Starship Jurkanis
Hyperspace
En Route to Epsilon Sector
Princess Almani strode quickly across the blue carpeted floor of the
throne room. Her delicate, ornate robes made a soft swishing sound as she
moved, and her pure white hair fell down behind her back in two long, elaborate
braids. Her slipper-covered feet padded across the floor with hardly a sound.
Within moments she reached the white throne at the end of the large chamber,
and she paused, placing a hand on one of the arms as she stared down for a
minute at the empty seat.
“I thought I might find you here, Almani,”
came a familiar voice from behind.
She turned, and found herself breaking into an involuntary smile. “Zoar!” she cried out to the tall, handsome man standing back at the entrance. Zoar was kind, gentle man, and held a special place in her heart. He’d been a brother to her, in everything but blood, for as long as she could remember. Zoar had long hair, most of it a rich brown, but with a few strands of white as pure as Almani’s. He wore his formal dress, as he usually did; an ornate robe that split at the leg to form loose pants that allowed freedom of movement. His deep brown eyes looked on her with compassion, but could have a deadly fire when he felt a lecture was necessary. Almani had always looked up to her brother, who was sometimes the only stable factor in her life. Especially after recent events.
Her smile quickly faded, and she looked
down at the seat, speaking more solemnly. “I miss my sister,” she admitted
softly.
“You know that Lucia’s duties keep her
very busy. But even when she is not present physically, she is still with us in
spirit, my little Zuami blossom,” Zoar told her. His deep voice sounded
soft and comforting. “She will always remain by your side to guide you, as will
I.”
“I know,” Almani said. “That makes me
glad. But I still wish she were here.” She looked back up at her brother. “Do
you think we’ll be safe in the… Nooh Emperium?” she struggled with the foreign
words, so different from her native tongue.
“The New Imperium is a very tolerant
place, I hear,” Zoar said, correcting her pronunciation. “They take many refugees
from the… evil ones. I am certain they will give us sanctuary on our way toward
the Core.”
“I hope so.”
Feeling a sudden impulse, Almani pushed
away from the throne and ran across the carpet, wrapping her brother in a
fierce hug. “Oh, thank you for doing this, Zoar. I’m so glad you’re here to
protect us.”
“It’s all right, Almani,” he said softly.
After returning her hug, he took her gently by the shoulders and knelt down on
one knee, looking into her crystal blue eyes. “This ship holds the last of our
people. We will preserve and protect our own. And I will never abandon my duty,
or my love for you. As your Guardian, I promise this to you, now and forever.”
“I want to live in a safer place,” she
said, her delicate voice almost cracking. “Without war or fighting. There has
to be such a place. There has to be!” She’d known war her entire life. It was
something she almost couldn’t imagine living without. What would it be like?
Would it be as wonderful as the legends said?
“There is such a place, little sister,”
Zoar said. “And we will reach it soon enough; have no fear of that.”
* * *
Downtown Vectur
Planet Varnus
The bar was named the Desperate
Chance, and with good reason. One of the seedier pubs in town, it was located
on street level, and home to an amalgam of motley-looking aliens looking for
the right place to get wasted for the night. Anyone down on their luck or
strapped for cash could usually be found here, and it had generated quite a
reputation across the city, so much so that the entrance line was sometimes two
whole hours long. As a result, it had attracted more than the common run-down
spacefarers and junkies, from thrill-seeking youngsters to politicians who
wanted a nice, “public” place to take care of some of their less legitimate
businesses. It had become a far cry from its original, simpler roots. Not that
the owners were complaining though, with the obscene amounts of money the place
was raking in.
It’s one of life’s little ironies,
Xar thought as he sat at the bar, nursing a blur concoction in a gourd-shaped
glass that tasted more like some exotic alien’s by-product than an alcoholic
beverage. But that was all part of the image, he guessed. Same thing with the
heavy techno music and the neon blue room lighting, and the strobe lasers that
were constantly reflecting of shiny surfaces and into people’s eyes. Yeah, I
really love this place, he thought for the tenth time that hour.
What made this experience even better was
the obnoxious Weequay sitting to his left who simply would not shut up. Ever
since replacing the seat’s previous occupant in the crowded nightclub, he
hadn’t stopped talking. He’d taken an instant fixation on Xar for some reason,
rambling on in broken Basic first about his dire situation – obviously a lie,
since everyone here made up a tough-luck story to keep up appearances – and
then from there went on about everything from politics to how well different
drinks mixed together. Now he seemed to be prodding closer for some response,
and he was quickly pushing the limits of the Xar’s nerves.
“I tell you truth, it all same here,” the
Weequay went on. “I come here to make living, but no luck. You have luck?”
Feeling his synapses starting to twitch,
Xar turned to cast a wary look at the drunken figure. “Could you please leave
me alone, I’m waiting on someone.”
“It no baatha,” the alien mumbled on. “Let
me buy you drink…”
Suddenly the alien broke off a large hand
landed on his shoulder and spun him around the other way forcefully. The
Weequay stared into the imposing gaze of a wide-shouldered, bald and
dark-skinned man, flinching as he was pulled to his feet and held up by his
shirt. The large, built man practically yelled into his face.
“Can’t you hear? He said leave the man
alone!”
The two fell out of Xar’s sight, and a
second later he heard a wild shriek. The crowd shuffled around him, and then
the large man slid into the now-empty seat beside him.
“Thanks, Atridd,” Xar said, nodding but not
looking in that direction.
“Not a problem. You found our buddy yet?”
“Got a line on him now,” Xar said, fixing
his gaze on the rear exit as he watched between the stirring mass of bodies. He
tapped his ear once, activating the transceiver there. “Heads up everyone, we
move in two minutes.”
He quickly received confirmation from his
other team members, three distinct double-clicks over his commlink. There were
five of them including himself and Atridd. Nodding, Xar settled back to wait
the allotted time. Taking another look at the caustic liquid in the glass in
front of him, he slid it over to his left. “You want this?” he asked Xoan.
“Thanks,” the man said, taking the drink.
He tasted it, then set the glass back down on the counter and flexed his right
hand. “You know,” he said, breathing out beneath his black mustache that traced
its way to his chin, “I may have actually hurt that guy’s shoulder.”
Xar looked over at him. He knew that
underneath the coat sleeve and glove, Xoan’s arm was artificial, and he
sometimes didn’t know his own strength. It had been sliced off in a vicious
battle with an Altarin’Dakor Jedicon, and Atridd had chosen to wear a
prosthetic instead of a potentially risky clone arm. Ironically, the mechanical
arm would be much stronger than a normal human’s, but with Force-enhanced
strength Xoan could make his left arm many times as powerful. “Don’t worry
about it,” Xar said.
Outside the bar, it had begun to rain steadily, and the crowd of milling bodies inside packed more closely together in an attempt to stay dry. Beings who entered were cloaked in drenched raincoats, by now. The atmosphere inside was becoming more uncomfortable for everyone. Casually, Xar reached into his coat and touched the handle of his single-handed rail gun, his favorite ranged weapon, taking comfort in feeling its weight there. Roughly the size of any hand-held blaster, it hung snugly in the shoulder holster in which is was concealed. It was an elegant weapon, simple in appearance – made of polished metal – but it was deadly in form, holding a magazine of twelve supersonic mass driver projectiles. Using such a weapon was mostly tradition for him, one that he’d kept even after becoming a Jedi Master. Almost unconsciously, he popped the safety switch off with his thumb, making ready. “Let’s go,” he whispered into the transceiver.
Without further word, he shoved away from the bar and started forcing his way through the crowd towards the back door. He could feel Xoan’s presence moving behind him, and his other three operatives drawing close, as well. It only took a couple of minutes to break through the thickest part of the mass and reach the rear door near the refresher stations. Standing just outside of the ‘fresher line, he turned to see the rest of his team gather up around him. Atridd was close by on his right, calm and alert, as always. Drawing up in front of him, the other three members gave knowing yet inconspicuous nods. Xar grinned back at them. The slim, attractive Nadia Ispen had fit in well with the crowd; her short, bleached-white hair turned blue under the room’s lighting. Beside her, Jacob “Jinx” Skipper was reaching into his trench-coat for the blaster hidden there. And bringing up the rear was the large form of Ralagos Akala, the only Togorian Jedi in the New Imperium. He was a rare find, but the fact that he held the rank of Adept spoke that much more about his skill. Any enemy not cowed by his fearsome feline appearance would regret being the recipient of his awesome Force abilities.
His short inspection satisfying him, Xar turned back towards the door and strode up to the rough-looking, muscular security guard standing watch there. From the way the man watched the crowd, he was obviously one of the bouncers, though Xar figured he had other reasons for watching this particular exit.
The sight of the five shady-looking characters approaching him was probably what sent the guard’s eyes wide. “Is there something I can help you with?” he spoke up gruffly.
“Yeah,” Xar said, coming to a stop half a meter in front of him. “Let us through this door.”
“The back room is off limits to customers,” the man said, his eyes narrowing. “You’d better turn around now before I decide to have you thrown out.”
Xar gave the man a cold smile. “I assume you don’t know who I am, do you? Open the door.”
The man began reaching into his belt for the stun rod secured there. “That’s it. I’ve had enough of you…”
But Xar didn’t give him a chance. Slapping a hand over the bouncer’s wrist to trap it, he thrust his fist straight into the man’s solar plexus, bending him over in pain and cutting off his breath.
“I own this city, idiot! Now get out of my way!” Xar yelled, forcibly shoving the man to the side. Then, ripping his mass gun out of his holster, he stepped forward and kicked the door completely off its hinges. The door clattered to the floor amidst a shower of splinters, and Xar quickly stepped through the doorway, followed closely by Attrid, Nadia, Jinx, and Ralagos, each with their weapons drawn and at the ready.
Four men looked up from the sabbacc table in the center of the smoke-filled area, clearly startled speechless by the sight of five armed assailants suddenly bursting into the room.
“What’s the meaning of this?!” the bald, pudgy man at the far side of the table demanded loudly, backed up by the protests of the others gathered there. Xar quickly took stock of all four. Two of the men around the circular table were plain-looking and built– clearly hired muscle. Across from the fat man who’d spoken was another man with tall, spiky blond hair, the other’s business associate. Concentrating on that group, Xar was surprised as Jinx moved up beside him and trained his blaster on a fifth person, a tall, dark-skinned man who had been returning to the table with a drink.
Xar walked up to the table and pointed his gun straight at the pudgy fellow. “Slyvie Voor, you’re under arrest for conspiring to and committing treason against the New Imperium.” He gave a cynical grin as he recognized the man he’d been searching for. It had taken him almost a month to find this one. “You’re a kriffing AD spy.”
The man’s eyes went wide, and he jerked back as if hit. “What? That’s ridiculous! You can’t just come in here and arrest me on such a ludicrous charge. What proof do you have? Where’s your warrant, puke-eater?”
“My name is Xar Kerensky. I believe you know who I am. And my warrant is right here,” he said, turning his gun to one side, still pointed at the man’s chest.
“Kriff you! I demand to see a lawyer!”
“Gentlemen. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a relaxing game?” the spike-headed man put in. “What happened to the freedom of personal privacy? Can’t you desk-jockeys leave well enough alone?”
“I’m sorry, but we’re not tolerant people,” Xar shot back sardonically. “Put your hands up now.”
“Please, officers,” Slyvie broke back in. “This is absurd. Allow me to explain the situation…” He glanced nervously at the guard on his right as he spoke, and Xar groaned inwardly. So much for a non-violent confrontation. As one, the two guards’ hands shot under the table, followed an instant later by Slyvie and the spiked man. The first guard had brought the handle of his weapon up by the time Xar moved. Taking a quick step forward, he kicked the table hard from underneath, launching it into the air and scattering cards and chits everywhere. Slyvie and one of the guards were thrown backward as the table fell down in front of them on its side with a crash. Not waiting to see what had happened to Slyvie, Xar brought his weapon up and fired two shots straight through the wooden table. The supersonic bullets tore through the wood like flimsy, blasting splinters out of it, before spearing two holes straight through the fat man on the other side.
Simultaneously around Xar an explosion of sound and light erupted as the other members of his team fired their rounds. He felt the heat of blaster bolts burn through the air around him, followed by the sickening smell of burnt flesh. A split second later, there were four corpses lying across the floor, strewn with sabbacc cards and gambling chips. One guard’s face had been blown completely apart; the other guard and the spiked man had smoking holes in their chest and back, respectively. Xar let his weapon fall to his side and he shook his head, sighing.
“Kriff. I was hoping to get something out of this group. What a waste.” Of course, that was how all of these busts had gone so far. Altarin’Dakor – even traitors from this galaxy – never surrendered; they would always fight, no matter what the odds were.
“You okay?” he asked Atridd, who was wincing as he nursed his left arm, smoking from a near-miss Xar hadn’t noticed.
“I’ll be fine,” the man winced. “Just a scratch, it’ll heal up in no time.”
Ralagos and Nadia had replaced their weapons and were stooping down to search the bodies. Xar let his gaze linger over each one. How do you defeat someone like that? he wondered silently. After all, they were the aggressors. Usually the defending forces in a conflict would have the advantage of pure desperation on their side, but these Altarin’Dakor fought as if winning were the only thing that mattered in the universe. But of course they do, he thought. They’ve trained all their lives for the Return. Even defectors from this galaxy, like these worthless thugs now lying on the ground, were willing to put everything on the line for a victory.
“Don’t move,” Jinx spoke up suddenly, interrupting Xar’s thoughts. Turning, he saw that the man’s blaster was trained on the fifth member of the group, the one who hadn’t been at the table. Xar arched an eyebrow in surprise. The dark-skinned man hadn’t moved an inch, but his drink had shattered on the floor when it had fallen from his limp hand, and the man’s eyes were filled with terror at what he’d seen.
“I’m warning you, stay right where you are,” Jinx repeated. He could clearly sense the man’s emotional stress; he looked ready to bolt at any second.
“I…I know nothing…” the man stammered, holding his hands up in front of him. “I d-don’t have anything to d-do with this.”
“Then I’m sure you won’t mind coming in for questioning,” Jinx replied evenly. Xar looked from him back to the other man, who seemed about to jump out of his skin. The man’s eyes were as wide as saucers, now.
Xar sensed it an instant before he actually moved. The man dove to the side, scrambling across the floor as fast as his feet would take him. Jinx fired in response, sending out a couple quick reaction shots that passed behind the man’s head. He was moving fast, too quick for Jinx to track with his muzzle, and before he could fire again the man had vanished through the room’s rear exit.
Jinx started to move after him, but Xar put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get him,” he said, and then took off into a run. “You finish up here,” he called back to the others over his shoulder.
He passed through the doorway and emerged into a dimly-lit stairwell. Above him he could hear the padded footsteps of the fleeing man, and Xar quickly started up the steel-framed staircase, bringing up his mass driver once more. He reached the second floor and kept on going, steadily pursuing the pounding footsteps above. Drops of water dripped down on him from above. Looking up, he could see the man’s shadow moving between the gaps in the stairs.
“Stop!” he shouted, but to no avail. If anything, the scrambling steps came more quickly. Bringing his gun up as he climbed, Xar fired a couple shots into the framework above, hearing the bullets loudly as they ricocheted countless times. Still, the retreating man continued on.
Xar followed up six more flights of stairs, gaining some ground, before his quarry reached the stairwell exit to the roof. He vanished behind it, quickly closing the door behind him. Moments later, Xar bounded up the last several steps and threw his body against the door, sending it bursting open. He emerged into a drenching downpour of rain that almost instantly soaked through all of his clothing. He padded out across the slick rooftop, searching through the deluge for his target. It was raining so hard that he almost missed the dark figure moving to the raised edge of the roof.
Raising his gun ahead of him, Xar ran toward the figure, calling out again for the man to stop. But again he was ignored. The escapee slid up to the raised wall at the edge of the roof and leaned over, peering down. Then he turned back to look at Xar, who came to a stop several meters away, gun trained steadily over his chest. Xar didn’t speak; the man knew he’d been caught. But the wild look in his eyes made it clear that he wasn’t going to give up. Astonishingly, the man climbed up onto the edge of the wall and looked desperately at the slanted tile roof of the building next to them. Xar understood what he was thinking. He could probably make the jump, but with the rain pouring down, could he grab hold without sliding back off? Xar didn’t think so.
Yet when the man looked back one final time, it was clear that he was willing to take the chance. Crouching down on all fours, he leapt out across the gap, stretching his body out to grab hold of the other side, his only chance at life. Xar ran up to the edge to watch as the man made his target, grabbing desperately onto the tiles of the next roof. For a moment it seemed that he had succeeded. But the rain had made the roof slick, and the slant was fairly steep, and he began to slide down, first slowly, then faster as he fell.
For a split second, Xar considered using the Force to catch the man and bring him up. But, he reasoned, the man wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway had he been captured. Either the courts or one of his own kind would have ended his life. And it wasn’t likely he’d be able to reveal much about Slyvie’s spying contacts. Those secrets had died with Slyvie himself.
The man never cried out as he slid off the edge of the roof and into the chasm below. Silent, he fell, spinning wildly down the eight story drop to the streets below. There was a sharp crash as he landed atop a passing hovercar, bursting through the windshield and sending the vehicle out of control.
Xar turned away
from the edge, ignoring the rest of it, pausing to take several deep, calming
breaths. A moment later he had collected himself, and started back toward the
stairwell, his mind already working on his next lead. There were many more
spies to filter out, of that he was sure. The only real problem with having
spies was that you never quite knew when you’d gotten them all…
* * *
Somewhere outside NI space
The being sat alone in his large, luxurious living quarters,
silently contemplating the infinite expanse of space that was visible outside
the floor-to-ceiling windows. Here, he could see the awesome grandeur of the
stars, imagine the incredible amount of space out there, and of all the forms
of life living within it. And very few out there, if anyone at all, knew of his
existence.
Once, he had been a Shok’Thola, feared
across this galaxy, during the Great War and before his people had been
banished. Then, he had been a terrible sight to behold, a being so
frighteningly alien to humanity that most beings couldn't even have looked upon
him.
But that had been before his eventual demise
and imprisonment within a massive Repository along with thousands of other Jedi
spirits. During that time, he had forgotten what it was like to be a physical
being. Then when an ambitious
Jedicon had sought to release him from his prison, he had barely escaped and
taken the Jedicon's body instead. He could thank the Jedi known as Nico Flygras
for that. His... pet.
In the months
since, he had gotten used to being human, enough that he couldn't even remember
being his old species, with completely different senses and organs. Not that he
didn't like being a human; in fact, he'd gotten rather accustomed to its
differences, and its new pleasures.
Before, he had been Queklain, a terrifying
visage of death. Now, he was known mostly as Rofel, the unremarkable human that
had become his new host. From the shadows he worked now, for his very presence
was probably unknown to all the other Warlords. All, save Altima, who would
still have been able to sense his connection to the Entity that had kept him alive
and gave him Immortality.
But now his thoughts had turned to his own
machinations and schemes, his secret manipulation of events. His pet, his
little experiment, was going well. The one who had given him life again, this
"Jedi" known as Nico, had deserved payment for his generous favor. So
Queklain, or Rofel, had saved his life in turn, just before he would have died
in the Altarin'Dakor-controlled Mizar System. There, he had taken special care
of him, preparing him for his return to the New Imperium as an unwitting
servant. Not that the New Imperium itself was worth any real notice; it was
just a curiosity, a gamble that might pay out one day. The government itself
sat directly in the way of the Return. There was little doubt that soon the
Altarin'Dakor forces would sweep mercilessly over their space and crush them
like flies. This Warlord had other things to concern himself with. Still, there
was a chance...
As if summoned by his thoughts, a servant
entered, bowed low, waiting for acknowledgement. The being made him wait for a
while, then finally turned his head toward the entrance and gave a slight nod
for him to proceed.
"Great Lord, I have important news.
An informant relayed information that the one called Nico has returned from his
mission to the Rafa System and has now been placed in a position of high
authority. He is the Deputy Grand Master of their so-called Jedi
Division."
“Excellent. And what of the spy network
left by Kronos?”
“They have kept us informed of the highest
level decisions by the New Imperium Senate,” the servant explained. “Elections
for new Diktat will be held soon. They also report of the defection of the Shok’Thola Zalaria, and that she has
brought a sizeable force to the New Imperium’s aide.”
The being did not let the sudden flash of
surprise and interest show in his expression, nor his intense eagerness to find
out what Zalaria was up to. "Interesting,” he mused aloud. “We have agents
traveling with them, of course?"
"Yes, sire. They have already
reported in."
"Good. Anything else?”
“One other point of interest, sire. There
is a certain… individual who was the overseer of all Kronos’ agents in the New
Imperium. He is also the head of the NI Intelligence Network.”
That caused his interest to peak, indeed.
Someone that highly placed could be in a position to assume leadership of the
entire NI. “Who is this man?”
“Gene Rytor, sire. He currently resides on
Tralaria.”
“I believe I will have to arrange a meeting
with this… Rytor. Make arrangements for my relocation to Tralaria. I will want
to see to the next series of events personally.”
“It will be done.”
“You may leave," the being commanded,
deciding to let this servant live, at least this time. "See to it that I remain informed. I
will be taking a personal interest in these two."
"Yes, Great Lord." With that,
the servant left as quietly as he'd come.
Queklain smiled, and for a moment his eyes
glowed with the ancient alien presence of his past. Then his laughter filled
the chamber. This gamble was going to pay off better than he'd ever imagined.
* * *
Senate Complex
Tralaria, NI Capital
Maarek Stele got up from his
seat and stretched for a moment. Turning slowly, he took stock of the huge
chamber around him. He and the other members of Inferno Squadron were seated in
the Senate Complex’s main auditorium, a huge half-oval with rows of seats
facing a large curtained stage. It was a place for grand speeches and exhibitions
intended for hundreds of spectators, and broadcast to uncounted multitudes
throughout the New Imperium. One such event would take place here today. He and
his squad-mates had been given seats halfway down, and were easily lost among
the mass of other officers, delegates, military personnel, and other VIPs.
Stele looked across the row at the members
of his squadron. What was left of it, anyway. The survivors of the Battle of
Mizar, they had more than proven themselves in combat. Jocular Rann Wosper,
professional Bast Vlagen, attractive Tanya Vinikoro, Kikitik the Sigman, Salle
Darl, Gren Pabos, and Petur Kien. There were nine members of Inferno now, since
they’d picked up only one new member since Mizar. Narm Greyrunner, a decorated
pilot from the Intruder Wing, had opted to join up. Maarek was glad of that,
and hoped that more good pilots would be willing to transfer. Inferno Squadron
was building up quite a reputation for itself. Still, he thought of the pilots
who had died in the horrible Battle of Mizar. He’d witnessed the deaths of
Vlini Makor, Macen Isabi, and Juor Nace. He’d learned of Kei Nomos’ death
later, after returning from his capture and brief period with the mysterious
man known as Victor.
Stepping out into the aisle, Maarek climbed
the steps up to the top of the auditorium and the connecting area outside. This
entire section of the Senate Complex had been done in white marble with gold
trim, an incredible expense for the Senate to make. In some ways the Complex
reminded him of the old Imperial Senate House on Coruscant, only with a much
lighter atmosphere. Up here above the auditorium, there were several sitting
areas, a bar, lounges, and communications and HoloNet access terminals. Maarek
walked over towards the bar counter, intending to get a little something to
drink. The bartender brought him a cold glass of water and he sat there for a
moment, sipping it. Water was Tralaria’s most abundant resource – the planet
was covered in ocean, almost as thoroughly as Mon Calamari. It was funny how a resource so
common on one world could be a treasured scarcity on another. On Tatooine, most
of their water had to be coaxed out of vaporators every day.
The presentation would be starting in just
a few minutes. There was a lot of hype circulating about today’s event, though
Maarek wasn’t too excited about it, himself. As he sat there silently, another
man dressed in officer’s uniform came up to stand at the counter beside him.
“Commander Stele. I didn’t expect to see
you here,” Rivian von Donitz said in a low tone. “I heard you’ve been very busy
lately.”
Maarek set his glass down and turned to
look at the slim, dark-headed man, resplendent in his ceremonial uniform all
covered in campaign ribbons and medals. Admiral Caramon Majere’s most prized
pilot, he claimed to be the best fighter pilot alive in the galaxy, and he had
claimed many more kills in the Battle of Mizar itself. The man was all cool
confidence, rarely showing any other emotion. Maarek didn’t much like Donitz.
There was an air about him, of something dark and ruthless. Maarek wondered if
he’d been that way himself, once. They were both soldiers, they both killed in
battle. But recently, all the meaning in battle had changed for Maarek.
“Well,” he told Donitz, “With everything
else going on around here after those AD forces defected, I thought Inferno
could make itself useful helping out wherever we could. We managed to be at the
right place at the right time, at Sigma.”
Recently, he and Inferno had helped to stop
a coup de’ tat by the Kaav’Klan military commander Xantak, who had targeted at
the Sigman Emperor in a bid to assume control and establish a military
government. In the process Xantak’s forces had attacked the Moro shipyards, a
move which could have crippled the New Imperium’s capacity to make war. But
Maarek’s squadron had helped thwart that attempt, as well, finally chasing
Xantak’s flagship VSD down and destroying it along with its commander.
All that had happened in the past month.
Maarek briefly recounted the experience to the man beside him, as well as the
latest mission that had followed. “After that, we patrolled the NI border near
Eridani looking for reported disturbances. We thought it was the
Donitz made a noncommittal sound. “Luck
should have nothing to do with your piloting skills. Hmph. They’re already
calling you the hero of Sigma. You did kill that traitorous Sigman
military commander, after all. You should at least be proud of that.”
“Sorry, but I don’t take pride in killing
people,” Maarek said, turning back to his glass.
“Have it your way, Stele. You can’t deny
what you are forever.” Then he was gone.
I don’t deny what I am or what I’ve
done, Maarek thought. He shook his head slowly. Donitz just didn’t
understand; he hadn’t seen what Maarek had seen. His encounter with Victor had
changed his way of thinking, his whole reason for fighting this war. It was
amazing how different he’d felt since returning from Altarin’Dakor space. But
as much has he’d learned from that experience, he knew there was much, much
more he needed to know. Sometimes, he thought he could still hear the Archon
speaking to him, guiding him, but he could never make out the words. He felt
like a part of himself was missing, now. A part he would have to find again,
someday.
When he
had drained the last of his water, he left the bar and headed back down to the designated
seats. He slid into his chair next to Rann Wosper, Inferno Two. Beside Rann was
Bast Vlagen, the experienced Varnusan and leader of Flight Two. Due to the
decimation of Three Flight, Maarek had placed Salle Darl in command of that
group, with Petur Kien still in slot eight and Narm Greyrunner, the newcomer
from
Abregado, in slot nine.
Rann
nodded to him as Maarek sat down. “What’s up?” he asked in his usual light
tone. “I saw Donitz coming down from up there, too.”
Maarek
sat back and waved him off. “It’s nothing. Forget about him.”
“I don’t
know about you, but I’m itching to see this new model of the Avatar unveiled,”
Rann said, the eagerness clear in his voice. On his other side, Bast Vlagen
cleared his throat loudly.
“I’m holding
my judgment back until I’m actually in the cockpit,” Maarek told them. He’d
heard about the new upgrades to the Avatar based on Altarin’Dakor technology.
If they worked as rumored, the ship would be the most advanced fighter the New
Imperium had to offer. Still, deep inside, he knew it wouldn’t be good enough.
It wouldn’t even come close to matching the Archon.
Rann gave
a slight smirk and ran a hand through his blonde hair. “You think they’ll
replace our Avatars with the newer model, boss?”
“We’ll see,” Maarek said. “I’ve petitioned
for a squadron. They’ll go to some of the top units first, but I think we’ve
got a good chance.”
“I sure
hope so. I can’t wait until I have some of those beam weapons at my fingertips.
Then I’ll finally be able to deal those AD muckrakers some of their own
medicine.” Rann looked about to rub his hands together in glee.
Maarek
opened his mouth to tell the Rann how different using full beam weapons was,
but Bast cut into the conversation. “All right, guys. The show’s about to
begin.”
Both
pilots looked down towards the stage, then. Indeed, the rest of the auditorium
was dimming, and the curtains in front of the stage were opening up. Stepping
onto the scene from the sidelines was a man that Maarek immediately recognized:
the interim Diktat of the New Imperium, Sector Admiral Dogar. After the
shocking assassination of Diktat Ryskar D’larit, Dogar had been forced to step
up in his stead, though he had lost much of his will and reputation after the
defeat at Mizar. New elections were to be held imminently, but for the time
being he was forced to remain in charge. Now he was the most adamant advocate
of rearming the NI after the loss. Several operations were currently underway,
and these developmental projects were the subject of today’s presentation.
The room
quieted down to silence as the Diktat stepped up to the podium on one side of
the stage. He took a sip of water from a glass there before speaking into the
series of microphones in front of him.
“Ladies
and gentlemen, officers and citizens of the New Imperium: Welcome. Today it is
my pleasure to inform you of the latest advancements in New Imperium
technology, as well as our current fleet strength status.” He looked around at
the audience as a pair of large holoscreens descended from the ceiling. “As you
know, thanks to the Altarin’Dakor citizens that have joined us here, we have
been able to incorporate some of their advanced technologies into our own
ships. The first step in this process was improving our shields and scanners,
which allowed us to finally penetrate and explore the Galbagos Nebula in the
last month. Today, we are proud to show you the latest advancement in this
procedure.”
As the
Diktat paused in his speech, the large curtains that hung across the stage
behind him suddenly began sweeping apart, revealing the object of the
presentation, a pristine starfighter resting in the middle of the huge stage
floor.
Diktat
Dogar gestured with his hand toward the sleek ship. “It is my pleasure to
unveil the latest advancement of New Imperial engineering, the Modified TIE
Avatar!”
The crowd
immediately broke out in applause, and Maarek took the moment to carefully
study the craft in front of him. There, in all of its innate glory, sat the
distinct, imposing form of a TIE Avatar, its shiny new armor gleaming under the
bright stage lights. The NI’s newest space superiority starfighter was truly an
impressive work of art. The fuselage and cockpit closely resembled that of a
sleek Missile Boat, but instead of the usual short, stubby wings, a pair of
solar panels stood out, like those of a TIE Advanced, only inverted so that
they dimpled in instead of out. At the wingtips hung four large-barreled guns,
their shafts extending back along the length of the panel. Just underneath the
cockpit hung two slightly smaller gun mounts. Missing, though, was the bulge at
the top of the fuselage with five rounded openings facing forward. The Avatar’s
optional heavy firepower, a single load of five heavy space rockets, had been
removed in this configeration.
Right on
cue, the large twin holoscreens hanging down from the ceiling came to life,
showing a view of distant space, into which flew a pair of the new craft,
quickly accelerating and maneuvering their way through a makeshift obstacle
course. The video feed continued as the Diktat resumed speaking.
“What you
are seeing is actual footage of the TIE Avatar prototypes, taken just a week
ago. The fighter has surpassed all of our expectations, outperforming every
other ship we could test it against. In addition to an improved and
miniaturized power plant, and an Altarin’Dakor shield system and targeting
computer, we have also replaced the quad lasers with a set of Chizon-grade beam
cannons. These are the same weapons used in the latest Altarin’Dakor fighters.”
On the screens, the Avatars began to engage moving drone fighters, and the new
ships opened up with quad-linked blasts of continuous yellow energy. Their
beams stretched across space, cleaving their targets from the sky in
spectacular fireballs. Missiles streaked out from underneath the fuselages,
followed by rapid fire laser blasts from the cockpit guns, each hitting with
pinpoint accuracy. So that’s what those new guns are underneath: AD pulse
lasers, Maarek thought.
Dogar’s
next words echoed his thoughts. “In addition, the Avatar is equipped to handle
Altarin’Dakor shockwave missiles, and the two forward ion cannons have been
replaced with pulse laser cannons with rapid-fire capability. Due to these
modifications, the beam weapons and heavy rocket launcher onboard had to be
removed, but this is just a minor loss considering this configuration of the
fighter’s new role.” The Diktat made it sound like the beam weapon’s removal
was but a trivial thing. Maarek arched an eyebrow. He was used to employing his
tractor beam in combat, much like a grappling hook. The Diktat continued on.
“In keeping with our plan for the Avatar to match any Altarin’Dakor fighter it
meets, the need for disabling and retrieval capabilities is not as necessary.
Thanks to these modifications, the Avatar is once again the monarch of space
combat. It will be a match for any ship our enemies can throw against it. This
is a major achievement for the New Imperium!”
Again the crowd burst into applause, and
Maarek noted that Rann seemed to be among the most fervent supporters, clapping
and cheering his approval with the best of them. Maarek had to admit, the test
pilots on the holoscreens were doing a fine job of demonstrating the new
fighter’s abilities. Too bad he hadn’t been there to participate in it. But
could it really have compared to test-piloting the Archon? He gave a sigh.
No, of course not.
Finally
the applause died down, and the Diktat went on with the rest of the
presentation. After the Avatar’s announcement, he proceeded with a briefing on
the military status of the NI. Things had been busy since Mizar, and a lot had
happened during the time Maarek had been on assignment. The
And that
wasn’t all. With the defection of the Altarin’Dakor Titan-class Battleship, Nexus,
came hundreds of Altarin’Dakor fighters, and factories onboard the Nexus
were capable of building even more. Soon the NI would reach a maximum level of
readiness, and establish a powerful military with which to defend Epsilon
Sector. In addition, with the DLSF being completely absorbed into the Intruder
Wing by now, and all the other organizations coming together, talk was
abounding about a total merging of all fleets and organizations into one organized
unit, and a restructuring of the New Imperium’s entire makeup. Maarek supposed
it would be much more efficient in the long run.
In the
meanwhile, an expedition had been sent into the Galbagos Nebula to explore the
interior and to scout potential enemy presence there. The word was they had
encountered strange droid-operated ships apparently protecting some of the
worlds inside the nebula. Although they had explored several systems and some
were halfway habitable, they had encountered no indigenous species.
The
second major event, aside from the failed coup at Sigma, was the NI’s
continuing search for allies. An alliance of sorts had been formed with the
Barabels, and after showing them the graveness of the Altarin’Dakor threat,
Barab had sent in platoons of warriors to supplement the NI’s stormtrooper
contingent. Rumor was that it had something to do with Grand Master Xar
Kerensky’s connection to some Barabels there that had brought them the help.
The scouting force had ventured deeper into the Unknown Region in an attempt to
make contact with species far more ancient than even the Republic. Whether or
not they had, or whether or not they would get any military aid, however, was
information even Maarek wasn’t privy to.
But,
seeing all this in front of him, Maarek just had one question: Why hadn’t the
Altarin’Dakor already attacked? Why were they holding back and letting the New
Imperium rebuild? They could have swept through Epsilon Sector by now,
especially after the loss at Mizar, and probably taken the whole sector with
barely a fight. What was going on that had delayed the inevitable
counterattack? He had no answer to his
questions, and he doubted that any of the NI’s leaders did at the moment, either.
When the
presentation ended some time later, the crowd got up and slowly began to
disperse. Maarek stood up as well, and turned to speak to his squadron members
while they were still gathered.
“You guys
go on ahead,” he said. “I’ve got a couple things to take care of, then I’ll meet
you in the hangar when it’s time to go.”
“Understood. We’ll see you later,” Bast said, putting a hand on Rann’s
shoulder and pulling him along before he could ask Maarek any questions. Then
Maarek left them and started making his way down toward the stage. He intended
to discuss a few things with the Diktat in person – if that were still
possible.
By the
time Maarek reached him, Dogar had assembled his things and was starting to
leave. After a brief encounter and inspection by the Diktat’s bodyguards, Stele
was allowed to approach him directly. Maarek caught up to him just as he was
about to leave.
“Ah,
Maarek. Good to see you,” Dogar said, noticing Stele as he approached. “I trust
you’ve been well?”
“As well as
can be expected,” Maarek said. He shook the Diktat’s proffered hand. “Have you
got a minute? I was hoping we could talk.”
“Of
course. Follow me to my office, if you would,” Dogar nodded. Folding his papers
under one arm, he started off down the corridor, and Stele fell in behind him,
along with the usual bodyguards, keeping far enough away that one could almost
forget they were there. Security was still tight, though, after recent events.
As they
walked, Maarek opened up the conversation. “It was good seeing this update.
I’ve been out of the loop for a while,” he admitted.
Dogar
nodded, glancing his way. “I’d heard you were serving with some of the NI’s
line units and squadrons, filling in. It’s good work, and much needed help.
I’ve heard about your squadron’s exploits at Sigma, Eridani and Fortress. Very
impressive.”
“It
wasn’t much, really,” Stele said. “A good way to get our minds off what
happened at Mizar…” He broke off as he saw Dogar’s mirthful expression vanish
suddenly. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to bring that up,” Maarek apologized.
“No, it’s
fine. We all have… regrets… from that day,” the Diktat said, his voice distant.
Maarek involuntarily felt a chill crawl down his back. He’d forgotten how hard
the loss had hit the man. After all, it had ultimately been Dogar’s order that
had started the battle. And although he couldn’t have anticipated nor imagined
the tragedy it had caused, he’d still taken the responsibility solely on
himself. The deaths of half a million people weighing on one order was too much
for anyone to bear alone. Stele and others had tried to console him, to show
him that it wasn’t his fault, but the man’s viewpoint hadn’t changed.
“The new
Avatar looks incredible,” Maarek spoke up, changing the subject. “I can’t
believe we’ve come so far in incorporating their technology in just a few
months.”
Dogar
nodded. “Actually, it’s not us.” He paused, took a quick look around the
corridor as they slowed beside the door to the Diktat’s office. He looked back
at Maarek, lowering his voice. “Altarin’Dakor scientists have been responsible
for all the integration. All of it. It would have taken our own
scientists years to figure out such advanced technology.”
“Why such
secrecy behind it?” Maarek asked as Dogar stepped inside the room. Maarek
followed behind, as two of the guards took up positions outside the door.
Dogar went over to the large wooden desk and set down his documents, then went over to a cabinet sitting by the wall. “You don’t realize the public’s opinion of our newfound friends, Maarek. Most people don’t like any Altarin’Dakor at the moment. If people knew that their help was so essential in our preparations, there’d be a major uproar.” His voice fell, and he paused as he pulled out a bottle of brown liquid. “Besides, my position’s already precarious enough, as it is. Brandy? It’s real…”
“Sure,”
Maarek said, accepting the glass that the Diktat poured for him. “I was… hoping
I could get some true information on affairs while I was here. I figured you
were the best man to speak with. But I didn’t want to cause any problems…”
“You’re
not causing any problems, Maarek. There are some things I have to deal with for
myself. I’m not invulnerable because I’m the Speaker of the New Imperial Senate.”
He took a sip of brandy, closing his eyes as he lowered the glass. “I can still
see Admiral Don Varrel’s face, on the
False
sense of security? Maarek wondered. Did he mean for the entire New
Imperium? Looking at the man, he suddenly saw the lines underneath his eyes,
the tiredness in his stance. Once again he felt thankful for being a simple
fighter pilot, for not having so many lives in his hands, or the responsibilities
of office. Victor had been right.
“Things
aren’t that bad though, are they? I mean, what about your recent mission into
the nebula?” Last he’d heard, Dogar had lead the expedition into the Galbagos
Nebula, using AD-modified shields and sensors to explore the anomaly.
Dogar
shook his head. “I wish I could forget about that mission entirely. Or maybe go
back in time and stop myself from going. Did you know we found the Virulence?”
“What?”
Maarek asked, stunned. The last time he’d seen the NI’s second largest Star
Destroyer, she’d been burning and helpless in the Battle of Mizar. In a
desperate attempt to survive, the crew had sent her into an emergency
hyperspace jump, an uncalculated leap into the unknown. She hadn’t been heard
from afterwards, and everyone assumed she hadn’t survived.
“By some
stroke of the Force, we found her hulk floating in the nebula,” Dogar informed
him sadly. “It was a ghost ship. There was no one alive onboard. Either they
died from lack of life support, radiation poisoning, or were taken somehow by
the AD. By the way, the Altarin’Dakor are
in the nebula. Did you know that? It’s another secret we’re keeping from the
public.” He gave a sardonic grin and took another drink.
“There
are Altarin’Dakor forces in the Galbagos Nebula?” Maarek asked breathlessly.
The news of the Virulence had been a shock, and now this… That meant the
AD were closer to key worlds than they had previously thought.
“Practically at our doorstep, and we can do nothing about it. We engaged
some of them, but lost one of our cruisers. Then, hoping we could salvage some
part of the mission, we proceeded to explore the systems inside the nebula. All
we found were rocks in space, guarded by some forgotten droid fleet that we
almost couldn’t defeat. The only thing we brought back with us was a weird
spacer that the droids had captured recently and imprisoned on one of the
planets.” Dogar laughed again. “So I wouldn’t exactly call the mission a
success. A fitting end to one’s career, wouldn’t you say?”
Maarek
shook his head in consternation. He hadn’t known about all of this. A lot of
things really had happened while he was off on duty.
Then
suddenly the gravity of Dogar’s words hit him. “What are you saying?” he
questioned. He knew that new elections would be held soon. Was he not going to
run for the office he now served in?
Dogar’s
next words echoed Maarek’s thoughts. “I’ve had enough of this position, Maarek.
This life, these pressures and troubles.” He stared hard down into his glass.
“I think it’s time for me to leave the spotlight, to fade into the background,
now. At least while I deal with things. I’m not running for Diktat… I think
I’ll go back to Erebria. It’s a nice place to retire.”
“Retire?
In the middle of a war?” Maarek began angrily.
“Don’t
take that tone with me, Maarek,” Dogar cut him off with a wave of his hand. “It
won’t do any good. Don’t think I haven’t considered the implications. But
believe me; the NI is better off without me.”
For a
moment, the room hung in silence as Maarek watched, speechless. He hadn’t known
whether Dogar would run again or not, but leaving the scene entirely wasn’t
something he’d expected to hear. He took a long sip of his brandy, to help
clear his head. Perhaps he could understand, under the circumstances. If Dogar
really felt this way, then it was probably for the best. He wasn’t the most
popular person in the New Imperium at the moment. “Any idea who’ll be running
in the new election, then?” he asked.
The Diktat
shrugged. “Don’t know, and don’t really care. The Senate will decide who is
best to take the position. I can’t really recommend anyone. It’d be more of a
curse than a condoning!” he ended with a harsh laugh.
“Well,
what about Xar?” Maarek asked.
“Are you kidding?” Dogar replied curtly. “He
wouldn’t have the job again. You’ve probably heard all about that, too. All he
can think about these days is that woman he brought back with him. That Altarin’Dakor
woman. Even if he did run for election, who would trust him, with her influence
hanging over him?
Maarek
nodded slowly, solemnly. How had trust faded this far, this fast? Would they
all be at each other’s throats, soon? Was this the Altarin’Dakor plan, all
along, to wait until the NI devoured itself from within so they wouldn’t have
to do it?
“I guess
Majere or Stan will go for it,” Dogar shrugged. He set the glass back on top of
the desk. “What about you, Maarek? What’s next on your agenda?”
“That
reminds me,” Maarek said. “Inferno and I are going to head back to Varnus, get
near the border again where we can do some more good. The Nexus is in
orbit here, you know. It’s supposed to travel to Varnus in a couple of days, so
I’ll see if we can get passage for the squadron on her.” He was referring to
the Titan-class Battleship that had defected along with the Altarin’Dakor
forces two months before. He didn’t know exactly why they had come, or how
they’d brought a Titan along, but he knew that Xar must have had something to
do with it. To think that the NI had its own Titan! He still couldn’t believe
it.
“I guess
this will be our last meeting for a while, then,” Dogar said. “How about
another drink before you head out? We’ll drink to old times.”
Maarek
half-smiled. He knew that Dogar probably looked back to his Imperial days as
the best of his life. Why not, he figured. He’d grown to consider the
man a friend during his time here with the NI. And when saying goodbye to a
friend, one should make sure that the memories brought out of that friendship
are good ones. After all… He doubted he’d ever see Dogar again…
* * *
Varnusian
Productions Presents:
Shuttle Vanderguire
1230 Hours
The sleek, aerospace passenger shuttle cruised down through the upper
atmosphere, the yellow-orange sun of Varnus glinting brightly off its shiny
armor plates. It soared through thick layers of cumulous clouds, looking like
large tufts of cotton hanging in the air. Then it dropped below the cloud
layer, flying over the surface at supersonic speed, the landscape below merely
a blur. Forests and grasslands sped by below, interrupted occasionally by a
small range of hills or a calm lake. Varnus was a fertile, habitable world, and
despite it’s prominence in the sector, was largely rural and untouched by high
technology. Only the main cities revealed the modernization of New Imperial
settlement, and those cities were large metropolises, especially the capital –
Vectur. Having been bombarded by the Empire once, and by the Altarin’Dakor a
second time, its resilience was a mirror of the Varnusian people, a sturdy,
proud race who stuck to their traditions. They had faced adversity many times,
and were used to it.
The shuttle lowered its descent, as the
tall, wide vista of a city skyline appeared on the horizon. Inside, the
passengers disconnected their datapads, music players, and HoloNet connections,
preparing for the landing. Over the internal comm speakers, a woman’s voice
made the announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now on
final approach to Vectur. Please fasten your safety restraints and remain
seated. Upon arrival please exit at bays two and three. Baggage claim will be
in area thirty-four. Thank you for flying Epsilon Space Travel.”
Inside the craft, listening as the whine of the engines descended in pitch, one particular passenger sat quietly. Outside the viewport window next to him, the figure could see tall skyscrapers sweeping past, and could briefly glimpse countless hovercars following pre-designated skylanes. It was very similar in its look to the bustling planet-city of Coruscant, only on a smaller scale. But this passenger had never seen Coruscant. Still, what he saw did not excite him in any way. Unlike the countless tourists and immigrants onboard, he had no interest in what the city had to offer him.
The moving shuttle jerked as its
repulsorlifts kicked in, and it sped along the black duracrete, buildings and
other aircraft passing by the windows. The reverse thrusters kicked in, finally
slowing the craft down to its normal taxiing speed. Within moments, the shuttle
made its way to the designated parking area and docked in the terminal.
Slowly, the two hatchways came open, and a
flood of passengers disembarked, lugging their belongings across the suspended
gangway and into the main complex. They were greeted by a host of flashing data
terminals and display screens, hovercab advertisements and currency exchange
stalls. Flashing arrows directed them to baggage claim and immigration, while
moving conveyor belts sped other passengers away to connecting flights in other
terminals.
The figure exited the shuttle with the
rest of the passengers, and soon everyone had parted in different directions.
He turned deeper into the terminal, losing himself in the crowd. He had no
belongings, nothing to claim. Within minutes he flashed a plain ID that the
customs officer was convinced was authentic; then he was cleared through and
made his way out to the spaceport entrance. Ignoring the bustle of people
around him, he walked out into a large square, gazing up at the massive city
surrounding him, the towering buildings all around. He turned slowly, trying to
get his bearings on location; then he saw it. There, not far off, was the heart
of the city, the centerpiece of Vectur – the
The figure looked out upon the city with
utter malice and hate. This was what civilization had wrought in his absence. A
decadent society of lavish waste. It was a visage of prosperity that only
masked the stagnation inside. But that was all right. It wouldn’t last for
long. He was here now, and everything was going to change soon. As they had
once before, in time beyond memory, all people would again revere and worship
the name of Malduke. He smiled.
Turning away, he walked to the main street
and kept walking, off into the bustling crowd of the city, quickly becoming
lost among the throng.
* * *
Private Quarters
Tralaria, NI Capital
2100 Hours
Queklain had been waiting for
quite some time by the time Gene Rytor finally entered his personal quarters.
The man had returned later than usual, but that was probably typical for
someone of Rytor’s position. The Warlord had been looking forward to this first
meeting for quite some time; he’d set himself up as a janitor in the palace in
order to get this close, since NI security had been greatly increased since the
assassination of the former Diktat.
As the lights came on and Rytor made to
hang his light jacket inside the closet near the door, the Warlord spoke. “Rytor,
I’ve been waiting for you.”
Immediately the man dropped down low and
snatched a blaster pistol out of the closet, pivoting to point the weapon at
him. But he was no match for the Warlord’s speed. Instantly he wrapped Rytor up
in tendrils of the Power, gently prying the gun from his hand and setting it on
the floor. “No need of that,” he said. He wasn’t angry – it had been exactly
the kind of response he’d expected.
The man’s tongue, however, was not tied,
and he quickly spoke. “Whoever you are, I promise you are not going to live
long enough to…”
“Nos
Salam,” Queklain interrupted, and immediately the man ceased struggling.
Doubtlessly he knew the command would only come from the highest ranking
Altarin’Dakor, and now he was wondering who exactly was standing before him.
“Who… Who are you?” the man asked,
confirming his thoughts.
The Warlord decided to be honest. After
all, they were going to be working closely together from now on. “I am
Queklain,” he said. “I am sure you haven’t heard that name before, but I assure
you that I am a Shok’Thola.”
Rytor’s eyes widened even further, then.
Obviously no one in his right mind would make that kind of claim unless it was
true. “How man I serve you?” he spoke up uncertainly.
Queklain slowly walked toward the man,
then began to circle him, studying the man before him like a buyer at market.
“I understand that you performed admirably as the head of Kronos’ spy network,”
he said. “But now Kronos is gone, and I am filling the place that he once held.
I am excited to meet you finally. First, tell me of your history until this
point.”
“I was the Imperial Moff – the governor –
of the Kuat System for a brief time,” Rytor began obediently, obviously not
daring to disobey a Shok’Thola, “and
during my time there I established a large enough information work that I
decided to go into it full-time. Shortly after that I was found by General
Akira, Krono’s chief operative in this galaxy prior to the Return.”
“I have heard of him. Continue.”
“Akira saw value in me and made me an
offer I couldn’t refuse. Later he took me to Kronos and I was placed here in
the New Imperium to help prepare the way for the Return’s spearhead. The plan
was to make the NI cower in submission and to use it as a staging base for the
rest of the invasion.”
Queklain nodded, continuing his circle
around the man. So that explained why all the sudden interest in this region of
space. “And what have you been doing since Lord Kronos’ demise?” he asked.
“With both Kronos and Akira seemingly
defeated, and with no other orders, I transferred here to focus on running the
NI Intelligence Network, and to clean up the pieces,” the man replied.
“Well done,” Queklain said approvingly.
“But I’m afraid that time is over. You will be working for me, now.”
“I understand.” Rytor’s expression
betrayed little, but Queklain could sense the fear inside him. Being scooped up
by another Warlord was probably a spy’s worst nightmare – suddenly following
someone else’s orders and wondering if your former master would come calling
again, too. Rytor doubtlessly felt very precarious at this point, but Queklain
didn’t sense any falsity in his words. To do so would have been a death
sentence.
“I have new orders for you,” Queklain told
him, “a different agenda than you were following previously. Until now, you
have enjoyed some freedom away from Kronos and his schemes. But now you belong
to me. You see, I have a vested interest in the New Imperium, and it is my
desire that the NI prosper at this time. We will strengthen it and put up as
strong defense against the next push of the Altarin’Dakor, most likely led by
Nimrod, or whomever else decides to come.”
Confusion now made its way through Rytor’s
head, but he didn’t question the Warlord. Queklain wasn’t concerned though; he
wanted to set everything straight from the beginning.
“Therefore,” he continued, “I want to have
a direct hand controlling events here. As you know, elections for Diktat will
be happening soon. It is my desire for you to enter the running and to win the
position.”
Now surprise covered Rytor’s face. “Me?”
he blurted.
“You have all the qualifications,”
Queklain assured him. “And I must confess that right now, I need you. I need
someone in a position of authority who can do what I want done. And that will
be you. Do you have any problems with serving me?” Of course, what other choice
would he have?
“I will serve and obey,” Rytor said,
though his words sounded forced. Of course he wouldn’t be happy about it. But
the problem was, Queklain did need
him right now, and this gave the man some leeway in their relationship. Queklain
knew little about this galaxy, or even of the activities of the other Shok’Thola. He needed Rytor in order to
gain power and get back into the playing field. Of course, he would have to
keep a close eye on him to make sure he stayed loyal, as well.
“But Great Lord, what should happen if
Kronos returns and seeks my allegiance again?” Rytor asked testily. Of course –
that would be a major concern for the man. Being caught between two Warlords’
interests was the last place anyone would want to be.
“Don’t worry about Kronos – or whoever
else may come,” Queklain purred in a reassuring tone. “I will set myself a
place to watch and be in constant contact with you. I promise I will keep you
safe and will reward your loyalty with much power and prestige – as long as you
do what I say.” Finally he let go of the Power, and Rytor relaxed, reaching up
to rub his limbs that had been constricted tight for several minutes. “If you
are not loyal,” he added, “well, you know exactly what would happen in that
event, don’t you?”
“Yes, Great Lord.”
“Very well. Now, tell me of this spy
network of yours.”
* * *
Vectur,
Planet Varnus
Rynn Mariel walked briskly through the palace
corridors. Having just finished another training period in one of the palace’s
workout areas – designated rooms specifically made for Jedi training – she hung
her sweat-towel over one shoulder and made her way through the lower levels.
She didn’t enjoy the too-frequent workouts all that much, but at least those
who had been designated full Jedi were able to choose their own method of
training. All of it was aimed at increasing their Force power, of course. With
the threat of war looming over the New Imperium every day, the entire Jedi
Division was filled with activity and a burning need to train new Jedi. It had
been estimated that at least two Jedi were needed to defeat a
comparably-powerful Altarin’Dakor Jedicon. However, the problem was that the
Jedicon had the advantage of numbers. So, the New Imperial forces had been
desperately searching all of NI space for anyone even remotely Force-sensitive.
These days, the
Rynn took a moment to consider how far her
own training had come. She’d joined and started her training in the Division
two years ago, and already she’d passed Jedi Knight. A week before Grand Master
Xar had been passing by, noticed her, and promoted her two ranks to Crusader on
the spot. Rynn’s power, as measured by the Division’s numerical Force scanners,
was a very strong 11,800, compared to a normal non-Force Sensitive, who was
somewhere around 10. She was very strong in the Force, and she’d been told by
one loose-tongued instructor that she would reach Jedi Master quickly at this
rate. It was something she could scarcely imagine – she didn’t feel the least
bit ready for such a rank and position. To her, a Jedi Master was still a thing
of legend, and even though there were Masters on the Council, the word still
held a magical tone to it in her mind. If becoming a Master was this easy, then
her preconceived notions of what the Jedi were had been way off. It was more
than just Force power; it was about age, wisdom, and experience. She should be decades
away from achieving Master status. If the instructor had meant twenty years as
being quick, then maybe his statement would have been more sensible.
She actually had more experience against
the Altarin’Dakor than many others above her, having fought with Grand Master Xar
against the Jedicon Turles and his compatriot, Dark Jedi Master Estod. That
mission seemed surreal now, as if she’d watched the events instead of
participating in them. Her injuries had long-since healed – at least, her
physical ones. But she had slain Estod herself, in a desperate action that had earned
her knighthood. Earned through violence. It wasn’t something she was proud of.
Why was everyone so obsessed with fighting, anyway? Virtually all of the other Jedi were going through rigorous training, constantly pushing their physical and Force abilities to their limits. Everything they did was about increasing their power levels and learning more Force abilities. Jedi were being sent through an accelerated program just to get them out on the front lines. But power given without the wisdom to wield it was just as dangerous as the Altarin’Dakor. They were breeding a whole new set of problems behind the scenes. Couldn’t they see that?
Perhaps the new Grand Master did. After Xar
had disappeared, his close friend and former guardian Alyx Misnera had taken
command. He had instituted new programs that struck a better balance, and
didn’t just teach mere techniques. But much of the damage had already been
done, and now that Xar was back again, things seemed to be going the way he
wanted it once more. In fact, Xar seemed more and more intense and over the
edge than ever, since he’d returned with an Altarin’Dakor Warlord and her
defected forces. Rynn didn’t like all the combat training and power gaining
they were being forced to do. She preferred to focus more on meditation,
keeping herself at peace and attempting to decipher what the Force was telling
her. The others couldn’t seem to hear it, but Rynn was able to, sometimes. So,
lately, she and Bren had been working on ways to fight the AD non-violently,
studying ancient Jedi Battle Meditation techniques. So far, progress was slow,
but she was certain it would pay off someday.
Heading toward one of the internal
turbolifts, she entered and rode it up to the main residential level where most
of the Jedi and other VIPs lived. Her room was waiting for her there, along
with a nice hot shower. Perhaps that would help to take her mind off of the
current state of affairs.
She walked out of the turbolift and into
the round, open atrium that split off into the various side corridors. The
palace was a mix of architectural styles, but all with a common, elegant theme,
and this was evidenced in the carvings, tapestries, and various kinds of floors
throughout the palace. Ferns and other exotic plants were commonly placed in
large pots to add flavor. Overall it was a pretty palace and a nice place to
call home, except for its function as a military base.
Suddenly she caught movement at the corner
of her eye, and turned in time to see another turbolift door open and several
cloaked figures emerge. She recognized them immediately, even as they strode
quickly and purposefully away in mid-conversation. In the lead was Jedi Master Xar
Kerensky himself, followed closely by several of his regulars – the large Togorian
feline, Ralagos Akala, Nadia Ispen, a hard-mannered woman with a taste for
adventure, and Jacob “Jinx” Skipper, whom she had gotten to know as more than
just a normal friend. They were all part of Xar’s informal operational team, or
the “posse”, as they were starting to be called by others. Though no longer
Grand Master in official position, Xar still held tremendous power among the
Jedi, due partially to his experience and fame, and also because he was the
NI’s most powerful Jedi. He was also the regent and legal owner of the Palace,
which explained why he kept tromping around with impunity. Rynn guessed it was
a good thing he and Alyx were close friends, or there might have been trouble
between them. It looked like Xar was actually running things while leaving the
deskwork to his friend and comrade.
Rynn had been offered the opportunity to
join Xar and the others, but she’d refused. If most of the Jedi were training
hard, this group took it to new heights. They were the epitome of training for
Force strength, the icon of preparation against the Altarin’Dakor. But that
wasn’t why Rynn had refused. It was because of the group’s hard-line,
uncompromising attitude in their missions. Their enemies usually wound up dead,
even when a little more effort could have resulted in live captures. At times
it seemed as though Xar was willing to be as ruthless as the Altarin’Dakor
were, if that was what it took. Rynn just couldn’t see herself doing that; it
was the opposite of her own philosophy. She’d had words with Xar before – had
even slapped him across the face on one occasion, though that was past – and
though she’d failed to convince him of her own viewpoint, Rynn still hoped to
change the Division from the inside, using positive methods. She knew that the
good in Xar would win out someday.
Interestingly, Atridd Xoan, her first
mentor and later a good friend, had opted to join Xar’s team. Though he wasn’t
present with the group as they faded down the corridor, he had probably been in
on the latest assignment. She hoped he hadn’t been injured. Atridd had agreed
with Rynn on many occasions, and had sided with her even when a rift had come
between her and the former Grand Master. He had been a good confidant, and he
often had agreed with her musings on the current situation. Still, he was
staunch supporter of Xar, whom he considered a good man and friend, and he was
willing to be a part of the team in order to protect his friend and further his
goals. Atridd was strong, that much was certain. To do that, even if he didn’t
agree, must have taken more strength than Rynn could muster, herself. Rynn felt
a pang of sadness for him, and for Xar. Outside his own personal team, Xar
didn’t seem to have that many supporters these days. Many of his old friends
were still around, but the new generation had come to question his authority.
Now it had come out more than ever. She hoped that things would work out and
that he could make amends with the rest of the Division. The last thing they
needed in the midst of all this was a split.
Turning away, she headed back down the
corridor towards her own room. She’d been thinking too much, again. It was time
to relax, and take her mind away from troubling thoughts. Yes, that hot shower
was starting to sound really nice about now…
* * *
Xar entered the conference area
on the main level, a room he had commandeered and set up for use in their
independent operations. Following closely behind were Ralagos, Nadia, and Jacob.
He led them past the long conference table and into one of the side offices.
Walking over to the desk, he tossed a study datapad down on top and started up
the built-in holoscreen. He moved around
to the other side to type in his commands but remained standing. “So what did
you find out?” he asked without looking upward.
Jinx had known the question was for him.
“With all the refugees coming in at this point, it’s impossible to do
background checks on everyone. About forty-percent of the incoming population
aren’t even registered. It’s not just Varnus, it’s everywhere.”
“In other words, out gateway operations
have failed,” Xar said, looking up. “There’s no telling how many more spies are
getting in. I can’t help but feel there’s more coming in than we’re finding and
stopping.”
“Sounds like a lost cause to me, Master,”
Nadia Ispen put in wearily. “Excuse my frankness, but I’d rather stop wasting
our time doing this and take on the real enemy. They’re bound to start a major
invasion soon.”
“That’s true, Nadia, but how can we win if
the enemy is on both sides of us? How can we fight if we don’t know our homes
are safe as we leave? The Altarin’Dakor are totally without morals. They’d have
no compunctions about taking civilian lives .Just look at what they did to
Haven.”
Jinx gave a sigh and moved to sit down in
a chair by the corner. “This is no conventional enemy we’re dealing with. With
their power, you’d expect a full-scale invasion, yet they prefer to weaken us
from the inside before delivering the killing blow. I don’t understand it.”
“It
makes no sense,” Nadia said, “unless they want more than just victory. They
want to destroy our morale and crush our will. They love to flaunt their power
just to fill their own egos.”
Xar nodded. “They don’t want subjects,
they want slaves. The total demoralization of our people. They want to destroy
our capacity to make war, and then destroy our will to make war.”
“I’m inclined to agree with Nadia though,”
Jinx put in. “We aren’t making any real headway by looking for AD infiltration.
None of them have talked about their operations. I’m getting tired of playing
executioner. The refugee problem won’t last long, anyway. When the AD come,
they’ll be running away again. I guess even the Renestatians will have to leave
home. Again…” he trailed off sadly.
“Well, you may have a point,” Xar
admitted. “I’ve been preparing some other cases in this event. Here, I need a
favor,” he said, putting a few last commands into the terminal. A sheet of
flimsy printed out, and he handed it Jinx. “I’d like you and Paladin Nova to
head out to Moro. Make sure defenses are back in place since that rogue Sigman
attack. And stop by Vortigern. I want to increase rotation of Jedi between the
houses and ourselves here on Varnus. You never know when we’ll be needed.”
Jinx took the flimsy and looked it over. “With
Nova? As in, ‘Ken Nandos’ Nova?” he asked dubiously.
Xar arched an eyebrow. “I know you two
have never gotten along, but he needs to learn the hard way. I’m sure you can
make him follow orders.”
“I…
see. Have these orders been approved by Moro?”
Xar snorted. “You’re a Jedi Adept, and
overseer of Moro. Make it authorized.”
Jinx’s eyes widened a bit, and he looked
up at Nadia, who nodded slyly.
“Besides,” Xar said, “you can check up on
your people there. I’m sure the Renestatians would rather hear the news from
one of their own.”
“Okay… Thanks,” Jinx said, sounding
genuinely appreciative.
“No thanks needed. I’ll have a shuttle
ready for you in the morning. Good luck.”
As Jinx and Nadia rose and turned to
leave, Xar closed down the holoscreen and put the remaining papers away. Then
he stood and addressed the room’s remaining occupant. Ralagos Akala was one of
the few Togorian males to travel outside their homeworld of Togaria, and
although most of his species could readily understand Basic, he had actually
learned to speak it rather well.
“Ralagos, I’m going to speak with Alyx,”
Xar said. He checked his wrist chronometer. “If you would, please bring Derek
to the training session tomorrow. The usual time – 1030 hours?”
Ralagos barred his fangs in a Togorian
grin. “I would be honored. But he may be frightened when he sees me. He is very
young.”
Xar laughed aloud. “With Derek, I don’t
think you have to worry about that. That boy fears nothing. Just try to
tolerate his attempts to pet you.”
“Then I look forward to training with
him,” Akala said, bowing before he took his leave.
With everyone else gone, Xar left the
office and took the turbolift down two levels to the main floor. On his way he
couldn’t help but look forward to training with Derek and Akala the next day.
Ralagos had become a good friend and a loyal, trusting companion – as most Togorians
were. However, he had more than his share of a male’s fighting spirit, and
could be just as fierce as Xar was in combat. And with his Force power level rated
at just over 18,000, he had enough power to back up Xar in battle against most
foes – even Jedicon.
Akala really was an exception to the
stereotypical Togorian male. Usually it was only the females who traveled the
galaxy on grand tours, learning about all the many technological wonders it had
to offer. The males usually eschewed technology completely, preferring to hunt
in the vast plains of their homeworld in the Thanos system. With their aptitude
for fighting, most males out in the galaxy ended up with mercenaries or
pirates. Ralagos was different, though. He’d started off into space looking for
his wayward mate, who had never returned from her galactic grand tour. At first
he’d hated every minute away from his world, but gradually, as he discovered
the many wonders around him, he’d grown used to it. Unfortunately, he still
hadn’t found his mate, and Xar had come across the Togorian working with a
group of rangers in the Outer Rim. Xar had sensed Akala’s Force potential and
convinced him to come to Varnus to train as a Jedi. Now, Ralagos was right at
home on Varnus, with its many large, grassy plains.
As Xar grew near to the Grand Master’s office,
Xar suddenly felt that familiar spot in the back of his head warm up, felt a
rush of another person’s presence overcome him. She’s near, he thought. Zalaria.
He could feel her nearby, through their Force Bond. The desire to follow that
presence and join her was almost overwhelming for a moment. Because of their Bond,
he always knew where she was, could feel a mirror image of her senses and
emotions. She seemed to be annoyed with something at the moment. He wished he
could go to her and make it better. Whenever he was away from her, he felt that
pull, and it was stronger the closer they were. Xar had sacrificed everything
to go and find her before. He’d left the entire NI behind to look for her. But
now she was here, and that was enough. It was almost too much to believe. She
had actually come back with him on her magnificent flagship, the Nexus.
The full magnitude of what had happened still hadn’t set in. But all that
mattered to him was that she was here.
It was all right; he’d go to see her
later. She’d been keeping quiet and very low-key around the palace.
Understandable, since no one but a select few knew who she really was. Most
just thought she was an Altarin’Dakor like any other. Her Jedicon bodyguards
kept enough distance as to not be too conspicuous. During his time with her
before they’d come back, she’d taught him a lot about the Warlords and
Altarin’Dakor society. The Shok’Thola were so high above normal society
that to most of their galaxy’s residents they were simply epic myths, and were
even worshipped as gods in many sects. Few knew the truth, that above the
military leaders and governors, beyond the kings and emperors, were beings that
held multiple empires under their command. So Zalaria had to keep a low
profile, even for many of the Altarin’Dakor that had joined the NI. And even
fewer NI citizens knew of her true position as a Shok’Thola. He wondered
how many of her own forces knew, anyway.
Finally Xar reached the door to the Grand
Master’s office. Turning, he pushed the door open without knocking and entered.
Inside, the room had changed quite a bit from its transition between Xar and
his friend. Xar’s office had been elegant, but not crowded. The few objects he
had laying around had been old artifacts and Force trinkets. Misnera’s office
was much better decorated. The royal seal of Varnus, embroidered on the thick
carpet and the elaborate tapestries had remained, however. Fitting, since Alyx
was a Varnusian, once a royal guardsman assigned to protect Xar during his
childhood.
Inside, Alyx was sitting behind his desk,
and he looked up as Xar entered. Xar was surprised to see the other figure in
the room – Icis Novitaar, the Traveler. This time, he wasn’t invisible. Since
his return from Traveler space, he’d lost all of his Force potential, and with
it his unique illusionary technique. Icis had only given sketchy details about
his time away. Apparently the Travelers had arrested him for interfering with
the New Imperium’s war against the Altarin’Dakor. Since they were supposed to
watch and never interfere, this was a capital offense. In exchange for his
freedom, Icis had been stripped of his Force powers and cast out by his own
people. Xar was amazed that Icis had such a loyalty to the NI, to be able to
bear that kind of punishment. He’d been surprised to see the Traveler at all.
They hadn’t exactly been on the best terms when they’d parted ways last. But
they had made their apologies upon Xar’s return, and the man had ceased his
judgmental comments toward Zalaria, so Xar was at peace about it. Besides, Icis
had been through a lot. He could hardly imagine what it would be like to lose
the Force’s presence permanently. It would be maddening not to feel that touch,
that sense of power.
“Hello, Xar,” the Grand Master spoke up as
he entered. Nearby, Icis gave him a nod. Xar knew that Icis still didn’t trust
Zalaria, and neither did Alyx, much. Xar sensed that Icis was hiding something
else he knew or suspected about her. Though now he’d be able to take that
knowledge with the Force, it would be a horrific breach of Icis’ privacy and
would end their friendship. Xar wouldn’t consider doing that.
“Alyx,” Xar said, walking up to the desk
and taking one of the seats in front of it. “How are things?”
“More hectic than ever.” the man said
bluntly.
Xar lifted his eyebrows. “Okay.” He
noticed the man’s frustrated expression. “Is something wrong?”
Alyx reached up and rubbed his temples,
giving a long sigh. “The NI’s in a state of chaos with all that’s going on. If
it’s not preparations against the AD, it’s attacks by pirates and the
Xar shook his head. “Factions? I don’t
know if I’d call them factions. We’re always going to have differences. There
isn’t just one way to be a Jedi, you know.”
“It’s worse than mere variations, Xar,”
Icis spoke up, taking the Traveler’s lecturing tone. “These are real groups.
It’s spreading to the Houses, too. There are the traditionalists, those that
have been with us for a while and support what we’re doing. Then there’s the
generation that arose, frankly, during your leadership. They’re brash and cocky,
eager to use their powers but without the wisdom to wield it. They want to take
the Altarin’Dakor head on, and they have no idea how badly they’d be
slaughtered. Thirdly, there’s the group that’s recently developed, believing
that our military focus is wrong, that the Force should be used
non-aggressively. They’re refusing all the battle training and are acting more
like what you’d call the traditional – albeit anachronistic – ‘Light-side
Jedi’. Then there’s your ‘posse’, the no-nonsense zealots who train day and
night and want to stop the AD at any cost. Not that I have anything against
that,” he said quickly as Xar opened his mouth to protest. “If anything, I’m
with you. I gave up everything to come back here with you.” He shrugged. “Most
everyone else is in between, not knowing which is right, so they’re training on
their own as best they know how.”
“Well, you can blame all that on me if you
like,” Xar said, sitting back in his chair. “We’ve been through several
distinct periods of growth here, and that can influence your experience in
training. Besides,” he added, “the only group that concerns me is the one that
refuses to fight. I think that when the war flares up again, the rest of us
will band together out of necessity.”
“Those seeking peace have a valid
argument, Xar,” Alyx argued, frowning. “What’s wrong with what they’re trying
to do?”
Xar sighed, feeling a pang of frustration.
“There’s nothing wrong with it. In other times, I would gladly be joining them.
But we’re facing a threat worse than any the galaxy’s ever seen! It’s not only
our duty to fight, it’s a necessity. And I believe it’s the will of the Force,
as well.”
“That’s an interesting notion,” Icis
murmured thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should talk to someone more sensitive in the
Force’s finer flows…”
“Gentlemen, let’s drop this for now,” Alyx
broke in, still focusing on his writing. “There’s no need to argue, and we’ve
been through all this before. We’ve got other problems. Mainly, we’re
understaffed and undermanned. It’s the shortage in the Council that has caused
a lot of these problems. Jedi are having to fend for themselves.”
“Speaking of the Council… How is Mathis
doing?” Xar asked more somberly. He’d heard bad news about his former Deputy
Grand Master and best friend. Apparently Mathis Organa had been so emotionally
distraught after Xar’s capture that he’d begun using mid-level spice to cope
with it. And now he couldn’t stop. Alyx had suggested he move down to the less
active Chancellor position and let Jedi Master Nico Flygras become Deputy. The
switch had been made, but Xar hadn’t heard whether Mathis was recovering, and
sadly hadn’t had the time to visit him lately.
“About the same,” Misnera said. “He’s
still fighting it. I’m letting him deal with his own battles. But as it stands,
he’s still not ready for activity.”
“I see,” Xar said, saddened.
“You should help him, Xar,” Icis put in.
“It was his concern for you that drove him to go so far. He cares for you.”
Xar nodded and was quiet for a moment. He
silently acknowledged that it was probably his fault Mathis had gone over the
edge. He’d acted way too irresponsibly during the earlier days of the NI.
“What is the latest word on the Diktat
elections?” he asked, changing the subject. He knew that it high time for the
NI Senate to elect a new leader. Interim Diktat Arfann Dogar’s attitude, which
he revealed to only a few of the New Imperium’s leaders, was fading fast. With
the damages incurred in the nebula, and without anything to show for it, his
reputation had dropped even further. It was a shame; Dogar was a good man,
merely a victim of circumstance. But the NI needed a new figurehead now. Before
he’d met Zalaria, Xar had considered running for office again himself, but now
he knew that wasn’t his calling.
“Dogar made an official announcement a
couple days ago,” Alyx said. “He’s not going to run. That leaves it wide open.
Currently, the prime candidates are former Moff Gene Rytor, Fleet Admiral Stan
Sanders, and Admiral Caramon Majere.”
“Rytor? That’s surprising,” Xar mused
aloud. Gene Rytor, the former Imperial Moff of Kuat, had retired some years
ago. What many didn’t know was that he led the mysterious ‘
“With all this going on, I think not,” Alyx
replied, shaking his head. “I think I’ll designate someone else to represent us
in the Senate, maybe even for all official affairs.”
“Who’s free for that kind of duty?” Icis
asked.
“I’m planning to ask…” Alyx started to
say.
“Nico,” Xar finished for him, smiling. Alyx
looked at him with a bemused expression. This time it hadn’t been Jedi
telepathy; Xar had known who the right man was for the job. Fitting, since
Master Nico Flygras had been on numerous missions for the NI before, and had
the most experience outside the Division next to Xar.
“I’ll tell him about it this evening,” Alyx
said. “Knowing him, he probably won’t like it, but I’m sure he’ll do fine.”
“He always does,” Xar agreed.
This time, Nico was in the
middle of dinner when the fateful call rang out.
“Nico, come to my office in five minutes,
please,” Alyx’s voice came through his commlink.
Nico’s spoon and plate crashed down onto
the table as he jumped reflexively out of his seat. “What the frizz?!” he
shouted out, startling everyone else in the cafeteria. “Not again!”
He was off within seconds, knowing
instinctively that it took exactly seven and a half minutes to get to the Grand
Master’s office from where he was. When Xar had been in charge, the calls had
come in so frequently that Nico had paced the entire palace, memorizing the
time of each major location in relation to that blasted office. How when that
call always came he could be too far away to make it in time was mind-boggling.
Nico used the Force to speed up his pace
as he rushed through the corridors, flashing by startled passerby and
occasionally bumping into someone. Shouting an apology behind him and realizing
how much of an idiot he was making of himself, Nico kept running.
He got there just ten seconds late.
“You’re late,” Alyx said, stopping the
counting chronometer as Nico charged into the room. He skidded to a halt just
in front of the Grand Master’s desk.
“Alyx, I know that Xar enjoyed this little
running joke a lot, but tell me why in the name of the Sith do you have to keep
it up?” Nico asked breathlessly.
The Grand Master’s mirth seemed to fade
somewhat. “Sorry old man, just trying to remember old times,” Alyx said, his
tone apologetic. Still, he seemed to be struggling to contain a smile. “Have a
seat. You can probably guess why I wanted to talk to you.”
“Let me guess. You wanted a fried nerf
platter for dinner?”
“Very funny, Nico.”
“Well, you can’t blame me for hoping you
wanted something simple,” Nico argued. “So what’s the mission this time, and
when do I leave?”
“You’re getting better guessing these
things,” Alyx grinned. “As you know, Diktat elections are coming up, among
other events in the Senate. With things so busy here, I won’t have time to be
away. I’d like you to go in my stead and represent the Division.”
The man’s words hit Nico like a blow. He’d
been ready for a mission to Dathomir, Coruscant - even back to the Unknown
Regions. But he’d never expected this. “You… want me to be a Senator?”
“Basically, yes.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“What’s wrong?” Alyx asked, bemused.
“You’re perfect for the job. You’ve been a Senator before, back when you led
the Dark Lightning Strike Fleet. There’s no one else on the Council as
qualified as you. Besides, either you can be the Senator, or you can take on my
job while I’m gone.” With that, he gave a half-grin.
“Hmm. Now that you mention it, Senator sounds
like a great idea,” Nico said, only half joking. “Seriously though, it’ll just
be strange, going back…” He thought back to the final moments of the Battle of
Mizar, when he thought he was about to die, when the only choice was to
self-destruct the Dark Lightning in order to cover the fleet’s retreat…
What had happened after that was still a blur. “The DLSF is gone, now. It could
bring back a lot of memories.”
“I know, but you’ll do well. You know what
the Division’s interests are, and what we need. I have full trust in you, Nico.
Don’t forget that.”
“Thanks,” Nico said, nodding. “I’ll do my
best for us.”
“As always. And may the Force be with
you.”
* * *