The Dark Crystal

[Lazuli]

Seven Years Ago; Somewhere in the Outer Rim


The mechanoid moved with surprising grace, despite it's considerable size: a testament to the ingenuity and skill of the Colicoid craftsmen responsible for it's design. Whole boughs were brushed aside as if mere branches as it charged on through the forest, progressing with haste: though not with subtlety. The automaton was pursued, and it's reckless course made no concessions towards concealing it's path. But then, if remaining covert had been important, it's Master would not have chosen something as hulking as an FLTCH-series battle droid.

No: subtlety was not important. All that mattered was protecting the cargo. And to that end, there was a plan.

The droid leapt through the trees, it's impressive mass still carrying it forward as huge durasteel feet made heavy contact with the clearing. It hunched, limbs poised and false muscles tensed like a wrestler coiled to strike against it's opponent. A high-pitched whine shrieked through the woodlands, warning the droid that the predator was close.

Around it, the air turned eerily still.

The speeder bike only came into view for a split second; that was enough. Throwing it's arms wide like a soundless roar of a rancor, the droid seemed to draw the unnatural stillness unto itself. At the centre of it's chest piece sat an unconventional modification: a crystal radiating a strange inner light, which grew brighter and more intense with every passing second. Bright enough to sear a lingering silhouette into the vision of anyone who looked upon it, the light suddenly burst forth from the droid's crystalline heart, arcing across the clearing as an angry burst of lightning.

In an instant the speeder bike transformed, metal and polymers twisted and warped from a vehicle into an oncoming meteor. The droid dove, barely evading the unguided projectile it had created; the bike sped onwards into the waiting treeline that had been the droid's backdrop, exploding against ancient bows and raining flaming shrapnel and debris onto the clearing.

The droid's sensors surveyed the damage. An active scan came back negative. No rider.

Reflexes fired, and the droid sprung back to it's feet, but it's actions were not fast enough. From the shadows something struck, spitting back lightning of it's own. A wave of chilling blue danced across the battle droid's hull. The glowing red of it's eyes flickered and died; hydraulics and servos fell silent and died. Converted in an instant from combat droid to statue, the mechanoid toppled; the ground shuddered as it's body made contact.

From the undergrowth a figure emerged, sparks erupting from the ion carbine rigged to overload that had just been used. The weapon would never function again, but it had done it's task; the human tossed it aside with a grunt as he advanced on his quarry.

Though the droid was utterly inert, one shred of activity remained. In it's chest, the crystalline heart - the precious cargo - flickered and pulsed, the wax and wane of it's inner light echoing the rise and fall of pained, panting lungs.

"I don't normally hunt droids," the figure admitted. It loomed over the robotic carcass, and the crystal felt it's satisfied gaze. "But you're no ordinary droid, are you?"

A hand reached forth, fingers wrapping around the crystal tightly, and wrenched the droid's heart violently from it's chest. A silent scream filled the air, but the hunter lacked the perception to hear it. Smug eyes surveyed the crystal as he turned it slowly in his fingers.

"I've never seen a Shard up close before."

[Orenth]

Seven Years Ago; Somewhere Else in the Outer Rim

A dull ache appeared at the root of his neck; symptomatic of the uncomfortable way the transparisteel wall cradled his head as he sat. A faint consideration of movement drifted through his mind, but he ignored it: in the tiny glass cage that represented his entire universe, there wasn't really anywhere else to go.

If he relaxed his mind, he could burst through the confines of his cell - or at least, he could burst through the claustrophobic barrier that it presented, and could somehow perceive beyond it. He knew that outside the ten paces by ten paces box that was his home, there was a cavernous room; and beyond it was a corridor, and the lab where they made him better. He knew these things because he had seen them; and he knew their names because they had told him. The cage, the room, the corridor, and the lab: such was his world, and such was all he had ever known.

He knew of more. He knew that there was an entire galaxy of stars and planets beyond. He knew of worlds like Coruscant and Corellia; he knew of their cities, and the billions of sentients that called them home. He knew of Kashyyyk and it's towering trees; of Naboo's rolling plains; Orto's ice fields; Kessel's spice-filled caves. He knew of the great Galactic Empire, and it's noble crusade to keep the galaxy safe from terror and tyranny. He knew about the War, waged between the Empire's forebear and an alliance of aliens and Separatists who had betrayed every trust that humanity had placed in them. He knew that even now, their echoes still threatened the safety of every soul in the galaxy; and he knew that the galaxy's greatest and most revered champions - the Jedi - had betrayed them all when they had been needed most.

That knowledge in particular weight heavily upon him: for he also knew that the blood of the Jedi flowed through him; that he was here in this place to keep the galaxy safe.

These things he knew as facts: as words that he had been told, or images he had been shown. His own eyes had not seen them; his own senses had not experienced them. At times he found that troubling, but they had already explained why: he had a sickness, one that robbed his mind of memories. This was a clinic: a laboratory searching for a cure to the disease. As yet they had not succeeded, and time was running out: there had once been four patients here, but now only three remained.

Something stirred across the room. He felt the doors hiss open as much as he heard them; felt the three new arrivals enter as much as he saw them. Except, no. Something wasn't quite right. Only two figures strode across the duracrete floor, and yet he could sense three of them, clear as day. The intrigue was enough to make him stir from his discomfort, and edge closer to the glass of his cage. His eyes couldn't quite make out the details of faces, but he could sense enough to recognise their Custodian; the man with him was a guard whose name Orenth had never been told. Despite his scrutiny, there was still no sign of a third person; but in his arms the guard carried what seemed to be some kind of container. It was too small for a human, that was clear: but there had been stories of animals, and even of sentient beings that might have fit inside.

His breath caught in his chest. Another patient? The emotions that rolled off their Custodian were hopeful, and intrigued: less those of a man of medicine concerned with care, and more those of a man of science who knew the answers were within his grasp. The optimism was infectious. Might they have found a cure?

From the third being, whatever it was, he sensed fear and confusion. Whoever the being was, they were paralysed with it. Orenth reached out: nothing as clumsy as a shout or even a whisper; more a gentle hand on the shoulder, his mind brushing against that of their newest patient.

Don't worry. His mind was calm; assuring. These men only want to help.

[Lazuli]

Help?

The word formed inside Lazuli's consciousness, but it had no perception of whence it came. It's location had changed; it had felt the dark emptiness of space as it's arboreal and life-filled home had been left behind; it had felt the bright emptiness of hyperspace as it had been whisked away, abducted across the stars. When the darkness of realspace had returned, it felt blacker than ever, as if it were being drawn into the jaws of some oblivion that even the Force could not escape. Then it was here; Lazuli did not need eyes to perceive the barren rock it had been brought to, the twisted metallic catacombs they now carried it through, devoid of all life save for a few scattered sentients.

Most of the souls Lazuli felt around it were dim, vaguely defined, not impacting on the Force through which it comprehended existence. One soul burned dark, a twisted tangle of rage and hate bound with in a cocoon of mirth and malice: a soul painful to perceive. Then there were the Three others, the glimmering embers of faint light that had not yet been nurtured into full flames. Lazuli felt them each alone and yet somehow drawn to each other as if they were each parts of some triforce whole. What confused Lazuli most of all was the purity of what they radiated: not pure in the sense of radiant goodness, but pure in the sense of colourless, blank, and devoid. He felt no dark emotions from them, and yet no light ones either: they simply were, bright but cold, like the droid logic it communed with to control the body it had been ripped from.

Unsure which of the Three had spoken, but sure that it had not been the One, Lazuli reached out to their collective, trying to emulate the soft communion that had spoken. I was taken, Lazuli explained, struggling to remember how to communicate with organic mobiles after so long alone. Taken from where I belong.

[Shen]

Whispers at the edge of consciousness were enough to cause the woman to raise her head from where it had been resting against her arms. Slowly she looked up, regarding those within the room simply for their quality of being present, and the motion continued until the base of her skull came to rest against the same transparisteel that her back was.

It was not that she was weary and needed the support it offered, more that it conserved energy best kept in reserve - waste not. The sight of two individuals before her was confusing as it did not match what senses were portraying, even more so when the same gentle communication she was used to hearing from the others like her came from the box in reply.

It was a curious thing, but then so were most that went beyond what she had been told.

You are safe now. Her own thoughts drifted out, wrapped in a need to comfort, to bring pause to the panic she could feel rising from the unfamiliar entity, such was her calling. None here shall harm you.

[Lazuli]

Scepticism pulsed through Lazuli's crystalline structure. It had been hunted; hounded; shot; smashed. He that had pursued it had done so with force, wrenched it into paralysis and dragged it here, to parts unknown. Harm had already been done, and it was here as a result of those actions. Soothing as the ripples of Force communication were from the second voice, it could not comprehend how her statements could be true, when the evidence seemed to suggest so strongly otherwise. Yet, it sensed no deception: the entity was sincere in her message. Perhaps her lies were highly practised; perhaps she was misled or misinformed herself; or perhaps matters were even more cryptic and confused than Lazuli already realised.

I was safe before, it countered, matching her sincerity. It poured emotions and memories into what it conveyed: the tranquil calm of the forest, of the life that surrounded, of the peace and harmony it had enjoyed. Then it tore through them with darker shards: the panic and the confusion of capture, the fear and discomfort of every external sense being taken away, of being converted from a mobile self-sufficient being into a creature that could not even move of it's own volition let alone sustain it's existence.

I did not need saving. I did not need help. One last surge of memory and emotion: the darkness surrounding on all sides, the isolated blindness of it's current isolation, the sadness of being trapped and helpless in an inescapable prison. Not until they came.

[Thesh]

Sensations were taken, absorbed. The fear overriding calm, the panic overtaking serenity, of the others shying from it, the overwhelming sadness that followed. All of it processed, added to her own knowledge even as it scraped for more. Bubbles within synovial fluid quickly become undone leading to a familiar crackle as her head was rolled from one shoulder to the next, mouth parting at the gentle twinge of pain that accompanied the motion. She had been still for too long, a half-sleep that absorbed unused hours only now disturbed by this new presence and the others insistent nature to commune with it.

Calm yourself. Not so much a gentle caress as a slap to bring one back to their senses. She never had been as careful as the others, always pushing forward where they would find a line to halt at. Your fears have no place here. Do not think you are being deceived, it is not worth their time to do so.

Curt, formal, yet still conveying the fact they were meant to console not intimidate though the line could be blurred at times she had learned.

There is a reason for why you are here, the others speak true, you will not be harmed. Something was amiss before, otherwise you would not be here. We do not always recognize when we need aid though others can clearly see it is necessary.

An audible sigh left her as she shifted within the confines of the transparasteel cage.

All will be revealed but trust that you are not alone in your predicament.

[Lazuli]

A spike of anger surged despite Lazuli's efforts to the contrary, a rebellion against the insistence of the Three. Their messages were conveyed with the resolution of honesty, and yet the incongruity with reality as Lazuli had experienced it was jarring. Belief and certainty were not necessarily the same as truth; all Lazuli had to rely on were its own perceptions, and the evidence it could comprehend told a different story.

What then of the united front, the Three who together spoke the same falsehoods? Were they accomplices of its captors, highly skilled at deception, or were they simply naive victims utterly and completely misled? Should it confront them with hostility, or pity?

Nothing was amiss. Maintaining calmness and clarity in his messages was a challenge. However, I have already been harmed.

I am not like you. I am a Shard: a crystalline intelligence. I have no eyes to see, no limbs to move; in isolation I am little more than an immobile stone, capable of thought, and of perception only by resonating through the Force. So that I may interact with your world and your kind, I was placed inside the husk of an automaton: a shell to serve as a surrogate body. This conveyance has been taken from me, and I have been taken from my home.

It chose its words carefully.

Your masters, your benefactors, or whoever they may be have torn me from what I need to survive; what I need to exist in an environment away from my homeworld. They have placed me in a container from which I cannot escape, and have deprived me of all ability to act and function for myself. This is not benevolence. This is not rescue. This is prison. Paralysis. I am trapped.

A silence lingered in the Force as Lazuli allowed the words the chance to sink in.

Help me.

[Hugo Montegue]

* * *

Hugo hated this place. Hated the people. Hated the location. Hated the damned complexity and all the hoops he had to jump through just to get here. Most of all though, he hated the strange grip that this place and these people seemed to have on his soul. He felt as if he had made a deal with devils; and yet, in a line of work such as his, who was there to deal with if not them?

His arms folded defensively across his chest as the wait they'd forced him to endure yet again came to an end. An indignant scowl flared his nostrils as he watched the Empire's men enter; felt the twist in his gut as he thought about how his sons would react if they knew he was here; thought about the judgement in Vittore's eyes at the mere notion of working with these kinds of people. But Vittore's good deeds, feats of heroism, and still-intact morals didn't pay the bills; they didn't keep their stomachs filled or their ship fuelled. Someone had to make the hard choices. Someone had to do the wrong thing to make sure that the family stayed all right.

"You got your crystal."

His voice tumbled out lacking any kind of pretence of respect; the kind of challenge only issued by a man who either felt he was untouchable, or that he had nothing left to lose. Hugo wasn't sure which he was. Perhaps both.

"Where are my damn credits?"

[Mal'achi Ath-Thu'ban]

If there was one part of his job that Mal'achi could honestly say he enjoyed it was these tiny moments with Hugo Montegue. The man's hatred assaulted the senses, his frustrations always verging on palpable, his every envisioned action of aggression towards Mal'achi and his associate just on the cusp of full perception. The fact that Montegue didn't bother with at all attempting to conceal any of it was what made it truly special. There were days, Mal'achi had to admit, that he was sorely tempted to let the Bounty Hunter in on the little secret, that the two of them were more alike in some ways than either would care to admit. How both were slaves of this place in one manner or another and how at the very core of it all came the bittersweet term: Family.

Ah, but that may have garnered some miniscule form of sympathy from the man and where, pray tell, would be the fun in that?

"You know Montegue, I do so enjoy your sunny disposition, it's such a shame we don't have time for one of our little chats." A credit chip was pulled from a pocket and casually twirled between his fingers. "You really should stick around one of these days. I think you'd find the experience most enlightening."

All too unceremoniously the credit chip was released from his grasp, it's twirling motion continuing as it hovered just above Mal'achi's open hand. It was a meaningless usage of The Force, worth nothing more than the smile that was gained from the subtle flare of revulsion that came from the Bounty Hunter - but that in itself was priceless.

[Hugo Montegue]

Hugo rallied the urge to propel his fist into the Inquisitor's face, and used it to sweep his hand across and pluck his payment from the man's abhorrent parlour tricks. Every fibre of his being loathed this arrangement: this indentured service to the darkest recesses of the Galactic Empire. It had begun with the Security Bureau, a few innocent bounties collected on fugitives whose special skills were causing trouble for the ISB's less specialised agents. Repeat business had caught the attention of Intelligence, and now here he was, standing in one of the Empire's shadow facilities, fetching the weird and wonderful for this pair of smug and shady assholes, for purposes that Hugo didn't even want to speculate about.

"You're really testin' the limits of my patience here, Mal'achi," he replied with a thin-lipped smile, no respect in any of the words but particularly not the Inquisitor's name.

His gaze strayed to the man's almost literally silent partner, wondering not for the first time if his wits and reflexes were fast enough to end the two of them swiftly enough to leave him time to make a break for the hanger, and flee before security could respond. He doubted it, but there were times when the potential satisfaction seemed almost like it would be worth it, even if it was the last thing he ever did. The way the other Inquisitor stared back at him, his gaze piercing into Hugo's soul, was almost like he knew what the hunter was thinking and was daring him to try.

He shifted his focus back to the more vocal of the two.

"That's not something I'm renowned for havin' an abundance of."