Prologue -
37 years before the founding of the
Republic
"The shadow was stayed, but only for one short breath.
And as the dawn of war came upon the galaxy unawares,
we stared into the very face of oblivion.”
Record of New Imperium History
Discovered 200 ANR
Planet Varnus
Aben
Plains
The tall man ascended the small
grassy hillock, the gentle breeze stirring his royal-looking cloak out behind
him. His long blonde hair was tied back behind his head, and his deep blue eyes
stared out from his intricately tattooed face, surveying the wide grassy plain
and gently rolling hills that expanded for miles around. The azure sky was
filled with points of light that hung overhead like stars. But they weren't
stars.
Lasitus reached the apex of the hill and surveyed his army filling the
plain in front of him. Far away, at the top of another range
of hills stood another force, barely in sight. Hundreds of thousands of
warriors were on either side. The beauty of this pristine world, named Varnus
on their star charts, seemed to deny what was about to occur.
On either side of him were his best commanders, Starnek
and Goath. They watched their master with alert
gazes, studying his every movement as if they could know his wishes by body
language. But it was more than that - from his link with them through the
Force, they could read his emotions, and even his thoughts, if he so allowed
them to. And he could sense theirs.
"Such a beautiful world," remarked Goath,
now turning to survey the vista around them. "A shame to
waste it."
Lasitus nodded idly, fingering the hypersaber at his belt, the legendary
blade Sha'kira. He remembered the
massacre of his family on Golron VII. Now he would
repay the galaxy - and the barbarous Jedi - for what they'd done. He smiled.
"Yes. These plains will run red with blood, this day. Are our
forces assembled?"
"Yes master. Ready and awaiting your commands."
"And the enemy?"
Goath sighed audibly. "Not good. They
outnumber us almost three to one."
Lasitus gave a low chuckle. "I would think we are used to such
odds, my friend."
"I know, Master. But they say the leader is Delavous."
His smile faded at the mention of those words, and Lasitus narrowed his
eyes. Delavous was an experienced Jedi Master. He'd
been a true warrior once, in his prime, but with age he had diverted into a
generalship position. Goath was wise to be wary of
him, but Lasitus did not worry. "Leave him to
me. The rest of you cut down their line forces. We shall drive straight through
to their center and cut out their heart. And we will have this day."
Looking to either side, he surveyed the lines of his amassed army, a sea
of warriors that covered the countryside around him. His force represented the
height of Altarin'Dakor glory, an amalgam of countless variety in both race and
skill. And among them were his Jedicon, those who could wield the One Force,
who controlled and spurred on his armies. They were a match for any of the
so-called Jedi facing them today. That, despite Goath's
worries, was what would make them win.
Bringing up a pair of high-powered macro-scanners, he peered at the
hills that held the seemingly endless line of enemy troops. At this
magnification, he could make out individual soldiers, and the so-called Jedi Masters
leading them. Their mouths were open in an anticipatory battle cry, inaudible
at this distance. They were ready.
He lowered the macros and let a servant take it from his hand. "Very well. For the glory of the chosen ones, the
Servants of Power, and the honor of the True Jedi, the time has come. We make
our stand now. May it begin."
And begin it did. Lasitus shed his cloak behind him and stepped forward
slowly, closing his eyes, attuning himself with the Force. He breathed in the
cool, moist air around him, felt the soft earth give slightly under his boots.
All his senses sharpened tenfold, his awareness of his beating heart, the
growing grass, the passage of the planet around the sun. Even
the passage of time itself. All was in harmony, in perfect order and design.
The Force spoke to him, its will floating around the edges of his
consciousness. He caressed it, stroked it, searching for that perfect
connection, the essence of the One Force. And then he found it, and power and
life beyond description filled him to bursting. When he opened his eyes again,
it was a different man who now surveyed the valley below. His eyes had gone
white, his consciousness converted into that of the perfect warrior, precisely
attuned to the Force. He was nothing but a living weapon now. And that weapon
had but one purpose: to kill.
Raising his arms high above his head, his fingers outstretched, he
stepped forward and yelled out a scream of pure fury, a shrill battle cry
amplified a thousand times through the Force. The sound carried all across the
valley, echoing among his forces, spurring them on. The power of the One Force
itself flew threw him, a torrent that threatened to sweep him away. Total power
engulfed him, filling him with life beyond imagination. The cry was taken up and
redoubled by his forces, thousands upon thousands of voices giving out a yell
of fierceness and exhilaration. Warriors innumerable took up the call, and hundreds of Jedicon to lead them, as they brought
their own lightsabers and blades up and ignited them, spears of bright color
piercing the air. The earth shook and trembled beneath their cry of defiance, a
scream that summed up all their unspent emotions toward the Jedi and those who
opposed the Altarin'Dakor.
His battle cry flowed into a pure scream, as he lifted Sha'kira high above his head and
activated it. A tremendous and deafening crack shot through the air, a bolt of
lightning striking up at the sky as the super-intense blade shot into existence
above him. Four smaller blades extended out at an angle to the main shaft,
forming a protective guard of light-energy. The weapon hummed and clicked as
its internal mechanisms aligned themselves, almost as
if the blade itself was eagerly preparing for battle. At his sides, Starnek and Goath brought their own
blades up, as well. Lasitus could feel the energy and adrenaline flowing
through him, building in him the unstoppably fierce fighting spirit that
allowed the Servants of Power to fight like no others.
"Na nakannda!"
he cried. "Glacia na Altarin'Dakor! Undia na Jedicon!" All around
him, the call was taken up. Their screaming and stomping created a palpable
feeling of energy in the air, one that shook the very ground. Nothing would
stop them now.
As one, his forces surged forward...
In
the fury of battle, he struck, flowing amongst the swarming bodies, striking
with the grace and power of the most dangerous predator. Warriors engulfed him
on all sides, yet he slipped through them with the grace of a cat. Enemy after
enemy fell before his blinding, unstoppable blade. Ducking the wild swing of
one warrior, he stepped to the side and drew his blade across, cutting through
not only that soldier but the one beside him, as well. Then, continuing
forward, he met another attacker's downward stroke with his own, cleaving the
enemy's vibrosword in two. Then, spinning around behind him, he took both the
man's legs off at the knee. As the screaming soldier fell, Lasitus faced yet
another opponent. He stood right in the center of the conflict, surrounded by both
his army and that of the so-called Jedi. Death and violence raged all around
him, the clashing of steel, the discharge of blasters and rail guns, the
explosions on the ground from bombs or the crash of a fighter. Overhead, ships
swarmed like insects, waging another battle, but one no less decisive. Their
beams crisscrossed the sky, cleaving ships apart to crash down upon the armies
below. But those explosions were quickly covered by the swarming mass of
uncountable thousands, trampling the virgin earth of Varnus into muddy mire.
Blood flowed freely through the air, splattering on him and others, creating a
mist that hovered in the midst of battle.
Seeing the glowing blade of an enemy Jedi,
he pushed his way forward, grinning eagerly in anticipation. The Jedi was
moving as graceful as a falcon, cleaving through Lasitus' armies almost as
easily as Lasitus himself. But he was far from being the Jedicon's
equal.
The Jedi seemed to notice him at the last
moment, turning and swinging his blade downwards at Lasitus. The Jedicon
parried the strike, then reached out and quickly grabbed the man's wrist,
pulling it back. Then, pushing the other man's blade up with his own, he
slammed the butt of his saber into the man's face, throwing him backwards.
Though blood streaked down from the man’s shattered nose, the Jedi recovered
quickly and launched into a series of attacks against the Jedicon. But Lasitus
was too fast. He blocked a down strike, which the Jedi pushed down until it
struck the base of his light-guard. Then Lasitus pulled his blade across and
over his opponent's, locking it between the blades of his guard. Then, with his
enemy's saber trapped, he disengaged and swung Sha'kira across the man's chest, cutting a wide swath of his torso
away in a spray of blood vapor.
But that wasn’t enough Jedi blood spilled. Turning from the falling opponent, Lasitus met another Jedi, whose face was contorted in a scream of horror for his fallen companion. The Jedi's eyes looked up to meet Lasitus', and they contained an angry rage that bordered on madness. But it was nothing compared to the perfect battle fury of a Jedicon. Licking his lips eagerly, Lasitus met the man's attacks stroke for stroke. The Jedi's strikes came in a blur as he threw his most advanced techniques against the Jedicon, but Lasitus parried every one. Then, meeting a horizontal strike, Lasitus slipped his weapon up and turned it over, catching the Jedi's blade down between the guard. He pushed forward, rushing up to the man. With his opponent's weapon caught between Sha'kira's main blade and guard, the Jedi could do nothing as the hypersaber slid up the blade and over the handle. As Lasitus bore on top of the man, the guards sliced into his enemy's hands. The Jedi screamed and dropped the lightsaber, but his scream was silenced as Lasitus split him from groin to shoulder in one powerful upstroke.
Bellowing in satisfaction and unbridled fury, Lasitus turned away from the corpse to face some fresh opponents. One warrior loomed before him, leveling his pulse blaster at Lasitus from point blank range. With his Force-enhanced speed, he could see and anticipate the rapid-fire blaster bolts as they came in. As the man fired, Lasitus dodged or deflected every single one with Sha'kira, then at the right instant swept his blade across and too the man's gun hand off at the wrist. His next swing cut the man in two at the waist.
Another enemy came in, bladed spear held high. Before he could strike, the Jedicon's foot flashed out, catching the humanoid alien in the stomach and sending him onto his buttocks. With a yell Lasitus swung down with all of his might, cleaving his head apart and splattering his legs with blood. Stepping over the mess, he screamed and pushed forward, driving Sha'kira deep through the stomach of another human. Then, he sensed another attack coming from behind. Holding the body up of his last victim aloft, and with his blade caught through the middle of the corpse, he reached for the man's sheath, drawing the vibrosword out. Turning, he struck downward with it, cleaving through the enemy's sword, neck, and shoulder in one powerful stroke.
Dropping the vibrosword, he drew Sha'kira out from the other's dead body, only to have it struck from his hand by the powerful downward strike of a lightsaber. Now weaponless, Lasitus turned to face the glowering Jedi who moved into view. He shrunk back, waiting for the perfect moment. As the Jedi raised his blade overhead, yelling in anticipation of the kill, Lasitus shot forward, catching both the man's hands with his left as the strike came down. Then, rearing back with his right, he struck with all of his Force-enhanced strength with his right. His fist blasted out the man's back, killing the Jedi instantly.
Retrieving Sha'kira with his blood-soaked hand, Lasitus stood and surveyed the status of the battle. All around, similar fights were raging, an intense struggle between the forces of the Jedi and the Servants of Power. Each side gave its all, for they knew that the only way to win was to kill all of their opponents. And neither side was about to lose until every one of them was dead.
It was then that
Lasitus spotted the gem that sent his eyes wide. There, not a hundred meters
from him, was the command platform of the Jedi Masters controlling the battle.
And with his eagle-sharp vision, he could see their commander, Delavous, directing the battle from his command platform. The old
man's bald head reflected the golden sun of Varnus; Lasitus knew it couldn't be
anyone else.
With a burst of speed, Lasitus shot
forward, just as an ambitious blast from an enemy fighter overhead obliterated
the ground he'd stood on a second before. Barreling his way across the
battlefield, ignoring everything else, he drove for the command platform,
pushing aside enemy and friend alike, or in some cases leaping over them. When
he got close the Jedi seemed to notice him. Pulsing lances of fire shot from
the armored sides of the platform, missing him by centimeters. He ignored them,
instead leaping high into the air. Flying toward the platform, he extended his
free hand, releasing the power of the One Force in a powerful white beam of
energy. The blast struck the side of the platform at its base, causing an
eruption that obliterated the side and threw people everywhere. Then the repulsors collapsed, and the entire platform came crashing
down to the ground.
Lasitus landed on the deck of the command
platform after it'd barely settled. He touched down in front of the command
seat itself. Delavous still hadn't recovered from the
attack and crash. As he righted himself, the old Jedi's eyes met Lasitus' in a
spark of recognition and fate. Then Lasitus swung his blade with all of his
might, and with one powerful stroke clove the Jedi's head clean off. The head
flew away to the side, the body slumping to the floor in silence.
His fury finally expended, Lasitus gave
out a long sigh as he turned to look down at the battle. But the battle was
over. All around him, his forces stood, battered and bruised, but surrounded by
the dead bodies of the Jedi and their wicked forces. Looking intently across
the bloody vista, he could see Starnek and Goath among his troops, still alive, as well as countless
other Jedicon. All his vast myriad of races, incredibly varied yet allied to
one common, honorable cause, stood as one. He nodded at his forces, all of them
looking up to him with wide eyes. A feeling of intense pride swallowed him up,
stronger than anything he'd ever felt before. Here, he'd made a last, seemingly
futile stand against the overwhelming forces of the enemy. And here, on this
day, in the largest ground battle in the war’s history, he had emerged
victorious. They'd won.
We've
won, he thought, filled with an overwhelming sense of pride and honor.
"We've won!" Raising Sha'kira
high, he let out a roar that summed up all his emotions, a victory yell that
spread out over the battlefield. Standing on top of the enemy's command
platform, his blood-soaked form must have seemed like a vision of glory and honor
for his armies. Spurred on by their victory, his forces took up the call,
raising their arms and weapons in a shout of victory, a shout of defiance and
vanguard against the enemy. This day would be marked throughout history as the
greatest defeat the Jedi ever suffered. This day would become known as the
Blooding of the Servants, the day the Altarin'Dakor earned their right, their
claim, to the galaxy. And that claim would never again be disputed…
With
a gasp for air like that of a drowning man, Bren came awake. He sat up in bed,
throwing the sweat-soaked sheets off of his body. The lights came on slowly -
he didn't even recall turning them on with the Force - and he looked down at
his sweaty hands in shock, expecting to see them stained red and black with the
blood of his enemies. But they looked just as normal, pale and smooth, not
rough and dark like they'd once been. Once
been. No longer did he try to deny that he wasn't Lasitus. The dreams were
too real for that, dreams that could only have been born of memory. And there
was more than that. There was the visit, by a man who called himself Akargan. A man who called himself his friend, a long time ago.
I
must find out more, he thought. I
must find the answer. But, frighteningly, he knew that those answers could
come from only one person: Akargan himself. Bren wasn't blind. He'd been
watching the events unfolding throughout New Imperium space. He knew the
Altarin'Dakor were returning. The Return. What part do I have in that? What part am I
supposed to be playing?
But the silence held no answers for Bren.
No answers; just memory of fading dreams, haunting shadows of his past, a
harbinger of what was to come…
* * *
Varnusian Productions Presents:
Part One:
Leave-takings
Observation Lounge
Planet Varnus
1100 Hours
Maarek Stele – former
Imperial Starfleet General and hero, then outlaw, now a Commander in the New
Imperium Starfleet and in charge of the Jedi Division’s space force – took one
last swallow of his ale and set it down next to his half-empty plate. Rising
from the table, he retrieved the sheet of flimsy that held his bill and made
his way toward the counter to pay. Most of the other tables around weren't
occupied at this time of day. The cozy, post-modern restaurant, which had been
established at the very top of the new spire that projected from the top of the
palace, was encased in floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a supreme view of
the capital city, the deep blue sky, and the surrounding Varnusian landscape.
Jutting two-hundred meters above the top of the
As he reached the check-out counter, he tossed the bill onto the table and waited as the lady brought up the charge. When he saw the price on the ticket, his eyes widened in surprise. "Hey, come on," he protested. "That's ridiculous."
The lady looked at him blandly. "They have to pay for this new thing somehow, you know."
"But this is my going-away meal," he pleaded. "I'm about to leave."
"You won't be back? That's the best news I've heard all day," she said with a cynical smile.
Maarek shook his head with a sigh, mumbling as he searched his pockets for the correct change. "Jeez, you'd think a guy's reputation would mean something around here…" Tossing the credits onto the counter, he turned to leave. "Xar might get to eat here free, but I don't even get a discount. The food stinks here anyway."
"Good riddance," he heard her call mock-pleasantly after him. Ignoring her, he walked over to the turbolift and got in, setting the controls back down to the ground levels of the palace.
The glass-encased
turbolift descended, running down the side of the new tower, and as it passed
down into open air he was suddenly plunged into a superb view of the capital
city of
His view was obscured as the lift went down through the palace itself, finally dropping him off in the center of the palace. He stepped out into the main concourse, second level. In the center of the massive room was the Royal Varnusan Symbol, a large white starburst encased in a perfect right triangle. The rest of the floor was white tiled marble, with a sloping double-staircase ascending from each side that led up to the second level, which formed a ring around the first. The main concourse was always bustling with activity, with beings of every race, status, and position imaginable. Jedi strode about in their full arrogant pomposity. Novices scurried quickly by, rushing to deliver their messages or perform services for higher-ranked members. Workers and citizens made their way on a myriad of unknowable tasks. There were even a few tourists taking a guided excursion through the main chamber.
Walking around the railed balcony, Maarek descended the staircase and crossed the seal on his way to his next destination. He'd almost entered one of the branching corridors when he heard someone call his name from behind. He turned around, seeing a middle-aged man striding purposefully toward him, traces of gray touching his brown hair and lines touching dark eyes that had seen much in their time. A prominent scar ran diagonally across his face. As he neared, the man slowed and gave a broad grin. "Hello Maarek. How have you been?"
"Jac Railler," Maarek said, returning the grin. "I'm good. And you?"
"Same as always," the man replied with a shrug. Maarek knew the man from a recent mission they'd gone on together. Railler was from the planet Haven in the Satyr system, or at least he was living there when the Altarin'Dakor had unexpectedly swept into the system. He'd escaped during the planet's subjugation, and managed to arrive at Varnus and warn the New Imperium of the impending doom of the system. It was too late to save Haven, but Jac had managed to help a few others find shelter so they could be rescued. After Varnus had been recaptured from Altarin'Dakor forces, Railler wanted to go rescue the survivors, and had asked Maarek to accompany him. Together, they'd taken a shuttle and Maarek’s fighter to Haven and recovered a woman named Alona and her son Juenor, along with a few others, and brought them back to Varnus for asylum. The refugees had made a new, if temporary, home in the palace, and Railler had stayed on as well. Jac said he wanted to remain and help out however he could in the coming conflict against the Altarin'Dakor, and Xar, impressed with his abilities, had given him a field commission and hired him to train the Palace guards.
"So," Jac spoke up. "I hear you're leaving. Is that right?"
Maarek nodded an affirmative. "Yes, I've been given command of my own squadron in the NI starfleet. Not that I didn't enjoy being here, but I'm just not suited for a desk job. I've got to be out there, in the action."
The older man smiled and placed a hand on Maarek's shoulder. "I know how you feel. I was the same way." Despite the man's warm expression, there was something in his eyes that seemed to go cold at those recalled memories. Jac had never really opened up about his past, as if he were trying to forget and hide from it. "Besides," he added, "I think someone with your talents would be better in that kind of a role."
Maarek shrugged. "I'm heading to Xar's office now, to get everything squared away. Of course, I'll be back here on Varnus from time to time, working with the Division forces." He took a moment to look around, taking in the view of the main concourse, and the Varnusian architecture. "Something about this place has really grown on me. It was home to me when I felt I didn't have a home anymore." He gave a cynical half-grin. "Now I realize that my true home is out there, in space, where it's always been."
"You'll be missed, but you'll always have a temporary place here in this spot of the galaxy," Railler smiled. Then his expression turned serious. "Don't get killed out there. Something really big is brewing. I think you can handle yourself, as long as you keep your cool and don't try anything stupid. Keep your friends close; they're what'll keep you alive. I should have learned that sooner, too. It almost cost me everything."
Maarek nodded, a bit marveled at how Railler could speak as if he knew him so well. "I will. Goodbye, Jac."
"Farewell, Commander," Jac said, giving a mock salute. Then he turned away and continued across the concourse.
Maarek steeled his nerves, wondering what Xar was going to say. His close friend, past and present, seemed to have changed after his abduction by the Altarin'Dakor. Though he'd come back on fire against the enemy, he seemed more and more distracted every day. There really wasn't any way to tell how he'd react. Only one way to find out, I guess, Maarek thought. Turning back down the corridor, he started toward the Grand Master's office.
"Enter," Xar replied to the knock at his office door. Tossing the report he'd been looking at onto the table, he leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Why am I sitting here doing this? he questioned himself. All the endless text, the status checks, progress reports… They don't mean anything. What was worse, he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on such menial, everyday things. He was too distracted, and furthermore felt much too important to have to focus on minutia.
At least now he had an archival droid to help him out. Cozeeke, formerly Jac Railler’s companion, now stood in the corner, recording everything that transpired for him so he wouldn’t forget. Railler had given the droid to him after Xar approved of his mission to Haven, and after that, the commission to train the troops in the capital. He’d needed to delegate responsibility, and every little bit helped out. He just couldn’t do everything himself.
He didn't know if he was getting tired of having responsibility, or if the Altarin'Dakor threat looming over them made everything else seem insignificant. There was a war about to be waged. He needed to prepare everyone as much as possible. Yet that feeling, so strong at first, had begun to fade, and increasingly there was one particular thing that always came to the forefront of his thoughts…
"Xar?"
Xar jolted up at the voice, mentally berating himself for not even noticing his visitor's entrance. He sat back in his plush seat and nodded at the man in front of the desk. "Maarek."
"Are you okay?" the man asked, a look of concern on his face.
"I'm fine," Xar assured him, folding his hands in his lap. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, you've heard the news, I'm sure," Stele started out hesitantly. "My request's been granted by the Senate Committee. My elite squadron is officially formed. I've assembled an excellent group of pilots from throughout the New Imperium. They're some of the best I've seen."
"Glad to hear it," Xar nodded. "I'm happy for you, and I don't doubt you'll do an excellent job."
"Thanks." Maarek paused, the signed audibly. "Look, I enjoyed being Wing Commander and working with the Division pilots. But after the attack, we lost almost seventy percent of our forces. All my hard work was wasted… I can't start all over again, even though Varnus seems to prolifically produce pilots of such high quality. It's not that I don't like it here; I love Varnus. But I'm just not suited for a desk job, I have to get out there and do something personally. I want to feel like I'm making a difference." He paused, waiting for Xar to answer.
Xar stared down at his lap. His thoughts wanted to wander again, already. But he also didn't want to deal too harshly with his friend, as much as he hated losing him. In Xar's opinion, stepping down to lead one single squadron, one of countless others in the New Imperium, was moving in the wrong direction if he really wanted to make a difference. But then, he argued to himself, Isn't that what I was just thinking, myself? Steeling his nerves, he spoke up. "Maarek, I fully understand your position. I really wish I could join you. I appreciate what you've done for us here, and wish you the best of luck in your new position. Congratulations."
Maarek opened his mouth as if to speak, then pushed away resignedly. Had he expected something more? "Well, all right then," he said. "I'll be around, from time to time. My squadron mates here on Varnus are prepped and ready to go, so if it's all right, we'll be leaving later today."
Xar shrugged, feeling the bit of distance coming between him and his friend. "Go ahead."
"All right," Maarek said, coming to attention and giving a sharp salute. Then he turned around crisply and started for the door. But as he left, Xar felt a pang of guilt for brushing him off so formally. Before Stele reached the door, he held out a hand and called out to him.
"Maarek…"
Stele turned back, raising his eyebrows. "Yes?"
Xar hesitated, then gave as much of a grin as he could. "May the Force be with you."
Maarek grinned back, his features brightening. Xar could see the gap closing once more. "And with you, my friend."
The door closed behind the commander, plunging the room into silence once more.
Xar let the quiet hang in the air for a moment before he spoke again, echoing the question that was running through his mind. “How long has it been since I’ve been back, Cozeeke?”
His new CO-Z-K droid barely hesitated before replying with smooth professionalism. “It has been twenty-two standard days, fourteen standard hours, and thirty-six standard minutes since you returned to the New Imperium from the Mizar system.”
Xar sighed again, feeling tired. It felt like much longer than that. More like years.
“Let’s take a walk,” he said, rising.
* * *
Icis Novitaar -
the Traveler - posing, as always, as Dean of the
He strode through bright and colorful corridors in the West Wing, probably the busiest wing of the palace during the day. The halls and rooms were well decorated, with live plants from all over, and beautiful tapestries and draperies hanging down from the vaunted ceilings. Many of them held crests and symbols emblazoned on the fabrics, most of the designs pertaining to Varnus and its culture. Soft, but definitely upbeat music played at various places, waxing and waning depending upon where he was. People of all shapes, sizes, and dress passed him on either side, not exactly avoiding the overly tall Jedi, but offering him the respect he was due. To Icis, it was really quite amusing, just watching the different types of people and their faces. But then, watching was something he'd been born and trained to do. He continued on.
Finally he left the busier sections and moved into quieter territory. The tall windows on his right looked down into some of the palace's splendid courtyards, and he understood why. In them he could see Jedi in training, practicing their various physical skills and some of the simpler Force techniques. Though this wasn't a Jedi exclusive area, and there were only a few places that were restricted to Jedi only, most people seemed eager to give them as wide a berth as possible. Icis wasn't going to say anything about them, though. Most of the Jedi were still like children in terms of knowledge and potential. Well, compared to him, anyway. But his own powers were only at half strength, so he didn't have a place to speak. That wouldn't be his style, anyway.
After several more minutes of walking down the now sparsely populated corridor, he finally found who he was looking for. Xar was standing by a window some distance away, accompanied by his new companion droid, Cozeeke. The dark haired Jedi Master stood opposite a tall, slim woman with long, braided auburn hair that ran down her back. From their posture and expressions, he could tell they were discussing something that they were at odds about. No, even arguing, he realized. On a whim, he brought his Force Mask into being and got closer. Oblivious to him, they continued as he listened.
"Forgive me if I'm being too frank," Rynn Mariel was saying, "but I don't understand the way we're doing things. You're pushing us so hard, training us to fight and to kill, but the way we're learning things isn't at all what I heard the Jedi used to do. I think the Force should be a close, personal thing, not just a weapon you can take and use any time you will."
Xar's expression darkened and he shook his head. "We don't have time to waste with useless diplomatic skills, Rynn. Those aren't going to be very useful with the Altarin'Dakor breathing down our backs. If we don't train our Jedi to fight, we won't stand a chance against them. We have to use the Force as a weapon against them, if we're to have any chance."
"Not enough time?" Rynn asked, cocking her head one side and staring across at him defiantly. "So instead you teach them to kill but don't teach them the responsibility to use it?"
"There aren't any rules with the Altarin'Dakor," he replied, his voice cold. He was obviously struggling to keep himself in check as he answered. "It's them or us. Soft feelings and hesitation will only get us killed."
"I can't believe you're telling me that," she breathed, shaking her head. "This… This isn't why I wanted to become a Jedi. I thought we were guardians. I though we protected people who couldn't protect themselves…" She looked down at the floor, and Icis could see tears starting to form in her eyes. "I wanted to help people, not hurt them," she whispered.
"You'll help people by destroying the Altarin'Dakor," Xar said adamantly. "If we don't stop them, they'll initiate the biggest slaughter in galactic history. I'm sorry, but we couldn't exactly choose whether or not to have the galaxy’s deadliest threat ever bearing down on us. We must do what we have to, Rynn. You are a weapon, a living weapon. Your power is the Force, and your objective is to destroy the Altari…"
"You're obsessed!" she broke in roughly, her green eyes boring fire through him.
"And you're out of line!" he countered. "I'm the Grand Master. You can do what I say, or you can get out of here. Nothing's holding you back. I don't care…" His words were rudely interrupted as her slap took him across the cheek, causing an audible crack through the air. His head barely moved, though, and as she drew back, he just stood there and stared at her distantly. Then, with tears in her eyes, she turned and ran off down the corridor, holding her hand. Icis listened as her footsteps padded off into the distance, her sobs following behind her.
"You'll understand, once you've seen them," Xar muttered after her, though she couldn't have heard. He turned back to the window, and pounded his fist on the railing in front of it. Cozeeke wisely kept his distance on the far side of the corridor.
"You were way too hard on her," Icis said, dropping his Force Mask.
Xar jumped as if he'd just been hit by a blast of Force Lighting. He spun around toward Icis, his expression just short of being in utter shock… "Blast you, I thought I told you never to do that again…"
"Apologies," Icis shrugged as Xar turned back to the railing. "You told Rynn to leave? What's gotten into you?"
"I don't know, Icis," Xar shook his head. "I'll make it up to her somehow." He sent a sideways glance toward the Traveler. "Come on. You of all people should know the threat that they represent. Don't you think we should be preparing for their return?"
"I think the wisest thing is always to keep a balance," Icis said smoothly. "Remember, even I didn't tell you about the Altarin’Dakor until you were ready."
"Ready? You waited until I'd already had a kriffing close encounter …"
"I didn't see that coming," Icis admitted. "But, looking back, would you have believed me otherwise?"
"I see your point. Let's walk," Xar offered.
As they continued on through the
West Wing of the
They emerged into open air, walking along the walkways that connected Palace buildings and walls in the Jedi training sector. Below, in the courtyards, Jedi were practicing in some of the more advanced techniques. Duels using stunsabers and lightsabers sent a familiar and unique buzz through the air. Others practiced using the Force in various ways, some causing head-sized stones to explode in showers of pebbles, others learning the basic concepts of energy manipulation, sending small sparks of energy from their hands against still and moving targets. Icis admitted that it was impressive, at least on an organizational scale. But there was a long way to go.
They passed by under an alcove in the side of the palace. Below was a large area where a line of Jedi Knights were practicing their abilities at levitation. Xar stopped there, looking down at the group. Icis stood beside him and followed his gaze. He smiled when he saw what the man was looking at.
Down below, various crates and other objects were piled up. The Knights had to lift as many as they could control and send them into various motions. Some of the objects were arranged like hoops or angles, while others were balls or spears. Other crates were simple weights, ranging from few kilos to several tons. Icis recognized several of the Jedi below. Among them were Sturm Brightblade, Huan Knor, Varanus Templar, and even his old pal “Omega” Kira, the object of many of his infamous invisibility pranks. Calling out the instructions was the former Quaestor of Ar’Kell and now Master at Arms, Adept Thrakus.
"I see Thrakus is back," he remarked. "How's Lorien?" The Adept had recently returned from a private vacation with this wife, Lorien Kal, a Dathomiran from the Singing Mountain Clan. They'd met on Dathomir during the incident they now called the Clandestine Conflict. Ironically, after all his chasing women, it was she who had caught him. Now she was pregnant, and it seemed the whole Division was ready to welcome their first Jedi baby.
"Five months now," Xar said. "I think Thrakus is getting a bit on edge." He gave a chuckle, and Icis realized it was the first time he'd hear the man laugh since the rescue. He gave a grin, himself, inside wondering what it was like for a human, a mortal, to go through something like that for the first time. Of course, he'd never actually had children himself, either as human or Traveler. "I think the whole Division is going to adopt this baby," he remarked jovially.
Xar nodded, as below Thrakus began barking out orders for the assembled Knights. He quickly instructed them to lift as many weighted crates as possible, starting with the heaviest, and while holding those, to run the smaller objects through a certain pattern.
First up was a newly raised Jedi Knight, Sim Zaphod, one whom Icis hadn't seen before. He had obviously been raised according to the accelerated program, and the flaw in their new system was quickly discovered as the Jedi only lifted the smallest crate and put only a few of the other items into a clumsy circle. Beside him, he saw Xar shake his head. Of course, they knew that the exercise wasn’t designed to measure Force strength. Growing stronger in the Force wasn't akin to building muscles. The size and weight of an object didn't matter so much, yet there were limitations according to one's power level. This exercise tested one's control over the Force and the ability to use several powers simultaneously. The final part of the exercise, where the Knight had to lift only the water out of a nearby bucket, was failed completely by the newcomer, no matter how hard he seemed to strain. It just splashed around, spilling out on the ground around it.
Sturm Brightblade went next, thrusting his hands forward in grand gesture. Not only was he able to lift the ton crate, but he put several different objects into a spinning circle overhead. Finally, he lifted half the water from the bucket in a rough spherical shape.
"Omega," Thrakus called out. "You're next."
Rubbing his hands together eagerly, Omega Kira put his hands forward and with a grunt of effort lifted the five ton crate off the courtyard floor. With that held aloft, suspended by one of his outstretched arms, he picked up half the objects on the ground and sent them into a spiral, the smaller objects passing through the ringed ones without touching the sides. He also succeeded not only in pulling all the water from the bucket, but keeping it in its cylinder shape, as well. As he set the objects down carefully, he was greeted to a small round of applause by the other Jedi gathered. Of course, he was really a Templar, closer in truth to a Crusader, with a lot of real combat experience, so his extra strength wasn't overly surprising.
Thrakus appeared ready to dismiss them, then checked his board as if remembering something. "Ah yes," he spoke. "Forgot about him. Where's Derek? Derek?" he called.
His eyes widening, Icis finally noticed the small boy sitting at the table near the corner. The dark haired ten-year-old had been one of the greatest finds they'd ever made. Having been kidnapped by a rogue Jedicon named Turles, it had been up to Xar, Icis, and an elite team of Jedi to rescue him and foil the Jedicon’s plans. Since the boy had no family left, he had willingly come back with them to Varnus to learn the ways of the Force. And had he ever. Already having taught himself much, he was now learning much faster in this more formal education. "So that's where he is," he whispered.
"That's right," Xar said, the pride in his voice almost palpable. "Just watch."
The boy rose from the books he'd been studying, looking up at the Adept beneath his dark bangs that came down on his forehead. "Huh?" was all he managed in a high-pitched voice.
Thrakus seemed to pause, then gave a sigh. "Let's see what you can do," he said nonchalantly.
"Okay."
The boy's gaze went past the Adept toward the assembled items. A bare second later, Icis smiled and shook his head in awe. Thrakus was still staring at the boy, but at the gasps and expressions of wonder coming from behind him he turned around… And looked up. All the weighted crates, from the ten ton down, as well as every single other loose item on the grounds, were floating quickly about in an intricately complex sphere above him.
"How…" Thrakus' words were cut off as a dragon made completely of the bucket’s water moved over in front of him, its long tail wrapping back around his body twice. Then it actually growled at him. Thrakus turned to look back at the boy, but he was already into his book again, not even glancing in the direction of his fantastic display.
"I think it may be time to move Derek up again," Xar mused idly. Icis agreed.
Once everything was back in place, Thrakus lined the Jedi back up, though he still looked a little shaky to Icis. "All right. Now we're going to split up into two groups. Group one will be doing lightsaber combat in the forward yard. Group two will be doing energy manipulation in rec. room three." He turned back to the boy, still absorbed in whatever it was he was reading. "You coming, Derek?"
"No thanks," the boy declined.
Apparently not seeing the issue important, Thrakus began to dismiss the assembled Jedi.
"Let's go," Xar offered. "I'd like to talk in my office."
"All right," Icis said. He started after the Grand Master, but kept an eye down in the courtyard. Suddenly, Derek looked up, and their eyes briefly met. The boy's face turned into a smile, and he quickly stood and closed his book up.
"I think we're going to have company," he said, coming up beside Xar.
Just then, more shouts of excitement and shock came from below. Icis turned to see what was going on…
And stopped dead in his tracks as Derek flew through the window and landed in front of them.
"I'm not even going to ask how he can do that," Icis began.
"Hey, Mister Kerensky!" the boy said enthusiastically. "And Mister Novitaar, too! How are you?"
"Hey, Derek! I'm fine!" Xar answered just as happily. Icis stared at the man incredulously. It was as if a switch had just been turned on, and he was a different person entirely.
"Hi," Icis responded casually. "That was some impressive work down there."
"That? Aw, that was nuthin," the boy responded.
He bests our top Jedi Knights, and says it's nothing? "Well, congratulations, nevertheless," he said. Not to mention that he's learned how to fly somewhere. That little rediscovery in itself would have had the olden Jedi rolling over in their graves.
"Mister Xar, can I ask you something?" the boy said.
"Sure, Derek. You can ask me anything," Xar said heartily, bending down. It struck Icis how attached Xar had become to the boy, almost as if he wanted to claim him as his own son. For some reason, something about that seemed a bit familiar.
Derek opened his mouth to speak, but before he could another person came up behind him at a trot. Icis recognized the placid face and long hair of Crusader Gui Sun Paan, Quaestor of House Vortigern. "Master!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you." Icis knew of the man, a recruit from another organization, who had risen quickly here. "I wanted to talk to you about my new appointment as…" he began.
"I'll be with you in just one minute," Xar said forcefully and clearly, staring up at the young Crusader. Then he looked down back at the young boy. "What were you saying, Derek?"
"Well, sir, you know I love to study and all," Derek said, "but I'm getting kinda bored with all these exercises. I want to learn something new. Can you teach me?"
Xar hesitated. "Well, I'd be glad to work with you personally, Derek. But some of our powers are pretty destructive, even dangerous. I know you're stronger than almost anyone here, and your control is superb, but I don't know if you're ready for some things yet."
“But I know I’m ready,” the boy argued. “I want to be the greatest Jedi there’s ever been!”
"Xar's right," Icis put in. “Some things can get pretty advanced. You're a bit hard to place, Derek. Your skill matches a Jedi, but your age slows you down. Granted, you could probably handle them, we just have to be careful, you understand."
"Sure I do," the boy replied. "Like they taught you your powers when you were still young. Of course, you're still kinda young, aren't you? But they still taught you to disappear. Of course, it is a little basic, but…"
Icis finally stopped gagging on his tongue enough to interrupt him hoarsely. "How… How do you know that?!"
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Derek promised. "Thanks for saying you'll train me, sir," he spoke up to Xar.
"No problem, Derek. It'll be my pleasure," the Grand Master responded.
"Okay. Well, goodbye Mister Kerensky, Mister Novitaar!"
With that, he lifted off into the air and flew out the window just as he'd come in. Icis thought Gui Sun's jaw was going to hit the floor when he saw that.
"Gui Sun…" Xar started, then noticed the Crusader staring out the window. "Gui Sun! What was it you wanted?"
Abruptly the man seemed to snap out of it, and turned to face the Grand Master. "Yes, master," he said. "I wanted to thank you again for your trust in me to lead Special Operations. Ever since Kobota left, we haven't had a leader of the team. I won't let you down. Where you going to make the promotion official today?"
Xar opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He seemed to think for a second, then finally replied. "Well, it's been unofficially made, and there's still a few things left to fix. It'll go into effect within a few days."
"Ah. All right," Gui Sun nodded. "And does the promotion come with it?"
Icis arched an eyebrow, and looked as Xar hesitated again. "We'll make the promotion once you've proven your abilities to lead.”
"Thank you, master," the man replied. I will serve you well. I'm going to focus all my energy on Black Ops."
"I'm glad, and proud of your loyalty," Xar replied.
"Thank you, and good day, Grand Master," Gui Sun said with a bow. "I'm well on my way to my ultimate goal. I will be the fastest person ever to reach Jedi Master." Then, with another bow to Xar and Icis, he turned and made his way off down the passageway.
At this rate, he may well be, Icis thought miserably, watching him leave. Then a thought hit him. “Head of Special Ops,” he mused. He turned back to Xar. "Wasn't he an Initiate last week?"
The man shrugged. "I guess everyone's advancing quickly, now. Desperate times, my friend." He gestured down the hallway the same way they'd been heading before and gave a mirthless grin. "Shall we be going now, before the Emperor himself shows up?"
In the Palace’s elaborate main hangar, on the metal walkway hanging from the ceiling, Maarek Stele walked around his beautiful TIE Avatar Wildfire, running a hand along its port solar panel. He caressed the cool armored hull that would soon see the cold vacuum of space. His elite unit, Inferno Squadron, was ready for flight. He was still a bit in awe that he'd received his request: his own personal squadron, which he had full control over, not tied down to any one ship or fleet. He chose the pilots, trained them, and decided - at least in theory - what missions or campaigns to devote his squadron toward. In the end, of course, he was still under the direct command for the NI Advisory Council and the Diktat, but having his lifelong dream finally fulfilled gave him an exhilarating feeling. The last time he'd commanded a squadron had been shortly after the Battle of Endor, under Grand Admiral Thrawn, and under Imperial restrictions. Those were now gone, he realized, unable to hide a smile.
He stood back from his ship, taking in the line of fighters hanging from the scaffolding docks. Unlike most TIEs, the Avatars had landing gear of their own, and didn’t have to be launched from a special holding rack, but they had that ability, as well. And what a ship it was, he remarked. Maarek still admired the sleek next-generation vessel, even after months of flying the new design. The body was smooth and aerodynamic, somewhat like a flattened Missile Boat hull, from which it was derived. The solar panels on either side were identical to that of the TIE Advanced, known as the TIE Avenger these days, only these were turned outward, opposite to that of the popular design. The ball cockpit so common in the TIE design was gone, replaced instead with a modified missile boat cockpit, which offered a superior view to all sides. Comparable with the TIE Defender in almost every respect, except its cheaper price, the Avatar was a formidable fighter that Maarek believed could become the mainstay of the NI Starfleet. He’d passionately argue down anyone who dared call the ship an “ugly”, or a hybrid. The ship incorporated many new technologies and advancements in miniaturization. An improved onboard AI computer and targeting system, the next line of Twin Ion Engines, and improvements in hull strength and shielding were all prime features. The ship held four wingtip-mounted, upgraded laser cannons and two ion cannons beneath the cockpit itself. Two advanced missile launchers on either side of the cockpit, and a special missile rack on the top of the hull, carrying five advanced torpedoes or heavy rockets, all combined to give the Avatar tremendous firepower at its disposal, as well. There was even room for a beam weapon option to be installed. All in all, he was very pleased with the new ship class.
Hearing the clank of footsteps on the racks behind him, he turned to see the rest of his new squadron emerge from the entrance, garbed in the new NI pilot uniforms. These suits, while similar in appearance to the standard TIE Pilot Uniform, were much more advanced. Made of sturdier, lighter fabric, the suits were much less bulky, allowing a person their full range of motion. The gloves and boots were no thicker than those that might be worn on a cold day on Varnus. Finally the control panel on the front was gone, as the sleeker, lighter pilot's helmet now plugged into a socket in the fighter itself. Since their cockpits had atmosphere now, as with most NI fighters, more comfortable designs like this were available. The suits themselves were the dark, NI-standard gray, with the NI symbol emblazoned on the shoulder pads and helmet.
As might be expected, his squadron was a motley-looking group, since he'd scoured the entire sector searching for the best, most trustworthy pilots. Maarek had never had the privilege to command a finer group than elite Inferno Squadron. Out of countless candidates over the year it'd taken him to assemble the full unit, these were the best of the best. Some were experienced NI pilots, while others were naturals he'd found and trained. Most of them had already seen combat against the Altarin'Dakor, when they'd had to flee and then retake Varnus from the enemy. Now, he knew their next trial would be all too soon.
Though most of the dozen were humans, that didn't matter to him. Three of the pilots were from Varnus itself. Rann Wosper was Inferno Two. Of medium height, and slim, he was the perfect size for a pilot. He was also the prankster of the group - since it seemed all squadrons needed at least one - and had the habit of always brushing back his blonde hair that kept standing straight up. Inferno Five, Bast Vlagen, was actually his first find. Already an accomplished Imperial ace, then New Imperium pilot, the 46-year-old, dark-skinned veteran was often the squadron's rock of stability and confidence. His tried and true tactics and experience had proven invaluable in helping Maarek assemble the rest of the unit. Bast held a lot of respect for Maarek, due to his fame as an Imperial pilot, and held no ill feelings because Maarek had left the Empire to rescue his father Kerek. Because of his experience, he was the second of Maarek's two flight leaders.
The final Varnusan was Petur Kien, a young man Maarek had chanced upon with immense, yet innate, piloting skills. It truly seemed that Varnus was a breeding ground for skilled pilots, soldiers, and Force users. Perhaps it was a tribute to the hardiness of the people themselves, though Maarek didn't know if that was true. Petur might have been his best pilot, second only to Maarek himself, but the young man lacked experience and judgement that could only come with time. When that time came, Maarek knew that he would have more than a match in him. A strong friend and loyal wingman, Petur occupied Inferno Ten.
The rest of the pilots were just as diverse and unique. Inferno Three was Tanya Vinikoro, a tall, pale-skinned woman with short dark hair. A former pilot for Fleet Admiral Majere, she had served with that fleet since its retreat from Byss, until volunteering for Maarek's elite squadron. With nerves of quadranium and an eye that could take out a womprat at a thousand meters, she was a stable addition to his flight. The last member of the flight, Inferno Four, was actually a Sigman, known to themselves as the Kaav'Klan. The bipedal, insectile inhabitants of Sigma Prime were amiable, fun-loving allies of the NI. Kikitik, as he was named, had a custom Avatar cockpit and communicated via translator. Astonishingly, yet not unexpectedly due to the comical habits of the Sigmans, Kikitik often hung out with the other resident prankster, Rann Wosper.
Flight Two was led by Bast, Inferno Five. Six was Salle Darl, a former Dark Lightning Strike Fleet pilot and native of Kolath, its base of operations. She was a good-natured and skilled member of the squad, with dark hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes. Seven was a man named Gren Pabos. Gren was one of the Renastasian refugees who had taken shelter on Ravick in the Moro System. House Vortigern of the Jedi Division had taken the refugees in, and they now were eager to give something back to the NI. Gren was probably the best Renastasian pilot they'd found. Eight was Kei Nomos, a fiery red-headed woman from Laan, the habitable planet in the Talas System. Maarek had discovered her incredible piloting skills after she’d successively won the flying tournaments on Laan. The competitions were to navigate the treacherous, craggy ravines called the Path of Fury that most of the planet’s surface was covered with. It was a tournament that many pilots did not survive. The canyons were excellent training grounds, and Nomos had proven her worth in winning the tournaments.
Flight Three was
led by a Sullustian named Vlini
Makor. The alien was a former Imperial defector who
had served with the
Maarek ascended the sunken pit ladder to meet them as they formed a loose group at the top of the rack ready area. As he approached, the squadron snapped to a respectful, yet informal attention. Rann even gave him a sarcastically overemphasized salute. Maarek had done his best to facilitate relations and comfort between members so that they might work better with one another. Of course, that meant if anything ever happened to one of them, the others would feel the loss that much more sharply. But that wasn't something he intended to let happen. He nodded to his subordinates.
"Everyone ready to depart?" His words were met with a series of affirmations. Since most of their personal belongings would remain on Varnus, and the more necessary items were already onboard the Transport in orbit and would follow them wherever they went, the squadron was ready to lift off.
"All right then," he said. "Get to your fighters and run through the pre-flight sequence. We take off in five minutes."
As his squadron broke up toward their individual fighters, Maarek turned around and descended the ladder once more. He moved over beside the cockpit; twenty meters below, the deck was clearing of personnel. Walking across the link, he stepped into the deep cockpit and settled down into the dark, plush seat. The cockpit canopy fell down overtop him and sealed, cutting off all sounds except the whirs and beeps of his instrument panel and the humming purr of his engines. The flight check and warm-up ran as he gently took hold of the flight controls, feeling the awesome power of the ship vibrating through him. There was no feeling like that of sitting inside the cockpit of a fighter, a ship that could do almost anything at his command. When he opened his eyes again, not realizing he'd closed them, he could see the Heads-Up-Display painted onto the canopy glass, and beyond that, the open-air exit of the hangar itself.
"All ships, report in," he ordered into the commlink. Within seconds, the other pilots responded that they were ready to go. Then, with final clearance from Palace Control, he activated the lock controls, and the ship suddenly plunged downward like a rock.
But then, ten meters off the ground, his repulsorlifts kicked in, holding him steady above the gray and tan deck. Then, with a rush of nostalgia, he pushed the controls forward, and his TIE Avatar shot forward with such acceleration that it slammed him back against his seat. The tunnel toward the hangar exit sped forward at a blur, the light at the end growing larger, larger…
And suddenly his ship shot out into the air, blasting its way overtop roofs and courtyards. He pulled back on the stick, watching as the skyscrapers not far off fell beneath him, to be replaced by a gorgeously blue sky punctuated with lacy white clouds.
He brought the fighter around in time to see several of his squad mates burst out of the hanger entrance, then brought the controls back and pulled a slow, lazy loop around the Palace's central spire and the observation lounge at the summit. To think that just a few hours ago he'd been in there, ground-ridden, forced to trudge his way up and down using a lift… Now he could fly its length in less than a second. Nothing could compare to such a sense of freedom and power. Outside a fighter, life was nothing.
He rose into the sky quickly, the massive city fading into a mass of gray surrounded by splotches of tan and green. The Wildfire passed through the icy clouds, slowly rising as he allowing his squadron to catch up. Soon, all ten fighters were established in a delta formation, cleanly slicing their way through the stratosphere. On his command, they pulled upward, pushing the throttle to the maximum as they burned for orbit. Ahead, outside his canopy, the blue sky began to fade away, replaced by the black background of space.
Within moments, the squadron had left atmosphere, rising away from the serene blue-green planet of Varnus. Maarek led the squad to the standard waypoint for traffic, where the white hull of the Modified ISD-II Stormwatch, newly repaired from damage during the Battle of Varnus, and the dark shape that was the Dungeon Ship Lord Keto, both were rested, suspended in space. After the loss of every orbital installation and satellite, including the system’s space platform and two Golan-III Defense Platforms, the remaining Division capital ships were all that was left to protect the homeworld. Though such a meager force would be insignificant if the Altarin'Dakor decided to strike again, it was enough to dissuade any pirates that might be seeking an easy target in the convoys that were helping to re-supply Varnus after the earlier attack. Thanks to starfleet escort, the convoys had made it to Varnus safely; the Division’s ships would keep them there.
Turning away from the pointed white dagger shape of the Stormwatch, Maarek set course for their charted hyperspace waypoint and locked in their flight path. Moments later he received the proper clearance from Varnus Command, and his squadron was ready to go. “All flights,” he spoke up. “Confirm course trajectory and sync in with my navicomputer.”
“Five here,” Bast answered. “Flight two locked in and ready to go.”
“This is nine, Flight Three is set on your coordinates,” Vlini chimed in.
Maarek nodded. “All right then. Course set; hyperspace in ten seconds.”
As the timer ran down, Maarek took one last long gaze at the pristine blue-green world that was Varnus. He knew it might be a while before he returned. If so, he wanted to burn the image into his mind, of a place that he could call home after years of running. Whatever happened, he knew now that he was in the right place. This was where he was meant to be.
The stars ahead stretched into starlines, and together the ten TIE Avatars shot into the endless swirling sky of hyperspace. Toward the New Imperium’s Capital. Towards history that would soon be made.
Icis followed Xar through the deeper levels of the palace, which saw a bit less traffic than the outside, and mostly that of Jedi. And there was a distinctly different atmosphere as they made their way to Xar’s office. Obviously, the new training methods being placed upon them, coupled with the threat of invasion constantly bearing down upon them, had changed the feelings between the different Jedi. And between the Jedi and the Grand Master. As he looked at their faces as they passed, Icis could see something different in their eyes. Ever since the new program had been installed, since the focus was on combat and the acquisition of power, the Jedi looked at Xar and the others a bit differently. Some of the respect was missing, ever since Xar had come back from his capture. Ever since he’d changed. These new Jedi were being trained to use their powers, but without the intense self-control that was needed. This made them, as Xar himself pointed out, little more than living weapons. Weapons to be used against the Altarin’Dakor. To be sent forward to die, and the survivors would be made stronger by that use. Now some of the other Jedi, especially those newly-raised to Knight or better, held in their gaze something different. Almost disdain. Almost… rivalry. Icis wondered… Could this be the right way? Were they working to save the New Imperium… or destroy it?
His pondering was interrupted – and his fears confirmed – as they came upon two Jedi Knights, newly raised by the look of them, arguing in the middle of the corridor. Whether by chance, or some twist of fate, his worries were being manifested, and Xar was right there to see it happen. This wasn’t going to be good.
The two young men, probably in their early twenties, were too engaged in their argument to notice the two onlookers. Icis and Xar stopped to wait it out and see what would happen.
“I told you,” the mid-sized, dark-haired man addressed his blonde companion. “That simulation was fixed! There’s no way I could have made it because it was set up!”
“That’s a load of flaz, and you know it,” the other man responded angrily. “The warden in charge settled the matter already. You’re just whining like a stupid loser!”
“Loser, eh?” the other man responded coldly. Suddenly his lightsaber hilt was in his hand, and he shook it at the blonde man’s face threateningly. “Be careful how you address me. I’ll prove the matter right now, if I have to. From now on I…” His words were broken off into a cry as, in one motion, Xar moved in, snatched the weapon out of his hand and slammed a fist across his face that send the man reeling. He hit the floor sliding, then slowly turned over and stood up wild-eyed, ready to fight. His gaze diminished only slightly as he saw who it was that had hit him. “Who the…”
“You fool!” Xar stopped him. For all the anger in the younger Knight’s expression, it was nothing compared to the mask of rage covering Xar’s face. He clenched the man’s saber in his right hand, shaking it. “Never draw this thing unless you intend to use it!” he practically screamed. Then, with a grunt of anger and frustration, he hurled the weapon away. The cylindrical object flew down the corridor, colliding somewhere down the tunnel with an audible crash.
“My lightsaber!” the Jedi yelled in dismay, reaching futilely after the weapon. Then he turned to Xar, his expression full of hurt and anger. But Xar was standing there, wide-eyed, daring the younger man to take him on. Wisely, the Jedi seemed to take the idea and slid back to a sitting position against the wall. “You don’t know what that means to me,” he said softly.
Xar gave a short laugh that was devoid of any amusement. “What garbage. Besides, you care nothing for it. If you did, you would never use it with such carelessness and ill-restraint. You don’t deserve to be called Jedi.” He turned to the other man, who was still standing up against the wall, and gave him a dark look as well. Seeing nothing left to challenge him, Xar turned away and strode purposefully down the corridor. As the young Jedi tried to gather themselves together, the dark-haired man nursing his jaw, Icis passed them quietly and followed the Grand Master.
He caught up with the man a few moments later, matching Xar’s broad strides across the stone-tiled floor. “I can’t believe what almost happened,” he remarked.
“I should have expelled that fool right then and there,” Xar answered. “This training is not working… The Jedi are too hostile, too immature.” He shook his head quickly. “My plan isn’t going to work. We’re not going to beat the Altarin’Dakor, we’ll destroy ourselves first.”
Icis opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t find anything that would sound comforting to say. In a way, Xar was right. But the fault wasn’t all his. His motives were pure; he wanted to defeat the Altarin’Dakor. And unless something could be done, something to make their own Jedi stronger and learn faster, they wouldn’t stand a fraction of a chance.
When they finally reached the door to the office, Xar led them inside, shutting the door behind and activating the room’s full lighting. He started to make his way toward the large wooden desk, but halfway across the room, he stopped, standing in the middle of the carpeted rug. He paused there for several seconds, his head down. Icis understood his posture well. Whatever it was the man wanted to discuss, it must be important. Cozeeke walked past them both and took up his place in the corner. A tingle of anxiety crawled its way up Icis’ spine, as if he could sense some bad news coming on. Finally he heard Xar whisper, “That’s it…” Then, suddenly, he turned around to face Icis, his eyes full of resoluteness.
“Icis, I’ve made a decision. This is something I feel I must tell you; you’re the first person who’ll know. This job and its rigors have begun to really grate on me. I don’t see the point in such meticulous tasks that accomplish nothing. My methods have failed, and I’m no good to the Division as a leader anymore. I’ve begun to lose interest, and more often there’s only one thing that my mind keeps coming back to. And I can push it aside no longer…” He paused, as if struggling with his decision one last time. Then, with a long sigh, he let it out. “I’m leaving to look for Zalaria.”
As the man’s words came out, they didn’t make sense at first. For an instant Icis wondered if he’d really understood the man correctly. But when he saw the man’s dead-serious expression, the words rang home, and he felt like he’d been hit between the eyes with a blaster at point-blank range. When it hit him, he must have jumped as if he’d seen Malduke himself alive and standing in front of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first nothing could come out but stutters. “Wha… What did you say? You can’t be serious!”
“I am, Icis. I can’t deny my feelings any longer. If I don’t find her, and see her again, it’s going to kill me.”
“But she’s evil, Xar!” Icis found himself saying, the words coming out of their own accord. “Don’t you remember what I said? She’s one of THEM!!”
“I know that!” Xar snapped back. “Or at least, I know that’s what you’ve told me. But you didn’t see her before, and you don’t know what I feel through my bond with her. So stop feeding me that!”
“I can only tell you the truth,” Icis countered. “I have seen her, long before you were born, long before this invasion. I was in their galaxy. Would you like specific details? Want to know how many innocent people she’s killed?”
“No!” Xar yelled. “I don’t!” He threw his hands up, giving an exasperated sound as he turned and moved over beside his desk. “I don’t know what to think, Icis. All I know is that ever fiber of my being is pulling me towards her. I can’t deny that, and I can’t explain it, any more than I could explain breathing.”
“It’s the Bond, Xar,” Icis rationalized, moving toward him. He was beginning to think more clearly now, though this was something he hadn’t expected – and had hoped would never occur. “It’s not genuine love, its infatuation. She controls your Bond, so you feel yourself drawn to her whim.”
“Maybe, but I can’t ignore it.” He sighed, and for a moment the two stood there, in silence.
Finally, Xar spoke up again, softly. “You know,” he said, “I caught the bouquet at Thrakus’ wedding. Somehow, I knew I was going to be the next person who would fall in love, who would find the person they wanted to spend the rest of their life with. I always knew she was waiting for me. And now I think I’ve found her. How can I not do something about that? I have to know.”
He’s talking like a child, Icis thought. What has driven him to this? Why didn’t I see it coming? With a flash of irony, he realized it was probably because he was so sure that Xar was the One, he’d looked for nothing else. “But Xar,” Icis protested. “Surely you can’t feel that way about Zalaria. You hardly know her. If you’re feeling empty, lonely, there are other people out there. What about you former fiancee, Illiana?”
Xar looked at him in exasperation. “Illy’s in a mental hospital, Icis. She doesn’t even know who I am. Every day she prays to Kronos to release her from her so-called prison here. My future with Illiana has been over for a long time. I realized that even before I saw her alive again.”
“I’m sorry, Xar,” Icis admitted, trying to understand what the man was feeling. “I didn’t know it was like that. But surely you can’t believe that you and Zalaria were meant to be together. If she wasn’t Immortal, you’d be separated by a thousand generations. How can you explain that?”
“Maybe its destiny,” Xar shrugged, ignoring Icis’ incredulous look. “But I can feel her, through our bond. I know her better than I could ever know anyone else. That’s what being a Jedi means. We’re tied together. Bonded. It’s meant to be.”
“That’s just not good reasoning, Xar. What about your brother? What does he think about this?”
“It’s none of his business,” Xar retorted. “He’s not in the same position as I am with her.”
Icis stared at the man incredulously. He could tell Xar’s mind was made up, perhaps more firmly than he’d ever seen it. He was willing to fight over this, as much as necessary. And their argument was just driving a wedge between them. But he couldn’t stop. Not when he knew the truth. “There’s nothing I can do to stop you from this, is there?”
“No, Icis, I’m afraid not. I have to find her, or die trying. Nothing else matters to me here.”
“What about the Altarin’Dakor?”
Xar shook his head. “As it is, there’s nothing more I can do. My influence wouldn’t alter the outcome. Maybe this will help, and it’s better than nothing. I’m no good to the New Imperium as I am now.”
“That’s not true!” Icis retorted. “Listen to me, Xar. If you go looking for her, if you venture into their space, you will die. There’s no doubt about that. Even the chances of making it to her are almost nothing. And what could happen if you did might be even worse. I can’t deny it, Xar. She’s a ruthless butcher. I’ve seen a lot of evil minds, a lot of killers and psychopaths in my time, believe me. And she ranks right up there with the best of them.”
“I didn’t see any evidence of that when I was with her,” Xar said in a soft tone. “Nor have I felt it through the Bond. Even if she was like that once, I don’t believe it anymore.”
“People don’t change, Xar. Not easily, and it usually takes centuries, or some life-altering event. But she’s been this way for thousands of years. The Warlords don’t change. And even if she had, would you willingly go to her, knowing what she once was?”
“I can’t say that,” Xar answered, a frustrated look on his face. “Not before seeing her. You said it: what she did was a long time ago, millennia. The times back then were different. The culture she is in is completely different.”
Icis shook his head adamantly. “No way. That’s just wishful thinking. This isn’t the same.” He paused, trying to form words to describe what he was feeling, so that he could somehow show Xar how horrible the Altarin’Dakor truly were. Xar was stubborn, all right, as stubborn as a Varnusian could be. But he didn’t believe that he would throw everything away to succumb to the power of the Lady of the Night. He’d always thought the man stronger than that.
“How many people have you killed?” Xar asked suddenly. “Or me? Or any of us?”
“Look.” Icis moved over to grip the back of one of the office chairs, staring into the flame of a glowlamp. “I’ve made mistakes in my life, and I’ve had to live with them. But I’m telling you, this is different.”
He looked back at the other man, hearing a cynical laugh. “What are you talking about, man?”
“Because…” Icis began, his voice going cold in the simplicity of his thoughts. His mind raced back to another time, another place. “She loved it. Because… she took pleasure in killing.” Thoughts wanted to well up inside of him, of times that he’d taken pleasure in killing, too. But he wasn’t about to tell Xar that. He had to dissuade the man somehow, or all was lost. But there’s no way, this time…
“You may be right, but that’s something I’m going to have to find out on my own,” Xar said, affirming his thoughts. “I’m sorry.”
Icis pressed his grip into the back of the chair, but he could contain his anger no longer. “Fine. Do what you want to, then…” He blew out a hard sigh. “That’s just great! So I’ve lost you, too, now. You’re as good as dead, and I’ve failed again. My whole purpose, everything I’ve sacrificed, is for nothing. There’s little for me to do but find some hole to hide in while the Altarin’Dakor wipe out everything.” He sighed, feeling all the frustrations that had built within him surfacing now. What did it matter, all hope was lost, now...
He turned to look at Xar, not bothering to hide his expression, and continued. “If you want to abandon everything you love and believe in for this woman, go on. Blast it, I should have known. This makes two failed hopefuls, two people that I was drawn to, that I believed could actually stop the return of the Altarin’Dakor. But I’ve lost you, too.” Unable to contain his disgust and anger at such a foolish human, he turned around and stormed toward the entrance, the chair falling over behind him. As he reached the door and pushed it open, he turned back to look at the man he’d called a friend.
“Just one more thing,” he said, his voice lowering to a serious tone. “Assuming you reach her alive, and go to her, I just want you to know…” He paused, sad to say the words that he knew were true. “You won’t want to come back, Xar. You can say this is for the good of the New Imperium now, but once you’re there, all of it won’t matter at all. The NI and everyone in it - no, the whole galaxy - can burn, for all you’ll care. You’ll just want to stay there, with Zalaria, forever. And nothing else will matter. Nothing.”
The door closed behind him, leaving Xar to his own. Icis had finally realized, now, that for all his knowledge and power, he couldn’t change the mind of someone, not really. But with Xar abandoned to an almost certain death, there was nothing left in the New Imperium for Icis Novitaar. It was time for him to be going as well…
* * *
Attrid Xoan, Jedi Crusader, sat up in his quarters as he heard the chime to his door sound. “Just a minute,” he called out in his deep, ringing voice. Tossing the magazine aside, he swung his feet off the couch and reached for his shirt. His dark-skinned torso was well-muscled, and he was still sore from his last, intense training session. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a closely-shaved head and a thin black mustache and goatee. His impressive form was enhanced by a relatively recent addition: his right arm was completely mechanical from the shoulder down, cut away in an intense battle only a few months before. The artificial limb didn’t hold skin; instead he’d opted to leave the metal casing showing through. The arm itself felt almost normal; the medical facilities on Varnus were first class. Doctor Vannik, in charge of the infirmary, had treated him well. The absence of cosmetic effect of skin didn’t decrease his feeling in the arm; he knew that either way, it was simply a series of signals sent through the nerves to his brain.
Taking the unbuttoned, short-sleeved shirt, he slipped his mechanical arm through first, then eased his left in. He pulled it on firmly, but left it unbuttoned as he rose and made his way toward the door.
He was completely surprised when, as the door slid open, he saw Rynn Mariel standing there, practically in tears. He could see where she’d been crying, wet steaks running down her cheeks. He’d never seen her this shaken up before. “Rynn!” he said, leaning his head to see if anyone was in the corridor behind her. “What’s wrong?”
“Sir…” she started, then shook her head as if trying to compose herself. “I just came here… You were my mentor, I thought you’d be able to help…”
“Okay, its okay,” he soothed. “Come on in.”
He turned and walked back into the room, Rynn following him. His quarters were large, as many of the Jedi rooms were, complete with a sitting area and separate bedroom, refresher, and study area. His own quarters were at the side of the palace where it sloped down like the side of a pyramid, facing the east side. As such, he had a long window the length of the far wall, through which sunlight would bathe the room slightly in orange morning light.
“You want a drink?” he asked, moving towards one of the wooden cabinets. “Looks like you could use one.”
“Sure,” she said, coming to at a stop quietly in the center of the room.
“Corellian Brandy?”
“Fine.”
He opened the cabinet, taking out the proper flask, and poured two glass cups of the brown liquid. Then, putting everything back, he took the glasses and walked back towards her, offering her one of them.
“Thanks,” she said, taking the glass and a sip of the drink. “I think I did need it.”
“Want to talk about it?” he asked, holding his glass lightly in hand.
“Yeah…” she answered, taking a moment longer before speaking. Finally, she gave a sigh. “I had an argument with the Grand Master.”
Xoan’s eyes widened as he listened to her relate the story. To think that she’d actually slapped him… But then, judging from the circumstances, he was inclined to agree with her action.
“He told me I could leave the Division,” she said, the pain in her voice obvious. “That’s all I mean to him. I’m nothing but a tool, completely expendable.”
“That’s not true,” he said, putting firmness in his tone. “Xar has been acting strangely lately. But he doesn’t mean it, Rynn. You aren’t going anywhere. This is where you belong.”
“I thought that,” she admitted softly. “Now I’m not so sure. This isn’t what I’d pictured at all. At first, he seemed to be so admirable and good-willed. He was everything I’d pictured a Jedi Master to be: wise, powerful, unrelenting. Mature, even though he is still young for a master. His strength was what spurred me on. But now… He’s changing. Gotten worse ever since his rescue. What happened to him?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “We can’t imagine what he went though… He actually died, so I’ve heard, or was at least legally dead for a while. Something like that… It can change a man, Rynn. ” That seemed like a big understatement. What would it feel like to actually die?
“So what can we do?” she asked. “He seems to have lost all sense of restraint. Everything he does focuses around the threat of this… Altarin’Dakor,” she said, struggling over the strange word.
He looked around the room, his mind wondering why the whole galaxy seemed to be going wrong all of a sudden. “Look, I don’t pretend to know what it is we’re up against here. But I’ve seen what they did to us last time, and it wasn’t pretty.” He cringed at the memory of that Jedicon cleaving his arm off. “I don’t know if this new training is doing any good or not…” He paused, thinking about Xar’s words toward Rynn that she had related to him. “But you’re right,” he said resolutely. “We’ve got to do something about it. We can’t let things stay like this, or the whole Jedi Order’s going to fall apart.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “We’ve got to bring the old Xar back, somehow. So what do we do?”
His reply was cut off as a shrill alarm broke out over his commlink on the table. Moving over toward it, he set his glass down and brought his commlink up to his ear, listening. When he brought it back down, he turned to look at Rynn, who stared at him expectantly. “We’ve got a problem,” he said.
Gui Sun Paan made his way cautiously through the VIP hangar bay, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. No one else was present; nevertheless, he slipped around the side of a small transport carefully on his way to where he knew the Grand Master was. He moved up between two more ships finally coming up to the private shuttle where Xar himself was stuffing supplies into one of the container holds. Surprisingly, the man hadn’t noticed his approach. Moving forward tentatively, he called out, “Grand Master?”
“Ouch!!” Xar yelled as he jumped in surprise, banging his head on the inside of the compartment. He pulled himself out spun around, barely holding back a furious glance. “Gui Sun… How’d you know I was here?”
“Strange things have been going on today,” Gui Sun replied. “I’ve heard how bad things are getting. Already some rumors are spreading. I wanted to follow you and see if everything was okay…” He stopped, looking around at the Grand Master’s bags and boxes of supplies. But now, it was obvious what Xar was doing. He was leaving, and from the supplies gathered, he might be gone a long time.
“There’s no need,” Xar said. “I’m fine. In fact, you won’t have to worry about me any more.”
What does that mean? Gui Sun wondered. Could he not be planning on coming back? “You’re going somewhere, master. I want to go with you,” he said sincerely.
Xar shook his head. “You don’t want to follow me where I’m going, Gui Sun.”
“But…” he began.
“I don’t want to risk any more lives,” the man replied flatly.
“Sir, if it’s too dangerous, then that’s why I should go. To help you out. And why don’t we take the Black Star? It’s much more suited for infiltration…”
Shaking his head again, Xar resumed his loading of the shuttle. “In this mission, fewer members means less risk. And I can’t take the Black Star. It’d be recognized.” Stuffing the last bag up into the hold, he threw the hatch closed and turned back to the young Crusader. “I know you want to go with me,” he acknowledged. “I’m glad that you’re one of the few loyal members left. But I’ve got to go alone. You have to stay here,” he said, putting a hand on Gui Sun’s shoulder. “You have to help the others, and your family. This will be an important job. You can’t abandon your duty in order to help me.”
“I… understand,” Gui Sun replied. Then, the two men exchanged nods, and Gui Sun obediently made his way back toward the entrance. As he left, he heard Xar call out behind him.
“You didn’t see me here,” he said. As Gui Sun turned around, he saw the Grand Master striding up the shuttle’s entry ramp, shaking his head slowly. Wherever he was going, it put a sick feeling in the Crusader’s stomach. As he watched Xar ascend the ramp into the ship, he wondered if it would be the last time he’d ever see him…
On the other side of the palace, in a lower, more commonplace hangar, Icis Novitaar toted his bags toward his personal, black-painted X-Wing, Traveler. Of course, all his ships had been named Traveler, but this was one of his favorites so far. He made his way up to the ship, noting with satisfaction that it hadn’t been tampered with. If it had been, special alarms would have noted him. Thankfully, that ever unctuous engineer, Thad Balfin, was gone, presumably to Jengar. In the battle of Varnus, Icis had tried to flee towards Jengar, only to find that Balfin had tampered with his hyperdrive. Trying to rectify the problem, Balfin had jumped past him, while Icis had stayed behind, trapped. Icis had had to fix the thing by himself; now he hoped it would work.
Securing what meager belongings he had within the X-Wing’s storage compartment, he climbed in and started the launch sequence. Moments later, his ship was ready, and as he lifted off on his repulsorlifts, he took one last look at the interior of the palace, shaking his head sadly. To think that so much hope could be scattered so quickly. It was truly, truly sad that the New Imperium was going to die. He’d rather liked it. In fact, after millennia of roaming across the reaches of space, he thought that he’d finally found a new home. Apparently, he’d been wrong.
Outside, in the cold night air of Varnus, two ships exited the palace from different directions. Each made its way for orbit, forgoing the normal flight plan and course confirmations, heading out its own path. Once outside the atmosphere, the Lambda-class shuttle turned away from the world, toward the beautiful purple Galbagos Nebula, setting its course for the galactic rim. On the other side, a black X-Wing turned coreward, in the general direction of Jengar. It passed the ISD Stormwatch and the space dock that was being rebuilt without any word. If any wondered at its occupant and course, they remained silent.
Moments later, both ships shot off hyperspace with a flash, each going their own way, toward their own desti