Episode I - "Echoes of Taris"

[Cor Leonis]

Taris, 303 BTC

The Captain felt the floor shudder beneath his feet as another wave of weapons plasma cascaded into the ground. The world rumbled; the building around him shook; in the distance he heard the creaking groan of durasteel being torn in two as yet another part of the superstructure gave out under the orbital bombardment.

A few choice Corellian curses tumbled from beneath the soldier's breath as a fortunately placed wall was enough to let his hand stop him stumbling face-first into the duracrete. His lips drew into a thin line. Durasteel. Duracrete. Not quite so durable after all.

An alert siren wailed through what remained of the corridors, just in case anyone hadn't noticed the fact that there was a Sith fleet looming above them, slowly turning the city into slag. Tarisian defenses had been no match for the Sith blockade when it had arrived, and counter-communications efforts combined with bureaucratic inefficiency had meant that their planetary distress calls had gone a mix of unanswered and unheard by the Galactic Republic. What little remained of the Republic garrison had retreated in the face of Sith patrols on the streets: patrols that were now sharing the same fate of everyone else on Taris, the Empire apparently at no risk of losing sleep over their loss. Hundreds of men and women who'd served under and alongside him these last years, not to mention thousands of innocent civilians who'd crossed the Empire and been punished for it, lay unattended in the streets in some districts, the civil services too in disarray to intervene.

All this, so Darth Malak could find a single illusive Jedi.

Corell scowled. I damn well hope she's worth all the death she's caused.

Snaking through debris, over collapsed support beams, and around ruptured consoles and conduits that sprayed showers of sparks into his path, Corell worked his way deeper into the complex, drawing step by staggering step towards Taris' final solution: it's last hope.

He dodged as another beam fell from above, crushing effortlessly through the unfortunately placed construction droid a few meters to his left. He grimaced, but refused to allow himself to dwell on the notion that it could have just as easily been him. That fatal peril surrounded him on all sides seemed irrelevant at this point: no matter what happened he'd be dead before the day was out, and all that mattered was what he chose to be doing when he died.

Something caught in his chest, his breath momentarily denied to him. He knew where he wanted to be, and who he wanted to be with; but as much as he longed to spend his last few moments with Dana in his arms, fate and the Force had other things in mind. Dying alone, but a hero, would have to do.

As he entered the vast cavern that the engineering droids had appropriated and converted, he felt an odd sensation at the sheer lack of flesh and blood bodies moving around the subterranean construction. He knew why, of course: a few steps closer, and he could already make out the rows upon rows of carbon-frozen figures that the almost entirety of the Taris government and civilian leadership had now become. Someone with a particularly grim sense of humour had dubbed this The Archives: a living relic of the leaders and specialists necessary to one day rebuild Taris when this ordeal was long past.

Corell wouldn't live to see it himself; but knowing that somehow this world and it's people would be honoured and remembered gave him some small shred of hope.

He approached the only droid he recognised; a military protocol unit decorated in the livery of Taris Security. He offered a curt nod of greeting towards it's cycloptic headpiece. "Everything on schedule, QM?"

The QM-35 turned to focus it's ocular unit on the approaching humanoid. "Corell Leonis. Captain, Republic infantry."

It's voice was painfully synthesized; for all the galaxy's advanced technology, they still apparently struggled to construct a machine that didn't sound like it was one. Perhaps it was for the best; but it hardly seemed like now was the time to dwell on such philosophical issues.

"Affirmative, Captain," QM-35 responded, addressing Corell directly this time, having ran the necessary security comparisons of his voice print and facial recognition profile to confirm his authority to be here. "All essential government and civilian personnel have been safely placed in cryostasis. Automated power regulation is performing at above projected levels, and security measures are on standby, pending completion of final preparation stages.

Corell nodded. At least something was going right. "Lock the doors," he instructed, his gaze shifting to the ominous vault entrance that - he was told - would survive even a direct impact from Sith weapons fire. Hopefully, the Archived wouldn't have to find out if that assessment was accurate. "The sooner we can barricade the entrance, the safer those people will be."

"Negative." The droid's denial was deadpan, but Corell couldn't help imagining a hint of thread injected into it's vocalisations. "Doors cannot be sealed until completion of all Archive Directives has been achieved."

That earned a frown. "Which directives are not yet satisfied, 35?"

"Tarisian Defense Directive 73449 is still outstanding," the droid replied.

Corell ran the numbers through his mind. 73449? Why can't they just give these things names? It wasn't anything he recognised; but for all he knew, it could be a directive specifically designed to prevent any operations being initiated until he'd been presented with a slice of cake; trying to work it out for himself wouldn't get him anywhere.

"Define Directive 73449."

The droid's head twitched slightly as it accessed the relevant data from it's memory banks. "Any official gathering of the Tarisian Government must be supervised by a security officer of Clearance Level 7 or above. Priority Override: Captain Corell Leonis assigned to governmental security detail as of 17.3 minutes prior to the current time index."

35 shifted his attention back to Corell. "Please remain still, Captain. A medical droid will sedate you shortly."

Synched through wireless communications, one of the medical droids instantly began to move in Corell's direction. Instinctively, the Captain's sidearm was in his hand, a few careful back-paces taken to give himself more room to manoeuvre. "QM-35, override current operations, authorisation code Sierra 764377."

"Unable to comply. That security code has been repealed."

Corell's eyes widened. "On whose authority?"

"Security Overseer Dana Citra."

Those four words were like a spear of ice through his gut, twisting until a sickening chill had begun to work it's way through his entire body. Dana. His Dana. She'd done this to, what, save him? Hijack a government project and risk the entire future of the planet's civilization just to save one expendable soldier?

"Thirty-five," Corell said, as calmly as he could, appealing to the sense of familiarity he hoped the droid and he shared. "I need you to stop. Dana Citra has misappropriated your programming: you need to resume your previous operations."

"I'm sorry, Corell."

The droid's voice had changed; still a synthetic edge, but the sound beneath was unmistakably the soft and gentle Imperial tones of the young defector he'd fallen in love with, scrubbed raw by a sadness that made his heart want to stop beating.

"The Empire took everything from me. I'm not going to let them take you too."

Whatever the purpose of the recorded message, it succeeded in one thing: a flicker of hesitation was all that another droid needed to get into position and catch him with a stun blast. Corell felt his motor neurons fry, and then felt nothing else; experienced the oddest sensation of seeing himself move upwards in the unexpectedly strong arms of the medical droid without experiencing any sensation of movement. From the awkward angle his head hung at, he could still see and hear QM-35 as the medical droid carried him into the vault.

"Objective complete," were the last words that Corell heard him say. "Sealing doors."

With a resonating, metallic clunk, the vault doors slammed closed; a hiss of a hyponeedle later, and the world slowly dissolved away as Corell saw himself being propped into a carbonite freezing unit.

[Contras Ath-Thu'ban]

Coruscant, 10 ATC

The speeder was slow. By the Force was it slow. The Rendili Watchman was a solid piece of engineering, and with a little love and modification it could be a truly impressive vehicle; but alas, while it only had one previous owner, they had been far from careful with it, and the machine was painfully factory-standard. The Jedi atop it could already think of at least a dozen ways he could modify it for better performance just with components he knew were lying about the place: but that would require a level of attachment and ownership that the Jedi Code frowned upon quite severely. He would have to tolerate the achingly slow craft, until he found an excuse or loophole that would allow him to seek out an alternative.

Still, it was better than speeding around on one of those Longspur STAP contraptions, clinging on to a pair of jet thrusters for dear life, your backside alarmingly close to the ground with every bump and pothole that the repulsorlifts failed to smooth out.

As he dodged around an astromech moving a little too slow for his liking, and bumped his way up the slope that led out of the public transport terminus, he tried his hardest not to be impressed by the looming sight of the Republic Senate, and didn't entirely succeed. This was Coruscant, and nothing here was small by any stretch of the imagination; but there was just something about the architectural confidence of constructing a giant space mushroom and the prowess of managing to make it actually look not half-bad that couldn't help but drag an impressed grunt from his throat.

The hum of the Watchman's repulsorlifts spiralled down into silence as he abandoned the speeder in one of the parking berths on the Senate Plaza, and set foot upon the Avenue of the Core Founders. For what it was, it was impressive: thirty meter statues towered above him, carved with the visages of the humans who had drafted the first Galactic Constitution. Were he a civilian, an impressionable member of the populace, or some new arrival from some Outer Rim backwater, it probably would have been all kinds of impressive. For a young Jedi fresh off the shuttle from Tython however, it didn't have quite the same zazz.

He turned his eyes skyward, and for a moment watched as speeders soared overhead in rapid processions. There was a little envy there behind his eyes, as he imagined the sentients lucky enough to still be in the air rather than tethered to the mundane tedium of sidewalks and obedience to gravity. He wondered if he could find an excuse to requisition a proper speeder, and scope out the planet-wide mega-city from above; maybe swing by the old Temple and see if one set of Jedi ruins was as impressive as the other.

For now however, he had a different objective; and with that sense of purpose he strode into the Senate Tower in search of the Jedi he'd been sent to meet.

[Ari'ana]

Everything was watched, everyone followed for an instant, every tendril of the Force examined and shied away from. Coruscant was overwhelming. So much life, so much... movement. The temple on Tython had been a far cry from quiet most days, but compared to this planet it now seemed like memories of a still pond that only occasionally would be interrupted by a drop of dew from the trees above. But there was no Chaos here, only Harmony as feet glided in an intricate dance that led individuals through crowds, narrowly missing each other as they passed within the hallways of the Senate building. It was beautiful in it's own way, even if most would take all of it for granted.

Amidst it all was Jedi Padawan Ari'ana sitting on a bench against a wall across from one of the rooms housing a group of delegates. It was confusing, the ambassador droids seemed to speak in a series of riddles and disjointed terms that were infuriating a young clerical woman. Ari'ana had almost figured out the possibilities of what they were attempting to convey but then they would throw in another word that seemed so out of place she would have to start over and begin questioning her entire grasp on their logic.

Squinting and putting a hand to her face wasn't helping any either, though it did seem to stem the slight headache she was gaining from listening to the woman go in circles with the representative. A small sigh left her as the Padawan leaned back and looked up at he balcony above her. If it continued for much longer, and if her contact did not arrive soon, she had the very distinct impression that the woman would soon spy her and ask for a Jedi Intervention. The worst thing was that despite being on Coruscant for a reason, Ari'ana knew she wouldn't refuse the woman's plea for help, even if it was bound to result in some meandering pointless escapade about the planet.

[Contras Ath-Thu'ban]

Contras was no Jedi Sage, but his shrewd grasp of common sense told him that this was not the room where they were supposed to meet Master Al-Maisan. Even so, he couldn't seem to stop himself from entering and investigating; especially not when he heard the all too intriguing vocalisations escaping from the cluster of protocol droids. He'd recognise Gree speech patterns anywhere: or at least, the clunky Basic interpretations of their typically beautiful and eloquent language.

The trick with Gree was to understand that they didn't think about or perceive the world in the way that many other races did. Particularly when the Jedi influenced your mindset, you learned to think of the world in terms of black and white, light and dark, and potentially a handful of grey shades in between. The Gree however saw the world as a more vivid and vibrant place, different points in the electromagnetic spectrum - different colours - corresponding with different states and motivations. To them, red was the epitome of order, expectation, and correctness; shades of yellow, green, and blue represented disruptions from, and the forces responsible for creating those disruptions to the norm; purple transcended beyond them, achieving redness once again after having passed through adversity. The Gree still acknowledged the black and white of the world, but their perception was the reverse of most: for them, white was colourless and undefined, whereas black was an absolute certainty. Contras had met a Gree once, who had been fascinated at how the Jedi could associate whiteness with purity and order, when their culture believed the reverse.

The shape side of things was a little more tricky, but aside from the obvious ones like perpendicular and parallel, generally speaking the more sides the shape had, the more extreme the situation. They also had a few specific words - far fewer than Basic, which often meant that their words had multiple definitions that jarred with non-Gree mentalities - but once you got the gist of it, you could fumble your way through and be understood by a sympathetic Gree with relative ease.

Someone who clearly hadn't managed to grasp the gist was the young Padawan that was the apparent target of the linguistic onslaught. Contras rummaged in one of the utility pouches on his belt and tugged out a small holodevice; triggered the control that projected an image of the other Jedi who'd shared his summons to Coruscant. That was her, all right.

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Time to go save the damsel in distress.

"Excuse me!" he interjected as he approached, quickening his pace enough so he could feign being out of breath. He placed his hands firmly on Ari'ana's shoulders, towering above the tiny Padawan as he faked a few more struggled breaths. "I am guilty-reluctant-apologetic to be a blue bisector, but this Padawan is my black parallel, and we are here on Coruscant to yellow vertex with our red hypotenuse, about a white sphere of the utmost urgency. I have no doubt she would blue parallel with you and be a black bisector to your black sphere were she able, but we must red acute our own sphere first." He mustered an apologetic smile. "I hope you can orange parallel."

The protocol droid seemed elated by the Jedi's linguistic display: or at least, his software and vocal processors did a pretty good job of imitating it. "Purple bisector!" he exclaimed in as pleasant a voice as a synthetic being could possibly muster. Contras liked to think that the droid would have smiled if he could. "Your yellow convex makes my yellow hexagon an orange circle."

He turned his attention to Ari'ana. "I hope your red parallel with this purple bisector will make your white sphere a purple square, black bisector."

[Ari'ana]

Her hands echoed the words as she mouthed them back at him slowly...parallel, bisect...

"White is... bad... " There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge. Or was it, Ignorance yet Knowledge in this case? "So... yes?"

The last word was drawn out as if by itself it could form an entire question. No matter, he could explain later.

"Padawan Contras, I take it?" That particular question was one of those that obviously didn't need an answer. A sense of politeness told her she needed to at least ask before simply stating what she had already felt through the Force. He was strong, ambitious, energetic... much like Master Par had described. There were other words that she had heard as well but only time would prove if they were truth or rumor.

"I'm afraid I got a bit lost." A small smile formed on her lips and she looked upwards as if the building above them didn't exist. "This planet is just so," she paused grasping at the word. "Active."

[Contras Ath-Thu'ban]

"If by active," Contras countered, "You mean hideously cluttered with useless junk and distractions, then yeah -"

His nose and brow teamed up for a face-scrunch of disapproval.

"- I guess you could call it that. Not a big fan of the whole take a planet, flatten it out and build all over it approach to civilization myself, but I guess I'm about eighty-five thousand years late protesting that particular issue."

He suddenly found himself entirely distracted by the floor. "There's mountains under here somewhere, did you know that? Or at least, there used to be. I guess it doesn't really count as a mountain when you cover it in buildings and hollow it out with labyrinthine networks of basements and access tunnels."

Though still talking, he busied himself with his utility pouches, this time retrieving a small, compact, and quite clearly tinkered with datapad. A few commands later and a small holographic map manifested a few inches above the screen; Contras waved the device around for emphasis, demonstrating how the projected map's position changed according to how the datapad was orientated.

"If you're like me, and you're too proud to ask for directions," he explained, flashing her a maverick smile, "It always helps to bring a map."

[Ari'ana]

Too proud for directions...? Ari'ana left the statement unspoken, but she was sure the knowing smile just verging on a smirk that she offered in reply would probably get the point across. Still, there was a lot to be said for practicality and the fact that he seemed a bit more prepared than she did was slightly embarrassing. Of course, all things considered, she was quite surprised that either of them were there without some sort of escort from a higher ranking member of the Jedi Order. Their Masters must have deemed them both responsible enough to handle the task together... or it was just simply too insignificant to bother sending anyone else. Either way, they were both overdue for the first stage.

She waved a hand in front of her in gesture for Contras to lead on, falling in step beside him as she attempted to not be distracted by the constant nudges in the Force by those around her. It wasn't that they were manipulating it, just part of it. And whereas she had become accustomed to the sensations of a temple full of those using the Force to achieve sometimes the simplest of tasks, it was so strange so suddenly find herself surrounded by those who seemed completely unaware of it all.

"Have you met Master Al-Maisan before?" Even if all questions regarding their contact would soon be answered, Ari'ana found there was a genuine curiosity regarding the man. She had been told at least something of the Padawan she was to work with, but the other Jedi in the equation still was a complete mystery.

[Contras Ath-Thu'ban]

"I met him once," Contras explained. "I think I really impressed him. Not surprised he wants to see me."

He smirked a little at his joke, but his face fell as Ari'ana didn't react to it in the slightest. It wasn't even like she disapproved of it - people disapproving of his puns and jokes was approximately 83% of the fun anyway - there was just a total lack of acknowledgement, or maybe even understanding.

"He's a Miraluka," he found himself forced to explain. He waved a hand absently in front of his face. "No eyes."

That prompted a frown. "Well, maybe he has eyes under there; I'm not actually sure. I know they sorta lost the use of their eyes and they see through the Force instead now, but I guess I never really paid enough attention in diplomacy class to learn that sort of stuff. I absolutely aced the tech courses, though -" He added quickly, just in case Ari'ana got the impression that he was some sort of academically challenged wash-out. "My master described me as the most technologically adept Padawan he'd seen for a generation."

He paused for another moment of thought. "I think he might have just been saying that as an excuse to make me fix up all the training droids that I'm so good at smashing up."

With a great deal of effort, he managed to force himself to allow the topic of conversation to not be about him for a few moments. "How about you? You don't look much like a fighter - you one of those fancy rock-levitating types?"

[Ari'ana]

"I..." What was it Master Bakarn had said when she had first come to Tython You have a remarkable connection to the force... we haven't seen such power in decades. Not that she dwelled on such things, but the mind often found a way to play with memories if you didn't stand guard against it. Maybe she was just still feeling overwhelmed.. "Yes, I suppose you could put it that way. I'm studying to become a Sage."

She found a mischievous smirk slowly creeping its way to her and she looked back over at her fellow Padawan. "You know, unless I'm just telling you that and am actually working at being a Shadow. Maybe I already am one and this entire Padawan thing is an elaborate ruse."

The smirk persisted as they came to a halt in front of the doorway that the map displayed was where the Jedi Master waited for them and finally a small laugh left her. "No. I wouldn't believe it either."

[Contras Ath-Thu'ban]

Contras maintained a deadpan half-smile designed to distract Ari'ana while he considered his options for escape.Backing away slowly seemed like an awfully good idea, but unfortunately that would send him in the wrong direction. It was, he mused, particularly difficult to formulate an escape plan when the person you were contemplating escape from was going to the same place that you were.

He chose not to respond to her directly, walking in silence and allowing a respectable five seconds or so for her weirdness to drift out of memory before he spoke again.

"Training to be a Sage, huh?" His nose wrinkled. "Not sure I'd have the patience for all that lifting rocks and throwing pebbles stuff. Me, I'm a man of action. Observant. Athletic. Prime Sentinel material. For example -"

Without breaking his stride, he summoned the Force to him, allowing a wave of it to propel him into an athletic leap that sailed perilously close to the corridor's vaulted ceiling, and landed him with Cathar-like grace directly behind an unsuspecting Senatorial attaché, who squeaked in surprise. "Sorry," Contras said, with a broad grin that suggested he was anything but.

He turned back to Ari'ana, and gestured theatrically. "Bet your Sage training didn't teach you that."

[Ari'ana]

A half smile began to form as Ari'ana briefly considered causing her fellow Padawan to find himself in the air once more but not of his own doing. Before she could act, the temptation was quickly cut off as reminders of teachings from her first Master were suddenly presented to the forefront of her mind. We use the Force for knowledge, and exercise wisdom and humility in doing so. A small sigh of resignation to the fact that perhaps not every Jedi had been as schooled in philosophy to the extent she had passed before she gave an apologetic smile to the unnerved politicians as they passed her.

"No, I cannot say that has." There was no disapproval in her voice and she even allowed it to show just a hinting at the fact that she was actually quite impressed by the display. Truth be told, when she was younger Ari'ana had been forced to stave off feelings of envy when she would often sit outside of the temple and watched other Jedi train in the more physical talents that would guide those to the path of Knight rather than Consular. It wasn't that she was entirely incapable of such things, but the ease with which the executed their acrobatic twirls and leaps and obvious prowess with the use of a lightsaber had sometimes left her feeling as though perhaps her gifts with the more mental aspects of the Force left something to be desired. That feeling had shifted over time as she came to accept and become far more grateful for the gifts the Force had given her, especially when she had exceeded her Master's expectations on numerous occasions. Humility, Ari'ana... A constant lesson, even if the small boasts were kept internal.

"We should probably hurry along. Master Al-Maisan will be waiting on us. I'm sure we will have ample opportunities to compare schools of training once we find out what he has in store for us."

[Contras Ath-Thu'ban]

For a few ponderous moments, Contras wondered if he was somehow in the presence of some sort of highly realistic Human Replicant Droid. She certainly sounded more like a protocol droid than a human being when she spoke; Contras was hardly in a position to criticise anyone for the amount of talking that they did, but it was the whole why use a word with one syllable when you can use one that has seven? that didn't really sound like the way people were supposed to talk. Maybe it was a Jedi Consular thing. Maybe Sages were supposed to sound like that, so that their prophecies and journals and autobiographies and things would sound all cool and fancy when they were added into the Jedi Archives. Or, maybe this Jedi Consular just had something wrong with her.

Still, the fact that she wasn't necessarily some kind of undercover spy droid didn't mean she wasn't definitely. For a moment, he considered confronting her about it directly, or maybe poking her squidgy parts to see just how squidgy they were, or if there was some sort of metal chassis lurking under there. Or, maybe with a few tweaks he'd be able to rig up a short range EMP device that would scramble her systems if she really was a droid, but leave her completely unaffected if she wasn't. Of course, a smartly manufactured spy droid would no doubt be shielded against such things.

The only option that readily presented itself was Master Al-Maisan: surely, if Miraluka could see the auras of beings the way that they were supposedly able to, he'd spot a droid imposter a mile off. Unless, of course, Al-Maisan was the one behind this whole droid conspiracy thing in the first place -

"Right," he agreed, trying to ignore the thunderous pace of his mind stampeding it's way to all kinds of rash conclusions. He glanced at his little holo map, before comparing it to the lay of the land that surrounded him. "I think we need to be up on that viewing gallery," he gestured with a nod of his head. "One of these archways probably leads to a stairwell."