Core Space: A Path's Beginning

[Jeseth Cloak]

2 Years and 7 Months After the Battle of Endor...



A lone Theta-class shuttle drifted silently through a considerably remote region of core space. It bore a strong resemblance to the Lambda-class shuttles that the Empire often used, except it was in much too rough shape to pass for an Imperial craft. Stray light was reflecting steadily off the shards of frozen gas and coolant that caked it's gray, metal hull. From a distance, it would have been easy to mistake the ship for a dull, dying star. Jeseth was sure however, that the Empire wouldn't make that mistake. From his limited vantage point inside of the shuttle, he couldn't see the other ship, but he felt it. It was moving closer with every passing moment.

An ominous shadow crept over the small shuttle's hull, shutting out all traces of starlight. The shuttle's windows were so thickly blanketed in fog and condensation that Jeseth had to press his hand against the nearest pane of glass and wipe it vigorously back and forth. That's when he got his first view of the Imperial Star Destroyer that hovered above him. It was a massive and angular thing that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Now, he thought, There's no turning back. An ethereal green light illuminated the inside of the shuttle's cockpit. They had already opened a channel to his ship. He slowly reached down to the controls and flipped a switch to respond, hesitating a few moments before speaking. "This is Jedi Master Jeseth Cloak. My engines are disengaged."

For several seconds there was nothing but silence. Then the shuttle began to shake violently. It was in the grip of a tractor beam. "Prepare to be boarded," came the voice of an officer across the channel. Jeseth stood to his feet, smoothed out his robes, and made his way over to the entry hatch. He took the extra precaution of detaching his lightsaber from it's clip and placing it on the floor in front of him. The fewer misunderstandings, the better. His head lowered as he allowed himself to slip into a meditative state. There was no use in worrying now. The time for second thoughts had long passed.

[Khendon Sevon]

Thunder crackled outside, loud and menacing. The gray clouds and their wicked laughter were threatening a good, strong storm. The smell of rain and electricity blew in from an open window and filled Khendon’s office. His cloak whipped about his body and caught dramatically in the rebellious gust.

The Imperial put down the datapad he’d been reading and began to rub his temples intently. The day had been long and made longer still by paperwork. He hated paperwork. It was his bane.

The ‘pad popped and steamed as the housing bubbled and oozed over the Executor’s desk.

His gray eyes were a tempest. The window violently snapped shut by an unseen force. The scent of burning plast filled the room.

A low, mellow ringer sounded.

“Yes,” Khendon said evenly.

The disembodied voice was coated with the rich texture of ‘fear’, “Executor, there’s a priority report coming through.”

Khendon had killed his other assistant the day before. He was already on his fourth of the week.

“Patch it through to my console,” he stood as he spoke and walked over to his liquor cabinet. From within he produced a glass and tall necked bottle frosted over.

The message began to play. “This is Captain Mendell of the Star Destroyer Crimson Flame.”

The ice crackled as Khendon poured the liquor over it. He watched the silvery fluid collect then swirled it around in the glass. A tentative sip let loose a sigh.


“I bring you greetings, my Executor. I served with you on the Death Advocate for some time. You were always a –“

Khendon took his seat. No matter how hard he tried to relax, there was always a pit of bile in his stomach. He had a desire that burned through any ritual of relaxation. That foolish girl. He needed to feel her taught flesh beneath him, needed to see her face twist in emotion. He needed to drive his saber through her and deliver her to her maker.

S’ilancy had to die. While she was alive, Khendon could never rest.

“He’s claiming to be a Jedi Master.” The Captain stopped and swallowed.

Khendon quickly turned to his console and turned on the video. “What did you just say, Captain?”

“Sir,” the man saluted, “as I just said…”

Khendon’s eyes had narrowed menacingly.

“I mean, sorry, Sir. The, uh. Well, we received a communication from a shuttle in the region. It would appear, Sir, that a, uh,” the man swallowed audibly again, “he’s giving himself up, Sir.”

“What’s the name of this… Jedi?” Khendon’s heart skipped a single beat. Could it be? Could S’ilancy finally have given herself in for judgment? That wouldn’t be as satisfying as capturing her himself, he knew. Still, he could skip the jury and fight her in single combat. That would be better, yes.

“Sir, he claims his name is Jedi Master Jeseth Cloak, I th—“

Khendon raised a hand to silence him. It wasn’t S’ilancy. For all Khendon knew, it could be a prankster. “Have you told anyone else, Captain?”

“Uh, I contacted the admiral of a fleet in my sector before arriving at the rendezvous point… then I…”

Another frown from Khendon silenced the man. “I’m not the only one that knows?”

“Uh,” he coughed, light lines of fear etched on his face, “no. No, Sir.”

Khendon smiled pleasantly. “A mistake, Captain. But, one we can remedy. By the powers invested in the Office of the Executor by the Emperor, I declare your ship under my command. You will not yield the prisoner to any other officer, no matter rank. Do you understand?”

The ship’s captain snapped his boots together and saluted. “Sir, yes, Sir.” He probably felt like a cadet again.

“Good, I’ll be there shortly. Be cautious in taking the prisoner. That is all, Captain.”

“Thank you, Si—“

Khendon cut the communiqué.

“Ready my shuttle,” he growled at his assistant through the comm., “and send orders to prepare the Death Advocate for departure.”

[Jeseth Cloak]

Jeseth was unprepared for the reception he was about to receive. The door to the shuttle - and Jeseth’s eyes - opened to a see a glistening white armor. Clone troopers, Jeseth thought to himself for a moment, but then he realized that these soldiers donned a different uniform.

“Surrender your weapon,” shot an officer’s voice from behind the battalion of storm troopers, “or it will be surrendered for you!”

Jeseth raised his hands to show that they were empty. His lightsaber launched itself forward and stopped abruptly at the feet of the nearest storm trooper. “There’s no need for such a show of force. I‘ve no intention to resist you, Captain Mendell.” He saw the officer’s eyes betray surprise.

“Stun him,” Captain Mendell demanded angrily.

One of the storm troopers fired immediately. Jeseth made no effort to dodge the shimmering halos within halos of light that flowed and then crashed into his body. They numbed him and sent his world spinning, then fading. He had foreseen these events... but they were unpleasant to endure, nevertheless.

When he came to, he found himself inside of a small cell, laying on a cold metal slab that protruded from one of the walls. Opposite to him was a thick gray door that hummed loudly. He didn’t have to touch it to know that it had a powerful current running through it. His belt was missing, but they had been allowed him the dignity of wearing his Jedi robes. He tried to get to feet and felt himself falling.

They’ve drugged me, he cursed to himself silently before falling to his knees.

[Khendon Sevon]

The sleek lines of the dominator-class star destroyer slipped from hyperspace without so much as a shudder. The vessel stood stark against the spread of stars, dark and brooding. Its massive gravity well generators swelled from its wedge shape. Turrets bristled. The craft was military through and through, vicious and elegant.

Khendon stood on the bridge, his face masked, body as refined as his vessel’s. The Sith wore loose black armor that complemented the tattoos that ran from neck to toe over his lightly tanned skin. His boots were high and made from exquisitely polished leather. A thick, heavy cloak draped his shoulders and rested lightly on the deck. At the Executor’s hip was a long saber of bone while a smaller, single-handed hilt remained motionless below his armpit, suspended in a smooth scabbard.

The Imperial wore his rebellious brown hair slicked back, loose strands tumbling here and there. His stance was dominating. Khendon played the part of commander well.

His voice boomed, “Hail the Crimson Flame, inform her captain that I will be boarding.”

“By your will, Executor,” sounded off an officer.

Khendon left the bridge.

Two stormsguardsmen, Khendon’s personal guard, shadowed their leader. Each was garbed in black armor without a spot of flesh visible. They were lithe and foreboding. The men were specially picked for their loyalty to Khendon and deftness at dark arts. A single crimson optical unit was mounted in each’s helm and gave an eerie glow. They were the Executor’s dark henchmen.

A shuttle had been prepped. It was an easy excursion to the Death Advocate’s sister ship.

[Jeseth Cloak]

The sedatives they had given Jeseth were potent, but came short of enough to suppress his connection to the Force. As soon as the Death Advocate came out of hyperspace, Jeseth was aware of it. It would have been impossible to ignore such a large disturbance.

He closed his eyes and placed both of his hands on the cell's floor, fighting hard to gain back control of his body. He could see the chemical restraints that shackled his senses. His muscles tensed, and a torrent of pain ripped through his body. He began coughing, blood spraying from his mouth and spattering across the floor. A thick, clear liquid started to drip from his eyes and roll down his cheeks. Jeseth managed to expel most of the sedatives that way, though it left his tear ducts and lungs vividly raw. The scars on his back (where his wings had once been) began to throb unexpectedly. There were always consequences to using the Dark Side of the Force, especially when healing oneself.

His lips longed for the taste of water, or anything to wash away the sugary metallic taste of his own blood. That would have to wait, though. He got to his feet, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and began taking deep painful breaths. His mind had to be cleared. The next few hours had to be maneuvered delicately.

[Khendon Sevon]

Khendon’s fingers furiously tapped against the impeccably polished table. Its enameled surface shone brightly in the well lit command room. A holoprojector sat idle in the center of the long table. Its gentle hum was barely audible as it was kept warm for a moment’s notice. The various seats that lined the elegant structure were all empty, save for Khendon’s.

“Matherson,” he said to one of the dark guards behind him. “Come here.”

The stormguardsman marched forward as his lord swiveled in his seat. The soldier stood stiffly, shoulders broad and strong, neck straight. The guardsman’s single eye scrutinized its master. “Sir,” came a metallic voice as the warrior snapped to attention.

Khendon indicated the soldier’s compact assault rifle. “Discard your armaments, Matherson.”

“By your command, Executor.” Mechanically, Matherson removed the power unit from his rifle, set it on the table, pulled his firing card, and disassembled the primary components of his rifle. He then did the same for his blaster pistol. The soldier lined three cylinders on the table and several spherical devices. From within his gauntlets he produced serrated blades and neatly placed them with the rest of his kit. Finally, Matherson drew a long, straight, double-edged blade from his boot.

“Wait,” said Khendon just as the soldier was about to place the weapon on the table, “keep that.”

The Sith held up a cylindrical device, long and well balanced. He eyed the weapon for a moment. “We’re going to play a little game.” He grinned mischievously. “The prisoner will be released. We’ll lock certain doors, funnel him…” Khendon activated the holo and the ship’s layout magically sparkled to life. “Here.” He indicated a large corridor.

“Once he’s entered, the door will shut and seal behind him. Treat him like you would any other Force user. He’ll probably gleam the plan from the start. But, he’ll have no choice but to go along. Any breach of a sealed door will alert a standby team.

“If he doesn’t want to leave his room… Well, he can be motivated.”

[Jeseth Cloak]

The doors to Jeseth’s cell hissed open, breaking the meditative calm that he had only just managed to attain. He opened his eyes abruptly and looked ahead. He hadn’t sensed anyone approach his cell; the corridor in front of the now open door stood empty and silent. Cautiously, he stepped out of his cell and glanced around. There was only one way out. The other end of the cell block was sealed.

“This is too easy,” he whispered to himself as he cautiously made his way down the unguarded corridor. Perhaps they were under the assumption that he was still heavily sedated... or perhaps they felt he was no longer a threat. The disturbance he had felt just moments earlier told him that not only had another ship dropped out of hyperspace, but that someone aboard that ship was strong with the Force.

The Emperor and his apprentice are both dead, Jeseth asserted to himself, turning another corner in the labyrinth of corridors. He was noticing that there was only one way in or out of every section of the ship he had managed to find his way to, and that as soon as he left one area and entered another, the doors behind him closed loudly. Looking up, he could see his own reflection in the eyes of a stationary surveillance droid. It was watching him.

His eyes narrowed at it, and his right arm lifted in its direction. The howling of metal tearing from metal echoed throughout the hall in which he stood. Beeps, whistles, sparks and whirs all pleadingly filled the air as the droid was ripped clean from the wall on which it had been mounted and smashed against the archway of the only open door. Wires hung loosely from the orifice in which the thing had once resided. Someone waited for him just ahead.

“Now your master’s seen what I can do,” Jeseth called out flatly, his arm stilled raised in the direction of the open archway. “I suggest you take me to him, before my patience runs out.”

An armor clad, beast of a man, stepped into the corridor. His left hand was flexed into a black, leather bound fist whilst his right gripped a long, glistening blade. He did not bother to introduce himself. In most instances, these were the moment in which this man’s opponents learned what true terror was. Jeseth could sense no feelings within him, and it was clear that he had no intentions of allowing Jeseth to pass.

“As you wish,” Jeseth said grimly, the black of his eyes expanding within their crimson prisons, “but know that I take no joy in what I’m about to do.” With his hand still held out, he began to focus the essence of his intent. It began as a point of orange light, shining and crackling, and quickly became Destruction. No matter how fast this lethal guard might be, it was already too late for him. Jeseth would not be stopped.

He could see the storm guard’s muscles tense beneath the layers of his black armor. They had begun the first ripples of movement. Jeseth released the sphere. The corridor shook. The force of the blast threw the storm guard back, and glowing shrapnel pelted his chest and face, tearing its way through portions of his armor and sinking into his flesh. Jeseth had missed.

He stood, hand still held up, in the same spot from where he had cast the blast. His chest was heaving with every breath he took. The exertion of drawing so deeply from himself, and from the Force, was almost overwhelming. Pain surged down the length of his arm. Killing this man could become necessary, but if it was possible, he wanted to avoid it. He was seeking an alliance with the Empire... not a war.

[Khendon Sevon]

Khendon frowned.

That hadn’t gone down the way he’d wanted. Lines etched across his face as his anger flared. “That’s not… exactly what I expected.” He tapped his fingers irritably against the enameled table.

The trooper’s implant would have shrieked in surprise if it could have. Instead, it ordered the guardsman’s body to dump reserves of epinephrine and other chemicals. It fed cocktails of emergency drugs to the soldier’s bloodstream and began taking control of stemming the flow of blood to the man’s bleeding and blistered chest.

It cut away the pain and sharpened Matherson’s mind.

The guardsman stood, weapon in hand. Bits of composite plastics and carbon had shattered and splintered, leaving his face a mess of scarlet and pink. His ocular piece narrowed its vision on the subject. He stood and tentatively tested a step. Then another.

He was ready.

The guardsman ran forward, long blade in hand.

[Jeseth Cloak]

Jeseth's eyes went wide with surprise as the storm guard began to run at him for the second time. He jumped back quickly, trying to avoid having his chest cleaved open, when it hit him like a shard of glass driven straight into his side: pain. Agonizing and tangible pain. It caused Jeseth a brief moment of involuntary hesitation, and was all the advantage that the storm guard had needed; his blade met with the Dark Jedi's flesh. Blood spatter erupted against the walls of the corridor.

The point of the weapon hovered just centimeters away from Jeseth's heart, blood running down the length of the blade and dripping onto his robe. He had brought his left hand up to meet the attack and - left with no recourse - drove his palm through the thing in order to intercept what would have otherwise been a fatal blow. His flesh had slid along the length of the weapon and connected with the storm guard's fist, halting the attack.

The soldier's other arm then rose into the air, preparing to come down on Jeseth's head like a hammer. The Dark Jedi's free hand came up to meet it, followed by a wave of Force that knocked the storm guard back violently. The blade went with him. Jeseth's left arm dropped down to his side, blood seeping from his open wound.

"You needn't bother getting up," he hissed as the storm guard moved to regain his footing. Jeseth's right hand contorted slightly, gripped by some unseen power. The shrill sound live current pierced the air. Before the soldier had made it back onto his feet, violaceous tendrils of searing energy found him, surrounding and penetrated him, causing his heart to skip beats and the electrical systems in his armor to burn out. Jeseth's lips were drawn back in anger, exposing rows of perfect, sharp teeth.

When the current stopped, Jeseth's heart was beating hard, and the storm guard’s heart was hardly beating. His Jedi robe, now covered in blood and spots of soot, no longer hinted at any fiber of rightness within him. His flesh had gone pale as snow. There was no mistake now about what this Jedi really was: a servant of the Dark Side of the Force.

He stepped over the soldier’s smoking body, making his way to the door at the other end of the ragged corridor. His eyes betrayed a hint of his exhaustion. He lifted his good hand, held it inches from the door, and used the Force to coerce it into opening. After he stepped through, he took a moment to tear a sliver of white fabric from his robe and bind it around his wounded hand. Though it did nothing for the pain, it would control the bleeding and prevent him from draining himself into unconsciousness.

[Khendon Sevon]

Khendon’s expression remained unchanged throughout the exchange. He simply reclined, boots on the table, with arms across his chest, face placid and emotionless. A tall guardsman stood as still as a statue in the corner. The room was like a moment frozen in time, save for the holo that played out on the table’s surface.

When it was all over, Khendon raised an eyebrow. “That was… different.” All at once, he stood, his cloak whipping around his body dramatically. “Alright,” he grinned as he rubbed his palms together mischievously, “gas him. Have the detention teams drag him back to his cell. This experiment is over.”

The guardsman pounded a fist to his chest and gave a curt nod.

Khendon smiled to himself. Maybe, just maybe, he had found what he’d need to take what was truly his… and exact his revenge.

[Jeseth Cloak]

Jeseth walked ahead, finding another closed door. Something didn't feel right. It seemed as if they had never intended for him to make it this far.

Hiss.

Gas, Jeseth thought to himself. White fumes were quickly filling the corridor. He took a deep breath and tried to head back in the direction from which he came, stepping over the storm guard. The other door had closed as well. His wounded hand lifted towards it, attempting to invoke the Force to pry it open... but it was too late; he had to breathe. In one gasp, everything went black.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself back inside of his detention cell. His stomach was churning perhaps as a result of the poison he had inhaled, and his vision was extremely blurred. His hand was still aching, but the bleeding appeared to have stopped. Glancing down at his belt, he couldn't help but wonder what had become of his lightsaber, and if he'd even live to see it again. Outside of his cell, he could make out the occasional clicking of armor. It appeared they weren't taking any chances.

[Khendon Sevon]

Khendon’s boots silently carried him through the immaculately polished corridor. His mind was still, a gentle rumble of idle thoughts. In his left hand he carried a tray with bloody steak, spiced potatoes, and delicately stacked stalks of asparagus. His other hand held a chilled squeeze bottle of water.

The Executor nodded to the guardsman that he’d placed near the door and the portal swooshed open. “Leave it open, clear the corridor, Sergeant.”

“By your will, Executor.” The soldier pounded his chest in salute.

The Sith kicked a stool into the room and sat with his back to the wall, to the side of the open door. “Time to eat, Jeseth. Time to talk.” He slid the tray into the middle of the detention cell and threw the bottle underhand.

[Jeseth Cloak]

Jeseth barely managed to catch the bottle. The cold droplets of water that had condensed on it came loose, dripping down the flesh of his palm. His mouth was dry and

He looked up at the man who sat at the other side of the cell, and addressed him by the same title that the guard had used. "Executor... I'm humbled by your gesture." With a hint of hesitation, Jeseth opened the bottle and drank from it thirstily. The meal waiting at the center of the cell looked overwhelmingly appetizing. Not yet, Jeseth thought quietly, restraining himself; there were other matters that were far more pertinent than his desire for sustenance. "I wish to contest the fraudulent charges that were brought against the Jedi Order by your former Emperor."