Star Wars Insider

N 130

The Tenebrous Way

by Matthew Stover

art by Brian Rood

uploaded 24.XII.2011

###############################################################################

Dying, Tenebrous observed with mild surprise, was turning out to be not only pleasant, but wholly wonderful; had he ever suspected how much he’d enjoy the process, he wouldn’t have wasted all these decades waiting for his foolish apprentice Plagueis to do him in.

So, even as he lay gasping around the icy barbs that pierced his lung, Tenebrous smiled. Even with the jerking and convulsing in his body’s last reflexive rebellion against the fall of eternal night, even as organ systems shut down one by one to maintain the last shreds of light and life within the vast intricacies of his brain-massive beyond even those of other Biths, a people justly legendary for their intellectual prowess-Tenebrous found himself particularly enjoying the incremental disappearance of his own midi-chlorians.

His Force-perception was even more acute than the magnifying powers of his enormous eyes; in the Force, he could feel each individual midi-chlorian wink out in turn, a spreading wave of darkness, like stars eclipsed by the silhouette of an approaching ship.

Or falling through the event horizon of a black hole.

Ah, darkness. Darkness at last. The darkness he had dreamed of. The darkness he had planned for. The darkness that was his one true love. The darkness he had taken as his name.

Was he not Darth Tenebrous?

His vision dimmed. His hearing became a rush of wind like static on an electrovoder -and then silence. The sole sensation registered by his quivering flesh was the rip of shattered bone and slow suffocation choking his consciousness, as his shredded lung could supply only a fraction of the oxygen required by his massive brain.

It hardly mattered. Shielded from suffering by his command of the Force, Tenebrous observed the death agony of his physical form with appropriately Bithan dispassion. And now his impossibly refined perceptions detected the brush of Plaugueis’ mind, as the apprentice probed the vanishing midi-chlorians of his dying master with his own use of the Force, as Tenebrous had known he would. Tenebrous had spent decades making sure that Plagueis would be unable to resist doing exactly that.

Everything was proceeding according to plan.

* * *

Foolish, pathetic Plagueis…. Tenebrous’ Muun apprentice would never comprehend his own limitations. These limitations were only peripherally due to the unfortunate tendency of Muuns, as a species, to measure every interaction as a transaction to be manipulated for maximum profit. No, Plagueis’ real weakness was fear. Fear so deep and all-pervasive that the fool did not even register it as emotion-again and again I across the decades of his apprenticeship, Plagueis had insisted that his fear was not fear at all, instead claiming it to be merely rational prudence. But Tenebrous knew the truth. Had always known it. Tenebrous had chosen his apprentice specifically because of it.

Plagueis was afraid to die.

Were Tenebrous the sort of individual who could experience pity, he supposed he might feel some for his apprentice. Crippled by dread, Plagueis would never know the freedom of an unbounded will that was the true legacy of the Banite Sith. And were Tenebrous the sort of individual to be fair-minded about such things, he would have accepted much of the blame for Plagueis’ incapacity. As both pity and fairness were entirely alien to his nature, though, Tenebrous instead pleasurably recalled the relentless needling of his apprentice across their long, long years together. He had pricked constantly at Plagueis’ sore spot, to make certain it could never heal.

Not even animals fear death, Plagueis. The lowliest beast in existence exhibits more “rational prudence” than you ever have. They fear only pain and injury. Bright lights and loud noises. You are less than a beast. You fear a mere concept- and one you do not even understand.

Thus was the ground carefully prepared. Thus did the seed of Plagueis’ fear sprout and blossom into obsession. Thus had Tenebrous skillfully re-directed his apprentice’s unparalleled aptitude for midi-chlorian manipulation away from the deepening of insight, from the intuition of the future, and from the amassing of personal and political power-away from any and all pursuits that might have proven inconvenient for Tenebrous’ ultimate plan-toward a single goal. A goal Tenebrous had chosen for his own purposes.

The mastery of life and death.

More than a century before, when Tenebrous had been but a Sith apprentice himself, the magnificent computational power of his Bith brain had led him far beyond the simplistic Force studies imposed on him by his Master. He had always been far too intelligent to be seduced by the traditional Sith metaphysical twaddle of dark destiny and the witless fantasy of endless war against the equally witless Jedi Order. Soon he had confirmed to his own satisfaction that the dark side of the Force, far from being some malevolent mystic sentience bent on spreading suffering throughout the Galaxy, was in truth merely an energy source, and a tool with which he could impose his will upon reality. It was a sort of natural amplifier he could use to multiply the effectiveness of his many useful abilities.

None of which was more useful than his matchless intellect.

Like many Sith before him, he had turned his powers toward knowledge of the future. But unlike any Sith before him he had the enormous brain of his people, which combined sheer brute processing power with a level of analytic precision simply beyond the capacity of any other species. The future was always in motion, and while other Sith struggled to foresee the faintest, least specific hints of what was to come, Tenebrous had no need to see the future.

He could calculate it.

While still merely an apprentice, his analysis had shown him the inevitable end of the Banite Sith and its preposterous Rule of Two. His calculations plainly indicated the coming of a shadow so vast it would darken the galaxy entirely- so vast it would mark the end of both Jedi and Sith as the universe had known them heretofore. The rise of the shadow would be the end of history itself.

Tenebrous had not the slightest doubt that the entire galaxy would measure time according to its arrival. Events would be marked by how far they had preceded the shadow, or by how long after it they followed.

Though the exact nature of the great shadow remained occult, the remorseless logic of his extrapolation detailed the coming destruction of the Banite system, and the rise of what would become known as the “One Sith.” One Sith! The conclusion was so obvious as to require no confirmation: one single Sith Lord would arise of such power that he’d have no need of any apprentice nor fear of the Jedi. He would take and hold the galaxy by his own hand alone. Without an apprentice- or a Jedi Order-to destroy him, the One Sith would rule forever!

A heady prospect, with only a single drawback:

Tenebrous was not to be that Sith Lord.

His own death was clearly foretold, entirely inevitable, and it would precede the rise of the shadow by decades. His fate was explicit in the numbers, and numbers do not lie. However-as Tenebrous came eventually to realize over his many years of research, contemplation and calculation-it might be possible for the numbers in question to be, well, deceived….

The key, he’d discovered, lay in an obscure legend obliquely referenced in the Journal of the Whills, about a hero fairly typical in most cultures-the sort of promised future savior who appears in the foundational myths of nearly every developed society. What distinguished this particular savior from his run-of-the-mill equivalents was that he, according to four of eleven possible translations, was to be “born of pure Force.” After three standard years devoted specifically to exploring all possible permutations of the interpretation, Tenebrous determined that such a birth was indeed possible, at least metaphorically- “born of pure Force” could be read as indicating the creation of a living being through direct manipulation of midi-chlorian processes in an already living being.

And further, as Tenebrous discovered with rising excitement, such a being s Force potential might be limited not by its creator’s own midi-chlorian count, but instead only by its creator’s level of discipline and attention to detail. Indeed, his calculations indicated a range potentially far beyond his own. With proper execution, the “savior” might have a midi-chlorian count as high as fifteen thousand!

Perhaps even more.

It might be possible to create a being with the greatest Force potential ever recorded!

And-by the application of his own suitably subtle variation of the ancient Sith brute-force essence transfer-Tenebrous could ensure that his own consciousness would be present at the creation of this being, this savior, this Chosen One. And, at the moment of creation-long before the Chosen One could hope to resist- Tenebrous would seize it. Would become it.

With this single stroke, decades after his body’s death, he would become the most powerful Force-user in the history of the galaxy.

It was all there in the numbers. He could not possibly fail.

Once his analysis had been parsed to its nth degree, polished into a gem perfect beyond the possibility of flaw, Tenebrous had devoted every second of every day of his life to fulfilling his plan. Nothing would be left to chance. He had exterminated his doddering Master with his customary efficiency, and had embarked immediately on a decades-spanning quest for an apprentice of his own. And not just an apprentice, but the apprentice: one possessed of a very specific combination of particular skills-primarily surrounding the direct perception and manipulation of midi-chlorian activity-but also a range of weaknesses, from short-sighted concern with personal profit to an unconquerable dread of the unknown realms beyond the walls of death.

An apprentice whose sole purpose was to create the being Tenebrous would become.

Thus would Darth Tenebrous, the greatest mind in the history of the Sith, be reborn to rule the galaxy.

Forever.

Now that his body’s physical senses had altogether perished. Tenebrous found his perception of the Force to be proportionately heightened. With glorious precision, he could trace the slightest wisp of Plagueis’ clumsy Force-probing as his apprentice sought to record and analyze every detail of Tenebrous’s death. He could feel Plagueis himself: crouched nearby, his eyes closed, the long spiderish fingers of one hand stretched forth as though to snatch Tenebrous’ disappearing midi-chlorians from mid-air.

This was Plagueis’ customary technique: a close examination, through the Force, of the midi-chlorian decay that accompanied the physical death of his victims. Tenebrous was by far the most powerful Force-user whose death Plagueis had the opportunity to observe, and he had known all along that his apprentice would apply all his physical, mental, and Force capabilities-pitiful as they might be- to witness each slightest detail.

As though midi-chlorians somehow embodied the principle of life itself, they vanished as life fled. Plagueis had more than once speculated that they somehow migrated from dying cells and returned to rejoin the Force from which they had sprung-more evidence of the apprentice’s muddy thinking and pathetically romanticized mysticism, but no matter. The delusion of the student had proven an inspiration to the teacher, and the concept of midi-chlorian migration-flawed though it was-became the key to Tenebrous- master stroke.

Amidst the billions upon billions of individual midi-chlorian deaths in Tenebrous’ cells were a tiny fraction of midi-chlorians that were not dying.

That would not die so long as they inhabited a living host. These especially tenacious midi-chlorians-Tenebrous had privately labeled them with the indeed, Tenebrous had gone to considerable trouble to ensure it would always remain so.

Instead of actually training his doltish apprentice, Tenebrous had flattered Plagueis’ mysticism while pricking his insecurities, sending him off on one useless, doomed-to-fail mission after another. In turn, Tenebrous had invested every available second of the freedom this afforded into designing, creating, and deploying the one weapon that Plagueis would never suspect.

Could never suspect. His own prejudices about the Force ensured Plagueis wouldn’t believe such a thing was possible.

Tenebrous created a retrovirus that could infect midi-chlorians.

Midi-chlorians were, after all, merely jesting sobriquet maxi-chlorians-had been altered. Improved. It would not be an overstatement, in Tenebrous’ opinion, to use the word perfected. These maxi-chlorians would indeed migrate, but not into the Force.

They would migrate into Plagueis.

To detect this infinitesimal percentage would require the precision of a Bith; it was far beyond his apprentice’s limited perceptions-and symbiotic organelles that contribute to the organic processes of the living cells they inhabit. Due to their role in Force interactions, altering them was singularly challenging-they had an unsettling tendency to spontaneously express unexpected and unfortunate side effects-but by applying the full analytic prowess of his vast Bith brain and the preternatural power of his Bith senses to detect and resolve sub-microscopic structure, he eventually succeeded in creating a retrovirus that would transform normal midi-chlorians into long-lived maxi-chlorians.

But that was only the beginning.

With the patient, painstaking attention to the slightest, most insignificant detail that was his hallmark, Tenebrous had encoded his custom retrovirus with his most potent weapon: his own consciousness.

Once completed, Tenebrous had released the virus into his own bloodstream. It had spread throughout his body, infecting midi-chlorians in every one of his cells with gratifying alacrity. Not all his midi-chlorians, though, as the infected maxi-chlorians no longer fully functioned; to infect them all would have cut off his own connection to the Force. A partial severance of this connection was a necessary sacrifice, however, and through an extended process of trial and error, he was able to fine-tune the effect and confine it to the one sector of his Force powers he no longer needed-his ability to sense the motion of the future.

Of what possible use was the ability to see a future he already knew?

Now, dead at last, he could begin to enjoy the fruits of his lifelong labor. In the Force, he could feel that his body had already suffered irreversible brain-death, yet his consciousness remained, fully aware, fully functional, and connected to the Force in a manner more intimate than he had ever believed possible. Freed now of the crude biological processes that mark the passage of time, Tenebrous found he could perceive the measured tick of each individual nanosecond while simultaneously comprehending the entire sweep of galactic eons.

Beside Tenebrous’ corpse, as Plagueis carefully observed the vanishing of Tenebrous’ midi-chlorians, maxi-chlorians were being subtly and invisibly carried across the intervening space to settle in Plagueis’ eyes and mouth, on his skin and into an open wound on his back, where they entered the apprentice’s bloodstream and slipped into his cells, releasing their viral cargo of Tenebrous’ mind.

Perfect. And what made it even more perfect was that his apprentice would never comprehend the ironic pun of the name Tenebrous had given him: Plagueis.

The diseased one.

Driven by the dark side-powered will of the Sith Master, the retrovirus propagated with incredible speed. As it carried his consciousness throughout his apprentice’s body, Tenebrous found himself becoming pleasurably aware the he was gaining access to Plagueis’ sensorium. He could literally feel what Plagueis felt, both the coldly clinical satisfaction at having successfully engineered Tenebrous’ murder…. and the Force-perception that let Plagueis monitor the last vanishing remnants of Tenebrous’ uninfected midi-chlorians.

Full access to his apprentice’s Force-perceptions! Delightful. Better than Tenebrous had allowed himself to hope. Hmm-perhaps he should have invested some time in actually training the foolish Muun. Tapping Plagueis’ Force powers would be more entertaining if they weren’t so stunted from disuse. And yet….

As he continued to explore, Tenebrous gradually became aware of the full range of his apprentice’s connection to the Force, which was considerably deeper, broader, and more powerful than Tenebrous had ever suspected. He reflected, with a twinge of uncomfortable premonition, that perhaps Plagueis had been right when he contended that Tenebrous had always underestimated him.

Now Tenebrous touched upon his apprentice’s powers of foresight, which were also vastly more developed than Tenebrous had believed. For a moment. Tenebrous found his perception cast far forward in time-to Plagueis’ own death at the hands of his apprentice, who was himself visible only as a smear of darkness….

A shadow!

For an instant, Tenebrous felt the death anguish of Plagueis…. and felt the searing agony Plagueis felt…. at his failure to have ever created the Force-user Tenebrous was to become! He would allow his own apprentice to kill him too soon….

This could not be. It could not be contemplated, much less allowed to come to pass. Fury competed with panic as Tenebrous threw his mind at the future, seeking to understand how it was Plagueis could be so complacent, so foolish….

So blind.

The searing truth was driven home by the gathering darkness that clouded his borrowed foresight. Soon all he could see of the future was a hazy smear of shadow…. as the retrovirus he had become infected Plagueis’ every cell. The retrovirus he had allowed to sacrifice his ability to gaze forward in time…. and had thus robbed his apprentice of his power to sense the future.

Which would seal his own doom as well.

His single-minded pursuit of eternal life and supreme power had accomplished only this. He would be destroyed by his own triumph.

Now wholly giving himself over to panic, Tenebrous turned his will upon undoing the damage he had done. With all his multiplied power, he yanked his maxi-chlorians back out from Plagueis’ body in a spray of Force energy from his eyes, his mouth, the wound and every other cell. He had to think-he had to find a way out-or perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps there

Perhaps the best he could hope for was the slow, inevitable extinction of his consciousness as his maxi-chlorians too faded and winked out. Then, at least, he would no longer have to squirm in the agony of his self-inflicted defeat….

If his maxi-chlorians were going to fade.

Because it dawned on him that he wasn’t sure exactly how long the process should take, but he certainly didn’t seem to be losing consciousness. He reached out with the Force-perhaps he could sense something. Anything. Or even contact Plagueis, somehow make his presence known, as his apprentice would never allow him to survive, no matter how reduced his powers might be….

But Plagueis wasn’t here. Not only had Plagueis somehow vanished, Tenebrous could sense no trace of him ever having been here at all…. what was happening? How could this be?

The only trace of organic life Tenebrous could sense were some ancient mummified remains….

Of a Bith.

How long had he been here? How long would it take for every trace of Plagueis to vanish? Those remains were years old-decades, perhaps centuries old.

Tenebrous wondered, with dawning horror, if his retrovirus might have somehow mutated, if its effects on the maxi-chlorians might go somehow deeper than excision of foresight?

What if his eternal life would be…. this?

Or worse: what if his foresight hadn’t been eliminated, but had been somehow twisted in upon itself? What if his remains were ancient because this was the thousandth time he had relived his death and the shattering revelation of his life-long self-deception…. what if this was the millionth time he’d relived it?

The billionth?

Then he knew, and at that moment he wished he still had a mouth, because he really, really needed to scream.

Dying, Tenebrous observed with mild surprise, was turning out to be not only pleasant, but wholly wonderful; had he ever suspected how much he’d enjoy the process, he wouldn’t have wasted all these decades waiting for his foolish apprentice Plagueis to do him in….

– EXPANDED –

Star Wars: Darth Plagueis, the long awaited novel by James Luceno, is out December 27, 2011

Matthew Stover’s four Star Wars novels are out now.

See more art by Brian Rood at http://brianrood.com/

-UNIVERSE

Star Wars

Gamer Magazine

N 3

Bane of the Sith

by Kevin J. Anderson;

Illustration by Stan Shaw

sended by Andreas Lescano

uploaded 28.VII.2005

updated : 11.XI.2006

###############################################################################

Like a thrown dagger seeking its target, the Valcyn stabbed through hyperspace, a lone survivor racing away from the site of the battlefield massacre.

All of the Sith Lords were dead after their last stand on Ruusan… all except one. The insidious “thought bomb” set off in a glorious suicidal gesture by Sith Lord Kaan had also obliterated all of the Jedi Knights under Lord Hoth’s command. Every Force-user on Ruusan had been annihilated, warriors both light and dark. But there were other Jedi Knights abroad in the Republic – – and now the Brotherhood of Darkness was extinct. Except for Darth Bane.

“You are a coward,” said a hollow spectral voice beside him, loud and hot in the closeness of the sleek ship’s cockpit. “You have failed me and Lord Kaan and all your Sith brothers.”

His knuckles white as he gripped the controls of the Valcyn, Darth Bane curled back his lips, showing clenched teeth. His eyes were wide and hunted as he navigated through the convolutions of hyperspace, fleeing toward what he hoped would be a refuge… and a new beginning.

Beside him, occupying no space inside the blade-shaped spacecraft, sat the avatar of Sith Lord Qordis, a man wrapped in shadows. He crackled with black dark side energy – – the evil residue of a dead man.

Qordis turned his long ghoulish face toward Bane. His eyes were embers of fire wreathed within inky hollows. The specter pointed an accusing talon-like finger at Darth Bane. Reflections of his remembered obsidian-encrusted rings glittered in the cabin light.

“No, Master Qordis,” Bane said, a large man hunched in the cockpit. “I am not craven. I have done only what was required. Someone had to escape, so that the flames of dark lore would not be extinguished completely.” His head was shaved smooth, his scalp blotched with discolorations. Bane’s jaw was firm and square, his eyes as large as lanterns. His body was muscular enough to intimidate any foe, but the accusing spirit of his Sith Master made even the burly Sith Lord’s resolve turn to cold water.

“You abandoned us, Darth Bane.”

“No, I intended only to protect the legacy of the Sith! I must carry on the work of Darkness, or else all of our existence, the entire Brotherhood, will be forgotten.” Trying to concentrate on his ship despite the looming presence beside him, Bane studied the coordinates. He worked the Valcyn’s controls, and the ship plunged out of hyperspace, as if a surreal vacuum had broken around it. The slim spacecraft dropped into star-studded blackness, circling downward with its own momentum, augmented by powerful thrusters.

Darth Bane descended into the harsh, bright light of the Onderon sun. In this solar system, only one planet was habitable – – Onderon itself – – and it held a grouping of four erratic moons, including the beast moon of Dxun.

There, perhaps, he could redeem himself and mitigate this disaster.

Bane pressed his cold lips together, muttering quietly as he wrestled with his guilt. He had told Lord Kaan the folly of his “thought bomb” plan, had disagreed with the tactics of such complete and destructive surrender. On the blasted and corpse-strewn battlefields of Ruusan, he had argued against the mass suicide of the Sith Brotherhood, even if it meant dealing such a blow to the Jedi Knights. A poor bargain, he had insisted, raising a gloved fist inside the war pavilions where the angry and wounded Dark Lords thought only of revenge against his comrades.

But, as they had done for so long, the Sith followers were more interested in their private squabbles, trying to step on each other’s shoulders merely to gain status for themselves. Didn’t they see what they were doing to their glorious dark dreams? Darth Bane had watched it happen. Even while the Brother-hood of Darkness faced total defeat at Ruusan, still they were more interested in personal glory than in uniting against the common enemy.

They had been vanquished for their folly. Bane was glad to be away from fools with too much power…

“Excuses and self-justification,” said the ghostly avatar of the dead Lord Qordis, who had been annihilated on Ruusan, like all the others. “You were always a disappointment as a student, Bane. My other trainees followed orders, but you questioned too much. You refused to do what was necessary, and you never bothered to finish your training.” Qordis seemed to grow larger, until the Valcyn’s cockpit could no longer contain the angry spirit. “Now how will you complete your mission?”

“I always do what is necessary, for my survival and for the benefit of the Sith,” Bane muttered. “But none of you would listen to me.” The Valcyn plowed through interplanetary space, cutting its way toward Dxun, where Bane hoped to find a new future for the Sith. “Now you are all dead, and at last I have a chance to recreate the Sith in the proper way.”

The leprous green moon hung directly within his navigational circle. Though squeezed and cracked by tidal stresses, Dxun was overgrown with a cancerous covering of wild life-forms, twisted jungles infested with predatory creatures more horrific than any Jedi Knight could ever imagine. Bane had heard of the moon’s long dark side history and hoped to find a place of refuge here on Dxun.

When he looked beside him, he saw that the specter of Lord Qordis had vanished. He breathed a sigh of relief as he began descending into the beast moon’s gravity well, wondering where he would ever find a safe landing place in the nightmare of foliage below. His relief came too soon. “You will not get away unpunished!” Qordis’s words boomed into Bane’s mind. Sparks flew like fire geysers from the Valcyn’s control panel. The engines gasped as if they’d been strangled, then gave out with a disheartening thunk. The damaged craft rattled and shuddered as it dropped through the air like a wedge-shaped stone. All the ship’s systems had gone completely dead.

Bane struggled to reignite his thrusters, attempting to squeeze just a little more energy from the repulsorlifts. The hull heated to a cherry red as the Valcyn tore through Dxun’s atmosphere. Lightning crackled around him. Storm explosions hurled his ship from side to side.

“Curse you, Lord Qordis,” he said in a dry throat.

As the treetops rushed up at him, he fought back his panic, cast away his helplessness, and used a desperate snatch of Sith powers. The dark side energies buoyed his failing craft just enough so that it crashed into the treetops with slightly less than lethal force.

Branches splintered. Leaves burst into flames from the friction of his passage. The Valcyn’s hull tore open, shredded by the sharp boughs. Darth Bane shielded himself with all the Sith power he possessed, forming a cushion against the impact.

The Valcyn broke through the forest canopy and slammed into the soft, mucky ground. The careening spacecraft ripped a long furrow and uprooted trees and plants, setting them afire behind him.

When the ship finally came to rest, Darth Bane found himself intact, though the ship itself would require months to repair – – if he even had the capability at all. Weak, and yet revitalized by the very fact of his survival, Bane pried his way out of the damaged spacecraft. The smoking hull burned his fingers as he climbed free. He dropped to the uneven torn ground.

The lone survivor of the Sith carried a supply pack and his hook-handled lightsaber, nothing more. He stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the furious jungles of Dxun, and contemplated his next step. He would be here a while.

Lightning continued to roar overhead like shattering electric crystal. He stepped away from the crash site into slashing rain in the black of night. He didn’t know where to go… other than away from the ruined Valcyn. The beast moon seemed to be crouching and ready to spring.

Igniting his lightsaber, he trudged into the jungles, using the throbbing blade as a machete against the fang-clawed vines that writhed at him. He sliced through a thicket, but the foliage only grew denser, more resistant. His nostrils flared with anger as he strode forward, hacking with each step.

“You cannot hide out there, Bane.”

He turned to see the avatar of Lord Qordis towering over him, ethereal yet vengeful. Bane lashed out at his dead teacher. “A Sith does not hide.” He struck furiously with the lightsaber again, clearing a large tree in a shower of sparks. “I feel no fear.”

Behind him in the morass of undergrowth, a loud boom ripped through the jungle. A pillar of fire erupted, vaporizing more of the oily foliage. A shockwave from the exploding fuel cells and cracked engine core flattened the forest for a hundred meters around. Smoking shrapnel, hunks of metal hull plates hammered around Bane like a meteor shower. Now, nothing remained of his damaged ship but a smoldering crater sizzling in the cold rain.

Angry, Darth Bane turned to the smug dark side avatar. “I see you don’t intend to make this easy for me.”

“I intend to make it deadly for you.” The evil spirit barked a harsh laugh, then dissolved into the jungle shadows.

Bane shored up his determination and pointedly refused to look back as he pushed into the wilderness of Dxun. He thrashed through the jungle, which never seemed to give him three steps without fighting back. The ground beneath his feet trembled from the moon’s tidal instabilities. Ominous hunting noises filled the jungle, and Bane remained on his guard. He knew the dark and bloody history of this place and was aware of his own peril.

Eons ago, the beast moon of Dxun had shifted in its erratic orbit until it came dangerously close to the parent planet. During the first grazing encounters, the atmospheres of Dxun and Onderon touched and joined, allowing the hideous flying creatures of Dxun to travel across the bridge and fall upon the unsuspecting primitive people of Onderon. The beasts preyed upon the helpless humans, slaughtering them, until the survivors learned to protect themselves. The humans invented weapons, fortified their villages, and trained their fighters to kill the venomous beasts.

As the moon continued on its orbit, the atmospheres separated again. But once each year they touched, and more monsters could journey to the feeding grounds on Onderon. Centuries later, after the Onderon civilization had developed in response to the horrible stresses, the orbits finally shifted again, freeing Onderon from the deadly kiss of Dxun. But the cities remained fortified, the culture continued to be warlike, and some of the leaders had schooled themselves in the dark side.

The once-great Freedon Nadd had ruled here for a time, and the ancient nobles, King Ommin and Queen Amanoa, had also used Sith secrets to cement their rule. Ommin and Amanoa had been entombed beside Freedon Nadd here on the beast moon. Years later Exar Kun, the Dark Lord of the Sith who had first resurrected the Sith Brotherhood, also came to Dxun, raiding Nadd’s ancient tomb in search of dark side secrets.

Darth Bane knew there must be more to gain from this tainted, sinister place…

Light as a feather, yet moving with an assassin’s power and grace, a sleek feline creature dropped out of the gnarled branches above. The creature was a dynamo of muscles, claws, and fur.

Though he was astonished that the predator could creep up on him so easily, Bane’s dark side senses tingled at the last moment. He dove aside, avoiding the lethal blow, but still the impact of the panther-like creature knocked him to the ground. Crashing through stiff branches, Bane rolled away, bringing up his lightsaber.

The feline predator had steel-gray fur interleaved with tiny bronze scales that gave it a reptilian shimmer. Its claws swept the air in a fist of swords, but Bane danced backward, dodging the blow. The panther-thing leaped again, and this time its double tails thrashed, both of them smashing into a tree trunk with a sizzling impact.

Bane dodged again and saw that the panther’s two tails were each tipped with a long, hooked stinger swollen with a bulbous end. Where the stingers had torn holes into the tree trunk, corrosive venom ate a blackened, smoldering hole through the bark and the heartwood.

Narrowing his eyes, Bane felt the dark side energy build around him. He clasped the handle of his lightsaber. The panther-creature bared its long fangs and yowled, but it did not back away as Bane slashed the energy blade back and forth.

Rain continued to sheet down in steaming sparks off of the blazing lightsaber. The panther-thing crouched on its haunches, its wiry muscles coiling. Bane could sense the beast’s thoughts, knew when it was going to spring – – and as the monster lunged into the air like a torpedo of fur, scales, claws, and fangs, Bane struck with his lightsaber, sweeping the blade upward in a powerful arc. He eviscerated the monster, splitting it open between its twin poisonous tails and curving sideways so that the smoking blade came out of the panther-thing’s powerful shoulder.

The squirming creature flopped to the ground, thrashing like two pieces of frying meat. Bane took a deep breath as he watched the light fade from the demon’s eyes, saw its claws flex and twitch.

As in the crash of the Valcyn, once again he emerged without a scratch. He heaved a lungful of the sour-smelling jungle air, detecting the electric ozone from his lightsaber blade, the singed fur and bubbling flesh of the slaughtered monster.

Bane snarled a bestial cry of his own into the jungle shadows. “You brought that upon me!” He expected his teacher Qordis to appear again, laughing at him. But instead of the vengeful dark avatar, he saw the shadowy spirit of Sith Lord Kaan, the fallen leader of the Brotherhood of Darkness who had annihilated the Sith and the Jedi on Ruusan.

The Sith Lord’s voice was resonant and powerful, as always, but calm. He bowed his shadowy head toward the slaughtered creature lying in the underbrush. “It is a predator. It can think only of hunger and blood. It doesn’t care whether you are good or evil, Darth Bane. It simply wanted to feed.” The avatar backed away. “Come.”

Without brushing aside a leaf or a twig, the ominous spirit strode into the jungle, gesturing after him. But before Bane could follow, Lord Kaan had vanished into the darkness. Intent now, Darth Bane fought his way deeper into the wilderness, trying to trace Lord Kaan’s path, but still not knowing where he intended to go, where the dark side would lead him. Resinous vines thrashed at him, but he shouldered them aside. Thorns clawed at his face, but he did not let the scratches or the blood inconvenience him. His lightsaber made the air smell of burnt sap and smoking green wood.

He called up his Sith abilities, letting his mind expand to encompass the festering evil, the brooding potential power available to him. Though under the tutelage of Lord Qordis, Bane had never finished his training. He had listened to other instructors, studied some of the ancient writings, but there was much about the dark side he had yet to learn.

Now, Bane had no choice but to teach himself, and he had the incentive to achieve Sith skills. He hoped Kaan’s avatar would assist him, but even without its sinister aid, Bane would do everything possible to resurrect the Sith Brotherhood.

Disoriented in the dense undergrowth, he trudged for hours in the direction that the shimmering spirit of Lord Kaan had gone. He followed his instincts like a compass directing him toward the concentration of dark side energies, a powerful well-spring that had long lurked on Dxun.

When he did not see the avatars again, he wondered if the evil specters had abandoned him. He didn’t think so. They were just waiting and watching, letting Darth Bane make the next move…

He hacked away at a dead black tree, its leafless branches drooping like clawed fingers, its bark covered with scabrous encrustations of fungus. When the broken tree toppled, Bane stepped forward under the driving rain into a small opening where even the grass had turned brown and withered. A geometric structure stood there, a pyramid with uneven planes and incorrect angles, made of a dull metal like a giant block of armor.

Bane stopped, his mouth open. He sucked in a heavy breath of the moist, fetid air. He had heard of this place, knew it to be a focus of dark side power: the tomb of Freedon Nadd, a hidden structure meant to hold the evil energies that had infected the bodies of legendary dark Force-users. The pyramid was a reliquary of lost artifacts and information that would recall the lost wonders of the Sith. It was a chance for the Brotherhood of Darkness to start again – – under his own terms. Now things would change under his stern vision.

Feeling energy tingle in his every step, Bane crept into the clearing. His lightsaber hummed and crackled as if eager to draw him forward. His skin felt electrified with the power of this place. The ruined, overgrown tomb of Freedon Nadd seemed to attract the lightning and the rain. Bane stood in front of the structure, looking up at the sheer metal sides, at the stained and corroded walls of Mandalorian iron. The lost crypt had been breached thousands of years before, broken open by some other plunderer – – Exar Kun, perhaps – – and left exposed to the vicious elements on Dxun.

Crouched inside the overhanging shelter of the broken doorway, he rested, exhausted from his ordeal – – first the flight from Ruusan, then the crash-landing on Dxun, and now the long and difficult trek through the jungle. He used a glimmer of his Sith power to summon fire and built a blaze from dead wood. The harsh orange and yellow light flickered and fought against the gloom.

Bane drew strength from the shadows around him. He seemed to hear whispering voices, a potential ready to explode here in the tomb. And yet he took comfort. “Here I will find my heritage. The evil in this place is resounding.”

Outside in the clearing, the rain droplets sheeted through the shadowy image of Lord Kaan as if he wasn’t there. “The evil is in you, Darth Bane – – as it should be. If you went to the shining towers of Cinnagar, or the plush chambers of Coruscant, or the rich savannas of Thule, the evil would still be within you.”

Bane listened and smiled.

Kaan continued, “You are a seed. Will you let the Sith Brotherhood grow… or wither?”

Revitalized, he ignited his lightsaber again. Using it as a torch, he passed into the tomb of Freedon Nadd, ready to explore. The dripping passages around him were made of thick stone walls, slimed with green moss. The floor was covered with a film of decayed leaves and vegetation that had blown in over the centuries. Brittle bones of rodents and the crisp shells of dead insects were strewn in the corners. Though he saw many signs of death, he noticed no scuttling spiders, no living creatures at all. It was as if the tomb of Freedon Nadd had swallowed all the lifeforce, holding it like a battery.

He encountered blind chambers and sealed rooms, three broken sarcophagi where tomb robbers had stolen bodies or jewels, though Bane suspected that any thief foolish enough to raid a Sith crypt had probably died a horrible death not long afterward…

At corners in the winding passages, the ethereal specter of Lord Kaan led him onward, guiding him through the labyrinth. Bane did not question his former leader; he simply followed as anticipation swelled within him.

At last, Kaan stood outside a small chamber, his eyes blazing with dreadful fire. The alcove walls seemed wet and reflective. On the floor, as if someone had carelessly tossed it there, lay a jagged pyramid with starlike protrusions and sinuous hieroglyphics.

Bane pushed his lightsaber through the doorway so that the crackling glow of the energy blade illuminated the stone-walled room. “Is that a Sith holocron? ” He looked in amazement at the shade of Lord Kaan.

“That object contains all the answers you desire, all the training and instruction you will need to master the secrets of the Sith. A wealth of information.”

“It is all the wealth I need,” Bane said, his voice no more than a cold breath.

By the shimmering light of his weapon, he saw that the air inside the chamber was threaded with strands of silvery, sticky webs. Rounded encrustations like armored barnacles plated the low ceiling. The alcove had a claustrophobic and brooding aura, and Bane hesitated.

“In there, you must take the holocron,” Kaan’s booming voice insisted.

Pushing aside his doubts, Darth Bane entered the chamber, knocking aside the gossamer webs. He stood looking down at the vital holocron, awed.

Above him, he heard a wet movement, a slurping sound, and looked up to see the rounded encrustations shifting about as if wakened by his presence. Gelid strands drooled down like thin droplets of saliva. He ducked as one of the barnacle-things released its grip on the ceiling and dropped onto him.

He knocked the hard shell aside, then slapped at another sailing barnacle with his lightsaber. Amazingly, though it ricocheted away, the encrustation was not destroyed by the energy blade.

The barnacle-things began to rain down from the ceiling in greater numbers. One struck him on the left shoulder blade, and instantly the shell fastened itself to his flesh, as if it were a gigantic sucker. It acid-burned through the fabric of Bane’s thick garment and sealed itself to the meat of his back.

The agony was indescribable.

He screamed and thrashed, trying to claw the encrustation from his shoulder. He arched his back and looked up just in time to see a larger object fall to the center of his chest, instantly fastening there with an unbelievable grip.

Bane shouted with the pain and wrenched at it, but the barnacle-creature had already eaten through his chest and seared into his pectorals, welding itself to his breastbone. He pulled and tugged, but the parasite stuck tight.

The remaining creatures burbled and moved about on the ceiling, anticipating. Still holding his lightsaber in one hand, Bane yanked out the black-bladed dagger from his waist. The razor-sharp knife glinted in the sickly light of the tomb chamber. He stabbed at the barnacle-creature, but the blade bounced off the parasite’s shell, making no mark. Gritting his teeth, Bane slashed at his own skin to peel away his flesh from the edges of the thick, living encrustation. Dark blood welled up, and he cut deeper, digging with the knife’s black tip to pry the creature off.

To his astonishment, though, as he made the incision, Bane watched the wound seal itself together, healing within moments. The pain remained, a stinging, throbbing sensation through his nerves.

“You led me here!” he shouted, looking for the avatar of Lord Kaan. “You lured me into this chamber.” He used his fist and the blunt hilt of his dagger to pound the armored creature, but he felt somewhat stronger now, rejuvenated – – and betrayed. “What are these things?”

Now Lord Qordis appeared within the tomb, his black avatar rippling beside the shadow of Kaan. “They are called orbalisks,” Qordis said, his face twisting into a smirk. “In time, you will come to realize the advantages of such symbiotes.”

Lord Kaan spoke, his voice like iron, unsympathetic. “They are a small price, Bane – – are you willing to pay nothing to achieve your destiny?”

On the ceiling of the alcove, the orbalisks continued to simmer and move, but they left him alone now that he was infested. Fire burned through his skin from his chest and his shoulder where the parasitic barnacles increased their hold on his body, digging deeper, securing themselves.

Darth Bane clenched his teeth and sneered at the specters of Kaan and Qordis. In their dark eyes he found the strength to suppress the pain. He picked up the Sith holocron. The ancient relic waited for him, calling out evil promises. There were no longer any obstacles in his way.

He switched off his lightsaber blade, realizing that he could see and sense everything in the chamber. He knelt on the cold, slimy floor, ignoring the orbalisks above and everything else on Dxun. He hunched over the holocron and held it in his hands amid the dripping opalescent webs.

He activated the holocron and felt as if he were falling into an unending pit of wonders, information… and opportunities. He sat all alone, lost in the amazing library of darkness…

Entranced and inspired by the knowledge he drank from the Sith holocron, Darth Bane paid no heed to the time that passed while he huddled in the dank chamber of Freedon Nadd’s tomb.

Later, much later, he emerged, his body stiff and sore, his mind aching and overfilled with secrets. He made his way back through the narrow, claustrophobic passages of the crypt and stepped out into the rank air of the beast moon.

The storm had passed, and the ground had dried. Many days must have gone by, but Bane felt neither weak nor hungry. He blinked. Even in the smoky, hazy light of Dxun, he had to hood his vision. He grasped the cold iron wall of the tomb to steady himself. Looking down at his chest, he saw that the puckered, scaly orbalisk had begun to bud, spreading out around the fringes in a larger area across his chest. No doubt the other one was also spreading on his back. Eventually, they would probably cover his body. Though the barnacle-like creatures were feeding on him, growing to cover more of his skin surface, the parasites were also pumping him with adrenaline and strength. This was a symbiotic relationship based on dark side energies, and now – – after he had absorbed the knowledge within the Sith holocron – – Darth Bane knew there would be enough dark side power for them all.

He stepped into the jungle clearing, away from the shadow of the ancient crypt. Bane thought of all he had learned and recalled the epic defeat of the Sith Lords at the Battle of Ruusan. No one had listened to him. The other Sith Brothers had fought among themselves rather than planning a strategic victory over their true foes. Bane realized the fundamental flaw in the old Brotherhood of Darkness. Now that he alone remained, now that he was the seed that would cause the new tree of evil to flourish, he decided that no longer would the Sith be composed of great armies attempting to overwhelm civilization through brute force. He had had enough of Lord Qordis’s chest-pounding bravado or Lord Kaan’s “rule by the strong.” Such overt militarism against the Jedi Knights had failed miserably at Ruusan.

From now on, the Sith would depend on secrecy, working behind the scenes to eat away at the foundation of the Republic’s government. With the Sith nearly extinct, weakened to the point of ineffectuality, Bane decided that the study of dark lore must go underground. He would hide and work in the shadows of society, using all he had learned from the holocron.

For now, he would also establish an unbreakable new rule to prevent the internecine feuds and civil wars that had stolen victory from the Sith grasp. There must be only two Sith at any one time: a master and apprentice. The two of them would learn the dark side intimately, and they would become brilliant puppeteers to manipulate the fools in the Republic.

But he was stranded here on Dxun. The giant planet Onderon rode high in the sky across the gulf of space, close yet impossibly far. The avatar of Lord Qordis had destroyed his ship, and now Bane was all alone, probably the only living human on the beast moon.

Standing in the clearing, collecting his thoughts, Bane heard a shriek in the sky. A gigantic winged form swooped down from the smear of dark clouds, spotting him with the razor eye of a raptor sighting in on fresh prey.

Bane instinctively grabbed his lightsaber, snugged the hooked handle against his wrist, and powered on the blade. The pterodactyl-like creature dove, its thin olive skin stretched taut along a bony framework, making its wings like jagged kites. The beast had a smashed-in face and a mouth full of protruding fangs. The black eyes were tiny and close-set, and the maw opened wide as its long, triangular wings flapped and maneuvered.

Bane slashed with his lightsaber, but the flying creature raked sideways with its dangling talons, huge arced scythes at the ends of its feet. The claws scored across Darth Bane’s chest, a move that would have torn any other victim to shreds. Though Bane was sent sprawling to the ground, the clustered orbalisks gave him enough strength and armor so that the flying monster caused him no harm.

Feeling invincible, Bane stood, brushing the shreds of his uniform away, feeling the hard plate of the orbalisks. He squared his shoulders and held his lightsaber as the beast circled in for the kill. At first, Bane considered slaying the monster, smashing it to a pulp with his newfound Sith powers – – but instead, he summoned his skills and stopped the beast in the air, driving it to the ground.

It flapped its wings, extending hooked claws, grasping and thrashing with its taloned feet. But Bane dominated the monster, forcing it to the still-damp ground. He continued to exert dark side pressure, and finally, with a grunt and an explosion of foul-smelling breath, the flying beast submitted. It bent its knobby knees and bowed its long neck down in front of Freedon Nadd’s tomb.

Bane studied the creature for a moment. Then, like the fabled ancient beast-riders of Onderon, he climbed onto the flying monster’s back, ready to ride off. This was a good omen, a sign for his future, and Darth Bane smiled.

He yanked at the flying beast’s neck, and it flapped its leathery wings, raising him into the heavy air. It spat and thrashed, but finally relented to the presence of the Sith Lord on its back. Bane rode his new mount.

Now that he understood the depths of Sith powers, he thought he might even have control over worlds and moons, able to play with orbits and gravity like a child might play with colored balls.

Long ago, Dxun had grazed the planet Onderon, close enough that it was possible for creatures to pass across the conjoined atmosphere. Perhaps Bane could nudge the beast moon close enough so that he could travel to the nearby planet that filled the sky. In bloodshed and chaos, Darth Bane would go to Onderon… and there he would find his apprentice.

Star Wars

Gamer Magazine

N 5

Darkness Shared

by Bill Slavicsek

uploaded 09.VII.2005

updated : 11.XI.2006

###############################################################################

A galaxy far, far away, six months before the Battle of Ruusan …

The Golden Song rode the shifting currents of color and light through hyperspace, covering st distances with each click of its onboard chronometer. Crian Maru sat rigid in her chair, using every meditative exercise she knew to remain calm and in control. She wasn’t sure how the Jedi Masters did it. They always looked so serene, so at peace. Perhaps she would eventually achieve such a constant state of quiet reflection and confidence, the conditions that she believed separated a Jedi Knight from a Jedi Master. But those were thoughts for another day. Now she had to prepare herself and her apprentice for the tests that lay ahead of them, while she tried to come to grips with the horror they had left behind.

Under the light of Harpori’s sun, Crian Maru and her apprentice had landed the Golden Song. What was supposed to be a bustling Duros colony was silent and still. No one had come to greet them. The town square had been deserted. When Crian reached into the Force, all she sensed was sadness. All she felt was emptiness. Behind this emptiness lurked darkness.

The transport shuddered, and with a sudden shift in the stars, the journey through hyperspace came to an end, Crian tried to block out the images of Harpori. Slaughtered Duros adorned with the unmistakable wounds of a lightsaber. Men, women, and children massacred to appease the dark hunger and churning anger of the Marauder. The Madman. The Dark Killer.

With a deep, calming breath, the Jedi Knight banished the haunting images, at least for the moment. It was time to finish the job they had set out to do. They had to face the darkness. He was close, their quarry. Within this star system. Crian could feel his sinister presence in the Force. It was not a feeling she appreciated.

“Where are we, Dree?” Crian asked her Padawan learner.

The young Rodian, Dree Vandap — barely more than a child –was reviewing the Golden Song’s nav computer display, anticipating her teacher’s request. “Still in the Mid Rim,” Dree said, “A system called Balowa.” Dree frowned in the Rodian fashion, crinkling her snout. She absently shook her head crest. “I see nothing out here.”

“He’s here,” Crian said, adjusting the controls and engaging the ship’s sublight thrusters. “Check the sensors, and be mindful for vibrations in the Force. It will tell you more than machines and computers ever will, if you listen to its song.”

For Crian, the Force was like a constant melody that had been with her for as long as she could remember. It washed over the Jedi Knight like waves of sensation that few others could feel, an omnipresent hum that was at once grand and complex, simple and comforting, full of movement yet totally still. When she was at peace, she could feel the Force resonate within her. Like the echoes of a beloved song. That was how Crian perceived it. Other Jedi explained it differently. Her Master had described it as an omnipresent mist that swirled and drifted constantly around him. Dree described it as a still pond; when it rippled, it told her things.

Crian closed her eyes, letting the Force guide her hands as they moved over the transport’s controls. The song reverberated within her, changing, building. Now it was thunderous and cacophonous. Crian could sense the Dark One in the Force, could hear the terrible rhythm that made him tangible to her Jedi senses. His presence was full of anger. It vibrated with barely controlled rage.

He was coming.

The Marauder.

The Madman.

Kaox Krul.

<<<>>>

The Marauder slipped his ship into the transport’s wake, riding the thrust of its sublight drive like some sleek ocean predator angling for the kill. He was Kaox Krul, proud warrior of the Brotherhood of Darkness, devoted follower of Kaan, the Dark Lord of the Sith. A great war was about to erupt, pitting the hate-fueled believers in the dark side of the Force against the weak-willed Jedi who preached the hypocrisy of peace and tranquillity. The Jedi claimed they never felt the raw wind of rage as it screamed through their blood. Liars! They denied the dark side, refused to harness its power. They made rules to stop others from accepting that strength if they so desired. How Kaox hated the Jedi and the sanctimony they preached.

This one, the human woman, had been hounding Kaox for more than a month. It was time to end their little game. He had to return to Lord Kaan’s side. He could sense his Master’s summons in the Force, and he could not resist the beckoning much longer. Lord Kaan was calling them all, the entire Brotherhood. The war of dark against light was about to begin. But Kaox had one more thing to accomplish before he returned to his Master.

The hunting transport moved in a deliberate search pattern, sliding closer and closer to a small, uninhabited world. Kaox didn’t bother to check his nav computer; the Force told him that the unnamed planet teemed with life, none of it more advanced than a womp rat. There was nothing in this system to concern him. The Jedi were alone, without any possibility of assistance. Soon, Kaox thought, they would be dead.

The Marauder pushed his starfighter into an attack vector and powered up his weapons system. The transport was in his sights — a slow, lumbering creature about to be ripped asunder by the fast predator swooping up behind it. He would have preferred to kill the Jedi and her apprentice in close combat, lightsaber against lightsaber, but the time for such contests had passed. He reached into the Force, pictured the transport exploding into a thousand fiery shards. He let his anger rise within him, filling him with rage and power. Now the Force was a crimson sheen before his eyes, bathing the transport in a targeting haze that would increase his accuracy and ensure the killing shot. Kaox triggered the starfighter’s laser cannons, and bolts of energized death streaked toward the unsuspecting prey.

<<<>>>

The Dark Killer had slipped behind them like a shadow. She felt his savage presence a fraction of a second before Dree cried out. Crian suppressed a smile. Her Paclawan was very good, but now was not the time to tell her so. instead her hands danced over the controls, coaxing the sluggish transport to veer from its current course before the Marauder’s lasers burned through their hull or sliced open their sublight engines.

“Dree, hang on to something!” Crian commanded as the Golden Song shook and groaned. With stern resistance — and a token measure of defiance – the transport rolled slowly to one side. Crian grimaced and hoped it would hold together.

“The Marauder is right behind us!” Dree shouted. “Closing fast …”

The explosion that ripped through the transport drowned out Dree’s voice. She might have finished her sentence, but Crian couldn’t hear the words over the noise of the laser strike and the blaring alarms that warned her of a dozen imminent systems failures. The Golden Song was locked in a spin. As smoke poured into the cockpit, Crian frowned and fought the controls. Then, with a crash and a powerful jolt, the lights snapped out, leaving the Jedi Knight and her Padawan in total darkness.

<<<>>>

Kaox Krul felt his starfighter shudder as lances of laser fire erupted from its forward-mounted cannons. He used the dark side to aim true, pinpointing the precise spot where the lasers would rip through the transport’s engines. His elation was momentary at best, however, because the transport had dodged the fatal fire. The insipid Jedi had sensed his presence!

There could be no other answer. His prey slid to the right, a maneuver far too ambitious and daring for such a lumbering craft. The Marauder’s lasers sliced into the belly of the transport, carving a wound that bled atmosphere from the left ventral portion of its hull. Kaox leered. It wasn’t the killing blow he had foreseen, but it was damaging nonetheless.

As the transport fell into an uncontrolled spin, Kaox realized with some alarm that his starfighter was too close. He had wanted to fly through the explosion, scattering the remaining shards of the transport in his passing as he sent the Jedi and her apprentice to their Final Jump. But there was no explosion, and the spinning transport’s nose struck the starfighter a solid blow. The Jedi’s ship hit the Marauder like a charging nerf plowing into a ripclaw.

Kaox’s consciousness fled as the starfighter bounced away and fell toward the small planet below.

<<<>>>

The transport tumbled end over end.

While Crian hoped that fate had spelled the end of the Marauder, she didn’t believe that Kaox Krul could be dispatched so easily. The darkness was still out there. Regardless, she had more immediate problems. The Golden Song spiraled toward the small planet that had greeted the Jedi shortly after they had emerged from hyperspace. Now it filled the viewport as Crian struggled to regain control of the vessel.

“Dree, what can you tell me about that planet?”

There was no response. Crian could sense nothing more than an impression of the Rodian Padawan. Dree was alive and probably unconscious. Anything else Crian imagined was purely speculation, and she didn’t have time for that. The planet was coming up fast, and she still couldn’t get the transport to respond to her commands.

“Come on,” Crian urged the ship.”Your namesake is supposed to bring good luck and fortune. I could use a little of both right about now.”

The Golden Song hit the planet’s atmosphere hard. Crian could feel the ship breaking apart around her. “A little help here,” Crian whispered, willing the stabilizers to come back on line or the repulsorlift engine to kick in. She hit the repulsor toggle again. Nothing. Once more.

There was a recalcitrant groan from somewhere deep in the transport. Suddenly, it was slowing, trying to level out. The repulsors were working! That was something, anyway she might not be able to get the Golden Song up into space again, but maybe she could lead it relatively gently to the surface of the planet.

It wasn’t going to be a pretty landing, Crian knew.The transport rocked back and forth as the repulsors pushed against the planet’s surface. With great trepidation, the ship fought the clutches of gravity as it punched through the exosphere into the ionosphere, sliced across the stratosphere, and plunged into the sky. A weird realization came to Crian as she imagined the ship confronting its own destiny with a mixture of trepidation and valor, and it made her sad. The Golden Song had made its last journey. Their beautiful, faithful transport was diving to its death.

The transport raked the treetops, cutting a swath through the leafy canopy before plunging into the sea of dense foliage. It hit the ground, bounced off its repulsorfield, and bounced again. Through the cracked viewport, Crian saw impenetrable forest. The transport slid across a clearing and plowed into the base of a massive tree trunk, and then Crian saw nothing at all.

<<<>>>

Kaox’s senses cleared as his starfighter skimmed across the planet’s atmosphere. He struggled to attain a vector that would allow the ship to glide toward the planet’s surface in a more or less controlled fall. He caught sight of the Jedi’s transport as it plunged toward the dense forest canopy, then focused his attention on saving his own craft. The starfighter’s nose had been crushed, rendering its sensor array useless. Kaox was certain that other systems had been damaged as well, perhaps beyond repair, but he had engines and steering. He flew the starfighter toward the surface, looking for a place to set down.

Then he would head out on foot, locate the Jedi, and either dance on their dead bodies or finish the job – up close, where he could carve them into small chunks.

<<<>>>

Dree Vandap knew she was alive because she hurt all over. A spirit on the Rodian Hunting World — the place good Rodians go when they die — couldn’t hurt like this. At least, Dree had never heard of such a thing in any of the stories she had read. She hadn’t been raised in the Rodian tradition, though, so there were probably a lot of things about Rodian theology that she didn’t know. She grew up in the Jedi Temple, where she learned the ways of the Jedi from teachers such as Lord Hoth and Crian Maru. The Jedi didn’t follow the Path of the Hunt, but Dree had read about her homeworld and the Rodian traditions. She felt that she had a good idea about the Hunting World and spirit hunters, and certainly no spirit that she had ever read about had a bruise the size of a shell-fruit on the side of its head.

The Padawan pushed aside the debris and stood up. The Golden Song was a ruin of shredded durasteel, melted plasteel, and exposed wiring. She loved this ship, but it was painfully obvious that it had flown its last mission. Thankfully, it hadn’t been Dree’s last mission as well.

“Just wait, Vandap,” Dree muttered to herself, “the day isn’t over yet.”

The Rodian took a moment to assess the damage. it looked bad from the inside, but she didn’t see anything that led her to believe she was in immediate danger. There was no fire, no sparking wires, no warning hum signalling a power cell overload. She stepped into a relatively clear spot on the tilted deck and checked that her lightsaber was still clipped to her belt. Then she remembered her Master.

“Master Crian?” Dree called out. Her voice was weaker and more frightened sounding than she had intended, so she called again, louder and — she hoped — with more confidence.

When she received no reply, Dree reached out with the Force. She probed the area, searching for any sign of her Master’s presence in the Force. Dree wasn’t very good at this sort of thing, though every Jedi had some rudimentary ability to sense vibrations in the Force. She concentrated, closed her eyes, and tried to open herself to the vibrations.

Nothing.

No, wait. There was something. Dree had a sense of impending doom. Death. The dark side. It made her convulse.

“Space this!” Dree muttered. She shook her head, clearing away the feeling. “I’ll check on Crian the old-fashioned way.”

She moved toward the forward part of the cabin, trying to ignore the shattered viewport and the crushed control panels. “Crian?” she called again, and she could feel the fear trying to well within her. Dree didn’t let it.

Stepping over a piece of deck plating that had been ripped open, Dree saw Crian’s boot sticking out from behind a twisted console. The Padawan took a deep breath to steady herself, then moved to her Master’s side. She saw Crian lying there, and was unsure how to proceed. She didn’t see any gaping wounds or obviously broken bones. There wasn’t any blood pooling around her Master, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hurt just the same. Should I touch her, Dree wondered, trying to remember the rudimentary medical training she had received a few years earlier. Shake her? Call out her name until she answers?

But what if she’s dead, Dree asked herself. She certainly won’t respond if she’s already dead.

“I’m not dead,” Crian said in a hoarse whisper, blinking her eyes open to look at her student.

Dree couldn’t help herself. She jumped back, banging her elbow on a twisted bulkhead.

“Fine,” Crian said in an amused tone, “Don’t help your old Master.”

“You’re not old,” Dree said, coming to Crian’s side and helping her sit up. “But you certainly scared a few years off my life.”

Crian sat still for a moment. She closed her eyes, and Dree knew that she was reaching out with the Force. When Crian opened her eyes, Dree could see determination and purpose within them. The Jedi rose to her feet, placing a hand on the lightsaber dangling at her side.

“We aren’t finished yet,” Crian said. “The Marauder is still out there, and he’s searching for us.”

“I guess that makes us the prey.”

“For the moment, Little Hunter,” Crian said affectionately. ‘Let’s let him think of us that way for a while longer.”

<<<>>>

Kaox Krul skulked through the forest like a stealthful prowler. His senses stretched before him, making him aware of every insect, plant and flower, every small creature that cowered in its burrow or fled as he approached. This world, its bountiful lower life forms, had never seen the likes of the Marauder, and he fed upon the fear that his presence garnered. He was still too far away to get an accurate feeling, but Kaox imagined that the Jedi and her apprentice were experiencing the same kind of fear as the fur-covered burrowers and the small leaf-eaters. That fear would grow as he got closer, and he would draw strength from their dread.

He would relish it.

The Marauder kept a steady pace. He didn’t worry that he would misstep or stumble. Such were the concerns of lesser beings. Stealth fell away like a tattered cloak, a serpent’s skin. He envisioned his prey shuddering under thick blankets of fear.

He wore black body armor of his own design. It consisted of protective padding and composite plates crafted into an intricate pattern that glorified the Sith and the Brotherhood of Darkness. He had also used Sith alchemy to imbue the armor with dark side energy, creating a barrier that provided some protection against the abilities of the Jedi. He was proud of the work he had done, both the menial construction and the application of Sith magic, and he wore the armor as a symbol of his faith in the dark side of the Force.

At his side, clipped to his belt, hung the lightsaber that he had used to kill more than a hundred foes. Kaox hadn’t constructed the weapon. He had earned the lightsaber, taking it from the still-grasping hand of the first Jedi he had killed in personal combat. He diminished the Jedi every time he used the weapon to strike down an innocent — such as the pleading Duros he slaughtered at the Harpori colony — or a despised foe the likes of that Jedi, Karist Dem, or the Wookiee diplomat Rojarra. The weapon, cleansed in blood and used as an instrument of the dark side, was completely Kaox’s now. Barely any of the Jedi taint remained.

Kaox would use this weapon to kill the Jedi woman and her young apprentice. He saw the battle to come in his mind. He would start by testing the two of them together, allowing them to team up against him to reveal the cowardice that typified the Jedi. Then he would break away, give them time to wallow in their fear as they contemplated his greater strength and power. When he struck again, he would kill the apprentice. It wouldn’t be a clean, swift kill. He wanted her to experience agony, to intensify her fear. She would call to her Master for help, but she would also realize that help would not reach her in time. When she knew that death had set upon her to feast, he would end her life. His actions would drive the Jedi crazy with grief and anger. Perhaps she would accept the truth of the dark side then, but he had not found that to be the case in the past. The Jedi were stubborn, closed-minded. She would come close to the truth of the Force, but she would back away from the power that might actually give her a fighting chance. And then the Jedi would die as well.

When it was over and his lightsaber’s blade was powered down, Kaox Krul would return to Lord Kaan, triumphant and ready to carry on the next phase of the Brotherhood’s rise to glory. The Jedi and her apprentice were simply appetizers before the bountiful feast of darkness to come.

The Marauder was hungry. He increased his pace, letting the dark side flow through him and increase his endurance. He replayed the scene he had imagined as he ran. The Marauder was very hungry.

<<<>>>

“We have to go,” Crian Maru said, leaping down from the crumpled transport. “We have to go now.”

Dree Vandap, a survival kit slung over her left shoulder, landed in the moist grass beside her Master. “Shouldn’t we just go and face him? Get this over with?”

“The Marauder is powerful, Dree. Don’t underestimate him. He knows that we’ve been following him since Harpori, and we’ve both felt his hatred — his darkness — through the Force. Something tells me that this isn’t the place to confront him.”

The Jedi and her apprentice ran to the back of the transport and examined the cargo bay door.

“The servomotors won’t open that door. It’s too badly mangled,” Dree said.

“Then I’ll have to improvise,” Crian replied, drawing her lightsaber and igniting it with a practiced motion. Gripping the lightsaber with both hands, Crian sketched a rough circle in the durasteel door. The metal glowed white hot as the lightsaber sliced through it, then the portion Crian had cut away fell inward, granting access to the cargo compartment.

Crian jumped easily through the opening. “Keep watch,” she called back. “We won’t be alone for much longer.”

<<<>>>

The Marauder watched the apprentice from his perch among the trees. He sensed that her Master was nearby, but Kaox couldn’t see her. Was she still inside the wrecked transport? Or was she somewhere in the forest, waiting to strike at him while he went after the Rodian? Would the Jedi use her apprentice in that manner, as bait? He didn’t think so, but sometimes the followers of the light surprised and confused him. He let the dark side swell inside him, using it to mask his own presence while simultaneously enhancing his senses to stay alert.

He glanced to each side, even though the Force revealed that he was alone in the trees. Then he unhooked his lightsaber from his belt and held it at the ready. He didn’t like that he had lost sight of the Jedi. It made him uneasy. Had she anticipated his arrival? Was she more powerful than he had dared imagine? No matter. The dark side was his ally. Kaox would strike fast and strike hard, He would take no chances.

The apprentice would die. Now. Without warning. It wouldn’t be as satisfying as the game he had imagined, so he would just have to amuse himself later, against the Jedi.

<<<>>>

Dree felt her heart beat fiercely in her chest. She was scared, and she couldn’t help it. Her own ability to see into the Force, to feel its vibrations and read the patterns in the flow, was woefully inadequate compared to Crian Maru’s. Even so, her intuition told her that there was a storm coming. A literal open-the-sky-and-let-loose-the-flood storm, full of lightning and wind and thunder. It would crawl across the sky like a great beast. She knew that before the first drop of rain hit the ground, the Marauder would be upon them. Her teacher sensed this, had warned her to be ready, and Dree tried to find her calm, her peace.

The Rodian slid her lightsaber from beneath her robes. It wasn’t her lightsaber, not really. Someday, hopefully in the not-to-distant future, she would set out to build her own. She wasn’t ready to take on that test, however. Not yet. Until then, she would use this one — a gift from her mentor. Crian had given it to her the day she had accepted the young Rodian as her Padawan learner.

“Learn to use this well,” she remembered Crian instructing her. Since that day, she had practiced with the weapon during every spare moment. She wanted to show Crian that she was serious about her studies, about her commitment. Dree wanted to prove that she had what it took to be a Jedi Knight.

Dree caught movement out of the corner of her eye. It was as though a shadow had disengaged itself from the forest and was moving toward her at lightspeed. She turned toward the dark blur, reacting with Jedi reflexes but still feeling like she was standing still. There was a loud hum as the shadow’s lightsaber flared to life. Dree brought her own lightsaber up in a defensive position while extending its energy blade to its full length. She didn’t think. She didn’t run. Dree stood her ground and held her lightsaber before her.

The blur took shape. It was a large human with hair cropped so close to his scalp that he was practically bald. His powerful form was covered in black padded armor that stung her eyes when she looked at it. The symbols etched into the armor resonated with the dark side. She had only seen him from a distance, but there was no mistaking this giant of a man.

It was the Marauder, Kaox Krul. He didn’t say a word. His hatred screamed at her with words of dour silence. It clung to him like a shroud. Dree was aware that somewhere, in the distance, a dagger of lightning cut the sky. Her multifaceted eyes, however, were locked upon his lightsaber’s blood-red blade. He held it high, its hilt almost too small for his huge hand. The blade cut a rainbow through the air as it arced toward her.

Dree was dead. For a moment, she was as sure of that fact as she was of her own name. But then her training took over. She caught the Marauder’s energy blade on her own, sending sparks flying in all directions. Then, before he could counter her defense, Dree tumbled to the side, closer to the open cargo compartment and momentarily out of the Marauder’s reach. She regained her feet in one fluid motion, drawing on the Force to lend strength to her arms and legs.

“Even Jedi whelps can surprise me,” Kaox growled, taking a cautious step toward her. “But in the end, it’s always the same. The Jedi whelp is dead, and I score another kill.”

Dree tried to steady her voice, but she knew she was no match for the Marauder. “You have a lot of deaths to answer for,” she said, keeping her lightsaber’s blade in front of her.

“Perhaps, Jedi whelp, perhaps.” He took another step toward her. “But I won’t be answering to you.”

Crian Maru exploded from the cargo compartment astride Dree’s repulsorlift speeder bike, bounced across the open field, and made a sharp turn back toward the combatants. Gunning the thrusters, Crian let the bike lunge forward. She sent a command through the Force, mentally ordering her student to leap onto the bike as it passed by. Then she turned her complete attention to operating the speeder. She wasn’t as good a pilot as Dree, so she had to try a bit harder.

Kaox Krul watched the speeder bike race toward him and smiled. Now he had both of the Jedi in his sights. He readied himself, preparing to strike as soon as the bike was close enough. Perhaps this will be a challenge, he thought.

<<<>>>

As soon as the Marauder turned his attention to Crian and the speeder bike, Dree began to move. She was midway through the tumble that would place her behind the dark-sider when she felt Crian’s voice enter her mind.

“On!” the voice shouted.

Dree would obey, but she had to buy time. She finished her roll, bunched her legs beneath her, and leaped. Her jump carried her past the Marauder’s exposed back. She slashed with the lightsaber, hoping to at least wound the dark-sider. Kaox Krul responded quickly and perceptively. Instead of slicing into the dark armor, Dree’s blade bounced off the Marauder’s ignited lightsaber.

The Marauder had to spin around to protect himself, so he wasn’t able to avoid the speeder bike. It sideswiped him, knocking him prone.

Dree finished her leap, landing perfectly behind Crian on the moving vehicle.

Crian didn’t slow. She turned the speeder away from the wreck of the Golden Song and pushed the thrusters to full. As they raced toward the forest, away from the Marauder, Dree could sense that Crian sought every advantage. She, not the Sith warrior, would choose the battleground. She would dictate how the conflict would be waged. The Rodian Padawan could sense that her Master wanted to frustrate their adversary at every turn.

Dree hoped that was enough of an edge.

<<<>>>

Kaox Krul rolled with the impact, rising instantly to his feet. He glanced around, saw that his lightsaber had fallen near the wrecked transport, and reached into the Force. He immediately found the invisible line that stretched between the lightsaber and his open hand. With a gesture, he plucked that line and the lightsaber returned to him. A few seconds had passed, but when he looked up the speeder bike was already disappearing into the forest.

“No!” Kaox shouted, his rage building. “I will not be denied this kill!”

Gathering the Force around him, the Marauder ran. Like a stroke of black lightning, he dashed across the clearing and into the depths of the forest, following the speeder’s path. The Force-powered burst of speed might not catch the Jedi’s vehicle, but it would keep him close.

He opened himself to the dark side, impossibly increasing his speed even more.

<<<>>>

Dree held on to her Master as the speeder bike wove through the forest. She should be piloting the speeder. She was a better bike pilot than Crian, and navigating between these massive trees demanded keen instincts and sharp reflexes. There was no time to stop and switch places, however. The Marauder would be coming after them, and neither of them was ready for a fight. They had both been shaken up by the crash. Dree hurt in a few places, though she didn’t think she had suffered anything more severe than a deep bruise. Crian might have more serious injuries.

As the speeder completed a complex series of twists and turns and settled back onto a more-or-less straight course, Dree risked a glance over her shoulder. Startled, she almost let go of her grip on her Master. The Marauder was right behind them! He must have cloaked himself in the dark side, because Crian didn’t seem to have noticed his proximity. He was moving with Force-boosted speed and was almost upon them.

“He’s here!” Dree shouted, her words whipped away by the roar of the speeder bike as it cleaved the wind.

Crian had sensed her student’s anxiety a flickering instant before Dree spoke. She pressed the footpads that regulated the thrusters until they wouldn’t move any further, and the speeder shot forward. That had to be enough, Dree thought. There just wasn’t any more for the speeder to give.

The Marauder’s face twisted with rage as he summoned even deeper reserves of dark-side energy to bring himself within a few scant meters of the bike’s mortified passenger. Even with the Force, could he really keep up with them? His lightsaber flared to life and he swung at the speeder. The stroke made him lose his balance, and he tumbled feet over head and hit the ground hard.

The Marauder had struck his mark, the tip of his Iightsaber blades I iced into one of the bike’s power cables. The damage didn’t prove immediately fatal, but the speeder would run out of power at an increased rate. Dree sensed Crian’s concern and shared it. Could they reach a relatively safe location?

Dree looked back once more, but the Marauder didn’t seem to be pursuing them any longer. Perhaps his resolve had finally given out, as well.

<<<>>>

The dark clouds that had crept over the horizon earlier now filled the sky. Night was coming, and with the cloud cover it would be almost completely dark. The storm, when it hit, promised to be spectacular. Crian reached out into the Force. The dark presence was still there, but it wasn’t close. At least not for the moment.

They had abandoned the speeder bike an hour earlier as its energy gauge dipped toward empty. Ditching the vehicle at the bottom of a deep ravine, they started running and kept their fevered pace until they had put a few additional kilometers behind them. When they reached the rocky hills that distinguished this part of the forest, Crian motioned for them to halt. They found a small cave, partially hidden by undergrowth, and settled inside it to rest.

“Will the storm come soon?” Dree asked.

“No,” Crian replied, hearing the Force’s song. “It’s waiting.”

They took turns keeping watch while the other tried to sleep. At best, they were able to slip into a fitful half-slumber, troubled by dark dreams and images of the Marauder. Most of the time, one or the other simply closed her eyes and tried to find some calm within the Force.

They ate rations from their survival packs and drank water from canteens. They didn’t speak much, but each of them braced for the battle to come. The storm loomed threateningly but refused to spill its contents. The clouds above were dark and painfully bloated.

Time passed.

The Marauder drew closer.

And the storm waited with sinister anticipation.

<<<>>>

Crian remained vigilant as Dree slept, apparently, at least for the moment, unfettered by nightmares. Crian wondered whether she would have held her ground had her Padawan learner not been with her. She had faith in Dree, but the young Rodian still had much to learn. She wasn’t ready to face the Marauder, not yet. Their survival would almost certainly fall to Crian, but she held secret doubts as to whether she was ready to face Kaox Krul. He was insane, powerful, full of the dark side, hungry for the kill. Rage had made him strong, fearless. Could she do it? Could she defeat the Marauder?

Yes, Crian thought. But it would be better if she didn’t have to worry about her Padawan.

“Sleep well,” Crian whispered, gently touching her student’s forehead.

The Jedi Knight slipped out of the cave, into the cloud-shrouded night.

Behind her, in the cave, Dree Vanclap rolled over and moaned. Her nightmares had returned.

<<<>>>

For almost two days, Kaox Krul tracked the Jedi through the forest. After trying to disable the speeder bike, he had lost his balance and fallen with a bonejarring crunch. It was a sloppy miscalculation, the result of moving too fast to stop his momentum. The wind had been knocked out of him. He swayed in and out of consciousness for several long minutes before he was able to resume the chase. By then, the speeder was gone and he didn’t have the energy to attempt another burst of speed. So he started walking, maintaining a casual pace as he let his body recover from the extreme effort of running in the Force.

It took more than a day to reach the place where the speeder bike was hidden. It was half buried in a mountain of dead leaves and branches at the bottom of a scar-like trench. He almost strode past the ravine and probably would have missed it entirely had he been moving faster. These Jedi were certainly hard on their vehicles, Kaox mused.

He dropped into the ravine to examine the speeder. The Jedi weren’t nearby, and Kaox hadn’t expected something as mundane as a crash to hinder them. It appeared that the speeder bike had simply run out of energy.

He spent the next day following their trail into the forest. What began as a simple matter turned daunting as their trail suddenly disappeared. Kaox plumbed the dark side, urging it to illuminate the path the Jedi had taken. His prey had their own lifelines to the Force, however, and they had somehow masked their course. The Marauder could do nothing but wander the forest, looking for physical signs of their passage or wait for the Force to betray them.

Or for them to betray themselves.,

Kaox hid himself from detection as the Jedi had done. No, not both of them, he realized. The apprentice wasn’t experienced enough to have such fine control over the Force. It was the Knight who was shielding them, wasting valuable energy to mask herself and the young one. Just another sign of weakness, Kaox thought. Just another indication of why the dark side would eventually triumph over the light.

More time passed. Kaox Krul took a few hours to rest and meditate on the dark side.

When he was ready to move out again, he became a tireless predator, a relentless stalker. He paused, sniffed the air, and opened himself to the Force. There it was. A tingle, a subtle vibration. It wasn’t much, but he had found his quarry. With a smile that was both disturbing and hateful, the Marauder moved in for the kill.

<<<>>>

Crian Maru slid through the forest like a quiet breeze. overhead, the clouds parted just enough to reveal a patch of clear night sky The planet’s twin moons shone through the break, painting the forest in a pale, ghostly light. Her senses tingled like live wires as the Force coursed through her, but she couldn’t locate the Marauder in the Force. He was hiding, though she still had a vague sense of being watched, even if she couldn’t pinpoint the source of her trepidation.

She pressed her search, eventually stepping out of the trees into a large clearing. In the moonlight, she saw that a calm, still lake filled the open space. The twin orbs above were luminously reflected in the water. Crian noticed that the clouds were tearing apart, and now she could see stars in the deep blue expanse around the moons. Perhaps the storm was dying. If so, it was a good omen.

<<<>>>

Dree sat up in the cave, instantly awake and clear-headed. Crian was gone. She was alone in the small hollow. Crian had left her behind, had gone out to face the Marauder on her own.

Did she think so little of me, of my abilities? Dree wondered.

Part of her wanted to stay right where she was, safely hidden in this cave. She couldn’t do that, though, not if she wanted to be true to herself and her Master. A Rodian hunter wouldn’t cower, afraid, hidden in a cave. Certainly a Jedi Knight wouldn’t. However, Dree was neither a Rodian hunter nor a Jedi Knight — not yet. Fear, though, led to the dark side. She wouldn’t take that path – not willingly, at least.

Dree steeled herself with a calming breath and set her mind for battle. Crian needed her help, and Dree wasn’t going to disappoint her.

<<<>>>

Crian Maru, Jedi Knight, sat beside the quiet lake, under the glow of the twin moons. The heavy storm clouds framed the clearing, but the sky directly overhead was crisp and clear. She was calm, at peace. The Force’s song vibrated through her, filling her with confidence and power. She was ready.

The shadow stood at the edge of the clearing, partially hidden by the thick clump of trees. She had been aware of the Dark One’s presence for a few moments, but she made no move, gave no indication that she had spotted him. The shadow boiled out of the darkness, and in the pale glow of the moons’ light, the Marauder was revealed. He moved toward her without a sound, waiting to ignite his lightsaber until the last possible moment. Crian decided not to wait.

The Jedi Knight stood without haste, calmly turning to face the onrushing darksider. He paused, momentarily confused by her unhurried actions. She drew her own weapon and locked her gaze with his.

“Your darkness betrays you, Kaox Krul,” Crian said.

“And you deny the darkness within you, Jedi,” Kaox retorted.

“Reject your Jedi oath and follow me to Lord Kaan’s side.”

“That will never happen.”

“So you believe.”

Two lightsabers flared to life. In the distance, thunder rumbled out of the clouds.

The storm was all around them, despite the clear sky above. Lightning flashed over the trees. So much for a good omen, Crian thought.

With the next clap of thunder, Kaox Krul roared. Crian Maru met his charge, lightsaber to lightsaber, dark side to light.

<<<>>>

Dree Vandap watched the battle between Jedi Knight and Sith warrior erupt, horrified and fascinated. Their energy blades carved intricate patterns in the night, punctuated by frequent sparks as the blades collided, drew apart, and collided again.

The Padawan allowed the Force to fill her, calling upon a battle-enhancement technique. She ignited her lightsaber, drawing comfort from the familiar snap-hiss-hum of the weapon. Then she charged across the open field, rushing toward the lakeshore to aid her Master.

The Marauder and the Jedi danced to a life-or-death song only they could hear. It was a dance of violence that reverberated in the Force. The two combatants took each other’s measure with the first series of strikes and counterstrikes. One gave ground, then took it back-as they sliced and parried. More thunder, and then the wind picked up, swirling fallen leaves around them as they fought. For the Sith and the Jedi, time seemed to ebb and flow, each moment a complex clash of Force-enhanced attacks and blocks that played out in a kind of slow motion.

The Sith warrior launched a barrage of deadly strikes at the Jedi. Crian pulled deeply from the Force and countered each one. She flipped and somersaulted, looking for weaknesses in his defenses. He spun and tumbled, probing her own technique for an opening. For a time, neither found one.

The young Rodian leaped into the fray then, striking at Kaox Krul from behind. He countered this attack, but now he bore an enemy on each side. He let his anger build. This gave him strength, allowed the dark side to blossom within him. His lightsaber twirled from one side to the other, blocking a strike from the Jedi here, parrying a swipe from the apprentice there. What he could not do from this position was launch a meaningful attack at either of them. To do so would be to give the other an opportunity.

Kaox Krul switched to a one-handed grip, leaving his left hand free. He balled his free hand into a fist, squeezing tight and imagining all of his anger slipping down his arm to pool there. He imagined it was a tightly wound spring. Then, when the Jedi’s weapon bounced away from his parry, turning her slightly to one side, he opened his hand and unleashed the power that was concentrated therein. The Force spread out like a wave, striking the Jedi and knocking her backward, into the lake.

He called the Force to him again, let it surround him, and then he leaped. He was gone before the apprentice’s weapon had barely begun its arc. By the time the energy blade passed through the place he had been, he landed softly behind her. His blood surged with triumph. The apprentice was off balance, just barely, but it was enough. He lashed out, the burning blade of his own weapon skewering the young Rodian.

Crian Maru gathered the Force around her and used it to lift her out of the water. She floated to the shore just as the Force turned dark and cold around her. Dree Vandap was dead. Stunned, she watched as her apprentice slumped to the ground. Sorrow flooded her, and she couldn’t hold back its flow. Anger rode in on these waves, as did a hatred the likes of which she could not remember ever experiencing. She had failed her student.

Dree was dead.

The Marauder had to die, too.

Crian saw Kaox Krul smile as she charged toward him. She knew she should control her emotions. She was on dangerous ground. But Dree wasn’t supposed to die! Crian wanted to hurt the Marauder. She wanted to make him pay.

Lightsaber blades collided once more.

<<<>>>

Hours later, the Marauder and the Jedi were still locked in battle. They were too evenly matched for either to gain more than a temporary advantage. They hurled rocks and sticks on tendrils of Force. They sliced and slashed and hacked with lightsabers that hummed angrily at the continued exertion. They taunted each other when they could spare a breath. Punches, kicks, knees, and elbows, they pounded on each other with every weapon at their disposal.

Battered and bruised, covered in cuts and scratches, they both looked ready to drop. Even Kaox’s dark armor had fallen apart in places. Whenever Crian felt her muscles weaken, she remembered her beloved student and found the strength to carry on. Where Kaox found such stamina, she had no clue.

The bloated clouds had returned, gathering into a singularly fearsome presence. Jagged streaks of lightning exploded from within as thunder crashed down with a terrible intensity. With every strike and parry, thunder peeled. With every punch and kick, lightning spread across the sky like fiery spider webs.

Crian was beginning to lose ground. She was faster than the Marauder, better trained, but he was stronger and called on reserves of the Force that were forbidden to her. He was going to kill her. He was going to win.

She knew where Kaox drew his power. The dark side of the Force. He wasn’t afraid to let his emotions magnify his strength. He had no compunctions about using his anger and hatred as vessels to hold more power than his body or spirit could muster by themselves. He was a Sith warrior, trained to harness the intensity of his darker feelings. Crian parried another strike, then leaped out of the Marauder’s reach. For a moment he didn’t follow. He just stared after her, illuminated by the red glow of his lightsaber and the strobing bolts of lightning.

“I’m sorry, Dree,” Crian said, letting the tears run down her sweat-stained cheeks.

Crian gave into her rage then, unleashing her hatred of the man who stood across from her. She let it sing inside her, a melody of unbridled fury that renewed her strength and determination. The clearing around the lake filled with the emanations of the dark side of the Force.

Kaox roared, giving himself completely to the dark side.

Crian returned the call, embracing her anger and hatred.

The bloated clouds splattered the ground and the lake with huge drops of greasy rain. In the downpour, Crian and Kaox each called upon the dark side. Invigorated by its power, they launched themselves, one at the other, and their struggle became even more devastating.

Thunder boomed around the two opponents with each punch and kick and lightsaber clash. Lightning danced over the surface of the lake and lanced into the ground around the warriors. Crian slashed, her anger amplifying the force of her attack. Kaox dodged, whirled, and returned with a deft counterstroke. Lightsaber blades cracked and sparkled, bouncing off each other again and again, and still black rain fell from the sky.

The Marauder, hoping to find a moment’s respite, wrapped himself in the Force and hovered over the center of the lake. Crian refused to give Kaox even a moment’s respite and followed him into the air.

“Your anger is impressive,” Kaox called over the howl of the storm. “Join our Brotherhood of Darkness and renounce the life you have already given up.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” Crian called back, hurling her anger at him through the Force, thrusting him down toward the churning water below.

He shrugged off the attack and fortified himself with the power of the dark side. Crian did the same.

“Time to die, Jedi,” Kaox roared.

Sith and Jedi flew at each other, converging above the roiling cauldron of water. Kaox’s lightsaber aimed high. Crian’s blade thrust low. A lightning panorama bathed them in harsh light for an instant as each was felled by the other’s killing blow.

Then they were gone, lost behind torrential sheets of rain.

<<<>>>

Salen Toth, a Jedi Knight, stood on the shore of a stagnant lake. It was more swamp than lake, actually The trees around it were twisted and black, with barren branches that reached like skeletal limbs toward the dark, muddy center. The whole place felt ill, deformed. Haunted.

“I found the Padawan,” Salen said, speaking into his comlink. “She was killed by a single lightsaber strike. I haven’t found any sign of Crian Maru or the Marauder, but I’m sure there was a battle here.”

He looked out over the bleak lake, trying to make sense of what happened. All he found in the Force, though, was darkness and despair.

“I’m done here,” he said, switching off the comlink.

This was a dead place. It was time for him to return to the living. He turned, lifted the body of the Padawan, and started back for his ship,

Behind him the dank wind whistled through the twisted trees, and the shadows grew deeper. For a moment, he thought he heard the hum of lightsabers. He turned back, but there was nothing to see.

<<<>>>

Essential Atlas Extra: The Knight Errant Gazetteer

To: Chancellor Genarra, Jedi Master From: Vannar Treece, Jedi Master Re: Operation Influx

Your Grace,

This cartographical survey and field report serves as a supplement to the informational material already filed regarding Operation Influx, soon to commence. As you know, I have already assembled a number of Jedi volunteers for this latest mission. And while my efforts are not affiliated with or endorsed by the Jedi Council or the Republic, I intend now, as in all the past occasions, to keep both bodies fully apprised. We do all serve the same goal: preventing the warring Sith Lords on the Outer Rim from advancing on the Republic.

The purpose of Operation Influx is simple: the interdiction of baradium production by the Sith Lord Daiman. Recent intelligence from a high-quality source in the Grumani sector indicates Daiman has discovered on Chelloa what would be considered, for Sith space, the mother lode of baradium, a compound used in a wide variety of explosive devices. With the mines on that world deep within the Daimanate now ready to begin shipping to Daiman’s war forges nearer the front lines, we propose to take a portion of Chelloan production offline before it alters the balance of power in the region. Should Daiman exploit Chelloa’s riches to its full potential, his stalemated war with his brother, Odion, could well end in a Daimanite victory. A decisive advantage to any Sith Lord in the region holds peril for the Republic, ultimately.

Operation Influx involves three stages:

insertion into Sith space, arriving at Oranessan, a Daimanite transport center;

the raid on Chelloa, itself; and

extraction via a direct hyperspace lane to neutral space.

My young aide, Kerra Holt, has already described the tactical portions of these stages in detail to the Defense Ministry. A copy of the briefing has been forwarded to Your Grace. The material that follows is familiar information, in large measure: a basic overview of the territory and its history, so far as it is known, followed by reports on a selection of other notable systems in the region. We certainly do not expect to visit any locations beyond Oranessan and Chelloa; navigation between most of these worlds is highly difficult, even where connecting hyperspace lanes exist. But since the deactivation of the subspace relays in the area by the Republic as a defensive measure long ago, very little is known about what powers hold sway in the sector. Knowledge of key locations is an important part of being prepared.

HISTORICAL BACKGROUND

The dire conditions facing the Republic today require little amplification on my part. It is difficult to recall another time in history when so many factors have gone against those working to promote peace and good will.

There is little need, for example, to describe our long years of war with the newly risen Sith Lords on the Outer Rim. The Grumani sector is one such nest of evil, but today’s map of the galaxy shows many disparate areas under Sith control, like cancerous lesions. Alongside the Republic Navy, the Jedi Order sought to stem the tide by making stands on world after world, Republic-affiliated or not. But such efforts fell short, partially due to another factor: plague. If the Sith threat is the fire, the Candorian Plague proved a deadly and effective accelerant. Even the noblest defenders cannot stand long when their own bodies fail them. Systems under quarantine could not be defended — and Sith Lords more interested in conquest than the well-beings of their own warriors took advantage. World after world fell to the Sith conquerors.

Exceptional times call for exceptional measures. One such measure came when the Republic turned to Jedi for political leadership. Jedi Chancellors such as Your Grace have served to guide both the Republic and Order through many a storm.

Another such measure was more extreme. controversial, and, sadly, probably necessary. Drawing a security cordon around the Core, the Colonies, and part of the Inner Rim, the Republic deactivated the hyperspace relays beyond. Both navigational and message relays were affected. Instantaneous communication with most of the Outer Rim ceased — as did communication between those Rimworlds. No longer would the Sith Lords be able to easily exploit the existing

Republic systems to speed their own conquests; hyperspace couriers came back into use across much of the galaxy.

Perhaps more importantly, the action robbed the Sith of access to the constantly updated Republic database of hyperspace lanes. Many smaller vessels depend on hyperspace buoys to provide information as to their own location and other destinations; now, in many cases, Sith fliers are limited to the coordinates they bring with them. Scouting missions have revealed that some Sith Lords have constructed their own rudimentary hyperspace relay networks (in some cases, reverse-engineering or reactivating our own buoys), but thankfully, that has been a limited phenomenon. Most Sith genuinely do not know what lies beyond the stellar horizon — and that has greatly added to the protection of the Republic. Our “firewall” is one of void and interstellar dust, using the vast distances between stars to slow the Sith spread.

The Republic has thus managed to preserve a good deal of what our civilization has accomplished. The same, sadly, cannot be said for the locations outside the cordon, where great libraries and storehouses of ancient wisdom have been taken by Sith invaders, destroyed, or both. Technological advancement has, in large measure, stagnated in areas under Sith control. There is little commercial incentive for innovation; some Sith areas have no units of exchange at all, with all manufacturing done by slave labor or droids.

There are corporations that continue to function under Sith rule; as will be seen, some Sith Lords permit firms to continue functioning in their space, provided they reap the rewards. The Republic has strongly encouraged all corporations with operations in Sith territory to withdraw behind the cordon, not just for the safety of their employees, but so that current Republic technology does not fall into Sith hands.

So the Republic survives, though much smaller than it had once been. (The popular term “rump Republic” is distasteful, but does describe what remains.) The Jedi spend much of their year at the frontier, with only some of their time devoted to their traditional duties of keeping order on Republic worlds. Republic military forces battle valiantly to protect the frontiers from further encroachment — and while engagements continue, the good news, if it can be called that, is that many of our opponents seem more interested in fighting each other than invading the Republic. Prolonging this period of disunity among the Sith is one of the goals of my efforts in general, and Operation Influx in particular.

THE GRUMANI SECTOR SITH: THE STATE OF PLAY

The exact number of Sith Lords in the Grumani and surrounding sectors remains a mystery. The Sith are not an organization like the Jedi Order; all that one has to do to become a Sith Lord is take the name — and then, presumably, survive the wrath of those who would deny anyone else that title. While history records single figures with the title Dark Lord of the Sith, such as Marka Ragnos, who could exercise control over other Sith Lords, in today’s times there appears to be no such central figure.

Through the deactivation of the Republic subspace communications relays (and thus, access to our database of hyperspace coordinates), the Republic has both prevented the spread of Sith contagion — and, paradoxically, made it easier for upstarts to claim the Sith Lord mantle. Since the Sith themselves do not always know what conditions are in neighboring regions, it is relatively easy for rivals to stake their claims. This unfortunate consequence is well known to the Republic and Jedi, and accepted as worth the price of protecting the galaxy. The Sith are better divided than united!

A complete record of known Sith Lords active in the region would be long and outside the purview of this report, but it will suffice to say that few areas have seen more leadership change than the Grumani sector. The embattled planet Verdanth has, by the best count, been under the control of 17 different self- declared Sith Lords just in the last century!

In the last generation, however, one of the most important figures is certainly Lord Chagras. While no less bloodthirsty than his rivals, Chagras used cleverness to bring huge swaths of space under his control — and is still regarded by refugees who lived under his rule as the lesser of several evils. (This is a turn of phrase, of course; evil is evil.) As Chagras consolidated power, attacks on the Republic increased in frequency; attentions turning from internecine struggle to the true desire of all Sith, galactic domination.

But eight years ago, Chagras evidently died under circumstances that have yet to be explained. There are no mass media in Sith space, no historians of any repute to record what happened. In short order, much of the sector plunged back into chaos, with upstarts — including some who had previously fought in Chagras’ name, like Lord Odion — seizing large tracts of Chagrasi territory to form their own domains. While the Republic is perhaps safer from threats coming from the Grumani sector now in the post-Chagras years, it cannot be denied that the

suffering of the unfortunates there is unimaginable. A battlefield is no place to call home.

Several of the powers currently occupying the Grumani sector are described below. A word about terminology: many, but by no means all, of the Sith territories in the Grumani sector are described by placing the suffix -ate after the Sith Lord’s name. Thus, the territory of Daiman is known as the Daimanate; Odion, the Odionate; and so on. In the case of Sith Lords whose names end with a vowel, the suffix -nate is used, such as in the case of Bactra’s realm, the Bactranate.

The adjectival form of these realms is created by the use of the suffixes ite and – nite. Thus, a Daimanite vessel, a Bactranite city, etc. While the adjective alone can be used to refer to a follower of one of the Sith Lords (such as, an Odionite), the term is most properly affixed to adherents, and not subjects. Daiman’s slaves are not Daimanites; they are simply unfortunates!

The Daimanate: One of the successor states to the Chagras Hegemony, the Daimanate is ruled by Lord Daiman, a relatively young human who believes himself to be the creator of the universe. With Darkknell as its capital, the Daimanate includes systems such as Alphoresis, Gazzari, Nilash, Tergamenion, and the aforementioned Chelloa. The Daimanate contains many important resource worlds and several planets devoted to the production of armaments. As the borders of the Daimanate have shifted, our scouts report an increased employment of mobile factories to keep production close to the battle lines.

Recent scouting missions have confirmed the spread of Daiman’s cult of personality to many subject worlds, with statues and holographic displays advertising his deranged philosophy. Hardcore Daimanites who are trained in Sith skills are employed as “Correctors” to keep the peace in Daiman’s inner systems — and to “correct” those who differ from Daiman’s strange view of the universe.

The Odionate: Another successor state carved from the former territory of Lord Chagras, the Odionate is ruled by Lord Odion, Daiman’s older brother and hated enemy. Lying between the Core and the rest of the Grumani sector, the space that is now the Odionate is well known to many Jedi veterans. It is a sprawling area whose borders are largely undefined — and it is unclear what the present capital is, or if there even is one. The latter possibility — that Odion has several

bases of operation — squares with his method of operation; his military forces have no ranks whatsoever.

Odion practices species segregation within his realm, forcibly assigning beings to those jobs he deems their kinds to be best at. But the most notable — and loathsome — feature of the Odionate is Odion’s death cult. Just as his brother depicts himself as the universe’s creator, Odion longs to be its destroyer — and many of Odion’s warriors long for nothing more than a glorious death. Special units within Odion’s force, including the Thunder Guard and Lightning Guard, have been observed to be nearly suicidal in their attacks, striking with reckless abandon.

Odion is rumored to maintain a mobile manufacturing center of his own, a modular space station known as The Spike. However, its location is unknown, as is its true size.

The Bactranate: An aged Quermian, Sith Lord Ayanos Bactra rules an expanse abutting space known to be under Daimanite control; its borders may reach the Odionate. Recent information places the capital of the Bactranate on Jutrand.

Intelligence on the Bactranate has been relatively easier to come by, given the nature of the regime. Unlike other Sith Lords who dissolve corporations and enslave their workers, Lord Bactra sees them as assets, allowing him to extend his spiny fingers into parts of Sith space he cannot militarily dominate. The Bactranate contains many resource worlds of note, including Sarrassia.

The Chagrasi Remnant: While many of systems formerly under the control of Lord Chagras have since fallen to other Sith Lords, intelligence reports suggest that a number of systems cling together, holding out against invaders. It is unclear whether the Remnant actually has a single overlord or even a functioning government. This is one of the difficulties in sifting intelligence so far removed from the source: it’s possible the “Chagrasi Remnant” may simply refer to an area, and not an active Sith power.

There are, sadly, countless other areas under the sway of other Sith Lords; the aforementioned simply covers the known players in the immediate region.

SYSTEM PROFILES

Much of what is presented about the systems below is from before Sith occupation. The term used below for this knowledge, “Republic-era,” does not imply past Republic membership; not all these worlds were previously affiliated. Rather, it serves as shorthand for a time when Republic citizens were able to move freely in these systems.

Alphoresis: Remembered in history books as the plagueworld, Alphoresis was the site of the infamous Breath Stealing eleven centuries ago which claimed the lives of every child under eight years of age. Since repopulated, some speculate it has succumbed to Candorian Plague under the chaotic Sith environment that is tearing apart the Grumani sector.

Aplooine: Smothered in black ash up to 300 meters deep, Aplooine possesses only a scattering of stable landing points atop weathered mountains. It lacks a breathable atmosphere but has harbored colonists since the Kymoodon Era due to its position on the Duros Space Run.

Aquilaris: Aquilaris is, sadly, well known to this writer; it was one of the last planets on which I was able to mount an active defense ten years ago, before most Republic forces withdrew. (My assistant, Kerra Holt, resided there.) An aquatic paradise with lovely equatorial beaches and polar fjords, Aquilaris was a resort world for many years; in the waning years of the Republic foothold in the Grumani sector, it provided a home to many refugees fleeing Sith outrages.

Byllura: A forested world, Byllura was once one of the more beautiful destinations in the Grumani sector. On the main continent, rivers flow down from a raised central plateau to the oceans, making for a number of amazing waterfalls. Republic engineers crafted one large river delta into a series of terraces, creating the capital city, Hestobyll.

It is unknown what condition the planet is in now. As one of the worlds of the Chagras Hegemony, it is suspected to have fallen to Lord Daiman or one of his immediate neighbors. Sith despise all that is good and beautiful; is it beyond hopeful to think they might have left Byllura’s wonders intact?

Chelloa: The keystone to Operation Influx, Chelloa was well known to Republic colonists as a pleasant agrarian world. It fell to Lord Chagras late in that ruler’s

reign, and has since fallen under the heel of Lord Daiman. Previously not of strategic importance, recent intelligence has revealed the discovery of rich veins of baradium beneath its surface.

Situated well within the Daimanate, Chelloa is reasonably protected from Odion and any of Daiman’s other neighbors; any attempt to seize it would be suicide, so far from any attacker’s supply lines. But with a known hyperspace lane to the Republic frontier nearby, a quick raid there could well delay its baradium operations.

The population of Chelloa is known to have decreased significantly over the years, as Chagras and Daiman have moved many of its residents to work and fight near the frontiers. Known remaining settlements on the planet include Jenith, which sits at the foot of a large mountain range; Picomith; Arboth; and the garden vale of Clains.

Cmaoli Di: With the lower Hydian now largely impassible for great stretches, proud Cmaoli Di has lost its status as the gatekeeper of the Brema sector. At last report the Council of Makers and Spinners had brokered neutrality with both Lord Daiman and Buruun the Bloodbringer, the Sullustan warlord who controls much of Brema space.

Darkknell: Once an important world in Outer Rim commerce, Darkknell is located in the Knel’char system, a triple-star formation. Knel’char I is the aging and decaying parent star; Knel’char II and III are extremely weak stars, orbiting each other as they make their distant circuit around Knel’char I.

Darkknell turns slowly, completing one rotation every thirty-two hours. Depending on latitude and season, this makes for very long days and nights; it’s unknown whether the planet gets its name from such nights, but it’s a good guess. A source of iridium and other strategic elements, Darkknell was home to several corporations and a sizable population including humans, Duros, Sullustans, and other species before falling to the Sith.

After the fall of the Chagras Hegemony, Lord Daiman took the planet for his capital, expending enormous resources and many lives to reshape the largest city, Xakrea, to suit his whims. According to interviews with refugees fortunate enough to escape, Daiman has constructed a large heptagonal fortress in the city known as the Sanctum Celestial.

Fiviune: A dead, silent world, Fiviune’s surface is a jagged mass of tumbled rocky plates broken by spiky crags. Rumors abound that an ancient civilization once ruled Fiviune before it was destroyed under circumstances now recalled by none.

Fostin Nine: The ninth moon of ink-black Fostin is blessed with a layered atmosphere of valuable gases, each a different color and each at a different elevation. Its air is presumably still mined with scoop-ship flyers, though it is unlikely that tourists still come to view the sky paintings stirred up by its seasonal tempests.

Gallion: Gallion is one of the larger planets with a rocky surface to be found in the sector. Interestingly, the low density of the planet results in significantly lower gravity, resulting in a planet where the proportions of life are often titanic.

Gazzari: It is unclear who currently controls Gazzari; the inhospitable world is near the constantly-moving frontier between Daiman and Odion’s territories — and not far from the Bactranate. Republic surveys of Gazzari years ago found a breathable atmosphere, greatly polluted by ash from the planet’s many volcanoes. Its terrain features ridges and craters, with spires formed by acid rain. Tectonically active, the planet receives a large number of meteor strikes owing to its presence in a stellar nursery. Republic industry never found its way to Gazzari; it’s a planet only the Sith could love!

Greeve: A heavy-gravity farm world, Greeve’s simple people have been considered the yokels of the Grumani for centuries, but have also supplied countless armies with much-needed muscle.

Heptooine: One of the oldest relics of Republic colonization in the Grumani sector, Heptooine subsisted for millennia as a frontier outpost until civilization sprang up around it. I fear that the Sith have accomplished what entropy could not, and that Heptooine has reverted to barbarism after long decades of war and famine.

Jutrand: To the best of our knowledge, the megalopolis of Jutrand is the current capital of the Bactranate. Completely rebuilt after stone mites leveled the city- planet during the Hundred Year Darkness, Jutrand boasts hundreds of corporate headquarters — while the citizens dependent on those corporations struggle to survive on a diet of alley lichens.

Kamasto: A frigid world revolving around a forlorn orange dwarf, Kamasto housed the monasteries of the Mani before their schism, and has occasionally served as the site of ill-fated attempts at diplomacy.

Nakrikal Singularity: This black hole tugs on the fabric of hyperspace, sometimes addling the navicomputers of starships passing down the Sanrafsix Corridor. We are giving this part of the sector a wide berth; our mission will be perilous enough as it is.

Nilash: I have read the Ithor Outreach anthropological narratives from before the war; the inventiveness and spirit of the tree-dwelling Nilash natives is inspiring and their ability to form telepathic group minds is remarkable. Has Daiman preserved anything of their culture? Nilash is a known source of anthracite and Daiman would surely raze its jungles to build war factories.

Obica: Located in the western reaches of Grumani sector, Obica isn’t considered particularly strategic by any of the known parties at odds in the region. But the world is noteworthy as the holy world of the Spumani, a site of annual pilgrimages and seemingly semi-annual wars. Centuries ago, access to Obica was controlled by the feared Scholastic Guardians, who would interrogate visitors to ensure they were members of the Spumani faithful. The current state of affairs on Obica is unknown.

Oranessan: Cloud-shrouded and stormy, Oranessan is the first step in our planned raid to Chelloa. Near the termini of many hyperspace routes — including, conveniently for us, one leading on a winding path to the Republic frontier — Oranessan is known from past scouting missions to be a busy place: a Daimanite dispatch station for support vessels departing to Daiman’s frontiers. Relatively far from the Odionate, Oranessan is lightly defended.

Oranessan was originally scouted as a target for a Jedi raid itself. When news of baradium-mining operations on Chelloa was received, we reworked our existing plan to make an Oranessan operation the first stage of our attack on Chelloa.

Phaegon: A mining world long exploited for its minerals, Phaegon has been a frequent prize for warmongers. Analysts doubt the planet still holds anything of value.

Qi Lozar: A blazingly hot desert world, Qi Lozar has long been a haven for refugees, hermits and others seeking to escape inconvenient pasts. Those

seeking passage to Qi Lozar must bargain with smugglers or entrust their lives to the reckless hyperspace scouts of the Grumani Hydian.

Samhar: A verdant, emerald-green forest world, Samhar has traditionally held itself aloof from the region, paying more regard to their own intrigues than to Republic Chancellors or Sith Lords. The near-human Samhari have few friends in this region, and little is known of their fate.

Sanrafsix: Fortunate, tragic Sanrafsix sits at the intersection of the Duros Space Run and the eponymous Sanrafsix Corridor. Because this hub of trade and cosmopolitan cultural exchange could not maintain quarantine during the first year of the Candorian outbreak, it ultimately isolated its groundside population to inevitable death. The orbital stations of Sanrafsix are presumably still in business, though which Sith Lord holds sway here is a matter of debate.

Sarrassia: The Sith are the enemies of life itself, yet I will allow that isolated and accidental good can sometimes result from their rule. The religious war that has devastated Sarrassia since the rule of Chancellor Am-Ris is reportedly at an end under the rule of Lord Bactra, who has kept the Grumani Hierophants in check and barred Spumani Crusaders from pursuing their typically sanguinary quests. Though Bactra cares only for the planet’s deposits of Sarrassian iron, I am grateful for any circumstance that lessens bloodshed.

Syned: Lord Chagras’ reach in his day extended all the way to this inhospitable world, a planet shrouded in ice. Located in a cluster of blue newborn stars, Syned was captured relatively recently, in astronomical terms, by its weak sun. As such, the planet spins rapidly, turning a complete rotation in a little less than four standard hours. A heavy molten core far beneath the surface counter-balances the planet’s fast rotation to produce a standard gravity environment.

While there is a thin atmosphere, environment suits are needed to survive life on the surface. Said surface has a tortured appearance, with shattered ice sheets broken by ancient tectonic activity frozen into place. Physicists expect the planet to eventually tidally lock to its parent star, thawing the dayside.

Tanta Aurek: Tanta Aurek derives its name from the fact that it and Tanta Besh appear to be a double star in the skies of Obica, though the two systems are actually far apart. Tanta Aurek’s primary world, Scelepas, was once a motley trade world dominated by merchants from Cmaoli Di, but has since descended into grinding poverty.

Tanta Besh: An uninhabited system of tumbling rock, Tanta Besh is known for its system primary, an unstable blue giant whose pulses and erratic changes in luminosity are raw material for diviners on many Grumani worlds.

Tergamenion: The darkworld of Tergamenion houses Daiman’s research and production complexes that produce night-vision gear and advanced targeting systems, according to Republic Intelligence. Shutting it down would be a blow to the Daimanite, but its location is too remote.

Tramanos: This watery moon has an atmosphere high in cyanogen, explaining the presence of a Celegian colony. Yet the air is not pure cyanogen, and therefore oxygen breathers live there too with the aid of hazard masks.

Vellas Pavo: In better times, Vellas Pavo was one of a small number of planets in the area producing gadolinium, an important element used in the manufacture of superconductors. Once under the thumb of Lord Chagras, it is unknown who, if anyone, rules here now.

Ventruun: A world of canny merchants and frenzied deal-making, Ventruun is one of the few Grumani worlds where life can seem somewhat normal. But seemingly all Ventruuni intrigues lead back to Sith puppetmasters, who have made the world an arena for their contests.

Verdanth: This world has been fought over by Sith Lords so frequently that the title “Conqueror of Verdanth” seems to pass to a new tyrant every few years. Its wild jungles continue resist the colonization efforts of its transplanted refugees, but its strategic position on the Sanrafsix Corridor and near the intersection of the Grumani, Sanbra, and Bon’nyuw-Luq sectors cannot be ignored.

Whinndor: A sulfuric atmosphere and shallow seas brimming with organic molecules make Whinndor a cradle for future life. Yet its position on the border between the Daimanite and Odionite have left it a contested world, and its fragile biochemical balance may not survive the scars left by their war.

CONCLUSION

This concludes my report on Operation Influx, its zones of operation and the surrounding territories. It is my hope that our efforts can bring some small relief to those living there, while delaying future attacks on the Republic.

A personal note, if I may. It is the fashionable opinion of some in the Republic to believe that those non-Sith who still live in the afflicted areas are, themselves, to blame for their fate; that they are responsible for not rising up against those who enslave them. I am on record as believing this highly underestimates the challenge that means. Should ordinary people prevail where Jedi Knights and navies have failed? I dearly hope that can one day be the case — but for now, it falls to expeditions like mine to show that the Sith can be defeated, and that hope can be brought to places where none has existed for decades.

Such is the challenge facing myself and my team, including, for the first time, the aforementioned (and newly knighted) Kerra Holt, returning to her home sector to fight for our cause. May the Force be with her — and with us all.

Best regards, Vannar Treece

HISTORICAL POSTSCRIPTS

The communication above was discovered in the Jedi archives, and tells much about the state of the Grumani sector during the times a generation before the Ruusan Reformations. While the fate of Treece’s expedition — and what followed — are chronicled elsewhere, the following pieces of additional background may be instructive:

Proto-Sectors

The Draggulch Period of 2000 BBY to 1000 BBY saw the Republic shrink and civilization descend into chaos, with many star systems closing their borders against the darkness. The Jedi Order changed in response to the horrors of these centuries, with bands of Knights swearing to defend individual worlds and eventually regions against slavers, pirates and warlords. In some places the Jedi supported existing governments and rulers; in others, they became hereditary

lords themselves, defending their people against a host of threats. The Supreme Chancellors of the time — more often than not Jedi themselves — divided many troubled parts of the galaxy into Jedi baronial sectors, thereby seeking to coordinate the endless struggle against the Sith.

In 1004 BBY, the Jedi Order united the baronies as the Army of Light, commanded by Lord Hoth. When the Ruusan Reformations transformed the millions of ancient sectors into 1,024 new regional sectors, many old baronial borders were carried forward into the new system, as well as a host of other cartographic artifacts from ancient surveyors’ maps and former political territories.

The Children of Mani

Even before the coming of the Sith, trouble was no stranger to the Grumani spaceways. Many of the original human colonists of the region were adherents of Mani, a messianic figure who had told his disciples to seek perfection in the wilds beyond the galactic frontier. But a few centuries after settlement began to spread from worlds such as Aplooine and Heptooine, the faith of Mani was split by a schism that soon proved irreparable. The orthodox Grumani held that moral conduct could only come from Mani’s directives, as interpreted by his Hierophants; while the breakaway Spumani believed Mani had made a secret directive to the elect, teaching that salvation must come from within, through constant testing of the self.

The two branches of the faith had warred for some eight centuries until the coming of the Sith Lords, with each claiming their own faith as the proper name for their shared region of the galaxy. Though the schism eventually cooled to mutual disdain, even in the time of the New Republic diplomats had to be carefully schooled in knowing when to refer to Grumani sector, when to refer to Spumani sector, and when to avoid naming the sector entirely.

Star Wars

Knight Errant: Influx

An Original Short Story

by John Jackson Miller

upload : 26.X.2010

###############################################################################

“Influx” takes place in the Grumani sector in 1,032 B.B.Y., immediately before the events of Star Wars: Knight Errant #1, now available from Dark Horse Comics. It serves to introduce characters and themes for comics readers and readers of the forthcoming novel, due out in January from Del Rey Books.

“We ought to shoot you where you stand!”

The hooded human trudged over the hill, his boots raking through the mud. “We’re here,” he said, keeping his voice firm. There wasn’t any point in apologizing. Not in this place — or to these people. “Just show us where our ride is.”

The Daimanite Sith warriors didn’t lower their rifles. Even on rain-drenched Oranessan, Lord Daiman insisted that his troopers shine their silvery combat suits every day. This day, the planet seemed especially intent on testing their armor. Hailstones ricocheted off them in all directions, raising such a raucous din that the first speaker — a burn-scarred woman in worker’s overalls — had to shout to be heard.

“You’re not where you’re supposed to be, pilot!” Stepping between the warriors, the woman flashed a hand-held light in the face of the newcomer, a rugged man in his fifties. “You were supposed to be here for flight prep twenty minutes ago,” she yelled. “What in blazes were you doing down in the mud flats?”

“Our shuttle was damaged in the storm,” the arrival said, pointing over the hillcrest. Two similarly cloaked companions arrived behind him, both flashing their identification badges. “We landed where we could. What does it matter? We’re here.” Ice blue eyes squinting, Vannar Treece surveyed the surroundings. Beyond the scabrous ground crew chief and the four sentries loomed a massive, multi-gunned Sith transport, waiting for its flight team. Identical transports were already lifting off in the distance, climbing over the towering nuclear furnaces that provided fuel for Daiman’s vessels at this waystation. The flames atop the massive permacrete cones provided the only lighting for the area, forcing the ground crews to use their helmet-lights even at high noon — which it was now.

Welcome back to Sith Space, Vannar thought. See the sights — if you really want to.

Vannar took a step toward the waiting transport, only to be blocked by the ground team leader. Shining her light at his gloved hands, the age-worn woman flew into a rage. “Where’s your dispatch case? You’d better not tell me you’ve come all the way here without it!”

Vannar’s short female companion stepped forward. Hazel eyes flashing beneath her cowl, she raised her hand before the Sith crew chief. “We don’t need a dispatch case.”

“You sure as blazes do, little missy!” The ground crew leader ripped at the newcomer’s hood, revealing a girl of eighteen, dark of hair and complexion. “I don’t know what they’re thinking, sending younglings out here as pilots. Surely Daiman can do better than you!”

Smoldering, the girl looked urgently to Vannar. He already knew. This wasn’t working.

“This isn’t right,” the scarred woman said, stepping back toward the troopers. “One less transport in the convoy won’t make any difference. Kill them.”

The quartet of warriors raised their rifles. Vannar’s companions leapt forward, light flashing in front of them. The girl reached the Daimanites first, cleaving the muzzle of the nearest warrior’s weapon in two with her lightsaber. A fraction of a second later, she did the same to the sentry himself.

“What the–?” The crew chief stumbled backwards and pulled her blaster. “Jedi!”

Leaping out of her cloak, Kerra Holt pounced, vaulting over the second warrior’s shoulders and diving for the boss. The comlink flew from the older woman’s hand, burying itself in the Oranessan muck. Seeing the second sentry turning toward her, the young Jedi thrust her lightsaber backward into the crew chief’s body. The woman’s cry of pain was still on the air when the attacking sentry collapsed before Kerra, slain by the yellow lightsaber of Vannar Treece.

Vannar looked to the right to see Dorvin Eltrom, his other companion, standing over the corpses of the other two Daimanites. The Cerean removed his hood, raindrops spattering off his conical cranium. Vannar quickly extinguished his lightsaber and scanned the area. The hail had turned to a cooling rain, the downpour and darkness combining to screen their melee from the massive service hangar nearly a kilometer away. Timely, he thought. A good omen for a long mission’s first step.

Hair dripping, the girl knelt over the dead crew chief’s body. “‘Little missy?’ Is that how Sith swear these days?”

“I never know what to expect,” Vannar said, chuckling to himself. Part of the novelty of this mission would be seeing Kerra’s response to Sith space, territory she’d studied so long from afar. Kerra had been under his tutelage for most of the decade since he helped to evacuate her from this region. Now, she’d had her first contact.

It was no surprise that Kerra’s Force skills had gone undetected when she lived the Grumani sector. With the Republic abandoning much of the Outer Rim, Jedi scouts were no longer identifying potential students in those regions. As far as Vannar was concerned, it was almost better for Sith slaves never to learn about their potential Force talents, lest they be pressed into service as Sith adepts. Anything was better than that. But Kerra had escaped, and while Vannar would have wanted to remain a part of her life regardless of whether she had Jedi potential, the fact had made it possible for him to play an active role in her education.

She had taken to the training quickly. Her mind and body were all she had left in the galaxy; these, she committed fully to absorbing skills and knowledge. Vannar wasn’t her Master in the formal sense; she didn’t really have one. A lot of the regular ways of doing things had changed by necessity in recent times. With Knights needed at the front, there simply weren’t enough teachers to go around; Padawans tended to apprentice for short periods under whoever was available. But Vannar, as much father as mentor, had made a point of following her progress. Once he began waging his own private war in Sith space, Kerra had begged to assist him in any way possible.

While there was no thought of taking the adolescent on any of his missions, Vannar found that teenage Kerra was helpful to his cause in innumerable ways. She was an organizational dynamo, helping him to transform his lofty visions into concrete actions. He had the connections and the personal magnetism necessary to attract followers and material support; Kerra made sure it got where it needed to go. He was sure she’d made it possible for him to mount one additional operation a year. None of those were grand missions to free her homeland — Vannar wondered if anything could do that — but it was making a contribution.

And now, years later, she was finally here.

“I’m guessing she’s got what we’re looking for,” Kerra said, sorting through the items attached to the dead woman’s belt. Finding a control device, she turned to face the huge transport and pressed a button. The massive forward hatchway groaned open, revealing a yawning cargo area inside.

As their intelligence reports had suggested, the giant transport was empty, waiting for a flight crew that would never arrive. Vannar raised his comlink to his mouth. “Objective vessel secured. Influx begin. Team may approach.”

“Influx confirmed. Stand by.”

Vannar’s full Jedi team was stationed beyond the next ridge, with the wreckage of the small personnel shuttle they had intercepted during their approach to Oranessan from Republic space. Intercepting the flight crew and arriving in their stead had gotten Vannar and his companions close enough to the Sith transport landing zone to secure it. The big transport — a Daimanite Heavy-Lift Starcrosser, if the information in the reports was accurate — would be his team’s ride for the rest of Operation Influx. Vannar slapped the side of the cargo door as Dorvin dashed up the steps, headed for his intended station in the cockpit. The ship would be a pretty big gift to a Republic Defense Ministry starved for information about what Daiman’s forces were flying these days. But it was also completely secondary to the mission’s main goal.

Kerra had selected the name for the operation, as she’d done for all of them since she was thirteen. It was kind of a good luck charm, Vannar thought. Her original idea had been to call this operation “Deadlock” until Vannar pointed out that, while stalemating the squabbling Sith Lords against one another was, indeed, one of their goals in this mission, it was a poor thing to root openly for. When the Sith battled the Republic, at least one side was usually looking to avoid civilian casualties. When Sith Lords fought each other, as Daiman and his hated brother Odion did, anyone caught between was in grave danger. Indeed, nihilist Odion lived to mow down innocents. Another sick Sith Lord.

Standing guard at the bottom of the ramp, he watched as Kerra scrunched her nose at the foul Oranessan air. It was the first time she hadn’t been in motion since they left the jumping-off point in the Republic.

“Fly and die for Lord Daiman,” Kerra said, looking back at the corpses. It was far from her first kill; Vannar knew that was years earlier. But she seemed troubled. “Why is anyone willing to do anything for Daiman?”

“He’s the one in charge.”

“He’s mentally ill,” Kerra said.

Vannar nodded. Anyone who imagined himself the creator of the universe, with all other organics simply soulless automatons placed here (by himself, of course) for his own amusement definitely had some issues to work out. Most of the warlords out here did. But Vannar wasn’t really interested in the state of the health care system for Sith Lords.

Neither was Kerra, he saw, who changed the subject quickly. “What’s a dispatch case?”

“No idea,” Vannar said. The ground crew chief had asked them about it, earlier.

“It could be important,” Kerra said, looking back at the dead woman’s body, drenched in the mire.

“It could also be nothing,” Vannar said. He knew what was coming on. Kerra was driven and detail-oriented — and nothing drove her like realizing there was a detail she hadn’t considered. He’d seen that send her into a spin in her younger days, but she’d been better about that lately. Still…

“Are you sure you’re all right, Kerra?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry — no first-day jitters.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have expected them. You changed tactics pretty well with the crew chief back there,” he said. Kerra’s attempt at persuasion didn’t seem to have worked, but he wouldn’t hold that against her. She never liked using the Force to influence others. It was just part of her makeup. “Still, it is your first mission…”

“I’m fine,” Kerra said, tromping off in the mud to watch for the arrival of the rest of the team. “I just didn’t like posing as Sith.”

Vannar laughed. “Without subterfuge, we wouldn’t get very far,” he called after her. “This isn’t a place where you can be yourself. Not for very long, anyway!”

* * *

Kerra looked out from the over-sized cockpit of the Sith transport and blanched. Vannar was right. If this polluted, ravaged world was any indication, this sector had completely forgotten any good that the Jedi might ever have done here. The Jedi had pulled back when the Republic did, conserving their numbers to prevent an all-out Sith assault on the Core Worlds. If not for the efforts of Vannar Treece and his volunteers, there wouldn’t be any Jedi activity in the Grumani sector at all. And Vannar only staged quick-hit raids with the quiet, unofficial consent of the Jedi Order — rarely anything with far-reaching ramifications.

But this mission was something more — or, it promised to be. Kerra looked back at the command deck of the transport, now alive with her Jedi companions. So many of the brightest stars of the Order were here, it almost looked like a satellite Jedi Council. Some, like the Trandoshan, Mrssk, she knew from previous Treece operations; others, like the Quarren Master, Berluk, she knew only by reputation. Treece had used the gravity of this operation to call in every favor he was owed. And it hadn’t been a difficult case to make. Lord Daiman had struck baradium.

Necessary for thermal detonators and other weapons, baradium wasn’t something a Sith Lord could trade for. The shortage of it acted as a logistical roadblock to evil ambitions. Many of the warring princelings had long since exhausted any commercial mines developed during earlier times, taking instead to stealing whatever supplies their neighbors had. But if the intelligence reports Vannar had recently received were true, Daiman had found the largest baradium strike in more than a century right in his own backyard, on agrarian Chelloa.

Vannar hadn’t told her much about the source of his information, except to say that he trusted it absolutely. And everyone Vannar spoke with understood the implications: should Daiman weaponize the baradium of Chelloa, he could easily best not only brother Odion, but all his warring neighbors. And that, ultimately, would mean trouble for the Republic, if its enemies joined behind a single leader.

The Jedi would have to beat them to that — by uniting behind Vannar. Who, as always, had a plan ready to go.

Operation Influx was simple. Striking first at the Daimanite transport hub on Oranessan, the Jedi team would steal one of the massive ore transports heading to Chelloa. There, they would knock the baradium shipping depot offline before a kilogram of the stuff made it to any of Daiman’s munitions factories nearer to the front line. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but they didn’t have the luxury of waiting for one. “Interdiction buys time,” Vannar had said.

It felt good to be in the field with the team, instead of seeing everyone off at the spaceport. And Vannar’s protectiveness aside, most of them seemed happy to see her along, too. She’d worked with so many of the volunteers in the preparations for past missions, getting to know them and what moved them. A few, like her, had been forced to flee from territory under Sith occupation. Others were followers of Vannar’s strategic vision; for someone not on the Jedi Council, there were few Jedi with more influence.

Dorvin’s reasons for being here were more complicated, she knew. His Cerean species was a microscopic minority on Coruscant, their community all that remained from a corporate slave-raid on their homeworld centuries earlier. Barred from repatriation by Cereans fearful of technological contamination, Dorvin’s kind lived with alienation every day of their lives. Helping others return home meant something.

Sliding out from beneath the control console — an uncomfortable position for someone with his pointed skull — Dorvin smiled up at her. “It was pleasing to see you in action, Kerra Holt,” he said in his regal-sounding voice. “You do the chancellor proud.”

“What?”

“You’ve got a green lightsaber,” Dorvin said. “An uncommon choice among today’s recruits. Do you aspire to become a consular, like Chancellor Genarra?”

“No.” Kerra had never met the Republic leader, one of a string of Jedi chosen to lead the body through an era that called for extreme measures. But she had certainly sent her enough reports on Vannar’s behalf.

“Ah.” Dorvin twirled the end of his moustache. “Then perhaps you honor someone from our history. Will you make me guess?”

“No, actually, I just grabbed a crystal from the top of the pile.”

“Hmm.”

Visibly disappointed, Dorvin sniffed and slid back beneath the control console. Kerra shook her head. Dorvin lived for tradition, taking comfort in it. Many did. But Kerra never had time for the trappings, trying instead to learn all the skills the Jedi could teach her as quickly as possible. It was the better path, she thought. Rituals belonged to a time when the Jedi hadn’t been at war for all living memory. She’d excused herself within seconds of the end of her knighting ceremony to get the staging area. What good were flowery words when people were suffering?

“I have a problem,” said Dorvin.

“What?”

Dorvin poked his head back out from beneath the console. “It’s a Vannar problem. Call for him, please.”

* * *

Everything stopped when Vannar Treece entered a room. Even this group of luminaries, Kerra noticed.

The darkling cloak of the Sith pilot gone, Vannar stood again in his usual white tunic and muted gray vest. Blond hair going to a genteel white, he made every effort to look like just another Jedi. But clearly, that wasn’t so. After so many years as his ward, Kerra sometimes forgot how much weight Vannar carried with others. Polite as he was, Dorvin certainly didn’t intend her any offense in going over her head, even though she was, technically, Vannar’s principal aide. It was just understood. There were problems, and there were Vannar problems.

“All right, Dorvin,” Vannar said, surrounded by his watchful colleagues in the cockpit. “Tell me again, without the technical part.”

“It’s bad.”

“That’s not technical enough.”

“The navicomputer won’t boot up.”

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“No, I mean it can’t boot up,” Dorvin said. He swung open the cover panel. A gaping hole existed in the device, wide enough for the Cerean to put his arm through. “See here? It’s missing the activation cylinder!”

Vannar stared.

“It’s like a key,” Dorvin said. “Without it, this ship goes nowhere.”

Standing by the doorway where she’d been since fetching their leader, Kerra hid her clenched fists. It didn’t make any sense. The other transports were already leaving for Chelloa. This one was ready to go; it was just waiting for its flight crew. It wasn’t under repair.

It should be whole.

“Did we miss something?” Vannar said. “When we took out the flight crew, were they carrying something?”

Kerra’s eyes narrowed. The dispatch case.

That had to be it. Kerra hadn’t been the one to shoot down the little shuttle carrying the expected flight crew, but she had entered the wreckage to retrieve their cloaks and identification badges. Weakly, she spoke up. “There was a case trapped under one of the consoles,” she said. “I thought it was a personal item.”

Dorvin looked back at her. “How big?”

“That big.” Swallowing, she pointed to the hole in the control console.

A murmur rose from the collected Jedi. Almost every one of them was twice her age or more, their first mission long since past. She wasn’t here because of Vannar — in fact, he preferred to keep her out of harm’s way. She was here because she thought of everything.

But she hadn’t thought of this.

“Calm down, everyone,” Vannar said, shooting Kerra a look and a calming nod. “Things must have changed since I was here last,” he said. He approached the defunct console. “Why wouldn’t they keep the activation cylinders with the ships? What are the flight crews doing carrying them?”

The leather-faced Trandoshan spoke up. “Sssecurity,” Mrssk said. “Daiman doesssn’t trussst anyone not to dessssert.”

“Or to join the other side,” Kerra said, daring to pipe up.

Vannar leaned against a chair back and exhaled. “It does make sense,” he said. “Daiman’s flight crews get a lot more indoctrination than his ground crews do. If he’s afraid of anyone stealing a transport, this would address that.”

Kerra sagged against the door jamb. They’d suspected there might be some additional security, beyond the identification badges. But she’d guessed that would be limited to keeping hyperspace coordinates from anyone but the pilot. The Jedi brought their own coordinates to and from Chelloa. But this was something they’d never expected. “It didn’t look like anything important,” Kerra said, shaking her head. “And it was stuck, after the crash.” She looked up. “But I could have gotten it out.”

“You can’t think of everything, Kerra. These things happen,” Vannar said. A few kindly faces looked back at her.

“We have the vehicle we arrived in,” Dorvin said. “We don’t have a part that will fit this navicomputer. But can’t we do the mission with our own ship? Without the Daimanite transport?”

“They wouldn’t let us near Chelloa,” Vannar replied. “We’ve got to look like we belong there on approach.” They only had an hour to enter the Chelloan system, sabotage the shipping terminal, and depart under Vannar’s plan. Fighting their way into the system would alert Daiman to the danger, allowing him to redouble his guard planetside. No, they had to look like they belonged to the convoy, from start to finish. There was no other way.

Straightening, Vannar came to a decision. “We go to the fallback.”

“Master Treece, no!” Kerra bolted upright. She knew the alternative plan well; she’d helped craft it. If they couldn’t reach Chelloa, they had to return to the Republic, taking advantage of any opportunities that presented themselves to shoot down ore transports leaving Oranessan for Chelloa. It was much the inferior plan. They wouldn’t take out more than a couple, for sure — and Daiman could easily reroute other vessels to the mining world. Chelloa’s deathworks would go online, as scheduled.

“Kerra, I don’t know what else we can–”

“We can still go to Chelloa! Maybe we can hijack an ore transport in route, the same way we ambushed the flight crew!”

“That was a small personnel shuttle,” Vannar said. The ore transports, by contrast, bristled with weapons. It was part of what made stealing one worthwhile.

“Or we can go back to the flight crew’s ship. I can get the cylinder this time!”

“It’s too far, Kerra — and you said the ship was crushed. It might not even work any more.”

“We can try!”

Looking uncomfortably at his listeners, Vannar stepped through the crowded cockpit. “Excuse me,” he said, taking Kerra’s arm and leading her into the hallway outside.

In the long shadows of the hallway, he spoke in hushed tones. “These are not my Knights, Kerra. You know that. They’re on loan, more or less. I owe it to Chancellor Genarra not to waste their lives on a ten-percent plan!”

Kerra looked down the hall to the exit, and back to Vannar again. “We’ve come all this way,” she said. “We’re here. We can do something. We shouldn’t go back.”

“Are you speaking for all of us, Kerra?” Vannar said. He looked down into her eyes. “Because it sounds to me like you’re speaking for yourself. And I already know: just one Jedi isn’t much good to anyone here in Sith space. You won’t get noticed. You won’t get anywhere.”

Kerra held his gaze for a moment before looking away. This was the Vannar that other people heard — the voice of authority. She always heard it from his side, rarely on the receiving end.

Suddenly, they both heard a new voice crackling from the cockpit. Vannar and Kerra turned to look inside.

“…and you’d better get moving, Transport Four!” It was the Sith control tower, situated on the other side of the great hangar. They wouldn’t have had a visual on the fight in the rain and darkness, but they certainly knew that the transport wasn’t in the air. “Get moving, or we’re coming over there to get you!”

Vannar squeezed Kerra’s wrist and released it before reentering the cockpit. “OK, there’s only one thing to do,” he instructed. “We don’t have hyperdrive, but we do have a transport. There’s no sense walking the kilometers back to our ship in a monsoon.” He patted the broken console. “Dorvin, close it up and get us out of here.”

Kerra watched as Vannar stepped toward the forward viewport. Arms crossed behind him, he looked out upon the pouring rain. Behind him, the collected Jedi mumbled assent. In the darkness of the hallway, Kerra knew that Vannar was right.

There was only one thing to do.

* * *

Vannar looked at the monitor. This can’t be. Not on her first mission.

He’d gotten a flash of the girl’s intentions through the Force moments after she left the hallway, before she’d reached the exit to the transport. He’d ordered Dorvin to secure all hatchways against opening from the inside — only to hear the whoosh when the main cargo gateway opened just as the transport was lifting off. He’d forgotten Kerra still had the remote control for the door from the ground crew chief. But Kerra hadn’t forgotten.

She had already landed in the mud and bounded off when he reached the opening. The transport climbing too high to jump from, Vannar had dashed upstairs to the command center. But even with altitude and the transport’s external sensors, Oranessan’s weather made it impossible to find a single figure on the ground.

“She can’t mean to go back to where we shot down the flight crew,” Vannar said, half aloud. It was too far on foot. But where else was there?

“We can’t linger here, Master Treece,” Dorvin said. They were sitting in mid-air, not going anywhere. It was back to their own ship or nothing. “There are dozens of Sith fighters parked beyond the hangar. If we have to fight, we’ll never get off Oranessan!”

“I know, blast it!” Using a pair of macrobinoculars, he scanned futilely ahead. “I know. But not a moment before–”

“Wait!”

To Vannar’s right, Mrssk pointed to one of the monitors looking to starboard and shouted. “Surface contact, organic! Mark two-eighty!”

“Give me the starboard gunnery cams, infrared!” Vannar said. Images flickered on the screen. There, through the telescopic sighting of the vessel’s landing guns, he saw a single figure making its way from the large maintenance hangar. Fighting to bring the image into focus, Vannar was surprised to see sudden flashes of light from the contact. Green light.

“That’s her!” Vannar yelled.

Ignoring a second, more urgent call from the Sith control tower, Vannar directed the transport down towards the besotted plain. Shaking his head, he marveled. Kerra had made her lightsaber into a beacon by turning it on and off repeatedly. Maybe one Jedi could get noticed out here — at least by other Jedi!

* * *

Kerra collapsed on the cargo deck, gasping for breath. Vannar had been ready in the open doorway to receive her, and it was a good thing, too. Dorvin, upstairs, had feared setting down again in the muck; the wiry girl had been forced to leap for the rain-slickened cargo ramp. If Vannar hadn’t been right there, she would have slipped off.

The girl rolled over, rainwater streaming off her. Vannar looked at her muddied outfit. Over her Jedi uniform, Kerra wore the coveralls of the woman who’d led the ground crew — the first casualty of her return to Sith space. With one heavy motion, Kerra pulled a large, opal tube from a long pants pocket and slapped it on the deck grating.

Vannar gaped. “Is that?”

“An activation cylinder!” Appearing behind Vannar, Dorvin reached past him and grabbed the rolling mass. “High marks to the Padawan! I mean — to the Knight!”

Vannar knelt beside Kerra, still choking for breath. Running in that rain — and in someone else’s clothes! He couldn’t imagine.

She spoke. “They had to have replacement navicomputers in the hangar,” Kerra said, dripping wet. “Activation cylinders right inside. No reason to hide the keys when there’s no ships attached!” Looking down at herself, she patted the Sith worker’s uniform — a uniform with a large singed tear, front and back, where the lightsaber had entered earlier. “I just had to be able to get into the door. Luckily, no one really looked at me. It’s a pretty busy place.”

“I bet it is,” Vannar said, helping to steady his student and ward as the transport gained elevation. “But I thought you hated posing as Sith.”

“I hate letting them win even more.”

Vannar looked down at Kerra, amazed. Finding his comlink, he called the Cerean. “Are we in business, Dorvin?”

“Next stop, Chelloa!”

“Very well, then. Operation Influx is onto Phase Two!”

Clicking off the comlink, Vannar patted Kerra on her shoulder as she stood and walked past. “Pretty good work for the first time out,” he said. “But you can see what I mean. You’re a great planner, but things out here change faster than we can plan for them.” He chuckled. “Maybe you should have called it Operation In Flux.”

Shaking the water from her hair, Kerra looked back with a smirk. “Maybe I should have planned to bring a towel.”

Star Wars

Star Wars Insider

N 137

The Last Battle Of Colonel Jace Malcom

by Alexander Freed

art by David Rabbitte

uploaded: 26.IX.2012

###############################################################################

T-MINUS SEVEN HOURS.

The dying man’s armor dripped with sweat in the fog, beads of moisture—not water, never water on this planet—forming on the white plastoid chestplate and dripping onto the ground. The dying man himself was propped against a rock, and Sergeant Immel crouched above him as she fumbled to resecure his helmet. “He’s out, Colonel,” she said. “Autodoc pegs him at critical.”

Jace Malcom watched the horizon. Through his helmet’s display filters, the fog seemed to dissolve before the yellow sky and rocky cliffs, then snapped back into place as the filter tech gave up with an electronic shrug. No further enemy presence. At least, nothing obvious.

“Your call,” Jace said. “His tracer functional?”

“It works. What about vultures?”

“If the Empire has time to send vultures, it means we failed the mission.”

Not true, of course. The black-suited troopers could flock to the battlefield at any time—death’s own heralds, following med tracers to find their victims. But Immel knew the odds, so Jace could afford the lie.

“Why me?” Immel asked.

“Special Forces is here to advise, and I’m glad to be an extra gun. But in the field, the game’s yours.”

“You’re lowlife scum, Colonel Malcom.”

“SpecForce is nothing but.”

Jace watched Immel. Her armored shoulders rose and fell as she took a long breath, then, silent, leaned over her dying comrade and thumbed a device on his belt. Her voice crackled through Jace’s helmet comlink a moment later.

“All teams, we’re pressing on.”

Immel plucked her rifle out of the dust and started checking its readouts. Jace knelt beside the dying man and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Corporal Amden vor Keioidian. You did the Republic proud. You did all of us proud. And we’ll be back for you.”

Jace stood, nodded to Immel, and they slunk off together into the fog, rifles cradled close. Immel didn’t look back, and Jace smiled bitterly, feeling the expression blunted by the scars on his face. She’d made the right call. She might end up a decent leader after all.

Then again, he thought, she’d better. The troops were going to need someone to look up to, and he didn’t have much time left.

T-MINUS FOUR HOURS.

The battlefield narrowed to a series of canyons, channeling the fog like a riverbed. Kalandis Seven’s gravity—low enough to make stone-tossing a sport at base, high enough to ensure that a fall was still painful—made the march easier, but no less tedious.

Breaking the long silence came static-distorted cheering over Jace’s comlink. Children shrieked and fireworks popped, each accompanied by a blast of white noise. In one motion, not breaking stride as they traversed the barren landscape, Jace and Immel lowered the volume level on their helmet comms.

The propaganda broadcast overrode all channels every hour, blared by Republic Strategic Information Service agents in orbit. This time, it was another news report on the Empire’s withdrawal from Corellia and the Core Worlds. A genuine, unadulterated victory for the Republic, but one very far away from the Kalandis system, and not the first apparent victory Jace had seen in his career.

It was forty years now, he thought—kept thinking, every day at different times, when some private showed off her first scar in the mess hall or while reviewing specs for the hundredth variation of some starfighter—forty years since the Sith Empire had come to conquer the galaxy, and he’d been fighting ever since.

He supposed he wouldn’t be fighting much longer.

Immel’s voice cut through commentary on the Supreme Chancellor’s latest speech. “Target in sight.”

They had emerged from the narrow mouth of a canyon onto a cracked plain, where the silhouettes of dark spires stretched skyward behind the fog. “We’ve reached the spaceport,” Immel continued, adjusting her comlink. “All teams, report in.”

Jace listened to the crackling voices speak up, one

by one, as he unslung a satchel and checked the contents. He knew the soldiers’ names (Zenhai, Kayle, Min-Reva), had met most of them (Eron collected antique music recordings; Camur had a caf allergy), had even hand-selected a few for this mission (Yennir of the Green saw through fog like glass). They were young and stupid and brave, and he could think of worse men and women to serve with.

“Ready to go?” Immel asked.

Jace nodded and tossed Immel the satchel. “Beacons charged and ready. Plant them on the targets and the fog won’t matter—our fighter wing will know exactly where to drop the payload.”

“Assuming the pilots aren’t making out with their droids back at base. You done this before?”

“Bomb a spaceport? More times than I can count.”

“What’re the odds they won’t rebuild tomorrow?”

Jace shrugged. “I can think of worse ways for the Imps to blow resources.”

Taking out a spaceport would be a major step in securing Kalandis, even if it did get rebuilt. Even if there were a dozen other Imp bases on the planet. Jace had put together the plan himself.

But Immel wasn’t wrong to wonder what good it would do. Keep lying to her, Jace thought. You have an example to set. The spaceport was a mixture of flat metal landing pads, squat command bunkers, and slender control towers. Jace and Immel made their approach together, silent, observing the enemy patrols—pairs of Imperial troopers clad in black and red. The fog made avoiding the enemy easy enough, until the heat of a landing starship blasted the fog away, whipping a scorching, misty wall across Jace and a nearby patrol.

The Imperials hadn’t turned, hadn’t noticed anything before Jace’s blaster bolts burned twin holes in the backs of their suits. The roar of the starship’s engines continued as Jace and Immel rushed to drag the bodies under a half-repaired Imperial fighter.

One of the bodies groaned as the engine roar began to fade. Immel pressed the barrel of her rifle to the back of the man’s helmet and pulled the trigger before rolling the corpse into the fighter’s shadow. “Mercy shot,” she muttered.

Either way, Jace thought.

Immel withdrew a beacon and clipped it to a nearby power terminal as the fog rushed back in. Jace squinted and adjusted his helmet’s filters, looking in the direction of the vessel that had just landed.

“Southern tower is fifty meters that way,” Immel said. “Prime target—you plan to help?”

Jace didn’t turn, continuing to stare toward the looming shadow of the starship through the fog.

It was too large to be a bomber. Sleeker hull shape than most transports. “How are we doing for time?” he asked.

“Fighters are in the air by now. We’ve got at least two hours before they show.”

Jace swore, then jutted a thumb in the direction of the starship. “All right—we’re adjusting the plan. That thing that just landed? Pretty sure it’s a planetary command ship on a refueling run.”

Immel moved to Jace’s side and knelt, gesturing for him to follow suit. “Another patrol,” she said. “Keep talking.”

“Ship’ll be gone by the time our fighters arrive, but if we could capture that thing? Its navicomputer could point us to every Imp target on the planet.”

Immel glanced at the power terminal where the metal disc of the targeting beacon hummed quietly. “Whole blasted world would be a blue milk run,” she agreed. “But we’re not equipped for a boarding action.”

“We’re not,” Jace said, “and we don’t have a lot of spare firepower, but we’re not losing this chance.”

Immel paused.

“Sir,” she said. “I’m in command of these men, and I’m not sending them—”

Good woman, Jace thought, even as he interrupted her. “You’re not sending them anywhere. You finish the mission, and I go in alone. Won’t draw attention that way.”

And it’s not a bad way to go out, either, he added silently.

T-MINUS ONE HOUR.

The sentry looked almost innocent without his helmet—young, sun-haired, a splash of a birthmark on his neck. He walked down the command ship corridor, sidearm holstered, eating a ration bar.

Three steps, and Jace was out of his hiding place, gloved hands bringing the butt of his rifle onto the sentry’s head. The man crumpled to the floor with barely a sound. Jace gasped in pain.

“Are you all right?” Immel asked, the comlink barely carrying her voice.

“Fine,” Jace said. “Took a bolt on the lower deck. Fused some skin to the armor, but I’m fine.” It was true, and the kolto injections dulled the pain. What bothered him was that he noticed the pain at all. The gifts of old age.

“Beacons are all set, fighters are almost on-site. I’d join you, but you might have noticed that ship just took off.”

“I noticed. I’ll be okay.” Jace followed the sentry’s path toward a heavy blast door—the entrance to the bridge. “What do you think of Private Kayle?” he asked.

“Bad shot, can’t read a label, probably poison himself one day. Knows his faults and takes orders.”

“Could be your new forward on the null-racket team. Plays a mean game. Think about it.”

Immel’s reply was a long time coming. “You going somewhere?”

“Might be,” Jace said. “Just keep him in mind. It’s good to spend time with your squad.”

Jace muted his comm and hit the control panel. The blast door irised open and the bridge came into view—black metal and blinking consoles, and a transparisteel dome looking out onto fog and sky. Only a handful of officers manned their stations; forty years of instinct and threat assessments told Jace they wouldn’t be a problem.

The Sith overseer was a different matter.

The Sith stood in the center of the bridge, a black cloud of dark robes with a metal armor core and the face of an etched brass mask. Jace didn’t wait for the mask to turn before running, boots slamming against the deck, directly toward his opponent.

There were no tricks to fighting Sith, Jace had explained to more officers and grunts than he cared to remember. Sith were powerful, and fast, and they broke just as easily as anyone else. You couldn’t afford to fear them—not even for a moment. The rest was just smart fighting.

The robed figure narrowed and twirled like a dancer, evading Jace’s blaster bursts as he closed the distance. She—was it a woman?—reached for the lightsaber at her belt even as Jace howled and crashed into her, letting the weight of his armor take them both down.

Jace felt something give beneath him—a robed arm twisted out of position or a rib broken somewhere—even as he slammed an elbow toward where the Sith’s head seemed to be. The hard impact of the deck told him he missed, and a second later a hand closed over his helmet and his vision turned white.

Heat stabbed at his face, lancing into his temples and trickling down his nose like sweat. He rolled, and blinked away spots in time to see the last arcs of electricity jump from the Sith’s hand toward him. Any longer, or without the helmet, and the Sith’s sorcery would’ve charred his skull.

Somehow, Jace had held on to his rifle. He tried to stand, unable to feel his legs, as the Sith reached for her lightsaber again—only to find it gone, dropped to the deck barely a meter away.

Jace squeezed his rifle’s trigger. This time, the bolts struck heart and lung, even as his helmet filters pixilated from the electrical damage. He heard a muffled sound from the Sith, some final command, as she died.

For an instant, as Jace heard the shouting, saw the officers run toward the exit of the bridge, he felt the rush of victory. The command ship was his. Kalandis Seven was going to the Republic. Immel and her team could win the whole blasted planet.

Then the voice came over the bridge speakers:

“Self-destruct initiated.”

The consoles ripped apart, metal and plastic and glass burning and streaking through the air. The transparisteel cockpit dome shattered, raining knives. Jace swore and fell, his body shaking as he tried to crawl forward over the trembling deck and away from the fire he felt at his back.

So damn close, he thought.

His body reached the broken dome as the ship pitched forward, starting to hurtle toward the planet surface. He looked out into the endless fog and readied himself for the fall. No chute, no jump pack, no grav unit. There was comfort knowing what had to come next.

The ship shook, and Jace rolled out into the fog, falling free, looking down onto a rising shadow.

He hit surface fast—much too fast, much too close to be at ground level—and lay stunned for a few long moments. He realized he was hugging the wing of a Republic fighter, hovering near the plummeting mass of the Imperial command ship.

Painfully, he reached up to turn his comm back on. “Immel to Malcom,” he heard immediately. “Thought we could spare one fighter for you. Would’ve mentioned it if you hadn’t gone silent.”

“Thank you,” Jace said, and closed his eyes. He allowed himself to lie back on the wing and ache.

“Mission status?”

“Spaceport’s in burning little chunks. I’d feel pretty good if you weren’t showing off up there, blowing up command ships.”

“I was trying to capture it, Sergeant. We could’ve won the planet.”

He could hear the smirk in Immel’s voice, and he felt himself curl his lip in irritation. “Yeah, you really messed up—we’ll buy you a drink back at base, Colonel, but only the one. Bottom shelf stuff.”

Jace watched the fog drift around him, felt the surprisingly gentle thrumming of the wing beneath him, and crawled to the fighter’s upper hatch. The distant sounds of fire and tearing metal came from far below. Immel still didn’t understand, and this was his last chance to tell her. “No,” he said. “You won’t.”

“Repeat that?”

“I’ve been recalled, Sergeant. Right about now, there’s a transport arriving to take me to the Core Worlds.”

Jace heard Immel swear.

Then: “You SpecForce boys are all scum.”

T-PLUS FORTY MINUTES

Jace watched the ochre dot of Kalandis Seven retreat through the viewport of the starship Frontier Justice. The ship’s captain—a Jedi Knight whose name Jace hadn’t caught, who had fought through half a dozen blockades just to arrive at Kalandis on time—hadn’t complained when Jace arrived battered and late. It was one thing Jace liked about Jedi: They took things in stride.

“Any idea why they sent you?” Jace asked. The Jedi Knight didn’t spare Jace a glance as he tore half-melted wires out from under an engineering console.

“The Supreme Chancellor thinks you’re wasted out here,” the Jedi said. “Beyond that, I don’t know.”

An electrical popping sound emerged from the console, and the Jedi shuffled out before continuing. “My guess is you’re in for a promotion. Whole war is changing.”

“Not the first time I’ve been told that,” Jace said. He watched Kalandis Seven disappear into the star field, the ochre dot now indistinguishable from a thousand other distant worlds and distant suns.

“The troops down there won’t last long, now,” Jace added. “They don’t have the training to hold the place.” He rubbed at his cheek, rubbed at his scars, then spoke again. “They’ll be overrun within the month. Casualties’ll be heavy.”

The Jedi stood and turned to face Jace. “You don’t know that,” he said. Jace shrugged. “I don’t,” he agreed. They’d share the lie together. “Doesn’t matter now. The Supreme Chancellor orders you back to the Core Worlds, that’s where you go.”

Still, blast her for taking him off the battlefield. Forty years of leaving soldiers behind and losing people was enough of a burden to shoulder. As for a promotion? More responsibility never made anything easier; it only changed the scope of the job.

Jace excused himself and made his way to the guest quarters—a spartan barracks where he dropped onto a cot and took up a datapad, browsing over a list of his comrades on Kalandis Seven. Shanra Immel; Amden vor Keioidian; Vaskus Kayle; Yennir of the Green. Everyone he’d fought with. The team he’d been willing to die for. The team he’d done everything to try and save.

When he reached the end of the list, he deleted the names from his personal file and put the datapad away.

Time to move on to the next battle.

Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.

— Oscar Wilde.

This is the first post on my new blog. I’m just getting this new blog going, so stay tuned for more. Subscribe below to get notified when I post new updates.

This is an example post, originally published as part of Blogging University. Enroll in one of our ten programs, and start your blog right.

You’re going to publish a post today. Don’t worry about how your blog looks. Don’t worry if you haven’t given it a name yet, or you’re feeling overwhelmed. Just click the “New Post” button, and tell us why you’re here.

Why do this?

• Because it gives new readers context. What are you about? Why should they read your blog?
• Because it will help you focus you own ideas about your blog and what you’d like to do with it.

The post can be short or long, a personal intro to your life or a bloggy mission statement, a manifesto for the future or a simple outline of your the types of things you hope to publish.

To help you get started, here are a few questions:

• Why are you blogging publicly, rather than keeping a personal journal?
• What topics do you think you’ll write about?
• Who would you love to connect with via your blog?
• If you blog successfully throughout the next year, what would you hope to have accomplished?

You’re not locked into any of this; one of the wonderful things about blogs is how they constantly evolve as we learn, grow, and interact with one another — but it’s good to know where and why you started, and articulating your goals may just give you a few other post ideas.

Can’t think how to get started? Just write the first thing that pops into your head. Anne Lamott, author of a book on writing we love, says that you need to give yourself permission to write a “crappy first draft”. Anne makes a great point — just start writing, and worry about editing it later.

When you’re ready to publish, give your post three to five tags that describe your blog’s focus — writing, photography, fiction, parenting, food, cars, movies, sports, whatever. These tags will help others who care about your topics find you in the Reader. Make sure one of the tags is “zerotohero,” so other new bloggers can find you, too.