of Methyas' capture but knew better than to tell anyone. He listened closer as he felt the conversation ending.

"I know that...he told me about that before he even took Masika on as his apprentice. Wait, you were an assassin before your joined the Brotherhood. You can train me outside of the Force. You can train me to be an assassin."

"We could always use an extra hand when the time comes...and you'll be more of an asset trained than untrained when you come with us against our wishes anyway..."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you. I won't let you down."

"You'll find I'm a harsher mentor than your husband...but we will start in the morning and I will summon you whenever I can spare the time. Remember, you will received absolutely no training through the Force."

"Agreed, I should be returning to Tarthos for the night I guess."

"Oh and Naomi? The bastard's name is Michael Halcyon."

Just before Naomi could leave the office, the Fist unleashed his Force Presence and turned the corner, standing in the doorway. Naomi's eyes widened as the Fist stood in the doorway, Mirado looked into the signature of his cousin and knew immediately.

"F-Fremoc," stammered Naomi.

"Planning a trip to rescue your brother Mirado?" queried the Fist. "The brother you left behind? Why in the God's frakking name would you leave your own brother behind?"

"Probably the same reason you let your son die, arsehole. You think I wanted Methyas to push me through a wall on the top story of a building? Use your frakking head a damn minute and think, instead of devolving yourself to the level of a Sith!" responded Mirado.

"You could have gone back to him. You could have saved him from that Jedi slime!"

"What about you Fremoc? You killed your own brother, instead of saving him."

"Kano was jealous and his jealousy got the better of him. He tried to kill Methyas and you and the rest of the Regulators on that ship. But I've figured it out Mirado. You are weak."

"Weak? Why don't you try fighting Michael Halcyon? I survived it, I doubt you would, your head in the shape it's in right now."

The Fist of the Brotherhood pulled his sleeveless shirt off and showed Mirado the scar Muz gave him. "Do you know why I got this scar? Because I stood against him and was nearly killed in the process. Dante died because I fought against him. You couldn't stand with your brother in the end."

Mirado took a breath, calming himself before he spoke. His words, when they finally came, were quiet, steely, and razor sharp. "My brother nearly killed me on the gamble that I'd survive it. Halcyon came close to finishing the job, but I'm still alive, because Methyas risked his own ass. I'm not going to throw his sacrifice away on some misguided action-holo run that's just going to get me killed before I can do a stanged thing for him. You call me weak, because you lack the intelligence to realize I'm already thinking six steps farther ahead than you are. You need to man up, get your head on straight, and start using your brain instead of your ego. The Gods know it's not helped you much recently."

The Fist of the Brotherhood wasn't himself, and his anger was boiling over. A smile came across the Son of Sadow's lips. Before he could even move, the Fist had disappeared and next thing Mirado knew he was against a wall with the older Pepoi's hand pinning him to the wall. The Emerald Dagger that was awarded to the Fist, was pointed straight at Mirado's face.

"What ever you are thinking, I'm doing. You can 'plot it,' come along, what have you, but I'm going to rescue him." The blade returned to its sheath and the Pepoi released Mirado and turned to leave the room.

"Whatever. Demonic."

The Fist half turned to Mirado and smiled.

Docking Bay
MJHC Vigilance
Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

As the three moved towards the turbolift, Jade thought about the nashtah waiting back on the Nachzerer. A blood thirsty beast after her own heart, well any Siths’ heart to be honest. It was a shame the Sith Spawned creature would only last a few days, though it was going to be interesting to see it run lose sometime…soon. An evil grin crossed her face.

The hiss of the turbolift opening cut into her thoughts as Jeric ran in first, followed by Jade and Maccron. As the doors closed behind them and it jolted into motion Macron muttered. “Can’t this thing move any faster?”

“You’ll have your fight Macron…” And I’ll have mine, Jeric thought to himself.

“Patience is a virtue Master,” Jade smirked.

“Patience is for those who can’t take what they want and just hope it will come their way.”

Jade just shook her head as the turbolift jerked to a halt. All three of the Dark Jedi stood ready, their colored blades humming as the doors opened. Jeric moved off the lift and headed down the hallway first. Macron motioned with his hand. “Ladies first.” Jade raised an eyebrow at him then followed Jeric.

A couple guards came running down the hall towards them. Jeric narrowed his eyes at the posing threat. One of the guards shot his blaster towards him, but the Dark Jedi easily blocked the shots with his saber. Tiring of the way to easy fight, he angled his saber just enough to bounce the shots off and into the guards chest. The heavy bombardment of shot after sudden shot took the mans life. Another guard moved towards Jade who used the force to pick the man up and hang him in the air. She moved around him, the man gasping for air as his blaster fell harmlessly to the floor beneath him. The Daughter of Sadow seemed like she was studying him, his very life force. To the men she was with it was almost as if she was searching for his life force directly, to rip it from him and claim it for her own. But the sound of the mans neck snapping and his body falling to the ground quickly echoed in the hallway, and caught the third guards attention. It was enough for the Madman to do the same move and pick the guard up in the force. The man flailed at the drop of ground below him, as though the gravity in the ship had suddenly been lost. Macron walked up to the man, and using the tip of his blade, he severed the man’s right arm, then left, then moved to the mans legs. The heat of the lightsaber cauterizing the wounds, keeping the man from bleeding out directly. As the screams of the man filled the area around them, and what they would have guessed to be the next floor at least above and below, Macrons blade took off the guards head.

Jade looked at the body on the floor. “It’s a good thing we didn’t have a stealth mission here Macron.”

“Hell if they didn’t see the entrance we made, then they deserve all they get!”

“True enough.” Jeric added as thought of his own acts of vengeance ran through his mind and heated the blood in his veins.

“Filthy Dark Jedi.”

The voice made the Three Sadowians look towards the other end of the hallway. A younger apprentice in brown robes moved from behind a beam.

“Finally, a fight that may be a bit more of a challenge.” The corner of Jerics mouth moved into an evil grin. Though the apprentice was obviously going to be an easy fight for him, it would prove more then the simple flick of a wrist battle he just had with a guard.

“Nothing but evil.” The apprentice continued spitting out distractions. Macron sensed the kid was hoping his Master would show up in time to help in the battle. Though the mad man was sure the rescue the kid hoped for would never come.

Jade twirled the tip of her silver blade in a circle, the hum of the deadly saber had her lower her eyes and cock her head to the side while she looked at the kid. “Not evil, just, incredibly pissed off.”

Bridge Corridor, MJHC Vigilance 
Boarder Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

"No, just damn furious." Jeric spatted with an evil laugh as he unleash a shockwave of energy straight at the apprentice. The young Jedi was far enough way that the force blast didn't break bones but coming from the Battlemaster it was strong enough to bruise the skin and toss the apprentice back.

"So much anger, I'm sorry that we will have to end your lives." The young Jedi said as he struggled to his feet. The three dark jedi all let out laughs of pure evil.

Macron stepped forward. With a demonic smile the madman spoke to the apprentice. "Who is we young one. If your master isn't here and even if he is on this ship he won't reach you in time." 

"Then I'll just have to defend myself till he does." With those last words the apprentice lunged forward igniting the green blade of his lightsaber. Macron easily blocked the overhand strike from the jedi and knocked him to his ass with a swift kick from his metal boot. With a quick burst of speed Jeric was right next to the downed Jedi. He kicked the lightsaber out of the apprentice's hand and gave him a quick shock.

"You see young one, those to weak to embrace the darkside will always loose to it's power." 

"Please show mercy." the apprentice muttered as the effects of the electricity wore off. 

Jeric smirked. "Those who ask for mercy, are to weak to deserve it." Jeric echoed the words of Darth Bane. With a swift thrust Jeric plunged the crimson blade of his saber into the jedi's chest.

"If another Jedi scum shows up, he is my kill." Macron said giving Jeric a pat on the shoulder. Jade trailed right behind the two others as they began moving down the corridor once more.

Docking Bay, VAC Despot
Boarder Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

The Beta Class ETR-3 Transport touched down in the docking bay of the Despot. Creon arose from his meditation and grab all his gear. As he walked down the ramp the Hanger Chief was there to greet him. 

"Welcome aboard Commander." 

"Shut up and tell me where Master Cyrin is." 

"Senior Commander Cyrin is on the enemy command ship at this time." 

Creon turn to face the pilot and gunners of the transport. "Can you get me on to the Alliance's command ship?" 

"Shouldn't be a problem for me and my crew Sir." Ferc said in reply. 

Not minutes after the transport landed it was taking off again and heading into the heat of battle. Creon was finally picking up his master's comlink signal. Punching in a few keys the comlink finally connected. A miniature hologram of Jeric appeared before Creon.

"Master it's so good to..."

"Where are you Creon?" Jeric interrupted his Obelisk Apprentice.

"En-route to your location Master."

With that Jeric cut the transmission and his apprentice had a feeling of enjoyment, for some reason, knowing he was back under Jeric's wing.

Bridge Corridor, MJHC Vigilance 
Boarder Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

The three dark Jedi had finally made it to the end of the hallway. The blast doors leading to the bridge were only 30 meters away. Bodies of fallen Alliance troopers lay scattered down the hallway. 

"Time to take the ship?" Jeric asked looking side to side at Macron and Jade. 

"Lets do this." Jade said, Macron just gave a simple nod. As the three moved forward the blast doors opened up revealing a Jedi clad in armor and elegant Jedi robes. 

"You have taken to many innocents today." From underneath his robes the Jedi pulled two hilts and connected them together. The ice blue blades of his double helix sprang to life. "Now you will pay darksiders."

Ragnos Cathedral

Kalei shook her head as she slipped off her cloak, revealing a very protruding stomach, "As much as I'd like a drink, I can't have one. I found out after I had...vanished...that I was pregnant. I haven't seen Bal since even before that, though I know it is his." She sat down in a nearby chair and sighed, rubbing her stomach. "I wish I knew how far along I was, though I don't think I have much longer."

She shook her head and looked at Teu, "I'm sorry about what's happened. When I heard the news, I decided to come back. I realized that I left a lot behind here, and needed to come back. Besides, I have a feeling you and your family need to know someone is around." She looked over at the drinks and sighed, "maybe just some water, I think I can handle that."

Teu smiled and brought the water over to Kalei who seemed just a little bit uncomfortable. She took the water and drank it down fairly quickly. She then set the glass down on a nearby table and shook her head, "You know, I could right now kill that" she mumbled something that really couldn't be heard, "for what he did before leaving. He doesn't even know, nor do I care at the moment if I ever see him again." There was anger built up inside of her, anger she hadn't been able to let out in some time. If she ran into an enemy of some sort, she would let out quite a bit of anger on them.

After a few minutes of looking around Teu's office, Kalei winced slightly. Her back had a shooting pain through it, and she knew that was not such a good thing. She had been walking around the office, but now felt as if she couldn't even get back to the seat she was sitting on previously.

"Teu, I hate to ask, but could you help me get back to sitting down? I'm not feeling so great at the moment."

Hangar Bay, MJHC Vigilance
Boarder Line, Steraghat & Orian Systems

Not much longer after the short message, Creon arrived at the Alliance’s ship. The transport carrier eased itself into one of the hangar bays and took land. Immediately the Alliance troops took positions around the area and waited for the arrival of their unknown guest.

Creon turned and looked to the crew who began to arm themselves with blaster rifles, “All of us will engage the troops in the hangar, after I want you all to leave and go back to Aeotheran. I will be joining my master Jeric, you have no need to stay here. Understood?” The crew members saluted and Creon went over to the ships exit bridge.

As the bridge began to land the ship’s turret, controlled by Ferc, fired upon the enemy and caused many casualties among them. With the enemy in shock over the turret’s blast, the rest of the enemy was easy enough. Creon drew his lightsaber and activated one of the energy shields. He wasn’t very well trained with the new weapon, but he hacked it through enough soldiers like an axe to make it an acceptable tool. The squad was able to take out the enemy within the hanger easily with the aid of Ferc’s turret with only one minimum casualty. One of the crew members had an injured leg at the end of the firefight. He was given some painkillers and his leg was wrapped. After they placed him on a gunner’s turret seat where he would remain, the ship departed from the hangar leaving the dark apprentice alone.

With his cloak surrounding his body he advanced towards one of the hallway entrances. He didn’t know the schematics of the ship, nor did he need to know. He could feel the presence of Jeric. He wasn’t alone either; three other Jedi were with him, and one of them wasn’t an ally.

Bridge Corridor, MJHC Vigilance
Boarder Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

Meanwhile, the Jedi master twirled the helix in a light spin in one hand and then grabbed the dead apprentice’s blade using the force with the other. Jeric was the first to dash into the fight with a low sweep at the legs, and in immediate return the master Jedi flew into a butterfly kick to dodge but crashed into the floor by Macron’s push with the force. Before the master could recover, Jeric was about to inject a stab into the abdomen. The Jedi stretched out and pulled one of the railing structures holding the bridge, and launched it at Jeric. Jeric raised his hand to stop the upcoming rail, but it was halted by Jade’s grip instead. The distraction, however, gave the Jedi enough time recover on his feet.

Bridge Corridor Entrance, MJHC Vigilance
Boarder Line, Steraghat & Orian Systems

Another republic soldier slid his head down the wall. The blood stained the floors and the walls from the gruesome beating the Zabrak had inflicted. His master was beyond but one door now. He could feel the incredible power in the presence of this battle. Such incredible radiation coming from both the light and the dark side of the force overwhelmed Creon. He fell to his knees and tried to catch his breath.
When the door to the bridge had opened, Creon strained hard to look up at the ongoing duel of these powerful Jedi.

Sadow Palace
Sepros, Orian System

Like usual, things were quiet in the small control station just outside Sadow Palace. Rays of sunlight cut through the heavy jungle canopy that shrouded most of the temple and shone across the secluded landing pad that was restricted for all but the highest levels of the Clan—but for the Overlord and his Sons, few used it these days, in fact; after the Vong War, the main hangar had the best kit these days, but habit died hard for the old timers.

Skarr slapped his cards down on the desk and grinned.

It was the Two and Three of Coins. And the Idiot.

‘I think that’s what we call sabacc,’ the Saraii said, smirking as the creds were all pushed to his side of the table. ‘Come on, quickly boys, quickly. I want my winnings before the next invasion.’

That brought a laugh from the other three daytime watchmen—the Clan, the Corporation, they were at peace; the Galaxy was at peace; an attack? Not on Skarr’s watch. Besides, the first place that always got bombarded was Tarthos; Sepros was lucky enough to be part-hidden by the Ashes of Dentavii, the remains of that ancient world that exploded millennia ago. That was why the Overlord established the new palace there: the Ashes were a natural barrier and had provided an excuse for why even the Corporation had never colonised it.

A beep from the sensor station slowly brought Lieutenant Skarr down from his celebratory musings and he turned—casually that is—his chair around to check the readings. The Vibres weren’t due back yet and the privateers were still out on mission. The sensor indicated an old CR90 corvette had entered the planet’s atmosphere.

Strange... they’d not had any warning from Tarthos about a new arrival in-system.

‘Jorj,’ the lieutenant said, keeping his eyes fixed on the readout, ‘you getting anything on the IFF relays?’ When Skarr’s adjutant didn’t reply immediate, the lieutenant glanced to his left and saw the man shake his head. Skarr frowned, the Saraii’s red eyes glowing in thought. He opened a comm channel to the incoming ship. ‘Unidentified corvette, this is Lieutenant Mass’kar’rali of the Dlarit Special Operations Group. You have entered restricted airspace. State your name and purpose immediately.’

No response.

‘I repeat. Unidentified corvette, if you do not comply we will—’

Skarr was cut off by one of the other three watchmen: ‘Lieutenant! Outside!’

The Saraii turned and glared. ‘What?’ Skarr snapped, keying the channel off while he dealt with the junior officer’s interruption—war or no war, you didn’t just interrupt your superior. ‘What is it? Quickly!’ The officer didn’t reply; he didn’t even move.

Skarr sighed and began to turn back to the comm console when his adjutant next to him pulled him to his feet. ‘Erm, Skarr,’ his aide said in a near-whisper, using the Saraii’s core name despite the fact the man knew full well that it was against proper procedure, ‘you might wanna do what Kliff said. I mean really.’

Skarr had never seen the man so nervous and begrudgingly stepped over to the window where the others had all congregated. He didn’t need this. Corellian corvettes were civilian couriers. Sure, some got upgraded, but they weren’t warships, and Sadow Palace was built to withstand invasion—short of the Death Star showing up, they weren’t in any dan—

Upon reaching the window, Skarr’s heart forgot how to pump.

But...

He mouthed the words but no sound came out.

But...

‘Sov...Sov...!’

There was something wrong. His eyes were playing tricks. The black shell overshadowing the twin stars could not be there. It couldn’t. It wasn’t possible!

‘Sovereign!’

But no! She’d been destroyed! Years ago. Sovereign had been destroyed. It had been all over the Brotherhood. Grand Admiral Ronin had reportedly gone down with her. Everyone knew that. Astatine had betrayed him, as the Seven had always claimed he one day would. The Emperor’s Hammer had collapsed. The Vong had invaded Minos.

How... how....?

Finding his voice, Skarr strained a hoarse reply: ‘Sound the alarm. Alert everyone. Warn the Overlord. We must evacuate. Sov...the false Brotherhood is here for revenge!’ Even as the lieutenant spoke, he could see hundreds—thousands!—of starfighters pouring out of the Sovereign-class Super Star Dreadnought’s hangar bays and into the skies above the palace.

Skarr remained fixed where he was as the other three watch officers went about issuing the invasion announcement. They hadn’t been there. They were too young to remember the firepower the Star Dreadnought had at her disposal. Unlike the others, Skarr had been there during the Exodus, had been there back during the days of the Hammer: he knew firsthand what her axial superlaser was capable of, how it could crack the very crust of a planet.

Not even Sadow Palace’s shielding would withstand that.

In the back of his ear, the lieutenant barely registered the confused voices on the other end of the comm channels as his men struggled to talk reason into their counterparts over on Tarthos. ‘How did they bypass your sensors?’ ‘Has it got a cloaking device?’ ‘We can’t see it on our scanners. What’s going over there?’ Skarr didn’t care what they all thought. Sovereign was here. Ronin had returned. It was all over. Sepros was home to one of the Seven. They’d all been marked for destruction.

At that moment, hydraulic gases hissed from the landing pad just outside and Skarr somehow found the strength to pull his eyes away from the sky to what was happening in the courtyard. It was the black-painted corvette. It looked perfectly harmless. Normal. No modifications. He could hear the rain hammering on the corvette’s roof. Skarr hadn’t even realised it had started raining? It was pouring down. Like the gods of Sepros themselves were venting their wrath.

The Saraii swallowed.

The corvette’s ramp had begun to lower.

At the same moment, the rain seemed to harden into hail stones, smashing against the control station’s windows as thunder roared across the planet-wide forests. The ear-pounding cries of the heavens were quickly joined by lightning, flashing across the courtyard and blinding the lieutenant’s view of the corvette; he had to duck his head and pull his eyes away.

‘Where’s our support?!’ Skarr shouted, panic setting in as footsteps now echoed somewhere in the white blur of light outside. ‘Get me the Final Way! Now!’

His aide looked white but managed to speak. ‘I—I don’t know what to say,’ the man stuttered, ‘they—Tarthos says there’s nothing there.’

‘Of course they see nothing there!’ Skarr snapped. ‘It’s using a cloaking device, idiot! Get them to send help!’

‘The Final Way—it—it’s already in low orbit,’ one of the other officers replied, sounding just as unsure of himself as Skarr’s chief aide, ‘I’ve—I’ve spoken directly to Admiral Simonetti. He told us to cut back on the sabacc and lay off the Reactor Cores if we want to keep our jobs.’

‘Reactor Cores?’ Skarr echoed. He’d never touched a Reactor Core in his life. Vile things. ‘What is this? What’s wrong with people? Overlord Sadow’s life is in danger!’

‘You have that part right,’ a voice from the doorway said.

Skarr and the others twirled instantly, their hands falling for their blasters in unison.

‘But the threat isn’t the one you think,’ the figure finished.

The man’s face bored straight into the lieutenant’s mind. It was unforgettable. The plume of cigar smoke rising from the black-robed figure’s lips doing nothing to soften the piercing glow from the violet tattoo of a third eye that covered the entirety of the man’s forehead.

Behind Trevarus Caerick, Lieutenant Mass’kar’rali looked upon the face of the dead and unthinkingly pulled his blaster’s trigger. A flash of red fire shot from the barrel of his gun and sailed into the grey-green face of Darth Vexatus, the Great Betrayer who had brought chaos upon the Sons of Sadow until he was slain by the combined effort of the reigning Grand Master and Macron Goura.

How the Falleen was standing there in front of him, Skarr didn’t even bother to think about.

He let off another series of shots. One, two, three... until his eyes were stinging from the light.

Skarr blinked and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. When he opened them, the two Dark Jedi Masters were still standing right where they had been five seconds earlier. Caerick looked amused if anything; Vexatus looked as impassive as always. Skarr had always hated the Falleen’s lack of empathy more than anything else. It made him unreadable.

Vexatus stepped forward and raised an empty hand.

‘That will be enough of that,’ said the Falleen, rotating his hand.

Without intending it, Skarr felt his blaster-hand jerk upward, level with his own face—then, it turned, rotating horizontal, against his jaw—the Falleen made a soft upward motion—and the lieutenant felt the blaster barrel shove up inside his jaw, against the flesh of his right cheek.

‘Put the weapons down,’ Vexatus said, matter-of-factly, no anger in his voice.

Skarr told the others to fire—or, well, he tried to tell them around the gun in his mouth.

He heard one of the men behind him scream right before something metallic clattered on the floor. Then another two crashes. ‘Argh!’ one of them cried. ‘What the kriff! My gun!’

Despite the blaster lodged in his mouth, Skarr managed to shift his neck sideways enough to see his assistants favouring their hands, all six of which were smoking as if they’d recently been burnt; on the floor, he could make out their three blaster pistols were glowing red.

‘We are Dominion and Sorrow,’ the two Elders said in unison, ‘and we have a long overdue meeting with the Heir of Naga Sadow.’

The last thing the lieutenant saw was the Falleen lower his hand, then Skarr’s world vanished in a cosmic flash of red light and the Saraii crashed the floor, his blaster still in his hand.

OOC: My next post will be about Trev and Xanos having a meeting with Tron, so please, please, please don’t write about us until after I have done that, thx.

Ragnos Cathedral

Teu turned, her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the other woman. She motioned with her right hand towards a chair pushing it towards the pregnant woman. "What wrong?"

"The baby.."Kalei winced as another pain shot through her back, her hands lay over her belly.

'Of course' Teu thought to herself as she moved towards Kalei, helping her sit down. 'She's in labor...of course in my office' Teu quickly moved to lay her daughter back on the couch with Thonas.

"Im going to call the medics down here." Teu hissed slightly at the other women, her patience was very short lately. Even when dealing with her own children it became notiable. She also lashed out more at anyone. Without waiting for comfirmation from Kalei Teu pulled out her small comlink.

"Pepoi Office to Medical please send sevearal medics, we have a woman in labor" Teu growled into the device. The call closed before the other end replied. Teu looked up at Kalei, "You just dont move."

Teu moved about the room retrieving a few items she would need in case the baby came faster then she hoped. She also grabbed a giant glass of a bronze liquid for herself.

- Executive Director’s Residence
- Gilded Archipelago
- Aeotheran

Floating in a sea of pink goo, the Miraluka known as Mirado felt more vulnerable than usual. He didn’t have the luxury of being able to receive a sedative and sleep through a 72 hour dunk in bacta, what with his duties to House, Clan, and Corporation. No, he was doing 3 hour stints twice a day, and getting to the point where the taste of bacta would cling to everything he ate or drank.

Looking out, he could see the technicians milling about, managing the temperature and other sundry necessities of the healing goo. Among them were a small handful of D:SOG troops, dressed in medical technician uniforms, though the outlines of their small carbine rifles under their thin lab coats gave them away.

Mirado had another two hours and forty five minutes of soaking, and so, he relaxed himself into a hibernation trance, letting his thoughts and his senses reach out and away from his current location. As his mind wandered, he thought about Fremoc’s words, and felt a pang of one of the rarer emotions he possessed, pity. His cousin was on a collision course, at top speed, but he didn’t even know what he was going to collide with.

His ego, like so many on the Council, was blinding him. In recent times, it seemed like the patriarch of the Pepoi was destined for the greatest of things, but to those who knew him better, the obvious was perhaps more damning. He’d seen a meteoric rise, but meteors have to crash, and likely, it was coming a lot sooner than later.

Perhaps he, Mirado, just lived differently enough to see it clearly. His lifestyle, upbringing, something separated him enough to give him the clarity to see what everyone else in his family was either missing, or ignoring. Fremoc was building himself up into becoming an unstoppable force.

But then again, Michael Halcyon would be the immovable object upon which Fremoc would likely arrive upon, and most likely just short of achieving the goal of being that pure unstoppable force he was aiming for.

Still floating, still dancing a samba with his subconscious mind, Mirado pondered the situation. Methyas had given him a chance, slim as it was, to live and fight again. He was going to, and had already begun putting his plan into motion, though his sister-in-law was an unlikely variable to consider. He wouldn’t have caved on her request, but pragmatism won out in her case. More hands, trained to think before acting, was exactly what was necessary.

He would train her, of course, in the art of ending life. He doubted she had what it took to actually complete the deed, but it gave her focus, occupied her otherwise very loud mind, turning the roar of her thoughts into a calm trickle. If nothing else, it would provide her the distraction she needed right now, and hopefully allow her to compartmentalize her feelings, to deal with them as necessary, when necessary.

That was likely, he thought, where that clarity came from. It was just a matter of how he was trained. Much of his family had belonged to something greater than themselves before being discovered by the Brotherhood, trained to work in some way or another, with people like themselves. Not so in the profession of assassination and bounty hunting.

Not that Mirado much minded the loneliness. It was fairly common knowledge that he preferred to keep to himself, which carried the blessing that most people tended to forget about him. Even these technicians outside, the real ones, likely would remember this only as doing a very odd house call. The D:SOG, they knew better, but they weren’t talking. In the grand scheme of things, this was one hell of a perk.

The muted thumping on the portable tank snapped Mirado out of his thoughts. As he began paying attention to the immediate world around him, the outline of a technician pointing upwards came into clarity. Clearly, his time in the tank was at a close for the day. Another small victory in his battle against the injuries he’d sustained at Halcyon’s hand, another step closer to being back to 100%, and another chance to gather his thoughts. All in all, it had been a productive three hours.

He pushed his feet against the bottom of the tank, pulled himself out, and wrapped a towel about his waist (more for the technicians benefit than to preserve modesty that he didn’t actually possess.) and waved them on. As this was a house call, he’d use his own shower, and because of the nature of his treatment regiment, the bacta they used was substandard, so it couldn’t be saved. Apparently though, it did wonders for the water system, according to one of the techs.

Mirado muttered a simple thank you as he passed, and entered his home, though it felt wrong to actually call it that. It was a rental really, filled with furnishings that were decided upon by some designer that Dlarit kept on staff for just such reasons. Apparently, the color scheme somehow ‘worked’ with Mirado, though the designer was shocked when he found out he was designing a home for a man with no eyes.

It was funny, actually, though when his time was done in the Executive Director’s position, that same designer would likely find real work from whoever would replace the Miraluka. He didn’t think about this overlong, however. Instead, he just walked through his home, leaving bacta footprints on the stone tile floors, through his bedroom, and entered the shower in the master refresher.

It wasn’t rain, which was to him what sex was to other people (at least, he assumed, given what he’d heard about it), but the pounding of the hot water against his muscles provided a remarkable measure of relief. So much so that he just leaned against the tiled wall and rested his head against his forearm for several minutes, pondering his next move.

Sai would have planned everything to crystal detail, and trusted in his own training and experience to handle the hiccups. Fremoc (in his right mind, anyways) would have prepped for a magnificent example of overkill. Macron would have done something similar to both, but he would have tossed his initial plan the moment an opportunity to invoke even more terror presented itself. No, none of these men had the answer he needed. There was no asking himself what somebody else would do. He wasn’t any of these men. He was, however, intelligent, and motivated.

Several more minutes under the shower massager, and the idea struck him. With renewed vigor, he scrubbed his body clean, washed his hair (an onerous task indeed, as it hung near to his knees unbound and unbraided) and got himself dressed in plain clothing, taking only the time to stick a knife in his boot, and clip his lightsaber to his belt, items that were to him what undergarments were to most people, necessary, and donned without thinking.

Mirado walked into the home office, waved a hand over his holoplate projector, and began making contact throughout the corporation. Waves of information began scrolling in front his face, things that, at his whim, could be maneuvered about as necessary, and he most certainly had a whim. In short order, assets had been transferred, shifted, and otherwise tasked exactly where he wanted them.

Following that, he began the task of setting up an encrypted holo-transmission “Quaestor Shaz’air Taldrya,” he said in his usual baritone. “By now you’ll be receiving information about a shipping manifest from the Orian system. Consider this a bribe for a few moments of your time...”

Bridge Corridor Entrance, MJHC Vigilance
Boarder Line, Steraghat & Orian Systems


Lynyrd watched from a vantage point as Creon opened the door to the bridge. Before the Protector could step onto the bridge the Rollmaster grabbed him by his shoulder and forcefully shoved him against the wall.

“Who the hell are you and why are you following me?” Screamed the Templar.

Creon didn’t know what was going on. The sudden presence of someone powerful in the Force shocked the young Sadowan. His first thought was a second Jedi, one far more powerful than he was.

Creon’s hand darted for his armory lightsaber on his hip but as his hand touched the area it would of been resting Lynyrd tugged the hilt into his own hand using the Force.

When the blue blade came to life and was placed close enough to Creon’s neck that his skin began to feel the heat the Protector finally looked at the face of the Rollmaster and was shocked to see the menacing face of a fellow Zabrak.

Lynyrd yelled again at the Protector, “Who are you and why are you following me?”

“I am Protector Creon Khamier, student to Jeric Cyrin. I am.”

“That sonofabitch. He sends his rookie student to follow me. Well you fraked up in accepting this mission.

Creon grew a puzzled and shocked look on his face, “I didn’t accept any mission. I am just looking to reunite with my Master. I was abducted and thought dead. I have returned.”

Lynyrd could feel the truth in the Protector’s words and deactivated the lightsaber. He dropped it into the hand’s of the young Sadowan and closed the door to the bridge between them and the fight going on inside.

“You would simply get in the way in that room and possibly cause someones death, and not on the side we want dieing. You can reunite with your Master if he survives the fight and after I have a few words with him.”

Creon clinched the armory hilt tight in his hand as he thought about trying to get past the other Zabrak then hung it on his belt as he felt the stronger presence in the Force coming from the Templar.

~Bridge
~VAC Turmoil
~Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

The Roll Master had taken off to meet up with the rest on the MJHC Vigilance, leaving Masika to run the Turmoil. She had never run a ship before, but she was going to give it her best shot.

“Well, looks like they've got plenty of help.” She said aloud to herself more-so then to anyone else.

If nothing else, she wanted to make sure the others out there in the X-wings had some back-up. Looking out into the battle, shots being fired from all angles, she decided to join in all the fun they were having out there.

Sauntering up to the front of the bridge, speaking to the weapons crew, “Why don't we give our boys a hand out there fellas.”

The Turmoil started making way and crept up behind their fellow Dark Siders and got into position. As soon as they were ready and aimed, Masika gave the command, “Fire Ion Cannons!”

The brilliant blue lights from the Ion Cannons strode across the dark space, skimming just above the X-wings being piloted by Locke and Dragoon. They continued firing as well, with more shots then not, landing upon the Vigilance Fighter Ships. In unison, the three vessels continued, taking out all that was left other than the Vigilance herself.

“Dragoon, Locke, cease fire on the MJHC Vigilance. Our people are currently aboard. We'll fire our Ion Cannons and take out their power. Hopefully that'll give our folks a bit of an upper hand, though I highly doubt that they need it.” She sent the message to her brethren in the X-wings.

“Acknowledged.” They both came back to her, one right after the other.

“Alright, let's shut that big girl down. Fire the Ion Cannons at will.” She gave the order, shots fired, and the brilliant blue lights lit up the darkness once more.

The Zeltron watched with angst, waiting for the moment the lights when out. Within mere seconds, everything went dark and then red as the emergency generators kicked in. Oddly enough, at that very same moment, something inside of her felt off. She could no longer feel her Master, Methyas. She was unsure of where he was, but had heard that something had happened to him. The feeling wasn't that of death, more of a cut-off from all within the force.

Wherever you are Master, I hope you're alright. The Zeltron thought to herself before being brought back to the reality of the situation before her.

A brief moment of silence befell the bridge as she hoped what they had done had helped, rather than hindered, the rest of their brethren that were aboard the Vigilance.

“Well, I guess there's nothing left to do but wait and see what happens next.”

Bridge Corridor, MJHC Vigilance
Boarder Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems


Macron smiled at the Ithorian Jedi. "Not likely. I haven't yet killed one of your kind in personal combat, Hammerhead. I'm looking forward to the experience." The Warlord raised his salmon-colored blade to a Makashi on-guard position. "Bring it on."

"Makashi? That will not save you, Dark Jedi. I have fully mastered that form." With those words, the Ithorian sprung into combat. His twin azure blades spun, stabbing at Macron as Jade and Jeric rushed by them both to invade the bridge proper.

Cyrin spoke as he dashed for the closing door. "Hold him, alchemist. Jade and I will secure the bridge. With pleasure," he growled while reflecting a blaster bolt back into the trooper firing around the closing edge of the hatch. "Jade! Stop that hatch!"

The fanged woman nodded, raising her hand and ripped at the door with the full fury of the Force. It began to open once more as the two Dark Jedi rushed into the bridge.

"Your ship is lost," spat the Sadowan as he engaged in a saber lock with the Ithorian. "You should give up. You are weak." The Dun Moch slipped from his lips like poison. The Hammerhead would make a fine addition to his personal kill count. It was obvious the Jedi was a new knight and did not have the power or skill needed to survive this duel.

A mighty shove came from the Jedi as he howled in disbelief. "Nooo!" echoed the basso voice as he struck at the alchemist in rage. His anger had made him lose his calm. The shove pushed Macron back as his azure blade cut the Alchemist's left hand off. Or so he thought.

The azure blade sparked against the metal of the Armor Fist and was repelled. Macron gestured at the knight's lightsaber, drawing upon the Dark Side to nullify the power cell in the blade. The Ithorian looked in disbelief as the energy drained from his weapon, causing the blades to flicker and die out. The madman chuckled evilly and shut down his own blade. It had been some time since he had beaten anyone to death, and no time was as good as the present. he launched a furious barrage of Echani strikes at the hapless Knight.

To his credit, the Knight had a firm grasp of the Broken Fist style. A few of Macron's strikes were blocked, but the sound of breaking bones came from his body every time the Armor Fist made contact. One chopping strike hit his right leg, shattering the bones with the sound of breaking branches. Another stab from his left hand hit the Ithorian in his wide throat, crushing the cartilage and bringing a gurgling cry from both of the alien's mouths. As the Jedi sank to his knees, the madman shoved his armor clad left hand deep into the alien's chest and ripped out his still-beating heart.

The Warlord showed the pulsing organ triumphantly to the crew fighting inside the bridge before tossing it casually aside and re-igniting his lightsaber. The Ithorian hit the ground with a thud behind him. "Make no mistake. I am Sith, not some mere Dark Jedi."

Bridge Corridor Entrance, MJHC Vigilance
Boarder Line, Steraghat & Orian Systems

Being slammed against the wall was not the idea Creon wanted to have. His master was just beyond the door and this paranoid Zabrak is keeping him from his objective. The force in him was beyond Creon’s attempt to match, so fighting him would only get himself killed. He studied the Iridonian. His tattoos were black, a warrior’s mark. His tone was close but a bit stronger than Creon’s physic. Although his power in the force, Creon could feel, was allot stronger.

Creon gritted his teeth at the other Zabrak, “What words will you have with my Mater Cyrin?”

“He initiated an attack that I never authorized. In fact, this was hidden from me until recently. Your bastard of a mentor better have a good reason for this...”

Creon walked towards the other Irodonian with his arms folded, “I believe his reasons for anything will be of great need or great benefit. You should place faith in him more.”

Lynryd only laughed, “Your naive, Sadowan. You speak out of your place. Remember who the students are and who the teachers are.”

Creon frowned at his mock, “I am not speaking to you as an apprentice of the brotherhood. I am speaking to you as Zabrak, brother. Consider my master’s reason when you approach him.”

Whether there was something going on or not, what pissed him off is that nobody informed him about it at all. Lynyrd turned to Creon and opened his mouth to speak but stopped. Both Iridonians turned towards the closed bridge door once they sensed the Jedi’s death. “Let’s go rookie.”

Ragnos Cathedral

Kalei glared at Teu as she grimmaced in pain, “I may be the one in labor here, but you need to not bite people's heads off!”

She too was being short, but she had a legitimate reason to be. This wasn't the Teu that she remembered...not in the slightest. As the thoughts passed through her mind, another sharp pain went through her body. It didn't feel right...but right now she wasn't going to say anything...mostly out of fear for being snapped at again.

The medical team showed up in short order, moving Kalei quickly to a transport bed. One of the doctors stopped the team from moving the bed out after he checked Kalei, “Hold up, we won't make it back out o here before the baby comes,” he glanced at Teu, “your office just became a maternity ward.”

Teu's face was one of great displeasure as she ushered her children from the room. This wasn't something they were old enough to see. Their faces were already showing horror, mostly due to Kalei's screams. The baby was coming whether anyone was ready for it or not. More ear-piercing screams escaped from Kalei's lips as the doctor told her to push.

A Short Time Later

Kalei had nearly passed out from exhaustion. The doctor was holding a small, crying child in his arms that the others had just finished cleaning up. He hadn't been kidding when he said they wouldn't make it back before the baby was born.

After a minute of catching her breath, Kalei sat herself up with the help of Teu and took hold of her new born son. A smile crossed her face as she looked at the baby, “Sorry about taking over your office, Teu. Apparently, this little one decided he was coming quickly.” She thought for a moment and smiled again at her son.

“Your name is going to be Daylen.”

Bridge, MJHC Vigilance
Boarder Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

Captain Larin stood hostage on her own bridge. The dark jedi had killed everyone who posed a threat and now only the vessel's commanding officer and essential crew were left.

"You can't do this, the alliance and Jedi order will hunt your ragtag group down and you will pay for your crimes." Captain Larin said almost as if she was pleading for her life.

"I'd like to see them try." Jeric laughed as he raised his lightsaber and decapitated the female officer. The remaining crew watched in shock as the body of their former CO dropped to the floor. Jeric looked around at the frighten crew, at the rear of the bridge he could see Naga Sadow's Madman walking up to then. "So the ship is ours?" Macron asked Jade. She gave a simple nod then the both turn to Jeric.

"This ship is now property of the Dlarit Corporation. You will serve under my authority as a Privateer. If you value your life you will obey."

Jeric scanned the bridge to see if anyone would oppose him, none did.  "I think this would be a wise time to attack the other alliance vessel and win this battle." Macron said to Jeric still wiping off the blood on his armor.

"Indeed." Jeric paused and look to the aft right corner of the bridge. "Tactical have all weapons emplacements open fire on the other heavy cruiser."

The Sub-Lieutenant hesitated for a moment until Jade gave him a quick jolt thru the force. "Uh yes Sir, right away." 

"Hesitation will coast you next time." Jeric said with a stern eye on the tactical officer. But before the officer could punch in the commands to open fire on the other alliance vessel the Bridge doors were thrown open by the force. The three dark Jedi immediately turn to face then cause of this interruption. The Chief Personnel Officer came marching in with heavy feet. In his wake was a face Jeric hadn't seen in almost two months. 

"Belay that order." The Obelisk Templar barked as he passed by the tactical station. Creon picked up the speed and passed by Lynyrd to take his place at his masters side. With a swift bow Jeric waved his apprentice off to his side. 

"What is the meaning of this Templar!"

"Watch your tone with me Senior Command, remember I have authority over you." Lynyrd snapped. 

"And I will rip your limbs off one by one unless you give me an explanation!" Jeric spat right back. 

Everyone could feel the tension rising abroad the MJHC Vigilance. Why was a senior officer of the corporation stoping a potential win against the alliance and Jedi? That's was the question on everyone's mind.

L'eonheart Residence, Pepoi Compound
Outskirts of Mucenic, Tarthos

Naomi shuffled about her home with her mind distracted; she had knowingly offered herself to mentor under an assassin. She was a surgeon with Dlarit, a doctor of medicine who had sworn to not harm but heal. The thought should have shaken her to her core, but oddly she felt at peace. Maybe it was working for the Corporation, knowing the truth behind their carefully veiled identity. Maybe it was simply something had just stapped within the woman. Or perhaps, just maybe...it was a need to protect her family.

She paused on that thought. Methyas had risked his life time and again to protect their family but now he was the one in danger, the one who was in need of assistance. If he had been in some sort of trauma there wouldn't be any discussion, her expertise would be called upon immediately. But he was in the clutches of this man...Michael Halcyon. The name alone was enough to infuriate her as she moved through the halls of their litle home.

No, she had turned to Mirado's help because she had needed to help. Again she paused, taking a glance into her own little office full of her various supplies. It was then something caught her eye, something that caused her to move quickly to take a closer look. Scooping the little vial into her hand, Naomi swiftly read the label. A smile crossed her face, she knew every application of this little vial...where it would heal and when it would harm. What were its effects upon a being's system? Could it cause distress if applied in too large or small of a dose?

The woman giggled to herself, more of a morbid sense of humour than anything. She would get the physical training she required from Mirado to become a skilled assassin, but her tools were here before her. Vials of different chemicals, medicines...would be her poisons.

A ringing from Methyas' office awoke her from her thoughts, her internal revelry. His holoplate had an incoming message, an odd circumstance considering her husband's situation. Then it dawned upon her, no-one in the Corporation had been made aware of what had happened...except, well, his family. And if they did learn the truth, someone would replace him...

She moved quickly, activating the transmission swiftly, the figure on the other end appearing with a look of shock on his face, "Oh, I wasn't expecting...could I speak with the Vice-President, Dr. L'eonheart?"

The Corporate aide seemed jumpy as he glanced about, Naomi responding swiftly, "My husband is currently indisposed. He's requested that I act as his proxy until he feels fit to return to duty."

The man seemed uncertain of how to continue, his movements still rather uncertain, "Alright, we don't have the time. I cannot get a hold of President Keibatsu, so you'll have to suffice as his proxy."

A smile crossed Naomi's face as the man continued, "We're receiving surface reports from Sepros that the Palace is under seige from an Emperor's Hammer Star Dreadnaught. There were no reports from any of our sensors or other units but Admiral Simonetti is aboard the Final Way in lower atmosphere investigating. We wanted to know how we should respond."

Naomi took a moment to think it through before responding, "Simonetti's certain to have a grasp on things. Move a fleet in to support if he requests it, otherwise ensure that all surface assets are on alert until Simonetti or a member of the Board says otherwise."

The aide seemed to shuffle again, something was under his skin, but he responded with his same tone of voice as before, "Very well, ma'am. Our second issue is...more complex. We have our Legate with the Galactic Alliance is reporting that a pair of their vessels have reported being attacked on the edge of our system and are issuing a general distress signal. They've requested that we assist their vessels until one of their own fleets can arrive in system."

The man's frantic behaviour spoke that there was more than an issue with a GA Fleet under attack on the edge of the system, Naomi speaking quickly with a frustrated tone, "Is there more?"

"Yes ma'am. Two of our ships, the Despot and Turmoil were known to be commencing some manuevers in the reported region and had been requisitioned at the behest of Executive Director L'eonheart. They are not responding to our attempts to establish communication." He paused for a second as he grabbed some sort of glass from outside the projection and downed it in a swift gulp.

"Is that it?"

"No ma'am. The Alliance has informed us that there was a Jedi escort aboard."

The woman's eyes widened further than she could have thought, "Can you repeat that?"

"There was a Jedi escort...we need to..."

Naomi didn't let him finish, barking out her command as swiftly as possible, "Get a hold of the Executive Directors, we need to get to those ships now! Keep trying to open a channel with those Captains and see about getting more assets out there. Dlarit has a good standing with the Alliance and we do not want to see it tarnished by someone who couldn't keep their weapon's holstered."

The man nodded as she spoke, nearly a deep bow as the sounds of other Corporate aides began milling about behind him, "It will be done, ma'am. Wish the Vice-President the best for me..."

He was about to signal for the transmission to end when Naomi barked out one last phrase as she started to leave the office, "Let Director L'eonheart know I'll meet him aboard the Marakith before he leaves."

Ragnos Cathedral
Quaestors Office

Teu leaned back in her chair her hand covered her eyes slightly as she let out a shaky breath. A red light flashed on her desk alerting her to a new incoming message.

"What is it now?" Teu growled out as she leaned over and hit the accept button.

A holofeed sat on her desk, she noted that the man seemed to be uneasy. She smirked, as the Aide began to speak.

"Executive Director Pepoi, we have a bit of a problem." The man fidgeted slightly in his seat. "It would be wise if you were to head to the Turmoil and Despot."

"Fill me in, now." Teu glared.

"Pair of Galactic Alliance ships has issued a distress call asking for our assistance in an attack against them. The Turmoil and Viglance were last reported in that area..."

Teu cut into the Aides explanation. "Very well. I will be heading out to the Turmoil."

Teu cut the communication. She stood quickly; pressing a button on her belt a droid entered the room. "Yes Mistress Pepoi?"

A droid quickly came to her. “Nanny droid, I have business to take care of. You can take the children back to the Compound or back to my apartment."

"Yes mistress. Any idea on when you shall return?" The droid photosensors looked at the Archpriest intently.

"When this business is taken care of." Teu growled out. She moved to the door of her office. She grabbed her black cloak throwing it on she moved swiftly down out towards the hanger.

She grabbed her commlink, "Get me a ship ready to go. I have business to take care of."

"Yes ma'am" a shaky voice replied.

Teu quickly strode into the hanger and up the ramp of the ship, she quickly hit the button bringing the ramp up. "Get us out of here Captain. Take me to the Turmoil."


En route Turmoil

"Flag the bridge of the Turmoil. I want to speak to whoever's in charge." Teu growled at the captain. "Now."

"Yes ma'am." The captain nodded to his co-pilot. "VAC Turmoil, this is the Executive Director Pepoi’s shuttle."

"This is Commander Masika Oshairana" A voice replied back.

Teu glared for a moment. "Commander, my shuttle is coming aboard. I will be in the bridge shortly. "

"Yes Ma'am. Turmoil out." the communication was closed between ships.

"Captain get us aboard." Teu seethed. Teu stood, gathering her cloak about her she pulled off her personal commlink. She had one more call to make. Originally she was going to call him to Ragnos Cathedral, however plans changed.

A males voice answered the commlink. "Senior Commander Jeric Cyrin speaking."

"Exuctive Director Teu Pepoi, meet me in the bridge of the Turmoil as soon as you can." Teu growled. Her usual calm demeanor slipped, she was livid at the turn of events that conspired here. She was well aware of what the true intention of this group was. This was not it.

"Yes ma'am." The call closed between the two just as the ship touched down in the Turmoil’s hanger.


Turmoil
Bridge

Teu strolled through the doors, her cloak snapped around her ankles like a snake. She took one quick glance around the ship, her eyes found Masika.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Quaestor barked out. "Attacking Galactic Alliance ships?"

Lynyrd's face curled at the words of the Sith and drew out his saber, the emerald blade firing to life with an eerie hiss. Jeric placed his hand on the hilt at his side and so did his apprentice. Seeing this placed a cold smirk across the Rollmaster's face.

"You dare draw blades with your superior? Your power means nothing in my presence. One word is all it would take to have you cut in half."

Jeric growled in anger, "You couldn't get the authority."

The comment was met with a roar from the Templar's mouth, "I am the authority!"

The two Sadowans eyes were locked and nobody in the room dared to make a noise. That is except the giggles coming from the mad alchemist.

"You have placed this corporation at great risk by carrying out this attack. Furthermore, you lied to me. LIED! TO ME!!!"

More and more anger built in the Templar's body and the others around were feeling it about to reach the boiling point.

"If you ever lie to me again in a situation that places this corporation in any danger I will see to it that your bleached skull becomes a decoration on my desk. Is that understood?"

Bridge, MJHC Vigilance
Boarder Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

"No I don't think you said that clear enough....Templar." Jeric finally detached the hilt from his side and lowed his arm down. Creon copied his master, while Macron and Jade slowly moved to one side of the bridge.

"I don't recognized your authority over me. You only have power over the Board of Directors. Your authority lies in making our civilian populous happy." Jeric paused and took a few steps forward. Lynyrd didn't move from his position instead he raised his blade so Jeric couldn't move any closer.

"Also I didn't lie to you, I said the Corporation issued classified orders to me and me only. So technically this mission never happen, there are no records. So, whether or not the corporation actually issued those order is the question and you'll never find out." Jeric said with a smirk on his face. He could see some doubt begin to build in Lynyrd. 

"Than how do you fracking explain this." The Obelisk Templar gestured to the dead alliance captain and the hostage crew members. 

"You have no argument against my master. He was following secret orders and instead was attacked by the alliance. If anything he did the right thing." Creon blurted out. Jeric shut his apprentice up with a simple wave.

"Do you not remember..." Jeric was cut off by an incoming transmission on his personal comlink. 

"Senior Command Cyrin speaking." Jeric answered keeping an eye on the so called authority that stood before him. 

No one could hear what was being said thru Jeric's ear piece. Both Lynyrd and Creon could see a shift in Jeric's attitude. 

"Yes ma'am." Jeric said thru the comlink as he clipped his hilt back onto his hip. Without saying a word Jeric began moving around Lynyrd towards the exit, Creon right on his tail.

"Where in the hell do you think your going, I'm not done with you." Lynyrd said in a very irritated tone as he finally deactivated his saber.

"You wanna fix the mess I made, then fix it." Jeric glanced over to Macron and Jade. "Macron, it seems I need a ride to the Turmoil." 

Macron just nodded and the four dark Jedi left the bridge leaving the Chief Personal Officer alone aboard an alliance vessel. 

~Bridge
~VAC Turmoil

“VAC Turmoil, this is the Executive Director Pepoi’s shuttle."

"This is Commander Masika Oshairana", the Zeltron replied.

"Commander, my shuttle is coming aboard. I will be in the bridge shortly. " came the response from Executive Director Teu Pepoi.

Although she hadn't had much communication with Teu, from what she had come to know of her, she didn't sound much like herself, and this made Masika weary and very nervous to say the least.

"Yes Ma'am. Turmoil out." was all Masika said, and the communication was closed between them.

Masika paced the bridge of the Turmoil, awaiting Teu's arrival. She pondered back and forth in her mind what reason there could be for her to show up so suddenly. One thought was if something had happened to her Master Methyas. Though she had already felt that something had, she didn't think it was too serious. Yet, she thought she may have been mistaken.

Would such a visit be made to an apprentice? She thought to herself. No, that can't be it, there has to be another reason.

As if something had bitten her, with a start, the very thing that she had feared came across her thoughts. Throughout this entire mission, the Huntress knew something didn't smell right, something felt off. However, she could never quite put her finger on what exactly, and went on with the mission. She had a gut feeling that Jeric might not have been entirely truthful with Lynyrd and herself when relaying the information of his orders for this mission. Yet she was never able to truly tell one way or the other.

Masika continued pacing back and forth on the bridge. Her fists were now clenched, her arms stiff at her sides. All the while, her forearms brushing against the hilt of her saber as she paced, feeling the anger and betrayal swell up inside her, she wanted to ignite it and dismember something, but fought against it.

How could I have not seen it! How could I have been such a fool. She snarled inside her head.

She was stopped short and brought back to the present with a startle, as the Executive Director came through the doors and onto the bridge. The Huntress immediately unclenched her fists at the site of her, and calmed herself enough to speak calmly.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Quaestor barked out. "Attacking Galactic Alliance ships?"

If there was ever a time the Zeltron was intimidated, this was absolutely one of those times.

“Ma'am, we were given Corporation issued classified orders through Senior Commander Jeric Cyrin.” She retorted with as steady a tone as she could muster.

While on one hand, she was angry for possibly being lied to, and the other, worried and wondering of what Teu's next move might be.

“There were no such orders given.” Teu educated the acting Commander, confirming what she had so recently deciphered.

“He should be en route here now. I will deal with him soon enough.” Teu snarled with an anger in her eyes that rivaled a thousand suns.

Hangar Bay, VAC Turmoil,
Stereghat & Orian Systems

Creon quickly followed behind his master, with a short smirk of pride with his teacher. His loyalty was not misplaced; the little doubt from the confusion with Lynryd was completely diminished. He looked over at Jeric, his stance was formal. Whom he was meeting must have been important, so Creon shaped up the same when the ship had docked on the Turmoil hangar.

“My lord, my curiosity presses my mind. My kidnappers, who were they and why me? For what purpose was my immediate summon? And what is the full scale of this secret mission?” Creon asked while walking alongside Jeric and Macron.

“All will be revealed after we are finished here. For now, just remain at my side and keep silent,” he said with a professional motive tone. The Zabrak could tell Jeric had changed during his absence. He gave the feeling of being more powerful. Not in raw physical power, but in control over more things than one. This was a lot more dangerous than the previous Jeric that broke Creon out of solitary confinement. Creon liked that.

When the door opened to the bridge of the turmoil, two women were awaiting their arrival. A human who had her arms folded staring straight at Jeric. Who was beside her though, made the Zabrak hybrid have a double-take.

Creon had never been attracted to anyone since his earlier years on iridonia. Of course Zeltron’s were supposedly attractive naturally, but she was gorgeous. But he’d rather not to try and get himself made a mockery during a mission with Jeric by being smitten with her. He did however, take the hood off his cloak and pushed the dark cape back. His warrior tattoos marked on his physic was something he was proud of, whether anyone else cared or not.

Creon knew Jeric noticed by the annoyed roll of his eyes before addressing Teu. “I’m guessing you’re just as unaware and angered as that barbaric Zabrak.”

‘Thanks…’ Creon thought in sarcasm at the comment. Even though he was addressing Lynyrd, he was still a brother Iridonian whether he liked it or not.

Bridge, VAC Turmoil,
Stereghat & Orian Systems

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may interject please before you have your “discussion”, hehe,” giggled Macron as the group faced off. He withdrew the former Jedi’s dual-bladed lightsaber from a clip on the side of his armor. The tattooed madman’s face contorted in amusement. “This is the weapon of an experienced Knight, or Master. Yet the Ithorian I fought was easy prey. That’s right, it was I who killed him.”

Jade and Jeric looked at each other knowingly as Creon watched. Teu and Masika were slightly taken aback.

“This could have serious repercussions Macron Sadow. Go on, Marshal Commander,” said Teu crisply. “Explain yourself please.”

“The Jedi I faced, and I use that term loosely, was not a Jedi. He had some training in the Force and lightsaber use, but it was minimal at best. He faced me using only Makashi which is not suitable for this weapon.” The mad Sith tossed the blade up and down in his palm like a child’s ball. “And he fell easily to the Dun Moch and lost his center quickly. He was unable to stop or defend against my draining attack on his blade power cell. And at the end, the Fear effect worked marvelously on him as I ripped out his heart.”

“Not a Jedi?” asked Masika as Teu considered the information. “That’s contrary to Teu’s intel.”

Jade smirked. “His training was sorely lacking. Hardly a match even for a Brotherhood Journeyman of the top tiers. It was obviously a plant- and the whole thing may have been a set-up.”

“Indeed,” replied the madman as Jeric nodded. Macron continued. “If I were you, I’d kill every last sentient on both vessels, space their bodies into this system’s suns, erase all recordings, loot all valuables and then fire both vessels on each other. I’d make it appear to be a pirate attack and mutiny. And then take credit for the ‘rescue’ of said vessels. That would turn this little fiasco into a positive benefit to the Corporation.”

“Sick bastard,” muttered Teu. “Still, you have a point. That is a truly Sith way to consider the situation.”

“Thank you, madame,” replied the alchemist as he tossed the weapon at Teu's feet calmly. “With that, Jade and I will take our leave and let you have a fun discussion with Jeric, hehe.” Both Dark Jedi turned to leave. As they walked away, Macron left one final comment. “Nice tattoos Creon. If you ever want the real thing, come see me.”

Gilded Archipelago
Aeotheran

There was a rustling of cloaks as a faint popping sound next to him. The second was dressed in fairer robes than his master as he actually cared about his appearance.

"I see you're liking the technique I taught you."

"Of course my lord, most of the techniques you teach me are fun to use."

He grinned as he looked over the Gilded Archipelago from the top of a nearby skyscraper. The Praetor knew what his cousin was going through, and could feel the anger radiating from him.

"Shall I alert the members of the Guard?"

"No, this will be a family affair. Mirado thinks the council is arrogant and cocky. I wish he didn't think that way as I am a member of it."

"He doesn't want to see you dead because of something foolish, cousin."

The Fist of the Brotherhood looked at the man through the corner of his eye. "I've been threatened by death for years. Caerick said I'd see my family's death, Thomas' death, your death. It doesn't scare me now."

"What are your orders?"

"Be ready. We're going to be going after Methyas soon." With that, the Fist stepped forward and both men disappeared.

Bridge, VAC Turmoil
Boarder Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

Macron and Jade cleared the bridge and now only Teu, Masika, Jeric and Creon we left among the scurrying crew members abroad the Turmoil. Even though one alliance ship was out of commission the battle was still very heated.

Jeric was a bit confused by Macron's comments, was it really a set up, had revenge blinded Jeric enough he didn't realize it as well. Maybe Macron was coving his ass, but that's not like the Madman. Teu finally broke the momentary silence. 

"Senior Command we need to speak privately." She hissed then turned and swiftly made her way into the bridge's planning chamber. 

"Stay here and keep an eye on that Zeltron." Jeric ordered his apprentice.

"With pleasure Master." Creon said with a grin as Jeric marched off towards the planning chamber.

The door shut behind Jeric and he could hear the blast doors lock. "What is the exact reason for this meaning Executive Director?" 

"Take a seat Senior Commander." Teu ordered sternly.

Jeric sat at the head seat of the table, putting his left leg over the arm rest and slouching back a bit. 

"Comfortable?" Teu asked sarcastically. Jeric didn't respond instead he just stared down the Krath. "Do you believe it was a set-up or was it just the doing of a vengeful sith attacking the first ships he came across." Teu said referring to the suspensions everyone had of Jeric.

"A few high people including the Chief Personnel Officer believe it was an unprovoked attack on the alliance. Like you knew they were gonna be here and knew they would prompt an attack.  Explain."

"I was given solid intel by Executive
Director L'eonheart that a supply convoy for one of the Organization's Councilors was passing thru a small corner of our system." Jeric paused to make sure Teu was following. "I was given authority to intercept and raid the convoy for valuables and supply's the corporation needed. I'll admit, anything the corporation didn't want I would have kept for myself." Jeric said with a greedy smirk.

Naturally anything your client doesn't want is yours if you choose to drain your target dry of supplies." Teu agreed with Jeric on that point.

"However I believe this Couniclor, a Pirate Lord named Jalian, knew we where coming and set us up. Right as we arrived two alliance vessels dropped out of hyperspace. Claiming we were pirates, their Captain ordered us to stand down and be boarded." Jeric continued to explain his twisted point of view. Teu nodded then added her assumption. 

"And so you took that as a threat and attack." 

"Correct." Jeric said. "I also agree with Macron's suggestion on how to turn this situation in our favor."

Teu paced around thinking over the situation over I her head. She finally sat down and pressed a button on the table. "Did you get all of that Doctor L'eonheart?" 

"I did, thank you Lady Pepoi. Our agent inside the alliance did mention that the two ships dispatch to respond to suspected piracy were ambushed before they made it to their destination." The statement from Vice-President L'eonheart's wife shocked both Jeric and Teu. 

"The organization ma'am." Jeric stated.

"We suspect they set us both us and used the alliance ship to try and strike a blow to the Corporation. Jeric I want you personal to carry out the rest of this mission, do what Macron suggested. Do not fail the Corporation Senior Director." With that the transmission was cut. Jeric look confused for a second then turn to Teu. 

"She meant Senior Commander correct?" 

Teu smiled then stood up. "Nope, you are now my Senior Director, congrats. When we are finished here you will be returning home with me to Marka Ragnos."

Jeric stood, a grin drawn across his face. "Take everything, give nothing back."

Aeotheran
Seng Karash
Resettlement Center

The streets of the makeshift refugee camp, once swollen with the dregs of humanity - and inhumanity - found themselves strangely quiet, a marked difference from the ever-present din that had once buffeted the lone being’s senses when he first set foot here months ago. The alliance between Naga Sadow and Taldryan had proven quite beneficial to this area, and as the man made his customary circuit around and through the shanty-town, he was thankful that even in this Ferran-forsaken corner of the omniverse, there were still small miracles that one could count on.

He would have smiled, had he been capable. Still, knowing that the refugees that had inundated the area were now, for the most part, gainfully employed and that the local population was now recovering as those same refugees slowly, but surely, headed off-world gave him small comfort.

The tall figure, draped as he was in tatters and rags that were a far cry from his once crisp and regal uniforms, still cut an impressive silhouette while he strolled along the dirty and trash-strewn streets. The crackle of a small fire was punctuated by the tinny clattering of dinged cookware, catching his attention. A woman and her child smiled through the grime coating their faces at him; his own filthy visage remained impassive, yet he afforded them a curt nod. He knew them, but not their names. He himself had gone by many names even before he had taken up residency in Tent City, but his actions had the indigents calling him ‘Judge’, amongst other things. True names were a mystery to all who remained here, as anonymity was one of the few precious commodities that couldn’t be traded and was rarely relinquished without a fight.

In truth, many names escaped him now; names from his past, for beings he may have once considered important. They plagued his dreams, echoing with the simplicity of easier times, when he was considered one of the most successful men in his erstwhile brotherhood.

He was successful in rallying varied beings and species, some more powerful than even he, under a singular banner, a unifying ideal. Then, he had marshaled that unity to display its rising dominance in a friendly contest amongst others like them. They were success embodied, and their promise was uncapped. In what should have been the happiest time of his storied life, he simply walked away. After all, the man was a warrior, pure and simple. Not a politician, and even less an administrator. An attack on one of his own had been the impetus, and the subsequent preemptive admonishment by his own family had been the final straw: “Do nothing,” intoned the voice of whom he’d considered, much like himself, the paragon of his forebears.

He was tired of feeling useless, of impotence in the face of threats. He was sick of pageantry for pageantry’s sake. He was finished with watching others simply preach the doctrine, while he struggled to live it. And so, he’d handed over the reins.

Easily.

Without regret.

He’d forwarded a nondescript package to his former second containing the access codes to the Sadowan security suite, along with a simple missive.

“No more.”

To the man’s observation, his home hadn’t suffered with his departure, as the days afterward hadn’t seen any violent upheavals, nor had the Skyhook fallen from the sky. Evidently Methyas, or those representing him, instantly knew what had happened, and did as the note’s sender would’ve expected: they got to work.

A rivulet of relief ran through the man’s mind, and he was proud of the strength those who’d replaced him had shown. He had displayed more than his share of his own, whether ensuring the band of thugs who’d first accosted him in his first week here never laid eyes, much less hands, upon him ever again, or that the refugees outbound to Taldryan were never mistreated by D:SOG troops or Taldryan envoys. His justice was swift; the punishment, exacting. Before long, he could walk freely anywhere here, amongst any species. The woman and her child were a testament to his influence, as indicated by their eagerly offered meager ration to him. His nod indicated acknowledgement, but not acceptance. It was how he preferred it. He was not a man of charity, neither giving nor taking, and just as well, as his thoughts held room for little else.

The man stood unflinchingly as a fetid wind, ripe with offal had swept down the makeshift alley adjacent to the pair at the cookfire and caressed his senses in its oily grip. Absently he was minded of the three remaining pieces of technology that he’d taken with him, two of which had been his workman’s tools in enforcing his order here in Tent City. They were joined at their bases to form a slender metallic cylinder a little more than a meter long; too short to be considered a walking aid, but it was ever-present nonetheless, and was as much a trademark of the man as was his particular hairstyle. Designed to separate into two batons at the man’s whim, his ‘Rod of Correction’ was a link to his other life, and woe betide the being who initiated the circumstance that demanded the cylinder’s halving, and subsequently, the revelation of their true natures.

The last tech-item was the terminus of a lifeline of sorts, should he ever be needed. The communicator was one of four, all identical save in one respect: his could receive, the others could only send. It was for the best, he’d decided. He hadn’t checked it as often as he had when he first came here, and his mind, until recent days, had eventually let go of the notion that it would activate.

There were some in that time before that he’d grown close to, and not surprisingly, they followed his own code, forged in combat, tempered in blood. They’d either fought with him, or had, after a fashion, bested him, and with his sensibilities no longer burdened by the trappings of middle-management, the clarity that infused his entire being had given him reason to send those aforementioned communicators to far-flung corners of the galaxy.

The Madman.

The Mandalore.

The Samurai.

One of those three would eventually call. The Dark Side, in the midst of his martial meditations, told him so. Whether he would answer was an entirely different matter.

Just as the matter of the waves of malice accompanying the aforementioned ill-wind down the alley was different. The man keened his head in the alley’s direction, the better to receive the portent wafting towards him. It was pungent, spicy…spiked with fear and resolve. No, this was no newcomer to the City, having heard of him and eager to test his mettle and make a name, of sorts, here amongst the filth at his expense.

This was someone he’d met before. His muscles flexed in anticipation.

The humanoid lumbered from the alleyway’s shadows, his face still sporting the purple blotches he’d presumably come to avenge from an earlier discussion they’d held, one entailing the bruised one’s views towards visiting wholesale chaos upon the refugees as they waited for transport…and his own insistence that the activities cease. In the end, he’d been convincing. Or so he thought.

The approaching offender also stank of confidence, and a quick perusal of the humanoid gleaned the presence of a blaster jammed into the humanoid’s belt just as his eyes caught the cookfire’s glint in the durasteel of a makeshift shiv in its right hand.

The man sighed. The slow to learn were also the most dangerous, but there was little to fear here. Not for this man. The humanoid continued to approach him, and he languidly began to twirl the cylinder in his hand. A slight limp in its left leg betrayed the humanoid’s unwillingness to let patience override its need to heal, and the man knew all that he needed to at that point.

A shuffling behind the man told him the pair was seeking shelter within their tent. Yes, all concerned knew that the fight was over before it had even begun.

All, excepting the humanoid. Its mouth opened, spewing vitriol, promising vengeance, saying things would be different now and other such pronouncements of the humanoid’s false bravado. The man heard none of it. More accurately, he listened to none of it. In his mind, his path was clear, and there was no need to frame it with the emptiness of words.

A flourish of the cylinder and a quick twist of the wrist halved it, and the humanoid moved with a speed belaying its size and speaking to its determination. The man held his ground, moving only when the distance between them was too intimate to allow nothing but contact. The batons flashed; two sharp cracks and a bellow of pain punctuated with the sibilance of durasteel hitting the ground indicated a shattered hand, a ruined knee, and a forgotten blade. The humanoid hissed as it disengaged the man, spittle flecking the latter’s ragged clothing to blend in with the rest of the dirt and grime coating it. One hand dangled, hooked as it was in an arthritic claw while the other stole towards the blaster’s hilt. The man uttered a singular pronouncement as he rejoined his batons: “Don’t.”

The humanoid’s brain registered the Basic of the man’s speech, but its own pride powered his remaining good hand towards the blaster. The man strode forward, not hurriedly, but not exactly in a relaxed manner, either. The humanoid could scarcely believe its luck as the man drew within range.

The blaster freed itself from the humanoid’s belt, and began to arc upward as the humanoid attempted to draw a bead on the one that had wounded it. The movement never had a chance to terminate, as midway up, the blaster flew from its owner’s hand and into the man’s. It was smooth, liquid, almost beautiful. The man never broke stride as the blaster barked once, and then clattered on the ground as the man discarded it, just as one would discard a sandwich wrapper. The humanoid sank to its knees, a smoldering hole in its belly, just as the man walked past him. It felt a sun-darkened hand clasp it on the shoulder, almost as if to say ‘well done’, then its eyes went dark as it breathed its last.

VAC Turmoil

Teu glared at the speaker phone, her eyes flared slightly. As she digested what Doctor L'eonheart had just said, then she remembered what she was told shortly before her arrival aboard the ship.

"You really created a damn mess you know that. Did you forget about or alliance with the Galactic Alliance? Your attack on these vessels could be traced back to us." Teu hissed furiously. "Do you realize what problem that could create for us? I don’t care if those Jedi aboard the ship weren’t really Jedi, they could have been droids for all I care."

Teu glared hard at her new Aedile. He sat back a slight smirk on his face.
"You are not to do as Macron orders. Before you do anything you will run it by me. You are not to move a toe without speaking to me about it. Doctor L'eonheart is a civilian proxy while Vice President L'eonheart is indisposed, she is not suitable to give those orders she just gave."

Jeric leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes watched Teu slightly. He's not had many run ins with Teu. “My orders were given to me by Executive Director L'eoheart."

"I am very well aware of where your orders derived from. However I can be one hundred percent sure that those orders did not include attacking an allies ship." Teu hissed at the man, her patience waning slightly. "Do you understand what I’m saying?"

"Yes Lady Pepoi." Jeric hissed back, seething.

"Another thing. I do not like to be called Lady Pepoi. Teu or Executive Director will work." Teu growled before leaving a stunned Jeric to digest what was just shoved down his throat. Teu moved towards where Masika and Creon were standing, she flicked her wrist. The lightsaber hilt flew into her hand where she tucked it into her belt.

"Masika. A word if you don’t mind." Teu glared slightly at Creon. "Follow me for a moment."

Teu moved away from Jeric student, she did not trust either men yet. Once out of the man’s ear shot she looked at the Zeltron. "I have an offer for you. It’s a onetime deal. You either take it now or its gone."

"Ok, what is it." Masika looked at the other woman, she noted that her anger had not subsided; in fact it seemed to be worse.

"I would like you to return to Tarthos and take charge of the Raptors battle team." Teu looked over to where Jeric was coming out of the planning room. "What do you say?"

"I'll take it." Masika nodded once.

"Good. Wrap up any business you have here then report to Tarthos." Teu smiled for the first time since boarding the Turmoil. "I need to go."

Teu turned and moved towards the exit. She turned around as if she forgot something. "Oh Jeric do not blow up those ships."

Teu smirked and headed back towards her ship. She had other business to attend too.

Bridge, VAC Turmoil,
Stereghat & Orian Systems

There was a vast silence within the bridge when Teu and the Zeltron girl left. The Zabrak took a short breath and looked around. Navy officials sat at the controls, some were speaking to another or through holograms, and some were just pressing buttons at their control desk. After a moment he saw Teu again brush past him across the bridge, her glare into Creon’s eyes showed her anger and a warning. Creon didn’t return the look; he simply ignored it as she departed.

Shortly after the Zeltron girl came back, rather than getting another glare, she looked somewhat happy. She also looked like she was ready to leave.

“Plan on going somewhere?” Creon had to ask.

“What if I am?”

“Just curious; my master did say for me to keep an eye on you.” He said with a short smile.

“Funny” she replied. There was a short pause. She approached him with a curious look on her face and her arms folded. “You look different from most of the spike heads I’ve seen.”

“I am a Zabrak, raised in the homeland of Iridonia.” Creon responded.

“But I’ve never seen white tattoos before, and you look almost human in a way.”

Creon let a drawn out sigh, “Your whit is strong. My father was a human, and the color of my markings is rare. They represent the armor my father and his army wore then they sent me to Iridonia as a baby. I do not know of any others who carry the same shade; it makes me feel different from my brothers.”

A small chill ran down his back when she came up closer to him, “What’s your name sugar, I’m Masika Oshiarana: childhood runaway, professional pickpocket, Con-artist” she said.

“Creon Khamier: Zabrak warrior, escaped convict, murderer…”

That description gave a small surprise in her face, “I think I like sugar better.”

There was another short pause. They both tried to hold back from laughing, but failed eventually.

Masika Oshairana, so that was her name. She was an odd one, but not in a bad way. Creon was actually feeling more comfortable with her than most. She acted casual and didn’t put on a fake polite persona to hide her true personality. Creon liked that.

She eyed his tattoos once again, running her eyes from up to down. Creon took a long breathe when she traced her finger along the tattoos on his abs, “Pretty neat, seems you like to show them off if you run around without a shirt.”

“We are proud of the tattoos we receive on our rights of passage; it defines us and shapes us. I am far from hiding them.”

“Interesting…” she answered.

Escort to VAC Despot
Border Line, Stereghat & Orian Systems

With the battle ended, Locke founded himself slipping into the standard patrol vectors that had been drilled into him during his time with the Alliance. Flying at half-speed, he flew a circular path around the Despot. Though one of the Alliance cruisers still survived, at this point, with the enemy starfighters gone, it was up to the capital ships to finish the fight. Locke would probably just get in the way, if not get himself killed.

With nothing else to do, his thoughts drifted back to the battle. He had destroyed many enemy starfighters and killed many pilots of the Galactic Alliance. He had killed those he had once served alongside with. That left a cold, tight feeling in his stomach, but there was no way to go back now. What was done had been done. That was another thing he had always been told serving the Alliance. "We can't go back and do things differently, and if we worry about them forever we'll be sitting ducks for the Vong," Locke quoted to himself quietly. He had always wondered what a duck was. Once, he had asked a fellow pilot, who had mentioned they were flying animals from Naboo. He would have liked to see that, someday.

Maybe he would, if he wasn't being hunted by the Alliance. No; there was no way they knew he had been here or done the things he did, but he wasn't sure he could face them again, if it came to that. Unfamiliar feelings raged within Locke. Anger; at himself and the Dark Brotherhood for putting him in this position, sadness, for those he had killed, a feeling of guilt for what he had done. It made him feel like a traitor. He had always been so calm. The war had hammered most emotion out of Locke, aside from the guilt he felt when his fellow pilots died and he survived, but those walls seemed to be crumbling. If he was going to learn the Force, he'd need to hold onto his emotions. An emotional wreck wasn't how Locke pictured a Dark Jedi.

Then again, he wondered, aside from to understand his abilities, why was he here? Locke wanted to learn more about the Force, and it was good to be among others like himself, but here he had no goals. In the war, it had always been to defeat the Vong, save the innocents, and make it home in one piece, day after day. He had never had time to think of the bigger picture, and liked it that way. At the time, the military had seemed like a life-long career in the making, but then, with the wars close, he had found himself dismissed along with thousands of others the fledgling Galactic Alliance could no longer support. With the Dark Brotherhood, Locke could still fight, but now he had time to think, and wasn't sure what his purpose in life was.

He had always desired knowledge. Upon going from a Bakuran rural farmer to a soldier all over the galaxy, Locke had discovered there was much more to the universe than he thought, and he had decided to learn all he could about it. In every job he could, with every spare moment, he had learned more. It was not enough to simply fly a starfighter and understand it and the enemy; he had to learn as much as possible about every ship in the battle. His superiors had noticed and said that one day that would help him if it came to commanding ships, but Locke had laughed it off. He had never desired more than to be pointed in a direction and given his orders; it was someone else's job to decide where to go or why.

Even so, he had continued. In those small hours between missions, he had always had a datapad in his bunk. In times technology wasn't allowed during off hours, Locke had even found the occasional book, and found himself more than once explaining what a book was to a curious fellow soldier.

Locke laughed softly, and cut off abruptly as the message indicator began blinking on his HUD. He turned it on, and his smile faded. The holographic head that appeared looked vaguely familiar, one Locke had seen once on Tarthos, but Locke couldn't place the name.

"Locke Sonjie. I believe we have met once before. I am Mirado Pepoi L'eonheart, Quaestor of House Shar Dakhan. By my authority, you are summoned at once to Aeotheran. Do not hesitate in your coming. This overrides any previous orders you may have been given."

Flickering, the message winked out as abruptly. Mirado Pepoi? That was not the name Locke had remembered, but still intriguing. He wondered if this Mirado was a relative of Teu, and what he could possible want with Locke. Regardless of his thoughts, orders were orders, so Locke immediately oriented his X-Wing for hyperspace travel and closed the S-foils. Transmitting one short message to the Despot to say he had orders to leave, but not why, he let the ship leap into hyperspace.

Marakith Skyhook
Low Geostationary Orbit Over Seng Karah

Exiting into orbit around Aeotheran, Locke transmitted his docking codes for Marakith Skyhook. The message had not said where to meet, but Locke figured the meeting rooms onboard the skyhook would be just as good a place as any. If not, he was sure he'd receive further instructions.

A few minutes later, Locke slipped the X-Wing into a hangar on one side of the skyhook, settling it down easily. He popped the canopy as soon as he could confirm there was atmosphere in the hangar and then checked to make sure his lightsaber was concealed. Even wearing an old worn flight suit, that would still give him away. Taking it off his belt clip, Locke looked for a place to put the cylinder. That was one problem he'd have to deal with, flight suits like this one didn't leave much room.

Frowning for a moment, Locke pulled the supply bag from the compartment behind his seat. It would do nicely, if anyone asked, he could say it was for some personal supplies. Since his flight suit bore the Dlarit Special Operations Group emblem and he had been around long enough to be recognized by Dlarit personnel, no one would ask him to open the bag. At least, he hoped they wouldn't.

Leaving his DL-44 holstered at his hip, Locke tossed the bag over his shoulder and started down the ramp. At the bottom, he expected to be greeted by someone in charge, asking why he was here, but soon realized the high level security code he had broadcast probably translated to "none of your damn business" for most of the personnel. They knew he was important, or was working for someone who was, and that was that. With a last glance back to the X-Wing, Locke started into the interior of the station. The hangar personnel would know how to take care of the ship; if Locke would need it after his meeting with Mirado. Why did the Quaestor of a House want to talk to Locke personally, in person, and right away?

As Locke passed deeper into the ship, he returned the salutes he received, earning a surprised look from many of those he saluted to. Maybe they were used to higher personnel ignoring them unless they did their job wrong; but Locke still saw himself as another soldier. Maybe his rank was different, but they were all in the same organization. Here, among order and structure, Locke felt more at home. This was what he was used to. Distantly, he wondered if he would ever return to the relaxed lifestyle he had lived before joining the Republic.

After a few more crossing corridors, Locke found himself in a very quiet part of the skyhook. He knew there were certain parts of the station set aside for the Dark Jedi, and Locke figured that was where he would meet Mirado. For a moment, he thought he had gotten lost, and then found the right door. It looked like any other door, except this one was nestled in an indent in the wall that could almost be called a hallway. Locke stepped into it, and pressed his palm to a scanner on the wall. He looked straight ahead as a small compartment opened, emitting a laser scanner that would scan his eye. Locke's eyes watered as he strained to hold one open for the blasted thing, and then it was done and the door opened. Locke silently slipped inside, and a moment later it hissed and slid down behind him, followed by a distinct locking sound.

Here, there were no personnel at all. There would be droids cleaning occasionally, or doing maintenance, but right now the corridors were empty, and Locke felt very much alone. He proceeded to a conference room and let himself in. It was then that Locke realized there was no way to indicate where he was in this closed off section of the skyhook. He took a deep breath, and let his Force presence expand in an exercise he had been taught early in his training, feeling the ebb and flow of the Force around him, like a soft sheet he could manipulate carefully or quickly wrestle into his grasp. His own presence seemed like soft eddies in sheet. Not a sheet then, maybe a pool of water. Locke could not see it; he only had a vague sense of what it was like.

With the Force in hand, Locke called a chair from the conference table to the space near a viewport along one wall, sitting himself in it. As he gazed out at the stars, he summoned a pitcher and two glasses from a table along one wall, and filled both glasses. He held them in front of his eyes, between his head and the view port, focusing to keep all three objects aloft. Locke found such a delicate task as pouring liquid into a cup difficult with the Force, but he also enjoyed the challenge. It was a good exercise.

When both cups were filled, Locke placed one on the table with the pitcher, and raised the other to his lips. He gazed at the lush, green planet below, sprawling like a thick blanket around the grey pattern work streets of Seng Karash. With any luck, Mirado would have sensed that exercise, and would be on his way.

Nachzerer Bridge
Enroute to Orian System
Orian Space


The hologram of a imposing figure seated on a chair of Seprosian stone touched it’s chin as it pondered the account of recent events. The ghost-like image flickered as the transport passed through hyperspace in a microjump. “Your mission was obviously successful. You say Cyrin was out of control?”

“Truly, my Lord. The Dark Side is strong with him, and it preyed upon his past- and his greed.” The alchemist shrugged as he spoke. “We all have our weaknesses. It's created quite a pudu-storm within the Corporation's new hierarchy.”

“This is true, Macron Sadow. As you have yours- your lust for more power in the Dark Side.” The figure of Astronicus nodded grimly. It was no secret. Macron was a Sith, but uncharacteristically did not hide certain things in his madness.

“Yes, that is true. All great warriors have a hubris. At least I am honest about mine, and I channel it to serve our great Clan.” The Warlord lifted his chin proudly. “And I must say, it is an honor to serve.”

The great figure in the chair nodded sagely. “You have always been one of our most loyal servants. Some call you unpredictable, and your methods… suspect. But yet we know where your loyalty lies. That is why you bear my name.” Astronicus smiled. “What of the Jedi?”

“As you predicted, it was a ruse. The one called ‘Jedi’ was anything but. I slew him easily.” The Sith chuckled evilly. “I enjoyed it, but wish it had been more of a challenge.”

“Your day to sow red ruin will come soon enough, my dog of War. And did you obtain the transmit codes?” The Elder leaned forward in his chair ominously. “Did they match?”

“Yes my Lord. I was able to download the communications data from the bridge in the midst of the turmoil. The codes do match. This has all the hallmarks of the Organization’s doings, as you surmised. I am transmitting them now via our max secure link.” The madman leaned forward, slotting a datachip into the console of the Nachzerer as Jade Sadow watched.

“Excellent, my Son. Return to Sepros immediately- we have other things to deal with. But first, I need you both to find a lost Son for me. I need Tsainetomo’s wisdom, and he has gone missing for quite some time. Lord Sadow out.” The hologram flickered out as Macron turned to Jade thoughtfully.

“We have to find Tsainetomo,” quipped Jade. “Difficult. He’s excellent at making himself unnoticed.”

“Truly,” mused Macron as he held a small comlink in his hand. “Something I gave up long ago… unfortunately not being noticed is something I am rather bad at.” He opened the comlink as Jade laughed at him.

“That’s an understatement,” chortled the woman as she flashed her wicked teeth. “You’re about as subtle as a Hutt’s backside.”

“Interesting choice of words,” growled the Sith as he tried not to laugh himself. The madman began to type lines of text into the comlink. He then hit “Transmit” with a grunt.

Medical Ward

It had been a few hours, and Kalei had been moved from Teu's office to a medical ward with her new son. She had managed to get a little rest while the baby was being checked over.

Something was happening within the Clan that had many people on edge. It was obvious that she would be needed at some point. She couldn't stay here, but where did she have to go?

She knew the Pepoi family would help her in any way she needed, but where were they? She knew that Teu, Fremoc, and most likely Methyas were gone, but who was left. She thought a little bit as the nurses brought Daylen back in. She remembered that Methyas was married, but would Naomi have stayed behind?

All Kalei could do right now was hope word had gone out to Naomi or anyone for that matter. She would go nuts if she was stuck in the medical ward until she found some place to stay.

It was a bit surprising to her how much Daylen looked like Bal. Maybe not too surprising, but it did make her a little bit sad that he had just up and left without a word to anyone.

Large Clearing
Aethoran


Teu slung her pack over her bag, pulling her robe tighter around her body. She quickly left the shuttle, she had given orders for the captain to take the shuttle to the nearest city and wait for her call. As she moved into the tree line she turned and watched the ship move over the tree line opposite her. A smirk pulled at her lips. She then did something she rarely did, she severed the bond between herself and her family. It was sudden, unexpected.

"I would really like my sword about now." Teu hissed, she was armed with only her lightsaber. The female moved into the woods a bit, she used her lightsaber to cut wood for a fire. She moved quickly, creating a small pile of wood and sticks. She found a drier piece of wood, she picked it up and quickly used the Force to send sparks into the timber. It smoked slightly, a flame flickering slightly. She dropped it into the pile. Soon a fire roared. Teu opened her pack and pulled out a couple of military ready eat meals she had stashed away. Tasteless little meals however they were useful.

Teu finished her meal, she watched the sun set and the moon rise over the trees around her. She rarely enjoyed the beauty around her, as a small child she loved nature. Now it was simply there. Teu tossed her empty wrapper into the fire, her eyes watched as it withered in the flame curling up on itself, then nothing. Mere ash, a combination of carbon and other elemets. Just like her son. Here one moment then nothing. The female felt a familar pricking to her eyes, tears began to flow down her cheeks.

Teu wept.

Sorrow, guilt, grief, anger and many other emotions flowed freely out of her mind and heart and into the Force. Had any of her peers seen her they would have thought of her as weak. Her cold exterior was one that took months of practice. However she was not a heartless person, she was a mother and a wife. She was a Dark Jedi third.

Eventually the tears ran out, she slumped down against the earth. Her fingers pulled her cloak to her tighter. Her eyes continued to watch the fire burn, eventually it burned until it was just gray ash, nothing left of the wood that was once there.

Teu felt her eyes close slowly, she did not want to sleep. It has been many years since she last dreamed without torment or flashes of whats to come. Instead she went inside her head, she closed herself off from the tendrils of the dark side that she always relied on. She expanded on the wall that kept her husband and family out. She felt nothing, she was in a void. She could sense nothing. For the first time it felt calm, no death, no manipulation, no intrusion. It was just her.

In her mind, she saw flashbacks of the day her son died, her watching him practice with his dad’s old ligthsaber. Her giving him the message for his father. Her returning back to Tarthos. She remembered the sudden loss. She remembered trying to console her daughter who also felt it. Teu pushed it from her mind quickly.

Teu was startled as she felt something bite into her leg. The pain pulled her from her meditation, it opened her completely up to the Force. She felt the bond with her family open wide. Instantly her family knew she was in great distress.

Teu stared at the cat like creature in front of her. Its fur coat black as a dark sky without a moon, its eyes glowed yellow, its muzzle dripped from her blood.

The creature noticed the change in its snack. He growled, teeth bared in threat.

Teu's hand reached for her lightsaber. As her hand curled around the metal cylinder the creature pounced, its paws dug into her shoulders. Teu hissed, blood running freely from her leg, the animal’s sharp claws digging into her skin, ribs protested against the weight as she tried to sit up, she felt them crack. With a single push a of a button, a light teal blade emitted from her lightsaber hilt. The blade punctured the chest of the animal, its heart seared by the blade. A half grunt came from its chest as its last breath escaped from its lips.

Teu pushed the carcass off of her body, her vision clouded lightly. She pulled in the dark tendrils of the force, it staunched the blood flow slightly. Teu pulled her comlink from her belt, hitting a single button she muttered. "I messed up."

With that the world went black.

The Overlord’s Chambers
New Sadow Palace, Sepros
Orian System, Ession Sector

Thunder cracked outside the palace as Astronicus pushed open the doors to his quarters and marched inside his family’s bedchamber. His son sat on his mother’s lap across the room, listening as Sakura recounted the tales of the original Sith Empire—the true Sith Empire. The woman’s crimson locks cascaded down her shoulders, falling across the crown of Remulus’s head as she repeated the stories Tron himself had once told her several years before.

‘...and then Gav Daragon kneeled before Lord Sadow and was anointed his new apprentice.’

‘Like the old people like Sai and Fremmy did with daddy?’

‘Yes, Remy, like people sometimes do with daddy.’

The Overlord let out a relieved sigh. They were both safe. The admiral had told him the alert issued by the team in the hangar bay had been a false alarm—but Tron had needed to be sure, especially after the false information the Organisation had fed them about the two Galactic Alliance patrol ships just outside the Orian system.

Remy was five now. While his son’s knowledge of his heritage and of the dark side may have only just been starting out, his raw power was already apparent for all to feel; he had his father’s blood—Sadow’s blood—and in his veins flowed the future of the Sith Empire; he was a true heir, not like the many usurpers who laid claim to the throne today.

Sakura looked up at him and her brow arched in concern. While she may never have been formally trained in the ways of the Force—not publicly at least—her innate sensitivity was more than strong enough to have already alerted her to his unrest. ‘Tron?’ She kept her voice soft for Remulus’s sake, though the boy clearly sensed her alarm because he too looked up at his father. ‘What’s wrong?’ She lifted Remy down to the floor and began rising to her feet.

The Overlord sighed again. ‘Nothing,’ he breathed, shaking his head, ‘absolutely nothing.’

Tron crossed the room and embraced them both. He’d never forgiven himself since Remy’s abduction by the Yuuzhan Vong at the end of the war. The things those beasts had tried to do to him when he was still nothing but a baby... he still had nightmares about—

Tron forced the memory aside.

‘You’re safe,’ he said evenly. ‘That’s all that matters.’

Whoever’s drunken idea of a sick joke it had been to issue a false invasion announcement would be on the receiving end of the Sword of Sadow tomorrow morning. Nobody played games with the Overlord and his family’s safety. Nobody. Especially when those games involved lies about the return of the Emperor’s Hammer and Grand Admiral Stefan Ronin.

Another crack of thunder boomed and a flash of lightning outside the panoramic window illuminated the jungle treetops that extended into the distance, casting a silvery-blue shine all the way into the distance as far as the eye could see.

‘Daddy,’ muttered his son, reaching to hold his mother’s leg, ‘I feel something funny in—’

Before Remulus could finish, there was another deafening boom and the accompanying flash of lightning was so bright that it forced Tron to avert his eyes. Then, behind him, the doors through which he had just entered slammed shut. Still blinking from the flash, the Overlord spun as the all too familiar odour of ash and tabac swept inside his family’s chambers—

‘Who dares?!’

A small gasp left his wife’s mouth.

Standing just inside the doorway to what should have been his hidden quarters was a face that Tron had long wished to be rid of: the traitor who the Grand Master had two years ago chosen to spare for reasons the Overlord would never understand.

‘You.’ The wroshyr-wood doors behind the intruder shook from the sound of the Overlord’s voice.

The smell of fresh rashallo leaves rose from the figure’s cigarra and he doffed the dark, wide-brimmed hat that he was wearing. ‘What? No welcome home?’ replied Trevarus Caerick. The corner of the traitor’s lips twitched into a faint smile. ‘You wound me, Astronicus, truly.’

The Overlord stared for a moment without answering.

Another white flash of lightning filled the room.

When the light subsided, Tron saw the unblinking white eyes of a dead man staring back into his own. ‘It can’t be...’ he whispered to himself under his breath.

Behind the Oracle stood a man who had died six years ago, the Apostate who had led his brothers and sisters to their deaths in pursuit of the accursed homeworld of the Rakata and who had paid the price in the fires of Mount Kazinal when Macron, Ylith and Lord Ashen brought him down for his defiance of the Star Chamber and their laws; he had died, his soul later being vanquished forever on Antei when the Clan united in the ashes of the Valley of the Lost and cast the Betrayer’s spirit back into the void from whence it had arisen.

There was no return from the netherworld. Not even Naga Sadow himself had managed that.

Tron didn’t care what Sai had told him. The planet Runculo didn’t exist. Colonel Nora had found nothing at its supposed co-ordinates. Macron had been wrong.

Darth Vexatus was dead.

Whatever anyone thought they had seen, whatever they imagined they had felt, it was all another trick, like the ‘attack’ on Sadow Palace; a lie, an illusion, a charade.

‘You’re dead,’ growled Tron, unsheathing his lightsaber from his belt. The silver blade ignited in a cold snap-hiss. His eyes never left ‘Vexatus’. ‘You can’t fool me, Caerick. Whatever sham you told them on Antei, I see through your lies.’ The Overlord’s second blade joined the first with a second hiss. ‘Sakura, take Remy and go. I’ll deal with this.’

‘But Tro—’

‘Go.’

Without arguing further, the pair did as he said, quickly exiting through a small alcove in the rear of the room.

‘Back on Tarthos two years ago, I said the Grand Master was wrong to trust you,’ snarled Tron, his anger rapidly swelling as his family hurried to safety. ‘Now the proof stands right there!’ He gestured toward the Falleen. ‘You've finally overstepped the mark, Caerick. After all we have done for you. All the accidents we covered up.’ Tron’s eyes dilated, reddening as he glowered at the two traitors who were still standing just inside the sealed doorway, neither having yet made any motion to move further into the room. ‘Whatever excuses worked before, your intrusion here won’t go unchallenged. The Dark Council may have spared you, but you and your apprentice shall yet stand trial for your crimes against the House of Sadow. You’ve played your last hand, sorcerer.’

The Oracle quirked an eyebrow, listening in silence as the Overlord laid down the law.

‘You are, and never were, under any threat,’ replied Caerick calmly. ‘Not from us, Lord Sadow.’

‘No threat?’ spat the Overlord, the fire charging deeper into his veins. ‘No threat?! You barge into my private chambers, terrify my wife and son,’ Tron took an involuntary step toward the two still motionless intruders, ‘and then—worst of all—right as my Clan is finally piecing itself back together from the damage you caused—you bring him here and have the audacity to stand there before me and plead innocence?’

Caerick copied Tron, taking a single step forward, though ‘Vexatus’ remained where he was. The sorcerer shook his head and chortled slightly. ‘Your vision remains as narrow as ever, Overlord Sadow. You’ll find my apprentice and I have never taken a single one of your disciples’ lives—not by choice.’

‘No? What of the doppelganger that attacked us on Antei?’ Tron’s fists tightened around the hilts of his two lightsabers. ‘And Larin. Do not deny what you did to him on the bridge of the Harbinger. Sakura was there. Are you calling her and the rest of the crew liars?’

‘A Mundane,’ shrugged the sorcerer with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Tron’s two lightsabers creaked when he clenched even harder.

‘You dare question my wife!’

‘I make no apologies for the deaths of those who are not even free to choose to begin with,’ said Caerick, continuing as if the Overlord hadn’t even interrupted. ‘Like all the rest, Larin Gendash was doomed to oblivion from the moment of his birth. I cannot offer salvation to those who lack the Sight to find their own Way.’

Tron stared at the other man without responding. Even he did not think Caerick as wrapped in his own insane trappings as this. After a long moment, the Overlord collected his thoughts enough to continue. ‘Fine. Forget the Mundane,’ quipped Tron sarcastically, deliberately copying the sorcerer’s own choice of words. ‘Then explain the mad hermit whose corruption led Kano Pepoi to lose his mind and Aleho Ruoxf to nearly be executed? Or the envoy who remains locked in Cenota even now?’ Tron could not help from snorting a laugh. ‘How many more sons and daughters must I lose? You were probably to blame for Ashura’s fate as well.’

‘Clones are not my business, Lord Sadow.’

Tron mouthed a response before finding his voice again. ‘Then how do you explain that?’ He jabbed one of his lightsabers toward the Falleen standing in the doorway. ‘Vexatus died. I felt it. We all did.’ The Overlord shook his head in disbelief. ‘Do you expect me to believe you have done what none other has ever managed?’ Tron’s eyes shot between the two former Sons of Sadow before settling again on the Oracle. ‘If you think that, Caerick, then the one here who does not understand is you. Have you finally become lost within your own illusions?’

Trevarus laughed, a predatory grin forming across his features. ‘The same could be said of you, heir of Naga Sadow,’ the Oracle taunted. ‘What did you really feel back on the black stones of Lehon? You understand so little of the Essential Construct. Until you experience true Sorrow, you will continue to remain nothing but a boy, forever suckling at your mother’s teet—not that you can even remember her face, son of Anubis.’

‘You dare—!’

As quickly as the Overlord prepared to pounce, he stopped when the Oracle raised an empty hand. While Caerick made no further motion to attack, Tron knew better than to fall for the trickster’s games; the thing standing behind the sorcerer had not pulled its unblinking eyes away since entering however the unholy taint of its corruption dripped through the Force.

‘Do not forget, Astronicus Sadow, who first helped you reify the ashes of your forefather’s dead kingdom. As can I give life, so too can I take it away.’ Trevarus’s hand crackled violet-white right as another boom echoed in the forest outside. ‘Be warned, ancestor of the first Exiles: your vision can evaporate just as quickly as that of Naga himself.’

‘No thanks to the demon whose betrayal your apprentice has grown to embody,’ retorted Tron. ‘Even after spending the last six years living in shame, still you think the galaxy, the universe, revolves around you.’ The Overlord shook his head. ‘It never has and it never will.’

Trevarus raised an eyebrow at Tron’s attack. ‘But it does the forgotten shadows of a forgotten empire?’ The Oracle’s expression stiffened. ‘I have trained my heir better than that, Sadow prince. Unlike you, my and my apprentice’s loyalties have only ever been to the Void itself.’ Trevarus paused, before adding, ‘You would understand that if only you opened your eyes.’

‘Ways this, Void that,’ snorted Tron. ‘You and your teachings have plagued the Brotherhood ever since we left the Minos Cluster. Even Ludo Kressh, for all his sins, understood the future rests in the blood of one’s own descendants. But you, Caerick, you chase after shadows that have driven men far wiser than you to madness.’

‘Madness?’ Trevarus laughed under his breath. ‘Perhaps, if you wish to call it thus. But is not madness preferable to the endless suffering born of mortality? Through death I have brought salvation.’ The sorcerer’s face hardened again and he stared straight into the Overlord’s green eyes. ‘Look at yourself, heir of the Sith: is not your Clan the rebirth of a dream left unfulfilled in your namesake’s own lifetime? Do not seek to lecture me when you remain ignorant.’

Tron clenched his jaw. He’d heard enough.

Peace was a lie. There was no salvation to be found in a madman’s drivel and false prophecy.

‘You talk, Caerick, but where your words are not nescient of common sense they are poison. This is not Telos or Lehon.’ The muscles in the Overlord’s jaw muscles tensed as he spoke. ‘My children today see through your tricks. You call yourself all knowing, yet you pick the worst possible moment to return.’ Tron’s lips twisted into a cruel snarl. ‘The Grand Master’s Fist is here in Orian. Like Macron, you may have deceived Fremoc last year with your phantom planet of the dead, but this time you will be brought to face justice for your crimes.’

Despite the ever rising anger surging through the Overlord, Caerick continued to stand there completely impassive and, behind the sorcerer, ‘Vexatus’ did not even appear to be breathing. ‘Summon the boy if it will make you feel better,’ the Krath retorted, still acting as if he had the situation under control, ‘but you will find the situation far escapes your understanding.’

‘Why? Because of a tattoo?’ The Overlord snorted. ‘You may think giving him your ‘Mark’ has turned him, but his family will always come first. Even now, Fremoc bleeds to avenge the death of his loved ones.’ Tron shook his head in disgust at the sorcerer’s inane dogma. ‘We are his family now. What have you offered him? A chance at salvation by letting go of all the things he has and will ever hold dear?’ The Overlord spat out a curse. ‘Unlike you and your undead monster of an apprentice, Fremoc has yet to abandon the world of the living. Not all my sons are insane.’

‘Quite true, Lord Sadow, quite true,’ the Oracle mocked, smirking. ‘But it is not Fremoc to whom I refer.’ A smile crossed Trevarus’s lips. ‘Has Master Yoni not told you?’

Tron rolled his eyes. ‘I tire of your deranged fabrications, sorcerer.’

‘Fabrications?’ Trevarus took a step into the room. ‘Whatever you might think your Master told you, everything that has transpired has done so exactly as Lord Paladin foresaw. Surely you should know this by now—or has your Master been keeping things from you?’ The Krath laughed. ‘You are puppet, Overlord, nothing more.’ The Oracle took another step closer, bringing him right up to the tip of Astronicus’s raised lightsaber. ‘I’ll let you into a little secret,’ the sorcerer whispered, in a voice so soft the Overlord had to strain to hear over the thunderstorm outside the window. ‘My apprentice and I were not the first to rediscover the ruins of the Rakatan Empire.’

Tron frowned, tiring at the sorcerer’s stalling. ‘Thank you for that gem of wisdom, Trevarus,’ he replied dryly. ‘I think I know the story of Darth Revan just as well as every other initiate who has passed through the doors of the Shadow Academy.’

‘Ah, but I do not talk of the hero of the Republic.’ Caerick’s hand brushed across the shaft of the silver beam of light, the sorcerer appearing unbothered by the blinding heat. ‘Nor your Sith’ari—though at least he was one of the few Sith to possess some measure of intellect.’

‘Enough, Caerick,’ said the Overlord firmly. ‘I tire of this game. Your words may fool others, but you cannot rewrite history with me. Whoever might have gone to Lehon before, it changes nothing of what you and your apprentice inflicted on my Clan in your own selfish pursuit of power.’

‘Power?’ For the first time since the doors had slammed shut and announced his intrusion, the Oracle’s eyes flashed in genuine astonishment. ‘What I sought, what I have always only ever sought, is knowledge.’ Trevarus stared at him for a long moment. ‘As ever, you are the one in need of a lesson, Astronicus. Like Jedgar, Lord Ashen understood my intentions from the very start. It was always you and your Sons alone who remained blinded by a dream about an empire reborn.’

Tron did not dignify the attack on his Clan’s most fundamental belief.

Caerick’s eyes drifted off to one side. ‘Except...’ The sorcerer’s voice went unusually quiet as he continued, ‘one who is just beginning to see... should he so choose...’

Tron frowned in response; the sorcerer appeared to be speaking more to himself.

A few seconds later, Trevarus looked back at Tron again and his voice returned to normal. ‘The Sith Code will not save you, Overlord. Only lead you and your brethren to ruin—as it always has and always will. All empires fall. It is the way of things.’

The Overlord’s fists tightened again and he fought the urge to bisect the man through the midsection. It would be so easy. Sakura, Remulus, they were both safe. His Sons would ensure his legacy survived to rekindle the flame of the Sith Empire. He might die, but it would be worth it to finally end the stain that darkened the dark side itself like a cancer.

Except...

He would not be tricked into suicide. That was what the sorcerer wanted.

Tron’s lightsabers closed down in a double snap-hiss-snap-hiss.

‘You might fool others into surrendering to death, Trevarus, but not me. Like your newest plaything, I have a wife, a family. You and whatever that sideshow behind you is will always fail to understand what drives ordinary people. That is what you fail to understand.’

The Oracle seemed to consider this for a moment then shrugged. ‘Believe what you will, Overlord of Sadow,’ Trevarus said. ‘Either way, your dominion is safe with me. You and your Clan still serve a purpose—for now.’ The sorcerer blinked, his irises shifting faintly violet when he opened his eyes again. ‘But do not press me, Astronicus. Your disciples may be fooled, but I have understood the truth of your loyalties from the start. The Dark Lord and his Star Chamber have spoken. That and that alone should be enough for you.’

‘For now,’ Tron said, deliberately echoing Caerick’s own turn of phrase.

‘For now,’ Trevarus repeated, smiling.

Lightning filled the room again and the two apostates were gone.

Aeotheran
Seng Karash
Greasy Hydrospanner

The man awoke with a start, lifting his pounding head from the bar – was that a thunderclap? – and with the hairs of his neck standing on end. He had the unmistakable feeling of being watched; well, more so than usual, anyway. Every time he came into the seedy dive, he always sat at the same bar stool, with his back to the door, with the same bottle of Ferran-knew-what that neverseemed to run out and neverseemed to break, no matter how many draughts he pulled from it, and no matter how many patrons he brained with it; every eye present would watch him. He’d learned to ignore their curiosity, and even their resentment. After all, the only threat he faced was falling off the stool.

The bar had fallen upon hard times as of late. Ever since those amongst whom he’d previously counted himself had run through it like a windstorm across a plain, certain elements had learned to steer clear of the Hydrospanner, and soon thereafter, those who would do business with those elements had stopped coming, too. The man wasn’t even sure who owned the place anymore, but he had the run of the place, since he’d established to a couple of thugs – and the club’s bouncers – exactly how he rolled. His nostrils were filled with the smell of his own filth mixed with the aroma that seemed to be unique to dive-bars across the galaxy – that of desperation and tabac, of perspiration and regret.

Through bloodshot, tripartite eyes, he gazed at his batons lying on the wrshyr-wood bar, flanking his bottles, and the communicator that had found its way amongst the impromptu “shrine” he’d built in his drunkenness. His particular gifts would allow him to dispel the poison within him in scant minutes, but he held on to his stupor for the moment. It felt liberating to allow himself this weakness, and he noted that he was waking up here more and more often, and falling deeper and deeper into drink.

‘The Samurai would be proud,’ the man thought without the slightest trace of irony, lifting his bottle once more and taking a long pull from it. Again, his thoughts drifted to the comm, and the hastily typed message on it. It seemed that no matter how far he’d run, his past would always – always – try to pull him back within its embrace. His premonition had been correct; one of the Three had contacted him. Some words from one particular line stuck out:

~ Father needs… ~

The man snorted at the word. ‘Father’. The sender could’ve only meant one being.

‘”Papa” may just have to be disappointed this time ‘round…’ thought the man, then another pull from the bottle. He supposed if someone truly wanted him found, it would be no problem for them. After all, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Mid-swallow, the man stopped, his senses accosted by another eerie feeling. It wasn’t the same as before, as being spied upon with unseen eyes. It was more like the rush of wind just before one got hit by a maglev train. He let the feeling wash over him, mingling with his drunkenness, and simply waited.

Aeotheran
Seng Karash
Greasy Hydrospanner

The cousins appeared on either side of the former Consul, drinks in hand. The Fist had a question to ask the former Consul, one that could bring the man out of hiding.

"What is it Pepoi." Tsainetomo took a long pull from his drink.

"You are a hard man to find Keibatsu. Disappearing from the Clan while you still held the office of Consul. Now taking up residence with the refugees. Not a bad cover, Sai." Araxis just sat there looking forward drinking the whiskey from his tumbler.

"You haven't answered my question."

"I'm gathering a team for a mission." The Fist hesitated because he didn't want to reveal everything to his 'friend' that Methyas was missing. "It'll be risky, some of us will probably die."

"No."

"So be it then." Araxis looked over at the Fist, knowing what the Son of Sadow felt. The madman approached. They both took one more pull from their drink, just as the door was opening. The cousins disappeared with a rush of the wind, causing Tsainetomo's clothes to move.

The former Consul looked at his drink, then looked to either side, noticing the two Pepoi had disappeared. He started to think that it had just been a dream.

- Marakith Skyhook
- Over Aeotheran

Locke sat quietly, and patiently, for as long as he possibly could. He’d been summoned to the Skyhook, and was there to meet somebody who wasn’t even there. It might have been the most frustrating thing he’d dealt with in the past month or two. He expected a certain level of arrogance from the Dark Jedi. Emperor’s black bones, he was one of them, but blatant disrespect and discourtesy got fights started, and when they started, they rarely ever stopped until somebody was dead.

This went on for several minutes more, and when Locke thought he was about to snap, the door hissed open, and a small black droid with blue highlights entered.

“Good day,” it said in a pleasant voice. “I am TZ-63b, otherwise known as Tease. I was tasked to redirect you, however I was remiss in locating you sooner.”

“Redirect me?” Locke asked “Redirect me where?” He asked as he finished the last of his glass of water.

“To the planet’s surface, Master Sonjie.” the small droid said. “My Master, Mirado, wanted me to ask you to take a shuttle and meet him down there. I was told there would be a pilot waiting for you. Follow me, if you’d like, and I’ll direct you there.” it said, just as pleasant as could be.

“Very well,” Locke said, standing up. He followed the droid out the door, and they began wandering the halls.

“You might want to consider a change of garments, if possible.” Tease said, turning its head all the way around while it walked. “The humidity is almost 100%, and the weather is very near 40 degrees centigrade currently. That flight suit might be exceptionally uncomfortable.”

- Buurenaar Cove
- Kel Rasha

Mirado sat on the sand, stripped to the waist, enjoying the breeze from the ocean. It was ruthlessly hot that day, being midsummer on the equator, but the quiet calm of the water was doing wonders for his grim mood. The day had started piss poor, and it was heading very south, very quickly.

The actions of the people he’d authorized to go commit piracy were coming back to haunt him, much like a viper’s bite to the behind. He was going to have a conversation with Jeric once his cousin was finished with him, if she was going to leave anything left of him at all. Raiding in their own backyard was the last thing he expected Jeric would try.

Of course, the Galactic Alliance showing up, that was a whole other matter, and one that he’d be dealing with VERY shortly, whether he liked it or not. Odds were good somebody, somewhere, had sold them out, and getting the information about who did it was going to be about thirteen of the Hells of the Sith.

As he sat there, idling on a large stone, his commlink buzzed beside him. With a deft movement, he grabbed it, and thumbed it on. “L’eonheart, go ahead,” he said gruffly.

“I’m bringing Locke Sonjie to you, Director L’eonheart. Approximately 5 minutes out.” the Dlarit pilot said. Mirado grunted an acknowledgement, and clicked his commlink off.

As he stood and pulled his shirt back on, a ripple through the Force plowed through him, sending shockwaves up his leg and bringing him down to his knees. The intensity was strong enough to force a reflexive punch in one of the smooth stones on the beach, a strike which left a spider web of cracks through it.

As the shuttle hovered overhead, Locke peered out and saw the form of the man he knew as Venator, doubled over on the ground. He scanned the area quickly with both his eyes and the Force, and saw nothing. Not leaving it to chance, he signaled the pilot to land the shuttle, and once it had set down, he was out the back and reaching for his lightsaber.

Mirado waved a hand at him from the ground, however, and began pulling himself up. “Been a while since the Ekind invaded.” He said as he walked towards the small vessel. “Still sharp?”

“Sharp enough,” Locke replied, “What happened to you?”

Sitting down inside the back of the shuttle, Mirado shrugged. “My cousin just went and got herself crippled. Teu Pepoi, remember her?” he asked as Locke got back into the shuttle, no less frustrated really, and only more confused.

“She was my master. You said she was crippled? How didn’t I know?” he asked, and it was a valid question really. Many times an apprentice could sense their own master’s pains, and understood when times became very dangerous for them.

Mirado could only shrug in reply. “Maybe you should feel lucky, it hurt like hell.” He said as he pointed a direction for the pilot to go. “Maybe you can take a better beating through the Force than I can.” he added after a moment’s thought.

“So, you called me here because of this?” Locke asked. “You wanted my help to make sure Teu was ok?” In honesty, things weren’t much clearer, but then again, nothing these past few days had been.

Mirado shook his head. There were ripples coming from the human, which spoke volumes of his frustration. “No, I called you here to offer you a job, actually. I got the battle data from the Turmoil, and it looks like you were one of very few to keep their head on right.”

“Ok, so what’s that got to do with me?” Locke asked. He didn’t like where this was heading. He was a soldier, and before that, a farmer. This sounded like a job pitch more than anything else. “You trying to hire me for something?”

“Am I that transparent?” Mirado asked as he massaged the last of the soreness out of his leg. At a lack of response from the knight, he had his answer. “I suppose so. I’m appointing you Aedile of House Shar Dakhan. You’ve got the one thing most people here lack, which is a streak of simple common sense. I need that with the project I was handed.”

Before Locke could reply, Mirado signaled the pilot to land, and by this point, it was apparent to the Krath what Mirado was talking about. When he’d opened his own senses up, to try and find his old master, the sensation of pain began rippling through his own leg as well.

Once the shuttle set down, both men exited, and saw the Ragnosian Quaestor laying there bleeding, with some kind of great cat not far from her, dead with a still smoking hole through its body. “I’ll take care of her,” Locke said, and walked over to her. The shuttle pilot tossed him a first aid kit from the back ramp, and he began setting about the task of combat medicine.

Behind them, Mirado busied himself gutting and skinning the cat. She’d killed it, he was going to be certain she got to keep its hide if nothing else. If she didn’t want the teeth or claws, well, he’d find a use for those as well. As he worked, he cut a piece of meat, tasted it, and spat it out with a grimace.

“Get her back to the Skyhook, then come back here, we’ve got a lot to go over.” Mirado said to the man he’d just appointed his second in command. With a nod, Locke carried Teu into the shuttle, who by this point was probably feeling the painkiller he’d given her, and likely didn’t care much at all that she was being lugged about. An hour later, her opinion might change, but at the moment she was sailing on a nice buzz. By then, Mirado hoped to have a nice skin for her to sleep on, when the nights on Tarthos grew cold.

Nachzerer
Approaching Seng Karash
Aeotheran
Orian Space

The holocomm unit opened again. Jade looked up in surprise as the figure of Mirado appeared on the console unit. “Executive Director. This is an unexpected pleasure.”
Jade fine-tuned the receiver. The magnetic field of Aeotheran was interfering with the broadcast somewhat.

“I have little time for chit-chat,” replied the hovering figure. Locke could be seen standing behind him. “The recent action has become rather troublesome. I need information in order to explain this situation.” The Director gestured at Locke to sit down next to him and listen. “Locke is now Senior Director.”

Macron returned from the hold, wiping his hands off on a cloth. His downcast eyes belied his disappointment. The Nashtah had expired. The death of a pet, however expected was always tragic for him. It was one of the few ways he showed his humanity- ironically, since he was in fact a synthetic human. The Warlord regarded the hologram coolly. “Per your directive, we supported Cyrin in his endeavor. I shuttled him to the Majestic cruiser and eliminated hostiles.” A giggle punctuated his statement.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” commented Mirado. “Of course you followed orders. Yet I know you well- and know that your unpredictability often allows for some… leeway as far as orders go.” Mirado smiled grimly. “I’m not questioning your work; Cyrin was the CO in charge and will bear responsibility. What I need is an answer to this question, Marshal Commander. Were we set up? I suspect the two of you would know if anyone does.”

Macron and Jade looked at each other as a knowing glance passed between them. Both were under black-out orders as a Son and Daughter of Sadow. Both knew they officially could say nothing about their discoveries. Astronicus had eyes and ears everywhere. Still, keeping Mirado in the dark did not help matters. Both nodded as they turned back towards the hologram.

Jade cleared her throat. “Ah. We can neither confirm, nor deny any such allegations,” she quipped. The Krath idly flipped a small hydrospanner between her fingers. “By order of a higher power.”

Macron spoke next. “My Apprentice, my apologies for my… propensity to bend orders in certain situations,” he chuckled. “I don’t know what you are talking about. All I can tell you, is the ‘Jedi’ we faced was not a Jedi. He died far too easily.” The alchemist’s demeanor belied otherwise. In his own way, he had told Mirado exactly what he needed to know. The unspoken link between master and students allowed for communication on an intuitive level.

Mirado smiled another thin smile as his figure vanished from the transceiver. His suspicions had been confirmed.

Aeotheran
Seng Karash
Refugee Sector
Nearing the Greasy Hydrospanner

The twin heavily cloaked figures, one male and one female walked through the stinking alley towards their destination. Both wore heavy dun colored cloaks spun from rough fibers, frayed at the edges and hem. Respirators covered their faces like many in this polluted sector. Heavy gloves of dirty hide covered their hands. They appeared like many refugees, yet their strides belied their origin. People who were beaten down by life and weakened by hunger did not walk purposefully like these two phantoms. And the mud splattered on their respirators did not hide the fact that they were of good quality.

Two street thugs eyed them hungrily. They obviously did not fit in despite their appearance. Still, things of late had been hard for brigands in this sector. The one known as the Judge had been very bad for business. Even so, they had seen him dead drunk at the Hydrospanner not five minutes ago. Business was about to get better. The respirators on their faces were worth at least a hundred credits alone.

The Devaronian and the Aqualish stepped out from a scabby recess in the walls of the alley. The Aqualish grunted in his own language, belying the race’s notoriously bad temper. The Devaronian thug grinned an evil grin. “Where you goin’, mates? Nice gear you have there.” Both of them palmed hold-out blasters and pointed them at their intended victims. There was no trace of the law, and no one to stop them from robbing these foolish outlanders. “Give us your goods.”

The reaction was immediate. No mercy and no warning were given. The Aqualish was slammed hard enough to shatter every bone in his filthy body against the rough stone of the nearby wall by an unseen force. The Devaronian grasped his throat, gagging as he was lifted in the air by an invisible hand. He tried to beg for mercy but was cut off by the bones in his neck snapping like kindling. His body dropped from the air to thud on the dirty ground as he expelled waste to add to the local stench in his death throes. The bodies kicked and died like cockroaches on the street. Both cloaked figures walked by the corpses in icy disregard.

The male figure touched his forehead thoughtfully, and gestured at the door to the Hydrospanner. The female figure opened the door, and both entered the fetid watering hole in search of their quarry.

~Bridge
~VAC Turmoil
~Stereghat & Orian Systems

Masika could tell that the Zabrak had taken somewhat of a liking to her. Others had before, but there was a different look in this one's eyes. For a moment, she had almost forgotten what was happening all around her, as Jeric and Teu had a few words with each other that Masika couldn't even be bothered with to comprehend at that particular moment. She saw something out of the ordinary in this man, something she couldn't quite pinpoint, but that caught her interest all the same. From the way he was looking at her, she could tell he held the same intrigue for her as well, no matter how hard he fought to hide it. After a moment, she could tell that the others in the room had noticed it as well.

The Huntress had never had the pleasure of falling in love, it was something that a con-artist had no use for. She had merely only pretended to be in love for a myriad of jobs, had they called for it, but had never actually felt said emotion. Of course, since joining Clan Naga Sadow, she didn't have much use for her conning skills anymore, not nearly as much as she use to anyway. Mostly, she only needed that certain skill when she was on a mission that needed that special touch only she could provide with such an ability. She wasn't quite sure how to take this new found fascination with the Guardian, but thought she would just go with her instincts, as they had never seemed to steer her in the wrong direction before. As he slipped of his hood and pushed back his cape, revealing his tattoos, Masika was even more impressed by him.

The Zeltron was brought back to reality and the situation at hand as Macron stepped forward and spoke. Jade and Jeric stepping in with information as needed for further explanation.

The conversation continued as the three explained exactly what had happened during the mission while they were aboard the Vigilance . The things they said were hard for Masika to believe, but she did all the same. After a few moments, and a short explanation later, Macron and Jade took their leave from the bridge.

"Senior Commander we need to speak privately." Teu hissed to Jeric, then turned and swiftly made her way into the bridge's planning chamber.

"Stay here and keep an eye on that Zeltron." Jeric ordered his apprentice.

"With pleasure Master." Creon said with a grin as Jeric marched off towards the planning chamber.

Of course Masika didn't mind one bit that Jeric's apprentice had been left behind to look after her. Not that she was going to do anything, except perhaps some flirtatious banter.

A few moments, and a few glances, smiles, and smirks between the Huntress and the Guardian, Teu emerged from the bridge's planning chamber. The lightsaber hilt Macron had tossed previously at Teu's feet still remained on the bridge floor untouched.

Teu moved towards where Masika and Creon were standing, she flicked her wrist. The lightsaber hilt flew into her hand where she tucked it into her belt.

"Masika. A word if you don’t mind." Teu glared slightly at Creon. "Follow me for a moment."

As soon as the two women were no longer in hearing distance of Jeric and Creon, Teu spoke to Masika, quickly, quietly, and with purpose.

"I have an offer for you. It’s a onetime deal. You either take it now or its gone."

"Ok, what is it." Masika looked at the other woman, she noted that her anger had not subsided; in fact it seemed to be worse.

"I would like you to return to Tarthos and take charge of the Raptors battle team." Teu looked over to where Jeric was coming out of the planning room. "What do you say?"

"I'll take it." Masika nodded once.

"Good. Wrap up any business you have here then report to Tarthos." Teu smiled for the first time since boarding the Turmoil. "I need to go."

Teu turned and moved towards the exit. She turned around as if she forgot something. "Oh Jeric do not blow up those ships."

On that note, she left the Turmoil.

The Huntress had a whirlwind spinning inside her mind. She was just made the Battleteam Leader of the Raptors. She knew of its legacy, and hoped she was up for the challenge she had just accepted. Then again, she was always up for a challenge, and was willing to prove she could live up to the legends that held the position previously. She knew she would have to resign as a Dakhani Corsair, as well as join House Marka Ragnos, which meant leaving her first home of Shar Dakhan. She would miss everyone there, but knew she would continue to get to work with them on occasion, considering they were all still united under Clan Naga Sadow. Granted, she still didn't trust Mirado, after the attempt he had made on her life many years prior, as much as she would have liked, so going in a new direction was probably a smart thing for her to do for now. She needed a new purpose in her career right now, and the galaxy was screaming to her that this would be the right move to make.

Masika made a quick communication to Mirado explaining her resignation and making arrangements to return the box with all of its contents inside.

After she was finished, she began making her way towards the exit of the bridge, planning to gather her few belongings and set off for Tarthos, when the Zabrak she'd had her eye on approached her. They spoke for a few moments, though it seemed to Masika as if time were standing still. They both no longer even noticed the others that were still aboard the bridge. She couldn't seem to help the infatuation she started to feel towards him the longer they spoke.

As they talked, she realized there were things she needed to get taken care of, and was not one to keep people waiting. Although Masika wasn't wanting the conversation to end, she knew she had to be on her way, and figured he probably had to be on his way as well.

“Well Sugar, I've got some business to attend to on Aetheron, then back on Tarthos. Why don't we meet for a drink at the Crossroads sometime and get to know each other a little better.” She ran her hand down the side of his cheek softly, with a sweet smile across her lips.

“Sounds like a plan.” He smiled back at her with a doting look in his eye.

She swayed her hips back and forth while sashaying her way off the bridge. Creon watched her every movement. Before exiting, she turned and blew him a kiss and gave him a wink.

Masika made her way to Aetheron to see Mirado, and after that would make her way back to Tarthos to meet up with Teu about her new Battleteam.

Medical Ward, Alabrek Citadel
Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

Naomi marched down the hall with purpose, her confident strides belied the fact that beneath it all she was in over her head. Methyas had left his clan, the Corporation, without informing anyone that he had become the acting President. As she had prepared to leave their quaint little home, she had spotted the message from President Tsainetomo. It was simple, straight to the point for the man she had known so little about; a small communicator next to the small raised-text note.

Her little charade had now become a much deeper hole for her to climb out of; should it come to it she had little way to prevent these "dark Jedi" from pushing her aside. It had been that startling realization that had actually delayed her enough that the emergency request from the Alabrek Citadel had been patched through to her. The quick flight had been nothing from the idyllic monastery of Mucenic to the blossoming megapolis of Kar Alabrek, she had yet to determine if it was her weight with the Medical staff of the Special Operations Group or as the proxy to the acting President that had prompted the pilot to arrive so quickly.

One of the orderlies quickly moved to the woman's side, disturbing her from her thoughts as they spoke, "Doctor L'eonheart, the patient is located in the room at the end of the hall on the left."

Naomi simply nodded, waving her hand to dismiss the orderly as her thoughts continued. A hand rested on the communicators at her waist, her own personal device as well as the one from Tsainetomo carefully strapped to her waist; she had meant to speak to Mirado, get her husband's brother to help her keep up the illusion that Methyas was truly sick and unable to work...but now she was diverted from that path. Stepping into the room on the end, Naomi walked to the end of the bed and scooped up the patient's file; her eyes swiftly reading through the documents as she opened her mouth to speak.

But the patient beat her to the punch, "Naomi?"
The Doctor's eyes skirted over the top of the folder, settling upon the woman sitting up in the bed with a child in her arms. Something seemed familiar about the young woman as Naomi looked her over, her eyes starting to widen as recognition crossed her face. The young woman spoke again, "Naomi? Its me, Kalei..."

"Kalei...Kalei Basai..." Naomi spoke softly, "You had pretty serious injuries after that affair with the Underworld. You've dyed your hair. It looks good."
"Thanks."
"How are you feeling? And the little one?" Naomi paused as she looked over the documents, "Daylen is it?"

Kalei looked down at her little bundle before speaking, "He doesn't seemed to be fussing too much yet..."
Naomi looked at the woman, something felt out of place...where was the father? She shook her head, trying to clear those negative thoughts as she spoke, "Do you two have a place to stay?"

Something change, the air around Naomi seeming to spark for a second before Kalei spoke, her eyes somewhat narrowing as though she was focused on something, "No...I was actually hoping I could speak to you about that."

Kalei's facial expression, it seemed similar to when Methyas started to "feel" with the Force; though her eyes held that distant glimmer that Methyas could never manage. A chill walked up her spine for a moment before she started trying to shield herself like Methyas had taught her, clearing her throat as she spoke, "We have a spare room open at our place, Mirado's got his own place on Aeotheran now..."

A look of confusion crossed Kalei's face, Naomi wasn't sure if it was in relation to her response or if it was because of the fact that the miniscule Force signature vanished. The Doctor tensed a little, before Kalei spoke, "Mirado?"
"He's Methyas' brother, the current...I think you call it, Quaestor of...Shar Dakhan?" Naomi breathed a sigh of relief as she tried explaining the foreign "Clan" concepts to the woman.
"Shar Dakhan...what happened to Ludo Kressh?" Kalei seemed confused but understood at least some of what was going on, much to Naomi's relief.
"You'll have to bring that up with Teu or Mirado...Methyas tried to keep me out of the Brotherhood's dealings."
"Where is your husband? I heard he was..."
"He's sick at home, I've been trying to make sure he recovers. He picked up something on his last mission." Naomi interjected, trying to keep the Sadowan's inquiring mind at bay.

"Okay...umm, I guess I can stay with you two then if its not an issue." Kalei responded, the woman's studden interruption had been a little unexpected and had given her more questions if anything.
"Its not issue at all, I'll just have to make sure that Methyas stays quarantined in our room so he doesn't get you or Daylen sick." Naomi smiled before continuing, "And I'm sure our little one, Arcturus, wouldn't mind seeing a new person in our home."

Aeotheran
Seng Karash
Refugee Sector
The Greasy Hydrospanner

‘And so, it begins,’ thought the former Consul. He supposed it was only a matter of time; after all, one look at his storied career told even the most casual observer that, one way or another, the whims of Fate always conspired to thrust him to the fore of the events that shaped history. He was no politician, nor was he an administrator.

But, he was a leader. Be that as it may, the Son of Sadow vowed to ensure that this time, should Lady Fate come to call upon him again, she’d pay a most hefty price for his services.

His drink-addled mind thought back to his first set of visitors. Pepoi and his cousin. Oh yes, he was drunk…but not that drunk. No matter what lapel pin the Lion may have bestowed upon him, the Fist was not as strong as he, and this was no dream. Yet, Pepoi had done something most intriguing, what with his ‘flashing’ in and out of the Hydrospanner. His cousin did so as well. Which meant one of two things: Pepoi had invented a personal hyperdrive. It hung on his belt, and the ramifications would make him rich beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings…

The man laughed inwardly at his liquor-fueled madness. ‘Really, Keibatsu? “Personal hyperdrive”?! You ARE drunk.’

No, it wasn’t that, as fanciful as it may seem. Just as fanciful as seeing the pair one moment, and then not the other. His eyes saw a lot, but they never made anything up.

That meant that the other possibility, no matter how improbable, had to be the truth. Pepoi had learned a new way to use the powers at his command, the Shadow Academy, Elder Edict and traditional training, be damned.

The realization actually warmed his heart; rather, the space where his heart used to reside. More and more Dark Jedi had been looking for alternative methods to increasing their power and knowledge as of late. That the Fist was doing so as well may not have boded well for the powers-that-be, which meant the Dark Council was going to be asking questions, and that, right soon.

Tsainetomo felt genuine relief that this wasn’t a quandary he’d have to solve. However, his mind was what it was, no matter his state of sobriety. It couldn’t stop working.

‘I’m sure that I could probably see Pepoi doing that, if I had forewarning. No matter; there’s always the preceding gust of wind. His physical body will always displace air, no matter how fast he thinks he’s going. Nice trick, Assassin, but I see behind the curtain.’

This time, he did smile, comfortable in the knowledge that should the Lion want him, he’d have to come for him himself.

However, it was not the Lion who now came to call, but another.

The Madman.

Macron’s insanity rushed into the bar and overwhelmed his senses like a hot blast from one of the Alchemist’s kilns. Of course, it was peppered with the otherworldliness of Jade’s peculiar signature, pungent with her ever-present hunger.

The footfalls came closer, splashing in the random puddle of split ale and whatever fluid some patron had vomited up earlier, and crunching on the scattered piece of glassware that refused to stay glued to some nameless sot’s mitt.

Tsainetomo picked up his bottle just as the footfalls came to a stop just at his back. The Keibatsu could feel the hesitancy pouring off of Jade, and something else from Macron that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Come, have a drink with an old friend, Goura,” Sai offered sarcastically, virtually throwing the half-hearted invitation over his slumped shoulder. Jade began to speak, saying something about the Overlord this, we’ve missed that, and you’re needed wherever, when Sai viciously stopped her cold.

“I said: DRINK!” He roared, slamming the Bottle of Sadow hard upon the wood of the bar. The side-committees and ancillary conversations taking place in shadowed corners stopped, and a few patrons suddenly remembered appointments they had to get to; the door didn't seem to want to operate fast enough for these hurried souls. A hush blanketed the Hydrospanner.

Tsainetomo slowly spun in his stool to face his visitors, the sudden fire in his tripartite gaze leading the way.

Buurenaar Cove, Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

After making sure Teu was as comfortable as possible lying across the shuttle's single medical cot, Locke sat down at a seat across from her. While the shuttle's engines whined as it took off back into the atmosphere, he sighed and rubbed his temples. He felt like he had just been dealt a blow to the head. Venator – no, Mirado Pepoi now – wanted Locke to be his Aedile? The more he thought about it, the worse the headache became.

Locke had never seen himself as a leader. He was a soldier. Soldiers followed orders; they didn't give them. Mirado had spoken of Locke having common sense; but his common sense told him to stay away from leadership. Regardless, he had never stepped down from an order before, and this seemed a lot like one. Even if it wasn't, it felt like duty, and duty was something Locke had a lot of experience dealing with. Once another soldier had asked his commanding officer when they would be allowed to rest after a string of hard missions. The officer had laughed and told him they could rest when they were dead.

"I'll rest when I'm dead," Locke mumbled, chuckling to himself. He noticed Teu stirring, and stopped himself abruptly.

"Locke?" she said, sounding a little surprised. "Where did you come from?"

"Long story, " Locke replied. He immediately diverted the conversation away from the inevitable talk of where he had been. "I thought they could use a little help attacking those supposed pirates. Looks like something else was going on though. I think-"

"I know, Locke. I was there, " Teu said, cutting him off. He noticed the slightest hint of the corners of her mouth tightening. From years of experience, Locke knew that was the only sign he would get that it was time to change the subject. Clearly, she didn't want to talk about the battle.

Deciding to change the subject, Locke chose something pertinent, but braced himself, not knowing how Teu would take it. "I've been appointed Aedile of House Shar Dakhan. Until today, I didn't even know there was a House Shar Dakhan. I suppose that means I'm transferring. Still a Sadow though, right?"

"Right, "Teu replied, "we're a Clan first, remember that, apprentice."

"I'm not…I'm a Dark Jedi Knight, and you know it."

Teu's lips turned up in a slight smile, "but you're always learning."

"That's true, " Locke replied, "once your disciple, always your disciple, Master." There it was again: always learning. He would continue to learn. He would learn everything he could. It was why he had chosen the Krath Order. He was a warrior, but the Krath were a gateway to a realm Locke had just begun to explore. He understood combat, he understood how his blaster worked, and he would understand the Force the same way.

There was a monotone beep throughout the small cabin, signaling that the shuttle would soon arrive at the skyhook. "I don't suppose you can walk? I don't know what the Dlarit personnel will think of one of their superiors injured like this."

"We have a private hangar, " Teu answered, "the pilot should know which one it is."

"Right, " Locke replied. He had never used it, but that was still something Locke felt he should have known. He would have a lot to learn in the near future. Getting up, he headed forward and instructed the pilot to head for the private hangar.

Locke stood behind the pilot's chair and watched as the shuttle glided into the hangar and came to rest gently. Locke found himself congratulating the pilot on his smooth landing. By the Force, that felt too natural! No, he told himself, anyone can congratulate someone. Locke could sense the satisfaction from the pilot, though. That was good.

As the shuttle's ramp lowered, Locke turned to Teu. "I…highly recommend you let me carry you again, "he said slowly. "Your leg doesn't look too good."

Teu sat up, and moved as if to get to her feet, but sat back down. "I suppose, " she said, the slightest hint of anger slipping through her voice.

"Hey, " Locke said, more quietly, as he gently lifted her up again, "I've been your Black Guard and your apprentice both, and I'm your disciple, its my job to make sure you don't get hurt...when I'm around anyway." Teu didn't answer, but she didn't look any happier, either, so Locke left it at that.

Leaving the shuttle where it was, Locke carried Teu into the private section of the skyhook, waiting at each intersection as Teu told him which direction to take down the empty corridors. After several turns, she told him to stop in front of a door like any of the others. When Teu leaned forward and palmed the door security console, however, Locke saw that the inside was a little larger than most of the other rooms.

Teu noticed Locke's curiosity. She always did seem to know what he was thinking. "My quarters when I was Kressh's Aedile. I don't think they've been occupied since the House was dissolved. Hurry up and put me down. The couch will do; the droids here can take care of me."

Locke gently let her down on the one long couch in the room. He wondered if these would be his own quarters soon, or if Mirado would have his office somewhere else. He looked around, noting out of the corner of his eye that Teu was typing into a small console on one armrest of the couch. It wasn't long before a stoic medical droid entered the room. "I will take care of her from here, " it said.

Locke looked to Teu for confirmation. "I'll be fine now, thank you. Besides, your Quaestor needs you. Make me proud, apprentice."

"I will, Master, " Locke replied with a bow. After that, he nodded toward the medical droid and let himself out.

It took Locke a few minutes, but he soon found the hangar again, with the shuttle just where he had left it. He wasted no time getting aboard, and was soon standing behind the pilot's chair again, holding a bar above his head to brace himself in place as the shuttle descended into the atmosphere.

After the shuttle landed, Locke was again buffeted by Aeotheran's suffering mix of heat and humidity, his flight suit feeling damp and causing him to sweat right away. He had a single change of clothes in the bag he carried now; which also carried all of his belongings, but had forgotten to put them on.

As Locke approached, he noticed Mirado sitting on a log and talking to a hologram of two other Dark Jedi. Locke thought they looked familiar, but it had been awhile since he had seen any others. He stepped up beside Mirado and stood there quietly, intending to wait for Mirado to finish. His gesture at Locke confirmed that he knew Locke was there, so Locke sat down on the log and waited while Mirado finished the conversation. He watched Mirado and the others finish the conversation before their hologram winked out. "I think something was left unsaid there, " Locke muttered. He had experienced plenty of his superiors leaving out parts of the story to identify when someone was mincing words.

He instantly wondered if Mirado had heard him, realizing that he didn't know much at all about Miraluka. He had encountered many races throughout the galaxy, but they were rare. Next time he had some downtime, he would have to look them up.

Aeotheran
Seng Karash
Refugee Sector
The Greasy Hydrospanner

“Nice digs you have here,” giggled the Sith as he sat down next to Tsainetomo. “Reminds me of some of my old hangouts on Coruscant as a young man.” Jade sat down on the other side. Both of them produced their own bottles that exactly resembled the one carried by the drunken Obelisk. “Excellent décor.”

“Yeah. mmm hmm. Nice place,” mumbled the former Consul as he took a pull from his bottle. “Imagine you are here to chastise me, and drag me somewhere.” Tsainetomo looked up briefly, bleary tripartite eyes reflected in the dirty mirror behind the bar. The reflection was distorted by the dirt and scratches on the mirror and it reflected his soul at this moment perfectly.

“No, and yes,” smirked Macron. “I completely understand your ennui. You are angry, disillusioned…”

“Don’t try that Dark Side line on me,” snarled Tsainetomo as he slammed his bottle on the counter again. The few patrons that remained slid nervously to the far corners of the room as the bartender stepped back from the bar. They all knew the Judge’s bad temper, and were not interested in being caught in what he would do to these outsiders.

“I’m not,” frowned Macron as Jade peered around the bar. “It’s truth. It took far too long for your work to be recognized. I feel the same way. I have been here for longer than most- and yet, still they do not recognize me. Ones younger than me have been elevated to the top much faster, and for less service in my opinion. It fills me with loathing, and disappointment. And furious anger.”

“It is true,” muttered the Obelisk as he nodded slowly. “Too true. What say you, Hungry One?” the man’s strange eyes slid towards the cloaked woman’s face. Her odd teeth glinted in the dim light. Both he and this woman had been affected by the alchemical skills of the man that sat on his other side. Willingly in both cases, yet the coincidence was not lost on him.

“I agree,” hissed Jade Sadow. “A long we have been with the Brotherhood. Many wars… many difficult services. Many dead friends and comrades. And now it seems the Old Guard has no place in the new order of things.”

“That’s why I don’t give a damn anymore,” grumbled Tsainetomo. “I purely don’t care at all. The whole karking thing can go straight to Zandru’s nine hells.”

“I still give a damn, unfortunately. Although it doesn’t stop me from creating a little havoc here and there,” giggled the mad alchemist. He frowned as the tattoos on his face crinkled. “I have something to show you.” The Warlord reached into his cloak, causing Tsainetomo to reach towards his own.

“No worries, m’friend. Just a holovid to show you,” commented the madman as he retrieved a datapad from beneath the robes. “Look at this ‘Jedi’ I fought recently. He’s a total not- and yet, he has some Force training and can work a saber. Not well, mind you, he died like a bitch but still. In other bad news from our news station, the Betrayer is apparently … back.”

San Korinar

Rane Tarask was a member of the Dlarit Police Force charged with keeping the peace on the floating cloud city on this giant gas ball. He walked the streets with disinterest, keeping the peace here was more like ensuring the gangs didn’t go on a massacre. His current purpose however was to check out a warehouse on the outskirts of the platform.

His Captain told him certain items were going missing that shouldn’t be. He remembered that conversation clearly; it had just occurred a couple of hours ago at the start of his shift.


Rane walked into his Captain's office, his arms crossed over his chest. "You wanted to see me Cap'n?"

"Yes Rane. Close the door." Rane's captain leaned back in his chair. "We have a problem."

*This can’t be good* Rane leaned against the door jamb his eyes narrowed slightly. "Problem sir? Are the razorheaaeds causing mischief again?"

"Those kids? no. This one is a bit bigger." the Captain pulled out a manila folder, from it he pulled out two sheets of paper "Last week’s inventory compared to todays."

Rane pulled them out; his eyes scanning the lists; at first glance nothing seemed overly alarming, but on a second glance he noted that items were missing in greater quantity than normal. He knew because he did inventory for a while as punishment for a minor infraction
"Sir, are one of the other gangs responsible for this?" Rane laid the paper back on the desk.

"No. A couple of our guys said there's a new face in town. Several; in fact they keep to themselves mostly; they stay close to the warehouses and the bars there. , which is why I wanted to talk to you. I want you to investigate this."

"Yes sir."



That is is why Rane found himself outside of a seedy little joint near the outskirts. He came here often before he joined the Police force; his parents’ house was around the corner. He pushed open the door. His nosed was assaulted with the stench of alcohol and other smells he didn’t want to think about. He moved up to the bar along the back wall, he eyed the people carefully as he walked by. Most of them were minding their own drinks. However a table near the corner sat watching everyone carefully.

Rane leaned against the bar; his eyes looked at the tender droid. "Get me Pete I need to talk to him."

The droid whirled and poked its head into a door just to the left of the shelf that contained bottles of liquor, most of it too expensive for the patrons to drink.

"Show him in." Rane heard a familiar voice after the droid spoke into the door. The droid turned to look at him. "Master says you can go into his office and to offer you a glass of spiced ale."

"Sure." Rane moved to the end of the bar and walked into the office. He took the glass from the droid as he entered. "Hey Pete."

"Been some time Rane." The man, Pete, was an older gentleman. His hair was gray, his eyes hard and he smelled of alcohol.

"I know. I have some questions for you." Rane sniffed his glass for a moment before throwing it back. "What can you tell me of the new comers from the warehouses?"

"Nah much I'm afraid, son." Pete took a long drink from his own glass. "Keep to themselves mostly, always looking for people though. I noticed it the other night, one of my boys you know my eldest was in here for a bit. He's getting married so his friends brought him in for rounds of drinks. He leaves after a short time, not much of a drinker that one. One of the new comers followed him out, only to return couple minutes later. That night my son went on about how he found a job."

“Did he say what kind of job it was?” Rane looked down at his glass before looking up. He didn’t like where this was going, gangs recruited but not like this. This was something else.

“Honestly?” Pete leaned forward, his elbows against his desk. “Didn’t say anything besides its going to pay well and get under the skin of some people. Higher ups he told me. I don’t like it.”

“Are they here now?” Rane stood; he put his glass on Pete’s desk.

“Course I’m the only one that has cheap booze anymore.” Pete chuckled. “They are in the corner closest to the door, always watching the door.”

Rane moved out into the main bar again. “Oh Pete? Thanks for the drink.”

“No problem, my boy.” Pete stood, he moved over to the officer. He leaned down close to the man’s ear. “Tell your boss they be pirates, sources in the warehouse district said so, boy heard them talk”

- Buurenaar Cove
- Aeotheran

“I smelled you walking up,” Mirado said, turning to face his Aedile. It was absolutely true. The man had yet to change out of his sweat soaked flight suit, and while another human being probably wouldn’t find him offensive, the more sensitive nose of the Miraluka told volumes more. “Way before I heard you. Not bad.”

At that, Mirado turned around to face Locke. For a moment, he was quiet, focusing his senses, bringing them into a tight level of clarity. The man in front of him was plain, tall, and lanky, and had a strong aura in the Force. Nothing really stood out on him, nothing screamed as an oddity. For the job he’d been selected for, he was likely quite suited.

“Thanks,” Locke said, looking around. He’d only been in Buurenaar cove the once before, and hadn’t had the time to really look around. It was rocky, but it was quiet and shady. Not 3 meters away, there were fish in abundance, jumping and splashing, and the waterfall which fed the lagoon within the cove ran steady and clean. It was an idyllic location really. What had possessed somebody to name it after a Mandalorian was beyond him though. “We have a lot to discuss, you said?”

“Indeed,” Mirado said, coming to his feet smoothly. He walked across the stony shore in bare feet, and knelt beside the lagoon, gazing into it with intent. He motioned for Locke to walk over after a second, but otherwise remained still. When the Bakuran stepped over, Mirado continued. “I was given a task by Sai before he left to do whatever it is Sai does. The Dlarit corporation opened a subsidy known as Dakhani, which I, and now you, run. This is House Shar Dakhan, named for one of Naga Sadow’s most loyal generals.”

Locke sat down and watched as Mirado began sliding slowly, almost pouring himself, into the lagoon, moving so slow the fish likely didn’t realize he was even doing it. “You’re running a corporate subsidy as a House within the clan then? Why?” the Krath asked. He was a curious bastard, but he asked the right questions.

“The almighty credit,” Mirado replied simply as he poised his fingertips directly over the surface of the water. From there, he went purely stock still, a trait he’d developed living in the wild for so long. When he spoke again, it was slow, and very steadily paced. “Sadow has always prepared itself to become an empire again, instead of just playing at it like the Palpatines. To do that, we need money. The construction going on here is done to relieve the galaxy of its credits.”

Locke watched quietly, absorbing the information. It was a moment longer before his thoughts were interrupted by a quick splash, followed by the Templar pulling a rather large fish out of the water by hand. After that, there was no need for stillness, so Mirado stepped out of the lagoon, and walked towards a small woodpile. Locke followed him, and lit the fire by using the Force to telekinetically create friction in the small tinder pile.

“So, in short, we’re businessmen.” Locke said while Mirado gutted and scaled the fish. When the Miraluka just nodded, the he continued. “And Aeotheran is going through a rebuild to become a massive tourist stop and economic hub?”

“Exactly.” Mirado said in response. He then chose a large, flat stone, worn smooth by erosion, and set it near the fire. It was on this that he placed the fish, and after just a few moments, the smell of fresh seafood began wafting through the air. “You’ll be working out of the top floor of the Dakhani building in the Dlarit plaza here in Kel Rasha. You get a wardrobe budget, company car, and I think the Senior Director’s condo is getting built right now, or it will be by the end of the week.”

“How is this place being built so fast?” Locke asked, shocked at the nonchalance which Mirado said a condominium was being built within a few short days. He looked at the fish sizzling on the stone in front of him, which set his stomach to grumble audibly. He’d not eaten in a while, and it was apparently showing.

“Droid labor. We’re using smaller versions of the construction droids they use on Coruscant. Amusingly, they’re so similar to World Devastators that some of the real, living labor got scared. Most of the city is being built by organic hands though. The skyscrapers butting up against the mountains, the spaceport, and the major support structures are getting finished up by these droids by the end of the month.” Mirado said. He used the tip of his knife to check the fish, and, apparently satisfied, pulled the stone from the fire, using the Force to dissipate the heat. He cut it in two, and offered half to the Krath.

Taking it, Locke picked at the meat, plucking bones out and tossing them into the fire. “When do I start?” He asked simply, needing no more answer than that. If he’d turned the job down, likely somebody else was going to get it, and seeing the birth of a subculture was entirely too interesting to watch happen.

“After the weekend. You’ll get your company cred card in the Skyhook, use it to buy some suits and get a rental speeder. Give my droid the receipts and you’ll get reimbursed.” Mirado said with a shrug.

“I have to wear a suit?” Locke asked. Before the Clan restructured, his robes, the robes of everyone, in fact, were perfectly fine for in-house and in-clan business. Being told to dress in a civilian manner was peculiar. It didn’t help that his entire life had been lived in relative simplicity, and suits were simply uncomfortable.

Mirado nodded with a scowl. “There’s a pretty loose interpretation on what defines a suit, but we do need them. We work with other corporations, and the public, in a pretty regular fashion. You’ll need to conceal your lightsaber too.” he added, shaking his left arm to show the spring holster he had strapped there. Under a jacket, it’d be pretty hard to notice.

“So, I’ll meet you in four days then?” Locke asked as he finished his seafood lunch. He already had ideas running through his head.

Mirado nodded. “Your office. I’ll be there around 1100 hours. You’ll have a droid secretary until we get more population moved in.”

“What’ll you be doing until then?” Locke asked.

“What I do best.” Mirado said with a dark grin.

- Ragnos Cathedral
- Tarthos
- A few hours later

Jeric Cyrin stood among the cathedral dedicated to the glory of Marka Ragnos, taking in the sights with a new pair of eyes. He’d brought the two alliance ships into system in a route so circuitous that nobody could possibly follow them back to Orian, and with Teu’s summons to him, he decided, quite arrogantly, that she’d be apologizing to him once she saw the prize he’d delivered. Things were certainly looking up. Of course, if the summit had decided to keep the ships, he was purely prepared to commandeer one to continue his work.

It was then that his apprentice approached, offering a quick bow. “Master,” He said simply.

“Creon, it’s good to see you. Big things are happening, my apprentice. Be ready for them.” Jeric said to the Zabrak in front of him.

“Of course Master,” Creon said with a grin. “I’m well prepared.”

“Good,” Jeric said. “And be careful with that Zeltron. She’s growing entirely too close to the Pepoi for my comfort. She has a history of con games too. Mind what she’s after.”

“As you command Master,” Creon said. “I’m supposed to meet her soon, actually. By your leave?”

Jeric nodded, and waved the Zabrak off. After another bow, Creon stepped to move past the Sith. It was then that Jeric spoke again. “Learn what you can from her. She’s been appointed commander of the Ragnosian battle team. She’s bound to have something worthwhile to us.”

“Of course, master,” Was the reply, but it came out in a familiar baritone at the same moment a wickedly curved blade came to rest at his neck and his hair was yanked backwards to more fully expose his throat.

“Mirado,” Jeric said in greeting, struggling internally to show some calm.

“You fracked me Jeric,” Mirado said. “and if it weren’t for the grace of my cousin, and the powers that be, I’d be hanging your scalp off my belt right now.” his words were spoken almost directly into the Tapani’s ear, his baritone quiet and furious. “If you ever so much as step a toenail out of line from now on, I will end you in a way that will guarantee a closed coffin. Am I clear?”

Seeing little other option, Jeric dry swallowed and croaked a quiet agreement. Apparently satisfied, Mirado released his grip on the Sith’s hair, and pulled his knife away. “One last thing,” Mirado said, still quiet and full of hate. “It was that easy.”

With that, Jeric turned, a hand to his lightsaber, but he faced nothing but empty hallway. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

Tiberius looked and wondered; if there was any light he could see out of, his new home Naga Sadow, his quarters were as his asked, dark with no light but for one window, he was a Dark Jedi Knight awaiting his first, orders from the Summit and the Battle Team Leader.
With a fresh and new approach, to his Dark Jedi Brotherhood life, he was looked forward to a more Battle and enteric, approach to life were he could be himself, and be in the Shadows were he could enliven his energy, and draw on the Force once more, and find a place where he belonged.
His prayers were answered, when his hololink, buzzed, Tiberuis was in a deep sleep, but he answered the call.
“Tibs, Jedi Hunter Masika Oshaina, here, we need some help, please make yourself ready for a battle that we need your help in”.
Tiberius, set his hololink, to answer as he began, to get himself ready. For this he felt something that he had not felt for a while, an urgent leap for battle and the willing to fight for the Great Clan Naga Sadow.

The “’Spanner”, as it was locally known, had heard its share of sounds over the months it had been in business; from the wistful tears of a refugee down to his last credit, to the congratulatory huzzahs for comrades who’d finally gotten a one-way ticket off the rock that was Aeotheran.

Heretofore, it hadn’t heard a noise quite like the one emanating from it now.

Laughter.

Long, loud, and throaty laughter, coming from Tsainetomo.

Macron and Jade were astonished, sitting back in their stools and passing confused glances across Sai, who voiced his amusement for a full thirty seconds before pausing to take a breath. He stopped, an impish grin plastered on his face, and looked at Macron again, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Once his mind registered that, yes, Macron was serious, he began laughing again.

Jade stood from the bar, placing her hands on her hips in consternation and firing a stern look at the Alchemist.

“We don’t have time for this,” she whispered. Her Sith master spread his hands in a placating manner, urging calm through the Force to his apprentice.

“Of course you have time for this; otherwise you wouldn’t have come all the way down here!” Sai exclaimed amidst chuckles, attempting to suppress his laughter.

“I’m glad you find a potential infestation of Jedi, and, might I add, the return of the Betrayer, so fracking funny.” Macron’s voice had taken a dangerous edge, his own patience nearing its end at Sai’s antics.

“Whoo, that was a good one!” the Keibatsu said, wiping a tear from his eye. He sniffed, and then looked up at Macron as if seeing him for the first time. “It’s just…Goura. I fail to see a problem here,” he shrugged as he began to explain. “One ‘Jedi’ hardly makes an infestation, and you seem to have taken care of him. Not my issue. And, as far as Xanos goes,” – at this, Jade hissed – “oh, please. You can call him whatever you want. I knew him as ‘Xanos’, and so he shall be. Anyway, as far as Xanos goes, I tried to tell Astronicus. YOU tried to tell him, Goura. We were summarily ‘pooh-poohed’ out of his chambers, dismissed without another thought. Again: Not. My. Issue.” he said, turning back to his bottle. “Tell Astronicus that I said ‘welcome to five minutes ago’…and, uh, good luck with your Jedi thing.”

“Come on, Master,” Jade spat judgmentally. “He’s clearly drunk. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Am I?” posed Tsainetomo. Macron looked at Sai, whose face turned suddenly serious, the air around him shimmering as heat rises from a barren desert road. The Alchemist’s trained eye knew that the Keibatsu was using the Dark Side to purge himself of the alcohol within his system; the distorted air was the literal fumes of the poison seeping from his pores as the Force accelerated his body’s processing of the liquor inside him.

“Then why, Tsainetomo?” Macron asked, confused concern lilting his voice. “Why turn your back on what you’ve built? Why turn your back on the Overlord? You, like me, were named his Heir. It is your duty…”

“Stop right there,” Sai interrupted, holding up a palm. “Firstly, I’m , so I have no real ‘duties’ to speak of, except maybe one day finding the bottom of this bottle,” he said, using the Kyataran word for ‘master-less’ and gesturing toward his Bottle of Sadow. “Secondly, need I remind you that Astronicus’ true heir sits on his Consort’s knee, finding comfort and suckle from her even now? He, like you, is Sith, and the Sith do not share power. We are not ‘heirs’”, he said, vomiting the word as if it were anathema to his being. “We’re not even stewards, not anymore. The Sons and Daughters are little more than babysitters for his whelp, and the rest of the aimless, directionless children that play at being Sadowans.” Sai’s palm turned into an accusatory finger, jabbing right at Macron’s chest.

“It is not I who’ve turned his back. It is the Clan that has turned its back on what it was supposed to be…and I’m not even sure anyone remembers what that is anymore.” Sai calmed a bit, easing the storm from his baritone.

“If you do not obey, you could be named Apostate!” Macron exclaimed, the word bursting from his lips in disgust and concern.

Sai seemed to mull this over a moment. “'If's'? 'Could's'? There are worse fates.”

“Then, where will you go, if not home?” Jade asked, her eyes still tight. Sai’s indictment was harsh, indeed.

“Wherever I please,” Sai said, satisfaction lacing his voice. “I suppose whatever alley I find myself waking up in tomorrow.” He made to rise, turning his gaze back to Macron. "No matter how it may appear, Astronicus knows. He knows. Why the rest of you can't..." Sai trailed off, a look of pained compassion ghosting itself across his face. "Have the Overlord know that I'll come and go as I will. I’ve no leash…unlike some ‘War Hounds’ that I know.”

The Alchemist would brook no more. Whatever was plaguing his friend had clearly loosened his tongue to the point of recklessness. Had he chosen, Macron supposed, Sai would’ve made a most fierce practitioner of Dun Moch.

Macron’s hand shot forth, clamping around Sai’s forearm, stopping the Keibatsu’s exit, his own yellow eyes meeting tripartite.

“You’ll be coming with us. The Overlord commands.” The Madman’s tone was suddenly business-like and authoritative, and Jade knew that they were on a razor’s edge. Things were about to turn horrible.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that…and you’ll be wanting to remove that hand, Mononoke,” Sai said, his own voice soft and dripping with lethality.

“I’m afraid that I can’t do that, Na’Ashar,” rejoined the Alchemist. Sai offered a slight smile, the corners of his mouth curling upward in resignation.

“No, I...I suppose you can’t.” Sai’s voice was softer still.

The men stared at one another, old friends, their bonds forged in fire and blood. A pair of the most powerful and skilled Sadowans walking.

A heartbeat passed, and Jade took a cautionary pace back.

Two heartbeats.

Three.

Abruptly, the Dark Side flooded the Greasy Hydrospanner as the ocean fills the voids in a tanker whose bulkhead is ruptured by an unseen reef; so violent was its manifestation that Jade was forced to gasp. Unseen forces carrying the stain of ill-intent rushed to obey the pair as they simultaneously backpedaled, swiftly creating space between them as they smashed through tables and knocked over stools. Sun-darkened hands found batons and servos whined in an Armored Fist as both of their battle-hardened and scarred bodies were inundated in oily fire and their ethereal ears were filled with promises of victory.

Medical Ward, Alabrek Citadel
Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

Kalei had been allowed to leave the medical ward and get a few things set up in Methyas and Naomi's extra room as the nurses watched Daylen. The whole talk she had had with Naomi, though, seemed a little bit off. Though she hadn't been around that much recently, what was said didn't feel right: Methyas being quarantined at home, when she knew that he had become Consul of the Clan.

It wasn't a lie though that most families liked to keep Clan business out of their personal lives if at all possible. Some families that wasn't something they could do, but since Naomi wasn't in any major positions in the Clan, it was a bit easier.

Not only had Kalei gotten things ready for when they were allowed to leave, but had gotten quite a few outfits for her new little one.

She was going to wait until Naomi came back so that she could help her get everything back to their place. She was missing everything that was happening in the Clan...no one was really here on Tarthos anymore.

She knew she had to stay with her son; he already didn't have a father that would be around, she wasn't going to make him have no mother as well.

Naomi showed up within just a few minutes of Kalei finishing her packing to head to their place. As Kalei looked at her, it was obvious that she was hiding something about the Clan dealings. She'd been away for so long, and needed to get back into things and be involved in the Clan again. Now wasn't the time though, she had to be a mother first.

Crossroads, Yellow Sector, Markosian City, Tarthos

It was close to dusk by the time Creon had arrived anyway, so the dim bar didn’t make a big transition of light. It was a nice casual cantina with a musical venue for nobody bands and singers to make themselves heard. Creon wasn’t use to such a place and didn’t have a clue on how to react. He saw a few people having a nice chat sharing some cheap drinks, and a few others enjoying a game of Saabac. Most of the seats were occupied with either a group or a lone person. Masika was nowhere to be found either. So the Zabrak walked over towards the bar and sat the way he saw the others at the bar sitting.

The guy next to him was a human, he looked depressed and washed up. The bartender rolled him another drink, “It’s on the house Gearth, I know what you’re going through bub.” The human thanked the bartender and took a drink. The bartender was an older human, white hair and wrinkled skin, but he still had some good muscle and a round belly on him. He approached the Zabrak with almost a curious and confused face, “Never seen you round these parts… I get a Zabrak once in a while, but not with tattoos like those. What’s your name kid?”

Creon looked up at the elder, “Creon… Creon Khamier” he said with a calm tone of voice. This place set the calm and casual type of environment and it had an effect on Creon. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Hey, Sugar.”

Creon got excited all of a sudden, and turned around to see her. Then a small look of disappointment crossed his face when he saw the smile of the Twi’lek girl taking her seat with him at the bar. “Nice tattoos…” she said slithering her fingernail up his arm. “Care to buy a girl a drink? I wouldn’t want to leave you all alone with no one to talk to…”

Creon slightly moved his arm away from her finger, “I’m waiting for someone… I won’t be alone, thank you.”

“Oh but I can be much more fun, come on sugar.”

Creon wanted to growl, but he kept silent. He looked around the area once more, and then turned to look at the Twi’lek again. She folded her blue legs while wearing tight black leather boots with net leggings. “And I don’t think your friend will show either,” she grinned.

“She was a little behind schedule was all…” Masika said walking up to the two at the bar. Creon felt relieved, but the Twi’lek eyed her up and down in disgust. She got up from the seat and walked away mumbling under her breath. Masika gave a short smirk before taking her seat next to Creon. The Bartender seemed to know her, “Hey little lady, we looking at the usual?”

“Two, please. For my shy friend here, you’re a sweetheart Jax,” she said in return. “I’m guessing she was a friend too, eh doll?” She asked Creon.

Creon blinked and then shook his head quickly, “No no… Not at all, she approached me. I had noth-” he blurted until her finger pressed on his lips. “I’m only pulling your chain, sugar. No need to panic.”

The Crossroads
Markosian city
Tarthos

Creon and Masika continued their flirtations. To the two of them it seemed like an eternity until they heard a blaster shot. Creon turned to see the old man behind the bar duck down scared.

“I told you to stay out from behind my bar you stupid old man.” A deep voice from the other side of the room said angrily.

The room was silent in awe. Masika called out “Roxas, Why would you do that to Jax?!”

The Mandalorian replied “I told him that if he was behind my bar again I was gonna get my pistol. I’m tired of him stealing from the register. He doesn’t work here anyways.”

Masika gave a surprised look and retorted “What do you mean he doesn’t work here?”

“He’s never worked here, he just acts like he does and pockets the credits.”

Again Masika was surprised. Roxas walked over behind the bar and pushed a button under a rack of glasses. He grabbed the old man and forced him against the bar and pulled the man’s belt off, so he could tie him up with it.

Roxas retorted loudly “You are under arrest old man, and the DSOG will be here in a minute to get you.” Roxas leaned in close to Jax’s ear “If I had it my way, you would be dead, but even I have to follow the law.”

Jax began to squirm and beg to be let go as Roxas reached into his pockets and pulled out credits saying “These are mine.”

DSOG troopers came into the Crossroads and walked up to the bar “You having trouble with someone here Sir?” One of them asked.

With a bit of a grin the Knight replied “Yes I have, this man has been stealing credits and booze from the Crossroads. I would like to have him arrested and processed.”

The troops immediately cuffed and hauled the man away, and as soon as they were gone, the people of the bar went back to what they were previously doing. Roxas with a bit of satisfaction began to clean the bar and serve drinks.

Masika sighed “And that ,Creon, is the Mandalorian that runs the Crossroads.”

Aeotheran
Over Kel Rasha

After tracking down Mirado's droid again on the skyhook and receiving his company credit chip, Locke found himself once more on a shuttle descending toward Aeotheran. This time, instead of heading for the quiet cove where he had talked to Mirado, Locke's shuttle was heading for the spaceport north of Kel Rasha. It was night now, and as the small craft entered the atmosphere and swung far out over the ocean, Locke could see the glittering lights of the city reflected off the dark waters in the distance.

"Why are we going around?" Locke asked the pilot. He noted it would have been much quicker to simply fly straight over the city.

Without taking his eyes off the viewport in front of him, the pilot responded, "airspace regulations, no craft is allowed within a certain distance of the city without Dlarit's express permission."

Locke mulled this over in his head momentarily, wondering why he had previously flown directly to Buurenaar Cove, and reasoned it must have been because that shuttle had had better clearance. He knew from experience that that sort of thing would create talk in the city. He'd have to talk to Mirado about doing things like that. He wondered how the Quaestor would respond to feedback. Usually, in the Republic military, commanding officers expected their orders to be carried out, and that was that. Here though, Locke was going to be a commanding officer, so to speak. It would be a difficult life to adjust to. The only hierarchy he knew had been military, but this would be civilian for most purposes. He'd have to make sure he wasn't too strict, but at the same time he had to maintain a firm hand.

While thinking, Locke's thoughts were abruptly cut off as something seemed to hit him. He stumbled, feeling at his head where a painful headache now throbbed. He stood and blinked, steadying himself behind the pilot, who hadn't even noticed. "What was that?" Locke asked.

"What was what?" The pilot replied.

Locke was about to tell the man not to play games, but he stopped himself when the pain ebbed to a dull throb. It was almost not there now, but Locke could still feel it. It had a direction. It felt like it was coming from far to the west. He realized it must have been the Force, and it felt strongly of what Locke would have guessed was the dark side. It felt painful, depressing, and disgusting, and made Locke want to bathe. If that was what the dark side would feel like when Locke was stronger in it, he wasn't sure he wanted to be, but could he avoid it? In the Brotherhood, he doubted it would be possible. Even if it were, he would probably find himself an outcast if it was found he avoided the dark side. Further, the dark side was a path to abilities the Jedi had shunned, and those abilities could save lives. Locke needed that.

Locke shook his head, shaking those thoughts away. He could worry about that another time. There were more pressing matters at hand now. He had to get used to being a leader. That would probably put off further training for quite a while anyway. He wasn't going to worry about what he had felt. Locke took a deep breath. It was probably just some of the more experienced Sadowans training or sparring anyway. He'd hear about it on the holonet if it were important.

As the city's lights faded away behind the starboard viewport, a few smaller lights appeared on the ground far to the north of the city. Shining brightly, they barely hinted at the vast swath of carpet-like rainforest surrounding them. Above the brightly-lit starport, Locke could see blinking lights here and there. Much brighter than the faint twinkling stars that dotted space beyond, they must have been transports in a holding pattern. Locke wasn't even on the ground yet and the newly-built Kel Rasha already felt like a major city, the likes of what Locke had witnessed on some of the core worlds.

Being as small as it was, the shuttle required no holding pattern to set down in one of the many smaller bays. Locke thanked the pilot for the smooth flight, and tossed the man one of his last remaining credit coins from the Republic. Where he was going, and with his new credit chip in hand, Locke doubted he would need to worry about the remaining coins in his bag.

Trying his best to ignore the wall of humid, sweat-inducing heat that hit him as he stepped out of the shuttle, Locke exited the landing bay and slipped into the throng of beings going about their business in the corridors and plazas of the starport. He saw many species he was familiar with, and some he was not. There always seemed to be new ones here and there, and this place certainly had a lot of them. He had to resist the urge to open himself to the Force. Locke still wasn't sure what that surge had been, but he wasn't going to take chances, even if feeling all these beings in the Force would probably wipe away the remnants of his headache.

Instead, Locke patiently found his way through the crowd and to the edge of the spaceport. Most spaceports had a speeder rental station on their edge, and this one was no different. With a note of mild disgust, Locke found it was automated. He really had never been a fan of automation or droids, even after all the help they had been in the war. Regardless, he wouldn't let that stop him.

Locke slipped his credit chip in and out of the machine quickly, and his eyes widened as he saw the number scroll on screen. His account was massive, certainly a fortune back on Bakura. He had to use it for the company though. It wasn't like he needed material possessions, but now, like in the Republic military, everything Locke used would be owned by an organization greater than himself. That much was familiar.

Locke quickly scrolled through the available speeder models until he found one that was fast and had good anti-theft features. After a moment of thought, he decided to upgrade it to the nicest model. He knew he could justify his purchase to the company. If he was an executive, he'd have to look like one.

After the access code was transferred to his datapad, Locke found his chosen speeder. It was a sleek black model. Every shape was gently curved with no rough edges, the front and back both rounded off nicely. "Oh yeah, " Locke mumbled, "this is definitely the type of speeder an executive would drive." Well, not drive, but ride in. Locke was going to drive it, though. Ever since first flying a starfighter in atmosphere, he had loved things that moved quickly. Some had called it unhealthy. They obviously didn't understand. He wasn't going to hire a driver when he himself could do it just as well.

Locke put in the access code for the driver's door, and it popped open and slid back along the side of the vehicle. Inside, it was a tight fit, but Locke still managed to get comfortable before sliding the door shut and turning the speeder on. A muted blue display immediately covered half the windshield, showing various information around the edges. This definitely was a nice vehicle. Maybe Locke could get used to this kind of corporate excess. Smiling to himself, Locke gently guided the speeder out of the spaceport. As soon as he hit the wide road that stretched to Kel Rasha, Locke slammed the accelerator down and the craft rocketed forward. He'd have to be careful; even with the proper credentials; getting pulled over by Dlarit Police would be embarrassing. He managed his speed wisely, but still passed most of the other speeders on the road.

Kel Rasha

Inside the city, the traffic was too thick to go fast, so Locke had to convince himself to be patient. He needed to find some new clothes before heading to his new office. Locke knew the importance of presentation; and he wasn't going to look very respectable if he showed up in a sweat-darkened combat suit that hadn't been washed in a few days. A bath too; he definitely needed to bathe.

After driving around and seeing the city, Locke realized none of the galactic hotels or clothing stores he had noticed on the holonet seemed to exist here. Everything was a small business. He would have to ask Mirado why that was. There was probably a good financial reason for it that Locke just wasn't seeing.

He finally pulled over in front of a nice-looking building. It was small, and near the coast, but on the edge of the city and a little way back from the shore. The sign over the entrance was in a couple of languages, but the Basic part read "The Mynock Express" and featured a blinking neon sign of a wookiee riding a giant mynock through the sky, of all things. Underneath the image were the words "Rooms Available" in smaller bright letters. The place must have been an inn or something. If it had a room with a bed and a hot refresher, and maybe meals, it was good enough.

Locke parked and headed on in. Inside, he found a sprawling, low-ceilinged room, not unlike a cantina. Various species sat in corners, talking and drinking. Even so, this place seemed fairly subdued. There were no dancers and no other entertainment; only a gentle melody Locke didn't recognize playing amongst the loud hum of all those voices mixed together. Locke liked it that way; there were no distractions.

He approached the bar at the back of the room and asked a well-dressed, blond-haired woman if he could get a room. She named a price, and Locke was momentarily shocked, but the size of her arms stopped him from saying anything. She looked like she could give him a run for his money if they were to fight. Locke wanted to avoid that very much. He did, after all, have the company credit chip. Locke paid it, and was quickly ushered up to his room.

It was on the third floor of the three-story structure, and had a window overlooking the street. That would be kind of nice. It also had a refresher. Locke didn't spend any more time in his flight suit than was necessary, quickly stripping down to nothing and stepping into the refresher's shower. He breathed a long sigh of relief as instantly-hot water hit his back with a strong, solid stream. This had certainly turned out to be a very nice place.

After getting out, Locke realized how tired he was. He briefly dried himself, made sure the door was locked and set up so he would not be disturbed, and then crashed on the small bed. It felt great.

---

The next morning, Locke awoke late. He realized he didn't have anything to wear, and didn't want to have to come back here to shower, but then an idea struck him. He wondered just how nice this city could be. Locke sat up, cleared his throat, and called the front desk. After a brief conversation, he learned that the city did have a fine tailor who would make house calls. That was just what Locke needed. He was quickly transferred directly to the tailor's line, and after a short call, was informed the tailor would arrive with an assortment of choices soon. Sighing, Locke placed his hands behind his head and laid back on the bed to wait.

On Bakura, there had been tailors among the farmers, but one would have to visit them. They would size your clothing just right, but it usually took days or weeks to get it. Locke wondered if modern technology would speed that process along. It'd have to, or he was going to have a difficult day ahead.

Soon there was a chime, indicating someone was at the door to his room. Locke wrapped a towel tightly around himself for decency, and then opened the door. He was surprised to find a dark-haired woman standing there, with a droid next to her. She stared up at Locke, unblinking. Though she didn't seem to care, Locke suddenly felt very exposed. He hoped the redness in his cheeks wasn't completely obvious as he quickly welcomed her and the droid inside. Locke eyed that thing; it had many appendages and seemed to be carrying rolls of cloth. It was rather bulky, and barely fit in the room.

"So, "she said, eyeing him with an amused smile, "you're a businessman and you need suitable attire?"

"Yes, " Locke replied, he used one hand to make sure the towel was wrapped tightly around his body. "I'm taking a new job, and I need to look professional when I show up for work…today. Can you do it today?" He looked at the droid doubtfully.

She laughed, and patted one hand on the droid that seemed a giant next to her. "Of course I can! That's why I brought this guy; he can create a wide range of the finest business suits in a few minutes. He was very expensive, but he definitely makes enough credits to warrant the price, don't you Emmie?"

The droid responded in a deep, loud, mechanical voice, "of course dear! I am programmed in over six million variations in clothing. I can create the finest outfits right in your room, from the nicest suits to the most exotic-" The droid cut off at another pat from the woman.

Locke cringed. That mechanical voice was always slightly disturbing, and this one was more loud and cheerful than normal. Worse, this girl had actually given it an affectionate name. Now Locke's mind was trying to picture what "exotic" things the droid could make and how the woman staring up at him might look wearing them. He was probably blushing even worse by now. This situation was getting more uncomfortable by the minute.

"Okay, well, ah, that's great. I don't really know what I'm looking for, though. You see, I just got promoted, and I've never been in management before. It’s a very prestigious position, though, just not one I can really talk about." He hoped that would be enough for her. He really did have no idea what he was doing. Soldiers didn't mingle with businessmen much. "Don't businessmen usually wear some kind of fancy robe or something like that?"

She giggled, but never took those eyes off him. "Yes, yes, that is the typical fashion, but it is so boring. You need to stand out! I've got just the thing in mind. Emmie, project article 1B-35!" Locke watched as a holoprojector built into the droid came to life and projected an image in the middle of the room.

The image was like nothing Locke had seen before. The shoes were polished black; the pants were a matching, smooth color, with no pockets except two at the waist and two in the back. The top was a white, button up, collared shirt, and the projection showed a black, button up vest and a matching jacket around that. The woman made a gesture, and the two articles closed around the shirt, buttoning in the middle, which left only a V shape showing of the white shirt, from the neck down. A strangely-shaped length of cloth wrapped around the neck, under the collar, and pushed down under the vest to complete the outfit.

"I…I'm going to sweat to death in this, " Locke whispered.

The woman smiled. "You're a businessman. Businessmen usually stay indoors, in nice, temperature-regulated compartments. I don't know what you did before, but I can assure you that you won't feel uncomfortable in this."

"But..I've never seen anything like this before!" Locke said, gesturing at…whatever it was.

"It’s a suit, " she said, as if reading his thoughts. "It's fashionable in parts of the Corporate Sector. If you want to stand out, this is definitely the way to go, and stylish as well. This suit is a rare and breathtaking design. There is also a long coat that goes with it, but I don't think you will have much use of that here on Aeotheran."

Locke could tell she was fluffing it up, but he couldn't tell how much. He did realize standing out would be a pretty good idea. He'd need to be well-known, even just on sight. A visible leader was better than one who was not. This was so different from most fashions Locke had seen that it had to be unique. "Alright, I'll take it. I'll need a few of them. Make me some of the long coats too." He was sure he wouldn't spend all of his time on Aeotheran alone.

The woman clasped her hands together. "Of course! Most will be in black, but I'll give you a couple of other colors as well. Now Emmie is going to make the model you see in the projection right here, so you have something to wear to work today. Unless you planned to go like that?" She pointed to the towel around Locke's body, and he jerked back as if she had touched him.

"No, go ahead, ah, I'll pay while he does it?"

While the droid's arms began to work on one side of the room, Locke found his credit chip and paid the woman. Again, it was a massive sum, but still pale in comparison to what he had been given to work with. Nevertheless, he cringed every time he swiped the chip. This was just so much money thrown away. He saw the necessity, but wished the whole universe could just accept military garb. Things would be much simpler then, and less expensive, too.

He tried to watch the droid do its work, but found it very difficult to keep up with. Its arms moved too quickly for any human eye to see, but when it was done, the suit that had been in the holoprojection was laid across the bed. "That's…impressive, " Locke said, nodding. He had to admit it was, even though he would have rather not. Droids were just so unnatural.

Apparently, the droid had made underwear somewhere in all that work, so the woman handed that to Locke first. He took it, and then waited, but she didn't move. "Oh!" She said, "I forgot how sensitive some beings are!" She turned around. It sounded like she was giggling. Locke quickly dropped the towel and slipped on the underwear. Some beings indeed! She was human herself, or looked it.

Next came the pants, then the rest of the outfit. Locke finished with the shoes. It was thick, and he felt ridiculous, but she assured him it looked good. Locke thanked her, and she left after giving him her contact information to pick up his other suits and for future business. Locke doubted he'd have any "future business" with the woman. She was insane, as far as he could tell.

He didn't waste any time. After getting dressed, Locke slung his bag over a shoulder, checked the room once to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, and headed downstairs. The place was quiet. Locke let the woman behind the bar know he was leaving, and he was gone.

The city was totally different-looking during the day, though even busier than at night. As Locke headed further away from the coast, the buildings got taller and taller. It wasn't hard to find the Dlarit plaza. Once there, Locke parked the speeder and set out on foot. He immediately began to sweat, and for once wanted to be indoors. Once he figured out which building he was in, finding the office was easy. As he stepped out of the elevator on the top floor, he noted that there weren't many doors.

Hesitating only a moment, Locke pushed open the door to his office. This room had to be at least twice the size of the one he had spent the night in. A huge, solid-looking desk stood in the middle, with a high-backed chair behind it, and behind that, tall windows. There were other chairs in a half circle on the closer side of the desk. The walls were bare; at least whoever thought this up had left that out, though there were bookcases and other shelves and drawers, most of them empty. There was a door to one side; Locke wondered if that went to a smaller office, or maybe a closet. Overall, the room was a square large enough to park a speeder in.

Shaking his head, Locke looked at the desk. He didn't like having his back to the window. He'd have to get that moved. Or maybe he could do it himself. Tossing his bag down on the floor, Locke lifted both hands and focused on the desk, trying to lift it with the Force. It was a struggle for him, and the desk ended up dragging across the floor with an ear-piercing grinding sound. After several minutes of concentration, Locke was finally able to orient the desk so that his back would be to one wall, and he would have a good view of both the window and the door. He tried not to think about the huge ruts he had made in the floor as he pushed the chair behind the desk and arranged the other chairs on the other side.

Picking up his bag, Locke pulled his lightsaber out of it momentarily, and tried to stuff it under his suit's jacket, but it didn't fit very well. He would have to figure out a solution to that somehow, and soon. How was he going to keep it close when he would have to deal with people every day? He couldn't be seen carrying a military-issue backpack everywhere. With a sigh, he put the lightsaber back in the bag and sat in the chair behind the desk. After a quick look around, Locke found a drawer large enough and pushed the bag into it, shoving it closed.

Turning away from the drawers, Locke looked across the empty office. "Well, now what?" He said aloud.

As if on command, the door to his office slid open and a protocol droid walked in. "Greetings, I am C-31B. I have been chosen as your secretary for the time being."

This was great. Locke had forgotten what Mirado had said about a droid secretary. Mentally, he prioritized finding a human to replace the droid right behind finding a good way to conceal his lightsaber in public. "That's good, do you mind if I call you Bee?" He still felt strange addressing droids directly, even after all the time he had spent among them with the Republic.

"Oh, of course not sir!"

"Great, Bee, what's up?"

"Nothing is 'up' sir. Well, I suppose the sky is up, and the clouds, and space, and-"

"No Bee, I mean, what have you brought me today. Why are you here?"

Something in the droid's photoreceptors seemed to be recognition, but Locke couldn't tell for sure. He hadn't had much experience with droids, and didn't plan to, either. "Oh yes sir, you do have some issues to deal with." The droid walked forward, and tapped a button on Locke's desk.

A holoprojection suddenly jumped up above the desk, showing text. Locke was about to read it, when the droid began to summarize it for him. "First, I regret to inform you that Director Mirado will not be meeting you at the planned time. He told me to tell you that you are on your own until further notice. He did not give a reason. He just said that something had come up."

The droid stopped, and Locke nodded. "Go on, "he said.

"Your office has also received reports of suspected pirate activity on San Korinar."

"Where is that?" Locke asked.

"Surely you have heard of Amphor, sir."

"Oh yes, " actually, he hadn't, or it had been a dim memory, but Locke didn't want the droid to launch into a long explanation. "Why is my office receiving reports already if it was only just created?"

"Well, actually sir, these reports went to the Executive Director's office, but he was not present, so they were redirected to your office."

"Ah, great." Locke leaned back and thought for a moment. He should probably do something, but he didn't know how far his authority extended. It was time to find out. If he remembered the Dlarit Corporation's structure correctly…"Send a squad of Dlarit Police Force operatives to investigate and have them eliminate the pirates they find."

"As you command, sir. Next on the agenda, we have a small issue of…" Locke let the droid drone on, occasionally nodding. He gave a command as needed, but most of this seemed to be preliminary knowledge Locke would need to know. He realized he was going to be very busy from now on.

Dlarit Police Headquarters - Amphor Division
San Korinar, Amphor

"So you honestly believe that an enemy of the state has been stupid enough to take residence in our little city? And to top things off, they're knowingly stealing from the Corporation and not even covering it up?" The man spoke quickly as he spun his chair about while tossing his datapad upon his desk. He was a man who had seen much while working for the Corporation, an older man who's loyalty was not one to be called into question.

He rose to his feet swiftly, running his fingers along his jaw as he thought about the report. Rane took the chance to speak, "Major Criis, sir? If I may, I have this information on good account. I think we should strike quickly on this one..."

The Major responded swiftly, interrupting the young Officer, "Rane, even if I could authorize such an action..." He paused, as his datapad chirped to get his attention. As he swiftly looked at the information, the two men with him glanced at each other anxiously before he responded, "Boys, I guess its your lucky day. We've just got the authorization from one of the Directors to begin a assault to push these men into the atmosphere of Amphor. Rane, I'm letting you take point. Get to it, men."

Warehouse District
San Korinar, Amphor

"Infiltrators, move in. All team leads, keep this channel open and updated. We want to make sure none of these fools can sneak away." Rane said as he shuffled around their little warehouse office within line of sight of their target. The figures began to move in swiftly.

A few moments passed...no information flowed over the channel, the young Officer's breath was held as nothing happened. A gasp escaped him before he finally spoke, "Its been too long, strike teams move in: breach, flash and contain. Secondary teams, move up to support them. Our infiltrators have been comprimised."

The figures moved like little shadows at this distance, approaching the target before various dull thuds echoed through the alleys around them; the teams entering the warehouse with flash canisters bursting before blaster fire and shouting could be heard over Rane's headset. The chaos that had errupted within that building was palpable, even across the headset. Rane wished for the best, if only he could have been there with the men he led. Listening to the chaos, the man thought everything was going well until he heard someone clearly, "What are these guys?! Oh my...he just threw Jon across the warehouse like a ragdoll!"

He froze, had that voice just said what he thought it had?

"These aren't pirates...they...they...oh..." The new voice paused as a gagging sound could be heard on the channel, "I'm going to be sick! They just ripped Harry in two...like it was tug-o-war..."

Ripped in two? Thrown like a ragdoll? Other voices were say things like "superhuman", "mutant" or even "inhuman". Words that scared the young officer considering there had been no mention of things like Wookiees or Trandoshan aboard San Korinar. He stumbled backwards, for a moment, a hand upon his forehead and he took a deep breath.

A creak upon the floorboard behind the young Officer prompted him to spin about swiftly, spotting a Pirate in a trenchcoat approaching him slowly, a smile on his face as he stopped. Rane reached for his blaster before the man spoke up, "I wouldn't be trying that if I were you...I can make your life very difficult if you do..."

Rane's eyes narrowed a bit, contimplating whether or not to believe the man before he quickly withdrew his blaster. The tip of the weapon barely cleared the holster before the Pirate was standing before him, his hand upon Rane's throat and lifting the Officer off the floor by nearly a foot. Rane coughed as he dropped his blaster to the floor, the sudden restriction of his breathing causing him to squeek out his alarm, "T...this...isn't...possible...."

The Pirate simply stood there, that same smirk upon his has before he moved his trenchcoat enough for the Officer to see the flashing LEDs of a cybernetic enhancement near his shoulder. The Pirate speaking quickly, "Oh it's possible, we're just better funded mate..."

With that, the Pirate tossed Rane out the window, the Officer falling through the air swiftly before everything went black.

As Rane lay there on the ground, another Officer ran towards him, the older officer had been lucky to have hit the slope of a supporting rooftop before finding the ground. The fall would have killed him otherwise, the young man responded quickly, "Medic! We need a medic! Officer Rane is down, we need a full retreat! Everyone, fall back! We need a full retreat!"

Executive Boardroom
Undisclosed Location

The boardroom was darkened, hard to tell if the figures within the room were actually there or holograms. The figure at the head of the table speaking quickly, "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Board, within the last few hours we have seen the rise of an emergency situation aboard our Colony of San Korinar. At the behest of Senior Director Sonjie, the Dlarit Police services aboard the colony attempted to root a Pirate force from the warehouse district. The results were..." The woman paused only to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose, "...disasterous. After communicating with the local commanding Officer, we've started a quiet evacuation campaign for all civillians. The CO has also requested aid of the Special Operations Group."

She paused, long enough to take a glance at the other figures around the table, "As I am not one suitable for military responses, I have forwarded the essencial information to Executive Directors L'eonheart and Pepoi as well as Admiral Simonetti. I trust their decisions in this situation."

Naomi's eyes looked upon the figures of Mirado and Teu, a quiet nod from the pair was more than enough for the woman to know this issue would be in capable hands. Within the weeks, maybe even months, since her husband's capture Naomi had been thrown into the line of fire as proxy to the President of the Corporation. Something she had never expected as he had been Vice-president last she had checked.

Speaking up once more, Naomi acted quickly, "I leave this situation in all of your extremely capable hands."

Executive Boardroom
Undisclosed Location

Jeric watched Mirado with a cold, vengeful stare. Ever since their last encounter Jeric wanted nothing but to kill the naive Templar. Something had blinded him from the truth, he would have done the same thing if put in Jeric’s position. Either way Mirado had taken it to far by threatening Jeric.

"As I am not one suitable for military responses, I have forwarded the essential information to Executive Directors L'eonheart and Pepoi as well as Admiral Simonetti. I trust their decisions in this situation."

Mark my words Assassin, you will die when you are no long in a position above me. Jeric said to himself right as Dr. L’eonheart paused to get acknowledgement from the two Executive Directors. Jeric’s stare didn’t break even as the Dr. L’eonheart’s eyes passed over him.

"I leave this situation in all of your extremely capable hands." With that the President’s wife exited the boardroom, leaving the Director’s to their planning.

Mirado was the first to stand, walking to the end of the table and bringing up a map of the city. “We need to act swiftly. Send a few Dark Jedi lead detachments into the city, here, here, and here.” He said pointing to the holoprojection of San Korinar. “This way we can move in and attack from every angle.”

“I agree, they wont know what hit them.” Senior Director Sonjie said.

“Let us have Admiral Simonetti position the fleet around Amphor, blockade the planet so the pirates cannot get reinforcement or escape.” Teu suggested. Jeric broke his stare to give Teu a nod in agreement.

“They most likely have a small fleet in the area. With you permission Executive Director I will scout ahead of the fleet and deal with them accordingly.” Jeric said to Teu.

“And how will you be doing that? We need the entire fleet for the blockade.” Mirado quipped.

“Simple, I will you use the heavy cruisers that I commandeered from the pirates that attacked us after they hijacked it from the alliance, again I say hijacked.” Jeric said staring straight at Executive Director L’eonheart.

Teu could feel the tension and so she decided to end it. “We will make final preparations in a few day. Till then Directors.” She stood up and looked to her right. “Let's go Jeric.”

Aeotheran
Seng Karash
Refugee Sector
The Greasy Hydrospanner


“No, I...I suppose you can’t.” Sai’s voice still echoed in the air, a stain upon the sounds that seemed to slow like molasses through the hardening air.

Both warriors backpedaled, neither underestimating the other in arrogance or hubris. They knew better. Either one given any advantage at all would prove to be totally lethal. The Dark Side whispered vile things to their blackened hearts. It was pleased. Today it would be called upon and fed the vitality of two of it’s favorite victims. Either way, win or lose, both would fall closer to the black core at the center of their hearts.

As time seemed to draw to a stop, both men raised a single hand. Followers of Sadow were known for their telekinetic prowess. A massive, ripping ball of telekinetic power spat forth from both outstretched hands. They were born at almost exactly the same moment, and had nearly the same amount of power. They dissipated each other nicely. The energy from the twin obliteration attacks had only one way to go- out.

The sideways energy explosions blew out the bar on the right, and the outer wall on the left. The bartender was struck stone cold dead, his body smashed like a rag doll against the mirror behind the bar. It shredded him as it broke into a million jagged minatures of the battle swirling in the debris. Even the splinters never really hit the floor- instead they levitated, slowly swirling through the air around both combatants.

Any patrons still living were busy remembering things to do elsewhere that required fleetness of foot or tentacle.

Macron’s eyebrows rose to distort his lurid tattoos. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “That should have been a knockout clincher.” He raised one finger behind his back to the hidden Jade. Literally the entire inside of the bar had been smashed and the outer wall facing the street blown to pieces. The battle now began to move into the street towards the canal.

“I’ve become more powerful in my misery,” growled the Obelisk. “More than you.”
The Korun-Keibatsu snarled and used the Force to toss a heavy chunk of the wall at Macron with blazing speed. He followed right behind, moving like a pistol shot towards the madman with a set of batons twisting in the air like a minature cyclone.

"Sonofabitch,” spat Macron as he ducked the flying boulder. He was no fool, and the Force had whispered of the impending attack. Tsainetomo came in low, and the batons battered at the Sith. Tsainetomo was fierce in this manifestation and a lesser man would have been beaten to a pulp. As it was, only the Armor Fist and his own mastery of the martial arts kept Korun at bay. The Alchemist switched to high-level Dulon to attempt to throw the enraged Obelisk with his own momentum.

Tsainetomo countered the move perfectly. He slammed a hip-strike of his own into the mix, adding Broken Gate to the mélange of martial styles hammering back and forth. To an outsider, the battle was moving too fast for the eye. The strikes, kicks, and smashing blows rained like furious drumbeats on the ears.

Macron evaded the hip strike with an Echani oblique step and palmed his lightsaber hilt. A vicious Broken Gate kick snaked out, popping at Tsainetomo's head as the Warlord's Armor Fist stabbed with serpentine Echani strikes at Sai's neck and solar plexus. An elbow block from the Korun stopped the kick hard, causing Macron to grunt as his own left hand stabbed into Tsainetomo's gut like a spear. Both men were hurt in the exchange, but Tsainetomo was made of stern stuff. He shook the Echani blow off as Macron stepped back gingerly on his aching leg. The Dark Side flooded the bruised limb, numbing it as it worked on the repair.

For some reason Tsainetomo was out for blood. The madness of the Dark Side and his own misery had made him a different being. Touching that hate, that despair, that anger within him had truly made him more powerful than ever before. The time for talk was over.

In one split second, Macron spoke as the two men closed on each other again. “Tsainetomo. We need you. But if you don’t check yourself, the consequences could be bad. Hee hee.” The Sith’s yellow eyes bulged as he licked his sharp metal-clad teeth hungrily. To accentuate his point, the Warlord’s orange lightsaber sprang to life with a hiss as the alchemist howled with lunacy.

The madness had overtaken them both now. Things were about to get uglier than an unwashed Hutt in heat. In the distance, sirens wailed.

“Oh, you should know better than to threaten me with a good time!” exclaimed Tsainetomo with a toothy grin. “Besides,” he continued, “you pulled it,” – here, Sai nodded towards Macron’s blade - “I can only assume you’re looking to use it!”

The last word ripped itself from the Korun-Keibatsu’s throat, his twin beams of sunset violently birthing themselves from his palms and growling in dissonant harmony with Macron’s own as the Primarch sped towards his target.

Such was Tsainetomo’s flight that it had elicited a curse from the Warlord, causing the Sith to backpedal in the face of his friend’s fury. He furtively fended off Sai’s onslaught, the plasma of their weapons leaping outward and cascading towards the rubble strewn ground from every clash and brief ‘saber lock. It was a curious juxtaposition, this: where Macron was usually the juggernaut and Sai the tactician, the two Sadowans roles were reversed as the Alchemist had to rely on the tight circles afforded by Makashi to slip between and around the Obelisk’s Jar’Kai Niman, itself as fluid and unpredictable as a raging river. Jade would’ve noted the irony, were she not otherwise preoccupied with clearing the way for the impending arrival of the emergency vehicles. Even she had to cast a wistful look around at the devastation Macron’s and Sai’s fight had visited upon the hapless bar and surrounding area; if only two high-level Equites were capable of such wanton destruction, she wondered silently, what would happen if the whole of the Clan had set upon one another with such disregard?

A particularly wicked exchange snapped the Krath from her reverie. Jade cast her attention on the warring Sadowans once more and she could only stare, unblinking, at the friends’ prowess.

Macron’s blade traced sigils known only to the masters of the Duelist’s Form, the tangerine afterimages burning themselves in Jade’s retinas as Sai was momentarily confounded. The blades of the Keibatsu seemed to move of their own accord, angrily screaming as they were stymied by Macron’s resilient elegance. It was all a thing of beauty to the Primarch and he smiled – smiled – as his boots schuffed through the silt of the destroyed bar.

Tsainetomo had found his joy – his raison d’être – in the Duel. Even as Macron pressed him harder than he had been pressed in his many months since he’d gone on his exile, Sai admitted that this was his reason for living. His techniques began to blend as he drew upon the Force. With every movement, the Korun got impossibly stronger, faster, as the Dark Side flowed through him. It would be short lived, however. Even as Sai’s flawless execution of his technique served to strengthen his connection to the Dark Side, there was only so much of it upon which he could draw. He would have to end this fight, one way or another.

The Korun came in at Macron, and the alchemist deftly shunted Sai’s attack around him, so that the Keibatsu’s back would be to him. With the precision of a well-oiled piston Macron’s ‘saber arm drew back and pumped forward, seeking to impale his friend upon his blade. Sharpened teeth glinted as they were bared in victory, the fire in Macron’s eyes betraying his anticipated satisfaction. But Sai would not yield so easily. The Primarch’s body contorted and twisted, allowing him to first duck the Alchemist’s strike and then sweep around backwards, his own lightsabers scything around and coming dangerously close to bisecting his fellow Son. Macron growled at nearly being felled, but he, too, felt fulfilled in facing someone as strong and as skilled as he.

Tsainetomo righted himself as he completed the ‘saber-sweep, and poured on the aggression, causing Macron to high-step as he evaded Sai’s scissoring swipes at his legs. The Primarch righted himself once more, and Macron seized upon the slight opening. Sai closed upon Macron, but the Alchemist wouldn’t be denied. As his friend approached, Macron brought his lightsaber down so ferociously that he literally hammered the hilt from the Korun’s right hand.

Macron’s delight turned into surprise as he realized nearly too late that Sai’s left hand had brought the other weapon into play, parrying the Sith’s blade upwards and out, so that Macron’s left side was completely exposed.

Like Sai, Macron, too, had been marshalling his strength throughout the duel. At this pivotal juncture, he had to act. The Madman’s left hand curled into a talon, the fingers hooked and ready to direct his concussive blast at his friend. In the scant moments before he could unleash the eldritch energies at his command, the cold of realization washed over him.

‘He allowed himself to be disarmed…he’s right where he wanted to be!’

At the same time Macron espied the familiar cold flatness of his fellow Son’s eyes, the same emotionless blank stare he’d seen Sai direct upon so many enemies of the Clan, Sai’s baritone reached his ear, rippling with menace.

“Too slow!”

The utterance was barely registered, the time around the pair slowing as molasses on a winter morn. Sai’s right arm flashed out to strike Macron’s body in rapid succession. The hits were not designed to harm, in and of themselves, but to provide a focus for the Keibatsu’s snare wrought from the Dark Side. Sai struck at nerve medians, hitting one with the two extended first fingers of the hand, tracing down a short distance, striking again with knuckles, tracing over, then hitting with an iron palm. He’d gotten as far as Macron’s upper thigh when the Alchemist’s Force Blast vomited itself from his hooked hand, catching Tsainetomo with a glancing blow to his skull. No being could withstand such an attack, not at that range and not at Macron’s power level and Sai was no exception. The Korun was summarily knocked cold, and he slumped to the ground in a cloud of dust.

Macron had not survived the exchange unscathed, however. No sooner had he powered down his blade that the effects of Sai’s snare become evident. Where Sai’s hands made contact, there was virtually no feeling as nerve endings ceased transmitting signals to his brain and Macron’s connection to the Force was sapped. His face contorted into a grimace and his lungs labored for air as the Dark Side’s healing boon abandoned him, and his knee felt as if the joint was made of ground glass. The pain was sudden and debilitating, and he, too, crashed to the ground as his strength faded.

Surreptitiously, Jade and the emergency medical technicians arrived at the scene, the Daughter of Sadow barking orders and ensuring both her master and the erstwhile Consul were gently secured to stretchers and loaded into one of the vehicles. An ebon tendril of her will snaked itself around Sai’s discarded hilt; it rattled amongst the debris and then flew to her awaiting palm.

Mac’s maglev stretcher hummed silently into the bay, and his head lolled over to look past Jade and at his friend. Sai remained unconscious.

“Where to now, Master? To the Overlord?” Jade queried as she checked Macron’s intravenous drip after returning Sai’s weapon to his dozing form. A Special Operations Group medic had made sure that Sai was as comfortable as possible…but not before making sure the stretcher’s restraints were operating and secured.

Macron drifted on the edge of lucidity, he himself wrung dry by the Dark Side’s ravaging. “No,” he croaked, his throat suddenly arid and burning with the thirst of a thousand deserts. “No, there is still more Tsainetomo must see before he is brought before the Overlord. We…we go to San Korinar.”

Jade’s eyes went wide at her master’s pronouncement. San Korinar was already a hotbed of trouble; adding a clearly disgruntled Keibatsu to the mix could prove disastrous. She turned to question Macron’s wisdom in this but found not an instructive teacher, but a sleeping Alchemist. He, too, had left the realm of the conscious, and the trio trundled in relative silence towards Macron’s ship.

Dakhani Building, Dlarit Plaza
Kel Rasha, Aeotheran

Locke stood still until the floating holorecorder's light changed from green to red, indicating it had ceased recording. Somewhere far away, his holographic image would have winked out at the same time. He sighed briefly. He had hoped the Dlarit Police he had ordered to take out the pirates had succeeded, but instead most of them had died. That bothered him. His first act as a leader had caused death and failure. He would need to be more careful in the future.

In the Republic military, he had only to go where he was ordered, and do his job efficiently. He had become quick to respond. In battle, a slow response meant death. Here, however, he would have to be far more careful. He needed information. If he had known what those officers had been up against ahead of time, he could have prevented their deaths.

Right now, though, Locke had other duties to attend to. He reached up and pressed a button, turning off the holorecorder. He let himself fall quickly into the high-backed chair behind his desk. With a free hand, he moved datapads around and set the holorecorder down. When he had moved in, the desk had been bare. Now it was covered in datapads, flimsi, and other assorted pieces of hardware. He'd clean it sometime.

With the press of a button on the edge of the desk, a razor-thin holographic screen popped up in the center. Locke clicked through messages and reports. He had dealt with a lot of busy work lately. For the most part, Mirado had been out of touch, doing who-knows-what, and Locke had been left to deal with the mundane stuff. His entire schedule was booked with meetings for the next week.

He frowned, thinking of his lightsaber. For most of those meetings, he would need to leave the safety of the building that housed his office. He'd be venturing all over the city. For that, it would be good to have some protection. True, he'd have his own security, but political functionaries usually didn't carry blasters. Even though it was irrational to think he'd have many chances to use the lightsaber while out and about, he wasn't going to take the chance. He realized he was beginning to feel an attachment to the weapon; something he had never felt before. He felt weak without it. It was best to be prepared for anything.

There was another issue with those meetings. When he was out of the office, he wouldn't be able to handle day to day tasks. He'd need an aid, something better than a droid. He'd contacted the local station for the Dlarit Special Operations Group and asked, and they had said they'd get to it, but nothing had happened in a few days, so he wasn't satisfied. He wanted someone he could rely on and trust, and he wanted them immediately.

That was how Locke had found himself staying up late each night going through personnel files. He had no idea what he was looking for. He wanted someone who had military experience, but didn't mind running an office. They had to have a wide range of skills. They had to be older and more experienced. He realized he had set the bar high, but Locke had finally found someone late one night, just before passing out. He'd checked the same file the next day, and agreed with his assessment the previous night.

His new aid would be arriving soon. Just as Locke thought about clearing off his desk, a tone sounded, indicating someone was outside the door to his office. Locke pressed another button on his desk, sliding the door open, and straightened his back trying to look as official as possible.

The man that entered the room wore the standard D-SOG uniform. The rank insignia on his breast indicated he was a Gunnery Sergeant, but Locke knew from reading his file that he had served in many other positions over the years. Locke considered him lucky that none of the other Dark Jedi had picked him up for their own use yet. No, Locke wouldn't just use him like a tool; he'd try to be a friend to this man. That would keep him around.

The man had a wrinkled face that seemed carved from stone. His white hair didn't start until well over the top of his head. He stepped to the middle of the room, turned to Locke, and stood at attention. He reminded Locke of some of his sergeants from the war. "At ease," Locke said. "You don't have to do that around me. I need you to be an advisor and a confidant." He had thought about beating around the bush, but decided it was better to just get it out there.

The man let himself relax, and Locke was surprised to see him sink down. A moment ago he had looked like a soldier; now he seemed a feeble old man. There was definitely more to this man then it seemed. "I am Gim," he said, bowing. "Reporting for duty."

"Great, " Locke replied, studying Gim. "I'm Locke Sonjie. I need your help. I'm going to be very busy, and I need an aid. I need someone I can trust. I've read your file. I have the clearance to read the parts that would be greyed out to most personnel. You know what that means, I assume?"

"Of course, my lord."

"Please don't. This is my first time as a leader; I'm not quite used to that."

Gim smiled. "Very well, but you'll have to get used to it soon. How may I be of service?"

Locke turned around, opened the drawer behind him, and pulled his lightsaber from the bag. He held it up in one hand, pointed away from either of them. "I need a way to conceal this while I'm in public. I've considered a sling under my arm, but I don't think that would be very comfortable. Do you have any ideas?"

Gim eyed the weapon calmly; he had clearly seen such before. Who had he worked for? Even that might be above Locke's clearance. He had probably just been on field missions with Dark Jedi; there was no reason to be paranoid. "Hmm, as a businessman, you won't be able to carry a bag. I do recall visiting a world once; far from here, where officials carried something in their hands to distinguish themselves." He gestured at Locke's suit. "It seems you already cloth yourself differently to stand out. That is good. You could carry a staff, though that would be difficult to take many places. I recommend a cane. Lightweight, easy to use, distinctive on most worlds. They are thin usually, but I think I can find one thick enough to conceal your lightsaber."

Locke thought for a moment. That would add to his outfit, and help him stand out. Mirado would probably think it a good idea. "Sounds good. How soon can you find one?"

Gim smiled. "I could find one and be back within the hour."

"Great, please do." Gim nodded, and then turned and left. Locke sat back down in his chair. That had gone over well. Already, it seemed, the man was proving his usefulness. Locke imagined he would be very helpful in the future.

He noticed a light blinking on his console, and looked up at the screen once again. He had a new message; rerouted from Mirado himself. Locke opened it, slowly reading the contents. Mirado had selected a Battleteam Leader for The Regulators and he wanted Locke to inform the choice of his appointment. As Locke switched screens and made the call, he wondered how The Regulators would factor into his command. Could he order them personally? Could he use them where it was too dangerous for the usual Dlarit personnel? He would have to find out later.
Locke's screen was replaced with a distinctive T-shaped visor Locke recognized from holos of the Mandalorians during the war. "Ah, Roxas, " Locke said, "it is my pleasure to inform you that you have been chosen as Sergeant of The Regulators." He gave it a moment to sink in. Locke had fought alongside Roxas during the mission to stop the Voice of Justice on Aeotheran. He remembered a brash young warrior, but Roxas knew combat. Locke respected that.

"Thank you, " Roxas replied, any emotion lost beyond that chilling visor. "Where will I be based?"

Locke was glad someone had finally left a title out, but that last question gave him pause. The transmission from Mirado had said nothing about where The Regulators would be stationed, or anything else about them. Locke had to think quickly. "You will keep The Regulators on Tarthos for now. You can base them wherever you want. Keep us informed." Locke hoped that would clear with Mirado. They really did need to have another conversation soon.

Roxas nodded. "Anything else?"

He was asking Locke for orders? Maybe this was a chance to tie himself to The Regulators. "That's it for now. Keep the team in good shape. Make sure they're ready for combat. Don't forget about the merits of stealth." He remembered the way Roxas tended to handle situations well enough. To be effective, Roxas would need to keep alternatives to direct combat in mind.

Roxas nodded, and then Locke cut the link. He sat thinking for a few moments before Gim returned with a long cane. It was thicker than normal, but it managed to be proportional enough to Locke's height that it didn't seem too odd.

Locke stood and let Gim hand the cane to him. "How does it open?" Locke asked.

Gim tapped a point about midway on the cane. "Nothing fancy, it just slips apart with a bit of pressure about here into two pieces." As Locke opened it and eyed the hollow space inside, Gim continued. "It’s a standard model, used to conceal personal objects. Its more of a novelty for most businessmen. They prefer a briefcase or something similar, but this one seemed well-suited to your uses."

Locke picked up his lightsaber and slipped it inside the cane, noting that it just barely fit. Had he had a lightsaber that wasn't a simple cylinder with an inlaid grip, it would not have worked. He slid the shaft shut before opening it again, experimenting with opening it manually and with the Force. Finally, he lowered it to the floor and leaned on it. "Appropriate height and everything. This is great Gim, thank you very much."

"I do what I can, Sir. Sorry, that is a difficult practice to dispense with."

"I understand. I was a soldier before this, and I find it difficult myself. Now, I have a couple of other immediate things to deal with. First of all, you no doubt have some knowledge of our structure."

Gim nodded, he knew how the Clan worked. Maybe he even knew more than Locke himself. "I've just learned that there is a Battleteam under our jurisdiction." Locke continued, proceeding to tell Gim about Roxas and his personality and The Regulators in general. "I want to know if I can bind myself closely to The Regulators. They might make a good team for missions too dangerous for Dlarit Police or even Special Ops. Even one of them might be useful. How do you think our Executive Director would feel about that?"

The wrinkles on Gim's head tightened for a moment, as if he was deep in thought. "From what I know of Mirado Pepoi, he won't mind. Considering what he has laid on your plate so far, he most likely expects you to take over many things. I would say you have fair dominion over The Regulators, but don't be surprised if Mirado wants them for his own tasks at times.

"You should also let Roxas get The Regulators sorted out before sending them off anywhere. As a new leader, he needs time to make sure they are battle-ready. You need to get to know them yourself, as well. Knowing each member's strengths and weaknesses will allow you to choose who is right for a mission, and talking to them will more than likely make them want to perform better when it comes to your orders. You'll especially want to get to know Roxas and be able to work well with him. He is your link to the rest of the team, after all."

Locke took all this in, nodding thoughtfully. "Thank you Gim. That actually brings us to my next question. Recently, I sent a team of Dlarit Police to get rid of some pirates on San Korinar. They failed miserably, and now the Clan has gone into action. They've blockaded the platform and sent many of our Dark Jedi in to ensure the job gets done right. How do you think I should respond to this situation?"


"Hmm. The best course of action in this case would be to head there yourself. I may be able to find you some assistance, but in this situation I recommend personally overseeing the pirate's elimination on site."

"You can manage things here while I'm gone?" Locke asked.

"Of course, Sir." Gim slipped back into that feeble old man routine. Locke would have believed it if he didn't know better. "I can shuffle papers all day. I do think we should get you a wrist communicator, so we can stay in contact in the future. You should be the one making decisions; not I. Though with this pirate business, I suspect things will be quiet around here for a few days. I'll be sure to consult your schedule before making you any new appointments."

"A wrist communicator sounds like a good idea. If you think you can find something while I'm gone, please do. In the meantime, I've got to get changed. There's no way I'm going in this suit."


"A wise decision, sir." Gim replied.

Wreck of the Miner’s Brother
Amphor Orbit
Orian Systam
Orian Space


“By Kark!” snarled Macron as the med-droid drilled his side with a purring sonic-scalpel.
“I said, motherpudu karckfarging sonofanorg masthupiska!”

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” asked Tsainetomo as he was scanned by a salvaged B1B droid. The droid had to be at least 40 years old. “Old stuff you have here man. Still, it serves.” The Korun rubbed his head gingerly. Besides his eyes, now the mad alchemist may have left a calling card on his head. The bruising was deep, but only time would tell. At least the Bacta had been high-quality. “It always hurts.”

“Hell yes it hurts,” glowered the madman. “About as bad as your combined nerve technique,” spat the Sith. “Damn good job too you karkhole. My off arm is not quite right. That’s going to be a problem down there,” Macron said as he pointed at San Korinar in the holoscreen. He held up his hand, and the Armor Fist was fitted slowly onto the black and blue hand. Although ancient, the 21B had been upgraded and programmed with modern heuristic processors and programs.

“No, it won’t,” replied Tsainetomo as he rolled over on the gurney. A floating ball-shaped droid spritzed his head with an anti-coagulant and anti-swelling agent. His tripartite eyes quivered with passion as he spoke with the first emotion he had truly felt in many months. “I tell you this. You and I are going to heal as quickly as we can with the Force and your stashed tech. Not for the glory of the Dark Side, or for our Masters, or any other crapload- but for making things honorable as we can for those poor bastards down there. Not for Hate- but for Vengeance. Not for Obedience- but for our own Free Will. And for those who served, even in my humble time.”

The Alchemist sat up. He was nearly mended. Tsainetomo’s words rang true in his ears. The Sleeper had awoken. “I hear you,” remarked Macron with a giggle. “And truly, I am glad we did not kill each other. The Dark Side took me… and this, I must understand.”

Jade watched them both as the droids poked, injected, and prodded them. True, all three of them were some of the most powerful-and insane- Sadows walking. But then again, hubris could be a fault. She whispered a few lines from the Sith Code,” And my chains shall be broken.”

~Markosian City
~Tarthos
~Crossroads

“I swear, that Roxas is always showing off.” Masika grinned coyly at Creon while letting her hand rest gently on the Zabrak's muscular arm.

The two sat at the bar, sipping on their drinks, while making small talk and an occasional banter back and forth at one another. They each told each other of their upbringings and their childhoods. For the sheer fact of getting to know each other a little better. Neither of the two went into much detail when it came to revealing their more recent histories, their teenage years and adulthood. Masika was pretty much a very private person, and she also didn't like to recall or live in the past whatsoever. Besides that, there were things that she couldn't reveal, so much as she would loose her head if certain things were found out or overheard by one of the many patrons around them in the bar. For the most part, she told Creon about her life on the streets, and the orphanages and how she had found her true home on stage when she sings. While others saw her singing as mere entertainment, she knew it to be her release, her escape from her life. When she sang, nothing mattered, she had no worries, no fears. Everything and everyone just seemed to melt away.

Creon in turn told her all about himself as well. As they chatted, they spoke of their masters, and compared their teachings, and the things they had learned. They also conversed about their jobs and positions within the Brotherhood. The Zeltron felt as though the two of them were hitting it off famously, and if she was reading him correctly, the feeling was mutual. She felt as though time was standing still, and they were the only two in the room for awhile. Masika had never felt like this towards another being. Of course, in her past, she never allowed herself to, it would get in the way of the job at hand back then and possibly compromise the outcome.

Just as they were having an in-depth conversation about their brotherhood positions, such as Masika being appointed the Raptor's Battleteam Leader, both of their comm links chimed, as well as Roxas'.

“Well, I suppose duty calls. Looks like we've got some Pirates to go take care of. It's been real fun, Sugar. I hope we can do this again real soon.” Masika said with a sweet smile, and gave Creon a quick peck on the cheek.

All three of them grabbed their gear, and headed out the door to take on their next mission, with Masika and Roxas as partners in the endeavor.

Double Post.

The Miner’s Daughter
Sky City of San Korinar
Amphor, Orian System

Great.

Irony was the only response to another quarantine that didn’t end with Stacia taking a blunt stylus to her eye sockets and gauging them both out. For half a decade she’d been locked up on this damnable floating coffin. Then, just then, when there was finally a glimmer of light at the end of the rat-infested tunnel, when the planet’s trade embargo had at last been lifted, when all her things had been packed up into boxes and she had a freighter booked to collected them—then this happened.

Her eyes tightened into pinpricks as she scowled at the video screen on the far wall of her room.

ALL TRAVEL FROM SAN KORINAR HAS BEEN CLOSED

THE CORPORATION THANKS EMPLOYEES FOR THEIR COOPERATION

‘Except I’m not a bloody employee!’ Stacia snapped and hurled the mug in her hand into the screen.

Red and yellow flashes flickered through the window as gunshots rang out in the distance. Every so often, she would hear the occasional explosion—usually followed by the entire cantina creaking like the platform had been hit by the atmospheric equivalent of an earthquake or a full blown Star Destroyer turbolaser barrage—when another building somewhere on the floating city was brought crashing to the ground in the carnage.

‘Pirates,’ she hissed the word between clenched teeth.

It was a joke. They were no better than the cheats and two bit thugs down in the Lower City. Sure, they had better weapons; sure, their shadowy backers in the underworld had made them a match for the Sadows; sure, they’d been kitted out to the nines with cybernetics and performance enhancing steroids. But they were still illegal scum—illegal scum that had now gone and got her trapped on this kriffing space station again.

‘Did I come at a bad time?’ a male voice behind her said.

Stacia hadn’t heard the door slide open. She twirled on the spot, unholstering her pistol before she’d completed the turn. No kriffing pirate breaks into my apartment, thought the middle-aged information broker, letting off two rounds out of sheer unhinged survival instinct. The door behind the intruder—no, correction: make that the two intruders, plural—vaporised into dust.

‘—what the kark do you think you’re doing here?’ Stacia screamed, not bothering to ask the names of the two no doubt opportunist thieves that were now temporarily covered in a cloud of ash and debris as the rest of the door fell apart from its hinges. Her disruptor pistol would do the talking. ‘Get out.’

‘Why, that’s no way to greet an old friend,’ the man said calmly. ‘After all, you invited me.’

The man stepped forward into the light of the glowlamp on the ceiling.

It was Trevarus Caerick.

Stacia stared at him a moment. ‘You stupid bastard. Why didn’t you call first? I could have shot you.’

The Dark Jedi Master raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Yes, because I’m sure that would have worked.’ He grunted a laugh. ‘I sense you’re under a lot of stress. Maybe I should come back later?’

She continued scowling at him, her eyes darting back and forth between the smartly dressed sorcerer and the grey-green humanoid behind him.

Trevarus glanced over his shoulder. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever formally met my apprentice. Well, before all the scars, at least.’ A small smirk flashed across his lips. ‘Stacia, this is Xanos. Xanos, Stacia.’

Her eyes briefly flicked to the immaculate, unblemished grey-green skin of the figure behind Trevarus before settling back on the blood-drinking, cannibalistic sadist whose smug grin was beginning to annoy her. ‘Charmed,’ she said dryly, disinterested in the second of the two intruders, who was merely standing there in silence. She’d heard all about the Falleen’s return. It was her job to hear about the things nobody else heard about. Whether he’d been cloned, reborn, resurrected, or even restored by the archangel of the Force herself, Stacia couldn’t care less—it was hardly the kind of thing she was going to make any money out of. ‘If you came here for information, Trev, the answer’s no. Not unless you can find me a way off this floating tin can before everywhere goes up in smoke.’

Trevarus’s eyebrow twitched slightly. ‘That’s all?’ He sounded surprised.

‘Half the entire defence fleet is in orbit,’ she retorted. ‘Or didn’t you notice that small detail on your arrival?’ Admittedly, it wouldn’t have surprised her—the man always did seem to be lost in his own cosmic daydream. She knew enough from Eosara that the self-professed ‘Oracle’ had become rather distant of late, even by Trev’s standards. ‘You might be able to run a blockade, Trev. I can’t.’

The man’s expression drooped in mock disappointment.

‘Forgive me for just being another little mundane,’ she rolled her eyes, caricaturing the other’s normal diatribe towards non-Force-users, ‘but if you want me to find your missing Jedi for you, you’ll need to find me a ship first.’

The sorcerer ignored her and instead turned and looked out the small window to her left. ‘In five seconds,’ Trevarus said, ‘Eosara and the Cohort will be there to escort you to the landing pads.’ His voice remained calm, despite the explosions that continued ringing out in the streets outside. ‘Four.’

Stacia frowned. What was he...?

‘Three.’

‘What? Why can’t you just—’

‘Two.’

‘—do it your—’

‘One.’

‘—self?’

The sorcerer raised his left hand and... nothing happened. The man frowned.

‘Some trick,’ the woman muttered—right as a deafening krakkaboom blasted up from the lower levels of the cantina, sending the boxes stacked up around the room toppling over and flimsiplast sheets spilling over Stacia’s feet. A huge black-armoured figure rushed into sight behind Caerick in the doorway, smoke rising from the still-glowing barrel of the figure’s equally huge black gun.

‘You’re late,’ said the Dark Jedi Master with a hint of impatience.

‘Sorry, boss,’ the black-armoured trooper said. ‘Got held up by some cyborg goons outside.’

Trevarus looked back at Stacia. ‘Do exactly what Eosara says if you want to make it off this station alive,’ the sorcerer said flatly. ‘The Nighthawk will be waiting on Platform 7 to pick you up.’

‘What about my equipment—half of it’s already on the—’

The sorcerer cut her off. ‘Your equipment has already been taken care of.’

‘But—’

‘Eosara.’

The man behind the sorcerer reached forward to grab her wrist—and his hand passed straight through the Dark Jedi Master’s chest. What? ‘A hologram...?’ She looked at him confused. ‘Why did his...?’

‘I have other issues to address,’ Trevarus replied, not explaining. ‘Go with Eosara. I will see you on the Sanguinus.’

And with that the two Dark Jedi vanished, leaving Eosara and Stacia alone in the apartment.

‘Come on,’ grunted the towering trooper, dragging her out of the room behind him.

Great. This day just keeps getting better.

Unmarked Transport en route to the Orian system
Undisclosed Location

Stars streaked past the vessel as the swirling blue of Hyperspace was all that could be seen through the main viewport. Within the rear hold of the transport, the men of the Pepoi family were all recovering in their own way from their most recent mission. The mission had gone off with little to no issues...barring some flesh wounds of course, some worse than others. Fremoc sat with his Praetor next to him, the older man staring absently at what used to be his hand while his cousin ensured the tourniquet was tight secure enough to keep the Fist from passing out. Shock and pain aside, the man had been relatively quiet in his own world since they had yanked their target out of that forsaken bunker. While hushed conversations passed between the others, only two figures had remained silent.

One had suffered greatly with the loss of his hand and saber, the shock of it all giving him pause while his cousin simply sat cross-legged upon the hold's floor in a state of meditation. The exact same state they had found him in. Why had he shut them out when he was captured? Why did that barrier remain even now?

The thoughts leapt across the Fist's mind as he eyed his cousin with a bit of concern, the younger man had always had that lighter streak to him and being held captive by a rogue Jedi master had the Assassin's senses on high alert. Araxis finally broke the hush, "How long do you think he'll stay like that?"

"He's a Paladin...he's trying to search within himself. There were days at home that he'd do this for hours, simply trying to center himself for a coming mission or task." Mirado retorted from his position leaning against a wall near the row of seats.

The group of Centurions turned to look at the Assassin; the man was known to analyse those he approached, looking for openings with which to deftly take down a target should he need to...but his own brother?

Just as Araxis was about to respond, the man in the center of the hold spoke without breaking from his position, "Mirado's absolutely right...and just because I can't physically see you watching me, doesn't mean I can't feel it."

The hold grew silent for a moment as Methyas moved slowly to uncross his legs so that he could move. As he did so the pressure of his unique Force signature filled the hold for a mere second before it vanished again, pain eminated from the young Paladin as he started to rise to his feet; bruises unseen beneath his clothing riddled his body from some prior torture at the hands of his captor. Anger, it was the first emotion to respond, a majority of it from Mirado at his brother being in such a state. Before anyone could speak though, Methyas spoke, "These will heal...that..." the Miraluka paused only long enough to gesture towards Fremoc's arm, "...may be a fair bit more difficult to deal with."

"You're welcome..." Fremoc grumbled as he could feel the Force unseen touching upon him as Methyas slowly searched the Grand Master's Assassin. Out of all the Pepoi, Methyas had always been an odd man out not simply for his lighter traits, but the unique connection he shared with the Force; so intuitive and responcive, even as a Journeyman.

"Your saber is a wreck, but with a little work it can be fixed. The resources shouldn't be too hard to come by in your..." Methyas started before his cousin retorted.

"In my position? What about your Clan, Methyas?" Fremoc burst out, continuing before the Miraluka could respond, "You nearly killed your brother to place yourself in the clutches of a known enemy and Jedi master. How do we know he didn't take you as an apprentice?"

While Methyas had no eyes to display his emotion, his face and body showed the pain the words from the Fist had caused, his voice rising quietly as an elegant cylinder was tossed in the elder man's lap, "Every day I was with that...that..." He shuddered, if only for a moment before his voice continued, "I thought only of my family, of the people I have lead for well over a year. The thought of him bringing whatever it is has the Grand Master so damned interested in him, down upon those I love...against my family, it steeled my resolve to hold against whatever tricks he brought to the table."

Fremoc could feel the pain directed at him, the frustration and tinges of anger in his cousin's voice striking him through the Force as the younger man slowly let his guard down and pointed at the device in Fremoc's lap, "That, was his breaking point...try as he might to turn me from my family, my friends, my home...I still kept coming back to it."

He paused, waiting for Fremoc to look at it, but the Fist didn't move. Pressure filled the hold again, a discomfort amongst those present as Methyas dropped his walls, grabbing hold of the Force and the object in his Cousin's lap before bringing it before the man's eyes with telekinesis, the low growl behind the Miraluka's voice almost frightening to the assembled men, "Look at it..."

Before Fremoc's eyes, within the illuminated blue activator switch of the sabre hilt, lay a dark blue sigil of Naga Sadow. The man grabbed the hilt and handed it to Araxis, who in turn looked it over before handing it to Lynyrd who repeated the process before tossing it to Mirado. The questions started to pour through each man's mind like grains of sand in an hourglass. How could a "Jedi" be capable of such an outburst? Would a redeemed man actually carry a weapon bearing his former home's sigil? Why would he have been beaten if he had been Halcyon's apprentice?

Mirado didn't even look at the device, speaking plainly as he walked across the hold, "That's all well and good, brother. But I think you're forgetting something..."

Before Methyas could speak up, Mirado's free hand closed into a tight fist and slammed across his brother's jaw, sending the man spinning to the floor from the force of the impact as Mirado shook his hand out. He knew better than to strike someone with a closed fist like that, but this time warrented it, "That's for throwing me through another wall."

Methyas coughed, the pain of the impact from both the fist and the cold floor had been enough to cause the man greater pain than he had previously expected. He responded just loud enough for the others to hear him as Mirado extended a hand to his brother, "I guess I deserved that."

A small laugh escaped Araxis before the sound of crunching could be heard from Lynyrd, the Zabrak pausing mid-chew as everyone turned to look at him. The Guardsman had a piece of jerky in his hand, taking another bite out of the piece before speaking again, "What? I was hungry."

A chuckle escaped Methyas as he rose to his feet with the help of Mirado, the younger man handing his brother his saber before the Paladin spoke up, "So, what have I missed?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Executive Corporate Boardroom
Undisclosed Location

"...and we couldn't locate any vessels in their records, we're assuming that they were either scuttled or fled the system before our quarentine could be established. Simonetti has established a more thorough patrol for our fleets for the next several weeks, if not months, to try and ensure we haven't missed anything and they can't infiltrate again." Roxas finished as he looked up from his terminal. The Mandalorian looked out of place without his armour, but considering most of the people here were dressed in formal attire, he was out of place anyway.

Mirado and Teu looked upon each other for a moment before they nodded to Locke, the sharply dressed man nodding in return before speaking, "We're moving ahead with plans to scuttle the two confinscated cruisers from the Galactic Alliance; one will be reefed near the Gilded Archipelago for a future tourist site while the other one will be turned into a military training ground on Tarthos at an undisclosed location. Both will have all of their working components stripped and destroyed or resold where-ever applicable."

The young Director paused as he heard some grumbling from within the room, not even bothering to look in its direction as he continued, "The reports from San Korinar look rough, both sides more than made their share of this mess and it's looking like we'll need to start reconstruction soon...luckily our surviving civillians have been relocated to either Kar Alabrek, Kel Rasha, Markosian or Seng Karash; those not wishing to stay in system have enlisted to help with the
Rybanloth project."

Locke stopped, not even moving to the next part of his report when the doors opened at the end of the conference table. The light behind the figures prevented anyone from getting a clear look at who they were, but the fact that the Black Guardsmen and various Special Ops troopers had permitted them entrance to this private location seemed as good a
reason for their presense as any. Of course, there was the other option...hands instinctively moved towards their sabers as each of them began to reach outward, making sure their guardians outside of the chamber were still alive.

Before anyone could act, the doors swung shut, revealing the figure of Methyas in neatly-pressed dark sagely robes with the aging figure of Robert Sadow standing behind him. The lost Proconsul stood before them now as Consul of the Clan, speaking quickly as though he hadn't missed a moment of time, "Locke, make sure that everyone on the board gets a
copy of that report. I'll want to know what our projected costs are when we revitalize San Korinar. Now...I've heard mention that we've had a bit of an...lets say misunderstanding with the Galactic Alliance."

The Prelate paused, looking over the assembled figures at the table before him. He could feel their various emotions and took note of Teu and Mirado's nods before he continued, "This is something that cannot happen again, we've built years of repitoire between our Corporation and what started countless years before. I've given our Legate our story, the Cruisers were destroyed by the very same pirates who recently attacked our city of San Korinar before fleeing, and things have been repaired to a point. We will be sending them some of the scuttled parts as a gesture of good will, after some of our more
escentric members have a go at them, and I will be continuing to communicate with our Legate to ensure the Alliance stays out of the system if at all possible."

Awkward shuffling could be felt amongst the assembled Summit as Bob simply stood stoically behind their Consul, whom was now seated at the head of the table, “In the wake of the recent shift and unfortunate decision of our Consul to step down; no-doubt you are aware that I have been appointed his successor.” A pause, short enough to take a note of each of the Summit’s reactions, “Likewise, I have brought enlisted the services of Robert Sadow for the Proconsul and Vice-
president of the Corporation. Now, let us get down to business.”

As Bob silently shifted around the table, he moved to seat next to Methyas before the Consul continued, "Our friends in Taldryan are interested in furthering our work as an alliance..."

The Miraluka paused for effect, waiting to see how his Summit would respond before he continued, "As I'm sure you're aware, Ashia has left us for the role of Aedile with Taldryan; its a position she's utilizing to full effect to ensure that our alliance succeeds. Both Bob and I have been discussing the continued purpose of this alliance with our friends and have started to cement an expanded presence for Sadowans within Taldryan's Rybanloth system."

The young Consul could feel the slight surges from his brother and cousin; their alliance with Taldryan had been limited to Corporate assistance in trying to obtain the resources in the prized system, but now there was word of an actual Foxtrot Uniform presence from Sadow within sovereign Taldryan space?

"Obviously, we require an increased presence of mind within our own system to ensure our troublesome pests don't sneak in again; a presence of course that will be aided by our Special Ops members. However, those who do not wish to partake in our next mission can remain here. For those who wish, however...the Immolator, Scourge and Overseer will be preparing to depart for Sarmus within the next twenty-four hours. If we have no further items to discuss, I'd suggest we adjourn this meeting and get to informing our Disciples."

There was a pause, short-lived but the air was tense for a moment as someone, anyone, waited for a question to the Consul or Proconsul who seemingly dropped out of no-where to crash their meeting. A quiet agreement passed between them all before they rose from their seats and began to exit their secret boardroom; if no-one had had a question during the meeting they would be sure to voice them later in private.

The Wreck of the Miner’s Brother
Amphor Orbit
Orian System


War was Hell. An intense raid on the piratical forces opposing the Clan on San Korinar had been brutal and bloody. This was to be expected. The genetically engineered goons had been hopped to the gills on cyberware and chem.-stims. It was undoubtedly the work of the shadowy “Organization,” and once again the enemies had predictably been shown the short end of the stick.

Of course, this did not happen without some loss of resources and personnel on the part of the defenders. San Korinar and Amphor Space in general had been sh@t hammered. Bodies lay strewn in the streets, to swell and bloat in the gas-laded atmosphere. Smoke drifted from the ruins of the scummy city like beacons begging for rescue in Amphor’s colored skies.

No rescue came. The city was crippled, and it lay in ruins as rescue teams tried in vain to save the barely living that had encountered the storm.

In the past twenty four hours, Macron had killed more than forty heavily armed people that he knew of. Those that had also died in baradium fueled blasts from Force-pitched thermal detonators were obviously uncountable. Alongside Tsainetomo and later Tiberius he had scoured one pernicious clique of the scum from a warehouse redoubt near San Korinar’s heart. The raid had yielded more than fuel for the charnel house. It had yielded information which had immediately been passed to the proper authorities.

Macron considered his options as the B-series droid stitched his arm. To be sent willy-nilly into the fray, with little to no contact from his Clan superiors irked him greatly. They gave him no mention- and worse still, no respect that he could discern even as a Son of Sadow. It was rumored even his own Apprentice Mirado had stated he had nothing more to learn from the Alchemist. The madman ground his metal teeth in compressed anger.

All those years… and all those battles. The K’hammarians, Coratua, an Antei Uprising, the Vong, Crask’s minions, Xanos’ heresy… so many had been slain. So many friends lost. And for what? Fourteen years of obedience, fourteen years of Death. Macron placed his hand on his head in mental agony as the memories flooded in. He had no idea how many he had dispatched into the arms of the Force. It was a considerable number, especially if one counted those who had died by the means of the now-outlawed Violator Gas.

Once his arm was mended, he stood. A missive had been dispatched from the Clan Command. Any operatives with the right clearance would be welcomed in the sortie to Sarmus. He would damn sure be on that mission, and there would indeed be a reckoning. An explanation would soon be found, even if it was in the sanguine sound of a lightsaber igniting hapless flesh.

Command Bridge
VAC Despot, Begeren System

Noise filled the bridge of the Despot every officer and technician was busy doing something. Only one person stood still and silent at the head of the bridge, listing to everything that was going on.

“Lieutenant, the convoy is 3 mikes out from our ambush point.”

“Good copy Ensign, helm ready thrusters.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Thrusters ready Lieutenant.”

“Weapons are at the ready too Sir.”

“Very good, all stations prepare to attack.”

The Despot was hiding behind the farthest moon of the planet this convoy was supposed to deliver supplies too. This was the third time that the Despot had ambushed a supply line for this planet. Soon they would have to turn to a new supplier, a better supplier, the Dlarit Corporation. As the convoy passed the dark side of the moon the Despot sprang its attack, raising over the moon and surprising the convoy from above. The Despot fired perfectly placed ion bolts into the three cargo ships then wiped out its fighter escort with little effort.

“Perpare the boarding teams.” The Despot’s Commanding Officer ordered, then turn and made his way to the front of the bridge.

“Milord, the convoy has been disabled. Shall I have a boarding team wait for you?”

The sith pirate stood at the front of the bridge staring out at the convoy. Then turn to face the Lieutenant.

“No, finish up here then lets return home. You have the bridge Lieutenant.”

Jeric moved past the bowed lieutenant and into the bridge’s planning chamber. The sith sat down and kicked his feet up onto the table. Picking up a datapad, Jeric reviewed the Despot’s cargo manifest. In the past three days they had raided three different supply convoys heading for this lonely planet. The first day Jeric had joined one of the boarding teams but found little things of value he wanted. So he had decided not to join the rest of the raids. For once he was letting the corporation have everything he took. Twenty minutes later Jeric heard the whine of the hyperdrive engines. Tilting his head back Jeric dozed off, he could finally get some sleep now since the three day venture was over.

Seng Karash Starport
Aeotheran, Orian System

Jeric was unaware how much long they had been back on Aeotheran when he awoke. He assume it couldn’t have been long since staff was still running around doing post mission PMCS and the cargo was still being unloaded. Jeric made his way out of the planning chamber and too the closest turbo lift. Seconds after he exited the ship Jeric was approached by a staff officer.

“Milord you are to report to the Ragnos Cathedral immediately.” the Major said handing Jeric a datapad with those exact orders straight from the President.

“Is my shuttle still in bay eight?”

“Yes it is, we are have it prep for you.”

The Sith turn and began taking heavy strides towards his shuttle. Whatever he was needed for must have been important coming straight from the President. Minutes later Jeric was seated inside his shuttle and it was lunching from the Starport.

“We should be at Tarthos in approximately 30 minutes.” the pilot announced to Jeric.

Tarthos
Markosian City
The Crossroads

It was midday, but no matter what time of day it was on Tarthos, it was always cold to the Mandalorian. He sat at his desk in the back room figuring up profits and shipping orders for The Crossroads. He marked down that this was the third week in a row that he hadn’t received a shipment of booze. Roxas was frustrated and started thinking of a way to solve this problem. He leaned back in his chair and lit a cigar. He took a long puff and then another before remembering that he could have The Regulators solve this problem. He still wasn’t fully used to being the sergeant of the team. Roxas took another puff as he grabbed his data pad to read though the roster to find the best member for the job. Creon’s name came up and the Knight stopped to think. Creon’s master was rash with his decisions, which made Roxas feel that the apprentice may be the same way, so he decided against using him for this job.

He took another puff as he continued looking through the list. He reached Cyril Omega and thought for a moment. Roxas clicked his data pad to bring up her combat stats. He was impressed with what he saw. The Mandalorian took the cigar and set it in an ash tray on his workbench. He then brought up her comm channel.

“Cyril Omega, this is sergeant Roxas Buurenaar.” The Mandalorian said into the comm, trying to keep from sounding unprofessional.

She replied almost instantly “Yes Sir, how may I help you?”

The sergeant informed her of the situation and ordered her to investigate, while staying away from the whole “mount up” line, which he wasn’t very fond of. He closed the channel hoping that he didn’t come off like a nut case, but felt that he wouldn’t worry because everything is good with enough booze and soon he would have more. With that out of his way he leaned back in his chair, picked his cigar back up, and went back to his paperwork.

"I hope I'm done with this soon, I want to open the bar early tonight." The Mandalorian said to himself.

-Undisclosed Location
-The Crossroads

Cyril Omega stood surrounded by enemies; twenty-five blasters pointed her way. Her head bowed, she reached for her training sabre, ignoring their shouts of “Put your weapons down or we’ll open fire!”
This is too easy. Faster than the eye could see she ignited her training sabre and dropped, slashing at the shins nearest to her. Though the blade was too weak to do any real damage, it looked strong enough to cause a panic and they did just that. They broke rank, giving the Acolyte the opportunity to truly strike. Standing she whirled, lashing out with her vibroshiv catching her opponent with a lucky shot to the neck. He fell instantly as blood splattered onto her face, the crimson standing out against her skin, but she had no time to waste wiping it off. 
Cy batted a few blaster bolts aside and jumped into the air drawing on the Force as she did so. She planned to hurl as much energy as she could muster in a Force push [PSH] and succeeded; a few stumbled backwards, reeling in the wake of an invisible hand slapping them away. She landed lightly on her feet and used her superior speed to her advantage, rushing the group and slamming into the commander with her vibroshiv. She struck his jugular and he wilted, dead in an instant. With the death of their leader the rest fled; though her emotions urged her into a hunt she was now coldly focused on her mission. 
After finding the stolen goods, she contacted The Crossroads and gave them the coordinates to her location, settling into meditation to wait their arrival. After a moment her comlink chimed, breaking her concentration; she listened to her Sergeant’s voice with secret satisfaction. She activated it and listened to the message from her Sergeant: 
“Good job, Cy. I knew you could do it.” 

Cy smirked to herself and allowed for a brief moment of satisfaction before her emotionless facade took over. Loading the rickety transport that was her only way off this wasteland of a planet, she activated hyperspeed and setbin the coordinates for home--time for a long sanisteam and to make her report to the Sergeant. She sat back in her seat and gazed out the viewpoint as the stars flashed by, and for once the Force was silent.

Undisclosed Location Underground
Temple of Fire
Sepros
Orian System

“But…. My Lord…”

“As I have commanded, Macron Sadow, you will most definitely not have your little ‘discussion’ with Mirado and Methyas. We need them. Our Clan needs them.” The cloaked figure reclined in the simple but well-made chair. “That is not productive in any way. My orders stand. As my Son, you will obey them.”

Macron snarled while bowing his head. “Yes, Lord Sadow. As you will. Your will is my command.” His fingers flexed, clenching and unclenching in frustration.

The grim figure of a hooded Astronicus turned to contemplate the data readouts he had been compiling. “Remember your own youth and beginning as a leader. You did many bad things… things that people hate you for to this day. Or have you forgotten?”

“I have not… forgotten,” murmured the humbled Sith as he continued to kneel on the cold stone floor. “But yet, those things needed doing. Because I did them, our Clan still lives. Were I presented with the same choices today, the only difference in my decision would be the speed at which I did it. Which would now be a much faster decision on my part. The Way is clear. So wills the Dark Side.”

Astronicus smiled. “And so they did them as well. Yes, indeed. Truly, you are a Sith of the old days unfortunately caught in this modern era. I fear you are an anachronism, my friend.” The Overlord touched a datascreen. “As many of us are. Or at least we seem to be... But there is truth in old words, and old ways as long as they remain dynamic. Dynamism is one of the qualities the Sith incorporate into their philosophies. Use what works, be it old or new.”

“Yes, my Lord. That is a point I agree with you upon. The mixture of what works from the old and new is one thing our Clan has used to it’s benefit over the years. For example, against the Vong if we had stuck to outdated paradigms and tactics we would now all be rendered bio-mass or Yorik-coral plugs.” The Alchemist stood and regarded the data pouring across the holoscreens floating overhead.

“I agree. Adapt, and overcome your enemies. Your work against the Organization has been exemplary. We have collected a great amount of data, and dealt severe blows to them over time. I imagine they will lick their wounds and count their assets, as such of their ilk are known to do. However, something else is brewing,” smiled the Clan Overlord. “Consider this readout. And as you well know, the rumors of master Trevarus and the Betrayer’s return are true.”

Macron’s tattooed face fell in uncharacteristic shock. The Betrayer… his old Sith Master, returned from beyond the grave. And it had been confirmed by the Overlord. This was very bad news, indeed.

This is set just after the incidents on Amphor back during the summer. I've had it in a file for a couple of months, so might as well post it before Unrest ends. A lot was later referenced in my GJW run-on posts.

Aboard the CR90 CEC Corvette Sanguinus

‘Apprentice,’ Trevarus Caerick repeated, as Stacia stood watching the silent Falleen gaze eerily into the twisting nether of hyperspace outside the viewport.

There was no reason to keep the ship in hyperspace, she knew, but Trev never had been one to do things by the book, or, well, to do things like any normal person, ever, full stop. Stacia pressed her hand to her forehead and began to massage her temples. Trev paid well. But he was a pain in the karking proverbial. Regardless of his reasons—or, more likely, his lack of any real reason—for the Sanguinus’s current station, the endless swirl of blue and white was fast giving her a headache.

Not that the woman was going to say anything.

She knew better than to question two Dark Jedi Masters.

Especially two widely considered insane.

At last, the Falleen opened his eyes, although the living-metaphysical-tattoo-thing on his head didn’t move, giving Xanos Zorrixor—or Darth Vexatus—or whatever the alien was calling itself now—last she’d heard, the Sadowites still considered him ‘the Betrayer’ for something or other she had never fully understood—or overly cared about—arguments between Force users and their rivalling sects always had always been beyond her areas of expertise or interest—regardless, the tattoo gave him the goofy three-eyed stare of a hermit that had been pulled straight from an old Corellian fairytale.

The Falleen looked as if he had heard her thoughts, for his eyes shifted away from Caerick’s and turned to settle upon hers instead. Like every other member of that ghastly species who she’d had the displeasure to meet, the Falleen’s face remained wholly unmoved. She really did hate aliens that used pheromones to communicate rather than regular body language like any normal species.

‘Stacia,’ said the Falleen flatly. His voice was no more helpful than his expression; soft and strangely ethereal, yes, but at the same time as dry and emotionless as a handful of parched dirt. No, she didn’t like aliens; they made her job reading people unnecessarily harder.

She bowed her head slightly—oh how much she hated doing that—and did her best not to sound resentful when she spoke. ‘Mast—er, Lord Zorrixor...’ she said, quickly correcting herself.

In the corner of her peripheral version, she caught Trev snicker; a moment later, he clapped his gauntleted hand on her shoulder. ‘We’re not in Sadow Palace, Stacia,’ the sorcerer said, amused. She inclined her head to one side and studied the man as he continued. ‘I’m sure I speak for Xanos when I say we’re both far more interested in the location of Jaspen Kraitus than forms of address.’

Turning back to the Falleen, Xanos’s eyes seemed to be looking through her, rather than at her. Despite being more than used to dealing with Jedi and darksiders—as well as a wide range of ever more esoteric cults and cultists—Xanos’s vacant expression was something else entirely, as if he wasn’t quite there, or maybe as if she wasn’t there. ‘Me and Jaspen ran into each other a few years back,’ she began, dismissing the eccentricity of the Falleen’s demeanour and simply recounting the full story of the pair’s meeting in the Miner’s Daughter aboard the Sky City of San Korinar.

She explained how the boy had been found wandering the Outer Rim, having been spurned by the Jedi Order for bearing the same tattoo worn by Caerick and his apprentices. But luck had been in hand for young Jaspen. He’d run into a band of stranded Jedi warriors—the same crusaders who’d later been killed off, one-by-one, by the very same criminals who had recently besieged Amphor. She had her ideas for who this mysterious organisation hunting Force-users was... but that cost extra, and Trev didn’t seem to be interested.

In any case, where Kraitus was now, she couldn’t say.

Except that Jaspen was interested in Trev—just like Trev was interested in Jaspen.

‘Interesting...’ observed the Oracle. ‘So he’s still in Orian?’

‘He was,’ Stacia replied thoughtfully, twirling a lock of her greying blonde hair around one of her index fingers. ‘But not anymore.’ This conversation was starting to intrigue her: the man standing next to her was supposed to be a seer, an all-knowing oracle, and the alien in front carried the title of prophet, and was gifted with farseeing. But neither knew where Jaspen Kraitus was? Curious...

‘Go on,’ pressed Trev, a hint of impatience entering his voice.

‘Last I heard,’ she continued, shaking aside her idle thoughts, ‘he was on Tarthos when the natives rebelled.’ The woman lowered her gaze for a moment and smirked. ‘You weren’t very discrete when you were last here, Trev.’ Stacia laughed. ‘The Triple-Eyed Thunder Monk? The miners were telling stories about you in the bar for months.’ She looked back up to see the sorcerer’s raised eyebrow, although the man didn’t bother to comment; instead, he simply gestured for her to carry on. ‘When you left to do...’ she paused, glancing briefly at Xanos, ‘...whatever it is you’ve been doing these past two years... that was the last I heard of Kraitus. He must have followed you offworld.

‘And, no, don’t bother.’ Stacia put her hands into her pockets and shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea where he is now. Like I told Eosara: I’ve friends in every spy ring in the Galactic Alliance, but nobody’s seen him.’

‘I see...’

The sorcerer turned and looked at her—or, rather, she suspected, Trev was looking into her.

She wasn’t scared of him—and she knew that Trev knew that—but that didn’t change the fact that she still disliked her mind being violated. ‘Maybe you could try retracing your steps?’ she said dryly, not bothering to disguise her annoyance. The woman shrugged again. ‘Perhaps he followed you?’

‘Perhaps...’ The sorcerer studied her for a moment, then he turned towards his apprentice. ‘Xanos?’

Stacia followed Caerick’s gaze to the Falleen, whose eyes continued looking through both her and his former master as if neither of them were standing there. It took another several silent moments before Xanos lifted his eyes and looked up at Trevarus. If she didn’t know any better—and, true, she didn’t, but she was good at reading people, even ones as flat and humourless as Xanos Zorrixor—she’d have said it was almost as if the Falleen was having another conversation with someone else.

Or he was talking to himself. Which was probably more likely, she reflected. The Falleen clearly had lost it during whatever ritual or whatever the kriff it was that Trev had done to bring him back.

‘Ghost Angel,’ said Xanos at last, in the same, cold, unmoving, Falleen voice as earlier.

Stacia frowned. ‘Ghost Angel...?’ That was a name she hadn’t heard for a long time.

Ghost Angel had been one of Trev’s former students—another of the ones he had given his three-eyed brand to. The girl—no, not a girl any longer, reflected Stacia; the other woman had to be around the same age as her now—in any case, Ghost Angel’s age aside, the former Krath had deserted the Brotherhood years ago, at the start of the Yuuzhan Vong War. She’d apparently been ‘redeemed’, as the Force users sometimes put it. What did Ghost Angel have to do with all this?

The two Dark Jedi Masters’ eyes remained locked on each other, as if Stacia hadn’t even spoken.

‘Stacia,’ said Trev finally, the sorcerer not bothering to look at her, ‘have Eosara take you back to Karash Spaceport. My apprentice and I have what we wanted. Thank you.’ Still not turning to her, he flicked his hand toward the entrance doors and they swished open. ‘I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.’

‘Okay...’ the woman replied, still confused.

Shrugging the matter aside, she turned and left, knowing better than to outstay her welcome.

Ghost Angel? Well... if nothing else, at least she now had a name she could hopefully track down. Trev might not have wanted her knowing, but she’d find out; she always found things out.

Until next time, Trev... thought Stacia as the doors slid shut behind her.

Sepros
Sadow Palace

The transport settled racefully, if one could call it that. Methyas stepped out onto the terrace, watching as pneumatic shocks activated, lowering the gangway with a hiss of released atmosphere. The paint marked the ship as from Antei, and he knew Fremoc was aboard, but his senses saw something else. Something familiar.

Teu gasped subtly. She was not one often surprised, and Methyas took stock in that. He focused his senses, narrowing in on that which he could barely 'see' even with the aid of the Force.

Fremoc helped him from the transport, his brother's arm slung behind his neck, limping down the durasteel slightly.

"Kano?" The realization dawned on him, the words escaping his lips before his mind reminded him of that day.

Fremoc stopped, Kano looking askance at him, silently demanding he be able towalk on his own.

"Are you sure?" The words were hushed.

"Yes." His voice was gravel.

The chirp at Methyas belt distracted him. The communicator blast told him of another, more expected visitor. Tsainetomo would be expecting him. He turned slowly, swiveling his senses to feel out the Pepoi.

"Before you go..." Kano's words carried out, echoing off the treeline.

Methyas stopped, turning back to the man.

"...I'll be needing my armor."

Blood Temple

Fremoc tied the cloth around his eye with the assistance of his cybernetic hand. The cybernetic eye left a whole in his left eye socket, the pieces of it laying on the ground covered in his blood.

He stood sensing his brother approaching. "Feeling better back in that armor?"

"Its a bit damaged no thanks to you."

"Your clone was just like you in every way."

"So I heard. You give me a decent send off?"

"All out war broke out on the Reaper's Call, to the point were it lost power because of us. You were killed by a Force Blast to the chest splintering your ribs, and sent bone through your heart."

"Sounds like a great death." The older brother turned, "I have something to teach you."

"You-" Before the Mandalorian Pepoi could finish the question, Fremoc had moved from his position five meters in front of him, to five meters behind him. "How did you?"

The older brother only grinned.