GuardPiett
Nov 27th, 2000, 08:30:27 PM
<font size=5>Tides of War</font>
Part One: Leave-takings
Observation Lounge
Royal Palace, Vectur
Planet Varnus
1100 Hours
Maarek Stele - former Imperial General and hero, outlaw, Wing Commander of the SoH space force, and now Commander in the NI Starfleet - took one last swallow of his ale and set it down next to his half-empty plate. Rising from the table, he retrieved the sheet of flimsy that held his bill and made his way toward the counter to pay. Most of the other tables around weren't occupied at this time of day. The cozy, post-modern restaurant, which had been established at the very top of the new spire that projected from the top of the palace, was encased in floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a supreme view of the capital city, the deep blue sky, and the surrounding Varnusan landscape. Jutting an entire kilometer above the top of the Royal Palace, and located almost in the exact center of the city, it was definitely one of the most prominent objects to be seen.
As he reached the check-out counter, he tossed the bill onto the table and waited as the lady brought up the charge. When he saw the price on the ticket, his eyes widened in surprise. "Hey, come on," he protested. "That's ridiculous."
The lady looked at him blandly. "They have to pay for this new thing somehow you know."
"But this is my going-away meal," he pleaded. "I'm about to leave."
"You won't be back? That's the best news I've heard all day," she said with a cynical smile.
Maarek shook his head with a sigh, mumbling as he searched his pockets for the correct change. "Jeez, you'd think a guy's reputation would mean something around here…" Tossing the credits onto the counter, he turned to leave. "Xar might get to eat here free, but I don't even get a discount. The food stinks here anyway."
"Good riddance," he heard her call after him. Ignoring her, he walked over to the turbolift and got in, setting the controls back down to the ground levels of the palace.
The glass-encased turbolift descended, running down the side of the new tower, and as it passed down into open air he was suddenly plunged into a superb view of the capital city of Vectur. Immediately surrounding the palace itself was the financial district, consisting of massively tall skyscrapers and large city squares. The tan and gray buildings of the city stretched off almost as far as he could see, creating a vista that looked almost like a miniature version of Coruscant.
His view was obscured as the lift went down through the palace itself, finally dropping him off in the center of the palace. He stepped out into the main concourse, second level. In the center of the massive room was the Royal Varnusan Symbol, a large white starburst encased in a right triangle. The rest of the floor was white tiled marble, with a sloping double-staircase that led up to the second level, which formed a ring around the first. The main concourse was always bustling with activity, with being of every race, status, and position imaginable. Jedi strode about in their full arrogant pomposity. Novices scurried quickly by, rushing to deliver their messages or perform services for higher ranked members. Workers and citizens made their way on a myriad of unknowable tasks. There were even a few tourists taking a guided excursion through the main chamber.
Walking around the railed balcony, Maarek descended the staircase and crossed the seal on his way to his next destination. He'd almost entered one of the branching corridors when he heard someone call his name from behind. He turned around, seeing a middle-aged man striding purposefully toward him. As he neared, the man slowed and gave a broad grin. "Hello Maarek. How have you been?"
"Jack Railler," Maarek said, returning the grin. "I'm good. And you?"
"Same as always," Jack replied and shrug. Maarek knew the man from a recent mission they'd gone on together. Railler was from the planet Haven in the Satyr system, or at least he was living there when the Altarin'Dakor had unexpectedly swept into the system. He'd escaped during the planet's subjugation, and managed to arrive at Varnus and warn the NI of the impending doom of the system. It was too later to save the system, but Jack had managed to help a few find shelter so they could be rescued. After Varnus had been recaptured from Altarin'Dakor forces, Railler wanted to go rescue the survivors, and had asked Maarek to accompany him. Together, they'd taken a shuttle to Haven and recovered a woman and her son, along with a few others, and brought them back to Varnus for asylum. The refugees had made a new, if temporary, home in the palace, and Railler had stayed on as well. Jack said he wanted to remain and help out however he could in the coming conflict against the Altarin'Dakor.
"So," Jack spoke up. "I hear you're leaving. Is that right?"
Maarek nodded an affirmative. "Yes, I've been given command of my own squadron in the NI fleet. Not that I didn't enjoy being here, but I'm just not suited for a desk job. I've got to be out there, in the action."
The older man smiled and placed a hand on Maarek's shoulder. "I know how you feel. I was the same way." Despite the man's warm expression, there was something in his eyes that seemed to go cold at those recalled memories. Jack had never really opened up about his past, as if he were trying to forget and high from it. "Besides," he added, "I think someone with your talents would be more good in that kind of a role."
Maarek shrugged. "I'm heading to Sauron's office now, to get everything squared away. Of course, I'll be back here on Varnus from time to time, working with the SoH forces." He took a moment to look around, taking in the view of the main concourse, and the Varnusan architecture. "Something about this place has really grown on me. It was home to me when I felt I didn't have a home anymore." He gave a cynical half-grin. "Now I realize that my true home is out there, in space, where it's always been."
"You'll be missed, but you'll always have a temporary place here on this huge island in space," Railler smiled. Then his expression turned serious. "Don't get killed out there. Something really big is brewing. I think you can handle yourself, as long as you keep your cool and don't try anything stupid. Keep your friends close, they're what'll keep you alive."
Maarek nodded, a bit marveled at how Railler could speak as if he knew him so well. "I will. Goodbye, Jack."
"Farewell, Commander," Jack said, giving a mock salute. Then he turned away and continued across the concourse.
Maarek steeled his nerves, wondering what Sauron was going to say. His close friend, past and present, seemed to have changed after his abduction by the Altarin'Dakor. Though he'd come back on fire against the AD, he seemed more and more distracted every day. There really wasn't any way to tell how he'd react. Only one way to find out, I guess, Maarek thought. Turning back down the corridor, he started toward the Grand Master's office.
"Enter," Sauron replied to the knock at his office door. Tossing the report he'd been looking at onto the table, he leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Why am I sitting here doing this? he questioned himself. All the endless text, the status checks, progress reports… They don't mean anything. What was worse, he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on such menial, everyday things. He didn't know if he was just getting tired of the responsibility, or if the Altarin'Dakor threat looming over him made everything else seem insignificant. There was a war about to be waged. He needed to prepare everyone as much as possible. Yet that feeling, so strong at first, had begun to fade, and increasingly there was one particular thing that always came to the forefront of his thoughts…
"Xar?"
Sauron jolted up at the voice, mentally kicking himself for not even noticing his visitor's entrance. He sat back in his plush seat and nodded at the man in front of the desk. "Maarek."
"Are you okay?" the man asked, a look of concern on his face.
"I'm fine," Xar assured him, folding his hands in his lap. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, you've heard the news, I'm sure," Stele started out hesitantly. "My request's been granted by the Senate. My elite squadron is officially formed. I've assembled an excellent group of pilots from throughout the NI. They're some of the best I've seen."
"Glad to hear it," Sauron nodded. "I'm happy for you, and I don't doubt you'll do an excellent job."
"Thanks." Maarek paused, the signed audibly. "Look, I enjoyed being Wing Commander and working with the SoH pilots. But after the attack, we lost almost seventy percent of our forces. All my work was for nothing… I can't start all over again, even though Varnus seems to prolifically produce pilots of such high quality. It's not that I don't like it here; I love Varnus. But I'm just not suited for a desk job, I have to get out there and do something personally. I want to feel like I'm making a difference." He paused, waiting for Sauron to answer.
Xar stared down at his lap. His thoughts wanted to wander again, already. But he also didn't want to deal too harshly with his friend, as much as he hated losing him. In Xar's opinion, stepping down to lead one single squadron, like so many others in the NI, was moving in the wrong direction if he really wanted to make a difference. But then, he argued to himself, Isn't that what I was just thinking myself? Steeling his nerves, he spoke up. "Maarek, I fully understand your position. I really wish I could join you. I appreciate what you've done for us here, and wish you the best of luck in your new position. Congratulations."
Maarek opened his mouth as if to speak, then pushed away resignedly. Had he expected something more? "Well, all right then," he said. "I'll be around, from time to time. My squadron mates here on Varnus are prepped and ready to go, so if it's all right, we'll be leaving later today."
Sauron shrugged, feeling the bit of distance coming between him and his friend. "Go ahead."
"All right," Maarek said, coming to attention and giving a sharp salute. Then he turned around crisply and started for the door. But as he left, Xar felt a pang of guilt for brushing him off so formally. Before Stele reached the door, he held out a hand and called out to him.
"Maarek…"
Stele turned back, raising his eyebrows. "Yes?"
Xar hesitated, then gave as much of a grin as he could. "May the Force be with you."
Maarek grinned back, his features brightening. Xar could see the gap closing once more. "And with you, my friend."
The door closed behind the Commander, plunging the room into silence once more.
Icis Novitaar - the Traveler - posing, as always, as Dean T-Rex of the Society of Shadows, padded quietly through the palace corridors, searching. Outside, autumn was setting in once again on Varnus, and through the windows the trees and gardens decorating the palace had begun to color and shed their leaves. But the falling seasons hadn't dampened the spirits of the people of Varnus. In fact, from his own short experience with the world's inhabitants, he didn't think anything could. The Varnusans had gone through disaster after disaster, subjugation and devastation, wars, famine, and poverty. The people seemed to have within them a fighting spirit that wouldn't give up, no matter what the odds. He supposed that was where Xar got his own hardheadedness.
He strode through bright and colorful corridors in the West Wing, probably the busiest wing of the palace during the day. The halls and rooms were well decorated, with live plants from all over, and beautiful tapestries and draperies hanging down from the vaunted ceilings. Many of them held crests and symbols emblazoned on the fabrics, most of the designs pertaining to Varnus and its culture. Soft, but definitely upbeat music played at various places, waxing and waning depending upon where he was. People of all shapes, sizes, and dress passed him on either side, not exactly avoiding the overly tall Jedi, but offering him the respect he was due. To Icis, it was really quite amusing, just watching the different types of people and their faces. But then, watching was something he'd been born and trained to do. He continued on.
Finally he left the busier sections and into quieter territory. The tall windows on his right looked down into some of the palace's splendid courtyards, and he understood why. In them he could see Jedi in training, practicing their various physical skills and some of the simpler Force techniques. Though this wasn't a Jedi exclusive area, and there were only a few places that were restricted to Jedi only, most people seemed eager to give them as much space as possible. Icis wasn't going to say anything about them, though. Most of the Jedi were still like kids in terms of knowledge and potential. Well, to him, anyway. But his own powers were only at half strength, so he didn't have a place to speak. That wouldn't be his style, anyway.
After several more minutes of walking down the now sparsely populated corridor, he finally found who he was looking for. Sauron was standing by a window some distance away. The dark haired Jedi Master stood opposite a tall, slim woman with long, braided auburn hair that ran down her back. From their posture and expressions, he could tell they were discussing something that they were at odds about. No, even arguing, he realized. On a whim, he brought his Force Mask into being and got closer. Oblivious to him, they continued as he listened.
"Forgive me if I'm being too frank," Rynn was saying, "but I don't understand the way we're doing things. You're pushing us so hard, training us to fight and to kill, but the way we're learning things isn't at all what I heard the Jedi used to do. I think the Force should be a close, personal thing, not just a weapon you can take and use any time you will."
Sauron's expression darkened and he shook his head. "We don't have time to waste with useless diplomatic skills, Rynn. Those aren't going to be very useful with the Altarin'Dakor breathing down our backs. If we don't train our Jedi to fight, we won't stand a chance against them. We have to use the Force as a weapon against them, if we're to have any chance."
"Not enough time?" Rynn asked, cocking her head one side and staring across at him defiantly. "So instead you teach them to kill but don't teach them the responsibility to use it?"
"There aren't any rules with the Altarin'Dakor," he replied, his voice cold. He was obviously struggling to keep himself in check as he answered. "It's them or us. Soft feelings and hesitation will only get us killed."
"I can't believe you're telling me that," she breathed, shaking her head. "This… This isn't why I wanted to become a Jedi. I thought we were guardians. I though we protected people who couldn't protect themselves…" She looked down at the floor, and Icis could see tears starting to form in her eyes. "I wanted to help people, not hurt them," she whispered.
"You'll help people by destroying the Altarin'Dakor," Sauron said adamantly. "If we don't stop them they'll initiate the biggest slaughter in galactic history. I'm sorry, but we couldn't exactly choose whether or not to have the ultimate enemy bearing down on us. We must do what we have to, Rynn. You are a weapon, a living weapon. Your power is the Force, and your objective is to destroy the Altarin…"
"You're obsessed!" she broke in roughly, her eyes boring fire through him.
"And you're out of line!" he countered. "I'm the Grand Master. You can do what I say, or you can get out of here. Nothing's holding you. I don't care…" His words were rudely interrupted as her slap took him across the cheek, causing an audible crack through the air. His head barely moved, though, and as she drew back, he just stood there and stared at her distantly. Then, with tears in her eyes, she turned and ran off down the corridor. Icis listened as her footsteps padded off into the distance.
"You'll understand, once you've seen them," Xar muttered after her, though she couldn't have heard. He turned back to the window, and pounded his fist on the railing in front of it.
"You were way too hard on her," Icis said, dropping his Force Mask.
Sauron jumped as if he'd just been hit by a blast of Force Lighting. He spun around toward Icis, his expression just short of being in utter shock… "Blast you, I thought I told you never to do that again…"
"Sorry," Icis shrugged as Sauron put a hand up to his chest. "You told Rynn she could leave? What's gotten into you?"
"I don't know, Icis," Xar shook his head. "I'll make it up to here somehow." He held a hand out toward the Traveler. "Come on. You of all people should know the threat that they represent. Don't you think we should be preparing for their return?"
"I think the wisest thing is always to keep a balance," Icis said smoothly. "Remember, even I didn't tell you about the AD until you were ready."
"You waited until I'd already had one heck of a close encounter, in my opinion.."
"I didn't see that coming," Icis admitted. "But, looking back, would you have believed me otherwise?"
"I see your point. Let's walk," Xar offered.
As they continued on through the West Wing of the Royal Palace, Icis listened as Xar explained the details of the SoH's new, intensified training program. New member training had accelerated, with focuses on offensive as well as defensive powers. They'd also eliminated several of the ranks and allowed the rank of Knight to be reached much faster. This might decrease the quality of the Knight level, Xar explained, but it would increase the quantity. And those that survived, to become Templars, Crusaders, Paladins and above, would become even better. Because they would survive. Much like the Empire's original Tie Fighter pilots, mortality rates might increase, but those who prevailed would become super-elite. It was a hard policy, but Icis had to admit that it made sense in some ways. The Jedi population was increasing, in quality and quantity, and they didn't have the luxury of waiting several years for a Knight to be made. Furthermore, Xar told him how they had used the HoloCrons found in the stockpiles on Moro and other places and vastly increased the number of Force powers that were being taught. Again, a sacrifice for a chance at an advantage against the AD. But secretly Icis wondered if there was anything they could do that could stop the advance of the Altarin'Dakor. If half the things he had seen, and heard of, were still true, then the whole galaxy might not have a chance.
They emerged into open air, walking along the tops of the connected Palace buildings and walls in the Jedi training sector. Below, in the courtyards, Jedi were practicing in some of the more advanced techniques. Duels using stunsabers and lightsabers sent the familiar and unique buzz through the air. Others practiced using the Force in various ways, some causing head-sized stones to explode in showers of pebbles, others learning the basic concepts of energy manipulation, sending small sparks of energy from their hands against still and moving targets. Icis admitted that it was impressive, at least on an organizational scale. But there was a long way to go.
They passed by under an alcove in the side of the palace. Below was a large area where a line of Jedi Knights were practicing their abilities at levitation. Sauron stopped there, looking down at the group. Icis stood beside him and followed his gaze. He smiled when he saw what the man was looking at.
Down below, various crates and other objects were piled up. The Knights had to lift as many as they could control and send them into various motions. Some of the objects were arranged like hoops or angles, while others were balls or spears. Other crates were simple weights, ranging from few hundred pounds to several tons. Icis recognized several of the Jedi below. Among them were Sturm Brightblade, Haun, Dark Hunter, and even his old buddy Omega, the object of many of his infamous invisibility pranks. Calling out the instructions was the former Sith Praetor, Adept Thrakus.
"I see Thrakus is back," he remarked. "How's Lorien?" The Adept had recently returned from a private vacation with this wife, Lorien Kal, a Dathomiran from the Singing Mountain Clan. They'd met on Dathomir during the incident known as the Clandestine Conflict. Ironically, after all his chasing women, it was she who had caught him. Now she was pregnant, and it seemed the whole SoH was ready to welcome their first Jedi baby.
"Five months now," Xar said. "I think Thrakus is getting a bit on edge." He gave a chuckle, and Icis realized it was the first time he'd hear the man laugh since the rescue. He gave a grin, himself, inside wondering what it was like for a human, a mortal, to go through something like that for the first time. Of course, he'd never actually had children himself, either as human or Traveler. "I think the whole SoH is going to adopt this baby," he remarked jovially.
Sauron nodded, as below Thrakus began barking out orders for the assembled Knights. He quickly instructed them to lift as many weighted crates as possible, starting with the heaviest, and while holding that to run the smaller objects through a certain pattern.
First up was a newly raised Jedi Knight, one whom Icis hadn't seen before. He had obviously been raised according to the accelerated program, and the flaw in their new system was quickly discovered as the Jedi only lifted the smallest crate and put only a few of the other items into a clumsy circle. Beside him, he saw Xar shake his head. Of course, they knew that the exercise wasn’t designed to measure Force strength. Growing stronger in the Force wasn't akin to building muscles. The size and weight of an object didn't matter so much, yet there were limitations according to one's power level. This exercise tested one's control over the Force and the ability to use several powers simultaneously. The final part of the exercise, where the Knight had to lift only the water out of a nearby bucket, was failed completely by the newcomer, no matter how hard he seemed to strain.
Sturm Brightblade went next, thrusting his hands forward in grand gesture. Not only was he able to lift the ton crate, but he put several different objects into a spinning circle overhead. Finally, he lifted half the water from the bucket in a rough spherical shape.
"Omega," Thrakus called out. "You're next."
Rubbing his hands together eagerly, Omega put his hands forward and with a grunt of effort lifted the five ton crate off the courtyard floor. With that held aloft, suspended by one of his outstretched arms, he picked up half the objects on the ground and sent them into a spiral, the smaller objects passing through the ringed ones without touching the sides. He also succeeded not only in pulling all the water from the bucket, but keeping it in its cylinder shape, as well. As he set the objects down carefully, he was greeted to a small round of applause by the other Jedi gathered. Of course, he was really a Templar, closer in truth to a Crusader, with a lot of real combat experience, so his extra strength wasn't overly surprising.
Thrakus appeared ready to dismiss them, then checked his board as if remembering something. "Ah yes," he spoke. "Forgot about him. Where's Derek? Derek?" he called.
His eyes widening, Icis finally noticed the small boy sitting at the table near the corner. The dark haired ten-year-old had been one of the greatest finds they'd ever made. Having been kidnapped by a rogue Jedicon named Turles, it had been up to Sauron, Icis, and an elite team of Jedi to rescue him and foil the Jedicon plans. Since the boy had no family left, he had willingly come back with them to Varnus to learn the ways of the Force. And had he ever. Already having taught himself much, he was now learning much faster in this more formal education. "So that's where he is," he whispered.
"That's right," Sauron said, the pride in his voice almost palpable. "Just watch."
The boy rose from the books he'd been studying, looking up at the Adept beneath his dark bangs that came down on his forehead. "Huh?" was all he managed in a high-pitched voice.
Thrakus seemed to pause, then gave a sigh. "Let's see what you can do," he said nonchalantly.
"Okay."
The boy's gaze went past the Adept toward the assembled items. A bare second later, Icis smiled and shook his head in awe. Thrakus was still staring at the boy, but at the gasps and expressions of wonder coming from behind him he turned around… And looked up. All the weighted crates, from the ten ton down, as well as every single other loose item on the grounds, were floating quickly about in an intricately complex sphere above him.
"How…" Thrakus' words were cut off as a dragon made completely of water moved over in front of him, its long tail wrapping back around his body twice. Then it actually growled at him. Thrakus turned to look back at the boy, but he was already into his book again, not even glancing in the direction of his fantastic display.
"I think it may be time to move Derek up again," Sauron mused idly. Icis agreed.
Once everything was back in place, Thrakus lined the Jedi back up, though he still looked a little shaky to Icis. "All right. Now we're going to split up into two groups. Group one will be doing lightsaber combat in the forward yard. Group two will be doing energy manipulation in rec room three." He turned back to the boy, still absorbed in whatever it was he was reading. "You coming, Derek?"
"No thanks," the boy declined.
Apparently not seeing the issue important, Thrakus began to dismiss the assembled Jedi.
"Let's go," Sauron offered. "I'd like to talk in my office."
"All right," Icis said. He started after the Grand Master, but kept an eye down in the courtyard. Suddenly, Derek looked up, and their eyes briefly met. The boy's face turned into a smile, and he quickly stood and closed his book up.
"I think we're going to have company," he said, coming up beside Sauron.
Just then, more shouts of excitement and shock came from below. Icis turned to see what was going on…
And stopped dead in his tracks as Derek flew in the window and landed in front of them.
"I'm not even going to ask," Icis began.
"Hey, Mister Sauron!" the boy said enthusiastically. "And Mister T-Rex, too! How are you?"
"Hey, Derek! I'm fine!" Sauron answered just as happily. Icis stared at the man incredulously. It was as if a switch had just been turned on, and he was a different person entirely.
"Hi," Icis responded casually. "That was some impressive work down there."
"That? Aw, that was nuthin," the boy responded.
He bests our top Jedi Knights, and says it's nothing? "Well, congratulations, nevertheless," he said. Not to mention that he's learned how to fly somewhere. That little rediscovery in itself would have had the olden Jedi rolling over in their graves.
"Mister Sauron, can I ask you something?" the boy said.
"Sure, Derek. You can ask me anything," Xar said heartily, bending down. It struck Icis how attached Xar had become to the boy, almost as if he wanted to claim him as his own son. For some reason, something about that seemed a bit familiar.
Derek opened his mouth to speak, but before he could another person came up behind him at a trot. Icis recognized the placid face and long hair of Crusader Gui Sun Paan, Lothair of House Vortigern. "Master!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you." Icis knew of the man, a recruit from another organization who had risen quickly. "I wanted to talk to you about my new appointment as…" he began.
"I'll be with you in just one minute," Sauron said forcefully and clearly, staring up at the young Crusader. Then he looked down back at the young boy. "What were you saying, Derek?"
"Well, sir, you know I love to study and all," Derek said, "but I'm getting kinda bored with all these exercises. I want to learn something new. Can you teach me?"
Xar hesitated. "Well, I'd be glad to work with you personally, Derek. But some of our powers are pretty destructive, even dangerous. I know you're stronger than almost anyone here, and your control is superb, but I don't know if you're ready for some things yet."
“But I know I’m ready,” the boy argued. “I want to be the greatest Jedi of there’s ever been!”
"Xar's right," Icis put in. “Some things can get pretty advanced. You're a bit hard to place, Derek. Your skill matches a Jedi, but your age slows you down. Granted, you could probably handle them, we just have to be careful, you understand."
"Sure I do," the boy replied. "Like they taught you your powers when you were still young. Of course, you're still kinda young, aren't you? But they still taught you to disappear. Of course, it is a little basic, but…"
Icis finally stopped gagging on his tongue enough to interrupt him hoarsely. "Quiet… How do you know that?!"
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Derek promised. "Thanks for saying you'll train me, sir," he spoke up to Xar.
"No problem, Derek. It'll be my pleasure," the GM responded.
"Okay. Well, goodbye Mister Sauron, Mister T-Rex!"
With that, he lifted off into the air and flew out the window just as he'd come in. Icis thought Gui Sun's jaw was going to hit the floor when he saw that.
"Gui Sun…" Sauron started, then noticed the Crusader staring out the window. "Gui Sun? What was it you wanted?"
Abruptly the man seemed to snap out of it, and turned to face the GM. "Yes, master," he said. "I wanted to thank you again for your trust in me to be leader of Black Ops. Ever since Osiris disappeared, we haven't had a leader of the team. I won't let you down. Where you going to make the promotion official today?"
Sauron opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He seemed to think for a second, then finally replied. "Well, it's been unofficially made, and there's still a few things left to fix in Vortigern. It'll go into effect within a few days."
"Ah. All right," Gui Sun nodded. "And does the promotion come with it?"
Icis arched an eyebrow, and looked as Sauron hesitated again. "We'll make the promotion once you've proven your abilities to lead Black Ops. Like I said before, show me it's worth being on the Council and I'll put it there," he said.
"Thank you, master," the man replied. I will serve you well. I'm going to focus all my energy on Black Ops, and I'll even quit my Vast Empire job so I can devote all my time into it."
"I'm glad, and proud of your loyalty," Xar replied.
"Thank you, and good day, GM," Gui Sun said with a bow. "I'm well on my way to my ultimate goal. I will be the fastest person ever to reach Jedi Master." Then, with another bow to Xar and Icis, he turned and made his way off down the passageway.
At this rate, he may well be, Icis thought, watching him leave. Then a thought hit him. “Leader of Black Ops,” he mused. He turned back to Xar. "Wasn't he an Initiate last week?"
The man shrugged. "I guess everyone's advancing fast now. Desperate times, my friend." He gestured down the hallway the same way they'd been heading before and gave a mirthless grin. "Shall we be going now, before the Emperor himself shows up?"
In the Palace’s elaborate main hangar, on the metal walkway hanging from the ceiling, Maarek Stele walked around his beautiful TIE Avatar Wildfire, running a hand along its port solar panel. He caressed the cool armored hull that would soon see the cold vacuum of space. His elite unit, Inferno Squadron, was ready for flight. He was still a bit in awe that he'd received his request: his own personal squadron, which he had full control over, not tied down to any one ship or fleet. He chose the pilots, trained them, and decided - at least in theory - what missions or campaigns to devote his squadron toward. In the end, of course, he was still under the direct command for the NI Advisory Council and the Diktat, but having his lifelong dream finally fulfilled gave him an exhilarating feeling. The last time he'd commanded a squadron had been shortly after the Battle of Endor, under Grand Admiral Thrawn, and under Imperial restrictions. Those were now gone, he realized, unable to hide a smile.
He stood back from his ship, taking in the line of fighters hanging from the scaffolding docks. Unlike most TIEs, the Avatars had landing gear of their own, and didn’t have to be launched from a special holding rack, but they had that ability as well. And what a ship it was, he remarked. Maarek still admired the sleek next-generation vessel, even after months of flying the new design. The body was smooth and aerodynamic, somewhat like a flattened Assault Gunboat hull. The solar panels on either side were identical to that of the TIE Advanced (known as the Avenger these days), only these were turned outward. The ball cockpit so common in the TIE design was gone, replaced instead with a modified missile boat cockpit, which offered a superior view to all sides. Comparable with the TIE Defender in almost every respect, except it's cheaper price, the Avatar was a formidable fighter that Maarek believed could become the mainstay of the NI Starfleet. The ship incorporated many new technologies and advancements in miniaturization. An improved onboard AI computer and targeting system, the next line of Twin Ion Engines, and improvements in hull strength and shielding were all prime features. The ship held four wingtip-mounted, upgraded laser cannons and two ion cannons beneath the cockpit itself. Two advanced missile launchers on either side of the cockpit, and a special missile rack on the top of the hull, carrying five advanced torpedoes or heavy rockets, all combined to give the Avatar tremendous firepower at its disposal, as well. There was even room for a beam weapon option to be installed. All in all, he was very pleased with the new ship class.
Hearing the clank of footsteps on the racks behind him, he turned to see the rest of his new squadron emerge from the entrance, garbed in the new NI pilot uniforms. These suits, while similar in appearance to the standard TIE Pilot Uniform, were much more advanced. Made of sturdier, lighter fabric, the suits were much less bulky, allowing a person their full range of motion. The gloves and boots were no thicker than those that might be worn on a cold day on Varnus. Finally the control panel on the front was gone, as the sleeker, lighter pilot's helmet now plugged into a socket in the fighter itself. Since their cockpits had atmosphere now, as with most NI fighters, more comfortable designs like this were available. The suits themselves were the dark, NI-standard gray, with the NI symbol emblazoned on the shoulder pads and helmet.
As might be expected, his squadron was a motley-looking group, since he'd scoured the entire sector searching for the best, most trustworthy pilots. Maarek had never had the privilege to command a finer group than elite Inferno Squadron. Out of countless candidates over the year it'd taken him to assemble the full unit, these were the best of the best. Some were experienced NI pilots, while others were naturals he'd found and trained. Most of them had already seen combat against the Altarin'Dakor, when they'd had to flee and then retake Varnus from the enemy. Now, he knew their next trial would be all too soon.
Though most of the dozen were humans, that didn't matter to him. Three of the pilots were from Varnus itself. Rann Wosper was Inferno Two. Of medium height, and slim, he was the perfect size for a pilot. He was also the prankster of the group (it seemed all squadrons needed at least one), and had the habit of always brushing back his blonde hair that kept standing straight up. Inferno Five, Bast Vlagen, was actually his first find. Already an accomplished Imperial ace, then NI pilot, the 38-year-old, dark-skinned veteran was often the squadron's rock of stability and confidence. His tried and true tactics and experience had proven invaluable in helping Maarek assemble the rest of the unit. Bast held a lot of respect for Maarek, due to his fame as an Imperial pilot, and held no ill feelings because Maarek had left the Empire to rescue his father Kerek. Because of his experience, he was the second of Maarek's two flight leaders.
The final Varnusan was Petur Kien, a young man Maarek had chanced upon with immense, yet innate, piloting skills. It truly seemed that Varnus was a breeding ground for pilots and Jedi. Perhaps it was a tribute to the hardiness of the people themselves, though Maarek didn't know if that was true. Petur might have been his best pilot, second only to Maarek himself, but the young man lacked experience and judgement that could only come with time. When that time came, Maarek knew that he would have more than a match in him. A strong friend and loyal wingman, Petur occupied Inferno Ten.
The rest of the pilots were just as diverse and unique. Inferno Three was Tanya Vinikoro, a tall, pale-skinned woman with short dark hair. A former Vast Empire pilot, she had served with that fleet since it's retreat from Byss, until volunteering for Maarek's elite squadron. With nerves of quadranium and an eye that could take out a womprat at a thousand meters, she was a stable addition to his flight. The last member of the flight, Inferno Four, was actually a Sigman, known to themselves as the Kaav'Klan. The bipedal, insectile inhabitants of Sigma Prime were amiable, fun-loving allies of the NI. Kikitik, as he was named, had a custom Avatar cockpit and communicated via translator. Astonishingly, yet not unexpectedly due to the comical habits of the Sigmans, Kikitik often hung out with the other resident prankster, Rann Wosper.
Flight Two was led by Bast, Inferno Five. Six was Salle Dara, a former DLSF pilot and native of Kolath, its base of operations. She was a good-natured and skilled member of the squad. Seven was a man named Gren Pabos. Gren was one of the Renastasian refugees who had taken shelter on Ravick in the Moro System. House Vortigern of the SoH had taken in the refugees in, and they now were eager to give something back to the NI. Gren was one probably the best Renastasian pilot they'd found. Eight was Kei Nomos, a red-headed woman from Laan, the habitable planet in the Talas System. Maarek had discovered her incredible piloting skills after she’d successively won the flying tournaments on Laan. The competitions were to navigate the treacherous, craggy ravines that most of the planet’s surface was covered with. It was a tournament that many pilots did not survive. The canyons were an excellent training grounds, and Nomos had proven her worth in winning the tournaments.
Flight Three was led by a Sullustian named Vlini Makor. The alien was a former Imperial defector who had served with the New Republic until after the Battle of Endor. Leaving a couple years later due to increasing deficiency in the New Republic government, he made his way to the NI, bringing his experience to the squadron as its second oldest member. His wingman was Petur Kien, occupying the tenth slot. Eleven and Twelve were currently on Tralaria, where Maarek's squad would catch up next. Juor Nace, a Correllian, and Macin Isabi, a Twi'Lek male, were members of the NI Starfleet who had most recently been chosen for the squad.
Maarek ascended the sunken pit ladder to meet them as they formed a loose group at the top of the rack ready area. As he approached, the squadron snapped to a respectful, yet informal attention. Ronn even gave him a sarcastically overemphasized salute. Maarek had done his best to facilitate relations and comfort between members so that they might work better with one another. Of course, that meant if anything ever happened to one of them, the others would feel the loss that much more sharply. But that wasn't something he intended to let happen. He nodded to his subordinates.
"Everyone ready to depart?" His words were met with a series of affirmations. Since most of their personal belongings would remain on Varnus, and the more necessary items were already onboard the Transport in orbit and would follow them wherever they went, the squadron was ready to lift off.
"All right then," he said. "Get to your fighters and run through the pre-flight sequence. We take off in five minutes."
As his squadron broke up toward their individual fighters, Maarek turned around and descended the ladder once more. He moved over beside the cockpit; thirty meters below, the deck was clearing of personnel. Walking across the link, he stepped into the deep cockpit and settled down into the dark, plush seat. The cockpit canopy fell down overtop him and sealed, cutting off all sounds except the whirs and beeps of his instrument panel and the humming purr of his engines. The flight check and warm-up ran as he gently took hold of the flight controls, feeling the awesome power of the ship vibrating through him. There was no feeling like that of sitting inside the cockpit of a fighter, a ship that could do almost anything at his command. When he opened his eyes again, not realizing he'd closed them, he could see the Heads-Up-Display painted onto the canopy glass, and beyond that, the open-air exit of the hangar itself.
"All ships, report in," he ordered into the commlink. Within seconds, the other pilots responded that they were ready to go. Then, with final clearance from Palace Control, he activated the lock controls, and the ship suddenly plunged downward like a rock.
But then, ten meters off the ground, his repulsorlifts kicked in, holding him steady above the gray and tan deck. Then, with a rush of nostalgia, he pushed the controls forward, and his TIE Avatar shot forward with such acceleration that it slammed him back against his seat. The tunnel toward the hangar exit sped forward at a blur, the light at the end growing larger, larger…
And suddenly his ship shot out into the air, blasting its way overtop roofs and courtyards. He pulled back on the stick, watching as the skyscrapers not far off fell beneath him, to be replaced by a gorgeously blue sky punctuated with lacy white clouds.
He brought the fighter around in time to see several of his squad mates burst out of the hanger entrance, then brought the controls back and pulled a slow, lazy loop around the Palace's central spire and the observation lounge at the summit. To think that just a few hours ago he'd been in there, ground-ridden, forced to trudge his way up and down using a lift… Now he could fly its length in less than a second. Nothing could compare to such a sense of freedom and power. Outside a fighter, life was nothing.
He rose into the sky quickly, the massive city fading into a mass of gray surrounded by splotches of tan and green. The Wild Fire passed through the icy clouds, slowly rising as he allowing his squadron to catch up. Soon, all ten fighters were established in a delta formation, cleanly slicing their way through the stratosphere. On his command, they pulled upward, pushing the throttle to the maximum as they burned for orbit. Ahead, outside his canopy, the blue sky began to fade away, replaced by the black background of space.
Within moments, the squadron had left atmosphere, rising away from the serene blue-green planet of Varnus. Maarek led the squad to the standard waypoint for traffic, where the white hull of the Modified ISD-II Stormwatch, newly repaired from damage during the Battle of Varnus, and the dark shape that was the Dungeon Ship Lord Keto, both were rested, suspended in space. After the loss of every orbital installation and satellite, including the system’s space platforms and two Golan-III Defense Platforms, the remaining SoH capital ships were all that was left to protect the homeworld. Though such a meager force would be insignificant if the Altarin'Dakor decided to strike again, it was enough to dissuade any pirates that might be seeking an easy target in the convoys that were helping to re-supply Varnus after the earlier attack. Thanks to VE escort, the convoys had made it to Varnus safely; the SoH ships would keep them there.
Turning away from the pointed white dagger shape of the Stormwatch, Maarek set course for their charted hyperspace waypoint and locked in their flight path. Moments later he received the proper clearance from Varnus command, and his squadron was ready to go. “All flights,” he spoke up. “Confirm course trajectory and sync in with my navicomputer.”
“Five here,” Bast answered. “Flight two locked in and ready to go.”
“This is nine, Flight Three is set on your coordinates,” Vlini chimed in.
Maarek nodded. “All right then. Course set; hyperspace in ten seconds.”
As the timer ran down, Maarek took one last long gaze at the pristine blue-green world that was Varnus. He knew it might be a while before he returned. If so, he wanted to burn the image into his mind, of a place that he could call home after years of running. Whatever happened, he knew now that he was in the right place. This was where he was meant to be.
The stars stretched into starlines, and together the ten TIE Avatars shot into the endless swirling sky of hyperspace. Toward the NI Capital. Toward history that would soon be made.
Icis followed Xar through the deeper levels of the palace, which was saw a bit more traffic than the outside. Especially Jedi. And there was a distinctly different atmosphere as they made their way to Sauron’s office. Obviously, the new training methods being placed upon them, coupled with the threat of invasion constantly bearing down upon them, had changed the feelings between the different Jedi. And between the Jedi and the Grand Master. As he looked at their faces as they passed, Icis could see something different in their eyes. Ever since the new program had been installed, since the focus was on combat and the acquisition of power, the Jedi looked at Xar and the others a bit differently. Some of the respect was missing, ever since Sauron had come back from his capture. Ever since he’d changed. These new Jedi were being trained to use their powers, but without the intense self-control that was needed. This made them, as Sauron himself pointed out, little more than living weapons. Weapons to be used against the Altarin’Dakor. To be sent forward to die, and the survivors would be made stronger by that use. Now some of the other Jedi, especially those newly raised to Knight or better, held in their gaze something different. Almost disdain. Almost… rivalry. Icis wondered… Could this be the right way? Were they working to save the SoH… or destroy it?
His pondering was interrupted - and his fears confirmed - as they came upon two Jedi Knights, newly raised by their insignia, arguing in the middle of the corridor. Whether by chance, or some twist of fate, his worries were being manifested, and Sauron was right there to see it happen. This wasn’t going to be good.
The two young men, probably in their early twenties, were too engaged in their argument to notice the two onlookers. Icis and Sauron stopped to wait it out and see what would happen.
“I told you,” the mid-sized, dark-haired man addressed his blonde companion. “That simulation was fixed! There’s no way I could have made it because it was set up!”
“That’s a load of crap, and you know it,” the other man responded angrily. “The warden in charge settled the matter already. You’re just whining like a stupid loser!”
“Loser, eh?” the other man responded coldly. Suddenly his lightsaber hilt was in his hand, and he shook it at the blonde man’s face threateningly. “Be careful how you address me. I’ll prove the matter right now, if I have to. From now on I…” His words were broken off into a cry as, in one motion, Sauron snatched the weapon out of his hand and slammed a fist across his face that send the man reeling. He hit the floor sliding, then slowly turned over and stood up wild-eyed, ready to fight. His gaze diminished only slightly as he saw who it was that had hit him. “Who the…”
“You fool!” Sauron stopped him. For all the anger in the younger Knight’s expression, it was nothing compared to the mask of rage covering Sauron’s face. He clenched the man’s saber in his right hand, shaking it. “Never draw this thing unless you intend to use it!!!” he practically screamed. Then, with a grunt of anger and frustration, he hurled the weapon away. The cylindrical object flew down the corridor, colliding somewhere down the tunnel with an audible crash.
“My lightsaber!” the Jedi yelled in dismay, reaching futilely after the weapon. Then he turned to Sauron, his expression full of hurt and anger. But Sauron was standing there, wide-eyed, daring the younger man to take him on. Wisely, the Jedi seemed to take the idea and slid back to a sitting position against the wall. “You don’t know what that means to me,” he said softly.
Xar gave a short laugh that was devoid of any amusement. “What garbage. Besides, you care nothing for it. If you did, you would never use it with such carelessness and ill-restraint. You don’t deserve to be called Jedi.” He turned to the other man, who was still standing up against the wall, and gave him a dark look as well. Seeing nothing left to challenge him, Sauron turned away and strode purposefully down the corridor. As the young Jedi tried to gather themselves together, the dark-haired man nursing his jaw, Icis passed them quietly and followed the Grand Master.
He caught up with the man a few moments later, matching Sauron’s broad strides across the stone-tiled floor. “I can’t believe what almost happened,” he remarked.
“I should have kicked that moron out right then,” Xar answered. “This training is not working… The Jedi are too hostile, too immature.” He shook his head quickly. “My plan isn’t going to work. We’re not going to beat the AD, we’ll destroy ourselves first.”
Icis opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find anything that would sound comforting to say. In a way, Sauron was right. But the fault wasn’t all his. His motives were pure; he wanted to defeat the Altarin’Dakor. And unless something could be done, something to make their own Jedi stronger and learn faster, they wouldn’t stand a fraction of a chance.
When they finally reached the door to the office, Sauron led them inside, shutting the door behind and activating the room’s full lighting. He started to make his way toward the large wooden desk, but halfway across the room, he stopped, standing in the middle of the carpeted rug. He paused there for several seconds, his head down. Icis could tell he was thinking. Whatever it was the man wanted to discuss, it must be important. A tingle of anxiety crawled its way up his spine, as if he could sense some bad news coming on. Finally he heard Sauron whisper, “That’s it…” Then, suddenly, he turned around to face Icis, his eyes full of resoluteness.
“Icis, I’ve made a decision. This is something I feel I must tell you; you’re the first person who’ll know. This job and its rigors have begun to really grate on me. I don’t see the point in such meticulous tasks that accomplish nothing. My methods have failed, and I’m no good to the SoH as a leader anymore. I’ve begun to lose interest, and more often there’s only one thing that my mind keeps coming back to. And I can push it aside no longer…” He paused, as if struggling with his decision one last time. Then, with a long sigh, he let it out. “I’m leaving to look for Zalaria.”
As the man’s words came out, they didn’t make sense at first. For an instant Icis wondered if he’d really understood the man correctly. But when he saw the man’s dead-serious expression, the words rang home, and he felt like he’d been hit between the eyes with a blaster at point-blank range. When it hit him, he must have jumped as if he’d seen Malduke alive and standing in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first nothing could come out but stutters. “Wha… What did you say? You can’t be serious!”
“I am, Icis. I can’t deny my feelings any longer. If I don’t find her, see her again, it’s going to kill me.”
“But she’s evil, Xar!” Icis found himself saying, the words coming out of their own accord. “Don’t you know that? She’s one of THEM!!”
“I know that!” Xar snapped back. “Or at least, I know that’s what you’ve told me. But you didn’t see her before, you don’t know what I feel through my bond with her. So stop feeding me that!”
“I can only tell you the truth,” Icis countered. “I have seen her, long before you were born, long before this invasion. I was in their galaxy. Would you like specific details? Want to know how many innocent people she’s killed?”
“No!” Xar yelled. “I don’t!” He threw his hands up, giving an exasperated sound as he turned and moved over beside his desk. “I don’t know what to think, Icis. All I know is that ever fiber of my being is pulling me towards her. I can’t deny that, and I can’t explain it, any more than I could explain breathing.”
“It’s the bond, Xar,” Icis rationalized, moving toward him. He was beginning to think more clearly now, though this was something he hadn’t expected - and had hoped would never occur. “It’s not genuine love, it’s infatuation. She controls your bond, so you feel yourself drawn to her whim.”
“Maybe, but I can’t ignore it.” He sighed, and for a moment the two stood there, in silence.
Finally, Sauron spoke up again, softly. “You know,” he said, “I caught the bouquet at Thrakus’ wedding. Somehow, I knew I was going to be the next person who would fall in love, who would find the person they wanted to spend the rest of their life with. I always knew she was waiting for me. And now I think I’ve found her. How can I not do something about that?”
He’s talking like a child, Icis thought. What has driven him to this? Why didn’t I see it coming? With a flash of irony, he realized it was probably because he was so sure that Sauron was the one, he’d looked for nothing else. “But Xar,” Icis protested. “Surely you can’t feel that way about Zalaria. You hardly know her. If you’re feeling empty, lonely, there are other people out there. What about you former fiancee, Gwenllian?”
Sauron turned to look at him darkly. “Gwen’s in a mental hospital, Icis. She doesn’t even know who I am. Every day she prays to Kronos to release her from her prison here. My future with Gwen has been over for a long time. I realized that even before I saw her alive again.”
“I’m sorry, Xar,” Icis admitted, trying to understand what the man was feeling. “I didn’t know it was like that. But surely you can’t believe that you and Zalaria were meant to be together. If she wasn’t Immortal, you’d be separated by a thousand generations. How can you explain that?”
“Maybe it’s destiny,” Sauron shrugged, ignoring Icis’ incredulous looks. “But I can feel her, through our bond. I know her better than I could ever know anyone else. That’s what being a Jedi means. We’re tied together. Bonded. It’s meant to be.”
Icis could tell the man’s mind was made up. Perhaps more firmly than he’d ever seen it. He was willing to fight over this, as much as necessary. And their argument was just driving a wedge between them. But he couldn’t stop. Not when he knew the truth. “There’s nothing I can do to stop you from this, is there?”
“No, Icis, I’m afraid not. I have to find her, or die trying. Nothing else matters to me here.”
“What about the Altarin’Dakor?”
Xar shook his head. “There’s no way we could win as it is. My influence wouldn’t alter the outcome. Maybe this will help, it’s better than nothing. I’m no good to the NI as I am.”
“That’s not true! Listen to me. If you go looking for her, if you venture into their space, you will die. There’s no doubt about that. Even the chances of your making it to her are almost nothing. And what could happen if you did might be even worse. I can’t deny it, Xar. She’s a ruthless butcher. I’ve seen a lot of evil minds, a lot of killers and psychopaths in my time, believe me. And she ranks right up there with the best of them.”
“I didn’t see any evidence of that when I was with her,” Xar said in a soft tone. “Nor have I felt it through the bond. Even if she was like that once, I don’t believe it anymore.”
“People don’t change, Xar. Not easily, and it usually takes a long time or a life-altering event. But she’s been this way for thousands of years. And even if she had, would you willingly go to her, knowing what she once was?”
“I can’t say that,” Xar answered, a frustrated look on his face. “Not before seeing her. You said it: what she did was a long time ago, millennia. The times back then were different. The culture she is in is completely different.”
Icis shook his head adamantly. “No way. That’s just wishful thinking. This isn’t the same.” He paused, trying to form words to describe what he was feeling, so that he could somehow show Xar how horrible the Altarin’Dakor truly were. Xar was stubborn, all right, as stubborn as a Varnusan could be. But he didn’t believe that he would throw everything away to succumb to the power of the Lady of the Night. He’d always thought the man stronger than that.
“How many people have you killed?” Sauron asked suddenly. “Or me? Or any of us?”
“Look.” Icis moved over to grip the back of one of the office chairs, staring into the flame of a glowlamp. “I’ve made mistakes in my life, and I’ve had to live with them. But I’m telling you, this is different.”
He looked back at the other man, hearing a cynical laugh. “What are you talking about, man.”
“Because…” Icis began, his voice going cold in the simplicity of his thoughts. His mind raced back to another time, another place. “She loved it. Because… she took pleasure in killing.” Thoughts wanted to well up inside of him, of times that he’d taken pleasure in killing, too. But he wasn’t about to tell Xar that. He had to dissuade the man somehow, or all was lost. But there’s no way this time…
“You may be right, but that’s something I’m going to have to find out on my own,” Sauron said, affirming his thoughts. “I’m sorry.”
Icis pressed his grip into the back of the chair, but he could contain his anger no longer. “Fine. Do what you want to, then… That’s just great! So I’ve lost you, too, now. You’re as good as dead, and I’ve failed again. My whole purpose, everything I’ve sacrificed, is for nothing. There’s little for me to do but find some hole to hide in while the Altarin’Dakor wipe out everything.” He sighed, feeling all the frustrations that had built within him surfacing now. What did it matter, all hope was lost, now...
He turned to look at Xar, not bothering to hide his expression, and continued. “If you want to abandon everything you love and believe in for this woman, go on. Blast it, I should have known. This makes two failed hopefuls, two people that I was drawn to, that I believed could actually stop the return of the Altarin’Dakor. But I’ve lost you, too.” Unable to contain his disgust and anger at such a foolish human, he turned around and stormed toward the entrance, the chair falling over behind him. As he reached the door and pushed it open, he turned back to look at the man he’d called a friend.
“Just one more thing,” he said, his voice lowering to a serious tone. “Assuming you reach her alive, and go to her, I just want you to know…” He paused, sad to say the words that he knew were true. “You won’t want to come back, Xar. You can say this is for the good of the NI now, but once you’re there, all of it won’t matter one bit. The NI and everyone in it - no, the whole galaxy - can burn, for all you’ll care. You’ll just want to stay there, with Zalaria, forever. And nothing else will matter. Nothing.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Xar to his own. Icis had finally realized, now, that for all his knowledge and power, he couldn’t change the mind of someone, not really. But with Sauron abandoned to an almost certain death, there was nothing left in the NI for Icis Novitaar. It was time for him to be going as well…
Attrid Xoan, Jedi Crusader, sat up in his quarters as he heard the chime to his door sound. “Just a minute,” he called out in his deep, ringing voice. Tossing the magazine aside, he swung his feet off the couch and reached out for his shirt. His dark-skinned torso was well-muscled, and he was still sore from his last, intense training session. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a closely-shaved head and a thin black mustache and goatee. His impressive form was enhanced by a relatively recent addition: his right arm was completely mechanical from the shoulder down, cut away in an intense battle only a few months before. The artificial limb didn’t hold skin; instead he’s opted to leave the metal casing show through. The arm itself felt almost normal; the medical facilities on Varnus were first class. Doctor Vannik, in charge of the infirmary, had treated him well. The absence of cosmetic effect of skin didn’t decrease his feeling in the arm; he knew that either way, it was simply a series of signals sent through the nerves to his brain.
Taking the unbuttoned, short-sleeved shirt, he slipped his mechanical arm through first, then eased his left in. He pulled it on firmly, but left it unbuttoned as he rose and made his way toward the door.
He was completely surprised when, as the door slid open, he saw Rynn Mariel standing there, practically in tears. He could see where she’d been crying, the steaks running down her cheeks. He’d never seen her this shaken up before. “Rynn!” he said, leaning his head to see if anyone was in the corridor behind her. “What’s wrong?”
“Sir…” she started, then shook her head as if trying to compose herself. “I just came here… You were my mentor, I thought you’d be able to help…”
“Okay, it’s okay,” he soothed. “Come on in.”
He turned and walked back into the room, Rynn following him. His quarters were large, as many of the Jedi rooms were, complete with a sitting area and separate bedroom, refresher, and study area. His own quarters were at the side of the palace where it sloped down like a pyramid, facing the west side. As such, he had a long window the length of the far wall, through with sunlight bathed the room slightly in orange light.
“You want a drink?” he asked, moving towards one of the wooden cabinets. “Looks like you could use one.”
“Sure,” she said, coming to at a stop quietly in the center of the room.
“Brandy?”
“Fine.”
He opened the cabinet, taking out the proper flask, and poured two glass cups of the brown liquid. Then, putting everything back, he took the glasses and walked back towards her, offering her one of them.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the glass and a sip of the drink. “I think I did need it.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked, holding his glass lightly in hand.
“Yeah…” she answered, taking a moment longer before speaking. Finally, she gave a sigh. “I had an argument with the Grand Master.”
Xoan’s eyes widened as he listened to her relate the story. To think that she’d actually slapped him… But then, judging from the circumstances, he was inclined to agree with her action.
“He told me I could leave,” she said, the pain in her voice obvious. “That’s all I mean to him. I’m nothing but a tool, completely expendable.”
“That’s not true,” he said, feeling the firmness building in his tone. “You aren’t going anywhere. This is where you belong.”
“I thought that,” she admitted softly. “Now I’m not so sure. This isn’t what I’d pictured at all. At first, he seemed to be so admirable and good-willed. He was everything I’d pictured a Jedi Master to be: wise, powerful, unrelenting. His strength was what spurred me on. But now… He’s changing. Gotten worse ever since his rescue. What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “We can’t imagine what he went though… He was actually killed, so I’ve heard, or was at least legally dead for a while. Something like that… It can change a man, Rynn. ”
“So what can we do?” she asked. “He seems to have lost all sense of restraint. Everything he does focuses around the threat of this… Altarin’Dakor,” she said, struggling over the strange word.
He looked around the room, his mind wondering why the whole galaxy seemed to be going wrong all of a sudden. “Look, I don’t pretend to know what it is we’re up against here. But I’ve seen what they did to us last time, and it wasn’t pretty. I don’t know if this new training is doing any good or not..” He paused, thinking about Sauron’s words toward Rynn that she had related to him. “But you’re right,” he said resolutely. “We’ve got to do something about it. We can’t let things stay like this, or the whole SoH’s going to fall apart.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “We’ve got to bring the old Sauron back, somehow. So what do we do?”
His reply was cut off as a shrill alarm broke out over his commlink on the table. Moving over toward it, he set his glass down and brought his commlink up to his ear, listening. When he brought it back down, he turned to look at Rynn, who stared at him expectantly. “We’ve got a problem,” he said.
Gui Sun Paan made his way cautiously through the VIP hangar bay, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. No one else was present; nevertheless, he slipped around the side of a small transport carefully on his way to where he knew the Grand Master was. He moved up between two more ships finally coming up to the private shuttle where Sauron himself was stuffing supplies into one of the container holds. Surprisingly, the man hadn’t noticed his approach. Moving forward tentatively, he called out, “Grand Master?”
“Ouch!!” Sauron yelled as he jumped in surprise, banging his head on the inside of the compartment. He pulled himself out spun around, barely holding back a furious glance. “Gui Sun… How’d you know I was here?”
“Strange things have been going on today,” Gui Sun replied. “I’ve heard how bad things are getting. Already some rumors are spreading. I wanted to follow you and see if everything was okay…” He stopped, looking around at the GM’s bags and boxes of supplies. But now, it was obvious what Sauron was doing. He was leaving, and from the supplies gathered, he might be gone a long time.
“There’s no need,” Sauron said. “I’m fine. In fact, you won’t have to worry about me any more.”
What does that mean? Gui Sun wondered. Could he not be planning on coming back? “You’re going somewhere, master. I want to go with you,” he said sincerely.
Sauron shook his head. “You don’t want to follow me where I’m going, Gui Sun.”
“But…” he began.
“I don’t want to risk any more lives,” the man replied flatly.
“Sir, if it’s too dangerous, then that’s why I should go. To help you out. And why don’t we take the Black Star? It’s much more suited for infiltration…”
Shaking his head again, Sauron resumed his loading of the shuttle. “In this mission, fewer members means less risk. And I can’t take the Black Star. It’d be recognized.” Stuffing the last bag up into the hold, he threw the hatch closed and turned back to the young Crusader. “I know you want to go with me,” he acknowledged. “I’m glad that you’re one of the few loyal members left. But I’ve got to go alone. You have to stay here,” he said, putting a hand on Gui Sun’s shoulder. “You have to lead Black Ops. This will be an important job. You can’t abandon your duty in order to help me.”
“I… understand,” Gui Sun replied. Then, the two men exchanged nods, and Gui Sun obediently made his way back toward the entrance. As he left, he heard Sauron call out behind him.
“You didn’t see me here,” he said. As Gui Sun turned around, he saw the GM striding up the shuttle’s entry ramp, shaking his head slowly. Wherever he was going, it put a sick feeling in the Crusader’s stomach. As he watched Sauron ascend the ramp into the ship, he wondered if it would be the last time he’d ever see him…
On the other side of the palace, in a lower, more commonplace hangar, Icis Novitaar toted his bags toward his personal, black-painted X-Wing, Traveler. Of course, all his ships had been named Traveler, but this was one of his favorites so far. He made his way up to the ship, noting with satisfaction that it hadn’t been tampered with. If it had been, special alarms would have noted him. Thankfully, that ever unctuous engineer, Thad Balfin, was gone, presumably to Jengar. In the battle of Varnus, Icis had tried to flee towards Jengar, only to find that Balfin had tampered with his hyperdrive. Trying to rectify the problem, Balfin had jumped past him, while Icis had stayed behind, trapped. Icis had had to fix the thing by himself; now he hoped it would work.
Securing what meager belongings he could within the X-Wing’s storage compartment, he climbed in and started the launch sequence. Moments later, his ship was ready, and as he lifted off on his repulsorlifts, he took one last look at the interior of the palace, shaking his head sadly. To think that so much hope could be scattered so quickly. It was truly, truly sad that the NI was going to die. He’d rather liked it. In fact, after millennia of roaming across the reaches of space, he thought that he’d finally found a new home. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Outside, in the cold atmosphere of Varnus, two ships exited the palace from different directions. Each made its way for orbit, forgoing the normal flight plan and course confirmations, heading out its own path. Once outside the atmosphere, the Lambda-class shuttle turned away from the world, toward the beautiful purple Galbagos Nebula, setting its course for the galactic rim. On the other side, a black X-Wing turned coreward, in the general direction of Jengar. It passed the ISD Stormwatch and the space dock that was being rebuilt without any word. If any wondered at its occupant and course, they remained silent.
Moments later, both ships shot off hyperspace with a flash, each going their own way, toward their own destiny. And remaining silently, in the stillness of the void, was a pristine blue world, unknowing of its greater destiny in the history of this galaxy… and others.
The incessant beeping of his computer finally brought Chancellor Alex “Vampire” Misner awake. Rubbing his eyes and muttering under his breath, he got up and moved over to sit on the side of the bed. One look at the small computer screen on the desk beside him showed the source of the noise: a high-priority message was waiting for him. The chronometer reading showed 0440.
“Who in the blazes would call me at this hour?” he wondered with a scowl.
Reluctantly, he brought up the message text display, entering his proper identification code. The message displayed itself on the screen:
Time-delay Message
From: Xar
To: Alex
Alex, by the time you read this, I’ll be long gone. I wanted to let you know first, but late enough so you won’t be able to stop me. I can’t stay here any longer. The longer I remain, the more I think about her. I’m going go find Zalaria, whatever the cost. I’m leaving you in charge; Mathis will help you. Consider this an official promotion. Whether or not I make it back, you’re the Grand Master now. I wish you the best of luck.
Sorry that this is such short notice. Unfortunately, Icis is gone, also. He lost it when he heard the news. Do whatever you deem necessary to prepare the SoH for the invasion.
Thank you for being such a good friend these years. Ever since we first met as flight members in the EH, our friendship hasn’t been broken. You’ve been the most loyal member and protégé I could ever want. I’m sorry it had to come to this. I’ll never forget you or the SoH. I’ve sent others private messages, as well. The SoH is yours now. I know you’ll make the best of it. Goodbye.
Your friend,
Xar
“Again… not again…”
Before he even finished reading, Vampire’s hand was tapping in the number for DGM Billbob’s private quarters, a yell already emanating from his lips….
“MATHIS!!!!!”
Outside the office, if anyone had been present to hear it, they would have heard the man’s scream…
Part One: Leave-takings
Observation Lounge
Royal Palace, Vectur
Planet Varnus
1100 Hours
Maarek Stele - former Imperial General and hero, outlaw, Wing Commander of the SoH space force, and now Commander in the NI Starfleet - took one last swallow of his ale and set it down next to his half-empty plate. Rising from the table, he retrieved the sheet of flimsy that held his bill and made his way toward the counter to pay. Most of the other tables around weren't occupied at this time of day. The cozy, post-modern restaurant, which had been established at the very top of the new spire that projected from the top of the palace, was encased in floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a supreme view of the capital city, the deep blue sky, and the surrounding Varnusan landscape. Jutting an entire kilometer above the top of the Royal Palace, and located almost in the exact center of the city, it was definitely one of the most prominent objects to be seen.
As he reached the check-out counter, he tossed the bill onto the table and waited as the lady brought up the charge. When he saw the price on the ticket, his eyes widened in surprise. "Hey, come on," he protested. "That's ridiculous."
The lady looked at him blandly. "They have to pay for this new thing somehow you know."
"But this is my going-away meal," he pleaded. "I'm about to leave."
"You won't be back? That's the best news I've heard all day," she said with a cynical smile.
Maarek shook his head with a sigh, mumbling as he searched his pockets for the correct change. "Jeez, you'd think a guy's reputation would mean something around here…" Tossing the credits onto the counter, he turned to leave. "Xar might get to eat here free, but I don't even get a discount. The food stinks here anyway."
"Good riddance," he heard her call after him. Ignoring her, he walked over to the turbolift and got in, setting the controls back down to the ground levels of the palace.
The glass-encased turbolift descended, running down the side of the new tower, and as it passed down into open air he was suddenly plunged into a superb view of the capital city of Vectur. Immediately surrounding the palace itself was the financial district, consisting of massively tall skyscrapers and large city squares. The tan and gray buildings of the city stretched off almost as far as he could see, creating a vista that looked almost like a miniature version of Coruscant.
His view was obscured as the lift went down through the palace itself, finally dropping him off in the center of the palace. He stepped out into the main concourse, second level. In the center of the massive room was the Royal Varnusan Symbol, a large white starburst encased in a right triangle. The rest of the floor was white tiled marble, with a sloping double-staircase that led up to the second level, which formed a ring around the first. The main concourse was always bustling with activity, with being of every race, status, and position imaginable. Jedi strode about in their full arrogant pomposity. Novices scurried quickly by, rushing to deliver their messages or perform services for higher ranked members. Workers and citizens made their way on a myriad of unknowable tasks. There were even a few tourists taking a guided excursion through the main chamber.
Walking around the railed balcony, Maarek descended the staircase and crossed the seal on his way to his next destination. He'd almost entered one of the branching corridors when he heard someone call his name from behind. He turned around, seeing a middle-aged man striding purposefully toward him. As he neared, the man slowed and gave a broad grin. "Hello Maarek. How have you been?"
"Jack Railler," Maarek said, returning the grin. "I'm good. And you?"
"Same as always," Jack replied and shrug. Maarek knew the man from a recent mission they'd gone on together. Railler was from the planet Haven in the Satyr system, or at least he was living there when the Altarin'Dakor had unexpectedly swept into the system. He'd escaped during the planet's subjugation, and managed to arrive at Varnus and warn the NI of the impending doom of the system. It was too later to save the system, but Jack had managed to help a few find shelter so they could be rescued. After Varnus had been recaptured from Altarin'Dakor forces, Railler wanted to go rescue the survivors, and had asked Maarek to accompany him. Together, they'd taken a shuttle to Haven and recovered a woman and her son, along with a few others, and brought them back to Varnus for asylum. The refugees had made a new, if temporary, home in the palace, and Railler had stayed on as well. Jack said he wanted to remain and help out however he could in the coming conflict against the Altarin'Dakor.
"So," Jack spoke up. "I hear you're leaving. Is that right?"
Maarek nodded an affirmative. "Yes, I've been given command of my own squadron in the NI fleet. Not that I didn't enjoy being here, but I'm just not suited for a desk job. I've got to be out there, in the action."
The older man smiled and placed a hand on Maarek's shoulder. "I know how you feel. I was the same way." Despite the man's warm expression, there was something in his eyes that seemed to go cold at those recalled memories. Jack had never really opened up about his past, as if he were trying to forget and high from it. "Besides," he added, "I think someone with your talents would be more good in that kind of a role."
Maarek shrugged. "I'm heading to Sauron's office now, to get everything squared away. Of course, I'll be back here on Varnus from time to time, working with the SoH forces." He took a moment to look around, taking in the view of the main concourse, and the Varnusan architecture. "Something about this place has really grown on me. It was home to me when I felt I didn't have a home anymore." He gave a cynical half-grin. "Now I realize that my true home is out there, in space, where it's always been."
"You'll be missed, but you'll always have a temporary place here on this huge island in space," Railler smiled. Then his expression turned serious. "Don't get killed out there. Something really big is brewing. I think you can handle yourself, as long as you keep your cool and don't try anything stupid. Keep your friends close, they're what'll keep you alive."
Maarek nodded, a bit marveled at how Railler could speak as if he knew him so well. "I will. Goodbye, Jack."
"Farewell, Commander," Jack said, giving a mock salute. Then he turned away and continued across the concourse.
Maarek steeled his nerves, wondering what Sauron was going to say. His close friend, past and present, seemed to have changed after his abduction by the Altarin'Dakor. Though he'd come back on fire against the AD, he seemed more and more distracted every day. There really wasn't any way to tell how he'd react. Only one way to find out, I guess, Maarek thought. Turning back down the corridor, he started toward the Grand Master's office.
"Enter," Sauron replied to the knock at his office door. Tossing the report he'd been looking at onto the table, he leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Why am I sitting here doing this? he questioned himself. All the endless text, the status checks, progress reports… They don't mean anything. What was worse, he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on such menial, everyday things. He didn't know if he was just getting tired of the responsibility, or if the Altarin'Dakor threat looming over him made everything else seem insignificant. There was a war about to be waged. He needed to prepare everyone as much as possible. Yet that feeling, so strong at first, had begun to fade, and increasingly there was one particular thing that always came to the forefront of his thoughts…
"Xar?"
Sauron jolted up at the voice, mentally kicking himself for not even noticing his visitor's entrance. He sat back in his plush seat and nodded at the man in front of the desk. "Maarek."
"Are you okay?" the man asked, a look of concern on his face.
"I'm fine," Xar assured him, folding his hands in his lap. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, you've heard the news, I'm sure," Stele started out hesitantly. "My request's been granted by the Senate. My elite squadron is officially formed. I've assembled an excellent group of pilots from throughout the NI. They're some of the best I've seen."
"Glad to hear it," Sauron nodded. "I'm happy for you, and I don't doubt you'll do an excellent job."
"Thanks." Maarek paused, the signed audibly. "Look, I enjoyed being Wing Commander and working with the SoH pilots. But after the attack, we lost almost seventy percent of our forces. All my work was for nothing… I can't start all over again, even though Varnus seems to prolifically produce pilots of such high quality. It's not that I don't like it here; I love Varnus. But I'm just not suited for a desk job, I have to get out there and do something personally. I want to feel like I'm making a difference." He paused, waiting for Sauron to answer.
Xar stared down at his lap. His thoughts wanted to wander again, already. But he also didn't want to deal too harshly with his friend, as much as he hated losing him. In Xar's opinion, stepping down to lead one single squadron, like so many others in the NI, was moving in the wrong direction if he really wanted to make a difference. But then, he argued to himself, Isn't that what I was just thinking myself? Steeling his nerves, he spoke up. "Maarek, I fully understand your position. I really wish I could join you. I appreciate what you've done for us here, and wish you the best of luck in your new position. Congratulations."
Maarek opened his mouth as if to speak, then pushed away resignedly. Had he expected something more? "Well, all right then," he said. "I'll be around, from time to time. My squadron mates here on Varnus are prepped and ready to go, so if it's all right, we'll be leaving later today."
Sauron shrugged, feeling the bit of distance coming between him and his friend. "Go ahead."
"All right," Maarek said, coming to attention and giving a sharp salute. Then he turned around crisply and started for the door. But as he left, Xar felt a pang of guilt for brushing him off so formally. Before Stele reached the door, he held out a hand and called out to him.
"Maarek…"
Stele turned back, raising his eyebrows. "Yes?"
Xar hesitated, then gave as much of a grin as he could. "May the Force be with you."
Maarek grinned back, his features brightening. Xar could see the gap closing once more. "And with you, my friend."
The door closed behind the Commander, plunging the room into silence once more.
Icis Novitaar - the Traveler - posing, as always, as Dean T-Rex of the Society of Shadows, padded quietly through the palace corridors, searching. Outside, autumn was setting in once again on Varnus, and through the windows the trees and gardens decorating the palace had begun to color and shed their leaves. But the falling seasons hadn't dampened the spirits of the people of Varnus. In fact, from his own short experience with the world's inhabitants, he didn't think anything could. The Varnusans had gone through disaster after disaster, subjugation and devastation, wars, famine, and poverty. The people seemed to have within them a fighting spirit that wouldn't give up, no matter what the odds. He supposed that was where Xar got his own hardheadedness.
He strode through bright and colorful corridors in the West Wing, probably the busiest wing of the palace during the day. The halls and rooms were well decorated, with live plants from all over, and beautiful tapestries and draperies hanging down from the vaunted ceilings. Many of them held crests and symbols emblazoned on the fabrics, most of the designs pertaining to Varnus and its culture. Soft, but definitely upbeat music played at various places, waxing and waning depending upon where he was. People of all shapes, sizes, and dress passed him on either side, not exactly avoiding the overly tall Jedi, but offering him the respect he was due. To Icis, it was really quite amusing, just watching the different types of people and their faces. But then, watching was something he'd been born and trained to do. He continued on.
Finally he left the busier sections and into quieter territory. The tall windows on his right looked down into some of the palace's splendid courtyards, and he understood why. In them he could see Jedi in training, practicing their various physical skills and some of the simpler Force techniques. Though this wasn't a Jedi exclusive area, and there were only a few places that were restricted to Jedi only, most people seemed eager to give them as much space as possible. Icis wasn't going to say anything about them, though. Most of the Jedi were still like kids in terms of knowledge and potential. Well, to him, anyway. But his own powers were only at half strength, so he didn't have a place to speak. That wouldn't be his style, anyway.
After several more minutes of walking down the now sparsely populated corridor, he finally found who he was looking for. Sauron was standing by a window some distance away. The dark haired Jedi Master stood opposite a tall, slim woman with long, braided auburn hair that ran down her back. From their posture and expressions, he could tell they were discussing something that they were at odds about. No, even arguing, he realized. On a whim, he brought his Force Mask into being and got closer. Oblivious to him, they continued as he listened.
"Forgive me if I'm being too frank," Rynn was saying, "but I don't understand the way we're doing things. You're pushing us so hard, training us to fight and to kill, but the way we're learning things isn't at all what I heard the Jedi used to do. I think the Force should be a close, personal thing, not just a weapon you can take and use any time you will."
Sauron's expression darkened and he shook his head. "We don't have time to waste with useless diplomatic skills, Rynn. Those aren't going to be very useful with the Altarin'Dakor breathing down our backs. If we don't train our Jedi to fight, we won't stand a chance against them. We have to use the Force as a weapon against them, if we're to have any chance."
"Not enough time?" Rynn asked, cocking her head one side and staring across at him defiantly. "So instead you teach them to kill but don't teach them the responsibility to use it?"
"There aren't any rules with the Altarin'Dakor," he replied, his voice cold. He was obviously struggling to keep himself in check as he answered. "It's them or us. Soft feelings and hesitation will only get us killed."
"I can't believe you're telling me that," she breathed, shaking her head. "This… This isn't why I wanted to become a Jedi. I thought we were guardians. I though we protected people who couldn't protect themselves…" She looked down at the floor, and Icis could see tears starting to form in her eyes. "I wanted to help people, not hurt them," she whispered.
"You'll help people by destroying the Altarin'Dakor," Sauron said adamantly. "If we don't stop them they'll initiate the biggest slaughter in galactic history. I'm sorry, but we couldn't exactly choose whether or not to have the ultimate enemy bearing down on us. We must do what we have to, Rynn. You are a weapon, a living weapon. Your power is the Force, and your objective is to destroy the Altarin…"
"You're obsessed!" she broke in roughly, her eyes boring fire through him.
"And you're out of line!" he countered. "I'm the Grand Master. You can do what I say, or you can get out of here. Nothing's holding you. I don't care…" His words were rudely interrupted as her slap took him across the cheek, causing an audible crack through the air. His head barely moved, though, and as she drew back, he just stood there and stared at her distantly. Then, with tears in her eyes, she turned and ran off down the corridor. Icis listened as her footsteps padded off into the distance.
"You'll understand, once you've seen them," Xar muttered after her, though she couldn't have heard. He turned back to the window, and pounded his fist on the railing in front of it.
"You were way too hard on her," Icis said, dropping his Force Mask.
Sauron jumped as if he'd just been hit by a blast of Force Lighting. He spun around toward Icis, his expression just short of being in utter shock… "Blast you, I thought I told you never to do that again…"
"Sorry," Icis shrugged as Sauron put a hand up to his chest. "You told Rynn she could leave? What's gotten into you?"
"I don't know, Icis," Xar shook his head. "I'll make it up to here somehow." He held a hand out toward the Traveler. "Come on. You of all people should know the threat that they represent. Don't you think we should be preparing for their return?"
"I think the wisest thing is always to keep a balance," Icis said smoothly. "Remember, even I didn't tell you about the AD until you were ready."
"You waited until I'd already had one heck of a close encounter, in my opinion.."
"I didn't see that coming," Icis admitted. "But, looking back, would you have believed me otherwise?"
"I see your point. Let's walk," Xar offered.
As they continued on through the West Wing of the Royal Palace, Icis listened as Xar explained the details of the SoH's new, intensified training program. New member training had accelerated, with focuses on offensive as well as defensive powers. They'd also eliminated several of the ranks and allowed the rank of Knight to be reached much faster. This might decrease the quality of the Knight level, Xar explained, but it would increase the quantity. And those that survived, to become Templars, Crusaders, Paladins and above, would become even better. Because they would survive. Much like the Empire's original Tie Fighter pilots, mortality rates might increase, but those who prevailed would become super-elite. It was a hard policy, but Icis had to admit that it made sense in some ways. The Jedi population was increasing, in quality and quantity, and they didn't have the luxury of waiting several years for a Knight to be made. Furthermore, Xar told him how they had used the HoloCrons found in the stockpiles on Moro and other places and vastly increased the number of Force powers that were being taught. Again, a sacrifice for a chance at an advantage against the AD. But secretly Icis wondered if there was anything they could do that could stop the advance of the Altarin'Dakor. If half the things he had seen, and heard of, were still true, then the whole galaxy might not have a chance.
They emerged into open air, walking along the tops of the connected Palace buildings and walls in the Jedi training sector. Below, in the courtyards, Jedi were practicing in some of the more advanced techniques. Duels using stunsabers and lightsabers sent the familiar and unique buzz through the air. Others practiced using the Force in various ways, some causing head-sized stones to explode in showers of pebbles, others learning the basic concepts of energy manipulation, sending small sparks of energy from their hands against still and moving targets. Icis admitted that it was impressive, at least on an organizational scale. But there was a long way to go.
They passed by under an alcove in the side of the palace. Below was a large area where a line of Jedi Knights were practicing their abilities at levitation. Sauron stopped there, looking down at the group. Icis stood beside him and followed his gaze. He smiled when he saw what the man was looking at.
Down below, various crates and other objects were piled up. The Knights had to lift as many as they could control and send them into various motions. Some of the objects were arranged like hoops or angles, while others were balls or spears. Other crates were simple weights, ranging from few hundred pounds to several tons. Icis recognized several of the Jedi below. Among them were Sturm Brightblade, Haun, Dark Hunter, and even his old buddy Omega, the object of many of his infamous invisibility pranks. Calling out the instructions was the former Sith Praetor, Adept Thrakus.
"I see Thrakus is back," he remarked. "How's Lorien?" The Adept had recently returned from a private vacation with this wife, Lorien Kal, a Dathomiran from the Singing Mountain Clan. They'd met on Dathomir during the incident known as the Clandestine Conflict. Ironically, after all his chasing women, it was she who had caught him. Now she was pregnant, and it seemed the whole SoH was ready to welcome their first Jedi baby.
"Five months now," Xar said. "I think Thrakus is getting a bit on edge." He gave a chuckle, and Icis realized it was the first time he'd hear the man laugh since the rescue. He gave a grin, himself, inside wondering what it was like for a human, a mortal, to go through something like that for the first time. Of course, he'd never actually had children himself, either as human or Traveler. "I think the whole SoH is going to adopt this baby," he remarked jovially.
Sauron nodded, as below Thrakus began barking out orders for the assembled Knights. He quickly instructed them to lift as many weighted crates as possible, starting with the heaviest, and while holding that to run the smaller objects through a certain pattern.
First up was a newly raised Jedi Knight, one whom Icis hadn't seen before. He had obviously been raised according to the accelerated program, and the flaw in their new system was quickly discovered as the Jedi only lifted the smallest crate and put only a few of the other items into a clumsy circle. Beside him, he saw Xar shake his head. Of course, they knew that the exercise wasn’t designed to measure Force strength. Growing stronger in the Force wasn't akin to building muscles. The size and weight of an object didn't matter so much, yet there were limitations according to one's power level. This exercise tested one's control over the Force and the ability to use several powers simultaneously. The final part of the exercise, where the Knight had to lift only the water out of a nearby bucket, was failed completely by the newcomer, no matter how hard he seemed to strain.
Sturm Brightblade went next, thrusting his hands forward in grand gesture. Not only was he able to lift the ton crate, but he put several different objects into a spinning circle overhead. Finally, he lifted half the water from the bucket in a rough spherical shape.
"Omega," Thrakus called out. "You're next."
Rubbing his hands together eagerly, Omega put his hands forward and with a grunt of effort lifted the five ton crate off the courtyard floor. With that held aloft, suspended by one of his outstretched arms, he picked up half the objects on the ground and sent them into a spiral, the smaller objects passing through the ringed ones without touching the sides. He also succeeded not only in pulling all the water from the bucket, but keeping it in its cylinder shape, as well. As he set the objects down carefully, he was greeted to a small round of applause by the other Jedi gathered. Of course, he was really a Templar, closer in truth to a Crusader, with a lot of real combat experience, so his extra strength wasn't overly surprising.
Thrakus appeared ready to dismiss them, then checked his board as if remembering something. "Ah yes," he spoke. "Forgot about him. Where's Derek? Derek?" he called.
His eyes widening, Icis finally noticed the small boy sitting at the table near the corner. The dark haired ten-year-old had been one of the greatest finds they'd ever made. Having been kidnapped by a rogue Jedicon named Turles, it had been up to Sauron, Icis, and an elite team of Jedi to rescue him and foil the Jedicon plans. Since the boy had no family left, he had willingly come back with them to Varnus to learn the ways of the Force. And had he ever. Already having taught himself much, he was now learning much faster in this more formal education. "So that's where he is," he whispered.
"That's right," Sauron said, the pride in his voice almost palpable. "Just watch."
The boy rose from the books he'd been studying, looking up at the Adept beneath his dark bangs that came down on his forehead. "Huh?" was all he managed in a high-pitched voice.
Thrakus seemed to pause, then gave a sigh. "Let's see what you can do," he said nonchalantly.
"Okay."
The boy's gaze went past the Adept toward the assembled items. A bare second later, Icis smiled and shook his head in awe. Thrakus was still staring at the boy, but at the gasps and expressions of wonder coming from behind him he turned around… And looked up. All the weighted crates, from the ten ton down, as well as every single other loose item on the grounds, were floating quickly about in an intricately complex sphere above him.
"How…" Thrakus' words were cut off as a dragon made completely of water moved over in front of him, its long tail wrapping back around his body twice. Then it actually growled at him. Thrakus turned to look back at the boy, but he was already into his book again, not even glancing in the direction of his fantastic display.
"I think it may be time to move Derek up again," Sauron mused idly. Icis agreed.
Once everything was back in place, Thrakus lined the Jedi back up, though he still looked a little shaky to Icis. "All right. Now we're going to split up into two groups. Group one will be doing lightsaber combat in the forward yard. Group two will be doing energy manipulation in rec room three." He turned back to the boy, still absorbed in whatever it was he was reading. "You coming, Derek?"
"No thanks," the boy declined.
Apparently not seeing the issue important, Thrakus began to dismiss the assembled Jedi.
"Let's go," Sauron offered. "I'd like to talk in my office."
"All right," Icis said. He started after the Grand Master, but kept an eye down in the courtyard. Suddenly, Derek looked up, and their eyes briefly met. The boy's face turned into a smile, and he quickly stood and closed his book up.
"I think we're going to have company," he said, coming up beside Sauron.
Just then, more shouts of excitement and shock came from below. Icis turned to see what was going on…
And stopped dead in his tracks as Derek flew in the window and landed in front of them.
"I'm not even going to ask," Icis began.
"Hey, Mister Sauron!" the boy said enthusiastically. "And Mister T-Rex, too! How are you?"
"Hey, Derek! I'm fine!" Sauron answered just as happily. Icis stared at the man incredulously. It was as if a switch had just been turned on, and he was a different person entirely.
"Hi," Icis responded casually. "That was some impressive work down there."
"That? Aw, that was nuthin," the boy responded.
He bests our top Jedi Knights, and says it's nothing? "Well, congratulations, nevertheless," he said. Not to mention that he's learned how to fly somewhere. That little rediscovery in itself would have had the olden Jedi rolling over in their graves.
"Mister Sauron, can I ask you something?" the boy said.
"Sure, Derek. You can ask me anything," Xar said heartily, bending down. It struck Icis how attached Xar had become to the boy, almost as if he wanted to claim him as his own son. For some reason, something about that seemed a bit familiar.
Derek opened his mouth to speak, but before he could another person came up behind him at a trot. Icis recognized the placid face and long hair of Crusader Gui Sun Paan, Lothair of House Vortigern. "Master!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you." Icis knew of the man, a recruit from another organization who had risen quickly. "I wanted to talk to you about my new appointment as…" he began.
"I'll be with you in just one minute," Sauron said forcefully and clearly, staring up at the young Crusader. Then he looked down back at the young boy. "What were you saying, Derek?"
"Well, sir, you know I love to study and all," Derek said, "but I'm getting kinda bored with all these exercises. I want to learn something new. Can you teach me?"
Xar hesitated. "Well, I'd be glad to work with you personally, Derek. But some of our powers are pretty destructive, even dangerous. I know you're stronger than almost anyone here, and your control is superb, but I don't know if you're ready for some things yet."
“But I know I’m ready,” the boy argued. “I want to be the greatest Jedi of there’s ever been!”
"Xar's right," Icis put in. “Some things can get pretty advanced. You're a bit hard to place, Derek. Your skill matches a Jedi, but your age slows you down. Granted, you could probably handle them, we just have to be careful, you understand."
"Sure I do," the boy replied. "Like they taught you your powers when you were still young. Of course, you're still kinda young, aren't you? But they still taught you to disappear. Of course, it is a little basic, but…"
Icis finally stopped gagging on his tongue enough to interrupt him hoarsely. "Quiet… How do you know that?!"
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Derek promised. "Thanks for saying you'll train me, sir," he spoke up to Xar.
"No problem, Derek. It'll be my pleasure," the GM responded.
"Okay. Well, goodbye Mister Sauron, Mister T-Rex!"
With that, he lifted off into the air and flew out the window just as he'd come in. Icis thought Gui Sun's jaw was going to hit the floor when he saw that.
"Gui Sun…" Sauron started, then noticed the Crusader staring out the window. "Gui Sun? What was it you wanted?"
Abruptly the man seemed to snap out of it, and turned to face the GM. "Yes, master," he said. "I wanted to thank you again for your trust in me to be leader of Black Ops. Ever since Osiris disappeared, we haven't had a leader of the team. I won't let you down. Where you going to make the promotion official today?"
Sauron opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He seemed to think for a second, then finally replied. "Well, it's been unofficially made, and there's still a few things left to fix in Vortigern. It'll go into effect within a few days."
"Ah. All right," Gui Sun nodded. "And does the promotion come with it?"
Icis arched an eyebrow, and looked as Sauron hesitated again. "We'll make the promotion once you've proven your abilities to lead Black Ops. Like I said before, show me it's worth being on the Council and I'll put it there," he said.
"Thank you, master," the man replied. I will serve you well. I'm going to focus all my energy on Black Ops, and I'll even quit my Vast Empire job so I can devote all my time into it."
"I'm glad, and proud of your loyalty," Xar replied.
"Thank you, and good day, GM," Gui Sun said with a bow. "I'm well on my way to my ultimate goal. I will be the fastest person ever to reach Jedi Master." Then, with another bow to Xar and Icis, he turned and made his way off down the passageway.
At this rate, he may well be, Icis thought, watching him leave. Then a thought hit him. “Leader of Black Ops,” he mused. He turned back to Xar. "Wasn't he an Initiate last week?"
The man shrugged. "I guess everyone's advancing fast now. Desperate times, my friend." He gestured down the hallway the same way they'd been heading before and gave a mirthless grin. "Shall we be going now, before the Emperor himself shows up?"
In the Palace’s elaborate main hangar, on the metal walkway hanging from the ceiling, Maarek Stele walked around his beautiful TIE Avatar Wildfire, running a hand along its port solar panel. He caressed the cool armored hull that would soon see the cold vacuum of space. His elite unit, Inferno Squadron, was ready for flight. He was still a bit in awe that he'd received his request: his own personal squadron, which he had full control over, not tied down to any one ship or fleet. He chose the pilots, trained them, and decided - at least in theory - what missions or campaigns to devote his squadron toward. In the end, of course, he was still under the direct command for the NI Advisory Council and the Diktat, but having his lifelong dream finally fulfilled gave him an exhilarating feeling. The last time he'd commanded a squadron had been shortly after the Battle of Endor, under Grand Admiral Thrawn, and under Imperial restrictions. Those were now gone, he realized, unable to hide a smile.
He stood back from his ship, taking in the line of fighters hanging from the scaffolding docks. Unlike most TIEs, the Avatars had landing gear of their own, and didn’t have to be launched from a special holding rack, but they had that ability as well. And what a ship it was, he remarked. Maarek still admired the sleek next-generation vessel, even after months of flying the new design. The body was smooth and aerodynamic, somewhat like a flattened Assault Gunboat hull. The solar panels on either side were identical to that of the TIE Advanced (known as the Avenger these days), only these were turned outward. The ball cockpit so common in the TIE design was gone, replaced instead with a modified missile boat cockpit, which offered a superior view to all sides. Comparable with the TIE Defender in almost every respect, except it's cheaper price, the Avatar was a formidable fighter that Maarek believed could become the mainstay of the NI Starfleet. The ship incorporated many new technologies and advancements in miniaturization. An improved onboard AI computer and targeting system, the next line of Twin Ion Engines, and improvements in hull strength and shielding were all prime features. The ship held four wingtip-mounted, upgraded laser cannons and two ion cannons beneath the cockpit itself. Two advanced missile launchers on either side of the cockpit, and a special missile rack on the top of the hull, carrying five advanced torpedoes or heavy rockets, all combined to give the Avatar tremendous firepower at its disposal, as well. There was even room for a beam weapon option to be installed. All in all, he was very pleased with the new ship class.
Hearing the clank of footsteps on the racks behind him, he turned to see the rest of his new squadron emerge from the entrance, garbed in the new NI pilot uniforms. These suits, while similar in appearance to the standard TIE Pilot Uniform, were much more advanced. Made of sturdier, lighter fabric, the suits were much less bulky, allowing a person their full range of motion. The gloves and boots were no thicker than those that might be worn on a cold day on Varnus. Finally the control panel on the front was gone, as the sleeker, lighter pilot's helmet now plugged into a socket in the fighter itself. Since their cockpits had atmosphere now, as with most NI fighters, more comfortable designs like this were available. The suits themselves were the dark, NI-standard gray, with the NI symbol emblazoned on the shoulder pads and helmet.
As might be expected, his squadron was a motley-looking group, since he'd scoured the entire sector searching for the best, most trustworthy pilots. Maarek had never had the privilege to command a finer group than elite Inferno Squadron. Out of countless candidates over the year it'd taken him to assemble the full unit, these were the best of the best. Some were experienced NI pilots, while others were naturals he'd found and trained. Most of them had already seen combat against the Altarin'Dakor, when they'd had to flee and then retake Varnus from the enemy. Now, he knew their next trial would be all too soon.
Though most of the dozen were humans, that didn't matter to him. Three of the pilots were from Varnus itself. Rann Wosper was Inferno Two. Of medium height, and slim, he was the perfect size for a pilot. He was also the prankster of the group (it seemed all squadrons needed at least one), and had the habit of always brushing back his blonde hair that kept standing straight up. Inferno Five, Bast Vlagen, was actually his first find. Already an accomplished Imperial ace, then NI pilot, the 38-year-old, dark-skinned veteran was often the squadron's rock of stability and confidence. His tried and true tactics and experience had proven invaluable in helping Maarek assemble the rest of the unit. Bast held a lot of respect for Maarek, due to his fame as an Imperial pilot, and held no ill feelings because Maarek had left the Empire to rescue his father Kerek. Because of his experience, he was the second of Maarek's two flight leaders.
The final Varnusan was Petur Kien, a young man Maarek had chanced upon with immense, yet innate, piloting skills. It truly seemed that Varnus was a breeding ground for pilots and Jedi. Perhaps it was a tribute to the hardiness of the people themselves, though Maarek didn't know if that was true. Petur might have been his best pilot, second only to Maarek himself, but the young man lacked experience and judgement that could only come with time. When that time came, Maarek knew that he would have more than a match in him. A strong friend and loyal wingman, Petur occupied Inferno Ten.
The rest of the pilots were just as diverse and unique. Inferno Three was Tanya Vinikoro, a tall, pale-skinned woman with short dark hair. A former Vast Empire pilot, she had served with that fleet since it's retreat from Byss, until volunteering for Maarek's elite squadron. With nerves of quadranium and an eye that could take out a womprat at a thousand meters, she was a stable addition to his flight. The last member of the flight, Inferno Four, was actually a Sigman, known to themselves as the Kaav'Klan. The bipedal, insectile inhabitants of Sigma Prime were amiable, fun-loving allies of the NI. Kikitik, as he was named, had a custom Avatar cockpit and communicated via translator. Astonishingly, yet not unexpectedly due to the comical habits of the Sigmans, Kikitik often hung out with the other resident prankster, Rann Wosper.
Flight Two was led by Bast, Inferno Five. Six was Salle Dara, a former DLSF pilot and native of Kolath, its base of operations. She was a good-natured and skilled member of the squad. Seven was a man named Gren Pabos. Gren was one of the Renastasian refugees who had taken shelter on Ravick in the Moro System. House Vortigern of the SoH had taken in the refugees in, and they now were eager to give something back to the NI. Gren was one probably the best Renastasian pilot they'd found. Eight was Kei Nomos, a red-headed woman from Laan, the habitable planet in the Talas System. Maarek had discovered her incredible piloting skills after she’d successively won the flying tournaments on Laan. The competitions were to navigate the treacherous, craggy ravines that most of the planet’s surface was covered with. It was a tournament that many pilots did not survive. The canyons were an excellent training grounds, and Nomos had proven her worth in winning the tournaments.
Flight Three was led by a Sullustian named Vlini Makor. The alien was a former Imperial defector who had served with the New Republic until after the Battle of Endor. Leaving a couple years later due to increasing deficiency in the New Republic government, he made his way to the NI, bringing his experience to the squadron as its second oldest member. His wingman was Petur Kien, occupying the tenth slot. Eleven and Twelve were currently on Tralaria, where Maarek's squad would catch up next. Juor Nace, a Correllian, and Macin Isabi, a Twi'Lek male, were members of the NI Starfleet who had most recently been chosen for the squad.
Maarek ascended the sunken pit ladder to meet them as they formed a loose group at the top of the rack ready area. As he approached, the squadron snapped to a respectful, yet informal attention. Ronn even gave him a sarcastically overemphasized salute. Maarek had done his best to facilitate relations and comfort between members so that they might work better with one another. Of course, that meant if anything ever happened to one of them, the others would feel the loss that much more sharply. But that wasn't something he intended to let happen. He nodded to his subordinates.
"Everyone ready to depart?" His words were met with a series of affirmations. Since most of their personal belongings would remain on Varnus, and the more necessary items were already onboard the Transport in orbit and would follow them wherever they went, the squadron was ready to lift off.
"All right then," he said. "Get to your fighters and run through the pre-flight sequence. We take off in five minutes."
As his squadron broke up toward their individual fighters, Maarek turned around and descended the ladder once more. He moved over beside the cockpit; thirty meters below, the deck was clearing of personnel. Walking across the link, he stepped into the deep cockpit and settled down into the dark, plush seat. The cockpit canopy fell down overtop him and sealed, cutting off all sounds except the whirs and beeps of his instrument panel and the humming purr of his engines. The flight check and warm-up ran as he gently took hold of the flight controls, feeling the awesome power of the ship vibrating through him. There was no feeling like that of sitting inside the cockpit of a fighter, a ship that could do almost anything at his command. When he opened his eyes again, not realizing he'd closed them, he could see the Heads-Up-Display painted onto the canopy glass, and beyond that, the open-air exit of the hangar itself.
"All ships, report in," he ordered into the commlink. Within seconds, the other pilots responded that they were ready to go. Then, with final clearance from Palace Control, he activated the lock controls, and the ship suddenly plunged downward like a rock.
But then, ten meters off the ground, his repulsorlifts kicked in, holding him steady above the gray and tan deck. Then, with a rush of nostalgia, he pushed the controls forward, and his TIE Avatar shot forward with such acceleration that it slammed him back against his seat. The tunnel toward the hangar exit sped forward at a blur, the light at the end growing larger, larger…
And suddenly his ship shot out into the air, blasting its way overtop roofs and courtyards. He pulled back on the stick, watching as the skyscrapers not far off fell beneath him, to be replaced by a gorgeously blue sky punctuated with lacy white clouds.
He brought the fighter around in time to see several of his squad mates burst out of the hanger entrance, then brought the controls back and pulled a slow, lazy loop around the Palace's central spire and the observation lounge at the summit. To think that just a few hours ago he'd been in there, ground-ridden, forced to trudge his way up and down using a lift… Now he could fly its length in less than a second. Nothing could compare to such a sense of freedom and power. Outside a fighter, life was nothing.
He rose into the sky quickly, the massive city fading into a mass of gray surrounded by splotches of tan and green. The Wild Fire passed through the icy clouds, slowly rising as he allowing his squadron to catch up. Soon, all ten fighters were established in a delta formation, cleanly slicing their way through the stratosphere. On his command, they pulled upward, pushing the throttle to the maximum as they burned for orbit. Ahead, outside his canopy, the blue sky began to fade away, replaced by the black background of space.
Within moments, the squadron had left atmosphere, rising away from the serene blue-green planet of Varnus. Maarek led the squad to the standard waypoint for traffic, where the white hull of the Modified ISD-II Stormwatch, newly repaired from damage during the Battle of Varnus, and the dark shape that was the Dungeon Ship Lord Keto, both were rested, suspended in space. After the loss of every orbital installation and satellite, including the system’s space platforms and two Golan-III Defense Platforms, the remaining SoH capital ships were all that was left to protect the homeworld. Though such a meager force would be insignificant if the Altarin'Dakor decided to strike again, it was enough to dissuade any pirates that might be seeking an easy target in the convoys that were helping to re-supply Varnus after the earlier attack. Thanks to VE escort, the convoys had made it to Varnus safely; the SoH ships would keep them there.
Turning away from the pointed white dagger shape of the Stormwatch, Maarek set course for their charted hyperspace waypoint and locked in their flight path. Moments later he received the proper clearance from Varnus command, and his squadron was ready to go. “All flights,” he spoke up. “Confirm course trajectory and sync in with my navicomputer.”
“Five here,” Bast answered. “Flight two locked in and ready to go.”
“This is nine, Flight Three is set on your coordinates,” Vlini chimed in.
Maarek nodded. “All right then. Course set; hyperspace in ten seconds.”
As the timer ran down, Maarek took one last long gaze at the pristine blue-green world that was Varnus. He knew it might be a while before he returned. If so, he wanted to burn the image into his mind, of a place that he could call home after years of running. Whatever happened, he knew now that he was in the right place. This was where he was meant to be.
The stars stretched into starlines, and together the ten TIE Avatars shot into the endless swirling sky of hyperspace. Toward the NI Capital. Toward history that would soon be made.
Icis followed Xar through the deeper levels of the palace, which was saw a bit more traffic than the outside. Especially Jedi. And there was a distinctly different atmosphere as they made their way to Sauron’s office. Obviously, the new training methods being placed upon them, coupled with the threat of invasion constantly bearing down upon them, had changed the feelings between the different Jedi. And between the Jedi and the Grand Master. As he looked at their faces as they passed, Icis could see something different in their eyes. Ever since the new program had been installed, since the focus was on combat and the acquisition of power, the Jedi looked at Xar and the others a bit differently. Some of the respect was missing, ever since Sauron had come back from his capture. Ever since he’d changed. These new Jedi were being trained to use their powers, but without the intense self-control that was needed. This made them, as Sauron himself pointed out, little more than living weapons. Weapons to be used against the Altarin’Dakor. To be sent forward to die, and the survivors would be made stronger by that use. Now some of the other Jedi, especially those newly raised to Knight or better, held in their gaze something different. Almost disdain. Almost… rivalry. Icis wondered… Could this be the right way? Were they working to save the SoH… or destroy it?
His pondering was interrupted - and his fears confirmed - as they came upon two Jedi Knights, newly raised by their insignia, arguing in the middle of the corridor. Whether by chance, or some twist of fate, his worries were being manifested, and Sauron was right there to see it happen. This wasn’t going to be good.
The two young men, probably in their early twenties, were too engaged in their argument to notice the two onlookers. Icis and Sauron stopped to wait it out and see what would happen.
“I told you,” the mid-sized, dark-haired man addressed his blonde companion. “That simulation was fixed! There’s no way I could have made it because it was set up!”
“That’s a load of crap, and you know it,” the other man responded angrily. “The warden in charge settled the matter already. You’re just whining like a stupid loser!”
“Loser, eh?” the other man responded coldly. Suddenly his lightsaber hilt was in his hand, and he shook it at the blonde man’s face threateningly. “Be careful how you address me. I’ll prove the matter right now, if I have to. From now on I…” His words were broken off into a cry as, in one motion, Sauron snatched the weapon out of his hand and slammed a fist across his face that send the man reeling. He hit the floor sliding, then slowly turned over and stood up wild-eyed, ready to fight. His gaze diminished only slightly as he saw who it was that had hit him. “Who the…”
“You fool!” Sauron stopped him. For all the anger in the younger Knight’s expression, it was nothing compared to the mask of rage covering Sauron’s face. He clenched the man’s saber in his right hand, shaking it. “Never draw this thing unless you intend to use it!!!” he practically screamed. Then, with a grunt of anger and frustration, he hurled the weapon away. The cylindrical object flew down the corridor, colliding somewhere down the tunnel with an audible crash.
“My lightsaber!” the Jedi yelled in dismay, reaching futilely after the weapon. Then he turned to Sauron, his expression full of hurt and anger. But Sauron was standing there, wide-eyed, daring the younger man to take him on. Wisely, the Jedi seemed to take the idea and slid back to a sitting position against the wall. “You don’t know what that means to me,” he said softly.
Xar gave a short laugh that was devoid of any amusement. “What garbage. Besides, you care nothing for it. If you did, you would never use it with such carelessness and ill-restraint. You don’t deserve to be called Jedi.” He turned to the other man, who was still standing up against the wall, and gave him a dark look as well. Seeing nothing left to challenge him, Sauron turned away and strode purposefully down the corridor. As the young Jedi tried to gather themselves together, the dark-haired man nursing his jaw, Icis passed them quietly and followed the Grand Master.
He caught up with the man a few moments later, matching Sauron’s broad strides across the stone-tiled floor. “I can’t believe what almost happened,” he remarked.
“I should have kicked that moron out right then,” Xar answered. “This training is not working… The Jedi are too hostile, too immature.” He shook his head quickly. “My plan isn’t going to work. We’re not going to beat the AD, we’ll destroy ourselves first.”
Icis opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find anything that would sound comforting to say. In a way, Sauron was right. But the fault wasn’t all his. His motives were pure; he wanted to defeat the Altarin’Dakor. And unless something could be done, something to make their own Jedi stronger and learn faster, they wouldn’t stand a fraction of a chance.
When they finally reached the door to the office, Sauron led them inside, shutting the door behind and activating the room’s full lighting. He started to make his way toward the large wooden desk, but halfway across the room, he stopped, standing in the middle of the carpeted rug. He paused there for several seconds, his head down. Icis could tell he was thinking. Whatever it was the man wanted to discuss, it must be important. A tingle of anxiety crawled its way up his spine, as if he could sense some bad news coming on. Finally he heard Sauron whisper, “That’s it…” Then, suddenly, he turned around to face Icis, his eyes full of resoluteness.
“Icis, I’ve made a decision. This is something I feel I must tell you; you’re the first person who’ll know. This job and its rigors have begun to really grate on me. I don’t see the point in such meticulous tasks that accomplish nothing. My methods have failed, and I’m no good to the SoH as a leader anymore. I’ve begun to lose interest, and more often there’s only one thing that my mind keeps coming back to. And I can push it aside no longer…” He paused, as if struggling with his decision one last time. Then, with a long sigh, he let it out. “I’m leaving to look for Zalaria.”
As the man’s words came out, they didn’t make sense at first. For an instant Icis wondered if he’d really understood the man correctly. But when he saw the man’s dead-serious expression, the words rang home, and he felt like he’d been hit between the eyes with a blaster at point-blank range. When it hit him, he must have jumped as if he’d seen Malduke alive and standing in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first nothing could come out but stutters. “Wha… What did you say? You can’t be serious!”
“I am, Icis. I can’t deny my feelings any longer. If I don’t find her, see her again, it’s going to kill me.”
“But she’s evil, Xar!” Icis found himself saying, the words coming out of their own accord. “Don’t you know that? She’s one of THEM!!”
“I know that!” Xar snapped back. “Or at least, I know that’s what you’ve told me. But you didn’t see her before, you don’t know what I feel through my bond with her. So stop feeding me that!”
“I can only tell you the truth,” Icis countered. “I have seen her, long before you were born, long before this invasion. I was in their galaxy. Would you like specific details? Want to know how many innocent people she’s killed?”
“No!” Xar yelled. “I don’t!” He threw his hands up, giving an exasperated sound as he turned and moved over beside his desk. “I don’t know what to think, Icis. All I know is that ever fiber of my being is pulling me towards her. I can’t deny that, and I can’t explain it, any more than I could explain breathing.”
“It’s the bond, Xar,” Icis rationalized, moving toward him. He was beginning to think more clearly now, though this was something he hadn’t expected - and had hoped would never occur. “It’s not genuine love, it’s infatuation. She controls your bond, so you feel yourself drawn to her whim.”
“Maybe, but I can’t ignore it.” He sighed, and for a moment the two stood there, in silence.
Finally, Sauron spoke up again, softly. “You know,” he said, “I caught the bouquet at Thrakus’ wedding. Somehow, I knew I was going to be the next person who would fall in love, who would find the person they wanted to spend the rest of their life with. I always knew she was waiting for me. And now I think I’ve found her. How can I not do something about that?”
He’s talking like a child, Icis thought. What has driven him to this? Why didn’t I see it coming? With a flash of irony, he realized it was probably because he was so sure that Sauron was the one, he’d looked for nothing else. “But Xar,” Icis protested. “Surely you can’t feel that way about Zalaria. You hardly know her. If you’re feeling empty, lonely, there are other people out there. What about you former fiancee, Gwenllian?”
Sauron turned to look at him darkly. “Gwen’s in a mental hospital, Icis. She doesn’t even know who I am. Every day she prays to Kronos to release her from her prison here. My future with Gwen has been over for a long time. I realized that even before I saw her alive again.”
“I’m sorry, Xar,” Icis admitted, trying to understand what the man was feeling. “I didn’t know it was like that. But surely you can’t believe that you and Zalaria were meant to be together. If she wasn’t Immortal, you’d be separated by a thousand generations. How can you explain that?”
“Maybe it’s destiny,” Sauron shrugged, ignoring Icis’ incredulous looks. “But I can feel her, through our bond. I know her better than I could ever know anyone else. That’s what being a Jedi means. We’re tied together. Bonded. It’s meant to be.”
Icis could tell the man’s mind was made up. Perhaps more firmly than he’d ever seen it. He was willing to fight over this, as much as necessary. And their argument was just driving a wedge between them. But he couldn’t stop. Not when he knew the truth. “There’s nothing I can do to stop you from this, is there?”
“No, Icis, I’m afraid not. I have to find her, or die trying. Nothing else matters to me here.”
“What about the Altarin’Dakor?”
Xar shook his head. “There’s no way we could win as it is. My influence wouldn’t alter the outcome. Maybe this will help, it’s better than nothing. I’m no good to the NI as I am.”
“That’s not true! Listen to me. If you go looking for her, if you venture into their space, you will die. There’s no doubt about that. Even the chances of your making it to her are almost nothing. And what could happen if you did might be even worse. I can’t deny it, Xar. She’s a ruthless butcher. I’ve seen a lot of evil minds, a lot of killers and psychopaths in my time, believe me. And she ranks right up there with the best of them.”
“I didn’t see any evidence of that when I was with her,” Xar said in a soft tone. “Nor have I felt it through the bond. Even if she was like that once, I don’t believe it anymore.”
“People don’t change, Xar. Not easily, and it usually takes a long time or a life-altering event. But she’s been this way for thousands of years. And even if she had, would you willingly go to her, knowing what she once was?”
“I can’t say that,” Xar answered, a frustrated look on his face. “Not before seeing her. You said it: what she did was a long time ago, millennia. The times back then were different. The culture she is in is completely different.”
Icis shook his head adamantly. “No way. That’s just wishful thinking. This isn’t the same.” He paused, trying to form words to describe what he was feeling, so that he could somehow show Xar how horrible the Altarin’Dakor truly were. Xar was stubborn, all right, as stubborn as a Varnusan could be. But he didn’t believe that he would throw everything away to succumb to the power of the Lady of the Night. He’d always thought the man stronger than that.
“How many people have you killed?” Sauron asked suddenly. “Or me? Or any of us?”
“Look.” Icis moved over to grip the back of one of the office chairs, staring into the flame of a glowlamp. “I’ve made mistakes in my life, and I’ve had to live with them. But I’m telling you, this is different.”
He looked back at the other man, hearing a cynical laugh. “What are you talking about, man.”
“Because…” Icis began, his voice going cold in the simplicity of his thoughts. His mind raced back to another time, another place. “She loved it. Because… she took pleasure in killing.” Thoughts wanted to well up inside of him, of times that he’d taken pleasure in killing, too. But he wasn’t about to tell Xar that. He had to dissuade the man somehow, or all was lost. But there’s no way this time…
“You may be right, but that’s something I’m going to have to find out on my own,” Sauron said, affirming his thoughts. “I’m sorry.”
Icis pressed his grip into the back of the chair, but he could contain his anger no longer. “Fine. Do what you want to, then… That’s just great! So I’ve lost you, too, now. You’re as good as dead, and I’ve failed again. My whole purpose, everything I’ve sacrificed, is for nothing. There’s little for me to do but find some hole to hide in while the Altarin’Dakor wipe out everything.” He sighed, feeling all the frustrations that had built within him surfacing now. What did it matter, all hope was lost, now...
He turned to look at Xar, not bothering to hide his expression, and continued. “If you want to abandon everything you love and believe in for this woman, go on. Blast it, I should have known. This makes two failed hopefuls, two people that I was drawn to, that I believed could actually stop the return of the Altarin’Dakor. But I’ve lost you, too.” Unable to contain his disgust and anger at such a foolish human, he turned around and stormed toward the entrance, the chair falling over behind him. As he reached the door and pushed it open, he turned back to look at the man he’d called a friend.
“Just one more thing,” he said, his voice lowering to a serious tone. “Assuming you reach her alive, and go to her, I just want you to know…” He paused, sad to say the words that he knew were true. “You won’t want to come back, Xar. You can say this is for the good of the NI now, but once you’re there, all of it won’t matter one bit. The NI and everyone in it - no, the whole galaxy - can burn, for all you’ll care. You’ll just want to stay there, with Zalaria, forever. And nothing else will matter. Nothing.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Xar to his own. Icis had finally realized, now, that for all his knowledge and power, he couldn’t change the mind of someone, not really. But with Sauron abandoned to an almost certain death, there was nothing left in the NI for Icis Novitaar. It was time for him to be going as well…
Attrid Xoan, Jedi Crusader, sat up in his quarters as he heard the chime to his door sound. “Just a minute,” he called out in his deep, ringing voice. Tossing the magazine aside, he swung his feet off the couch and reached out for his shirt. His dark-skinned torso was well-muscled, and he was still sore from his last, intense training session. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a closely-shaved head and a thin black mustache and goatee. His impressive form was enhanced by a relatively recent addition: his right arm was completely mechanical from the shoulder down, cut away in an intense battle only a few months before. The artificial limb didn’t hold skin; instead he’s opted to leave the metal casing show through. The arm itself felt almost normal; the medical facilities on Varnus were first class. Doctor Vannik, in charge of the infirmary, had treated him well. The absence of cosmetic effect of skin didn’t decrease his feeling in the arm; he knew that either way, it was simply a series of signals sent through the nerves to his brain.
Taking the unbuttoned, short-sleeved shirt, he slipped his mechanical arm through first, then eased his left in. He pulled it on firmly, but left it unbuttoned as he rose and made his way toward the door.
He was completely surprised when, as the door slid open, he saw Rynn Mariel standing there, practically in tears. He could see where she’d been crying, the steaks running down her cheeks. He’d never seen her this shaken up before. “Rynn!” he said, leaning his head to see if anyone was in the corridor behind her. “What’s wrong?”
“Sir…” she started, then shook her head as if trying to compose herself. “I just came here… You were my mentor, I thought you’d be able to help…”
“Okay, it’s okay,” he soothed. “Come on in.”
He turned and walked back into the room, Rynn following him. His quarters were large, as many of the Jedi rooms were, complete with a sitting area and separate bedroom, refresher, and study area. His own quarters were at the side of the palace where it sloped down like a pyramid, facing the west side. As such, he had a long window the length of the far wall, through with sunlight bathed the room slightly in orange light.
“You want a drink?” he asked, moving towards one of the wooden cabinets. “Looks like you could use one.”
“Sure,” she said, coming to at a stop quietly in the center of the room.
“Brandy?”
“Fine.”
He opened the cabinet, taking out the proper flask, and poured two glass cups of the brown liquid. Then, putting everything back, he took the glasses and walked back towards her, offering her one of them.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the glass and a sip of the drink. “I think I did need it.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked, holding his glass lightly in hand.
“Yeah…” she answered, taking a moment longer before speaking. Finally, she gave a sigh. “I had an argument with the Grand Master.”
Xoan’s eyes widened as he listened to her relate the story. To think that she’d actually slapped him… But then, judging from the circumstances, he was inclined to agree with her action.
“He told me I could leave,” she said, the pain in her voice obvious. “That’s all I mean to him. I’m nothing but a tool, completely expendable.”
“That’s not true,” he said, feeling the firmness building in his tone. “You aren’t going anywhere. This is where you belong.”
“I thought that,” she admitted softly. “Now I’m not so sure. This isn’t what I’d pictured at all. At first, he seemed to be so admirable and good-willed. He was everything I’d pictured a Jedi Master to be: wise, powerful, unrelenting. His strength was what spurred me on. But now… He’s changing. Gotten worse ever since his rescue. What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “We can’t imagine what he went though… He was actually killed, so I’ve heard, or was at least legally dead for a while. Something like that… It can change a man, Rynn. ”
“So what can we do?” she asked. “He seems to have lost all sense of restraint. Everything he does focuses around the threat of this… Altarin’Dakor,” she said, struggling over the strange word.
He looked around the room, his mind wondering why the whole galaxy seemed to be going wrong all of a sudden. “Look, I don’t pretend to know what it is we’re up against here. But I’ve seen what they did to us last time, and it wasn’t pretty. I don’t know if this new training is doing any good or not..” He paused, thinking about Sauron’s words toward Rynn that she had related to him. “But you’re right,” he said resolutely. “We’ve got to do something about it. We can’t let things stay like this, or the whole SoH’s going to fall apart.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “We’ve got to bring the old Sauron back, somehow. So what do we do?”
His reply was cut off as a shrill alarm broke out over his commlink on the table. Moving over toward it, he set his glass down and brought his commlink up to his ear, listening. When he brought it back down, he turned to look at Rynn, who stared at him expectantly. “We’ve got a problem,” he said.
Gui Sun Paan made his way cautiously through the VIP hangar bay, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. No one else was present; nevertheless, he slipped around the side of a small transport carefully on his way to where he knew the Grand Master was. He moved up between two more ships finally coming up to the private shuttle where Sauron himself was stuffing supplies into one of the container holds. Surprisingly, the man hadn’t noticed his approach. Moving forward tentatively, he called out, “Grand Master?”
“Ouch!!” Sauron yelled as he jumped in surprise, banging his head on the inside of the compartment. He pulled himself out spun around, barely holding back a furious glance. “Gui Sun… How’d you know I was here?”
“Strange things have been going on today,” Gui Sun replied. “I’ve heard how bad things are getting. Already some rumors are spreading. I wanted to follow you and see if everything was okay…” He stopped, looking around at the GM’s bags and boxes of supplies. But now, it was obvious what Sauron was doing. He was leaving, and from the supplies gathered, he might be gone a long time.
“There’s no need,” Sauron said. “I’m fine. In fact, you won’t have to worry about me any more.”
What does that mean? Gui Sun wondered. Could he not be planning on coming back? “You’re going somewhere, master. I want to go with you,” he said sincerely.
Sauron shook his head. “You don’t want to follow me where I’m going, Gui Sun.”
“But…” he began.
“I don’t want to risk any more lives,” the man replied flatly.
“Sir, if it’s too dangerous, then that’s why I should go. To help you out. And why don’t we take the Black Star? It’s much more suited for infiltration…”
Shaking his head again, Sauron resumed his loading of the shuttle. “In this mission, fewer members means less risk. And I can’t take the Black Star. It’d be recognized.” Stuffing the last bag up into the hold, he threw the hatch closed and turned back to the young Crusader. “I know you want to go with me,” he acknowledged. “I’m glad that you’re one of the few loyal members left. But I’ve got to go alone. You have to stay here,” he said, putting a hand on Gui Sun’s shoulder. “You have to lead Black Ops. This will be an important job. You can’t abandon your duty in order to help me.”
“I… understand,” Gui Sun replied. Then, the two men exchanged nods, and Gui Sun obediently made his way back toward the entrance. As he left, he heard Sauron call out behind him.
“You didn’t see me here,” he said. As Gui Sun turned around, he saw the GM striding up the shuttle’s entry ramp, shaking his head slowly. Wherever he was going, it put a sick feeling in the Crusader’s stomach. As he watched Sauron ascend the ramp into the ship, he wondered if it would be the last time he’d ever see him…
On the other side of the palace, in a lower, more commonplace hangar, Icis Novitaar toted his bags toward his personal, black-painted X-Wing, Traveler. Of course, all his ships had been named Traveler, but this was one of his favorites so far. He made his way up to the ship, noting with satisfaction that it hadn’t been tampered with. If it had been, special alarms would have noted him. Thankfully, that ever unctuous engineer, Thad Balfin, was gone, presumably to Jengar. In the battle of Varnus, Icis had tried to flee towards Jengar, only to find that Balfin had tampered with his hyperdrive. Trying to rectify the problem, Balfin had jumped past him, while Icis had stayed behind, trapped. Icis had had to fix the thing by himself; now he hoped it would work.
Securing what meager belongings he could within the X-Wing’s storage compartment, he climbed in and started the launch sequence. Moments later, his ship was ready, and as he lifted off on his repulsorlifts, he took one last look at the interior of the palace, shaking his head sadly. To think that so much hope could be scattered so quickly. It was truly, truly sad that the NI was going to die. He’d rather liked it. In fact, after millennia of roaming across the reaches of space, he thought that he’d finally found a new home. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Outside, in the cold atmosphere of Varnus, two ships exited the palace from different directions. Each made its way for orbit, forgoing the normal flight plan and course confirmations, heading out its own path. Once outside the atmosphere, the Lambda-class shuttle turned away from the world, toward the beautiful purple Galbagos Nebula, setting its course for the galactic rim. On the other side, a black X-Wing turned coreward, in the general direction of Jengar. It passed the ISD Stormwatch and the space dock that was being rebuilt without any word. If any wondered at its occupant and course, they remained silent.
Moments later, both ships shot off hyperspace with a flash, each going their own way, toward their own destiny. And remaining silently, in the stillness of the void, was a pristine blue world, unknowing of its greater destiny in the history of this galaxy… and others.
The incessant beeping of his computer finally brought Chancellor Alex “Vampire” Misner awake. Rubbing his eyes and muttering under his breath, he got up and moved over to sit on the side of the bed. One look at the small computer screen on the desk beside him showed the source of the noise: a high-priority message was waiting for him. The chronometer reading showed 0440.
“Who in the blazes would call me at this hour?” he wondered with a scowl.
Reluctantly, he brought up the message text display, entering his proper identification code. The message displayed itself on the screen:
Time-delay Message
From: Xar
To: Alex
Alex, by the time you read this, I’ll be long gone. I wanted to let you know first, but late enough so you won’t be able to stop me. I can’t stay here any longer. The longer I remain, the more I think about her. I’m going go find Zalaria, whatever the cost. I’m leaving you in charge; Mathis will help you. Consider this an official promotion. Whether or not I make it back, you’re the Grand Master now. I wish you the best of luck.
Sorry that this is such short notice. Unfortunately, Icis is gone, also. He lost it when he heard the news. Do whatever you deem necessary to prepare the SoH for the invasion.
Thank you for being such a good friend these years. Ever since we first met as flight members in the EH, our friendship hasn’t been broken. You’ve been the most loyal member and protégé I could ever want. I’m sorry it had to come to this. I’ll never forget you or the SoH. I’ve sent others private messages, as well. The SoH is yours now. I know you’ll make the best of it. Goodbye.
Your friend,
Xar
“Again… not again…”
Before he even finished reading, Vampire’s hand was tapping in the number for DGM Billbob’s private quarters, a yell already emanating from his lips….
“MATHIS!!!!!”
Outside the office, if anyone had been present to hear it, they would have heard the man’s scream…