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Chapter Text

Before all else, it began in darkness.

My life, whatever it had been, had gone through quite a change. This was all I could faintly get a hold of when I had awoken a particular night in the Dantooine Jedi Enclave, my body battered and barely clinging on to life.

And as I was soon to very bitterly understand, left with only remnants of my memories.

The first perception of my cloudy eyes was a small dark room and the black shadows of an extensive array of medical equipment and a horde of hoses and tubes surrounding me. I was able to distinguish the quiet beeping of a control unit somewhere in the background, faintly. Although the bed was soft, it soothed the abysmal pain in my body just barely.

Oh Hell, muscle and bone screeched in combined anguish - this much I understood.

The pain became even more apparent - the brutal and crushing form of existence in its entirety when it wholly filled my consciousness and pushed away any seemingly coherent thoughts. I was submerged, I was drowning in it. So I did the only thing I was able to: closed my eyes and wished to be redeemed by sleep again. Or Death. It really didn't matter to me.

Even a single question regarding any reasons behind my body's current state didn't cross my mind then. Hell, at that point those couldn't have interested me less. I did not care, understand to care.

Within that specific moment existed only the room, the bed, and the pain. My body, packed full of drugs, readily obeyed my mind's command to sleep.

And I slept.

My second coherent perception was a healer woman; a Jedi healer as I was to learn. Her aged face, green skin and extremely compassionate eyes, which met mine the exact moment I regained consciousness. She was a Twi'lek woman named Zaza.

This time the room was bright. Almost too bright, as the light hurt my eyes and encouraged the pain in my neck and head to flare up and explode into a storm of angry jolts. It felt like my brain was impaled by a spike, which penetrated deeper and deeper into my head; it was pushed further by the force of each throb, slashing my brain into a worthless pulp.

"Wha…" I tried to ask, but the voice came out as an inhuman gurgle as my tongue refused to operate, glued to the palate due to the dryness in my mouth.

Instinctively I tried to push myself up but received no answer from the muscles which should have moved my body. My feet and hands stayed on the bed like they were glued onto it...as if I was paralyzed. The pain, the inability to move and the utterly unfamiliar environment started to push my mind into a state of unwelcome panic. Sheer terror started to grow its tendrils within me.

...Pathetic... Contradictory to my emotions, a judgmental stray thought crossed my mind. I barely registered it.

"Hush," Zaza soothed and pushed gently a glass filled with water to my lips. It was the most welcome visitor, making it possible for me to erase a tiny bit of the endless dryness inside my mouth.

"Do not move. You are severely injured and must let your body rest. We have tied you to your bed, but only to protect you."

Zaza's calmly spoken words settled my mind a little and I was fully present.

"Do you remember what happened?" Zaza asked quietly, forming every word in her mouth with extreme care. The exact same way as someone suffering from a limited understanding is addressed. Like a child. I tried to force memories out from my head, piece things together, anything, but bumped into nothing else than emptiness.

All black. Nothing.

I certainly didn't know where I was. Nor did I have the faintest memory of the series of events leading me to the sickbed where I was resting in. Following a moment of drastic digging into the interiors of my head I had to acknowledge my defeat and give in to the fact that something apparently was missing. Undeniably, this awakening felt a lot worse than the next morning after a night full of tihaar, I thought bitterly.

"No, nothing," I managed to answer. My voice was raspy, hoarse, even after it had regained some of its strength back after the water had moistened my throat. My eyes had started to get accustomed to the bright lighting, and I managed to distinguish a few humanoid-like shapes behind Zaza, although my eyes could not yet focus on them and they stayed fuzzy. Almost like shadows, observing the discussion but showing no intention of taking part.

Zaza's eyes did not leave my face when she pushed the glass to my lips again. Fresh water tasted good, refreshing. I suspected something pain-relieving had been mixed into the liquid because the pounding inside my head seemed to wear off, giving more space to thoughts.

"Be at peace. You'll hear everything soon enough," the healer continued. "Let us start with something simple."

"Do you remember your name?"

I searched my head again and was relieved to find a clear answer to this question. It was a start, at the least. An incipient smile pulled my lips back when I responded.

"Ensign Eldran Daraz, Republic Navy," I answered semi-automatically, supporting myself to the routine embedded in me in the Navy. Quickly, a small smile spread the healer's lips, and she nodded approvingly. Within the outer range of my vision, I could see the others in the room leaving softly, without making any sound.

They were Jedi – already at this point, I was entirely sure.

The events which had led me to this bed had vanished entirely from my mind. Luckily, Zaza seemed to hold all the relevant answers, and she was more than eager to give them to me. Apparently, the healer wanted to be very helpful. Kind of unluckily though, her way of speech was something one usually hears in the near vicinity of small children. Sometimes it felt rather tiresome – my short-term memory was faulted, not my intelligence – but by being tolerant I received some of the information, I much desired to gain.

Zaza quietly but steadily explained everything. I had been on one of my first missions on Dantooine, only a few weeks after I had been released from the Republic training camps and to the ranks of the Navy. The assignment had been pretty simple: I had been in a squad of Republic soldiers tasked with securing an area from Mandalorian raiders. They had settled to the countryside after the Mandalorian Wars, just like numerous other identical, equally furious and violent groups. We assumed we had the numbers, it should have been quick and easy, with minimum risk.

However, the mission had gone completely, utterly wrong. Our squad had ended up in a Mandalorian orchestrated ambush. Because of a sudden, strange twist in the Force or, in my opinion, more likely due to pure and dumb luck, only I had survived...although just barely.

A local farmer had stumbled upon my unconscious, mangled body and had carried me to the Jedi Enclave, thinking only the Jedi held the skills to keep me alive. I had been knocked out for a couple of weeks, had floated in a kolto tank for a few days, and they had operated my spine and skull numerous times. They had to keep me in a medically induced coma to let the injury in my head to heal to a point where it was safe enough for me to wake up without making the situation any worse.

Now that the effects of the drugs in my body were diluting away and my consciousness had pushed through the coma, I still had the unpleasant fate of resting in that particular bed for a long time. The bindings had been precautions that were put in place just to ensure I would not be overly spontaneous to move. Zaza informed me that it was going to be quite a while before they were allowing me to sit up.

Bloody great.

But now I was safe, healing steadily and the Jedi believed I would fully recover from my injuries. At least physically – and only if I stuck strictly to her instructions.

My mental recovery, the possibility of regaining my lost memories, was altogether a different story. According to Zaza, after a horrendous accident like mine, it was typical for a human mind to block specific memories away. Due to some natural safety precautions, like a switch, consciousness has a tendency to leave only empty spaces in spots where traumatizing events should have been. This was no surprise as my head had been quite a bloody mess, to put it lightly: my skull had been literally open, and the healer had placed there a metal plate to close the gaping hole.

"The events might return later," Zaza had comforted with all her Jedi-like empathy. I wanted to shrug, I didn't care.

Memories of the destruction of my squad were the kind I knew I would not miss. Hell - I was confident that I was not going to mourn if this particular event had entirely disappeared from my mind and would never, ever return. Mainly, I was silently thankful to this unnamed farmer and the Jedi. Because of them, I was still alive and breathing, and it was all that mattered to me at that point. I had survived and this was all that mattered.

To be honest, I did not feel the slightest bit of sadness for my lost comrades. Why would I? They were just a bunch of names without even a trace of a face left in my mind. For me, they did not exist, and I felt they never had been.

The healer removed my bindings, but only when I had in return promised to follow her instructions carefully and stay obediently in my bed as long as she thought was needed. This eased me slightly, relieved some of the stress building inside me. Now, when I could carefully raise my hand and twiddle with the bed covers with my fingers, I knew my body was at least somewhat functional. I knew that there was going to be a way out.

My head, however, was something that eventually started to worry me. It took days for me to understand the extent of what actually was missing.

Ever since I had fully regained consciousness, Zaza was a daily, but not an unpleasant visitor. Every single day she visited me to check my progress and to converse with me. And actually, I started looking forward to her visits. Mainly because in addition to her, my only visitor was a conversationally useless service droid whose sole function seemed to be to serve my daily meals and a few injections.

Pretty soon it started to occur to me that my memory loss seemed to be the most significant concern for Zaza - although she did not think it was medically alarming. This seemed to be somehow off the line, it was bloody odd. Maybe she just wanted to make sure my severe injuries and the events leading to those had not affected my psyche too much, and I wasn't about to get all emotional about that. Maybe she just felt empathy. So I thought.

Usually, our daily conversations started the same way. The first thing Zaza always asked was if I had regained anything from past events. Every time I had to repeat the same answer as the previous day. That I remembered explosions and the acrid smell of smoke and the metallic taste of thick blood in my mouth. And in addition, nothing really. I did not even remember my arrival to Dantooine, although the lightning-fast start of my military career and the following training camps were pictured clear in my mind. To some extent, at least.

The days spent trapped to the bed offered me loads of time to get submerged into my thoughts...and quite fast I started to comprehend that the jigsaw puzzle of my head had a troubling amount of pieces gone missing. Just like the last few weeks had been completely wiped out from my mind, there were also holes in further in my past where shouldn't be.

Once I had told this to Zaza, the healer analyzed in her calm manner that some parts of the memory loss must have been caused by the head injury itself. She encouraged me to enjoy the memories I still had left. Although 'pretty' was not the word used in connection with these, at least I still had something describing who I was. Something which defined my inner self, my persona, and my history.

Zaza seemed to take great interest in my life, so I didn't hesitate to take the time to reveal pieces of my past to her. What else would have I done those days, my body almost literally tied to the bed? I talked and talked, and often she even wanted additional information to fill up and fatten some occurrences she seemed to think I used too little words to describe.

I could faintly recollect my childhood in Deralia and my parents' deaths in the aftermath of a Mandalorian attack when I was still a child. I could recall my escape among other refugees, my long road eventually ending at Nar Shaddaa. Like most homeless kids there, I ended up as a street urchin. Years on the streets taught me all kinds of skills more or less shady - but most importantly – the ability to survive.

Smuggling was not a chosen career but rather a way of life in Nar Shaddaa, the Smuggler's Moon. This profession was also the one I had later found myself involved in, first as an errand boy, and then steering my own ship between the stars. Illegal goods, spice; whatever was needed, that's what I smuggled. Only slavery was something I kept my hands out of, for a bunch of bloody good reasons. I couldn't call myself rich, but the profession kept my ship fuelled, my stomach full and took me to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, to places I couldn't even imagine as a child. I couldn't complain, I had enjoyed the way of life.

...Until one day my career had ended to a Republic trap. This was around six months ago.

Basically, I was given two options: rot in prison or serve. My choice was more than evident. The bane of the galaxy, the war, was my savior. The Republic was desperate to find new recruits for replacing ones who had been cut down in battle, due to the advancing fleet of Darth Revan and the Sith. They were equally desperate to end the war which had tormented the galaxy for years. Even not so law-abiding citizens, like myself, were qualified to enlist.

Because of this one choice, I became one of the loyal soldiers of the Republic Navy. Or, to be honest, at first, my motivation took its power purely from the intention of saving my skin from decades of penal servitude on some remote prison asteroid.

But. War has a tendency to change a man. For good.

Initially, I was forced to serve. Then, slowly, military career started to seem like a better option than living under the forced tyranny of the invaders, bringers of death and destruction: the Sith. And finally, as months passed by, I began to picture myself as a part of a giant complex machine, finetuned to perfection. A construct with only one function: to bring peace to the galaxy. My effort was a small droplet of work in the sea of the highest purpose.

I would lie if I'd say that in the end, I hadn't been content with the new direction of my life.

Hell, I was proud even.

Still, some parts of my life seemed detached. The memories were fuzzy and broken. Just as if my life had been entirely broken apart and assembled crudely back together into a ruined construction that was missing parts.

"Bloody worthless piece of trash for a head! And my bloody bad luck for taking parts of my life from me."

During one bitter moment, these swirling thoughts had formed into words in my mouth, and I had thrown them in Zaza's face.

"There is no luck. There is just the Force," was her calm, steady answer. Whatever this Force of the Jedi was, Zaza was certain there was a reason why I was still alive. According to her, a purpose existed - because of which I had survived on the day that should have been my last. Something awaited me, needed me.

The Force has to have a friggin sense of humor.

I kept this thought silently to myself. If anything, Zaza had strict opinions about the Force and presumably did not tolerate sarcastic comments. And during that moment I learned my first lesson about Jedi's exceptional skills. Somehow Zaza had sensed my amusement, something I honestly did not expect.

"Young one, you will see the truth behind my words. Ponder upon what I have told you," she replied and ended our discussions for the day.

These bedridden days gave me the initial reasons to question my mental stability for the first time. Although Zaza's daily visits usually included uncomfortable medical procedures, a part of me genuinely enjoyed her company.

But then there were different moments. Dark moments. Moments I did not comprehend the slightest.

A few times anger and bitterness flared inside me so strongly I honestly wanted to strike her dead in the chair she was sitting in. I didn't understand these feelings. Not a single time had she insulted me. She had always treated me with respect and empathy. I had even started to acknowledge her as someone trusted, perhaps even a friend. It was like momentarily my head contained also another creature, a dark being which for some absurd reason thirsted for her blood.

These unwanted, alien feelings always lingered inside my head for a very shorted time. They lasted for maybe a second at the maximum, so perhaps she never noticed the forced smile on my lips and the sudden dangerous gleam in my eyes. Or she hid it well and reasoned the feelings as a part of natural surges of frustration, sarcasm, and anger playing a familiar role in them.

The state of what I mentally defined normal always returned quickly. Sometimes even I had trouble noticing that a moment ago my head had held something quite the opposite. I was confused.

Although we frequently conversed about my life before my time as a soldier, there were some memories I did not want to share with Zaza. Some memories were as fresh as the previous day, although I could not attach them to any logical context. One of them was a memory of the eyes...

...Grey eyes, eyes of steel which stare straight at mine while my surroundings flash and crack...

...Everything diminishes into total darkness. Final darkness. So dark that no light can penetrate it. A void...

In this particular recollection dominated feelings of hatred and betrayal - although the steady glare of the eyes showed no such emotions. It was a cocktail of inexplicable sensations, and I didn't seem to get any closer to figuring out what it meant.

I left this unmentioned, for the better. Primarily, I thought Zaza would take me for one too fragile and messed up being to ever let out of the bed if I told her what I saw. And if even I felt the memory was obscure and possibly insane, what would have she thought? I decided to be selectively honest towards her, keep these thoughts out of my mind while she was present and hope she would not sense this kind of a minor lie with her Jedi skills.

And there was more.

In some other memories, I watched the world through a computer-enhanced vision of a visor. These memories were filled with war, battles, and Death.

...My arms folded across my chest, I observe the death of a gigantic battleship in a place which I can only call a command bridge of another of the same kind. Countless small lights and explosions shear through the ship while it sings its swan song.

I feel triumphant; I can feel the rightness in my acts...

I could not figure out any explanation for these memories, could not link them to any previous event in my life. So I pushed them to the back of my mind, reasoning they were a part of some strange holofilm I had seen previously. They must have been because Eldran the smuggler or even Eldran the soldier played no role. However, I could not block out a slight feeling of hesitation, flickering somewhere in the back of my mind.

...A thought with no source, rather an emotion, it was often there. It told me to question, to stay critical to what was presented to me. I decided to bury these memories and thoughts deeper inside my head and try to piece everything together at a later moment. At least time was something I did not have a shortage of.

Chapter Text

As the days passed by, my health steadily improved. And as a correlating function so did my frustration. The ceiling of my room held precisely thirty-six white-painted durasteel plates. I was confident, as I had counted them innumerable of times just to pass the time, and then double-checked my calculations just to be sure. The seam between a specific two adjacent plates was broader and more profound than it should have been. So I had managed to spend a whopping three seconds by mentally complaining about the sloppy construction work. Seemed like the paint had even blistered a little? Something you would not imagine seeing in a Jedi Enclave.

Chapter Text

...The explosion shears through the ship. A blinding flash.

I smell blood. I taste the iron in my mouth… I realize it is my own.

My surroundings flash. I cannot move. My body disobeys the commands of my mind. I try to speak, but no sound emerges from my throat. The pain, the piercing pain…

I see…

…The grey eyes; the eyes of steel observe me. I hate those eyes. I truly do.

They will get NOTHING from me!

My world shakes and dims into the darkness which whispers only one word…

Betrayal.

The echo of the explosion shook my bed, propelling my mind forcefully to the present. My dream had left me soaked with sweat, and the feelings lingering within me had not yet released my mind from their icy clutch. My clothes were glued to my body, moistened by my own sweat. Hatred and the venomous feeling of betrayal swelled deep within my soul; a thousand knives jabbing into my gut. I inhaled a long breath, trying to steady my thoughts and get a grasp of the real world.

It was not the first time. Every single night for the past two weeks had the dream tormented my sleep. Each and every single night it had filled my consciousness during the time I had served as the newest crew member of the Endar Spire. The flagship of the Republic's Great Hero - Jedi Padawan Bastila Shan - had been the very last post I would have predicted myself ending up to after my unplanned, extended isolation from any battle-related action. But here I was, in the friggin heart of the Republic war effort and it bloody did not make much sense.

Something is wrong.

A new series of blasts hammered through the ship. The lights of the room followed the abrupt inner vibrations, dimming momentarily and then flashing back on. The hull of the vessel shrieked as if tortured, echoes of new explosions rumbling somewhere within its interiors.

…Very wrong.

My soldier's instincts took instantly over, and a sudden jolt of adrenaline washed away any disorientation the dream had left in my mind. I forced my muscles into movement and my body upright while mapping the situation with my eyes. A quick scan revealed the room was still as desolate as the moment I had begun my rest; the few belongings of my unseen bunkmate still scattered to where he had left them before leaving to work his shift.

The battle is not here yet… But how far…?

The windowless room itself provided no answers, but my ears could distinguish the faint sizzling of blaster bolts - shots shared amidst the explosions. It was evident that this was more than an attack from the space - the unwanted guests had also infiltrated the ship. Sithspit. This mission had just gotten a whole lot interesting.

Time to get moving -

- I dashed to my footlocker and pressed my fingers around the hilt of my blaster pistol. The weight of the cold metal in my hand released a bland smirk on my face. If the buggers decided to pay me a personal visit, at least they would not find me unarmed - no reason to go down easily. Strapping the standard Republic soldier's armor on seemed to take too many seconds.

Better than going out unarmed.

Only one door in the room meant only one way in – or out – so I kept my eye fixed on the entrance while getting my gear battle-ready. The battle was getting closer, I noted - and it was nearing fast. Sounds of blasters firing, blasts, and muffled groans of anger or shrieks of agony were closing the distance, becoming more distinct. But… something crucial was missing.

Where in the Hell are the alarms? As a standard procedure, an emergency signal was used – should have been used – the exact moment of the first enemy contact to alert all the crew members…

Then, suddenly, the feeling came.

At first, it was just the faintest sensation; merely a soft intuition. A whisper, which exploded to the commanding voice of the full certainty: someone was nearing the door; someone was planning to gain entrance. The anxiety circulating his veins, the layer of sweat on his palms… I could almost smell them. His hand was on the door control, frantically pressing keys to slice past the lock...

I jolted to full sprint and leaped to the door - just in time to push the barrel of my blaster pistol to the intruder's temple with a steady hand. His movement ceased as his body tensed to the stiffness of a durasteel bar.

"H-hey, don't shoot!" the blond-haired man with a bulky build and short military haircut burst out, his voice cracking with mild shock; carefully spreading his arms out in a supposedly calming gesture.

"We're on the same side!" he continued in a slightly calmer manner - noting he was still alive - although yet visibly shaken by the unwelcoming interlude provided by my blaster. Recognizing the standard-issue orange-brown Republic armor, I had already perceived the fact. I lowered my blaster, eyeing the man cautiously, not exactly overjoyed about the interference which had instinctively alerted my suspicions.

What the heck the guy was doing here, in the middle of an attack?

Quite a few times during my life I had stumbled upon an incident which could be compared to a pack of starving kath hounds finding the last carcass on the planet - moments where alliances were merely a cover to be ripped away by arising self-serving needs. Probably no greater stupidity existed than to bite blindly into the information provided by your own eyes.

…Betrayal…

"And who in the Hell are you?" I snapped at him, bluntly, seeing him flinch under the lash of my voice.

Sheer idiocy to burst into the room like a friggin headless gizka! Shouldn't this guy, at any rate, be hanging around somewhere else like, for instance, protecting the ship?

The man watched me for a while, confused as if looking for words.

"I'm Trask Ulgo, your bunkmate...I guess," he answered slowly, his eyes never leaving my face, trying to steady his lungs to the normal rhythm of breathing. "We work opposite shifts so…"

"What has happened?" I cut in. There possibly were other more suitable places for no-use chit-chat than a room in the belly of a warship under attack. Facts shedding light on the prevailing situation, on the other hand, were something I could work with.

"The Sith have attacked! They ambushed the Spire immediately when we came out from the hyperspace," he explained hastily. I could distinguish small droplets of sweat glistening on his forehead. Apparently, the guy was still shocked, and I wasn't very impressed about that.

"What is the strength of the attack force?" I countered, finalizing the strapping of my armor.

Trask shook his short-haired head, unsure, and I resisted the urge of releasing a long sigh of frustration. What have you been doing, di'kut – just running around blindly?

"I don't know, but it sure isn't looking good. We have lost men – too many of them. Everything has fallen apart… There's full-blown chaos out there. Locating Bastila is now the number one priority. We need to ensure her safety."

As far as I could tell, the ambush had taken the Spire by complete surprise. The Sith had known too well where to locate the ship. This – and the distinct absence of the planned emergency procedures – pointed towards only one direction and it wasn't pretty.

The only option is that the Endar Spire leaks. We have a saboteur and a traitor – a spy amongst us. Someone did provide the Sith the required info and incapacitated the Spire's defenses…

Bastila Shan probably was not close to defenseless, but my orders were as crystal clear as the threat looming over the current situation. I had sworn an oath – we all had sworn the same at the beginning of the mission. To protect this Jedi – even, if the cost was my own life.

I wasn't sure if I could envision myself going that far, but trying to locate the Jedi was as good objective to work on as any without further knowledge of the prevailing circumstances.

"Where's she?" I asked.

"She might be on the command bridge… or in her room. Anywhere. She hasn't exactly been shouting her coordinates to anyone, and unfortunately, I'm having issues locating her now." Trask let out a sigh, the demeanor of the soldier was clearly stressed.

"Everything's a big mess. The attack was so swift I don't think even the command knew what hit the Spire."

"Let's move to the bridge," I decided swiftly. The bridge was probably the best shot for gaining a more comprehensive picture of the situation. And through it, was the shortest way to the escape pods. I saw no reason why to throw my life away while performing some pointless heroics if the battle was already lost and Bastila lying somewhere, lifeless.

Or the Jedi has managed to escape.

I holstered the blaster pistol and clutched my hand around the hilt of my vibroblade, followed by a couple of swings to test my reflexes and ready my muscles for the upcoming clash. Fortunately, being a war vessel, the Endar Spire had offered the possibility of refreshing my skills in weapons handling - or I would have been rusted up to my joints because of the utter lack of practice accumulated during the past months. I had literally lived my spare time in the training rooms, releasing the frustration built up on Dantooine by turning training droids into scrap metal. Before the disastrous mission, I could recollect being fond of my skills with the blaster, but nowadays the blade had seemed more…up to my preferences.

"I take it you enjoy close quarters," Trask commented, an approving smile softening his features. He was still examining me like I was a seven-legged kath hound.

I nodded. "It's more or less because of how this bites through the shields. Let's go."

We sneaked cautiously to the hallway. Trask followed a couple of steps behind his blaster rifle at the ready. Somewhere to the left, not far, I could distinguish blasters firing and a cry of pain - confirming someone had taken close contact with the fire. Shouts of troopers sending orders to others, thumping of feet appearing nothing but nearer…

I prepared to take a quick glance around the corner but was waylaid by soft beeping when our portable comlinks buzzed simultaneously into life.

Damn, I cursed inwardly, slightly startled by the interference and silenced the troublesome beeper - getting a quick glimpse of a goatee-faced man's features on the monitor. Raising his eyebrow to express a silent question, Trask followed my example after agonizing three seconds and some swift but intelligible gesturing of my left hand. His demeanor evolved into full realization when bursts of blaster fire barraged the nearby hallway.

Could have picked a better moment for these announcements…

I took a quick peek - locking the targets in my mind - just in time to see a Republic soldier fall under the merciless onslaught of Sith blasters.

'Three, provide cover' I gestured silently to Trask. Following a quick nod, the bulky soldier appeared to be already on the move.

"For the Republic!" the white-haired tornado roared and charged out, his blaster spitting fire - leaving me to stand amused for a half a second. Whatever Trask was trying to achieve, it didn't shout 'cover fire' to me but worked. Gaining the full attention of the silver-armored Sith troopers and dodging their fire with either skill or awfully good luck – I couldn't decide which – he managed to create an opening to their defenses. It was near effortless to sprint to the first trooper and bury my vibroblade somewhere in between his pelvis and rib cage. The trooper's life ended with a cry of agony before he even noticed my existence. The second trooper felled under Trask's rapid firing - while I took the opportunity to sprint to the third one, dodging a couple of hastily fired blaster bolts on the way, and slicing him shorter by a head.

I have to admit that jumpy, suicidal Bantha is after all quite useful in a battle…

Aside from us and the scattered bodies – lying lifeless in both orange and silver armors - the hallway was disturbingly empty. Only the smoke from the silenced blasters yet thickened the air.

"By the Force, you are fast," Trask acknowledged a hint of admiration behind his words when I knelt down to check the Siths' equipment.

"I figured you were more of a typical scout-type, according to what I was told. Rumors say that you understand more languages than all the other crew put together and have traveled to planets I've never even heard of. But seems to me you also know how to use that sharp friend of yours... I assume you've seen battle before?"

"Not all planets are friendly," I answered, unwilling to take the discussion further. If anything, Trask seemed to have a strong tendency to lead a conversation to the exact opposite direction from the point, it seemed. I grabbed a couple of medpacs and grenades from the Sith – discarding their weapons as unnecessary weight load – and tossed a couple of frags to Trask. Two consecutive decisions I was going to regret later.

"I wonder what Commander Onasi was going to say…" Trask mused quietly when we were on the move again, trotting the battle-scarred hallway. "Usually when he has something to say, you better keep your ears open. That man has seen some pretty nasty action."

"I trust whatever he had to say, it was not important enough to get perforated by blaster bolts," I answered dryly, keeping the peak of my concentration on my vision and hearing, scanning the hallways and waiting for nearby doors to open at any second to reveal a horde of Sith troopers.

...Trask was right. This is a friggin mess – no collective, controlled defense anywhere…

Almost, like a telepathic reaction to my thoughts, the Endar Spire abruptly fully awakened to the battle when the sirens squalled into action, followed by the sharp clicking of the emergency lockdown sealing any yet open doorways.

Well, that's going to be a lot of help now…

The emergency procedure was – was supposed to be – to seal any remaining passages leading to anywhere but the command bridge and the escape pods. Without the passcode or extensive use of explosives, the enemy could proceed to one single direction – only to be trapped like a bunch of gizkas in a maze, to be hammered down by the concentrated defense force… Considering the delay in the activation of the alarm and the grim evidence my eyes had provided, the planned defense was probably scattered everywhere else but in its intended positions.

The moment offered a damning clarification to my suspicions, as new bursts of blaster fire reached our ears. The next hallway revealed a scene of a group of three retreating Republic soldiers, trying desperately to take cover beside a junction, fighting a yet unseen enemy force. 'Four' one of them gestured us, knowing voices were lost under the rhythmical chant of blasters. This hopeful plea for help was to remain as his last attempt of communication when a well-aimed fragmentation grenade landed in the middle of the group, exploding to lethal shrapnel and sending their bodies flying.

I was already in the middle of a stride.

Speeding myself to a leap across the intersection and rolling to the cover by the wall, I sent a countering frag grenade with a flick of my wrist. Taken by the surprise, the Sith troopers did not have time to react. When the acrid smoke cleared, I ended the struggle of the last one of them still living by aiming my blade to the thin piece of armor covering his throat.

Trask was observing the mutilated bodies of the Republic soldiers with a frown on his face.

"Maybe there still are others alive on the bridge," he said, trying to light hope to the situation. I didn't answer. The angry, electrical hums, which thickened the air even through the metallic mass of the durasteel door next to us had taken my notice. Trask pressed the door control after we had taken positions, one on each side of the doorway and weapons readied. A good expectation of the nature of the inevitable confrontation crossed my mind as the door slid open.

Azure met crimson with a multicolored flash when two hissing blades of pure energy cut the air and clashed to each other with a deadly force, utilizing a velocity far out of an average human's range. Her movements hastening up to an inhuman blur, Jedi Knight Sandra Aravena managed to block the black-clad man's attack and retaliated with a series of complicated blows. The blue beam painted the air.

"It's a Dark Jedi!" Trask shouted. "This fight is too much for us – let's stay back!"

I barely noticed his words. My thoughts had sunk to the rhythm of the battle with a routine I didn't have the faintest knowledge of possessing.

The initially chaotic-seeming clash started to evolve into a series of well-planned, aimed strikes within my head – pieces of a puzzle clicking to their correct places. Sandra was on the defending side, I could discern. The sheer power of the man's strikes forced her hands to yield under the blows, leaving a hole to her stance… somewhere around her left thigh. Due to the direction of the offensive and retaliated strikes, I perceived, this was the place the Dark Jedi intended to finish his series of attacks – leaving, in turn, a small part of the man unprotected.

Everything but the battle of two blades dimmed into nothingness. A grin had spread on my face.

I raised my blaster steadily, aiming. The crimson blade leaped into the blow which was only going end in Sandra's demise if it reached its target. My finger bent to pull the trigger…

And the blaster spat out a single blast of light.

The crimson blade clanked to the floor along with the man whose hand had once carried it. His eyes were still open, but a burnt hole in the middle of his forehead stated that life had leaked out from his mortal shell.

Even the Jedi fall under blaster fire. I wonder where his Force is now…

"Daraz, by the Force!" Sandra yelled at the bottom of her lungs when our eyes locked. But following a quick, startled glance at something behind her back, the Jedi lunged, gathering her body into a ball on the floor - instinctively covering her face. The fading echo of her voice was lost in a powerful explosion when a faulty power conduit blasted into flesh-tearing shrapnel and metal.

Trask was the first one to reach the Jedi, and he carefully turned the woman to her side. Sandra was conscious but had paid a grievous toll for taking the full extent of the blast with no other protection than her own flesh. Patches of her brown robes were turning a degree darker from her own blood; shredded pieces of clothing revealing skin in no better condition. When I knelt down beside her, I could only hope that the sharp pieces of shrapnel had not managed to penetrate her organs.

"I'll bind up your wounds," I explained calmly, trying to reassure the injured Jedi while opening a medpac. Apparently in great pain - panting, and her eyes clouded - her body shivered during each application of kolto. But yet no sound, no moan of pain emerged from her lips. I removed the largest splinters from her skin and bandaged what I could. The result was not very professional-looking, but it would suffice. At least the healing process could start, and blood loss was minimized, as far as it was able to influence it. Maybe she even would survive.

Carefully, I leaned over her with the intention of lifting her up. Evidently, she would not be able to walk – no one could, with injuries as severe.

"No." The voice was firm, tolerating no objections. The unexpected response ceased my movement before I could lift her body a single millimeter upwards.

"Is your wish to rather die here, Jedi?" I inquired astounded, not believing my ears.

Did she also take a hit to her head?

"I'll just gather my bearings…pull strength from the Force. In this condition, I will be a mere hindrance. Two minutes, soldier," she answered, her voice husky with pain.

"No meditation will help you here. The ship is under attack, and we need to move now." I articulated with extreme care. Not wanting to comprehend what I was hearing. In addition to blood, she apparently had lost the majority of her mind.

"I am a ranking officer on this vessel, Ensign. You will do just as I tell you to."

I jolted up, gnashing my teeth. Sandra had the nerve to pull rank in this kind of a situation… when waiting was sheer madness!

Are you going to kill us all with your stupidity, Jedi?

Momentarily the option of leaving her and Trask to this blasted room and trying to find a way to the nearest escape pod flickered in my mind. I had absolutely no intention of wasting my life due to the idiocy of another being, a Jedi or not.

"I sense we are not in immediate danger," she continued quietly, forcing her body to a sitting position. I grimaced frustrated, my mind boiling in anger because of her lack of common sense.

What will you sense then when the Sith's ammo pierce your flesh, Jedi?

"Two minutes," Sandra said, her voice weak. The Jedi pulled a shaky breath and concentrated, focusing her vision into the empty air. Hearing the yell of alarms and feeling the inner vibrations of the dying ship under my feet, I could not bear the thought of standing still. I took a position by the next door, marching back and forth, fingers clenched around the hilt of my blade and geared up to strike the second someone stepped in. I needed to kill something.

Schutta!

"That was quite a shot, Daraz," Trask stated incidentally, his eyes sweeping the direction of our arrival. "…Haven't seen anything like that before." The soldier seemed to be too well adapted to the unforeseen delay. A typical brainless soldier. Believes everything the Jedi feed to him.

"I saw an opening and took it," I answered through clenched teeth, keeping a bland, uninterested tone. In truth, I did not fathom what had taken over my reflexes during that specific moment. Nor did I truly care to ponder it, yet.

The silent glare of two emerald eyes broke my pace. The red-haired Jedi had an unreadable frown on her face, her stare now fixed into my form with the sharpness of two daggers. I met her eyes with my own with no intention of backing down.

"I assume you are done wasting our time, Jedi?" I asked with a hint of venom in my voice.

Sandra nodded solemnly, and to my surprise she slowly rose up to her feet, taking a break when her wounds hit her too painfully. Every single inch of her essence shouted of pain but, I had to admit, she appeared to be hanging on to life with a stronger thread than a while ago.

…Jedi magic?

"Good, let's move before they blast the Spire into galactic dust," Trask stated, drowning his surprise well. The soldier hurried to support the wounded Jedi's steps with his own strength.

All of a sudden, I spotted a cylindrical metallic object on the floor. It must have rolled to its location - half-hidden under a bench - after it had been released from the clench of its previous owner's hand. The Dark Jedi's lightsaber had deactivated itself, but not before leaving a scorched scar to the durasteel floor kind of as a reminder of its lethal existence. Curious to examine the infamous Jedi weapon, I knelt down and lifted the cylinder up.

Somehow, the weight of the lightsaber and the coolness of the metallic hilt in my fingers felt…familiar.

It felt...

...right.

"Give it to me, soldier." Sandra's steel-enhanced voice slashed my thoughts away. The Jedi was now standing right in front of me, her open palm lifted in front of my face – the whole of her demeanor not asking, but demanding.

I hesitated. What would happen if I denied? Something in the weapon captivated me. Something within me urged, no… compelled to keep the saber in my possession.

"A lightsaber is not an ordinary soldier's weapon, Daraz," the Jedi continued with a tone that did not tolerate a 'no' for the answer. Her posture had tensed and not because of the pain, I presumed.

I gave a nonchalant shrug. Whatever. A spike of anger washed through my system when I shoved the lightsaber into her waiting hand and the Jedi attached the silvery cylinder to her belt next to her own saber. I jolted back up and lashed my hand on the next door control, hiding the urge to grimace. Better to stay a galaxy's length away from anything related to the Jedi. Or the Sith. Yet, I could not entirely ignore the feeling of a lost battle – a battle I hadn't even been aware of fighting in.

Nonetheless, Sandra had been right. The next hallway was desolate of the Sith. As a matter of fact, it was empty except for a destroyed service droid. Too empty. And far too silent. When making our way slowly, cautiously to the bridge, Trask helping the battered Jedi, I attempted to distinguish any sounds of fighting amidst the blasts that bombarded the outer shell of the Spire or the bleating alarms. But the whizz of firing blasters had died, vanished. It could only mean one thing – an assumption which was not colored with a positive tone.

"I sense at least five beings on the bridge. Proceed with caution, soldiers."

I discarded my vibroblade in favor of the blaster. It would be suicidal to lunge into melee in a situation when the enemies had the higher ground, not to mention the probability of them having blasters in their hands. After taking our positions and ready to meet whatever the bridge offered, the door slid open.

The bridge was lost. It wasn't obvious only because of the scattered, bloodied bodies, but more due to the surprised reactions of the Sith troopers who dashed quickly into cover. I tossed a grenade in their wake and took cover before hailing fire towards surviving enemies. A grating of red crossfire blanketed the air, blood-hungry bolts searching for flesh to pierce. Sandra's Force powers leaped into action when an invisible hand grabbed two wriggling troopers and lifted them up in the air, offering an open shot for Trask and me. The remaining one, trying desperately to take cover behind control panels, was felled by Trask's rapid bursts of blaster fire.

Then came the silence.

The massive windows surrounding the command bridge offered a sight of the utmost finality when another pack of agile Sith fighters darted past the ship, shooting a series of laser ammo to the shivering, injured hull of the Spire. The bridge was lost. The Endar Spire was lost. The battle was nothing but lost. Would it have made any difference if we had arrived two minutes earlier? Might someone have survived?

"The two minutes did not mean anything," Sandra stated calmly. The Jedi was pressing her injured side with her hand. The bandages covering her upper body were turning red.

"Do not read my mind, Jedi," I snapped coldly, not enjoying the thought of being accompanied by someone who could dig feelings from my head as effortlessly as melting an ice cube with a flamethrower.

I scanned the orange- and silver-armored bodies littered on the bridge floor, seeking a glimpse of the corpse which belonged to Bastila Shan. And found nothing.

"Bastila has been able to escape," Sandra said, relieved. "I haven't sensed her presence in this ship for a while. I hoped it did not mean we had lost her… her life to the battle." She was pale, almost deathly white. The Jedi was probably using all of her remaining strength just to keep herself from collapsing down to the floor.

"I suggest we follow her example and get off this blasted wreck," I remarked. The windows offered a sight of the massive dome of a bluish-green planet. If there were any escape pods left, this nearby world could provide the closest shot to survival.

Before we had exited the bridge, a single door in the center of the back wall slid open – revealing a sight of a black-clad bald man. Sandra pulled a quick breath and grabbed her lightsaber.

"This one is mine," she stated, her voice weak. Following consecutive snap-hisses, two crimson beams of energy sprang forth in the distance, and one azure blade appeared in Sandra's hands. Instinctively, I reacted by firing my blaster towards the assailant, but the Dark Jedi redirected the blast towards me with a quick flick of a red blade. I ducked, but still, the countered bolt sizzled far too close past my head for my taste.

"Save the Jedi!" The shout came with the full force of Trask's lungs. The soldier stormed into the room and barged into the Dark Jedi, sending both men sprawling on the floor. Behind them, the doors closed with a clank, muffling only slightly the explosion which shook the room and rendered them inoperable - efficiently sealing the passage. Evidently, Trask had finally found a target for one of his grenades.

What a friggin waste.

"May the Force be with him," Sandra said quietly and almost lost her balance when a wave of weakness washed over her body. This time, the Jedi did not resist when I lifted her slender form up on my arms and continued to proceed towards the escape pods.

"He was a fool," I responded. "There were three of us. We could have taken one Dark Jedi down."

"He was not a 'one' Dark Jedi," Sandra explained. "He was Darth Bandon, Darth Malak's apprentice." She sighed. "He… Trask sacrificed himself because of me."

"War comes with losses. You know this," I answered dryly. The Jedi opened her mouth as if to reply, but her sentence was finished before it started when my comm buzzed lightly. This time I accepted the message and got a look at the face of the same bearded soldier as during the previous unsuccessful attempt.

"This is Carth Onasi. I'm tracking your position through the Endar Spire's life support systems. Bastila's escape pod is away. I repeat – Bastila's escape pod is away." His voice crackled with mild electricity due to the transmission.

"What's the situation?" I asked.

"You are the last surviving crew members. Come straight to the escape pods. The Spire won't hold on much longer... The damage is too great."

I acknowledged and thickened my pace. Escape pods were no more than a few doors away. The Jedi in my arms was half-sleeping and sliding somewhere between unconsciousness and weak alertness. She would be no use in a clash should we encounter any hostiles. A new wave of blasts rocking the ships broken hull, I almost did not notice the faint beeping of my comm.

"It's Carth," he said. "The Sith are evacuating so they will obliterate the ship soon. But I noticed from the surveillance monitors that there's a whole squad of troopers in the room after the next one. Be careful."

I thanked for the information and spotted a charred computer terminal in the corner of the room. This could turn out useful.

Carefully, I lowered the unconscious Jedi on the floor and let my fingers dance on the monitor. I smirked when I managed to slice into the surveillance system of the ship – another small benefit gained during my light-repelling past. Security cameras revealed that the scene in the room Carth had meant was not tempting in terms of a direct onslaught. Six Sith troopers were scavenging everything someone could call valuable, ripping the abandoned ship from its equipment and deceased crew members' possessions. The attack had turned into a raid when all the resistance was gone.

Despicable maggots.

I observed the scene for a short while, considering the most optimal attack strategy. Six to one – the numbers were not in my favor, but possibly a quick toss of a grenade could clean things up… Hey, what's there? I took a new approach towards the resolution when a power conduit at the side of the room caught my eye. After some hacking and tinkering with the electrical current controls, the tube exploded. A cold, amused grin spread on my face when I admired the devastating results of my work.

After lifting Sandra back to my arms, I plunged my stride into a full run. The pods were not far away. I slowed down when I arrived in the room I had destroyed a moment ago, watching my step and careful not to stumble on the silver-armored corpses on the floor - and shot a bolt through the visor of the last one of the Sith still expressing some forms of movement. The Jedi in my arms had fallen silent, to the complete state of unconsciousness.

A tall man wearing a Republic soldier's armor was waiting by the escape pods. All launch pads were empty except one.

"Let's go!" he shouted, gesturing swiftly towards the remaining escape pod when another series of blasts rocked the floor. A shriek from the hull made his voice almost inaudible. We dived into the pod, Carth pressing the launch control in the middle of his step. I lowered Sandra onto a seat while fighting to keep my balance in the wildly shaking capsule.

As its final action, the Hammerhead-class cruiser spat the escape pod from its hull. Through the pod's round window I saw the ship turn into a metal-spewing fireball when a series of laser blasts ended its journey in the galaxy for the eternity. The shockwave of the explosion thrust the escape pod to a violent whirl, and I could feel my legs losing their grip of the floor, my body smashing to the wall while the surface of the nearby planet closed in faster… and faster...

This is not going to end well…

Chapter Text

The darkness…

There was something familiar lingering within it.

...The grey eyes – those eyes of steel observe me.

No. Not just eyes…

Now I see that the eyes are framed with a face of a woman. She is young, yet almost a girl; maybe barely over twenty of age. Her hair is the color of auburn. Hanging partly loose and wild strands covering her face, they are mocking the elegant coiffure which used to hold them.

Just finish me off, Jedi, if that is what you came to do! Do not scoff me with your stare. Your so-called victory - your fraud - shall be hollow!

Her delicate features are covered with sweat and ash. She looks tired and…a bit lost; uncertainty and heavy sadness dwelling deep in her eyes... Finally, her lips tighten to form a thin line of determination, and she leans over me…

I cannot move. I cannot speak. I cannot breathe. My mouth is filled with my own blood. The final darkness is coming – soon – I know. So this is how Death feels like.

I am falling into an abyss. Void.

I have failed, truly failed. For everything I have fought for - everything I have sacrificed for – will be lost.

And I despise her for seeing me like this – immobile, weak, dying – like a crushed insect. I want to hate her.

But…

I feel her compassion. It is a hundred seas flooding over the barren desert of my mind. I can feel her reaching out to me, grabbing me, lifting me…

…Why?!

Bastila Shan!

I jerked upright to a sitting position as if electrocuted, inhaling my lungs full of air with a single long heave. The surroundings were dark, foggy; my eyes were still having trouble adjusting to the dim lighting. The location was very much unfamiliar, I could perceive. Under me, beneath my body, was something with a hint of softness. A bed?

…They will get NOTHING from me…

It was the final thought lingering in my dream; the ultimate statement yet pounding in the interiors of my head. I sent my hand to my waist, trying to get a hold of my blaster…or any weapon. My heart skipped a beat when my fingers grasped cool thin air - meeting only emptiness where my pistol should have been hanging. A river of thoughts raced through my mind.

My weapons… Gone. Am I captured? A prisoner?

A single flash of rage coursed through my veins and my teeth clenched together. The last occurrence I could recollect was the putrid stench of betrayal and my life fleeting my mangled body before the eyes of an enemy. The grim feeling of the utmost loss was forming a tight knot around my interiors; the acknowledgment of having being deprived of something which held much greater significance than a mere defeat in a single battle.

The absolute knowledge of seeing your plans crack and shatter to the tiniest of pieces, blown away by the coldest of winds.

…Everything I have sacrificed for will now burn to ashes. For I have failed…

And the awareness of being forced to lose even much more - my life at the mercy of someone not carrying parallel intentions. I only barely noticed the tiny growl leaving my lips.

…I will not submit. I will not surrender…

I glanced around in furious sweeps, trying to figure out my surroundings. My eyes were starting to get accustomed to being open again as the hazy blurriness was sharpening into a form of a run-down room. I could distinguish a couple of beds, a dingy table… not much else there in this dark, wall-restricted square. And there, on the side of the room, was… movement, when a lone figure rose to its full height, emerging as a shape of a man.

Instinctively, I tensed my muscles to defend myself – ready to strike even with my bare hands should the need arise.

But there was none of such. The reality hit me - banishing any rage and thoughts of imprisonment - as my brains linked the face of the man to a very familiar name. Onasi. The adrenaline leaving my body, my heart rate started to sink down to calmer levels, and my rapid-turned breathing slowed down.

The memories of recent turns of events started to click into their places in my mind. The battle aboard the Endar Spire. The Sith. The escape pod which had ended its frenzied whirl by crashing onto the surface of the planet, taking constructs in its wake and creating an endless amount of shrapnel. It was around there where the holofilm of my memories finished broadcasting the show, leaving only blackness in its stead.

I let go of the tension in my body. Whatever mixed feelings had overwhelmed my mind after the awakening, those were now gone.

Yet, I felt hollow... I shook my head.

Try to focus.

The tall dark-haired man with a strong build and a posture of a soldier, clad in his orange-brown Republic armor, made his way towards my bed calmly. I locked my gaze to the bearded features and dark brown eyes. Carrying probably closer to ten years of age over mine and likely twenty times more experience at warfare, Commander Onasi was a welcome sight.

"Carth Onasi," I stated, my voice slightly cracking due to the lack of saliva in my mouth. I directed a nod towards the goatee-bearded man's features, signaling that I had acknowledged his presence.

Good to see a familiar face.

"Good to see you awake instead of thrashing around in your sleep," Commander Onasi stated calmly, locking his sharp eyes to mine while pushing a cup filled with water into my hand. I thankfully accepted and gulped the entire fillings of the container down my throat. By the bloody Force, that felt good.

The feeling inside my mouth had been something one could compare to the situation if one half of the friggin Tatooine desert had been dumped in there for safe-keeping. The toll to some hectic fighting and far too many hours of hectic sleeping, I could presume. Dried up to the joints, my body literally pleaded for the precious liquids it had lost in the form of sweat.

For a single long second, I enjoyed the feeling of the new-found moistness inside my mouth. Up until the moment, when the entire room jerked and took a dancing turn around my head. I could only faintly hear the clank of the cup when it hit the floor, free from my loosened grip.

"Damn." I had to let my head drop down to rest my temples between my hands. The painful pounding inside my skull was in perfect sync with my heart rate; the steady angry hammering being an apparent protest from my tired brains to the far too speedy jolt upright. For a painfully long-spreading moment, I felt the room spinning around and fought the urge to vomit when a wave of nausea washed over my body. A sour taste appeared in my mouth.

Alarmed by my evident disorientation, Carth swiftly reacted by injecting a needle to my forearm and emptying the contents of the syringe into my bloodstream. No permissions asked.

"This'll ease the pain. You banged your head pretty hard when the pod crashed to the surface of Taris. We are at an abandoned apartment in the Upper City and safe for the moment… if you can call it that," Carth explained steadily.

As a silent reply, I lifted my hand to my occipital. That area appeared to be the primary beacon of my headache. I probed carefully and grimaced when my fingers found swollen, sore flesh and the rough surface of a fresh scab hidden beneath my hair.

Bloody great.

For sure, the situation had begun to appear nothing but familiar. In a very bizarre, twisted, cynical sort of way. I seemed to have started to make a habit out of hitting my head and waking up in an unfamiliar environment with fresh holes left in my memories.

A couple more of these 'awakenings' and I don't have enough brain cells left to know which boot belongs to which leg. The Force has to have a sense of humor – whatever Zaza says…

But that was the least of my worries. The situation did not have the echo of the word 'promising' emanating from it – this I could detect even without knowing further details.

Taris - so that's where we were. A planet, on which I had never set my foot before this exact date, but which was at least somewhat familiar due to the short but informative discussions with Sandra. The planet, whose entire surface was covered by a single gigantic city. The planet, which was one of the successful conquests of the advancing Sith fleets of Darth Revan and Malak; one of the freshest wounds to the Republic flesh.

Yes – I definitely could not pick out the word 'promising' anywhere.

To sum it up, we were a couple of stranded Republic soldiers somewhere deep in the Sith space, on a Sith-controlled, Sith-swarming piece of rock.

An even more unsettling thought crossed my mind.

...Taris… That's where Sandra is from…

I took another glance around the room, trying to distinguish a hint of crimson hair or a feminine figure…and found it disturbingly empty.

"The Jedi. Did she make it?" I asked and continued with a couple of coughs, combined with the intention of clearing my throat. My voice was still coarse, raspy.

Could use a couple more glasses of water. Or maybe a small pond, to be exact.

"She's badly injured, but alive…I guess. At least she was the last time I saw her."

Slightly puzzled, I raised my eyebrows, and Carth continued.

"It felt like a small miracle that the first people I encountered were friends of the Republic - right after I had dragged you two out of the pod. We made it away before the Sith stormed the location. The Jedi is in the care of a doctor – a man named Zelka – whose practice is nearby. The doctor also agreed to show me this abandoned apartment we can use as a hideout," Carth explained with calm patience.

I nodded, slightly relieved. So Carth had managed to get the injured Jedi to the care of a doctor. And he had been able to go undetected and to find a somewhat secure place to hide while dragging around my presumably unconscious muscle and bones. I was at least a little bit of impressed. No wonder the man was one of the most decorated officers in the Republic fleet.

"I could use a thorough update on the situation right now," I stated. "Since the Endar Spire, I seem to be hitting a wall of emptiness in my head."

Now, that almost was a statement to laugh at.

I felt a slight shiver running through my muscles when another wave of squeamishness spread through my body and tried to force my interiors upside down. Luckily I hadn't eaten for a while, or I would have had the fantastic opportunity of studying the digested remnants of food from an all too close distance, I thought with mild sarcasm. But the painkiller Carth had injected was kicking in – fast – as the pounding inside my head was wearing off. It would not take long for me to get back on my feet. Slight nausea was only a small tease, nothing to lament about.

Without wincing, I kept my face expressionless and eyes locked to Onasi's, as the man continued the narration.

"I'm not surprised. You have been drifting in and out of consciousness for almost twenty hours. Zelka asked me to keep an eye on you because it wasn't possible for him to take you in. I understand that pretty well because the man's got his kolto tanks full of Republic soldiers on a Sith-infested planet. The man is taking a horrendous risk, but yet the backroom of his practice is stuffed with injured soldiers."

Only now did I notice the dark lines under Onasi's eyes. Probably the man hadn't had the chance to rest his eyelids even for a mere second while I had been out. The weight of the fought battle was yet pulling his shoulders heavily down. Looking at the small wrinkles crossing his features and the bags under his eyes, the man had gained ten years to his age at the Endar Spire and during the following sleepless hours.

Not to mention the mental impact of the obliteration of his ship, the destruction of his crew; deaths of his men. Showing no signs of an emotional breakdown, the man had pulled it well together – I had to admit.

However, I noted, for the Endar Spire… I felt nothing.

…War comes with losses – you know this. The weaker in terms of tactics, morale or skill is the one to perish…

But shouldn't I feel even the slightest bit of sadness for them? They were also my crew. They were a Republic crew.

…There is nothing new in entire ships – entire fleets – burning to nothingness. You have seen it before, and you will see it happening in the future. It is the toll of War. It is the sacrifice that must be made…

"I did some scouting while you were out…and the situation does not look bright," Onasi continued with a steady voice, efficiently cutting my thoughts away. "Seems the Sith established a blockade around Taris straight after the destruction of the Spire. Not to mention, the Leviathan herself is orbiting the planet. No ships go in or out. Down here, they've declared the martial law and are patrolling in wide numbers."

Carth paused, his brows furrowed. "I think it is evident why."

"Bastila Shan," I stated dryly, having ended up to the identical conclusion in my mind.

"Looks like that," Carth replied, his comment accompanied by a short nod. "I think locating Bastila is the first priority. No more than because of the Republic war effort, I truly wish she is in good shape," he continued, his voice lowering down.

Bastila Shan, the Jedi commanding the so-called mystical skill of Battle Meditation. The Jedi ability, which enabled her to take control of the enemies' minds, to force them to lose their wills to fight. The woman who was, during these times, the supposed brightest hope of the Republic. Was this woman – almost a girl - so crucial to the Sith that they went through the effort of quarantining an entire planet to cut her escape routes away? Could any person – no matter which skills they held – be of such importance?

Apparently.

Bastila friggin Shan.

Suddenly, the blood circulating my veins turned ice cold. Bastila Shan – the woman from my dreams, the tormentor of my nights. I knew this now. I had felt this missing piece of the puzzle clicking to its rightful place.

Why was my subconsciousness broadcasting the features of a woman I remembered never to have met? Not even during the days aboard the Spire. Was she somehow related to my injuries all those months ago?

Knowing the reputation of the Jedi as peacekeepers and drivers of the highest purposes, the thoughts did not make sense. The Jedi were believed to be the saviors, not the villains. Their acts and accomplishments lifted them above ordinary sentient beings.

But… repeating the recording in my head of the months I had spent on Dantooine, something had been very much amiss in there. Was it how they had acted? Was it because of how they had treated me – more like a prisoner than a patient? Not like an injured common soldier who had been tossed into their care. But more… More like a caged wild beast with claws and fangs. A predator prowling, waiting for an opportunity to lunge into an attack…to taste their blood.

Even during that time, even while being fed with their ideology, I had felt the urge to question their motives.

I had no quarrel with the Jedi – at least I did not recollect of having such. But during the course of those months - due to the atmosphere of mutual suspicions dwelling in the Enclave - there had been moments when I had desired the whole Jedi order to be sent to the deepest of all Hells.

Nonetheless, I knew I had to find Bastila. Not because of the Republic; not because of the war. My reasons were located in a much more personal level. I had to either see her face or her corpse with my bare eyes to find a resolution to a question I was yet forming in my mind. She was a key to the answer – she had to be.

Or.

Or I was losing my faltering grasp on the reality; my sanity was fading. It was the cynical option which had crossed my mind more than once when the nightmares aboard the Spire had tirelessly and cruelly continued.

Hell - that was the most plausible reason. I was becoming kriffin' insane.

But if there was even the slightest chance that Bastila was holding the keys to some kind of an answer, I would be there to take them from her. No… I needed to be there.

"Do you have any hints about her whereabouts?" I asked. "If the Sith are after her, it is probable that she is still on the loose. We can presume that as long as the planet is under quarantine."

Or her corpse has not been found yet…  I killed the gloomy train of thought immediately. Somehow, a part of me screamed that she was alive with the same certainty as I was breathing during this very moment.

"You're probably right. I suspect Bastila's escape pod crashed to the Undercity - under this very same area. According to street rumors, the majority of the escape pods fell there." Carth paused, and his features turned into a mask of stone. "Though, in addition to us, I do not know others who were lucky. The soldiers… The patients at Zelka's practice are more or less waiting for their deaths… I try to believe because Bastila has a strong command over the Force, she might have had survived. Just like we did."

"I take it we shouldn't be too optimistic about getting reinforcements," I commented, collecting the fragments of information to my mind. It would most certainly get interesting trying to locate a Jedi's whereabouts somewhere in the middle of a horde of enemy forces. Not to mention the upcoming attempt of escaping through the blockade of enemy ships, accompanied with a Jedi the Sith were so frantically trying to hunt down.

Things are about to get interesting, indeed.

"We're on our own," Carth replied with a slight smile which showed no signs of happiness.

"Twenty hours give things plenty of time to proceed so I should get moving," I stated and forced my body up to my feet, cursing the wasted time deep inside my mind.

Each spent hour was an hour lost. Each hour was an hour closer to the moment of the Sith catching Bastila. If not injured, the Jedi probably could manage fairly well even if she was on her own. But considering the rumored poor successes of the other crash landings, odds definitely were not on her side.

The headache was gone, and despite the slight dizziness during the first few seconds on my feet, I found myself quite set for action... Unless a pack of rabid rakghouls was the first hostiles to come around the corner. And this was the longest time I could spare for my body to recover, so it needed - dammit - just to humbly adjust to the situation.

"I suggest that we take turns and you try to get some rest now," I told Carth who was observing me with a raised eyebrow. Noting the change in the older soldier's demeanor, something was clearly puzzling the older man. "I'll try to dig out some information about the escape pods. But first I'd like to exchange a few words with this doctor-friend of ours you mentioned."

I needed to see how Sandra was doing. The Tarisian Jedi was probably the closest thing to a tactical advantage I could think of in the current situation. And, on the other hand, I was not overjoyed of the fact that the Jedi was in the care of some doctor who had just happened to stumble on the crash site at the right moment. Not before I had met the man myself. Either it had been – like Carth had mentioned – a small miracle. Or there was something else hiding underneath. But judging Onasi's reputation as a top-class soldier, for the moment, I was placing my bets on the first option.

Allies were rare in a situation like this. This Zelka-card was definitely worth turning. If there was an opportunity of getting extra pieces of information with the help of this doctor, I was sure to bite in.

Carth considered, weighting me up with his eyes.

"Alright," he replied slowly, reluctantly accepting the fact that his exhausted body was closing its limits. "But be careful. There's a swarm of Sith out there. I heard rumors of even Dark Jedi being spotted on the planet. Although I don't believe looking for a couple of common soldiers like us is high on the Sith's list of priorities, keeping a low profile does not make harm."

"I am used to moving without being noticed," I assured the man with confidence. It was not an exaggeration but the truth.

"I'll bet on that," Carth stated and I could see his glare intensifying. "I read your file, Daraz. I want to know the people I work with. I thought we were getting more like a linguistics specialist, but the actions you showed during the battle aboard the Spire were rather…noteworthy." I could sense the sudden change in his demeanor; the certain degree of coolness spreading to his voice.

I observed the man, noting the cocktail of emotions – the incipient frown, the tightening of his lips - cross his face under my eyes. I had no access to my files aboard the Spire, nor did I know what expressions the command had used to sum up my abilities. To be exact, the blasted record had not even aroused my curiosity.

"Then… I suppose I do not have to enlighten you about my skills, Commander," I replied calmly without the intention of hiding the mild sarcasm in my voice and let a slight smile spread to my lips.

I had easily sensed the shrouded suspicion hidden beneath his words. After all, he had a leaking ship and presumably an infiltrator on the loose – two issues most certainly not related to my persona.

"There are just… just some issues that do not add up," Carth stated quietly, but his voice lacking the strongest steel. He was unsure if to push the topic. Onasi apparently did not think highly of my kind in the first place and was desperate to gain a resolution to the incident which had led to the destruction of his ship. His words were bold, to hint his suspicions in circumstances like this. However, although a result of honesty, courage did not always fit in the same space with intelligence.

I shrugged, uninterested. If Onasi wanted an explanation on the occurrences aboard the Spire, I was not able to give these to him. Nor did I hold the motivation of explaining the ways I acted or the previous ways of making my living. Not now, not at this particular moment when I had more urgent issues in my mind and the agitation of getting on the move again tickling my feet.

If the man was after a declaration of loyalty towards the Republic in order to quieten down his distrust, he would have to wait for the stars to dim. Because those words would never leave my lips. I would perform my duty as a soldier of Republic, but I would not plead for permission I did not consider myself needing.

Nonchalantly, I turned my focus to a more concrete issue. A matter of a far more important kind.

I eyed the standard-issue Republic armors which covered both Carth's frame and mine and discarded the topic in favor of another one.

"Speaking of a 'low profile'… We might have a minor problem regarding the local dress code."

The first step was to strip the armor of its insignia, but yet looming in its bright colors, it was still emanating too much 'For the Republic' for much of my distaste. Anyone who had two brain cells to rub together would link the armor to its origins. In turn, facing Taris without the cover of the armor was probably almost as suicidal – if I had any expectations over the areas my route would eventually cross.

"I could use some paint," I muttered dryly, not exactly enthusiastic about either of the possible options. Wisely, the Commander had dropped the previous issue while observing me restyling my armor.

"Paint we don't have, but Zelka left me his robe," Carth responded and tossed a brown bundle of cloth to my hands.

This will do…

The robe was slightly short, revealing a hand's width of my shirt under its sleeve. But otherwise, it adequately covered the Republic armor. I raised the hood to shade my features while observing my reflection with an analytic eye on the dusty mirror located inside the 'fresher of the apartment.

"Add a lightsaber, and I look like a friggin Jedi," I muttered.

Somewhere in the adjacent room, Carth uttered a muffled bark of laughter. I could sense the spike of tension in the atmosphere was losing its sharp edge. For the moment.

Carth had placed my weapons inside an equipment bag under a bed, along with Sandra and the Dark Jedi's lightsabers. Absentmindedly, I ran my fingers along the surface of one sleek cylinder before lifting my vibroblade from the bag.

Wise for him to keep these Jedi weapons hidden. Might raise too many questions in case we get uninvited visitors...

"A lightsaber is not an ordinary soldier's weapon, Daraz." Sandra's words, uttered aboard the Spire, echoed in my mind as if she had been standing right next to me. I shrugged at the memory and gave the Jedi saber one last sharp glance. I would not need a weapon I had no knowledge of using. Even the option of selling the blasted thing was too risky to consider.

It was more than certain that money – or rather the lack of resources – could cause problems. Our combined belongings exceeded only a few hundred credits. Not much to go with. Not much for new armors which were set high on the list of our collective needs.

Now that 'extra weight load' I discarded aboard the Spire would come to use...  But no point in dwelling on decisions already made; acts I could not affect afterward. Future had the tendency of being hard to predict. But a city like Taris was sure to offer opportunities for gaining easy credits. If one knew where to look.

Listening to Carth sum up his observations and possible locations of interest, I strapped the blade and the blaster to my belt while plotting the next courses of action in my mind. Feeling the combined weight of the weapons on my waist, it was like an amputated limb had been reattached to my body. Now I was in my own environment. I was the young cat who had found its nails for the first time.

"Feel free to shoot everyone who steps inside without knocking. I'll return at dawn," I said, with a smirk on my face when stepping out of the apartment door.

"Bring some food, while you're at it," Carth tossed back somewhere behind me.

The door opened to show a quiet hallway which traveled a full circle inside the round apartment complex. Only the soft beeps of a cleaning droid performing its tasks were coloring the still air. The outer wall of the round hallway was lined with durasteel doors. One of them was going to lead to the Upper City of Taris.

The ecumenopolis - formed of four levels of cities on top of each other and an equal amount of levels of strict societal separation - was famous of its sky-scraping cylindrical buildings which were constructed of an innumerable amount of identical floors. When you had seen one Tarisian apartment building, you had seen them all.

Cannot blame the architects for having too much imagination here…

My progression through the hallway took an unintended stop in front of a particular closed door. Something had grabbed my interest, but I could not quite point out the source. I studied the door. Nothing conspicuous about it. But…

It was more of an emotion… a quiet plea… a tender, encouraging pull towards the door.

Damn. My mind is playing tricks on me again.

I killed the feeling before the urge to open the door was scorched too powerfully into my mind and forced my feet back to moving.

And the door had the appearance of being very much locked.

Should I start to pursue the career of a burglar because of a some… some kriffin' brain dysfunction?

The thought made me grimace. If something was going on inside my mind, I did not find myself enjoying it the slightest.

When the Upper City of Taris finally opened before my eyes, I let my eyes rest in the scenery for a short moment and pulled my lungs full of cool air. It was tinted with a touch of electricity. Like all large cities, Taris was life; Taris never slept. Even now, when the planet was spinning towards its evening, streams of traffic were snaking between the round-topped skyscrapers. The streets - dotted with wanderers - were far from dead. All the life around me and filling my senses, yet seasoned with a shadow of a looming threat, felt refreshing.

It felt familiar. I found myself observing Taris, and it was not with the eyes of a fresh visitor. But someone, who knew his way around the city.

Taris, the multiple layers of cities laid on top of each other, was life. Somewhere beneath my feet – possibly either in the criminal-controlled, rotten Lower City or in the mutant-infested Undercity – was a particular Jedi woman who had somehow become the primary focus of my determination. The main driver of my steps. I did not know her. Nor did I even know for sure, if she was an ally… 

But yet, I felt myself being pulled towards her. The urge was not accompanied with loyalty towards the Republic. Nor it was hallowed with a hope of turning the tide of the war. It was only plain ruthless determination in its purest form.

However, how refreshing the life around me felt, it came as a prerequisite for the existence of death. The war was death.

I threw a silent curse towards the sky, directed at the other one who was aiming towards the same target. Towards reaching her.

Somewhere above the skies of Taris - so illuminated by the lights of the city that even the stars were hidden – was an entire fleet of Sith warships and Darth Malak himself commanding the mighty Interdictor-class destroyer, the Leviathan. With the Sith, came the war.

The war was a part of the path I had found myself traveling. But no longer was I able to see it in the exact way determined by my insignia: an Ensign of the Republic Navy. There were too many inconsistencies discoloring my road. Too many unanswered questions simmering in the dark pool of my mind.

But during the pursuit for the truth, I could act the way I was expected to serve. I would raise a mask to cover my inner feelings and fight and bleed for the Republic, for the Jedi.

Until the time of answers would come.

Chapter Text

The whole extent of the Leviathan's command bridge had silenced.

All beings, ones even distantly capable of any intellectual activity had wisely directed their sight away from the swirl of unfolding events. All sentient creatures had forcefully pushed their concentration to their own tasks, vigorously motivated by the shared intention of not gaining the Dark Lord's unwelcome attention.

All - with the exception of one.

In the deepest core of the events was the hulking shape of Darth Malak, the present holder of the mantle of the Dark Lord of the Sith. As a twisted lump of legs and arms, lying almost next to the Dark Lord's metal-clad feet, was the smoldering form of a man. The target of the Dark Lord's rage had lost his ability to form any distinguishable words. His desperate pleas for mercy had gradually turned into wordless, inhuman gurgling - the final stubborn utterances yet gushing out from his dying body and burned lungs.

Interesting, how long he's had the strength to keep up on making any sound…

A planet, holding the name Taris, opened before the massive transparisteel viewport of the bridge; a pale orb floating in the dark space. The bluish-green surface of the planet created a curious contrast with the red garb which licked the muscular seven feet frame of the Dark Lord. His hulking presence being even amplified above threatening by the cacophony of complementary colors.

The victim whispered out a final moan, his voice muffled by the agony and impending death. If the former soldier still instinctively attempted to move his limbs, his body had long commenced rejecting these commands. An electrified brutal storm of hundreds of blue lightings once again materialized from nothingness. And not a single one of them missed their target.

The lone man, observing the events from a far too short distance for the ease of his mind, noted his muscles were instinctively pulling his shoulders back when the surge of energy hit the victim. He could feel the wave of the resulting heat tickling his skin although he was standing almost five meters from the Dark Lord, almost at the center of the command bridge. Luckily, the observer thought, the victim would not last long. It was evident the punished soldier's faltering grasp of the life was gliding; his consciousness was resigning itself from the stroll of events.

He will soon be finished. Then it is my turn.

'Furious' would have been a far too mild term to describe the Dark Lord's emotions. The junior officer, who had performed the unthankful task of bringing the news about the deserted, empty escape pod found in the Undercity of Taris into Darth Malak's knowledge, had paid a horrendous price. The Jedi woman had escaped... Bastila Shan had fled, and this disappointment had accelerated the Dark Lord somewhere beyond blind rage. Darth Malak was fixed to proving his point: the synonym for failure was death. As it always was.

The intel officer holding the rank of a Lieutenant, clad in a grey Sith officer's uniform, had seen similar events numerous times during his career. But still, witnessing pure manifestations of Force-enhanced rage had the effect of making the short hairs residing at the back of his neck stand straight up. Normally he would have pitied the victim, at least slightly – most people standing in the near vicinity would have. But he was far too experienced, far too knowledgeable to let hints of these emotions to bubble through the pool of his mind.

Not now – not in his current position.

He could not afford it; could not spare it. The possibility of him following the exact same path as the previous victim lingered as a massive lump somewhere in the bottom of his stomach. Being ordered to witness this torture – this death – was a part of his punishment, he was confident.

Following a metallic growl, the final sizzling surge of blue Force-born lightning bolts left the Dark Lord's fingers.

Let's see if the Dark Lord is merciful. It was more of a dull statement in his mind than an embodiment of fear.

The Lieutenant kept his posture stiff and did not let his eyes to leave the events, firmly keeping his features expressionless. Knowing that exposing even the slightest hint of weakness would condemn his flesh to experience an identical fate. If it already was not on Malak's agenda.

Carry yourself straight… or die. It is how it always has been.

The dull glass spreading to the victim's eyes, the Lieutenant noted the light of his life had mercifully been put out. Darth Malak hunched up to his full height, signaling he had completed his gruesome act of power.

"Do you see him?" The metallic voice hit him with the force of a lash. The piercing grey eyes framed with the yellowish skin and the bald, tattoo-covered head had turned their focus towards his features. Most vibrant colors of feelings were lost in the synthesizer-created deep voice, but the Lieutenant encountered no trouble in detecting the venomous taunt behind the words.

The previous time he had seen the Dark Lord, he was still the Apprentice – and had a jaw tight in its place. The loss of almost half of his face, and being forced to replace it with a metallic prosthesis, had seemingly thrust the Dark Lord even closer balancing on the thin line between sanity and its polar opposite. One single wrong motion – one single mistake in his demeanor, and he was sure the cleaning droids would be scraping his remains from the durasteel floor.

For dark Force users a weakness – a sign of fear - was prey. Something to play on…and then to feast on. The Lieutenant knew this because he had received his training from the best. From the one whose command over the Force had been at a level beyond others of his kind. But although not as brilliant as his former Master, Malak was not the one to be underestimated. Never.

The predator was stalking - Malak was testing him, trying to dig this weakness out from his mind.

"Yes, Lord Malak," he answered steadily. The full threatening attention – the dark aura of hatred radiating from the Dark Lord was nearly overpowering. But he managed to keep his stance and not to budge, not to falter.

"Drag this carcass out of my sight." The artificially created voice – dipped in molten steel – boomed. Two silver-armored troopers sprang into action and hurried to the corpse with speed only a degree short of running. Still smelling the reek of burned flesh thick in the air, the Lieutenant fought the small muscles on his face back to their places when he felt the incipient grimace pulling his lips back. He forced his training to kick in and cleared the disgust from his mind.

"Lieutenant, I wish you do not fail me this time," the Dark Lord half snarled, half growled. "Bastila Shan's escape was… an unwelcome turn of events. You must ensure that she will leave Taris only in your custody. Let me make myself clear -" Malak paused his speech momentarily to cross his arms over his chest.

"- alive or dead, Lieutenant. You are permitted to use all means necessary."

"Yes, my lord," the Lieutenant stated sharply, feeling his heart to skip a beat. Perfect, he would probably not die. Yet. It was actually slightly more than he had hoped for.

The ambush of the Endar Spire had not gone according to the script. But Taris would offer him a new chance. And what came to Malak's volatile goodwill…the quite clear final chance. The previous display of punishment had been a threat – something he could mirror his fate from should he fail in this mission.

"Your orders are clear. You may leave." Lacking the interest of sparing any more of his attention to the Lieutenant, with a swirl of the black cape the Dark Lord turned his front direction towards the surface of Taris.

"Thank you, Lord Malak." The Lieutenant directed his salute towards Malak's back and let his steps lead him swiftly out from the command bridge. The Dark Lord would accept no delays. Nor did he hold any desire to stay aboard the Leviathan any longer than the pure necessity required.

On his way to the transport vessel, the Lieutenant stopped briefly to his quarters and changed his uniform swiftly to something which he could use to blend into the crowd. The dark grey armor he pulled on lacked any Sith insignia and, most of all, the very much infamous one which would link him to the special forces. Attention was something which he wanted to avoid… Needed to avoid. Surprise and surreptitiousness – the ability to be one with the shadows – were the sharpest edges of his daggers.

Letting his fingers follow motions secured by the firm routine, he checked that the stealth field generator attached to his armor functioned as it should.

All set.

He was one of the perfect, aimed weapons in a war against Force-sensitive beings. One of the few remaining who had constructed the heart of the elite force trained by none other than Revan himself - the Jedi hunters.

It had been more of a nickname at the beginning, whispered in the hallways of Sith warships. And then it had established its foothold as the personification of the group equally respected and feared amongst the Sith. The man and women alike – spies, assassins, and warriors – trained to shield their presence from Force users. The group united by a single purpose – to gather one of the key resources to Revan's army.

To capture Jedi; to use their own skills against them. To provide Darth Revan the material he needed to build his army of Dark Jedi; the beings he needed to turn to his cause. Or to kill…should they desperately cling to their teachings and continue to deny the truth – like Revan had characterized – like oil rejects water.

More than a mere enemy, Revan had deemed the Jedi useful. He had known the power of defects; seen the strength in rotting the organization from within until nothing more than a thin, fragile shell remained. What Revan had indeed despised, was the waste of a utilizable resource - the ideal he and Malak had not fully shared. Although cunning, Malak had always been the one more eager to give in to the hatred and bloodlust.

But these were dangerous thoughts. Although Malak's physical form was located in an entirely different area of the ship, the Lieutenant could almost feel the Dark Lord's eyes drilled into his back. The Dark Lord was still evaluating him, judging his fate from his actions. If the tiniest signal of disloyalty should travel to the Dark Lord's ears and senses…

There probably was less than a handful left from the original group. Since his return, the Lieutenant had heard rumors of deaths and even…defects. He scowled.

With the highest probability, it had eventually played to his advantage. After all, he was the only one of them aboard the Leviathan. There were numerous young and hungry Sith assassins aboard and patrolling the surface of the planet. But possibly due to the amount of sheer experience he carried, the weights had tossed to his direction. Even when almost blinded by his rage, Malak had seen his skills were too valuable to be thrown away - for the moment. The Dark Lord's patience – thin already in the beginning – was closing its limits and he had decided to use all assets he could spare in the search for the Jedi on the run.

How many other than him held the proficiency of tracking down one single Jedi from an area which was bordered with nothing less than the skies of a planet?

He stepped to his 'fresher and opened the faucet, filling his cupped hands with water. He washed away the sweat droplets from his face and dried his still moist fingers to his short military-cut hair.

You still sweat like a little child when you see the Sith Lord's black magic…

He had seen plenty of death, more than enough. In many occasions, he had held the mantle of the Death himself. Death and torture, agony and the sight of last drops of humanity fleeting the victim were not new to him.

But still. The acts fuelled by the Force, feats smashing all laws of nature and exceeding his understanding made him still feel powerless. Small. Like a gizka which, due to some bizarre twist of fate, was allowed to live in a rancor's nest – hoping the rancor would not turn hungry.

Stepping out of his quarters, the Lieutenant scowled when he spotted a particular item which, looming in its bright colors, was significantly out of place amongst the grey, scarce furnishing of the room. The battle-scarred armor, carrying the shades of orange and brown - his token of betrayal and deceit.

The suit was lying in the corner, in the place where it had fallen when he had furiously torn it off from covering his body. Finally. Had the circumstances been different, he would have heaved out a long sigh of relief because of the damn strong supposition that this was the last moment the blasted thing got caught in his eyes.

Two years.

Two almost excruciatingly long years had passed since he began his previous mission. Two years of espionage, tapping and carefully sent coded transmissions. The time defined by the endless suspension of being discovered; sometimes of being careful of not even breathing too loud. It had felt more like the will of the Force he had not gotten caught.

He had used these years to infiltrate the ranks of the Republic Navy, finally reaching the position of a petty junior officer. Each step towards a higher rank had made his task more manageable. He had more freedom…and easier access to any data which held even the smallest hint of usefulness within it.

It had been a direct order from Darth Revan. To hide a Jedi hunter amongst the Jedi… Yes – that had been very Revan, indeed.

He did not know why Revan had chosen him for the mission. He had always thought himself more of a war dog; enjoying a direct onslaught more than subtlety, stealth and mind games. Or possibly it had been the reason; his natural talent of giving out an appearance of an unlikely spy. Likely he would never know.

During the Mandalorian Wars, the Lieutenant had served under the two heroes, the two Jedi Generals - Revan and…Alek, then. He had seen them fight and bleed, and he had witnessed the rise of Republic from the weak and fragile pushover to the victor under their military genius. He had been aboard when their fleet wandered into the Unknown Regions after the gruesome battle of Malachor V. He had given his vow of loyalty, pledged his weapons to their cause when they had declared themselves the Lords of the Sith. And the Lieutenant was damn sure to follow the ruler of the Sith in this war.

After all, he had believed in their cause. Trusted in their lead.

Eventually, only the strongest would survive. During the previous months, a rapid wind had brushed through the ranks of the Sith. Had Revan's ideology turned against him?

The ruling Dark Lord of the Sith had changed during his mission, but he believed, when evaluating his actions, he had proved his loyalty towards the current ruler of the Sith. The most obvious fact favoring this option was that he was still as one piece.

After receiving his transfer aboard the Endar Spire, it had taken him almost four months before he had been able to send the coordinates and the vector of the ship to the Sith fleet for the brass to set up the ambush. Malak had been disappointed about the delay.

Darth Bandon getting injured during the final moments of the Spire's ambush had certainly not improved the Dark Lord's mood. And most of all, Bastila Shan's escape. Securing the capture of the young Jedi, preventing her escape in any manner had been his task – and he had failed.

Possibly dragging the unconscious Darth Bandon out of the Spire before the ship turning into a fireball might have saved his life. The Shadow Hand, currently floating in a kolto tank, hadn't regained his consciousness, yet – and the Lieutenant was more than content should his condition stay that way. Hell - he needed to get out of this ship before the man could utter out a single word.

Things indeed had not proceeded as planned; not according to the script he had been writing. And while aboard the Leviathan, he did not have the opportunity to ponder his observations. He had to keep his thoughts locked; hidden behind trained paths and meticulously learned routines. A hint of a stray thought – a single sway from the direction he had chosen - and the Dark Lord would be breaking to his mind, smashing down his walls, ripping the information straight from his mind…

He had taken a Hell of a risk.

One of those kinds which would ultimately result in the closest thing to a payment coming after his flesh should the time come. Actually, even that was probably three times more than what he could hope for the outcome. He was uncertain if he was irrational or out of his mind. Probably both, he concluded.

Nonetheless, if he was to believe his own eyes – and he was virtually sure he had to – things were about to turn a lot of more complicated than they had seemed in the beginning.

He shouldered his blaster rifle while striding up the ramp of the waiting transport vessel. He was ready to take head to head everything that Taris was about to throw to his face.

When I reach Shan, I will also reach Him.

Two Jedi make things a hell of a more complicated than one…

"Prepare for the take-off. ETA oh six-hundred..."

Chapter Text

Life can be curious.

One day you might be guiding your ship amidst the stars, cargo hold full of spice and illegal goods. The next moment you find yourself walking on the wrong side of the enemy lines, your far too conspicuous armor hidden by a slightly too short cloak which has seen its better days. Your memories battered and broken; your thoughts haunted by delicate, yet solemn features of a young woman. Whom you do not recall ever meeting.

Not precisely knowing where your own loyalties lie.

Not exactly sure if the road you have chosen is the road you fully desire to roam.

But your steps are driven by the determination of finding the answers to the growing pack of questions you are yet forming inside your mind. Your thoughts rampaging vigorously through past months and years tattooed to your existence. Picking a Hell of a lot of empty holes where memories should have lingered. And observing an equal amount of subtle inconsistencies along the path.

Not manifested as crude displacements of occurrences. Hell – if judged in terms of integrity, the bunch of memories defining my whole life could be compared to a leaking bucket. So no conclusions were to be drawn from there. But these were more like detached feelings… Lone, stray thoughts and wandering emotions lacking a cause and a reason.

Or equally, the apparent deficiency of them.

Such as watching my parents' deaths at the hands of Mandalorian raiders as a child – and feeling the equal amount of emotional attachment and horror as seeing an insect being crushed by a boot.

And remembering the thrill of blaster marksmanship at the Republic training camp - but noting the subtle feeling of rightfulness in the weight of the vibroblade hanging on my belt. Perceiving how, at the deepest level, my muscles and joints and reflexes were trained for combat in close quarters; man against man.

Hovering as the most powerful of them was the growing suspicion towards Jedi and their unrevealed agenda, into which I saw my life being sewed by a manner I was not able to yet fully piece together. The link between me and the order of Force wielders had to linger on a deeper level. Much more than a mere incidental collision of paths of a soldier on a mission gone wrong - and the saviors of his life.

It had to be. She – her face observing my death all those months ago – was the key; the ultimate lead.

For her steel grey eyes were reminiscent of my death as equally as the hatred and bitterness circling the event. This much I could recollect. This I did comprehend.

Curious - indeed…

If not insane, maybe I am turning as friggin paranoid as Carth... Not a bloody tempting thought.

Letting my steps guide the way through the darkened alleys of Taris; watching the dark play of shadows created by the artificial lighting, I spotted yet another cantina. The flashing neon sign was marking the place at the end of the street, and a small group of people trafficking in and out through the doors pulled me like a beacon. The fact combining all even remotely urban planets: cantinas were easy places to find life – and always potent locations for gathering information.

…For someone who knows how to ask the right questions.

A quick calculation revealed that the place in question must've been the fourth one during these nightly hours to cross my path. And the small whisper of agitation boiling within my gut had long turned into full-fledged frustration. The progress I had been making hadn't quite been the progress I had been hoping for.

But there was still time until the first seeds of dawn were paving their way above the horizon. There was time before I needed to return to the abandoned apartment - the dingy hole we called our base of operations. There was still time to gather extra information and for accumulating much-needed resources.

There was still time for these thoughts of growing suspicions before I was yet again forced to raise the mask of a loyal Republic soldier; the cover that had been gifted to me by nothing less than the Republic herself. This disguise I was to utilize, to exploit its usefulness...until it finally had served its cause.

Not earlier than the moment when all critical pieces of the puzzle were collected and analyzed -

…I shall raise this mask to cover my face. For it is the vow I swear. For all of them…

- No earlier would I decide should the mask stay intact.

Or if it should shatter.

Nonetheless, reluctantly I had to admit that so far I was not physically even a foot closer to Bastila than I had been at the beginning of my nightly journey. Well, gathering small pieces of information from here and there was at least something to work on… I had needed something to grab on… something which to point my efforts to. And all rumors and other small strings even remotely related to a lead pointed to the direction of the Undercity. It was obvious the dark, mutant-infested part of Taris was the next logical destination. Straight after the injured Jedi finally joined our merry little war effort.

But so far the way to lower cities of Taris was blocked, sealed, closed. Inevitably, we were stuck. During my nightly trip, I had taken a quick detour to the nearest elevator which led to the lower parts of the city. To my dismay, the doorway to the elevator was guarded by a squad of troopers, checking each and every ID and demanding transfer papers before letting wanderers pass.

Kriff.

Entering the elevator was no way near an effortless task. The Sith knew that to escape the planet, the Jedi had to proceed to the Upper City. Securing all the entrances with a mass of silver-armored soldiers had been the first sensible step. After all, they had not conquered half of the galaxy by being unpractical.

And there were more of them.

Carth had not been exaggerating when providing me his warning – the Sith were truthfully patrolling in large numbers. At some point, I had lost track of the number of troops I had encountered.

Mostly the silver-armored groups had been near effortless to avoid. Sometimes by choosing to follow the path painted by shadows and utilizing natural obstructions provided by walls of tall buildings. At others, keeping my posture calm and straight and meeting their curious stares with a glance of my own; letting tiny gestures signal a carefully crafted appearance of a wanderer who held no secrets.

Sometimes, when you truly wish to hide – disappear in plain sight.

Noting their apparent lack of interest towards my persona, the Jedi woman must've been their top priority. Relentlessly, they were searching. Hunting. The Jedi was still on the loose.

I fought the urge to grit my teeth when I spotted another group of three silver-armored troopers turning from an opposing intersection; walking with a long stride of rhythmical determination. This time, I did not have the opportunity of redirecting my steps towards another alley without raising suspicions, so I chose to face them.

And evidently, this patrol chose to face me, as a single silver-armored hand rose as if pronouncing a silent 'halt'. Without hesitation, I stopped and was soon surrounded by the three soldiers, all of them keeping the other hand on the grip of a blaster rifle. Although the Sith armor hid the actual form of a body well, I noted one of them had a more slender, feminine figure. A woman, perhaps?

"You there - seen or heard anything noteworthy tonight?" one of them grumbled.

"Depends on what you consider noteworthy," I answered steadily. "The Twi'lek dancer at the cantina a couple of blocks away was something I'd call noteworthy," I continued, grinning. The mild joke bounced off.

"This one's not one of the locals..." one of them observed. Yes – the soldier was definitely a 'she'.

"Sir, I'd like to see some ID," she continued in a demanding manner, her speech gaining a slight spike of tension. Unlike her companions, her forearm carried insignia of an officer.

"No doubt I don't seem like a local..." I answered steadily. "I am not even supposed to be on this friggin dump for a planet. A day and a half ago I was en route to Arkania, stopped to refuel and got caught in the middle of this little blockade of yours with nothing more important to do than to check out the local nightlife..."

I let out a small sigh to signal slight frustration.

"But sure. The ID…" I continued calmly and slipped my hand slowly to an imaginary chest pocket just under the cloak as if searching for something. Cautious not to reveal any parts of the orange-brown armor hidden underneath. Knowing that events were about to take a somewhat drastic turn, should they spot even the slightest hint of orange.

The Sith troopers observed me with curiosity when I burst out a long row of curses in Huttese.

"Is there a problem?" one of the male soldiers asked, the tone of his voice showing a hint of suspicion. His posture was revealing increasing tension.

I groaned. "I must have left the kriffin' card to my ship."

I paused for a moment as if considering. "But I say… we can take a quick tour there if you are interested in taking a look at the paper?"

I need to break that formation… Bite into the bait… Let's get you moving…

The soldiers glanced at each other, taken aback by the proposal.

"No need," one of the men answered coarsely, and I saw my plans take a shattering blow. "I think we need to take this one up for interrogation." He directed his words to the other male soldier. His comrade gave him a slight nod. The female officer stood silently and showed no signs of disapproval.

Damn.

"Keep your hands in sight." The soldier ordered.

"Turn around. You will come with us. Resistance will result as immediate use of force." The other one accompanied. Strictly.

I let out a long sigh of frustration as the other male soldier trained his blaster rifle toward my chest.

"Just my luck," I muttered audible enough for them to distinguish my words as I raised my hands slightly to fake an appearance of willingness to cooperate.

Not enjoying the thought of jumping into a battle with a blaster rifle at point-blank range from my chest, I needed to distract them. Somehow.

"- Although, I do not mind to be interrogated the slightest...should the interrogator be the right person," I continued in a lighter manner, forcing my most charming smile on my lips and directed a wink towards the female soldier. Now it did not matter if she carried features of a Hutt.

Noting the overt gesture, one of the men grumbled out a small burst of laughter. Amazed by the sudden turn of events, they did not notice my right hand – still keeping the recently adopted stance of docility – slowly creeping towards the vibroblade at my side. The weapon was still hidden beneath the cloak.

"Well, well. At least this one's got guts. It is refreshing to see something else than local kath hounds groveling at our feet." It was one of the men.

"In my opinion, you are just doing your job. No hard feelings about that." I shrugged, still forcing my lips to curve into a form of a smile. Under the cloak, my muscles had tensed. I will go for the rifle, I decided. The resulting surprise might give me just enough time to dodge upcoming blaster bolts.

The need to act never came. Even for me, the sound of feminine laughter processed through the vocabulator of a Sith helmet was something new.

"Lower your weapons, troopers. I think this is enough – clearly, he doesn't have anything to hide," the female trooper stated, a hint of laughter yet lightening her tone. She opened her visor; the opening in her helmet revealing young features and strands of ginger hair. Her lips had curved into a genuine smile. She directed a nod toward a nearby wall, gesturing me to follow. My head swirling with astonishment, I obeyed; feeling stares of the male troopers drilled to my back.

"I am Sarna, Junior Officer First Class," she introduced herself and offered me a hand.

"Matt – a single person attempt at making some success in the transportation business," I lied fluently and shook her hand. Her grip was firm.

"My shift is ending early tomorrow," she said. "I might go and check that cantina over there. You think the place is worth visiting?"

I spotted the hint with ease. I smirked.

"Absolutely," I replied, considering suddenly opened new possibilities inside my mind. "But only in case you still want to go on with that interrogation." I continued with a sly smile on my face.

Sarna chuckled. "I might like that. You know – you are not the only one fed up with this planet."

"Then consider it a deal, darling. We can continue this discussion about how horrible place this is…let's say - tomorrow after the sunset?"

"You might find me there. If you are lucky…" Her voice had gradually lowered to a soft purr, which left me without any doubt of whether or not she actually was going to show up.

"Sorry about the boys. They go a little trigger-happy now with all these Republic fugitives running around," Sarna explained before turning to join her group.

"Understandable. I wish you good luck with your hunt," I countered. She answered with a nonchalant wave of her hand.

"Troopers, let's move!" Her order reached my ears. The patrol moved on, last glimpses of silver-shaded armors disappearing to an intersection.

Now that was something.

It was almost a shame I had to try to use the girl. Almost.

I had to admit I had liked Sarna. In addition to features quite the opposite from a Hutt, she had carried a certain aura self-confidence. Had the circumstances been different, I would have taken her offer more seriously. But now. Now my ambitions were directed to the still-sealed doors of the elevator. And a card holding the face of a Sith officer was far too potent to be left without turning. Should I play my turns correctly, she could lead me to the exact place which was a single step closer to locating Bastila.

A burst of laughter left my lips.

Carth's going to tear his pants when he hears that I have a date with a Sith officer...

I could not help but smile when approaching the doors of the cantina.

The cantina was nicely crowded; easy to blend into the mass of different accents, features, and clothing. Mostly humans. The only aliens I had spotted were either musicians or dancers, mainly Twi'lek. The quarantine the Sith had placed was not the only one of its kind predominant in Taris. Doors of elevators were not closed only for us.

After maneuvering my way through the thick crowd, I ordered a pint of Tarisian ale from the counter and chose an empty table beside one of the walls restricting the central room of the cantina. Giving an extensive view of the central space, it was a perfect location for observing. Weighting and analyzing all beings present.

In places like this, beings relaxed after a pint, two or more, they will eventually reveal more of themselves than they ever are going to know.

Faintly, I distinguished a cheering crowd somewhere in intersecting rooms. Dueling was a common practice, a popular form of entertainment in Taris. And after observing a couple of rounds of local cantina battles, I was sure it was a straightforward source for a couple of extra credits. However, still, the Republic armor covering my frame, it also would have been an excellent choice for attempting suicide.

I took a sip from the pint and played with the strong taste with my tongue. At least the ale was not too bad on this planet.

So mainly I had settled with refreshing my skills in pazaak – the game which was a heritage of my past: dozens or hundreds of cantinas located on an almost equally large amount of planets I had visited. Playing against people who had dulled their senses with alcohol was virtually like mugging them in a stranded alley and leaving their pockets empty. Mostly.

Pazaak was not very close to an efficient way of making money, and quite far from what would have been my choice. But at least gambling came without any attachments. I could go, clear the table and leave before my features were imprinted on memories of other players. Naturally, I was not able to win every game I played. But during the night, my pocket had shown definite signs of increasing weight.

In addition to credits, and far more importantly, information was often won in these gatherings of random people. Rumors concerning movements and motives of the Sith, crashed escape pods and the name of a particular local businessman were mentioned more than once. And a couple of offered rounds for fellow players during a specific game had provided hints of whereabouts of a few potential individuals skilled in the forgery of IDs.

If things happen quickly – two days and we can be moving. Perhaps sooner without the Jedi.

Without the Jedi… Now - that was a thought to consider.

Irrevocably, the Jedi was going to keep our feet firmly on the top floor of the city at least for a while. The visit to Zelka Forn's practice a few hours ago had proved as much.

The Jedi was not moving herself an inch without Zelka's permission. And the good old doctor was not going to gift her one in upcoming hours. He had been very strict, and a tiny part of me had enjoyed the scene when the doctor had ordered the Jedi to one of the beds located in the backroom of the practice, utterly ignoring her objections.

By the Force, sometimes Jedi tend to amaze me.

When I had arrived - much to the doctor's dismay - Sandra had occupied one of the one and a half man tall kolto tanks; floating in her undergarments, entirely surrounded by the thick bluish liquid. Although half of her face had been covered by a breathing apparatus, her features were set to a calm, almost serene expression. Already then, after only a day's worth of kolto treatment, the net of injuries on her back had partly healed. The skin was sewing itself back together, wounds disappearing under the fresh new skin; darker lines of scars only whispering dulling screams of the incident which had torn her flesh apart.

I mentally grimaced at the memory. Still almost smelling the sharp stench of the cocktail of sterile and kolto thick in the air, I could not fully banish the mental trail which led to my own bed at the Enclave. To the days when identical stenches had been definitions of my daily environment.

Suddenly, as if sensing my presence, the injured Jedi had opened her eyes. Clear emerald orbs had locked into mine with a sharp gaze.

I well remembered Zelka's astonished yelp, when the red-haired patient had gestured in a very clear-minded manner to be freed from the interiors of the tank. Although her body had been pumped full of narcotic drugs, effects caused by those were now gone. She showed no panic, no clouded thoughts, not even the slightest fear.

Kolto is known for its ability to accelerate the healing process beyond excellent. Subjected to correct treatments, original form can be restored to even limbs torn from all flesh. But when this was combined with the Jedi's own Force-induced ability to heal, effects were abnormal.

Sandra was probably going to walk away from her horrific injuries with small scars, only barely distinguishable to a naked eye.

How in the bloody Hell – their bodies infused with this kind of an ability to heal – they are not winning this war? As if they have been too isolated, completely detached from war…

Probably the only half of them which could do some actual battle switched allegiances all those years ago.

When judging Sandra's rate of healing, 'abnormal' had been the word crossing also Zelka Forn's mind.

"Rumours tell me the Sith are searching for a young woman. A Jedi." The dark-skinned elder man's deep voice had lowered to the level of a whisper although the thick durasteel doors of the backroom were solid enough for keeping all noises inside.

"She may stay here until I consider her condition stable enough. Then I will ask her to be moved immediately."

"I understand," I had replied dryly, sharing equaling thoughts.

Twelve hours of kolto treatments. It had been Zelka's condition. Sandra had objected and insisted in the obstinate manner which very well defined her that resting a few hours her body subjected to a healing trance - some sort of a Jedi meditation skill - was sufficient. The doctor had not bent.

Twelve hours.

The frustrated part of me was prepared to move on without the Jedi should the need arise. After all, at the moment – still recovering from her injuries - she was a hindrance. The cynical part of my brain even criticized saving her life in the first place. Why rescue one of them…one of my captors?

…Jedi are not to be trusted... You should have left her behind.

The part of me which had carried her injured body, without a second thought, to the escape pod aboard the Spire did not consider abandoning her an option. Nor would Carth, without a doubt.

The Jedi better turn out useful, or I will have to regret my decision.

Most importantly, the visit to Zelka Forn's practice had given me the mental certainty of the doctor's reliability. He was an unexpected ally on a hostile planet; lead to us by faith, accident, luck, Force or what the kriff ever. The man had dipped his own skin too deep in this mess for being able to change his direction. I was content to go with that.

As Carth had mentioned, Sandra was not Zelka's only light-repelling patient. In addition to the Jedi, the doctor had managed to hide two more Republic soldiers in the backrooms of his apartment. Battered bodies of these men had floated in the two remaining kolto-tanks. Stripped from their Republic armors and now wearing typical sick garments, they may have passed as normal patients. Unless the horrifying nature of their injuries – multitudes of broken bones, cuts and gnashes - had not betrayed them as victims of a crash landing for someone possessing an analytic eye.

Should the Sith find their way there, to the backroom of his practice, they were going to know.

The men did not share the same luxury with Sandra – they were never going to leave the tanks alive. The doctor had explained he was only trying to let them spend their final hours in an as humane manner as possible. The man had taken an enormous risk. Zelka was playing a massive gamble, nothing less than his own life at stake, for a couple of soon-to-be corpses.

It was unusual…no, amazing.

It is a waste – the cynical part of my mind replied somewhere in the back. An equally humane way for them to go would have been to end their lives there in the remains of the escape pod. It is such a waste to use resources, to take the risk of losing your life for someone who is not going to survive.

Empathy in the form of a useless sacrifice had never kept me alive.

…Empathy is a weakness in a battle in which only the strongest may survive. You know that.

Does a kath hound feel empathy when lunging to rip the throat of the other male threatening its pack? Would a soldier in an A-wing be capable of shooting a capital ship down - if feeling empathy for the crew of thousands?

No war can be won without sacrifices. But neither are they won by throwing a life away by performing unneeded heroics.

Wars can be fought for the survival of yourself; of others. But never are they won with empathy…

Plain mathematics I was able to understand. Sacrificing one to save a hundred, or sacrificing a thousand to save millions – there was certain logic. But a pure waste of a life for nothing… In the deepest level, a part of me despised it.

I took another sip of dark Tarisian ale, freshly provoked questions swirling in my head; now heavily darkening my mood.

When did I start to despise pointless heroics, as I now considered those acts of selflessness? Only a few months ago I would have thrown my life away for the Republic; for the image of a galaxy free of all Sith.

…Pathetic… A lone sting of the most bitter despise.

When did I start to despise Jedi?

When…?

…Not 'when', is it? The correct question is - 'why'…

My thoughts were interrupted when I spotted a group of people starting a game of pazaak in the opposing corner of the room.

Bloody Schutta!

I had decided to leave the cantina not long after an incident which had started to turn far too many curious glances towards my direction. My steps amplified by rage, lips turned to an almost-grimace, I stormed to a nearby weapons store which had opened its doors barely moments ago.

Brat!

I collected my rage when I noticed the inquiring glance, directed from the lone saleswoman towards my persona.

"I need some armor. Show me what you've got," I growled, irritated.

Only when observing the selection of armors, looming in different colors and degrees of protection, I felt the boiling rage finally loose its sharpest edge. I decided to exchange a part of gathered credits to two suits which I roughly estimated to match Sandra and Carth's measurements. Nothing fancy, but a portion of the protection was going to come in the form of no more orange. Something stronger for the older soldier, a light battle suit for the Jedi. Lightsaber wielders were known to enjoy fighting in almost-pajamas and Sandra was no exception. For myself, I decided to go with a compromise when I spotted a black battle suit which offered adequate protection without restricting my movements too much.

And the color harmonized with my current mood with precise perfectness.

Before tossing the suits to an equipment bag, I added a pair of light metal vambraces - painted to the shade of dull black - to the load.

These will come handy when fighting man-against-man.

The storm in my mind had calmed when I left the shop; the weight of the equipment bag on my back. A strand of a lighter shade of blue had painted its way across the horizon. Dawn was approaching, and the patience of a particular Republic Commander was likely already growing thin.

Yet… Somehow, for reasons I could not root out, I felt anxious… Something was amiss.

I shook my head, ramming my focus collected. My thoughts were trying to grow legs and run into a dozen different directions at once. Perhaps it was the time for me to admit I was beginning to tire. After all, a few hours of unconsciousness were not comparable to actual rest. Perhaps the one more skull-scraping blow to my head was finally starting to take its toll.

Prior to choosing the way which eventually led to the hideout, and still remembering Onasi's request, I made a stop at a local store and added a few cans of basic food rations to my pack. A few hours back, I had taken full use of the advantage of replenishing my body to replace the energy drained from it during the hours before. But no doubt the Commander's emergency rations were running low.

The streets were slowly turning desolate of other walkers as Taris enveloping my path evolved to show some of the less fortunate parts of the Upper City. Numerous apartment complexes piled on top of each other, shelled by tall buildings; all screaming the equal need for maintenance.

But the surrounding scenery was not of interest, as the world itself had shifted and evolved into a full-grown scream from a sense I did not know myself possessing.

No longer were my thoughts tormented by the lack of focus.

No longer could I ignore the feeling of slight weight pressing against my sternum. It was not frustration. Nor was it agitation.

It was a warning. It had always been a warning; a warning manifested from the pure instinct feeding itself from the world surrounding me.

Knives of hostile intents were buried into my back as I kept my pace constant, not letting a change in my demeanor to voice out that I was aware of them. My steps were followed – I was completely sure. A surprise is an advantage I always take when an opportunity is given. This was not going to be an exception.

My suspicions of hostile followers were proven correct when the street divided into an intersection before my eyes. It was not earlier than this when my ears started to distinguish faint steps behind my back, closing in with an increasing, determined, deadly rhythm. Three… maybe four, I counted. Not humans. Definitely not humans.

Five seconds.

I turned to the shelter provided by the intersection and lowered my carryings slowly to the dirty duracrete pavement; careful not to let an unintended clank to reveal my exact location.

Two seconds.

My hands were now clutched around the hilt of the vibroblade, and I let them glide into a familiar fighting stance. As soon as the intruders reached the intersection, my lips revealing a grimace, I lunged into an attack.

There were three of them. Two were not humans – and I had suspected as much. The faint musky scent had reached my nostrils before I had been able to take a clear visual of them.

The third was an all too familiar face. A sharp sting of hatred pierced my chest.

So the schutta actually stayed true to her threats…

The attack of the first Rodian ended to a lizard-like wordless scream of agony, when his blaster pistol – his fingers still clutched around the hilt – obeying the force of gravity, found itself on the ground. His head followed an almost-identical trajectory when I lunged my blade into another sharp-edged arc, utilizing the momentum gained during the first blow. His lifeless corpse followed soon behind, falling to pile on top of the gruesome heap. A bloody, twisted puppet show of death.

A row of teeth bit my left forearm.

The second Rodian had been a few steps behind the first one and was able to send a couple of rounds of red death towards my frame before I yet again found cover behind the intersecting wall. I discarded the vibroblade in favor of my blaster pistol as red bolts whizzed across the intersection. I had the cover, I had the advantage.

And I can be bloody patient if I want to.

Counting the rhythm of the desperately sent flying shots, I waited for an opening. When it came in the form a millisecond long pause, my target was in the sights of my blaster. After two shots, the Rodian lay on the ground, new holes gaping in his head and chest, a growing pool of his life-liquids spreading to give the pavement a darker shade.

The young woman who had previously accompanied the attackers was already running, the thumping of her desperate feet trying to gain distance. In panic; her luxurious clothing forming a multicolored lump around her legs. Far from the attempted elegance - bought with only a ship-load worth of credits - she had shown during our previous encounter.

Pathetic, rich idiot!

She would die. She would pay the ultimate price for harassing my territory - for daring to attack me! For daring to cross my way. For ruining my plans at the cantina with her pitiful acts. The rage now fully boiled inside my soul, its flames burning every inch of my body.

I lifted the blaster and took her calmly in the sights, each and every cell in my body relishing in the thought of her soon-to-be-dead corpse thumping to the ground when I pulled the trigger.

Go and run. Run the final feet of your life, di'kut.

My lips turned into a full grimace, I did not notice the faint growl leaving my lips.

But I hesitated. My index finger seized its movement before unleashing the final pull of the trigger.

Is the revenge worth a murder?

With a twist of my thumb, I reset the blaster to stun and let a sinister smile spread across my lips when her body froze up, and she fell down with a soft thump. I could think of other forms of revenge. Even better ones than ending her miserable life with one clean pull of the trigger.

I took my time when gathering the Rodian thugs' weapons before redirecting my attention to the woman lying on the ground. She was still suffering from the temporary paralyzation caused by the stun bolt and would be for a while yet. Her eyes were wide open, an expression of terror frozen to her face.

The stench of fear, I could almost smell it. Something within me reached, grabbed it, relished in it.

If a slight objection was heard from my conscience, I was able to ignore it altogether when going through her possessions and transferring her credit chips into my own pockets.

"Consider this a repayment, darling," I stated slowly, my voice dipped in venom before taking a look at her ID card.

"Gana Lavin." I read the name from the card out loud. She probably did not hear me, nor did it matter. The message was evident, nonetheless.

"I propose this is the last time our roads will ever cross. Next time – should the next time come - I will not be as merciful." Followed by a mocking flip of my hand, the ID card fell on her stiffened body. Accompanied by the mutilated corpses of Rodian thugs – illegal aliens – she was going to have an interesting time explaining when Sith arrived at the scene. A lot of explaining. Hopefully, much more than her high-ranking protectors stood up to.

If the Sith were the first to arrive.

I carried neither the means nor the desire of affecting who or what was to cross this road next. Taris was a city full of dark intentions, as were all places where men walked. Her fate was not of my concern.

Without sparing her another glance, I grabbed the equipment bag and left the scene with swift steps. Now I was entirely determined to make my way to the hideout as quickly as possible.

I could not care less if their only object had been to beat me up 'to show me my place'. Or if they had been on the way to kill me. The price had been paid.

First mistaking me as a waiter, then making a scene at the cantina… Then this. What a bloody idiot.

It had started as a misunderstanding. It had evolved into her throwing insults at me, and myself snapping at her to leave me alone. It had ended with a threat: a promise of a lesson to be taught regarding how a lady of her stature should be treated. But never would have I guessed she was actually sending a pack of bloodsuckers after my footsteps.

When I finally arrived at the familiar apartment complex, the fiery rage spreading its flames within my soul had finally died and turned into a crossfire of contradicting emotions.

A smuggler and a thief – maybe. A murderer – no.

I had never killed another being in cold blood, unless in a situation demanding acts of self-defense or war. Nor was I not able to recall ever to have slain because of anger, hatred. Because of rage. Because of revenge.

But this Lavin-chick had unleashed something within me, unshackled desires I could not identify myself with. I had wanted… no – I had thirsted for the moment when the dull glass of death spread to her eyes. I had drunk from her fear and relished in it. I had desired for her agony and the final, ultimate awareness when her brain, dimming to death, understood…that I had won.

A new realization hit me like a wall of duracrete, and I had to stop. I heaved in a long breath to steady my thoughts.

I have not enjoyed killing…not before the Endar Spire.

Only now did I recollect the feeling of cold amusement when I had watched the deaths of the squad of Sith troopers from the surveillance monitor aboard the Spire. When I had triggered the power cord into exploding to a deadly storm of shrapnel. The feeling of holding one's life and death in my hands…it was power.

There was a shadow, a taint within my soul. Something, which had been hidden; sealed away, yet always present. The shadow was emerging, I could not deny. It was an unsettling thought.

This man who carried the shadow within his soul was not the Eldran Daraz I remembered. This man was not even the man who had regained consciousness at the Jedi Enclave only a half a year ago.

But there was the saying that war can and will affect a man. There was the saying that war can turn men into animals.

Was I slowly turning into those beings I despised? I had always justified my actions by necessity, by a need. Hell – I was in the middle of a war. I could not be too picky over the means which eventually led me to my target. But was I slowly gliding across the line after which necessity was only a disguise for atrocities?

Indecisiveness is a weakness. I could recollect myself saying those words somewhere in my past, not remembering the location or the time, and now they had come mockingly back to me.

Exceeding all mixed emotions crisscrossing inside my mind, was the feeling of deepest despise.

I am nothing more than a pawn - the cynical part of my mind scoffed.

A puppet. A weak marionette – letting your emotions hold the strings which control you.

…Letting others forge your way… Allowing them to control you...

…When control is the ultimate power. It is the trait that always has differentiated you from pawns. Puppets.

I shook my head in disgust, understanding that momentarily, I had not been in control of myself. I could not allow myself...didn't have the luxury of following the path shown by any emotion...to slip in such a manner where my actions were not calculated.

I had not noted my right hand clutching, fingers bending. I growled and discharged all the anger gathered inside my soul by unleashing a fierce blow to the hard stony surface of the nearby wall.

Deep, I despised actions that showed a lack of control.

Get a hold of yourself, soldier!

Only after the adrenaline was leaving my body, I noted the pain in my left hand. The brown cloak covering my forearm was a degree darker from the blood which had leaked from the fresh gnash tearing my skin. A scratch gashed by a stray blaster bolt; nothing which was going to hinder my movements too much.

I did not care. Physical pain was something I could live with.

The monster. The looming, prowling… the seducing shadow within me I was more concerned about.

The friggin greatest lunatic walking the surface of this planet.  That's what I am.

Chapter Text

Victory.

There are few instincts, which come as naturally to a human being as the pursuit of victory. Perhaps it is reminiscent of times when the man was nothing more than a beast: fighting because of the purest definition of survival. To kill…in order to live.

Thus, victors are praised. Loved. Remembered.

Yet, victory is not always what one should pursue. Because it is not the one who wins the battle that is counted.

Only - and let me stress that word. Only the one who wins the war has any significance.

Because those occasions do exist when a strategic retreat at a single battle - a defeat born of a decision - can turn the tides of a whole war.

…

But I was not to tell a story of victory or glory.

You are an idiot, Daraz, I thought bitterly. Luckily I do not need to enjoy this…

Crossfire of sharp-edged shadows at my feet and the perfectly balanced vibroblade clutched in my hands, I was swimming in familiar waters. I let the blade sweep the empty air a couple of times to perfect the balance and to ready my muscles for the upcoming.

Excited cries emanating from the audience were a thick barricade of noise surrounding my persona and the opening, a square of twenty-five to twenty-five meters carved into duracrete I was standing in. For them, it was an arena of sweat and pain, of excitement and battle. For myself, it was a location of dull necessity. And let's spice that with some sheer idiocy.

I work my ass off to keep myself hidden… And then I force myself in the middle of a kriffin' crowd which cries out my name.

Yes – someone actually might call that stupid.

But, for the moment that acknowledgment actually was not at the center of my focus. Because on the other side of the arena was another man. A grey-haired older veteran of the Mandalorian Wars; a wide-shouldered man tempered by metal and blood. The slender, blunted durasteel blade also danced in his hands with grace… Grace bought only by experience.

A planned battle always follows a specific flow of patterns. It begins with a moment of evaluation – a moment of rooting out the potential weaknesses of the opponent. Until one takes the first step. Until one plunges a blade to the first hit or pulls the trigger to unleash the first bolt.

Usually, it is the impatient one.

This time it took only a half of a heartbeat for the man to react. He closed the distance between us aggressively, a growl leaving his lips, pushing his blade towards my torso. The attack was just slightly overly hungry, I noted with calculative, automated thoughts. The blade painted a subtly too wide arc…

No. I had a part to play.

Adrenaline flooding my system I responded with a fierce defensive swing, turning his blade away from its intended vector and redirecting the gained momentum to shatter his balance. As I suspected, he responded by taking a quick step back; stealing his blade from the bite of mine and lunging it into a new series of quick blows. Our blades met with a series of clanks when metal clashed into metal.

I could feel him watching and judging me - the information provided by his eyes processed by his brains. As I was judging him. He was waiting for the first opening. The first error.

As was I.

Increasing the belligerence of parrying blows, I was working to turn the direction of the battle. The sudden surge of speed packed into the final upwards pointed strike destroyed his rhythm and gave me just enough opening to unleash a series of attacks.

After all, the crowd had to be given something.

In its most beautiful form, a duel is a carefully built and planned rhythm composed by the Death. When battling in close quarters – man against man – it is always about the anticipation. It is about reading the opponent; letting his intents be revealed by small, involuntary hints voiced out by his body language. No man walks this galaxy who does not have a weakness, a flaw in their combat form. The defect just needs to be hunted down… And when that happens, it is the moment of setting the trap.

…And letting him spring it before he even notices stepping into it.

My final attack was directed towards his shoulder, and he sidestepped it just barely. The golden-shaded blade took a horizontal turn and glanced off my quick parry. I did not miss the routine imprinted into his actions. He was good, I had to admit. But forcing him to give one step of the ground, there was enough space for me to take the next offensive.

The barricade of noise had long exploded into a bloodthirsty cacophony. Evolved from the form of a river to a full ocean.

I charged with ferocious blows, aiming for his throat with aggressive series of slashes. A brutal, insolent attack - an attack of a fighter thirsting for victory.

And it was the mistake I made.

The hole left in my defense was an obvious target, and my experienced opponent utilized it with infallible certainty. I managed to grit my teeth and tense the muscles of my abdomen just a half a second before the blunted blade impacted my left side. Air escaped my lungs, and I staggered, fighting to keep my balance. Another blow, which followed a blink of an eye later, destroyed everything I took for stability.

Suddenly the horizon found an entirely new location, as the ground was a solid wall behind my back. I could feel the hilt of the blade quietly slipping from my loosened grip when the blunt, metallic blade found its home on my throat, forcefully closing all airways. I shuddered when the impact at my neck launched a series of coughs, which could not find their way out.

Just… slightly… more weight… and…

"The Stranger is down! Young hunger is beaten by experience – Marl is the victor!"

I could make out the announcer and the thundering audience only barely. Mercifully, the pressure on my neck was gone. My ears were ringing, and I gasped air compulsively, pulling long breaths to fill up my lungs again. A strong arm and an open palm appeared to my field of vision. I took the offered hand and found myself yet again in an upright position when Marl pulled me back on my feet.

"You were a good opponent, Stranger, " Marl voiced out. The tall, muscular dueling veteran did not try to hide the grin cracking his rugged features. I could detect the relief in his posture. Had even Marl seen the possibility of not walking out of this fight as a winner?

I, on the other hand, felt like breaking a couple of necks. What a waste, I thought cynically. But the price had to be paid, and although I was not precisely overjoyed and radiating proudness, the job was done. I had completed what I came to do.

"You've got some potential there, lad. Practice a couple of years… and who knows? You might even be collecting all the cash then."

The grey-haired man directed me an approving short nod, still letting the wide grin dominate his features.

"I think I'm done with this activity," I answered truthfully, my voice still partially broken due to the tentacles of irritation crawling inside my throat.

I shook his hand firmly, letting my demeanor to congratulate him instead of words. My acting skills had their limits, and due to the dark storm gathering inside my mind, they were closing in. The adrenaline was leaving my body, and incipient spikes of pain were jolting from my chest – a clear protest from my ribs concerning the role in the act as the primary target for Marl's blade that I had imposed for them.

Nothing seemed to be broken, and as far I was concerned I could live with a few bruises. Rarely anything was free. This time I had conducted the payment with my skin. I did not care. It was the price I had been willing to pay.

"I am disappointed in you, Stranger. I would have thought that with those skills you showed when battling Ice, you would have beaten Marl with ease. But you had to go and mess up instead of doing what you were supposed to do," Ajuur wheezed in Huttese when we were standing in front of the duel master. Although Huttese was a useless language for evincing anything subtler than rage or amusement, the message was clear nonetheless. The Hutt did not wish to see me in the cantina again.

"I even put down a few credits on you, Stranger. And I lost my money."

The pseudonym had been Ajuur's idea. In the Hutt's mind, it gave out an appearance of someone mysterious – a man with some dark secret shadowing his past. I had found the unintended irony amusing.

"My apologies," I answered dryly, completely lacking the urge of putting any actual meaning behind my words, but hiding the coldness which was creeping into my voice. No need to make the Hutt an enemy - although the species itself had the tendency of nauseating me and I would have not shed a tear had they disappeared from the galaxy. A planet full of Sith functioned well to fulfill the purpose of making my days somewhat interesting, I thought dryly.

"Now, go. And be pleased that I am not sending my dogs after you."

I obliged, empty handed and the peak my thoughts already directed to the location of my companions. If Carth had succeeded, it was finally the time to wash the dust of the Upper City from our clothes and move deeper into the rotten heart of Taris.

It was the time when things were supposed to start getting hectic.

Against the wishes whispered by my somewhat battered body, I spent an hour or two traversing meaninglessly around the Upper City. It was a necessary precaution, taken to get rid of possible pests shadowing my back. One learns quite quickly not to trust a Hutt. Very often too late.

But in addition, I had my personal reasons.

The constant, twisted feeling of a déjà-vu nagging at the back of my skull had finally manifested into something I could decipher. Somewhere in the background, somewhere behind those tall buildings was… Had been…

…War. A barrage of fierce explosions lights the skyline. We are advancing.

I walk. With hasted steps.

The young girl is in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder. Silent and asleep, her large, catlike eyes are peacefully closed. She is light as a feather, weights very much too little for her years. I know that the rags that cover her far too thin, emaciated body also hide the bruises on her skin. Signs of violence. Handprints of a cruel, despicable master.

To me, she is no slave. To me, she is the last of her kind. A faint breath of hope long lost.

A sensation of pain jolts from my shoulder, from the bolt wound dug within my flesh hours back. For me, the pain is nothing – the injury is just another inconsiderable addition to my personal collection of its kind. One hundred battles and an equivalent amount of poorly slept nights burn within my muscles.

I do not care. A man's pain is insignificant.

I reach my object and come to a halt. The girl does not awaken when I gently give her to the woman's arms. She takes her.

Blood blemishing the red vambraces covering my arms is drying. Turning dark.

"She needs something to eat and drink. Ensure that she is transported to safety," I say.

My voice does not give out any emotion. It is flat and toneless, my helmet modulating its sound and efficiently functioning as a wall hiding the truth. In reality, the death of an entire species is a weight on my shoulders. My voice is thick with sorrow.

I remember so very well why I am fighting…

The memory was so powerful that I had to stop. Seize my steps. My throat was as dry as a piece of cardboard forgotten to the desert of Tatooine, and my heart was voluntarily trying to bang its way out of my ribcage.

This was wrong.

Hell – something was so kriffin' wrong that I would soon have to come up with a new definition for wrongness. Because galactic basic sure did not give it enough credit.

The rest of the memories sitting inside my head were telling a different story. Battles of Taris had never been a part of my journey. Neither of them. As a matter of fact, I had been very motivated and even resourceful to keep my ass exactly on the opposite side of the galaxy.

Within my memories, there was no place for a woman in Republic uniform. Nor did there exist a small alien girl. A Cathar.

Either I had been showing a very outstanding talent for exhibiting bilocation or something within my own mind was terribly amiss. And the odds were that the latter of the two was correct.

I did not benefit from denying it any further.

Bastila Shan had to stand at the root of it all.

When finally entering the small, run-down apartment which our unintentionally formed little Republic task force used as the base of operations, the barrel of a rifle sighting towards my face was both a threatening and welcoming scene. Recognizing me, Carth Onasi lowered his rifle.

"Are you okay?" the Commander asked immediately.

"A couple of bruises… Nothing to slow me down," I answered mildly, not carrying the intention of discussing the issue further. The goatee-bearded man gave me a short nod, understanding.

"The duel – it was well lost. You made it look like… completely unplanned," Onasi continued steadily, his dark eyes measuring me with a keen, steady gaze. The unasked question was hanging in the air.

"Did you get the credits?" I asked roughly, more interested in the essential than providing any further explanation or proof for the Commander.

I never planned to be hailed a hero. Nor did I intend to open up and cut to pieces a defeat worth of a thousand credits. Or to explain to Onasi that after following a few duels for a couple of nights… After reading the opponents, tracking their potential flaws and weaknesses… And carefully crafting personified strategies for each and every one of them inside my mind… I had carried certain confidence in being able to gain control over the dueling ring.

And play my cards just as I liked.

"Everything went as we planned… An insane idea, Daraz, but you were correct about the odds. Before the last fight started, you had the vast majority of the brokers taking your victory as a sheer certainty."

Somewhere around that point, some serious money had started running. Always betting for the highest gain, Carth had placed everything we had gathered…on Marl.

In this sense, human minds are alike. New heroes are always loved. And the ones who are beaten…they will quickly vanish to the grey mass of anonymity.

"And the Jedi?" I asked while removing the straps keeping my armor intact.

I fought the urge to grit my teeth when the pain that had loomed quietly in the background exploded into sharp, stinging jolts of reality. Nevertheless, I did not intend to complain. My ribs were still intact as far as I could tell. And the fresh, emerging bruises were nothing but nuisances.

Pain is a known indicator - a factor I can define. Restrictions set by injuries can be taken into account even when planning next movements amidst the heat of a battle.

But it did not mean I did not share mutual feelings with a kath hound experiencing a face-to-face collision with a speeder.

"Already on her way to collect the IDs," Onasi replied.

I shrugged nonchalantly. It had been no surprise the Jedi had been against the plan. But for her to easily take and use the money we had gathered by utilizing means she had called a fraud… Something she had very clearly and loudly washed her hands of. Because it had not been the Jedi way. To me, it was…

Bloody hypocrisy.

There was no point in denying the Jedi had been useful. After all, her knowledge of Taris had quickly led us to those shady corners of the Upper City where we had been able to locate an ID forger. And by using the Sith identification papers which I had…acquired from Sarna as a baseline, gaining a couple of unofficial ranks in the Sith military hierarchy had only been a question of cash.

"Better if we are not seen together in the Upper City unless absolutely necessary," I told Carth. "I have a feeling we start to face some extra scuffle if a certain Hutt gets a chance to link a couple of faces together."

"Couldn't agree more. We'll move to the Lower City as soon as Sandra returns."

But now. A shower. Perhaps I even had the opportunity of closing my eyelids for an hour or two - a tempting thought to take into consideration. After ridding myself of the armor and the weaponry strapped to my belt, I quickly found myself inside the refresher of the apartment. Running water was a rare luxury – especially inside a hole like this. Nevertheless, I was not going to complain.

Hell – it had been a couple of long days. In this case, the measurement of length had been subjective. The feeling of proceeding nowhere and the resulting frustration had caused me to fantasize about a one-man assault to the elevator and beyond more than once. But patience often pays more.

Another step closer to the Lower City. It meant another step closer to Bastila Shan.

The Sith woman, the Junior Officer called Sarna had been the means for gaining the first victory related to traversing between sub-cities of Taris. She had been a refreshing, shining oasis in the middle of this dull planet. I could honestly say that I had genuinely enjoyed her company. The night we spent together, conversing about things beyond the war. Sharing a kiss or two, later many more. Blissfully forgetting for a short moment comprising of a few hours, which had felt like minutes.

It was a pity that ultimately I was there to use her. It was a pity I had to go through her belongings while she soundly slept her alcohol-clouded dreams. And then to quietly exit the apartment and disappear. It was a pity that in the end, she was just a mere tool helping me to gain a copy of Sith access papers for a forger.

The reality existed somewhere else than in a young woman's arms, far away from the softness of her embrace.

The reality is much less rewarding, I grimaced mentally.

The shower had eased the ache in my bones. Submerged deeply in thoughts, I stepped out of the 'fresher using my shirt as a makeshift towel.

"I see you've gained your share of the war," Onasi stated.

It took me a second or two to put things together. After all, my body had contained the scars for such long time that they had blended into what I defined as my physical essence. I rarely gave them the smallest thought. Although not exactly appealing to the eye, they did not slow me down, and thus I was not interested. Simple as that.

Two were the deepest. One divided my left pectoral by the length of a half a hand. The other followed my left side; thicker, uglier, nastier. It crossed three ribs almost vertically. The rest - mere shades compared to these. All reminiscent of the fact that a kolto tank had not always been at hand.

And I understood. He demanded an explanation.

"I haven't had much of the pleasure," I replied, not hiding the sarcasm. "But I would prefer to say that battle is a more familiar environment to me than war. One does not need to dodge Sith blaster bolts poorly to gain a couple of bloody reminders to the flesh. I have always been open about my past. As you are aware, it has not been pretty."

It was not enough. The slight rise of an eyebrow followed by silence told me that the Commander needed more. Likely something with a substance. Onasi was still suspicious.

I shrugged. I had nothing to lose here.

"A trophy from Nar Shaddaa – some minor negotiations related to details regarding ownership of a ship," I continued, patting the scar crossing my pectoral.

"Lost that argument," I clarified, letting a joyless grin spread across my lips.

"Sorry to hear," Carth responded mildly. Probably more due to a habit than actually having any meaning behind the words. He was slightly unconformable, I could see from his demeanor. I was starting to enjoy the situation.

"And this one…" I started, moving my hand to the scar on my left side. And bumped into a wall of emptiness when the memory I had sensed… just vanished from my grasp.

Bloody Hell!

The scar was so kriffin' long that gaining it must've hurt like Hell. So without question, the memory had to be in my mind. It just had to be there. I would not allow any other way. A wave of rage swept through my veins when I fiercely dug into my memories, and…

And.

There was something.

It was like the faintest shadow made out of glass. So fragile that even a breath would shatter it into a thousand pieces. And I reached towards this faint imprint of a memory ceased to exist.

…Dxun…

A clear recollection of a dark, nightly jungle opened before my eyes. Skyscraping trees. Hundreds of them. Stars barely visible in the holes left amidst treetops. And the scent of…

…

…The smell of death is thick in the air. Rotting vegetation and corpses drained from their lifeblood. And the smoke… The acrid stench blends to the moist, warm air.

An explosion. Nearby. The tail of the shockwave follows the deafening sound.

And I sense my hunters. At least five… around me, hidden, invisible. I am surrounded. So I wait. Patiently. Let them close in…

…Tighten my grip on the hilt of my blade...

"Bring it on." No sound made – I only shape the words with my mouth. I grit my teeth together, mentally readying myself for the upcoming.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

One of them is behind me. A snap-hiss and a flash of bright blue. He falls silently to the ground, his corpse yet again visible and neatly slit by my weapon.

Friggin devils.

And they storm the ground around me. Stealth fields give in to the movement and fade away – computer-enhanced visual is clear, but they burn even brighter within my senses. I dance, let my blade follow the unleashed series of wild blows and parries. One falls, wheezing out a gurgle. Then another one…

There are five… Six. No - a wave. A sea.

This… not… enough.

I will. Not.

Submit.

Something bites my side. Adrenaline is flooding my system – the pain is only a red spike somewhere deep within my consciousness. But I stagger; the sheer force of the blow destroys my balance.

The night sky, lit by a barrage of explosions somewhere miles away. It is the final sight before the darkness…

…

Shocked to the bones, I blinked and the image was gone as quickly as it had manifested itself. But the short glimpse of another world and another war had left me both speechless and turned my mind to a playground of wildly galloping thoughts.

What the Hell?

I have never stepped on Dxun, let alone fought there. Never.

And in my hands… In my hands was a lightsaber. Blue. A Jedi weapon. A kriffin' Jedi weapon.

But it did make sense, in a twisted way. Somehow. I did recall the lightsaber I had briefly lifted aboard the Spire. I did remember the strange feeling of familiarity while letting my fingers sweep the metallic surface of the cylinder.

What in the bloody Hell has happened to me?

And when I had handled the Dark Jedi's weapon, the look on Sandra's face had been close to venomous.

Did… Does Sandra have a part in this?

My thoughts came to an abrupt halt when I noted the darkened look on Onasi's face. For a moment I had trailed off, forgotten entirely what I had been doing in the first place. And now… I did not carry the slightest urge of taking the discussion any further.

"…It is not significant," I muttered and pulled the shirt to cover my upper body. My mood had just dropped to a subzero temperature. The deeper I dug into this mess, the uglier its intestines were.

However, Onasi did not plan to drop the subject.

"Daraz… Listen to me. This is an order," he stated.

"Of course I have read your file. I am bloody aware what they say about you and your skills. They are very clear about that. I was supposed to get a scout. That's why something does not add up here, soldier."

The Commander rose up to his full height, although yet standing slightly shorter than I. He shook his head.

"You are a friggin one man army. I saw the way you handled things aboard the Spire. Not to mention that little game you played at the cantina. And as far as your file is concerned, you don't have the skills."

I wanted to laugh bitterly. Kriffin' file.

"Maybe I should take a look it at some point, Commander," I answered coldly, not wanting to try to explain something I could not explain even to myself in the first place. "It seems to raise a Hell of a lot of questions."

"I do not know what to think of you, Daraz," he muttered, eyes sharp.

"Then don't," I stated, fighting to keep my voice steady and not to give in to the impulsion of stepping outside of the boundaries of my now faltering self-control.

The air had condensed into almost tangible tenseness; a spring willing to unleash embedded forces.

But the sharpest edge of the situation was lost when I felt a part of my consciousness slipping to a new direction. My eyes drifted towards the door when the sensation fully realized itself into my mind.

Sandra, I thought. She is coming.

The incipient feeling evolved into full-fledged reality when a series of knocks were heard at the door of the apartment. The signal we had previously agreed upon. The Commander did not hesitate and directed his rifle towards the doorway. A necessary precaution put in place.

The red-haired Jedi stepped inside the apartment with soft, silent steps. Seemingly nonchalant about the threatening welcome committee, Sandra did not share a glance towards Onasi's rifle. Instead, she directed her steps towards the lone table located on the opposite side of the apartment and placed ID cards on the table.

"It's done," she said. "We have the documents."

"Carth, I want you to sell the weapons Daraz managed to acquire," she continued. "We need to pay good Zelka for his efforts."

I shook my head, silently disagreeing. Zelka had been a valuable ally, had to agree on that. But to waste precious resources at this point of the effort… Kriffin' did not make much sense.

"Fine," Onasi replied. The older soldier gathered the weapons to a bag, shouldered his rifle and stepped quickly into the darkening night of Taris.

Maybe now. A moment of rest, I thought longingly, but soon noted the wish to be in vain.

Green eyes were directed straight towards me, and I understood the Jedi's train of thought. I cursed mentally.

"Daraz, I need to discuss with you," she said. No place for arguments here.

Alright, Jedi. Let us play.

Jedi Knight Sandra Aravena watched the tall man standing in front of her, waiting for his reaction. Wearing only black, a tall and muscular frame shouting of both strength and agility – yes, Ensign Eldran Daraz could be a threatening sight if he wanted to. Sandra was also equally aware that the man did have the talent for being incredibly charming. He had a sarcastic sense of humor and had the confidence for being overtly flirtatious. And over the course of past months, the figure of this man and the complexity of his personality had become all too familiar for her.

Two minutes back Sandra had voiced out her proposal and was yet expecting an answer from the man.

"No. Absolutely not," Daraz finally stated. The expression on his face was blank, not giving out any emotions. But if he had tried to hide the freezing ice behind his tone, he did not do very well.

The reaction was not a surprise for Sandra. After all, she was well aware that the man had the tendency of being stubborn as a rookag. A pack of rookags.

"You must understand, Daraz. There is no other option," she tried again, keeping her voice firm.

"You are sensitive to the Force – I am certain of it! On Dantooine, we can guide you, teach you how to control it. So that you will not be a danger to yourself or everything around you."

The man's posture was tense. It reminded Sandra of a threatened, caged beast willing to strike immediately when tempted. And she could easily sense the boiling rage building within him but did not fully understand why he had reacted so harshly.

"Thank you very much, Jedi, but I have already received my share of your fine hospitality," he said, sarcasm thickening the air.

"Anger leads to the Dark Side," Sandra warned.

"If I have survived with perfectly normal human emotions till now, I think I will do well enough in the future," Daraz hit back, not yielding the slightest.

"Not now when your potential has awakened," the Jedi explained. "The Dark Side of the Force has been able to lure strong men. Intelligent men. Courageous men. Men whose level of control over the Force has been a result of practice, which has lasted their entire lifetimes."

"It is my choice, Jedi," his voice slashed like a whip.

"The Force definitely is not a choice, Daraz."

"Whether I submit to your teachings most certainly is," he argued, anger flaring behind his eyes. "If you are concerned about danger… I can assure you that I've been able to exhibit a little bit of danger even before allegedly being tied to this Force of yours."

Sandra shrugged the grim implication off, determined not to let the soldier's poor attitude impact her mental state.

"I need to stress the importance of this, Daraz. Do not let your stubbornness be the end of you. Please, come to Dantooine with me."

"Aren't you going ahead? First, we need to get off this kriffin' piece of rock," Daraz remarked dryly.

"So… You will consider?" she asked hopefully.

The dark-haired man turned around, shaking his head from side to side, openly frustrated.

"This is a waste of my time. I have already stated my point. I do not intend to repeat it."

He proceeded away from her, openly signaling that the discussion was over.

And Sandra knew that she had lost this round. Maybe not the entire battle, but at least for now the man seemed to be out of her reach. Stubborn and ignorant. Not listening even to the tiniest bit of advice.

Unless… A thought formed in her mind.

"Tell me about your nightmares, Daraz," Sandra said calmly, directing her words to the black-clad soldier's back.

The man came to a sudden halt, and he turned around so quickly that Sandra instinctively almost took a step back. So there it was. A crack eating the walls of stone the man was so determined to keep up.

"You have nightmares, don't you?" Sandra continued. "Inexplicable dreams. You do not know where they originate from, or why you are seeing them. Every time you close your eyes, those dreams follow you. You scream emotions to the Force: rage, pain, sorrow, bitterness."

You bombard me with them, soldier.

"How… What do you know about my dreams?" Daraz asked, voice cracking, almost whispering. It was easy to sense the shroud of venomous suspicion and utter disgust surrounding the man. And she did not need to have Jedi skills in order to take notice of the sheer confusion dominating on the man's even features.

Sandra had to remind herself that although intelligent, Daraz did not have the knowledge of a Jedi over the multitude of ways the Force worked.

He thinks I am the enemy. That I have forcefully dug into something that belongs only to him. That I have spied on him.

"I sense them, Daraz. Without trying. I felt them every night aboard the Endar Spire. Even here - even when my thoughts were clouded by anesthetics. The Force is speaking to you, trying to tell you something, and you must listen."

"And the message may be?" he asked, still not entirely convinced. However, the flames of rage, which had previously engulfed the man's aura, were diminishing.

"I do not know. Tell me what you see," Sandra calmly encouraged him.

His eyes were two piercing, black stones. But he decided to answer.

"I see a woman," the soldier said.

"Do you know who she is?" she asked.

For a short while, he stood silent.

"I do not know her," he finally stated.

Roughly, the man was telling the truth. But there was also a lie hidden somewhere deep within this truth – she was sure of it. Sandra decided not to push any further. Likely it was not worth it. At least not for now. She had to be careful not to lose the progress she was making – she was already walking a tightrope here.

"Let me help you," she pleaded.

The man's eyes had narrowed.

"The Dark Jedi… Can they sense... it? Are they aware of our presence?" he asked, giving out an impression of genuine concern.

"I am not entirely sure… although it is not likely. We have been spending a lot of time together. It is not totally unheard of two Force-sensitive people becoming increasingly responsive to each other's auras in a situation like this," she explained, hoping that the answer would ease the man's mind.

And Daraz did not have the skills for shielding his emotions with the Force. For an untrained individual, he usually was surprisingly hard to read. But when emanating all these spikes of extreme emotions, he was nothing less than an open book for Sandra to read.

Daraz shrugged, appearing to be indifferent of hearing more.

"Alright, Jedi. I hope you are right. I intend to rest now. Probably you should do the same."

And then he was gone, making his way towards the bed located on the other side of the apartment. The Jedi wanted to heave out a long breath of frustration. It seemed that she was facing a mountain of obstacles to conquer.

But the Council had been very clear and very strict when issuing her those orders two weeks back. And over the course of the last couple of days, she had started to fully understand why.

Daraz would return. Whether he decided to or not.

Chapter Text

The air was thicker and damper.

Rotten place, I thought when eyeing the Lower City of Taris for the first time. Possibly.

A kriffin' bomb to explode…

To me, the Upper and Middle cities of Taris had always seemed to serve the purpose of a planet-wide carpet - under which all the trash could effortlessly be hidden. That left the Lower City and Undercity as those figurative piles of scrap and rubbish… Which in this case was a somewhat representative mental image.

Because no adjective synonym to the word 'beautiful' nor any of its close or even distant relatives could be linked to these darkish, poorly lit hallways; the majority still bearing the scars of Mandalorian Wars on their unwashed surfaces. Or the massive concrete and durasteel structures, which carried the weight of city plates above our heads that efficiently cut a majority of the daylight out. And characteristic stenches of acid speeder exhaust fumes and smoke, the latter resultant to huge numbers of blaster bolts exchanged between trigger-happy gun handlers.

It was a bomb and in no terms because of the number of explosives present, but rather due to the disorder and internal struggles going on virtually unseen from the nonchalant eyes watching from the upper city layers. Eventually, Taris would collapse, I mused, and it would be because of the rot building within it and inevitably eating its way outwards.

But, looking from the positive side: the word on the streets was that, except for lone groups of guards at elevator entrances or sparse patrols, the presence of Sith was less oppressive on these levels below the Upper City. Silver armored troopers were focused on securing known means of transportation between city layers and blocking all movement off the planet. Very likely the number of troops accompanying Darth Malak had not been enough for full planet-wide coverage. They had to point their efforts to optimize efficiency.

Which meant they had blind spots in their vision.

The present positioning of troops left large portions of the two lower cities an environment of Sith-free air. Nice to breathe that for a change. Other than that the lack of Sith was not an actual improvement compared to the previous situation. Likely it made it worse.

Sandra had believed that the fierce gang war once waging inside the concrete and steel-made internals of Taris had quieted down. Diminished due to the presence of conquerors.

And she had been so very wrong.

It was worse than ever.

A kriffin' bomb to explode, I had thought, and I had meant it.

"Better watch out," Carth noted quietly. The bearded Commander was lowering his rifle to the ready.

We had spotted the same event unfolding before our eyes. Its exact location was no further than the first intersection after the elevator shaft. Its timing was only approximately two minutes since elevator doors had slid closed behind our backs. And I needed no Jedi senses to mentally stamp the word 'volatile' with thick, red letters everywhere. A somewhat functional common sense was well enough.

With no possibility to back away and retrace our steps, we were forced to stand as witnesses to a collision of two separate groups. Both of which consisted of a selection of humanoids of different races: humans, Twi'lek, and even reptilian-like Niktos. And all of them were equally tense, filled with rage easily noticeable from their exaggerated and ferocious gestures, and sending insults of hate back and forth.

"Beks are nothing but bantha fodder. The Vulkars are strongest!" a Nikto male clad in black and red shouted in its native language.

And the smaller group was apparently planning to end up dead, I thought dryly.

After all, the numbers were five to three and most obviously not to their advantage. I calmly watched the tension to explode into a battle; swords were being drawn out and blasters raised.

Bloody idiotic.

Idiotic actions usually yield idiotic results. No reason to expect more. If the group of three Beks had been nominated to contest for a diploma in foolhardiness, they likely would have won it. But in the end, this did not carry any weight. The Vulkars took them down one by one. Not fighting with grace and skill but by blunt force and unsuppressed vile aggression. It was enough in this case. The end result was three fresh Bek corpses grimly decorating the hallway.

The Vulkars were not trained soldiers, not by any means. The way they handled their blades was a roughly drafted disgrace of any known form, I had analyzed. As elegant, like a group of Rancors attempting to dance the Alderaanian waltz.

It did not mean they were to be taken lightly. Instinctively, my hand had dropped to the blaster pistol hanging from my belt. My fingers had bent around the familiarly textured grip.

Damn.

The intuition of incipient danger had hit me half a second before it evolved into reality. Sandra's hands were carefully looking for a place on the hilt of the vibroblade she was carrying, I observed automatically, the peak of my concentration directed towards the Vulkars. The Jedi had not one but two lightsabers in her supply bag, but due to the likelihood of surveillance present, she was forced to use more conventional weaponry.

"More Beks!" a green-skinned Twi'lek shouted.

I did not need to think twice to understand whom he had meant. None of us did.

And suddenly the direction of the battle had shifted. Changed. All five of them attacked.

…We did not hesitate.

The first one of them, the Nikto, was felled by an accurate series of bolts spat by Carth's rifle. The second collapsed in the middle of his charge due to two rapid shots to the chest and one to the head I had fired. Sandra had already moved swiftly and was facing the remainder of the group in hand-to-hand combat. The Jedi was springing her vibrosword into action, commanding the golden-shaded blade to dance in her hands with complex Jedi-like moves.

I did not have time. Otherwise, I would have grimaced in agony. I made a quick mental note of discussing some of the fundamental differences between a metal blade and a blade crafted from pure energy with the red-haired Jedi when an opportunity showed up and jumped into the battle.

Deciding that Sandra needed support and not wanting to risk accidentally hitting her with a blaster bolt, I holstered my pistol in favor of the vibroblade. Quickly jumping over the dead Vulkar on the way, I closed the remaining distance… Dodged an attacking Nikto's blade and swung mine towards the empty space left amidst his defense. The blade penetrated his armor neatly in his abdomen, and he bent over, grunting in pain. A lone shot rang in the hallway when Carth ended his agony.

My focus was already on the two Vulkars left, yet battling the Jedi with their vibroswords. But noting all of their companions fall within seconds, sheer desperation was creeping into their movements. Fear. Panic. The other one of them, the Twi'lek, decided to break the faltering formation and run.

…Pathetic…

I did not pursue him.

Instead, I lifted the blaster pistol yet again and aimed calmly. Let the sights line patiently up with the target. And steadily pulled the trigger.

…The pistol spat once...

The Twi'lek fell down with a loud wail when the bolt penetrated his knee and destroyed his kneecap. On my right side, Sandra's blade was a fierce golden flash, slicing the last remaining Vulkar shorter by a head.

We were done.

Almost.

I strode to the grunting Twi'lek, who was now lying on the hallway floor. The Vulkar was desperately reaching for a blaster lying merely a meter away. The weapon had slipped from his grip during his unintended fall. I decided to make things easier for him and kicked the weapon far out of his reach…right before pushing him to his back and burying the barrel of mine to his left temple.

Slightly rash and unplanned, yes. A split-second decision made in the middle of pulling the trigger. But we needed the information. And I preferred the straightforward way.

"Keep your hands at sight," I ordered him. Sharply. "Obey, and this will be over quickly."

I could see his face twisting in pain, hatred, and fury, green head-tails twitching as a reflection of these emotions. The words he half spoke half spat out did not hide the disgust.

"Brejik will skin you, Bek scum!"

I pushed the barrel deeper into his skin to make my point.

"The name of your leader does not carry any weight, Vulkar. Do not waste my time. Information, on the other hand, may help you," I stated steadily, not carrying the interest or the time for lengthy persuasion.

"I recommend listening to him… He's the one carrying the gun, not you," Carth encouraged in a calmer manner. The older soldier had walked to my left side. The red-haired Jedi was at my right, remaining silent and yet holding her sword at the ready with two hands. Likely she was utilizing her Jedi senses to grab a warning in advance if a group of Vulkars was about to step around the corner.

"We are in search of a human, a young woman…" I managed to start.

"Nothing for you, Bek!" the Vulkar snapped in Twi'lek, cutting my speech.

Damn.

I could have given him credit for having the balls to resist while my gun was at point-blank range from his head. But it was a friggin wrong answer. And I had to get this over with before we lost the rare luxury of privacy and the hallway was filled with a ton of Vulkars and other Lower City scum.

Deep down the man was a coward – I had seen that before. Most of all he wanted to survive. I intended to dig those instincts out from him and put them to use.

…It was a quick motion of my wrist when I redirected the pistol's barrel and unhesitatingly pulled the trigger. A portion of the concrete floor size of a fist exploded right next to the Twi'lek's head – sending dust and small pieces of stone everywhere, mostly on the side of his face. Unintentional or not, the man screamed.

"Fool!" I growled and buried the barrel of the gun to his cheek. "We have no part in this bloody war of yours! And you are friggin starting to run out of time…"

That finally swung him over the edge. The change in his overall demeanor was almost tangible. The thin shell of courage he had used to cover the fear pulsating all over his internals was falling apart.

…I could almost feel it.

"Please, sir," he pleaded voice breaking. "D-don't…"

"Answer or die," I stated, not letting the steel of no-nonsense slip from my voice. "We are in search of a Republic officer called Bastila Shan. I want to hear everything you know about her whereabouts. Everything."

Sandra heaved in a short, heavy breath. I wanted to toss her a furious glance to tell her to keep her mouth shut for the Force's sake, but was too occupied with the Vulkar. Luckily she seemed to figure that out by herself. The Jedi remained silent.

"Now," I commanded.

The man's eyes were bulging out from his head. His mouth was opening and closing in turns, and I could not avoid an image of a fish picturing itself into my mind. A kriffin' fish tossed on dry land and desperately trying to catch a breath. Not a flattering sight by any means. But the strands of information bouncing inside his head were forming into understanding, I could see. Into answers.

"The Republic… I heard Brejik's got a new catch," the Twi'lek uttered hastily. "A human woman. A Republic officer, just like you say…"

"Bull's eye," Carth muttered quietly.

"And where she is?" I pressed. Half commanding, half growling.

This was it, now. We were getting closer. I was getting closer.

"I do not know," he exclaimed fear spreading into his eyes. "I swear by the Force that I don't know. Brejik keeps moving her… Does not want her to be spoilt."

Spoilt? I contemplated. And then it hit me. There were few things, which disgusted me to the core, but this definitely was one of them. I pictured Bastila Shan surrounded by a dozen of Vulkars and wanted to put a blaster bolt through this one's brain.

But what to expect? The Jedi clearly was incapacitated one way or another – or otherwise, she would have walked free. Likely not even a base full of Vulkars and two dozen durasteel doors could hold her in unless she wished so or was unable to act. There were a multitude of ways pieces of shab like the Vulkars could find a Jedi valuable.

"Why is Brejik so damn interested in her wellbeing?" I snapped. Sour disgust had crept into my voice, and the man noticed it. He was pulling short, desperate breaths and seemed to be motivated enough to be… chatty.

"She is worth a lot of credits. A Republic officer and a J-Jedi, so they say. Brejik intends to put her up as a prize for the swoop race," he blabbered.

"Where and when?" I asked.

And he explained. Blurted it all out with hasty, unplanned words. Clearly enough for me to understand that this was all we were about to get from him. That I was done.

"I sense that there are no lies behind his words," Sandra whispered. "The gangs do contend with swoop bikes. It carries great weight. Whoever controls the racetrack basically also controls the Lower City. And… knowing everything Bastila represents… She is an outstanding prize. For these gangs, presenting something of her stature as a prize is a true proof of power."

Good enough. We had a target, a location and a deadline to reach. Two days of time to investigate, plan and execute. Likely there was a Hell of a lot to do, but Bastila Shan was closer than ever. It was all that mattered – I could feel the anxiety building up within my bones. And for now, there was only one thing left.

…I adjusted the line of the dark metal barrel to rid this waste of life of his pathetic existence.

…And felt a slender hand on the wrist of my right hand. The hand holding the weapon. It was a gentle, but very demanding grip.

The Jedi had silently knelt beside me.

"Do not," Sandra told me quietly. "We got everything we wanted. Just let him go."

I knew this tone all too well. No objections. The Jedi would stop me if she had to.

So I shrugged nonchalantly and stood up. Holstered the pistol. Turned around and took the direction towards the hallway we had initially planned, way before the mess, the smoke and the blood. Walked on to hear my companions follow with quiet steps. Almost sensed waves of relief pulsating from the Twi'lek.

Feeling like an idiot.

"Bloody efficient, I have to give you cre-" Carth acknowledged with a hint of a smile lighting his tone –

- The last word being half-swallowed by the lone screak and flash of light spat out by my blaster.

I had jolted around in a sudden fierce spin and let my pistol speak one final word.

…Because there was no way I'd let this pass by.

The Twi'lek's fall to the pavement was a lone thump.

"What the Hell, Daraz?"

The shock and rage were evident spikes in the Commander's voice. He had quickly noticed what had happened. Face darkened and eyes flaring with anger, Onasi lowered his rifle from the instinctively adapted battle stance while shaking his head.

Although somewhat tensed by the recent twist of events, both of my companions seemed to silently agree that this was not the time or location for a conversation. Not exactly unexpected, a few poorly lit blocks of hallways further the Jedi Knight's fingers suddenly tightened around my wrist, and the subsequent pull brought my steps to a halt.

I obliged, to get the thing over with.

"That was totally unnecessary." Sandra's voice was like a chilly breeze.

Green eyes glared at me, demanding an explanation. The Jedi's mouth was a thin line.

"Unnecessary?" I scoffed. "Woman – that man was dead the exact same second he became aware of our mission. I do not share information lightly and not at all when it endangers the task. It's called friggin' common sense we don't let the Vulkars expect us coming."

"You have to get a grip on yourself, soldier," Carth ordered harshly, annoyed. "We've already left too many corpses in our wake."

"One more certainly does not impact anything considering the circumstances," I pointed out dryly, disinterested to continue.

"Just… Just don't surprise me like that in the future," the Commander spat. The older soldier was clearly slightly put off by my actions. Possibly also the lack of respect had bitten him.

But this discussion was a waste of my time. It indeed also was a waste of the Jedi and the Commander's time. They just had not recognized it yet.

"We do not kill unarmed opponents. I do not accept the ways you act, Daraz," the Jedi told me. "The actions you perform. Neither should you."

The tone of the last sentence was softer.

I knew what she was ultimately referring to. Silently behind the words.

…The Force.

The thought sent a disgusted shiver along my spine.

"We are running out of time. You know this as well as I do. You heard what the man said – the Vulkars have her," I reminded her sharply.

The feeling was the same as days before, aboard the Spire, when she asked for two minutes while the ship was blowing apart around us. Like teaching a blind to see.

So I pushed forward.

"I have no intention of contemplating on softer methods of getting to the point while our target is risking of getting her purity spoilt, to put it another way. If we don't make it in time… After the swoop race, she will be gone. Game over. Efficiency is the bloody keyword here."

My voice was slightly tighter than I had intended. More demanding.

"Efficiency," Sandra said, tasting the word. Her eyes were sweeping the distance. The Jedi clearly had noted the bite my tone had held.

"Do not let your drive for efficiency consume you, Daraz," she stated. Her eyes found mine, once again. "Be careful."

I did observe a hint of …something behind the green eyes.

…Concern?

"Let's move on before someone thinks we're interesting," Onasi suggested. He was willing to drop the subject. To let this one pass, for now. It was a sensible proposal and we moved on.

But I had no idea what the Commander was planning for me after this ordeal - if we were to make it out of this planet. It was likely that eventually, I was going to face some sort of disciplinary actions. Possibly even court-marshal. Every officer who was even remotely good at his occupation would do so. And from what I had heard, Onasi was an excellent officer.

In the hierarchy of the Republic Navy, both Onasi and the red-haired Jedi were my superiors. Way above me. They were supposed to order, and I was supposed to oblige. It was starting to become very apparent that I was failing my primary duty somewhat miserably.

And I was willing to do so. Eager even, if I calculated those actions resulting in raising the odds towards getting things done.

Efficiency is the bloody keyword here...

The way I saw it the end result mattered, not the means or the cost. Essentially only two things were of interest, could be considered as weighty objectives. And neither of them was related to my theoretical future career amongst the ranks of the Republic Navy.

The first of them was Bastila Shan.

I felt determined to get to her – there was no way denying the urge and the single-mindedness circulating the thought. To see the real-life counterpart of the tired, dust and sweat-stained but delicate face, which kept haunting my dreams. Her all too familiar steel-grey eyes – those eyes, which had solemnly explored my features while I had drifted between the faintly wavering reality and the darkest abyss.

The padawan was the only person who could offer me a lead…

She was the only one who could tell…

I just had to come up with a solution on how to ask the precisely correct questions without raising suspicions. If there was something light repelling stitched tightly to occurrences circulating my past as I was starting to strongly suspect, carefully planned maneuvers were needed in place when digging through the shroud of deception towards the resolution.

Standing face to face with my past was approximately two days away. I was so damn close to claiming my answers.

…There was no way I'd let this opportunity slip past my fingers.

The second objective was related to means of escaping this Sith-infested planet or moreover the apparent lack of them. Likely my companions were not even going to consider the alternatives that were quite high on my list of options – an assumption I could indeed live with. As far as I was concerned, the ride I was looking for was not going to carry anything with the flavor of the Republic inside its gut.

Yes – desertion was not a plan sanctified by any honor. Quite the opposite in fact. But what I had to lose? The eternal gratitude of the Jedi council?

The choice had been an obvious one. I had no place in this war. Due to what I had been able to uncover so far, I was not going to stand obediently as a friggin pawn in this absurd game of chess I seemed to be a part of.

I had easily pieced together that there was one repeating common factor in all the unsolved equations related to my past. Bastila Shan was a Jedi. Going through what I had been able to identify from the faint bits and pieces of alien memories manifesting into my head, I had a connection to the Jedi. In the past.

Although it disgusted me to the core, the fact that Sandra was so sure about my Force Sensitiveness had made this link a crystal clear one. She believed I instinctively used the Force. Let it fuel my actions. And yes – there was something, yet I could not pinpoint its essence. The feeling itself was not out of place. Instead, it was characterized by moments of utmost clarity. Such as how the adrenaline-fueled intensity of a battle further evolved into the clear target and trajectories formed by nearing dangers…

And there was more…

The kriffin' lightsaber. The weapon had felt like a natural extension of my hands. In the short glimpse I had recovered, the lethal beam of energy had danced under my command with grace. It had followed my instincts without resistance. I knew how to use one – the discernment was embedded so deep in my muscles that it made the trusty vibroblade hanging on my belt seem like a clumsily constructed makeshift.

A lightsaber is no ordinary soldier's weapon, she had said. And it was not. It was a Jedi weapon. Or…

Or.

…Or in my case, the link could be related to their darker equivalents. I could not fully rule it out. Honestly, I did not precisely radiate the peace, serenity and the internal harmony the Jedi were always preaching about. As a matter of fact, I felt that there was equally as much Jedi in me as a krayt dragon could be described as a friggin children's pet. But looking from all other directions than that, this hypothesis made no sense at all. Not the slightest.

The fact that I was still living and breathing worked more or less as excellent contrary evidence.

The Jedi would not let a Sith walk amidst their ranks.

Bloody Hell.

And although I had been able to formulate a few theories and play around with those, the 'what' and most importantly the 'why' were still very much out of my reach. Bastila Shan potentially was a being with access to both of them.

First Bastila. Then, off the planet. In this order.

The first location of actual interest in the Lower City was a dingy looking cantina.

We had entered a livelier part of the city layer - apparent due to the slightly thicker, traversing crowd and the sound of idle, cautious chatter here and there. The small group of ours was left alone, aside from a few curious glances. Openly armed and armored, likely we were giving out an aura of mercenaries or bounty hunters. Both of those were a typical occupation to be seen around locations like this, and both were identically unapproachable for anyone with a functional instinct of self-preservation. That suited us well.

"Let's stop here," I proposed, watching the Rodian bouncer lead in a pair of Twi'leks.

"This is an as good location for information digging as any."

"Javyar's Cantina," Sandra said, reading the sign, which at some point had been brightly lit with multiple bright colors. Now a third of letters had dimmed, and the sign was barely readable, representing the declined state of the Lower City.

"I am still unconvinced of this so-called strategy, but I am willing to see where it takes."

Feeling amused, I smiled.

"It is a bloody war, Sandra. Either pick a side or be prepared to be run over by it," I told her.

"Daraz is right. We need to get inside, somehow," Onasi admitted quietly. "But be discreet."

The final line was a direct command for me, I assumed. To keep blaster bolts inside my pistol and my pistol in its holster. I watched him in silence and decided to nod.

We had agreed on actions during the past dozen or so minutes, after digesting the intel provided by the now-deceased Vulkar.

"The Beks have no love for conquerors – they showed it during the Mandalorian Wars. If they've had no change in leadership, they are loyal to the Republic."

That's what I had told them during our walk. Without having the faintest idea where I'd gathered this information or why I had it in the first place. I was already becoming quite an expert in shrugging off the feeling of being disturbed by the motley crew of inexplicable details present inside my head.

I had little choice. Either I could let it impact my emotional side and cloud my thoughts. Or I could aim to utilize it as much as possible. Plain and simple.

We walked past the doorman and the half a dozen manned pazaak tables located close to the entrance. Despite the early hours and poor internal lighting, the cantina was almost full. It was crowded with numerous different species, less than half of its visitors human. A curious blend of stenches and languages; smoke and spirits, Twi'lek, Huttese, galactic basic. Thoughts dulled by alcohol. It was an excellent location.

And not far in the cantina, I spotted something interesting. Someone interesting.

My attention was fixed to three Rodians and one, small human male. The aliens were undoubtedly Vulkars, gang colors openly and proudly in sight. They were feeling brave, shouting insults and raising fists. I decided to let the events unfold the way they liked and seized my steps to observe.

"Two," the human counted.

Calo Nord. My brains linked a name to the short but sturdy frame and the face half-covered by a pair of goggles and an odd white turban.

"Three," the man stated.

And his pistols coughed out a few rapid flashes of red light. Two shots fired with a skill honed to near perfection. One by one the Vulkars fell to the floor only fractions of a second apart with not much of a chance of raising their weapons. Momentarily everything in the cantina seemed to come to a two-second-long, horrified halt. And each and every single being sensibly forced themselves to continue their actions normally after they had realized what had just happened. Or who.

Pathetic, I thought while eyeing the corpses of the Vulkars on the floor, wanting to shake my head. Friggin stupid. A part of me despised pointless deaths.

"I have no doubt over your skills… But don't intervene. That's Calo Nord," I heard Onasi whisper to the Jedi.

I glanced towards one of the galaxy's most notorious bounty hunters.

Seemingly unmoved, Nord turned to leave the cantina. And I watched. In silence. Let my gaze follow his steps momentarily while wondering what was on his agenda…which sorry being was his target.

The diminutive man, standing two heads shorter than I, walked past of our group, not giving us even a sidelong glance. Although he had the information I needed, I was not imprudent enough of trying to discuss with this particular bounty hunter.

I tend to categorize people into two groups. The ones I can see myself working with. And the rest. Without any doubt, Nord belonged to the latter one.

But he was a hint pointing towards the correct direction.

Nord was in for credits. Nothing else. Big money. Thus he reeked of the Exchange.

On the way to the bar, I had to step over the one remaining dead Vulkar. Two other corpses had already been dragged away by cantina staff, swiftly and silently. Seemed to be the typical day-to-day business in this cantina.

Bloody efficient.

"Poor bastards," I said to the bartender while making myself space by the bar desk. She was a dark-skinned woman with a hint of frustration in her brown eyes.

"What was the fuss about?" I enquired casually while placing a credit chip on the desk and gestured towards the ale tap.

"Don't know," she said while pouring the ale, disinterested. "And don't want to know… Something about unpaid debts I suppose. Would be good enough for me if the Vulkars and Kang's bloodhounds stayed away from this hole."

There was the local businessman's name again. I did not need more proof.

Interesting.

Too bad I could not ask many questions, not like this. Not much more than a couple of carefully disguised inquiries amidst small talk. My face was an unfamiliar one around here. It would raise suspicions all too quickly.

The full pint of foam-headed light brown Tarisian ale was placed in front of me, and the credit chip disappeared into her hand. Seeing the judging look on Onasi's face, I doubled the order.

"And three 'Today's specials'," I added - with the dull feeling that the day was going to get increasingly adventurous.

Whatever that is. Rather 'Today's gamble'.

"I must point out that technically we are working," the Commander said when the two of us sat down around a chosen table at the further side of the room.

"Be discreet, you said," I reminded him calmly and took a sip of the bitter ale. "…Just trying to blend into the crowd."

Onasi snorted a short, muffled laughter. The reaction seemed to be genuine. Disapproving or not, he did take the ale almost gladly.

"So, what's the next step?" the older soldier asked with a curious spark in his eyes.

It was easy to see the absurdness of the question. How out of place it was. Somewhere behind simple words, it was all about me crossing boundaries I was not supposed to.

"Eating," I responded dryly. "Assuming we eventually get the food."

"A grand plan." Onasi nodded in faked approval.

"She's already at it. I saw her discussing with some Twi'lek girl and a Wookiee. An intriguing pair, likely harmless. I don't see a reason for exposing myself since she will be able to get what we need. Discreetly."

I stressed the last word.

Insubordination was biting me back in the form of distrust and I could accept it. It was no coincidence that the Commander was sitting next to me right now. He wanted to see what I was up to. Whether or not I was planning to go overly quick and dirty, I suspected.

"Listen," he said, leaning towards me and lowering his voice. "Don't take it wrong. All the questions I've asked… You get things done. You seem to be bloody serious about our task, and I appreciate it. Some things do not add up, but the reason they brought you in was probably well-grounded…"

The ale in my mouth suddenly tasted like acid, and I had to fight the urge of spitting it all out all over the table.

Onasi paused, noticing the look on my face.

"You did not know?" he more stated to himself than asked, evidently surprised at my reaction. "Hell – it is no war secret that the request for your transfer came from their party. From our missing friend, to be precise."

Bloody Hell.

Bloody, fiery, kriffin' Hell.

My internals had just been dipped to lava and then tossed right back in.

It had slithered like a snake – an innocent-looking but extremely poisonous snake – amidst general discussion. Just like that. No carefully pointed conversational strategies or caution required.

Everything kept coming back to Bastila Shan.

Bastila Shan was the key. The trailing recollection of the dream… The image I had seen. It had been the reality. Not something delusional my tired mind had made up.

Bastila Shan… She was the key. And the game…

The game was still on. It was not a game related to my past, to my lost and gradually, piece-by-piece surfacing glimpses of memories. No. Hell - no. It was active now. And I yet was a part of it.

And the reason they brought you in was probably well-grounded. Shit.

They expected something of me. There was a role I was supposed to play…

"You okay?" the Commander asked and made me realize I'd let more seep through than what I should have.

I cursed at myself for allowing my thoughts to wander in such an uncontrolled manner. For letting emotions take the lead for a short moment.

"Just surprised. I didn't know I was associated with them. I guess they don't think a common grunt like me needs to know all the details," I replied, letting out a faked, tight laugh while hoping that the answer would satiate Onasi's need for one.

"They do have the tendency of not revealing much," the older soldier agreed. He sounded like he had a lot more to say about the subject, but was forced to keep quiet due to the unsuitable environment.

However, there was a hint of silent agreement hanging in the air.

"There were quite a few of them aboard," I experimented.

Onasi chuckled wryly.

"No kidding… They more or less took over…"

The Commander leaned back in his chair when a tired-eyed waitress placed three portions of nondescript looking greyish stew on the table. Feeling the tingle of hunger inside my gut, I went for the food. Onasi eyed it, frowning suspiciously.

"What seems to be common for all cantinas like this is the food. You never know what meat you get… Usually even after tasting."

I grinned at the joke and fought the first mouthful of the stew resembling substance down.

"Perhaps nerf. Perhaps the chef's former neighbor," I admitted. The food was so bland and insipid that it was almost an achievement.

Onasi barked a short laugh, but a serious look took place on his face very quickly.

"What I was about to say… I don't believe in coincidences. Not when they are in question," he told me.

His eyes wandered towards the bar, and I understood that the Jedi was closing the distance. Slightly taken aback by not noticing her presence, I turned to see her slipping past the crowd with feline-like soft steps. Nowadays it was somewhat rare that she was able to surprise me.

Sandra gave a disapproving look at the two half-empty pints and took a seat at the table.

"So, did you find out how to get a front-row seat at the swoop race?" I asked.

Chapter Text

Forty hours.

...Should be enough.

Let's calculate once again:

It's a two-hour march to the crash site of the first. Then to the second. Possibly. Need to reserve altogether maybe five hours… The transition, wait for the night. Estimated four hours in the base and back. Probably even quicker.

Unless things turn…more challenging.

Executing the backup plan takes twenty hours a minimum. This means the Twi'lek girl needs to be located in six hours. Maximum. Or we are walking through the Vulkar front door tomorrow, and it is a bloody bad idea.

Although the current course of action did not exactly glitter with eyesight-blinding splendor in terms of brilliance, the alternatives were even worse. After those two hours we had spent 'negotiating' at the Hidden Beks' base - if the past discussion even could be described in such a positive light - we had walked out with a deal which could be characterized nothing else than hollow.

Rather take it or leave it.

Hell - if there is a pile of shab in front of me, it does not evolve into something tempting. It's totally friggin independent of the manner it is described.

But it was a deal nonetheless. Something to work on. Something to…exploit.

Yes - the other options had indeed offered quicker ways to commit suicide and Gadon Thek, the leader of the Hidden Beks swoop gang, had known it as well as we had. The main obstacle – and it was a relatively large one to put it lightly - was that only one single way…one possible means of getting to the actual swoop racetrack existed.

Precisely, walking to the exact location where Bastila Shan was about to be presented as a prize by the Black Vulkars gang in less than two days of time was entirely out of the question. Bastila Shan's expected position was somewhere near the center of the track, which was an area efficiently separated from the audience by dozens of meters wide pits descending as far down as to the Undercity.

The one way to enter the site without extensive use of Jedi skills, smoke, firepower, and foolhardiness was as a participant. As a racer to one of the swoop gangs.

One competitor per each gang. No exceptions made.

Gadon Thek had offered us the Beks' slot. The opportunity for one from our group to race their swoop bike as the gang's named competitor. Because the offer itself was so tremendously generous that it absolutely made no bloody sense, there obviously was a catch and Thek did not even bother to try to disguise it with finer words.

Sabotage.

That was the price to pay for the favor: to slip into the base of the Black Vulkars and to…modify…their swoop bike in a manner, which could be classified disadvantageous. Thek was not interested in the exact details of the 'how', but what counted was that as the mildly steered consequence Vulkars' bike was not going to race in perfect condition. The way he rationalized it, he did not want any of his Beks to be imprinted to sharp eyes of the numerous security cameras monitoring the base and hard drives of Vulkar computers. To avoid impending retaliation, he needed a group whose affiliation was unknown and who could not be connected to Bek gang colors.

Fair enough? No.

How I silently had formulated the message in my mind: we were disposable.

Two soldiers of the Republic and a Jedi Knight far behind enemy lines with not much more to offer than raw muscle and unfamiliar features. Deemed desperate but skillful enough for carrying out actions of these measures.

For a person who used eye-prosthetics to see Thek was amazingly perceptive.

We had walked away with this deal in grim agreement, but it was evident that this was a game of dejarik pinpointed to shift the internal power distribution amongst swoop gangs and the parts of the m'onnoks, the brute force, were designated for us. Washing the dirty laundry, to rephrase it in a not-so-elevating manner.

It was an acceptable role.

It was acceptable only because contrary to the other options, and whether Thek foresaw it or not, this offered room for movement. It provided possibilities. Eventually, only that was needed.

Because one detail was crystal clear. Ultimately there was only a single objective for our group: to gain access to the swoop racetrack, to physically get to this very strictly restricted location near Bastila Shan.

I did not give a kriff about winning the race.

As a matter of fact nor was I planning to start a swoop bike's rumbling engine and test my skills against other racers... And not only because we were a group of soldiers and not a bunch of swoop racing experts on some intergalactic tourney. But this was a start.

The real question is: one person on the track is a start, but how to get there two?

Increasing manpower on the racetrack was the next logical step because not much could be done from the other side of the pit where the audience was seated, and that was a fact.

How to succeed in that?

My mind was furiously mapping possibilities, and calculating probabilities of potential paths while the elevator speeded down almost silently, towards the Undercity of Taris. Shadows of dull anticipation of the upcoming were darkened masks on my companions' features. Stocked up with necessities and a rough understanding of escape pod locations on a datapad containing a map of the area, we were prepared, but not eager. No words were exchanged during the ten-minute journey down.

Undercity was a nasty location.

In addition to the endless horde of rakghouls, somewhere there was the backdoor to the Black Vulkar base. Somewhere down there was also the young Twi'lek girl who supposedly among the very few knew the way there, Mission Vao.

I had often had the feeling inside my gut that the Force had a sense of humor. Now I was suspecting that the Force was bending its head back and shamelessly laughing out loud in glee since the exact same blue-skinned Twi'lek teenager had helpfully pointed Sandra towards the Hidden Bek base at Javyar's Cantina a few hours back. The last sighting of the girl and her seven-foot tall Wookiee companion had been near this elevator, the duo proceeding down to only Force knew where. According to Thek the two often spent time salvaging in the Undercity area so taking a look at the escape pod crash landing sites was only one sensible guess we could make.

A deceleration in the steady movement indicated the end of the journey before elevator doors opened with a slight creak. We stepped out slowly, hands resting on handles of swords or the rifle, eyes scanning the environment for potential threats.

Undercity? Not much of a city.

I thought dryly while laying my eyes on the few dozen, clumsy, deplorable constructions defining the habitable perimeter of the lowest layer of Taris. The village was nothing more than discarded materials such as rusted metal sheets and bars fixed together to form something remotely resembling shelters.

This was a dark, sunless, dead world.

In the distance, I could perceive shadowy shapes of tall, skyscraper-sized pillars. Those carried the weight of the top plates. Up high, here and there were a few still functional panels shedding faint light. Personally, I had no doubt that they were not in the scope of any repair effort…and eventually, eternal darkness would rule over this realm.

Behind the slum village was a ten-meter wall constructed of long metal bars and metal mesh, spiraling barbwire securing the top. It surrounded the area entirely, forming the only safe zone available on this level. The sole, lonely sanctuary. Outside hunted the disease materialized: rakghouls. The beings, which had once walked in human form but now only lived to stalk and prey upon the exact same type of meat they originally had been constructed of.

And if the air of the Lower City had initially seemed thick, this needed a vibrosword to cut through.

The stench was a wall of dampness, mustiness, waste, and death, which invaded my senses with force and I had to press my lips together in order not to grimace in disgust. But I knew that it would not take long before my brain had adjusted itself to the smell and likely after we were done and riding the lift back up to the Lower City, the local air would seem strangely fresh and light for a while.

The villagers were a sad, pitiful looking lot. If we ever had the intention of moving through the village unnoticed, it was easy to see it shatter.

Although the doors of the lift must have had opened numerous of times after the crashes of Republic escape pods, it had not diminished their fear-flavored curiosity towards strangers the slightest. Their number was probably close to a couple of hundred, all clad in rags, covered in dirt and suffering from apparent malnutrition.

That equaled to approximately two hundred eyes momentarily directed straight towards us.

…So much for subtlety.

A perfect contrast to the environment, the Jedi was a beacon with her shining red hair and surprisingly yet spotless light brown battle armor.

"Do they still toss people down here?" I enquired quietly between my teeth, revolted of what I saw and not really expecting Sandra to answer.

And she did not; the change in her expression was barely perceptible, but it was there. The pain was breaking through the emerald steel of her eyes. Carth's features were tense, his mouth a thin disgusted line.

Outcasts and their descendants. Murderers, misfits and their children; forced to live in darkness, starvation and surrounded by flesh-eating mutants.

Did I feel pity? No. I was not in a position that I could have allowed such emotions sway my thoughts from the essential, the mission. But a portion of me despised the decaying infrastructure of this planet.

…No strength in foundations so diseased…

"There's the gate," Onasi said, gesturing towards the distance. "Let's try to ask around if someone has seen the girl before we go through."

I nodded in agreement, noting that after the initial peaked attention most of the villagers were returning to their daily tasks, demeanor submissive and shunning eye contact. Most of.

The bulk of my focus had already locked to the locations of the two outcasts nearing our group. I let my fingers bend around the grip of the blaster. It was more due to an old habit than an actual intuition of danger closing in - since even after evaluating the situation I did not see any.

"Hey! This is our elevator! Nobody uses it without paying the toll!" the taller of the two young men cried out, demandingly. There was a long, rusty, bent metal bar in his hands, which he held up high likely to fulfill the requirements for his mental definitions for 'threatening' and 'friggin tough guy'.

"Yeah! Five credits!" the other one shouted supportively, equally thin and dirty as his companion and armed with a crude sword.

What the kriff? -

- Lacking the patience of tolerating any forms of delays, I did not hesitate. With one swift and intentionally overt movement, I pulled my pistol from its holster and pulled the trigger once. The ground centimeters away from the taller man's feet exploded, sending dust to his shoes. The man took an instinctive stumbling step back, and a wordless yelp left his lips.

"Keep your distance!" I commanded sharply, not even bothering to lift the pistol up to actually aim anything, but keeping it close to the ready as a pending promise of a quick death. Likely the gesture was all that was needed - pursuing any permanent solutions related to these scumbacks seemed a bit exaggerated since according to the shock on their faces their self-confidence was already crumbling to pieces before my eyes.

"You two – get out of here, now!"

The woman's shout came behind the men, and the two belonging to our fearless-turned-apprehensive welcoming committee seemed almost glad to oblige. She was an outcast just like the men but judging from the resolute tone of her voice likely holding a position a step higher in their internal hierarchy.

"I apologize."

The woman directed her words to me. She was in her early thirties, hair black and long, clothes a mixture of misshaped rags of leather and cloth. Although looking thin but seemingly healthy, I took note of the slight greyish tint of her ashen skin; all in all, those were features of a person who had never walked under a sun. Probably a second-generation outcast, I concluded.

"Not all of us are accustomed to treating visitors from the top in a polite manner. Welcome to our village. I am Shaleena."

"No harm done," I replied neutrally and holstered the pistol, seeing that it was no longer needed.

"Thank you, Shaleena," Carth said, the look on his face open and approachable. "We are looking for a Twi'lek girl who is usually accompanied by a Wookiee. They rode the lift down here a couple hours back. I wonder if you'd seen where they took off?"

The expression on Shaleena's face lightened.

"Mission Vao!" she exclaimed excitedly. "They often come to our village with Zaalbar. Such a nice girl, brings us goods sometimes…"

As it turned out, the outcast was more than willing to help. I compared the rough trajectory Shaleena gave to the map on the datapad while she attempted to drown Onasi with a flood of unnecessary information. The Commander was polite enough to listen.

"If you want anything – just anything - from our village I am sure that Gendar will assist you. He is our leader. …Or…or Rukil Wrinkle-Skin. He is the oldest man in the village and very wise… "

Escape pod number one. A two-hour march, I estimated.

"Let's get moving," I suggested dryly, disinterested in spending any more of our precious minutes in this village. I saw Onasi press a credit chip on Shaleena's open palm, and we proceeded to move through the village towards the gate.

We did not get far.

The lone shriek that rose up to the heights was almost bone shredding in all the horror it contained. And the fear was there; present, pulsating and trembling like a living beast.

…The agony burning inside lungs with every intake of air…

…The adrenaline circling the system, pushing final drops of strength to muscles that already were pulling beyond their limits…

I blinked, trying to comprehend what my senses were hammered with.

…Emotions… Not mine, I understood, taken aback and slightly shocked by the realization.

"A rakghoul." Sandra almost whispered the word.

…And we dashed towards the movement by the gate. The screaming woman, her features a twisting mask of fear, clung desperately to the arm of the guard who was pulling the gate closed.

"Please – don't! He will make it - he will make it! Run - Hendar!"

"It's too late, Hestra!" the guard told her, voice shaking but determined. "We cannot risk the safety of the village!"

The gates closed with a loud clank and the woman collapsed down to her knees as if been physically hit. The wail of agony leaving her lips contained no words.

The two nearing shapes were half a hundred meters away. I held the pistol up, took an aim through the sights and wanted to curse out loud. It was bloody hopeless. I could see it from the running man's enlarged eyes and gaping mouth – how he tried to fill his lungs with air, but how his body had already dozens of steps away met its limits in endurance and speed. The predator only a few meters behind him was closing the distance.

Galloping on all fours and feet-long nails digging to the soft dirt of the ground, it could have been described to move like a giant, muscular hound.

…If the hound in question had been furless, covered only by light grey, slime-oozing skin. And if the hound's head did not comprise of much more than a mouth, which slit it from left to right and revealed a hundred, razor-sharp teeth.

It was a bite poisonous as Hell.

Fear and not logic steering his actions, the man's steps were directed straight towards the gate. Naturally, he was taking the shortest route – an act, which was efficiently dooming him. Due to the lack of any angle, his form also covered the creature, the beast's skin efficiently shielded by his flesh.

But nevertheless, I aimed the pistol, let the front sight pole center the rear notch and align with the location of the target.

…The beast had to be slain. It was a fact and not about to change, independent on whether or not the creature was feeding off the man during the moment when I'd be pulling the trigger.

Let's see.

…There was a split second deviation in the rhythm of the hunt. The creature took a quick sidestep, instinctively avoiding irregularities on the ground. Suddenly an opening manifested to the view – I saw a length of grey skin revealed through the sights. My pistol spat out a flying red row of blaster bolts, and I could hear Carth reacting in the same manner on my right side.

Red ammo gashed its shoulder and tore muscle…and it stumbled. But no more than a couple of leaps were left short – the rakghoul had not been startled enough to drop the chase. Too overtaken by the hunger, the pain was not a factor it could fathom. The distance the man gained to the beast was close to nothing.

"Bloody Hell," I cursed out loud, half-growling and mentally swearing at the mesh of the fence that fragmented the line of sight and the man who unknowingly sabotaged all of his own hopes for a savior.

"The window is too small!" Carth shouted, sharing my thoughts. "We'll risk hitting him."

"Aim up."

Those were Sandra's words. Stated with a resolute tone.

…And the rakghoul lost its momentum right in the middle of a leap. The beast rose screeching up to the air, meters high, gnawing and clawing the invisible hand that held its mass.

…Each and every single swear word I had ever heard in galactic basic, Mando'a and a large number of other languages crossed my mind that instant second…

Our blasters sang with a red, high-pitched note. There was no life left in the smoking corpse filled with dark holes which Sandra released to fall to the dry, yellow dirt. The carcass met the ground not far from the man who had now collapsed due to exhaustion. He was visibly shaking, inhaling and exhaling forced breaths, slowly piecing recent events together – shock yet frozen on his features.

I shook my head from side to side and wanted to grimace. The newly awakened rage was a dark, swirling storm cloud within my mind and I had to use every ounce of my willpower not to toss a fairly huge number of blade-edged words towards the Jedi.

There is no room for this – for mistakes of this caliber. Otherwise, we can all just bloody quit and go home.

Instead, I bit the words back, pushed the gate open while the guard watched us in bewilderment and walked out to the field with a long, enraged stride. The woman dashed past me, and soon the couple was a crying, panting mess on the ground.

Need to perform a friggin amputation to separate those two.

"That was a wonderful display of skills, Jedi," I spat out when we were an ear's range away from the village. My mood was sour, and I did not have high expectations on it improving quickly.

"Dazzling, I might say…memorable."

I did not attempt to hide the black blade of poisonous sarcasm in my voice and the anger and frustration from my demeanor.

"You would have let him die…" Sandra said after a moment's silence, her eyes fixed on my features.

"Without a doubt," I said firmly, not letting the steel abate from my voice.

"I wouldn't have considered it for a second. Way better that than to expose our location to every bloody Dark Jedi traversing the Undercity. Or to take the risk of our 'helpful friends' back there directing a patrol of Sith to our tail."

"How much I'd hate to let the guy die… I think Daraz has a point here," Carth told her, keeping his tone neutral. "It's a Hell of a risk you took, Sandra."

The look on the Jedi's features sharpened.

"My duty as a Jedi Knight is to serve the disadvantaged…it is to defend the weak!"

The tone was openly defensive.

The naïve, ignorant being. What were the few years between us could have been decades.

"Our duty," I said, stressing those words, "Is to find and free Bastila Shan and to ensure her safety. The slayer of Darth Revan, the single most important person of the bloody entire Republic war effort, they say… It'll get friggin complicated trying to locate her from a Sith interrogation compartment."

Sandra's steps came to a sudden halt. She heaved out a long sigh.

"All this pain and suffering… It is strong in the Force," she explained quietly, shaking her head and sorrow lingering in her eyes.

"I take it you lived in the Upper City," I stated and saw her nod.

So that was it, then. I often forgot that Sandra was of Tarisian origin due to the fact she mentioned it so rarely. I knew that she had not lived here longer than for the first few years of life. But possibly, although Jedi were instructed to avoid attachments, this place still reminded her of…home, sort of. Which, in turn, made all the suffering she witnessed to stab her at a more personal level than what was suitable.

"I think… I never fully understood what it was like down here. I am...sorry. I acted with…instinct, didn't think," Sandra finally said.

A portion of me resented it – how she of all the people let empathy stand in the way of logic when much more important objectives were at stake.

I wanted to press my hands on her shoulders and shake her to reality.

"Keep your focus on the mission, Jedi," I told her bluntly. "Remember what we came here for."

And although I did not say it out loud, I could feel the tension gathering. It was not because of numerous packs of rakghouls traversing, searching for prey all around us. It was more due to the countless number of eyes I - somewhere very deep - knew were watching.

…There were no guards outside Revan's quarters. There never were any because they were unnecessary. No one – not a single being aboard this vessel would have entered the Dark Lord's personal quarters without his permission. Far more terrible punishments than death existed aboard the Revenge.

The Lieutenant inhaled one deep breath before touching the door control. Doors slipped open silently.

And what he saw was nothing he had expected…

…

Although years old the memory was as fresh and kicking as if born yesterday.

The Lieutenant knelt beside the escape pod. It was a sorry-looking construction, sunken a half of its height into the dry and yellow, yet soft Undercity ground due to the impact. Although externally scratched and bent from its original round shape because of the existing large number of dents on all surfaces, internally it appeared to be in a surprisingly good condition.

…Unlike the other two he had visited.

The Lieutenant was certain: this was the pod of the Jedi. Of the prey.

He did not expect to find her there, no reason to do so.

The ground was soft; clay and sand mixed, and the surface had been long since turned into a cacophony of intersecting imprints. Mostly humanoids; soldiers and vultures attempting to strip the metallic carcass of anything even remotely valuable. Even three-fingered footprints of mutants could be seen crisscrossing the surface. Already days ago it had become impossible to track if a lone human had left the escape pod by walking on her own legs…or if she had been dragged away.

The Lieutenant was placing his bets on the latter alternative.

There were also signs of a more recent struggle, both on the stomped ground and in the sight of a radically mangled corpse of a Gamorrean. Not due to a Jedi. It was missing both of its arms - those appeared to be literally torn off, and the Lieutenant had to wonder silently the nature of the creature the Gamorrean had come across.

But this was not what he had come here for, to ponder the Jedi's suspected location. His designated prey was not what he actually preyed upon…

…Because everything had changed aboard the Endar Spire.

It had not been only the skills of the man, which had caught his interest - which had steered him towards the only possible decision.

…Ultimately, it had been something else…

He did not have to dig far into his memories to come to a conclusion that it had been close to two years, now. When his path had been forged right before his own eyes.

Two years.

...

…The room itself was not conspicuous – it was not a room he had expected a Sith Lord to reside in. It was small, not more than twice the size of his. Simple and practical furniture lacked anything reminiscent of luxury. The color scheme followed the exact same shades of grey than his quarters. He saw the form of a bed there on the other side, covers straight and untouched as if never used.

It was a soldier's room. No question about that.

The table on the other side of the room was buried under many datapads and panels. Screens were dotted with text and flashed with graphical depictions of movements of the fleet. He was taken aback when he took note of a shape of an empty…wine glass? Due to the lack of space on the surface, the foot of the object was crammed between three datapads, and it looked seriously out of place.

But he could not linger on that detail for longer than a heartbeat.

The transparisteel windows adorning the back wall of the room opened towards the convex nose of the Revenge and the infinity, which had lost the dots of illumination and elongated to the wildly glistening light show of the hyperspace.

In front of the exact same windows stood a man, silently watching out of those and observing the repetitious, flashing scenery. His tall body and broad back were covered by a black, hooded cloak, which flowed down his form and reached his ankles. The man carried himself straight, posture upright and pure military. He had crossed his hands over his chest. Although hidden behind his form, the Lieutenant knew with certainty that those hands were covered up to elbows with vambraces…dyed to crimson.

Red – the color of blood. Black – the darkness he commanded, bent to his will. So it was said and rumored.

Darth Revan was standing in front of him. And the still form of the Dark Lord of the Sith did not show any signs…any indication that he had noticed his arrival.

The Lieutenant swallowed once. It was an empty swallow because uncertainty had begun to spread within his mind.

Revan must have been completely cognizant of his presence. That was certain; the man standing in front of him was not a man who was caught unaware. So why the silence? Did the Dark Lord expect the Lieutenant to address him? Had he taken too long to arrive? No – it did not make sense. After receiving the Dark Lord's personal orders, he had left his quarters without hesitation. Although Revan was known to be strict and demanding, he was also known to be a realist. He was not an unreasonable man.

So, the Lieutenant decided to stand silent and let seconds spread into minutes.

"Lieutenant," the man's voice suddenly came from somewhere beneath the hood.

"Whom do you serve?"

It was a simple question, stated with a steady tone, and the Dark Lord expected a simple answer. Yet the Lieutenant had trouble forming one. That voice…it had been…

"I have sworn to serve the Sith Empire, Lord Revan," he answered.

"Whom do you serve?!"

The question was repeated, and this time the tone was more commanding, more demanding.

He felt his throat dry up. Revan's voice had been unmodified. It had lacked the mechanical, computer-enhanced edge it had always contained. It could only mean…

Focus, you idiot! - He scolded himself.

There was only one correct answer to the question and, personally, he had no doubt in his mind what it was. He had followed this man during the Mandalorian Wars. He had followed this man to the Unknown Regions. And he was damn sure to follow this man during whatever ordeals he was expected to in the future.

"You, Milord," the Lieutenant replied truthfully.

The room sank into a moment's oppressive silence, and the Lieutenant did not need to have command over the Force to sense that he was being measured. He was being weighted…and he could not avoid picturing a piece of meat before a predator's gleaming eye.

"I sense no lie beneath your words, Lieutenant," the Dark Lord of the Sith stated, tone lacking all emotion. The tall man turned around to face him, and the Lieutenant attempted to comprehend what he saw. He let his eyes linger on the crimson, unique chest piece before lifting them towards his face.

Revan's features were half-hidden by the sharp-edged shadow of the hood, but a portion caught a hint of light. He saw an arc of a lip, a part of a straight nose and pale skin. There was no red-and-black Mandalorian mask covering his face…

…A human's face.

"I have an assignment for you, Lieutenant. One, which requires great diligence."

The lips moved.

The Dark Lord let the words hang between them for a while.

"Tomorrow at oh-five-hundred the fleet will drop out of hyperspace over Iridonia. You will leave the Revenge wearing civilian clothing and in a cruiser which is marked to the Republic register."

The tone was monotonous. The Dark Lord walked to the table and picked one of the numerous datapads up.

"Your orders are to travel to Coruscant and enlist in the Republic Navy."

The Lieutenant was quickly piecing the Dark Lord's words together and noted that his heart rate was up a couple of notches. Revan's lips curved slightly upwards in the form of a smile, which did not reflect joy.

"You will become my eyes on the other side of the line, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Milord."

The Lieutenant heard the words leave his lips.

He blinked, and Revan had closed the distance - he was standing right in front of him, and no more the shadow cut the line of sight to his features. The glare of the amber eyes was intense, so fierce that it could have drilled all the way straight into his brain.

Yellow, golden eyes. Eyes of a Sith Lord.

"That is the official story, Lieutenant. What I am about to tell you next shall stay within the walls of this room."

The Dark Lord offered the datapad to him and, stunned, the Lieutenant examined the picture of a young woman – still almost a girl… Those were beautiful features, truth to be told, combined with auburn hair and steel grey eyes.

Why this woman was of interest to the Dark Lord of the Sith?

Revan seemed to sense his confusion.

"Like you are my personal weapon…she is a weapon of the Republic. Of the Jedi. Yet blunt and untrained, but a weapon nonetheless."

Again the lips curved into a slight, joyless shadow of a smile, but the words were stated with a tone hard and demanding as the bedrock.

"I intend to acquire this particular weapon into my possession. Listen very carefully, Lieutenant Weyron, because I shall not repeat my instructions and I most certainly expect you not to fail."

The Lieutenant remembered with the utmost clarity the bewilderment in his steps when he had hurried towards his quarters aboard the Revenge. And the new mission was not on the top of the list of items, which had caused his confused state of mind at the time.

Revan always had a plan behind his actions. Still - there were no exceptions.

Why in the Force's sake the Dark Lord had chosen to reveal his features to him?

It did not make sense, and the Lieutenant did not have anything even remotely resembling an answer, which he could have offered to himself to release his mind from the grasp of the endless maelstrom of questions.

Revan had chosen to hide his features behind the infamous, featureless Mandalorian mask before he had walked to the Mandalorian Wars as a Jedi Knight, as the Revanchist. The Lieutenant had heard rumors of a vow being pledged. A personal commitment taken place.

And as far as he had learned to understand the essence of the Revanchist, the General, and the Dark Lord of the Sith, the mask was his face and his symbol. Revan was an enigma, sheer power bound and forged into a man's shape. A force of nature.

Revan was not a man.

…But he was. In fact, the Lieutenant had seen glimpses of those features aboard the Revenge more than once… The young, dark-haired human male had usually worn simple Dark Jedi robes and carried one or two lightsabers on his belt. Naturally, the Lieutenant had grouped him to the numerous Jedi-turned-Sith walking the hallways and crowding training areas. The Revenge enclosed over five thousand people inside its hull and to that amount could be fitted both strangers and familiar faces.

Frak.

He had even exchanged a few short words with this particular Dark Jedi. Without being aware of with whom he had discussed. All these years Revan had walked among them while rumors had circulated around the shroud of mystery that surrounded the man.

The Dark Lord had not been what he had expected, had he been able to summarize his expectations in a coherent manner. The man carried far less years than the Lieutenant could ever have seriously predicted. This young man, the strategic mastermind – whom he now estimated to be a couple of years younger than himself – had supposedly beaten Mandalore the Ultimate in hand-to-hand combat. He had destroyed the very soul of the Mandalorians. He had forced the Republic on its knees and so close to beg for mercy that an unsaid desperate plea was all that remained.

How old he had been at the beginning of the Revanchist intervention during Mandalorian Wars – even twenty?

And then it all had come to a halt. The Dark Lord had met his own demise. In the hands of a Jedi, a Jedi named Bastila Shan.

The Bastila Shan who was right at the core of the personal mission the Lieutenant had received from Revan.

"You shall report only to me, Trask. I have the greatest confidence in your skills."

Those were Revan's final words to him. And the sentences said in that room were the orders he had followed. Until the situation had changed so radically that there had been no Revan to report to. But Lieutenant Trask Weyron, also known as Ensign Trask Ulgo at the Republic Navy, had continued to provide the Intel he had initially been requested of. Eventually, he had given Darth Malak's Empire the coordinates of the Endar Spire.

…To hide a Jedi hunter amongst the Jedi. That was very Revan, indeed…

When explosions were shaking the hull of the Spire, he had been heading to an agreed rendezvous point…and stumbled upon a change of plans when he had come face-to-face with a dark barrel of a blaster pistol belonging to a fresh bunkmate he had not ever met before. And after getting hold of the initial shock, he had continued to play the game...because his orders were to keep his cover by any means necessary. But moreover, because he wanted to see, to understand what the heck was going on. In the end, he had ended up playing the game against Bandon, who very well knew who the Lieutenant was, and due to not much more than a kriffin' gut feeling. An intuition born of an old memory. It was idiotic, but there was no way he'd been able to let it pass.

As said, it had not been only the skills of the man, which had caught his interest - had steered him towards the only possible decision. Ultimately, it had been something else.

Because in combination with the skills had been the face.

…Features belonging to the dead man.

Bastila Shan was his official prey. But he was sure that others were pursuing the same hunt, apparently using forged Sith IDs to travel between city layers. He believed that they were on this route because Bastila Shan had never left the Undercity by riding the elevator. It was a logical assumption. Likely she had never walked out of the escape pod, either. Which meant that there were other ways out of here.

He reactivated the stealth field generator and shouldered his rifle. Rakghouls or no, this was an excellent location to wait.

He was risking everything because of this and did not even understand what in the wildest and the bloodiest of Hells was going on... But there was only one way to find out.

Chapter Text

Through the scope of his rifle, he saw desolate scenery of darkness and death. Everything was overshadowed by the gigantic plate supported and fixed a hundred meters above his head. In his strained mind the environment, both overcast and oppressive, felt perfectly suitable in many ways.

A true hunt, but he could never call it so.

No – he should not call it so. Think of it as such. Instead here, amidst predators of many kinds, was more fitting to say that he was the prey and not the hunter.

He had taken a position on a platform circling a pillar several meters off the ground. It was a platform the construction naturally offered purely due to architectural and not aesthetical choices, and such were seen in many structures similar to this throughout the galaxy.

Simple physics, intended to enlarge the area the foundation of the massive pillar supported to the dead ground of Taris. The foot of the pillar distributed the enormous weight of the plate on an area larger than the diameter of the pillar itself. It was not an optimal platform for his purposes, inclining a couple of degrees downward and instinctively forcing his muscles to fight against gravity when he should have stayed relaxed. Not perfect in any manner in a situation where even the slightest increase in heart rate made a difference, but it gave him visibility further and kept his skin away from jaws of rakghouls, nonetheless.

At this point, only those two things mattered.

This particular pillar appeared to provide access to the ancient sewer network of Taris. He had seen a few similar old pathways to the maintenance sections of the sewers, assuming at the same time that the crisscrossing series of pipes and tunnels under his feet hadn't seen much maintenance in a century. Although the old doorway showed signs of recent movement, the rusty brown door leading to the interiors of the pillar stood locked. Since anyone potentially walking out of there would have been straight in his sights, he wasn't too concerned about it.

He had chosen this spot purely based on location.

No obstructions were blocking visibility to the crash site – there were a perfect, open sightline and an empty field in front of him. Approximately one hundred and fifty meters away from the Jedi's battered escape pod, this was a sufficient distance to observe. Far, yet also close enough to give him an opportunity of reacting efficiently should the need arise.

Although the lack of light decreased his visual range, darkness shrouded his form from eyes all around him. It was beneficial. Where this desolate and starving shadow of nature herself failed to provide adequate feedback to his senses, technology closed the gap and gave much more. The large, red-shaded lenses of his mask filtered and strengthened all available light from surroundings, and for him, it was clear and bright as on sunny midday far on the top of the tallest plate. A series of filters which covered his mouth and nose sorted fresh air from the dust to his lungs, as if he was residing inside a personal pocket with its own microenvironment.

A sensation of vibration against the skin on his wrist informed him that someone sought his attention. He had expected this. It had been far too long since he had reported back to his superiors and he knew they were growing frustrated and likely suspicious.

He could not avoid the feeling of uneasiness when he saw who was on the other side of the transmission.

"Weyron, we are tracking your signal to the Undercity. Any signs of the Jedi?" Admiral Saul Karath's hard and sharp voice crackled to his ears.

"Negative. It's confirmed she never reached the Upper City, sir," the Lieutenant replied. "Tracks lead to the Lower City or Undercity."

He had to buy some time, which meant that he had to give them something. Not all. Not much.

So he did not mention that he assumed Bastila Shan was injured. Equally, he did not have an intention of bringing up that various clues were pointing towards one of the Lower City swoop gangs holding the Jedi captive.

…At least the Exchange was not the reason why there was a mutilated corpse of a Gamorrean near the escape pod, literally torn to gruesome pieces. A small and not very impressive group of goons led by no other than Canderous Ordo had visited the pod just an hour back and stripped it empty from whatever trash was still left. They never saw him.

He was taken aback by Karath's answer.

"She is in the Undercity, Lieutenant. Not far from your coordinates. Several Dark Jedi in the Upper City reported a fluctuation in the Force no more than fifteen minutes ago - a clear indication of Force use, they say. They are very certain that the suspected location of this disturbance is near the Undercity village area."

A Jedi - she is here. That confirms that…

Trask licked his lips, feeling the sudden dryness in his mouth.

"Any surveillance data?" he asked, succeeding in keeping his voice steady.

"None. There's no surveillance. Cameras broke down a decade ago and apparently no-one over here saw the need of fixing them," Karath informed him, a sharp edge of irritation distinguishable in his voice.

"Within the past twelve hours, the guards at the elevator have let through only three patrols of friendly troops, reinforcements in civilian clothing, a group of hirelings of a local businessman…and a couple of locals. They have performed as per the protocol and checked and recorded all IDs. Everything seems to be in order. She's still down there."

"There is another door, another path," the Lieutenant told him.

"Expectable. Not many swoop gang members have sought passage through the lifts, but patrols in the Undercity have reported numerous sightings of them… Nonetheless, the Jedi is caught now, Weyron. All patrols have been alerted to the potential Jedi presence, and they will sweep the area gate onwards. You close the search ring from the other side. Ensure that she does not escape."

Damn!

"She will not, sir," the Lieutenant answered automatically, thoughts already entirely elsewhere than in Bastila Shan.

"Karath out."

After cutting the transmission, he took a short while to watch the horizon and steady his restless thoughts.

Reinforcements in civilian clothing.

It made a bloody lot of sense and confirmed the hypothesis that had been the primary driver of his actions after realizing that the group seemed to move effortlessly between cities. Since the group was using false Sith identification documents, they had been close to invisible. Apparently, no-one had verified the names in the IDs - he strongly suspected that these could not be found in the logs of Mission Command.

That increased the risk of additional complications.

How in the heck they'd even got a hold of functional Sith identification cards to reproduce convincing forgeries?

He did not want to know. Considering who was involved, he could not see a reason to be surprised about it.

Trask activated his comlink again and opened a transmission.

"Soldier, I need every single name that has entered your position from the Lower City direction within the last one-hundred and twenty minutes. Name, rank, the reason for entrance," he ordered.

"Requesting authorization," the voice said.

"Lieutenant Weyron. Dorn-three-seven-Cresh…" he recited all the eight symbols that formed the code.

A minute of silence ensued as the code was being verified.

"Yes, sir," the voice acknowledged hurriedly.

The soldier had done a reasonably good job. The Lieutenant concentrated, thoughts buzzing, as the man listed meticulously all locals who had used the route, before moving on to Sith troops. The soldier reported nine groups of two or more people. Mission Command was clearly pinpointing the search effort to the Undercity and increasing the number of men and women on the actual ground of Taris.

While listening to the report, the Lieutenant had mentally removed all impossible options from the list. A few groups could easily be classified as highly unlikely, and some just plainly having a low probability. After this only three names remained. They were very ordinary names, names so common on many planets that they drew no attention nor sparked any interest in populated areas of space. In his mind, they were perfect false names.

He thanked the soldier before moving on to instructions.

"Inform immediately all parties in the area of the names I will list to you. It is of utmost importance that if encountered, they should be…"

When explaining the orders to the officer, he already knew with damning certainty that he was running out of time. The comlink on his arm felt as if it was on fire and about to burn through his skin, scorch muscle and bone. Soon he would shut it down to remove any chances of distraction, but also and more importantly, take one step towards the state of invisibility.

Technically, if he was to follow the orders he had received before this mission, at the moment of being assigned to the Endar Spire, a particular member of the group was also on his kill list.

In any case, it had to be considered. Weyron opened the retractable bipod of the rifle and started preparations.

What a bloody mess, I thought.

Fifteen minutes.

This is approximately the time which can be spent in the Undercity…before one learns to absolutely hate the whole place.

Sithspit!

Grimacing and feeling nothing but dull disgust, I discarded my blaster pistol in favor of the vibroblade. The latter I spun to block the snarling mouth of the beast - while the slime-oozing jaws armed with one-hundred razor-sharp teeth aimed to the direction of my armored forearm, growling and snapping the empty air all around it. The sharp blade vibrating at ultrasonic speed penetrated the rakghoul's skin at its neck and cut through meat and tendons, making its way into the esophagus. A trail of dark blood sprinkled from the wound and the thin, black river of liquid snaked towards the beast's grey, muscular shoulder.

The creature let out a half shriek, half growl. My brain ignored how humane it sounded.

Utilizing the opening gained by destroying the beast's momentum, I smashed my left fist straight to its temple. I heard and felt the thin shell of bone yield and break under the impact of the punch with a sickening crack.

Blasters blazed all around me.

The mutant screeched and twitched due to pain, probably experiencing what-the-kriff a rakghoul saw in place of stars. The grey-skinned beast stumbled backward, growling. Poisonous saliva dripped between its teeth and met the ground as a shower of large drops of slime.

Come, I thought, my lips twisting and revealing a portion of my teeth. I spun the blade so that it faced the rakghoul horizontally, in the form of an uninviting opening stance.

…Make your move!

The creature hesitated, black eyes fixated on me, and it circled around my location as if searching for a direction to attack. The claws met the yellowish ground one by one, each of the dark one-foot long nails digging into the soft soil. How much those bony yet muscular limbs still resembled a human's hands… Probably I should have found the realization disturbing, but I did not have the time or interest for that.

I assumed there was not much going on within its skull. But whatever there was, I had managed to plant a seed of doubt within the ocean of endless hunger. Its instincts were at war: battling between the potential threat produced by the presence of the sharp-edged creator of pain…and the hunger, which had no limits.

Starving. Eat. Feed. Pain? It seemed to think.

The rakghoul's hesitation was ended by an abrupt intervention provided by Carth's blaster rifle. The Commander let his rifle sing one last series of red notes and a long line of black, scorched holes appeared to the grey skin. The beast took one more meaningless, faltering step without a destination and fell wailing down on its side. I took no time to smash my blade through its skull. The blade met the small brain to ensure that the creature had no plans of getting up.

The complete and utter silence around us was a welcome visitor.

I glanced at my companions. They appeared to be unharmed. Sandra's hands were closed tightly around the grip of her blaster pistol, and the slender red-haired Jedi was scanning the field around us with sharp eyes as if expecting another pack of rakghouls to appear from any direction available… Or from all at the same time. Likely it was no exaggeration. Not here.

"Are you okay?" I asked roughly. The hectic, physical battle had generated moistness to my hairline.

"No bites or scratches?"

There was no room for guesswork. I had to be bloody sure.

Sandra's chin made a small sideways movement, her eyes never leaving the dimly lit area around us. Onasi acknowledged. The Commander was examining the corpses around us, poking grey heads with the barrel of his rifle to make sure they were as lifeless as they looked. There were altogether seven corpses lying in various positions of death like a grim puppet show gone terribly wrong. And we knew very well that there were two more were further away from the main pack since our weapons had cut through those, too.

"What about you, soldier?" Carth countered. "It was a pretty close call. Thank the Force you have swift reflexes, or…"

"I am fine," I interrupted dryly, not interested in digging further into the memory. Momentarily the stench of the rakghoul's breath flashed through my mind, and I wanted to grimace; rotten flesh, decay and putrid death, and so very close to my face.

"There isn't much movement inside their heads, but – by the Force – why do they need to move in packs?" Carth muttered, brows furrowed and not really directing the question to anyone.

I looked at my blade in disgust, noting the blood and the grime on the surface. It likely also was lethally poisonous due to the venom splattered all over on it.

Bloody irony, I thought, mentally picturing myself scratching a finger open to the sharp blade and then developing a taste for human flesh as a result.

What a heroic ending.

I wiped what I could to a dead rakghoul's stiffening corpse and saw Carth shaking his head in disgust. The weapon had to be cleaned better at a later time. The same applied to my blaster. I knelt to pick up the weapon from the ground and clicked in a new power pack to replace the one, which was already blinking yellow as a warning of reduced performance. The barrel was still hot, and I frowned when examining the current state of the weapon. It was literally dying…dying for good, throughout cleaning or I was about to see it fail at the most critical moment. I very much wanted to avoid that.

I kriffin' hate gun failures.

In situations like this, I prefer distance. Although the galaxy knows much more powerful weapons, I tend to go for the blaster due to the accuracy at low to mid ranges, conventional size, and non-existent recoil. I think it applies to all situations where a point-blank contact results as turning into a mindless, flesh-eating monster. It is just friggin sensible to have a ranged weapon at hand.

Stealth would have been an even better tactic. Here, the environment itself cut this option out. Our shapes probably stood out hundredths of meters away. Whizzing blaster bolts were likely heard even further. If the firefight itself had not drawn curious souls towards us, it was going to happen soon and just because there were not many places to hide. The numerous, massive pillars supporting upper plates generated some natural obstructions of vision, but the battle had driven us away from the more shadowy parts of the Undercity.

To put it short, we were exposed and presented like a nice, enjoyable afternoon snack on a plate.

I assumed that a pack of rakghouls or a patrol of Sith troopers were en route to our location, but quickly observed my supposition wrong.

The intruders were neither.

The group of people caught my attention as they stepped to the line of sight behind one of the massive pillars looming in the distance. I counted five - five human men, heavily armored and equipped for direct battle. Each one of them carried a powerful blaster rifle. Three of them had a massive equipment bag weighting them down. I froze and let my hand rest on the familiarly textured grip of the blaster pistol.

Just in case.

"They are not Sith," Sandra analyzed, her voice as loud as a whisper.

It was a decided course of action and showed that she understood how sounds traveled far on the open ground. Her blaster pistol stood still in her hands, and the barrel was yet pointed towards the ground at a forty-five-degree angle - the safe direction, no intention to attack. To me, her demeanor spoke that she did not sense immediate danger and I quietly wondered how reliable her so-called Jedi senses where.

A confrontation was a matter of a couple of minutes.

The lot didn't need to close the distance for me to realize how mentally strained four out of the five were. This definitely was going to add some unpredictability to the inevitable confrontation. The men were like an array of springs pulled to extreme lengths – so stressed that next to nothing was enough to toss them entirely out of control. Any rapid movement promised instant bloodshed and viciously flying red ammo. Standing on an open field and without cover, no, I wasn't tremendously excited about that option. Not to mention the fact that two out of five rifles were already at the ready and pointed to my torso.

Although I'm not sure if they're able to hit anything with those shaky hands… Way too much death down here for some, I see.

For some and not for all. It was effortless to spot which one of the group was in charge, and the situation wasn't so in his case.

Their leader was an exception due to both his imposing posture and the nasty 'bug me, and I'll kill you' type of an aura openly surrounding him. While the majority of the group moved forward with wooden, cautious and hesitant steps, he marched like the desolate world around him had been just emptied of all creatures producing any forms of threat and filled with mosquitos instead. It was not only the attitude and the massive, muscular build but also the openly and very heavily modified enormous repeater rifle in his hands, which made many bells ring inside my head. At the same time.

I knew a son of Mandalore when I saw one.

"Let's stay put. They don't seem to be a direct threat, but it may change bloody quick…" I muttered quietly, evaluating the situation within my mind.

I was right.

"D-don't move!" a young man shouted already far away. "I- I don't hesitate to use this if I need to!"

I needed no Jedi senses to analyze that he was close to soiling himself.

What a waste of…

"Calm down, boy," I heard the Mandalorian order. "We've already lost enough men to those bloody rakghouls. A pointless firefight is the last thing we need." The massive man, openly frustrated, pushed the barrel aside and off its target – me.

There was sense in the Mandalorian's words. I released my grip on the pistol, letting it rest untouched in its holster, and watched him close the distance, followed by the few almost-soldiers.

His hair had already lost its former color and turned grey. The scarred, rugged features reminded me of something which had been carved out of a rock by using a large chisel, the artist not being too concerned about precision. He probably carried fifty to sixty years on his shoulders – which in turn meant that the man had likely fought in the Great Sith War and the full extent of the Mandalorian Wars. That meant altogether about forty years of bloodshed, weapons, and death.

His clan symbol was tattooed on his left shoulder. It was a black shape circling around itself, and I recognized it immediately.

Not just any Mando'ad… Someone like him, here, can only mean…

In my mind, he was a perfect hound of the Exchange.

I realized that the recognition had not been only one-sided when the Mandalorian greeted me with a serious, short nod. Although I didn't exactly lack in height myself, I had to tilt my head slightly up to meet his features.

"Stranger," the Mandalorian stated, addressing me with the pseudonym I had hoped to never hear again. "I see you've kept yourself busy."

I was ready to curse out loud. A Mandalorian never forgets it was said. And apparently, the aphorism had not been born out of thin air. Out of all beings watching the duel, this probably was the only one who could easily see through the little show.

…On the other hand… This can yield some uncharted opportunities, I decided.

"A bit," I said dryly. "This is one way to spend time around here, I suppose."

"Instead of getting your ass kicked in cantina fights?" the Mandalorian inquired.

"It can get tiresome. There are times when I long for variety."

"Bullshit," he grunted.

"That also," I admitted. I glanced towards the pathetic group of people behind him.

"Tion'jor Mando'ad verd atinii ibic or'diniise?" I enquired in a near casual manner.

"A necessity," he replied and not openly taken aback by the change in the dialect. "Akay…" the Mandalorian continued, and one single finger rose up to point up at the upper plates of Taris.

I gave him a short nod, understanding what he ultimately referred to.

"Bal'ban, Mando'ad. Ni balyc dajuna ven vaabi ibic..." I explained with a steady, blank tone and saw his stare intensify.

"Ven banar venjii t'ad tuure… Venjii parjai."

I put some weight on the two final words. If the Mandalorian was what I assumed him to be, he'd get it. No need to go into specifics – the longer the discussion grew, the more alerted and suspicious my companions became. I wanted to avoid that.

His steel-grey eyes stayed directed at mine for a short while, before moving on to my armored and armed companions, and stopping one-by-one at each of the already stiffening corpses of the seven dead rakghouls on the ground. It was one of those sights, which were used when classifying beings useful…or utterly useless. Mandalorians like to keep things straightforward and simple.

"Interesting," he murmured. The flat tone of his voice hid emotions and thoughts of any kind.

The Mandalorian turned to give orders to the small, shaky group.

"Boys, let's get out of here before I lose someone else. These goods don't move on their own and Davik's gotta play with his toys. Move on!"

Bull's-eye.

The group obeyed, continuing the automated march to the direction of the village gates. Unlike them, the Mandalorian stood still.

"If you are wise you do the same," he said. "You are too late for anything valuable. Even we were. Doesn't pay for cutting through the rakghouls."

"We are hunting moving prey," I answered. "Anything noteworthy on the field?"

"Typical. Packs of rakghouls. Hordes of Sith. Nothing a skillful group cannot get rid of."

He heaved out a growl of irritation and gestured angrily towards the backs of his group.

"They call themselves mercenaries. I call them worthless di'kute who wet themselves due to fear while expecting to be bitten by their own shadow. Initially, there were eight," the Mandalorian stressed – clearly more frustrated due to the incompetence of the group than moved by the fact that they had lost a couple of men on the way.

"I slew one of them with my own hands after the bastard got bitten by a mutant."

"Thank you, Mando'ad," I said, offering him a short nod.

He replied with a similar wordless gesture, shouldered his rifle and strode after the group, catching them within a few seconds. Our direction was precisely opposite. The bait had been set, if I could call it so. There was a lot of work ahead and even more uncertainties to be overcome to see things proceed in the favorable direction, to witness this encounter turn out anything even mildly resembling useful.

Sandra was the first one to break the silence. It took slightly longer than I had anticipated.

"Daraz, I wasn't aware that you speak their dialect. It is not typical. Where did you learn Mando'a?" she asked.

I shrugged and searched for an answer in my mind. There were many.

…When I understood that I need to see into their soul… Find their heart…

"A few years back... I traded with them," I explained.

…to destroy it…

"That was before the war. I had to quit eventually; didn't want to give out an impression of allegiance when there was none."

It was an answer I had chosen, but not the one that had come instinctively into my mind. Giving that particular answer disgusted me and the words came out sounding weary.

"Soldier, you need to clarify what happened there," Carth demanded. The older soldier was openly annoyed and wasn't attempting to hide it from his tone.

"A short explanation?" I asked dryly.

"I reminded him of his honor. Mandalorians take their honor very seriously. I raised his curiosity. Also...I told where to find us, should he see it useful."

It was time to wait for the explosive to detonate.

"Two days…" Sandra pondered quietly, not being completely wrong. "He mentioned something about two days…"

"You did…what?" Onasi cut in.

"Shall I repeat?" I queried curtly.

That clearly irritated him. The Commander's mouth turned down in anger, and the rage in his words was poorly disguised.

"Soldier, you don't drive this mission. Negotiating a deal of any kind with a Mandalorian, under these circumstances, is unacceptable - Republic does not cooperate with Mandalorians, and it should be perfectly clear for you. Get your act together!"

Although I had known Onasi long enough to expect the outburst, the shortsightedness, but also the words immediately heated my blood above the boiling point. A flood of curses in galactic basic, Mando'a and Huttese washed through my mind. All referred to inefficient utilization of a particular space between ears, and I wanted to give an entirely new kind of an example of my versatile language skills. Pulling the rank had bit something very deep within me, rubbed salt to an old wound I was yet trying to locate.

Even more than this it sparked within my mind a flash of a mental picture of a cage without visible walls and shackles. It reminded me of the existence of a pawn, of a marionette, of a puppet - of what I was; a creature attached to strings pulling my limbs and lacking control over direction and actions.

…When control is power… However, not physical force, but deception is the most powerful weapon one can wield in battle. In its purest form, actual control is never detectable…

I remained silent, encasing the swirling dark emotions and poisonous thoughts within my soul, and meeting his flaming glare with my own.

A cold, emotionless voice within my head rationalized that should be evaluated whether the usefulness of Commander Onasi was soon to be overridden by the potential issues he caused; if he should eventually be considered a risk and a liability. And had to be analyzed how his removal from the equation affected the aimed outcome of this mission.

It made too much sense. Possibly I should have been troubled by even considering taking this path – or equally disturbed by the fact that I was not.

"Noble thoughts, Onasi," I said between my teeth. "You can be certain that the Republic will honor your memory."

"Daraz," Sandra said in a calming manner, misinterpreting. "This is not useful."

Onasi's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Is that a threat, Daraz?" he asked, a warning tangible in the tone.

He was tense, hands closed tightly into fists and posture leaning forward. Maybe only one word - one insult lacking respect for his authority, here - was enough to toss him over the edge, I analyzed.

Not really worth the hassle, but theoretically an entertaining option.

"No. I am merely pointing out that there may be only one way out of this planet. Bloody ignore it, and you stay here," I stated with the emphasis on the last sentence and let the words sink in.

That piqued their interest, and I was forced to add some additional flesh to the bones of details I had previously provided. I explained that I had suspected the Mandalorian was working for the Exchange – a fact he had later confirmed by his own word choices. Other than the Sith, possibly only the Exchange had resources; they were in possession of credits, heavy weaponry and…

"Ships," Carth noted, understanding.

"Exactly. A highly modified and fast smuggling vessel might be the only way through the barricade of Sith starfighters."

Although the Mandalorian's connection to the Exchange had to be revealed, I left out that I had recognized the man. I had known his clan symbol, linked it quickly to a name. This, in turn, had pulled information from somewhere within my mind, from a compartment I had not known even existed. The revelation would have raised too many questions, the majority of them of the kind I did not want to figure out answers to.

Hell - had I even known these answers.

It was again one of those snippets of occurrences and information that did not seem to be logically attachable to anything I had come across. Although I had grown used to these inexplicable, deeply hidden glimpses from life beyond memories, without exception these suddenly surfacing unexpected revelations felt like a stab to the gut. I knew there was a puzzle, I was even able to distinguish some patterns and pieces, yet it always flickered and blurred when I attempted to take a closer look. But the urge, the hunger to cut the strings and be the sole being in charge of my own fate was always present, every single time stronger than ever.

"How can you be sure that we will ever hear of him?" Sandra asked.

Is this how little you know about the Mandalorian mind, Jedi?

"It depends…" I answered in a firm manner, scanning the field in front of us. "It depends on us. Whether or not we are able to prove our worth to him. Nothing more and nothing less."

Partially, it was a lie.

In reality, I knew that only my actions had an impact from now on. The Mandalorian was only interested in what I was planning to do. What I was planning to present. During the short discussion, I had not brought up an intention of leaving the planet in the presence of the people currently accompanying me. Due to very good reasons: I strongly doubted either of my companions shared similar travel plans to mine. Although our target was identical for now, it could not last.

…True control. It is hidden…

If anything, the Lieutenant was an excellent shooter.

Some of the Jedi Hunters were Force Sensitive, or so was told. If he had any talent as for the abilities often linked to Jedi, his strength was abysmal, and so he had always considered the Force a useless asset to him. Ever since he had been chosen, he had only assumed that the selection had been made due to reasons other than an ability to read and interpret fluctuations of the Force, and likely he was correct.

However, he understood the concept of hunt better than many of his infamous colleagues. Rakghouls hunted with their sight. So did a human.

That caused him to meet some restrictions. For the time being, he had been able to rely on the cloak of invisibility generated by his stealth field generator.

The Lieutenant very well knew that covered by the field he would not be able to do what possibly was required. The stealth field was out of the question.

He had supported the weapon against the platform and on the bipod and aligned it so that the barrel pointed to the direction where the escape pod had crashed days before. The long and powerful rifle itself was a hybrid of Republic and ancient Star Forge technology. It was more than accurate enough for his purposes. So precise that when using the semi-automatic mode, it hit a target that was located five hundred meters away and the same size as the human eye. Always.

He repeated the action plan in his head.

Locate the target. Verify. Evaluate the situation.

Then there was the fourth and final step. It had a conditional linked to it.

Pull the trigger.

Chapter Text

Commander Carth Onasi knew another professional soldier when he saw one.

It was one of those skills he considered as natural outcomes of years of war and service. Among others, this had been slowly amassed, but strongly stitched to his instincts after crossing his path with hundreds of men and women so alike, and so fundamentally different…

Souls fighting with him: for the Republic - or against them.

People who had been there and had seen the war in the entire damning brutality that it was, never did look at the galaxy in the same way, ever again. The hopeful innocence similar to what was in their eyes the first time they ever set foot on a Republic warship, it eventually lost its brightness to cease to exist. And the longer they stayed, and the more actual battle they met, the more distinguishable was this impact to their very core.

Seeing death, pulling the trigger to cause death, it did have an impact. It rebuilt people, redefined them. Not usually for the better.

Eventually, routines of battle were fixed to their muscles so powerfully that this particular, instinctively learned way of reacting to surroundings stayed with them forever. Like a hint of darkness, a shadow of an uncleansable stain.

One could never fully let go of it, the war.

Due to this Carth Onasi knew Ensign Eldran Daraz was a professional soldier. Daraz had that appearance; that look so to speak.

Carth always read the files of new soldiers stationed onboard his ship, without exceptions. He considered this a part of his duty, but more importantly, genuinely wanted to know the people he worked with. This time, regardless of reading the file, he did not.

When thinking of Daraz, he did not see a greenhorn scout and a translator whose service experience could only be counted in months. However, this exactly was what the younger man adamantly claimed to be. And accompanied by the same claims had he been presented to Carth by Bastila Shan's party.

The Jedi. The brass. The man himself.

All were keeping information from him. It was so obvious and frustrating.

Already days ago Carth had mentally reached the conclusion that Daraz's file was 'not accurate'. Heck, it was a bit too politically correct a term to describe a document, which apparently had as much to do with the reality, as some of the children's books his late wife had acquired for their son's enjoyment years ago...

He felt his brows furrow when the images of his loved ones flashed somewhere within his mind, only to disappear. During the past years, he had routinely learned how to shake these painful emotions to the background and not let them distract him. Distract him too much, anyway.

Thinking of the file, the list of abilities clearly stated there did not include the skills to perform those very controlled, yet agile and swift series of lunges and slashes with the sword. It was a fierce dance producing death and amputated body parts Carth had seen the younger soldier to execute numerous times and seemed almost as if it was a central part of Daraz's core programming.

The younger soldier was a wee excessively efficient with his sharp knife considering the fact that the Navy classified him as an expert marksman, but also as an inexperienced swordsman, who more or less had trouble distinguishing which end of a blade was intended for holding and which, for killing. Other than this, among other hints he had seen had forced him to conclude he was accompanied by a man who had a fake file. A surprisingly poorly made in fact, since even Daraz himself was unable to stick to the story consistently.

Except for his quite outstanding language skills, the file belonged to someone who was unremarkable, average. Daraz was quite the contrary.

Ensign Eldran Daraz was a professional soldier in spite of what was claimed by the man or the Jedi accompanying him, and Carth was not planning to draw contradictory conclusions.

Initially, he'd grown suspicious due to the blatant differences he saw. Obviously, he had considered the possibility that Daraz was, in fact, the Sith spy working behind the ranks of the Republic Navy, the individual behind the destruction of the Endar Spire, and had been prepared to act accordingly. He had considered it heavily, seen it as a possible and even the likely explanation to some of the events in the near past.

Not that it really mattered anymore. Sandra was familiar with the man from times before; probably the red-haired Jedi Knight knew what or who in truth he was. And Carth understood the more skill on this desperate mission was equivalent to the higher chances for it to succeed.

To him, the show was over, and continuing the act was a waste of everyone's time here where they had no other support than each other. They should know the skills, the strengths and weaknesses of one another in order to function as an efficient team.

But he knew he could trust Sandra to stay true to Jedi secrecy.

The Jedi liked their secrecy. Often too much. It seemed even Daraz was not aware of all details related to his mission. Not that it mattered too much to Carth anyway, but there were times when he felt pity for people like him, people in his position.

There were two parallel chains of command in the Republic war effort. Although the younger soldier officially was a soldier of the Navy, the Jedi had punched their mark on him. It was an unusual arrangement. But it was not unheard of.

Information was given on need-to-know basis. Carth had grown into this during his years of service, and this time it was pretty apparent that according to the brass and the Jedi, he did not need to know.

Likely Daraz was some Special Ops soldier on a mission tied to Bastila Shan – some specific task only the Jedi knew about. They had their Jedi reasons, and it appeared Carth was not going to grow any more enlightened about those. In this war, battles were fought on many different levels, and not all were visible to him. Sometimes he felt he had grown too damn used to the Jedi and their games. But the war did have an impact. It killed idealism.

He'd been in tight enough spots and seen enough, however, to always value a useful skill set.

Endar Spire was lost. Bastila Shan, not yet.

Regardless, or moreover, because of his real past, the man known as Ensign Eldran Daraz was an extremely dangerous individual.

Only these were Commander Carth Onasi's thoughts when he watched the younger soldier's armored back. The tall, dark-haired man's posture appeared blatantly relaxed as he stood in front of him, all three of them facing a patrol of four Sith soldiers.

On this open and dead field, they did not have the always welcome opportunity of avoiding confrontations like this. Just like had been the case with the Mandalorian and his group… As a crucial difference to the previous one, this was not going to end as smoothly. Not a chance.

He felt the understanding of the upcoming in his muscles. In his arms: they were tense and ready to pull the stock of his rifle against his shoulder to let it sing.

It takes only as long to begin as it takes for them to verify our IDs.

Counting pure numbers, they didn't have an advantage. However, taking into account the fact that a full-fledged Jedi Knight was standing next to him, on his left side, he well knew numbers did not matter much down here and nothing right now. Still, he was worried. It was pure realism, understanding the facts standing in front of him. The Jedi could not stop the blaster bolts without proper tools.

"No problem," Carth heard the younger soldier say, tone low and casual. He saw Daraz offer a datapad to the red-armored Officer in charge, the pad which held their forged Sith identification documents.

Daraz placed his hands behind his back, away from the sword and blaster hanging from his belt, as the Officer examined the datapad. The gesture was simple, seemingly casual, and signaled quite the opposite of danger.

As if we have nothing to hide.

Daraz was a bloody actor. The HoloFilm industry would have been thrilled to find such a kriffin' star. No – amazed. Astonished.

Carth mentally grit his teeth, watching how all four enemy blaster rifles were still trained to the ground, but weapons at the ready nonetheless. He knew that in a matter of a second all four barrels were capable of pointing towards him or his companions. Half a second later they would be spitting deadly fire upon them.

At this near point-blank range, he'd need to move extremely quickly to avoid a black-edged scorched hole penetrating his skin. This was the reason why the battle had to be ended before it even started.

Carth knew precisely what to expect. Verification of IDs would only lead to a conclusion that such names did not exist in any Sith databases. It was a routine procedure, which would take the Sith about twenty seconds to complete. Carth was sure he could trust Daraz to understand this as well.

He saw no such stress in the younger man's demeanor. At the same time when the Officer proceeded to examine the IDs, Daraz stated their false names and false ranks in the Sith Navy like a loyal Imperial soldier. Carth heard the Officer repeat the blasted fictitious names and their blasted imaginary ranks to the comlink integrated to his helmet and every word felt like a new step in the direction of inevitable bloodshed.

Well, the cover was useful…as long as it lasted.

He had to once more admit Daraz's skills as an actor were way too good for the ordinary grunt he claimed to be. Yet another addition to the younger soldier's interestingly flexible palette of skills that seemed to swell and bloat with every passing day. He'd seen too much to be even the least surprised of it anymore.

However, even if they had the most notable actor from the entire galaxy in the party, he knew no acting of any kind was going to take them any further.

Twenty seconds and their false IDs would be blown to dust, just like the Spire.

Daraz knew it too. Just like him, also Daraz's thoughts were fixated on what was about to transpire about twenty seconds in the future.

Externally Daraz appeared relaxed, yet the movement of his gloved hands behind his back indicated quite the contradictory. Behind his back, hidden away from the Sith troopers' eyes where he had deliberately placed his hands just some seconds ago in a seemingly relaxed gesture, the younger man gesticulated swiftly but carefully with his fingers, using somewhat simplified Republic military signals.

The message was clear nonetheless.

"You - to the left - I go forward. Wait -"

Two of his fingers rose to signal the timing of their initiative. The Jedi's eyes were fixated somewhere forward, and he knew the woman was about to take care of enemy weaponry. Carth did not understand the Force well enough to predict whether or not the act was about to reach senses of the enigmatic Dark Jedi, but the risk for sure was there. They'd need to worry about it later.

Not now.

The Officer's com crackled inside his helmet and Carth was not able to distinguish the words that were stated. Daraz's fingers stood still, asking them to wait.

"All clear, Sir. Excuse me, Sir. My apologies for the delay," the Officer said and handed the datapad back to Daraz.

That was one of those rare moments when Carth did not know what to think about, or even how to formulate it. For sure, he did not feel relieved.

Relieved - for sure – no.

He saw Daraz's inner actor kick in once again.

"You are following the orders, soldier. Cannot blame you for that. Any new information on the Jedi's whereabouts?" the younger soldier enquired, shifting to the role of a Sith Officer with almost no hesitation. He managed to disguise any emotions triggered by their sudden 'enlistment' to the Sith Navy pretty well. Daraz's exterior was perfectly unperturbed.

Daraz was a bloody actor. If the most recent turn of events was as hard to digest for him as it was for Carth, it could not be heard through the tone of his voice, when the younger soldier proceeded to press the Sith Officer for answers to questions he wanted to hear.

Only when the patrol of Sith soldiers was far in the distance and their backs were almost indistinguishable dark silhouettes, did Daraz drop the mask he wore. His features shifted to an open state of irritation as he slowly shook his head.

The younger soldier indeed was a man of many facades, and after sharing close quarters with him for several days now, he still sometimes was not sure at all which one was the actual one.

"That was interesting," the dark-haired man stated, his features directed towards the group of Sith who had almost disappeared behind a pillar in the distance.

"Not a coincidence," Carth nodded, agreeing bitterly.

"The covers must be discarded," Daraz sharply added, going straight to the point as always.

"If someone knows the names we chose, they know exactly where we are standing at this bloody moment."

The tone of Daraz's voice was dark, his eyes fixated to the direction of the dark open field, the direction they were heading to in search of Mission Vao.

"You are thinking of an enemy, Daraz, but they may equally be an ally, as well," Sandra reminded him softly.

"A Republic spy, perhaps," Carth decided to state his thoughts out loud. "Someone with access to their databases…and enough leverage among them."

"Or the Republic has located us. Maybe they are giving us their support. It could mean Bastila has escaped this planet, or…" Sandra speculated.

"Believe me or not, Sandra," Daraz sharply cut in, "but we are as good as dead in the eyes of the Republic. This reeks of a spy and pretty far from in a good manner."

Carth gave a nod, understanding Daraz's concern.

"The bottom line is our cover has been compromised," Carth said. "That's the only fact we know for certain."

"Yes-" Daraz replied quickly. "They – and they may be an ally or the enemy – they can track our movement through any checkpoint. We need to find alternative means of traveling between the cities, to stay invisible. It's the only advantage we can utilize. The only real advantage we have."

There was frustration yet wisdom in the younger soldier's words. The 'alternative means' the younger soldier referred to was somewhere in the Undercity, in a form a young Twi'lek girl.

I had gone through numerous possibilities in my mind, and still had no answer that would satisfy me the least.

Honestly, the fact our identities had been compromised bothered me a Hell of a lot, which was a feeling hard to ignore. We had been shown in a straightforward and no-brainer way that we were not as entirely in control of our own situation, as I previously had thought. One of our key advantages was gone. Torn down. Destroyed. Put to death.

It almost seemed either Carth or Sandra had leaked the information to the Sith brass, which as a concept was so absurd it could not get any further to that direction.

Somehow, due to someone, we had been placed in the ranks of the Sith Navy. Or rather the false identities, the bunch of random names Sandra had come up with and given to the forger who had then generated the docs based on the identification document I had acquired from Sarna, my personal Sith Officer.

In theory, it could have been the forger and even in that case way too many things did not add up.

As for the why… Either this small feat had been performed for tracking purposes… Or for providing us easy access through the Sith-infested Undercity. Or both.

Why?

The same applied to this one, as in many other situations.

Get to the 'why' and it'll take you to the 'who'.

Reasoning based on hardly any evidence is sometimes useful. Usually, and after a certain limit which is typically met in a few minutes, it doesn't take anyone much further until new information comes available.

Information and evidence I valued. Speculation, not so much.

Most likely the answer was coming to me head-on, anyway, I concluded. I pushed the thoughts to the background where my subconsciousness would still work on them, progress them like a machine humming quietly and causing no distraction.

My senses were needed at this moment, here and now, where a pack of rapid rakghouls was lurking behind every pillar.

As of a reminder of constant imminent danger, a decaying corpse of a rakghoul could be distinguished as a grey lump in the distance. Those were a grim and a disgustingly familiar sight down here, both the living and even more often the dead.

I stifled a wince, seeing how the corpse was missing half of the meat that should have been there, revealing a partially rotted mess of guts and yellow bones of the ribcage, indicating likely it had been eaten.

The corpse had caught Sandra's attention. She shook her head, showing genuine disgust.

"They have a cure for this…plague. And they have not distributed it. Shared it among the suffering," Sandra's voice was grim. Almost a bit too emotional belonging to a Jedi.

The vial of rakghoul antivenom the Sith officer had given us was deep inside my chest pocket. They had called it 'rakghoul serum'. They had more than enough of it. Enough for all men venturing down, as they had called the lowest, darkest and by far the most dangerous part of Taris.

I looked at her, not fully understanding why she could not see the reason, how she could be so naïve.

…Her empathy is dulling her logic; a dark thought, a conclusion appeared in my mind.

…One of the reasons why they will never win this war. They will never be efficient; they are a weakness, a defect, a crack in the foundations. Cancer…

The judgmental train of thought left its tracks to my emotions, momentarily pulling me from the present, submerging me to a dark void. A tint of loathing and pride, anger and a sense of thirst…

…for vengeance…

…but moreover...necessity.

The cacophony of feelings encircled the black nothingness.

"Obviously they want to restrict the use of it," I told her. "Because giving away such power makes strategically absolutely zero sense."

My voice had come out much colder and sharper than I had expected.

She turned to me, visibly shocked, giving me a piercing look.

"What kind of power they plan to gain through oppression, inflicted pain and suffering?" she asked, recognizable tension in her voice.

"Just look around," I said, forcing the tone softer, a part of me wondering if pursuing the subject actually was worth the effort.

"We are walking amidst the very foundations of Taris. As you are aware, the entire bloody infrastructure is supported by those pillars, which is pretty unpractical from the defense perspective. Idiotic, even. It takes basically nothing more than a small task force and a couple of well-planned placements of explosives to cripple most locations of any importance," I explained.

"However, keeping things the way they are right now, the local government has a formidable defense force if you may, down here, working incessantly."

She glared at me.

"Using mindless beasts for defense makes no sense for any structured government," she responded, shaking her head from side to side.

"I wouldn't be exactly surprised to see deliberately left carcasses around some key pillars to keep the rakghouls alive and fat," I continued playing with the thought, ignoring her.

"Or do you think a few sickly Outcasts every now and then provide adequate sustenance for the pack? Or could have continued to do so for the past one hundred years? No, those creatures must have been fed by the government… Generations of governments, both under the Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic just alike."

She did not respond, and I knew I was making much more sense than she liked.

"The escape pod is right there," Sandra stated quietly, pointing forward.

It was actually effortless to see where it had crashed, approximately one thousand meters in front of us since the brutally torn openings on the upper plates had not still been fully sealed. One pillar of pure daylight cut the darkness in front of us at an angle, indicating the exact landing location of the pod.

"A bloody breakfast," I muttered, my eyes scanning the open field in front of us and mentally picturing that as our fate if we ventured forward head-on.

The ground inclined slightly up in front of us and formed a small yet broad hill so that we could not see the actual escape pod. It was somewhere behind the mound, sitting on a field that expanded in all directions.

Due to the recent turn of events, going straight for the escape pod was probably the most advanced form of idiocy we could do.

Monitoring the barren and empty shadow of nature through the scope of his advanced rifle, the Lieutenant was confident he would spot any movement hundreds of meters away. According to the information he had received, he was expecting the group to arrive within an hour or so.

The path should have been clear unless they had run into a pack of rakghouls. The way had been cleared. It was an action accompanied by extreme risk but had to be done to ensure no Sith interference.

He would need to decide soon. And still, he was painfully uncertain whether or not he should pull the trigger to follow the order given to him by his Master already years ago.

His vision was crystal clear due to the Star Forge born technology powering his mask and his scope, but his mind was not.

Regardless of the advanced technology enhancing his human senses, it came by a complete surprise when he heard a metallic click to his right. The sound was distinguishable down here, where the rumble of traffic had already been muffled by the sheer volume of air and duracrete in between and where the silence was an oppressive wall, only sometimes broken by isolated cries of rakghouls.

Any experienced marksman recognized that sound. It was the one produced by the mechanics of a blaster weapon when it was either set to stun…or kill.

"Not a single move," a steady, dark voice warned.

Trask froze.

"Let go of the gun and stand up. Slowly. I want to see your hands," the steady voice commanded.

The voice – the man – he had recognized it immediately. The tone was perfectly identical to the man's voice he had heard aboard the Spire. And before this, in addition to his memories, aboard the, the…

The Revenge.

Still taken aback by the sudden presence of the man, the unexpected threat, he hesitated long enough for the man to bark an order: "Move, scum!"

And he stood up, gritting his teeth and pushing his weight up to his feet by using only the muscles in his legs, holding his hands in front of his chest clearly visible and in the form of a calming gesture. His pulse was running high, blood rushing through his veins, moist gathering to his hairline and he barely noticed it.

To his right he knew, was standing the man who nowadays walked under the guise and name of Eldran Daraz. The man who carried the face of the man he had seen two years ago aboard an infamous Sith Interdictor-class cruiser: the flagship of the Sith armada, the Revenge.

The former Jedi had snuck very close and very unnoticed. He was standing barely five meters away, right next to the rusty brown old door leading to the internals of the pillar and the massive sewer network of Taris.

And as he turned his head towards the figure to his right, he first observed a blaster pistol, the presence of which he already instinctively had known. Based on the invisible trajectory formed by the barrel, it was pointing directly at his chest. It was firmly held by gloved hands, arms covered in dull black metal vambraces and a finger was pressed on the trigger. He assumed the man was pulling the trigger up to the sense of resistance palpable just before a shot leaving the barrel.

The man holding the pistol, wearing nothing but black, had no second thoughts what came to deaths he deemed necessary.

The young man's face was covered with a thin layer of dust, an indication of hours spent in the Undercity, and the stony façade did not give away any thoughts. A deadly fire burned behind the dark eyes.

Revan, the true Dark Lord of the Sith, was standing five meters away from him, pointing a blaster gun at his heart. The Lieutenant was certain.

"Who were you about to shoot, Sith?"

The question came out loud, sharp and demanding.

He knew he was walking on ice so thin it was about to break any moment, and he'd drown in cold black waters. For days, he'd mentally prepared for this confrontation only for it to go nothing like he had planned, for it to catch him totally off guard. To complicate the matter, apparently his former Master was unable to recognize him wearing the mask, so he'd need to maneuver to safety with only words as his support.

"Sir… Onasi. The orders…"

Trask saw Revan's eyes narrow.

"What about Onasi? What orders?" Revan retorted, quickly.

The stare was intense.

Yet the question was puzzling. Was Revan testing him again? Utilizing the Force to read his aura to see he was still standing where he should be? Or was this an elaborate act of manipulation?

"The orders you gave aboard the Revenge. He was one of the names on your list. Seven remain, sir."

"Continue."

"The Jedi has been located – she is being held by a swoop gang, the Black Vulkars. Onasi… I was unable to reach him aboard the Spire, had to prioritize Bandon over him."

Trask shook his head.

"Did not expect to see you there, sir. Heck, did not even recognize you at first..."

Revan's posture did not relax the slightest. He saw no change in his demeanor.

"Malak has chosen Bandon as his apprentice. Had to be taken care of, Sir."

"Ulgo."

Revan had finally spoken his alias in the ranks of the Republic Navy. The Sith Lord had recognized him now. He'd pieced everything together.

Or so he assumed.

Due to this, the next question was the one he did not expect to hear. Was not supposed to hear.

"Your name and rank in the Sith Navy?"

Immediately the Lieutenant was completely, utterly uncertain.

He hesitated.

Did he not know who he was?

Did not Revan recognize him? It didn't make any sense.

He looked at the man standing to his right. The man clad in black, pointing a blaster pistol at his chest with a stern and dark expression of finality set on his features.

No – he did not recognize him. The man did not have the faintest idea of who he was. It was entirely clear now. Revan would never have forgotten such an important piece of information as identities of his handpicked agents.

After so many years, Revan may have asked of his rank. But the name, never.

Never.

Eldran Daraz was not the man he had assumed him to be. He was not Revan, he was not the former Dark Lord of the Sith. He was just a useless nobody, some ordinary soldier of the Republic Navy. And first and foremost he was an enemy - and to an enemy soldier, he had just disclosed highly classified information concerning his mission.

After nearly killing Darth Bandon, this was the second serious act of treason he had committed within a matter of days. Treason times two.

Shit.

The Republic soldier's mouth turned down with anger, as Daraz noticed his hesitation, noticed he suddenly wasn't cooperating.

Trask swallowed hard, frantically going through his options. There were not many. Not indeed a single good one. He had the advantage of high ground, but Daraz was holding a blaster pistol, and the distance was next to nothing. He'd hit him even with his eyes closed. The circumstances undeniably were not in his favor.

Shit!

"Get down!" Daraz ordered. The voice held a clear warning.

And that was when he saw the opening. The rusty old door opened creaking, and for one very short second, the full attention of Ensign Eldran Daraz was directed to something else than him.

It was enough.

He never stayed to see who or what came through that blasted door. His hand was quickly on the stealth field generator, and he jumped, his legs hitting the soft ground, struggling to keep his balance, but emerging victorious.

And he ran, as fast as he could and well knowing the stealth field generator was not hiding his form one hundred percent. Half of him constantly expected a sting of a blaster bolt biting to his back, a wave of pain exploding through his body, paralyzing him.

A shot was never fired.

He ran until his legs and lungs were burning. Then he stopped to catch his breath, fell to his knees and cursed his idiocy.

He had taken a Hell of a risk. And it had blown directly to his face.

Treason times two.

Carth did not assume his wrist com to come to alive. In fear of Republic signals being traced, they had not used the communication equipment on the surface of Taris. Daraz did not have a safe way of signaling 'all clear' to them – neither did they. They'd agreed to approach the area in the form of the pincer maneuver – to scout the sides before entering the field where the pod had fallen. If an enemy were monitoring the pod, they'd locate them from the flank or rear, potentially gaining a locational advantage and the element of surprise.

Due to the recent events, it was the only sensible choice. Daraz had gone one way; he and Sandra had taken the other path. Eventually, they presumed to meet with the knowledge of what lay ahead.

And when he first saw signs of life, they were not what he had expected.

They had chosen to raise their speed from careful walking to fast jogging, seeing that whatever had transpired at the scene a moment ago, had already lost its spikes and there were no signs of danger present.

No evidence of a lost life was present, either, which was slightly surprising considering the fact that Daraz was supporting the stock of a massive scoped military rifle to the ground. The weapon itself shouted 'Sith' with large bold letters.

The younger soldier's demeanor was almost relaxed, as he was calmly talking to the short blue-skinned Twi'lek whose headtails barely reached his chest. From the rapid movement of her hands, he could see from afar that the girl was in a state of distress.

"We need to go," the Twi'lek exclaimed hurriedly, directing her words to Daraz, pointing toward a doorway carved to the pillar next to them.

"This is Mission Vao," Daraz laconically introduced the Twi'lek, confirming Carth's assumption right.

Good, the girl had finally been located. Letting Daraz roam loose always seemed to make things happen, although oftentimes the end result was lined with dead creatures and amputated body parts.

The Twi'lek was young, very young. Although dressed in a practical, near military way and carrying two blasters on her utility belt, she was around the age of his son, when he had seen him alive for the last time. It was a painful realization and highlighted how she was standing at a location that felt somehow utterly wrong. Children of her age should not have a need to travel places like the Undercity of Taris in search for a few credits.

The Sith weapon meant Daraz had also been doing something else than just exchanging information with the Twi'lek girl.

"Need a report, Daraz," was the first thing Carth said to the younger soldier.

"Caught a Sith sniper here. Someone was monitoring the pod's landing site as we suspected," Daraz explained in a matter-of-factly manner.

Daraz nodded toward the Twi'lek.

"He got away when I was distracted by this young lady's sudden arrival."

"Hey, don't blame it on me," the girl retorted sharply. "You could have picked a better location for standing."

"You never fired a shot at him. We would have heard," Sandra observed.

"So would have the rakghouls. Wasn't worth it. The Sith know we're here anyway."

"They certainly do now," Carth muttered to himself.

"He's running around without any weapons or gear. Rakghouls'll take care of him."

The younger soldier made it sound like it wasn't too big of a deal. Losing an enemy sniper. Carth was unable to share his confidence, the untroubled attitude, but knew there was nothing he could do about it. The enemy had escaped, and they had to move forward. Maybe there was nothing Daraz could have done about the outcome anyway, with the Twi'lek girl's apparently unexpected arrival to the scene. Or maybe there was more to it, and possibly he'd never know.

Still, coming from Daraz, the words felt somewhat odd, somewhat out of character, and he could not wholly put the feeling aside. Within the previous days, Carth had categorized Daraz as someone who left no open ends, accepted no errors whatsoever and seemed not to be hesitant about utilizing bloodshed to achieve that end result.

To say the younger soldier was unpredictable was an understatement.

"Take a look at this one, Onasi," Daraz said, offering him the Sith rifle and changing the subject. "You work better with these things anyway."

It was an intriguing piece of equipment. Carth had seen Sith weaponry several times before, but nothing like this one. Except for the power cell and scope, it resembled the standard issue Republic rifle.

During the Jedi Civil War, they'd been able to acquire some Sith weaponry. They were fascinating pieces and a constant headache to Republic scientists since they appeared to utilize technology alien to the galaxy. According to their tests, the capacity of a Sith power cell of the same size was over three times more compared to the standard power cell. This resulted in more powerful ammo or significantly increased capacity of shots fired. Despite the efforts, they had never been able to replicate the power cell.

Unless they'd been able to copy the Sith energy shields, the war might have ended much sooner.

"We need to go, now," the girl said out loud. "We need to help Big Z!"

"Mission has a problem, and we've come to a bit of an agreement regarding a trade," Daraz explained. "The Wookiee she's traveling with… It appears he got captured by some Gamorrean slavers."

Carth could see where this was going.

"She's agreed to navigate us through the sewers to the so-called back door of the Vulkar base…if we free her friend first. Shouldn't be too much resistance, she approximated six to eight slavers. There's practically no time, but likely it is the best offer we are going to get."

"The escape pod…" Sandra said. "Was it there where you met the slavers?" The damaged pod was in open view from this direction and in front of it could be seen a carcass resembling a Gammorean.

The girl gave a short nod.

"I – we – we need to free Big Z… I don't know what happened. Those slavers ambushed us, and Zaalbar told me to run… I thought he was right behind me. He sacrificed himself for me!"

Her voice was naturally high and containing the apparent worry for her friend's safety, it came out even higher.

"Maybe show us the way to the Vulkar base first, we'll help your friend then?" Daraz calmly proposed, directing his words to Mission.

"Do you think I'm stupid? Big Z first, the directions to the base second. And don't try to navigate the sewers without me. I'll bet a thousand credits on the fact that you'll be lost in less than one minute."

The response was confident and sharp, and Carth could see signs of genuine amusement playing on the younger soldier's features.

"You heard her. That's the best offer we are going to get," Daraz said with a smile.

"Let's free your friend," Sandra agreed.

Her features showed sincere empathy, and Carth wondered if she could actually sense the girl's anxiety as if it was her own.

It took him almost twice as long as on his way to the escape pod to travel back to the Outcast village. Partly due to the rakghouls. Weaponless, he had to move extra carefully and choose his steps so that he stayed unnoticed. The same applied to Sith patrols. He knew he had been on a running timer and it was only a matter of days, hours, minutes or maybe even seconds when he would be branded a traitor.

He'd created quite a mess for himself.

Aboard the Endar Spire, he had seen the man called Eldran Daraz kill a Dark Jedi with precision outside the normal human range. He had seen a man who was a perfect copy of his former Master in terms of external appearance and voice.

Or so he had thought.

He had been one-hundred percent sure and utterly, irreversibly wrong. Following his intuition had clouded his thoughts and led him chasing a ghost from the past. The face of the dead man.

He was a fool.

But now he was done with it. He'd find a ship, travel off the planet and disappear for good. Probably within one week or so Malak would need to reposition his fleet due to increasing pressure caused by the Republic Navy. That would be his opening. A maximum of one week and the pure mechanics of war would create a necessity for Malak to lift the guarantee.

He stepped into the elevator. He knew a pair of guards was standing up where the doors opened to reveal the hallway to the Lower City. He'd need to kill them swiftly to ensure no message of him passing through was sent.

As the doors of the elevator opened, he was expecting to see a view of the Lower City. It was still there, but in front of it stood a group of about twenty Sith troopers, rifles pointed directly at him.

"Lieutenant Weyron," a red-armored Officer stated. She was standing closest to him, right next to the elevator doors.

She took one quick, aggressive step towards him and despite the instinctive dodge, the next thing he could feel was the pain, as the stock of the rifle hammered to his jaw, hitting his teeth together and dropping him efficiently to his knees. The next blow unleashed a wave of pain from his back that traveled down his spine, and his hands met the duracrete floor hard. He fought to retain his consciousness, focusing his vision on the grey floor in front of his eyes, shaken by the direct smash to his head.

He could hear someone panting until he realized it was his own breathing.

"Darth Bandon has spoken," she said. "You are under arrest for crimes committed against the Sith Empire."

The tone was resolute and final, yet accompanied by a tinge of satisfaction he found very hard to ignore even in his current state of mind.

However, hope.

In that voice, there didn't resonate a single drop of it.

Chapter Text

Rusted and creaking metal stairs inside the pillar had taken us one floor and two hundred steps further down to the dark and uninviting labyrinth that existed below. During the descent, the Jedi and the Twi'lek girl discussed, voices not much more than a whisper, about the sewer network and how it was as old as the rakghoul plague.

And left to rot around the same time.

I did not pay much attention and stayed silent; my thoughts were occupied with matters of higher importance.

During the past weeks and months, I had become quite efficient at pushing incomprehensible emotions and memories in the background. But finally, I had met something I could describe resembling a raged beast persistently gnawing the shackles I had placed on its limbs to keep it at bay. My thoughts were betraying me by refusing to stay contained in their assigned locations. They were a many-legged monster crawling to several directions simultaneously, thirsting for answers and an opportunity for forcing those out by any means necessary.

I felt distracted, and I did not like it. The cynical part of me despised…loathed the lack of control over my consciousness I had…

…"Control is the utmost power, my friend."

I could remember myself stating those words out loud. Not recalling when, or to whom – the context was lost to me. But those words were brought to me with the utmost clarity, and this darkened the swirl of my thoughts even more.

Only about a half an hour back I had been standing face-to-face with the man behind the destruction of the Endar Spire. I had been eyeing him through the sights of my blaster pistol, both ready and willing to blast a hole in his armor and through his skin.

And yet I had hesitated when came the time to pull the trigger.

Not due to mercy.

No – actions of mercy were a luxury I could not afford, did not see a necessity. Such deeds were reserved for people with noble spirits, those who carried brighter intentions and had way less to lose.

"Sir."

It was an acknowledgment of a higher position in their ranks. In the kriffin' Sith Navy. Had he revealed, with this one inadvertently stated word, something that should have stayed hidden? Had he let slip something from my past?

Most likely.

Getting the facts straight, the spy had recognized me. I had met him, and he had known my face, known my actual identity if I was to describe it so. According to the info he had produced within those very limited seconds, this contradicted so bloody hard from a large chunk of my memories that consequently, a majority of me did not exist. As if I was a creation of someone else's imagination, and false background information implanted in my brain like I was a droid operating under programming.

Probably I should have killed him.

The decision of not shooting when I had an open line of fire had the not-so-sweet opportunity of eventually backfiring in a very final manner. I was fully aware of this. The obvious massive, nearly insane risk was a decided risk, which I was willing to take without any remorse. If there was a horde of Sith nearing this location right now, this, in turn, meant I was going to face some solid answers soon.

An hour back the man had considered himself an ally. He had claimed so. I did not know if this was the situation anymore and neither did I find myself caring. At gunpoint alignments were volatile - they were worthless. The information he carried had shifted his classification to a potentially useful individual within my mind, which was enough for me eventually to allow him to run.

To complicate the matter even further, the Sith spy, the infiltrator, the traitor, the-whatever had been Trask Ulgo, my assumed-dead bunkmate. This much I had pieced together.

There was no way I was going to share this information with my current companions. It would have been a catastrophe, and not the least due to the Commander possibly rapidly reorganizing his priorities and starting to chase the Sith spy instead of tracking Bastila Shan.

Moreover, since already one Sith soldier had recognized me, I had to acknowledge there was an existing likelihood of the same happening again. I had made a mental note of covering my features in any locations with cameras or Sith, which was basically the bloody entire Taris except for the Undercity sewers.

"Sir."

…What the kriff?

I had gone as far as mentally attempting to picture myself with an imaginary rank in the Sith Navy, just to see if it allowed me to recover anything. Lieutenant Daraz. Captain Daraz. Commander Daraz, the uniform, insignia and all. Any military rank in connection with my name had developed a need within my chest to bitterly laugh out loud. Those names did not stir any feelings within me. They were empty, hollow and nonexistent. The exercise felt like children's play and I a fool attempting it.

But as much was clear that I was done with traversing separate directions simultaneously, done with not believing what my own intuition consistently placed in front of my eyes.

The flashes and fragments escaping the deepest compartments of my subconsciousness.

Most of the memories were vague, some dark, even damning. But unlike the polished HoloFilm I saw taking place inside my head, a play comprising of actors and devoid of all actual emotion, they were real.

It had happened.

…In my hands, the saber felt…familiar, it felt…right…

…I sense my hunters. My computer-enhanced vision is clear, but they burn brighter in my senses…

…Empathy is a weakness in a battle in which only the strongest may survive…

..."Sir…The orders you gave aboard the Revenge"…

I wanted to grimace.

The Revenge was a name hard to ignore since the cruiser had been at the very front of the advancing Sith fleet after its sudden appearance from nowhere about three years ago. The fleet had softly slipped from hyperspace in the vicinity of the shipyards of Foerost, the surprise attack resulting in the loss of a significant portion of the Republic fleet and strengthening Sith numbers.

...I watch the light show of the hyperspace come to a halt, feeling the sense of deceleration through the hull of the vessel. The planet is in my view; surface round, green and welcoming…

The onslaught had defined the beginning of the war and dealt one devastating blow to the Republic war effort right as the first move taking place.

The infamous Sith Interdictor-class cruiser had been destroyed approximately six months ago. It was a well-known fact since it had been all over the HoloNews at the time. I was very much aware of this, since that exact timeframe I'd been nearly literally tied to a sick bed, due to my skull being recently cracked open and my brain matter healing from the severe damage it had endured. Access to galactic newscasts was the only item reminiscent of a link to the real world.

It had been a significant victory for the Republic, led by the woman in my dreams, Bastila Shan.

…The grey eyes, the eyes of steel, observing me…

I was able to almost taste the metallic flavor of blood inside my mouth.

…Almost felt the warm and thick liquid blocking my airways, again…

…The suffocating pressure on my chest…

…My brain screaming for oxygen when there was none available…

…My body useless, broken, fiery talons of pain cutting into my flesh…

So powerful was the memory, so vivid and brutal.

She and I had been there, hadn't we? Aboard the Revenge.

And I had not walked from that encounter.

Clearly, Mission Vao had exaggerated.

Of course, it was not possible to get lost in the sewers of Taris within one minute. Without a map and keeping a careful mental record of the route it would have taken altogether maybe twenty.

Actually, the basic structure of the network was pretty simple. Only the number of repetitions in the equation made it so complicated that the pattern was lost from the brain without extreme caution.

The same basic engineering design carried throughout the entire sewer network of Taris. Inside the massive pillars supporting the plates and upper city layers constructed on top, were neat stacks of externally rusted gigantic pipes, leading sewage down and to water treatment units rumbling somewhere beneath our feet. Those, in turn, cleansed the waste; separated contaminants from the liquid and pumped purified water back up.

We walked past another stack of pipes, and the sound of gushing water was nearly deafening in the close proximity. I could not help but wonder what the plan was if one of them finally gave up to the rust and pressure and burst, flooding the hallways.

Thinking of it, in this decaying society of extreme class separation, looking from this direction, from the absolute bottom…

They are pretty much all the same shab.

There was some bloody amusing irony in the analogy, and I could feel an incipient smile pulling my lips.

"This way!"

Mission's voice was nearly wholly eaten up by the noise levels, but a wave of the young Twi'lek girl's hand directed us to take a turn to one of the four possible directions - one of the numberless service hallways connecting one of the thousand or so waste treatment centers alike.

She apparently knew her way through this labyrinth of hallways, rooms, and piping. The Twi'lek maneuvered her way amidst the darkness, thick smell, and creaking floor grids easily. Taking a look at the map of the Undercity every now and then gave me a rough understanding of the direction we were heading. It was only sensible. It gave me a certain degree of confidence of finding my way out if something…unexpected happened, and we no longer had a guide.

Mission did not show signs of being aware of any imminent danger, yet her hand always lingered close to her blaster pistol and the stealth field generator hanging on her belt.

She had told us it was about an hour's walk before we'd reach the base of the Gamorrean slavers. In the end, it took us less than forty-five minutes to encounter them.

The first snout-faced Gamorrean died in complete silence.

His hulking silhouette was a shadow in the middle of a poorly-lit hallway.

Standing his back toward us and entirely unaware, monitoring the opposite direction, he was inadvertent prey. I let silent steps to close the distance approaching from behind, seeing the opening and deciding upon utilizing it without hesitation.

My left hand grabbed his snout, and I jerked his head sharply back, as my right thrust the vibroblade through the skin of his neck and guided it upwards. The blade bit through fat and meat, veins and the windpipe. His knees collapsed under him, leaving the enormous task of supporting his full weight to me, as the life liquids leaked from his system, wetting the front of his armor and dripping on the floor.

Grimacing due to the heavy exertion, I pulled the bulky corpse to the side of the hallway, not letting it fall on the ground. There, laying in an almost sitting position, it would disappear into the shadows and be less a prominent warning.

One down. Should be a maximum of seven remaining. If the Twi'lek is correct with her estimate, I thought while steadying my breath.

I glanced at the direction of my companions. The Jedi had her vibrosword at the ready, holding it with two steady hands. She had corrected her grip on the hilt of the sword, undoubtedly more used to the weapon. Noticing this, I gave her a nod, mentally approving of the selected action. She responded with the same gesture and a steady look in the emerald eyes, signaling she was equally ready for the battle as I.

The game plan was a simple one: to approach them in silence and let the shadows shelter our path, to utilize the element of surprise as far as it was going to last. As the most proficient wielders of melee weaponry, it was natural for the Jedi and me to take the lead and let Carth and Mission cover our backs with additional firepower.

Numbers two and three in the order went down in near equal silence.

We ambushed the Gamorreans when they took a turn where another hallway intersected the one we were traversing at a ninety-degree angle. The Jedi had sensed them from far, so we stood ready as the thumping sound of steps on creaking sewage grids took them within our reach.

Typical slaver scum representatives of this not very intelligent breed, these were not exactly drowning in credits as distinctly indicated by the appearance of their equipment and armor. The poor-quality leather protection they wore did not give much resistance to our blades, and they paid the ultimate price with their skins. Sandra's sword took care of one with ease, as I drove my blade through the almost nonexistent neckline of the other one.

The fourth Gamorrean was the first one to give us any trouble. But to make up for the surprising lack of it so far, it gave us plenty of it.

Only mere a second before, we'd got the first visual of the location they called the base. About fifty meters away from the intersection we were standing at, following the exact path the two recently deceased had patrolled, was an open pathway leading to a brightly lit service room on the right side.

And this was where the Gamorrean casually stepped out, abruptly halting his movement in the middle of a step when he noticed the two corpses on the hallway floor, and shrieking an immediate warning to his companions in the room.

That was pretty much when all the Hell broke loose.

Not because of the Gamorrean standing near the doorway. No - that one went silent immediately and for infinity, when a bolt spat from Carth's rifle entered his skull. The Commander quickly moved to shoot a blinding red barrage toward the open doorway, providing suppressive fire, well knowing a war was about to be unleashed.

"Take cover!" the older soldier shouted mostly to the young Twi'lek, as I pushed my back against the wall of the interjecting passage on the right side of the opening. A grid of crossfire filled the hallway; blaster bolts fired in response biting to the wall in front of the doorway. Not serial fire, though, I analyzed. This meant pistols, and in this respect, we had the advantage of keeping them at bay.

It was a deadlock, based on the most elementary warfare mechanics. None of the parties were efficiently gaining a clear line of sight without exposing their skins to the other one's weapons. Unless, the opponent started throwing explosives at us – and that would make the situation somewhat more interesting since we had none of that kind.

"Incoming!" Carth shouted as a frag grenade flew from the room, bounced from the walls of the hallway, rolling toward us. Sandra was on top of the situation. The movement of the Jedi's fingers was nearly unnoticeable, and the grenade defied all laws of nature, making a turn of full one hundred and eighty degrees in the air and exploding far in the distance a few seconds later. The shock wave of the explosion was channeled through the floor structures, and I felt it under my feet, as it faintly shook the floor.

Maybe two minutes, I estimated, knowing with this rate of fire Onasi's power cell was going to run empty soon. We did have the Sith weapon available, but this was only a waste of useful materials.

We need to move now!

"Sandra, the Wookiee – is he in that room?" I shouted to the Jedi, attempting to get my voice heard over the screaming blaster weapons.

The Jedi standing next to me seemed to look inward for two very long-seeming seconds and then shook her head side to side in uncertainty.

"Not entirely sure, Daraz," she replied, voice louder than I had ever heard.

"I sense six beings… It is impossible to say if they are in the same space."

"We need a visual," I decided swiftly. "Mission, the stealth generator."

I stretched my hand toward her, open palm up. Demanding.

No. The young Twi'lek's eyes said. It is mine.

"We bloody don't have time! Give it -" I shouted over the blaring guns."- Now!"

The stealth field generator was hastily placed on my hand.

I looked at the Jedi, and she gave me a short nod in response. She'd take care of any frags.

And I was moving, my fingers clutched around the grip of the blaster pistol, running almost hugging the hallway wall, adrenaline rushing through my veins. Due to the angle they were forced to shoot from the room, I knew I could utilize the relative safety provided by Onasi's covering fire for a short while…until I was on my own.

Friendly fire bit and slaughtered with equal efficiency than enemy fire. The Commander knew it, as did I.

A few seconds took me almost halfway. I raised my hand right before activating the stealth field generator. Having waited for my signal, Onasi ceased firing.

There was no protection other than the light battle armor I was wearing, as I approached, my form shielded by the artificial cloak of invisibility and in my mind the grim understanding that any hit from a blaster would do some severe damage.

Some stray bolts were fired from the room, but quickly, silence, as the Gamorreans took the bait.

A stealth field is far from perfect.

It does bend light around the user in a manner that'll create a faked appearance of invisibility. However, it'll also leave imperfections around the user, a slight discontinuity against the surroundings. No computer-enhanced vision is required for spotting this deviation in the near vicinity. After all, the eye is a splendid tool created and provided by nature herself, with the sole purpose of observing such.

It is not unheard of that a spy numbed by the false sense of security provided by the stealth field falls behind enemy lines, due to a flawlessly aimed blaster weapon. It can even be called common.

Altogether it took me a few seconds to reach the doorway after Onasi's support was removed from the equation. That would have been more than enough time for the Gamorreans to turn the deadlock into an open assault by flooding the hallway and overpowering me with their numbers. They never did so. There was a sense of confusion and…fear, I could perceive. Puzzled creatures and neurotic trigger fingers, weapons most indeed pointing to the direction of the doorway.

The squeals heard from the room signaled of disorganization and complete utter lack of defense strategy.

I carefully crouched below the instinctive line of fire to do a quick scan of the surroundings. I painted the image to my mind, glued their numbers and locations there.

Supply crates, four Gamorreans - three of them without nearly any cover, and no tall shape of a Wookiee anywhere to be seen. It was an ideal spot for a frag; a mockingly quick resolution to the situation that was out of my reach. Too bad the last undetonated one I had seen had been in the hands of my bunkmate-turned-Sith aboard the Spire.

Nearly immediately the situation took a deadly turn when a high squeal signaled I had been spotted. As an instinctive reaction, I fired my blaster once in response, aiming it to the direction of the screamer based purely on the feeling of barrel alignment – sights were nearly invisible to me as was the weapon. I didn't stay to analyze if the bolt penetrated his skin or ended up uselessly bouncing off one of the walls in the room. Half a second later the doorframe I had just crouched next to exploded as a concentrated discharge of blaster fire hit it, but I was already on the move.

"Clear!" I shouted as I ran and Onasi responded by filling the doorway with blaster fire to again keep the pack of slavers inside.

I did not see the frag grenade they had thrown after me, following my footsteps, rolling on the hallway floor and bouncing off walls. I did not see this round object which was loaded with an explosive charge and deadly, destructive metal shrapnel.

I did not have to see it. The entire world around me responded by screaming of danger.

It takes about four seconds for a frag to go off after it has been thrown. Four seconds is a bloody short time to run away from something that is practically flying and is lethal within meters away, with no cover anywhere available.

"Sandra!" I roared at the top of my lungs.

For a moment the world was devoid of everything else but my own breathing pulling air to my lungs, my heart hammering inside my ribcage, blood coursing rapidly through my veins and the galaxy twisting and swirling in all shades of blood red danger.

…Pushed the ground under my feet…felt the floor under my boots...the hallway walls surrounding me, the mix of rusting metal and duracrete, the small particles of dust carried by the thick, warm air...the smoke…

To all of this, I drove to increase the distance…

As I reached the intersection and rammed my back against the wall, the safety, the explosion shook the walls somewhere dozens of meters away.

The Jedi succeeded - the realization felt like a welcome breath of clean air as the stealth field faded away around me.

Carth had ceased firing. It only meant there was no longer a need; there was no longer any response – with accuracy, the Jedi had redirected the frag to exactly where it was sent from. In a small space as one of the many service rooms we had walked past, the lethality of the explosion was a fact I did not have to question.

I found myself shaking my head from side to side and noticed I was grinning like an idiot, as the peak of adrenaline left my system.

"We need to get explosives. Let's steal from the Beks or rob a Sith patrol... Anything..." I said to my companions.

There was no response; they stood in silence. Carth was looking at the Jedi, and so was Mission. On the features of the young Twi'lek, played a mix of bewilderment and amazement, maybe even fear-flavored respect. Sandra's mouth was a thin line, and she stood her posture far too tense.

"Jedi…I don't know if I even dare to ask… But was this absolutely necessary?" Carth's words were stated quietly, his eyes never leaving the Jedi's features.

Sandra did not say anything. Her jaw made the tiniest sideways movement, emerald eyes fixated on the hallway behind me.

Only then did I notice the darkness that had suddenly set foot around us. The dull shade of the constant late evening predominating in the sewer network had unexpectedly turned to nighttime.

No, it was not due to every single one of the remaining operational light panels in the hallway ceiling suddenly deciding to stop working simultaneously. Mainly it was due to them being completely torn from their installed locations. Splintered glass and plastic, and twisted metal frames littered the floor. A few of the panels were still flickering and hanging from their power cords. All of these were even now slowly swinging as if responding to an already faded, nonexistent wind.

Not only had the light panels suffered. I could perceive curious things had happened to many ventilation grids installed on the far top of the hallway walls. Those had suddenly been given a concave shape as if an unforeseen vacuum had appeared on the other side and sucked them partially in their channels.

Bloody Hell!

Parts of the floor grid had merely flown away, opening the sewerage channels below. I distinguished the rectangular shape of the first far away, near the open doorway. The rest were gone. It looked like a storm of the fiercest quality had blown through the hallway only to disappear a second later, leaving nothing but death and destruction in its wake.

I looked around surprised and slightly shocked, not understanding at all what had gone through the Jedi's mind. There was absolutely zero logic. Had she lost control, again?

My mood had darkened a couple of degrees, and I shook my head in disdain.

"Let's secure the space," I stated dryly, deciding the damage had already been done and discussing it now would not change the situation in any manner whatsoever.

"I have never met a real Jedi before." The curiosity appeared undisguised in the Twi'lek's tone.

I was the first one to arrive at the former base of the Garmorrean slavers. The smoke was still thick in the air, but the effects of the detonation were markedly visible as I scanned the space looking through the sights of my blaster. Four dead Gamorreans.

Sandra mentioned six beings.

We were still missing a piece of the puzzle, but the location of this was apparent. Initially, the space I had classified a room in my head was, in fact, a portion of another hallway, which had been cut by a massive fire door. It was a sturdy construction of old technology, built to last a few thermal detonators and small nuclear war.

"Two," Sandra confirmed, whispering to me. "Behind the door."

"I'll handle this, Eldran," the Twi'lek stated. The blue-skinned girl's hands disappeared inside one of the many pockets of her utility belt as she searched for something, to appear holding an extensively modified lock slicer.

Mission proceeded to open the lock as we took our positions on both sides of the opening that was about to appear, pistols and rifles at the ready. A mechanical snap informed she had succeeded in her journey to the inner constructions of the lock, and the door obediently slid open.

"One step. Boom! Wookiee dead!" the Gamorrean snorted, pushing the blaster pistol heavily to the auburn-haired temple of the shackled tall giant of Kashyyk. His other arm was pressing against the Wookiee's chest.

"Mission! Run!" the Wookiee yelled in its native Shyriiwook almost simultaneously, spotting his companion.

"Big Z!" Mission screamed.

Mission's tall companion was a furry shield in between the Gamorrean and me.

It was a situation of the most volatile kind, yet I could not conclude anything else, but the snout-faced slaver was an utter, complete idiot.

"Alright, Gamorrean. Tell us your price," I growled while adjusting the line of the barrel and the sights with slow, nearly undistinguishable movement and pulled the trigger.

Possibly the Gamorrean would have proposed to exchange his life for the Wookiee's. Probably; who knows. We never got an actual confirmation to this, since the squeal, which started almost as a sentence ended up evolving into a scream of pain, as the bolt spat out from my blaster pistol dug in his forearm. The blaster pistol the Gamorrean had held fell clanking on the floor.

The Wookiee reacted with explosive speed and violent force as he yanked himself free, growling. It was insignificant to analyze had it been mine or Carth's blaster which eventually ended the Gamorrean's life.

A simple calculation had processed in my mind. The distance was no more than five meters. It takes less than one-hundredth of a second for a blaster bolt to travel such space. The reaction time of any sentient being is over sixty times longer. Basic math: the Gamorrean was an idiot, and the price had been accordingly paid.

I have never really enjoyed use of explosives. Sometimes they are a necessity but often lead to unnecessary nuisance. It is pretty much like activating the intercom during an infiltration mission and letting everybody in the building and the entire block to know that we are right here and right now, please come and make our lives a living Hell.

If the plan is to go in quiet and get the job done, evidently something has not gone smoothly if you end up blowing the place to smithereens.

Equally idiotic, however, is to go unprepared, and since we now had access to the contents of whatever was left of the Gamorreans' equipment, we utilized what was possible to gain, mainly a few frags and a couple of power cells. I was kneeling and focused on quickly going through their weapons to find anything worthy of carrying, not really listening to the young Twi'lek whose speech was the primary producer of noise in the space.

Happy and excited about being reunited with her friend, she was describing our path through the sewers. The fireworks against the Gamorreans, my suicidal-turned-heroic run, the Jedi's overt surge of power, and meeting a real Jedi, imagine that - all was there. The Wookiee's responses were short yet temperate.

"Are you sure Big Z?" she asked suddenly amidst their discussion.

"There is no other way I will be ever able to repay this, Mission. This means a lot to me – he saved my life, and thus I am obligated to do this," the Wookiee grumbled.

"The young human is a brave and skilled warrior. I am greatly honored to fight side by side with him."

"Did you hear this, Eldran?" Mission exclaimed, directing her words now to me. "Wow. This is major. Zaalbar wants to swear a life debt to you."

That piqued my attention, and I stood up. The room took a spin around its axel, and I had to inhale a long breath to steady the swinging movement around me. The battle had taken a more substantial toll than I had anticipated. Maybe the dehydration, I considered, perhaps the constant sleep deprivation.

"No - it is not needed. This is a trade, and there will be payment," I stated dryly, shaking my head, not interested at all.

I had heard of it, of the custom and had a rough understanding of what it meant.

For Wookiees, it is a sacred vow of the highest honor. Once pledged, it lasts their lifetimes; they'll follow and protect. On the contrary, I do not elevate it higher than a form of voluntary slavery, and can't understand the willingness of submitting oneself to such loss of freedom.

Here, slavery instead of slavery - someone has to bloody explain me the logic since I saw none.

"I am certain of my choice, human," Zaalbar responded.

"No," I said again, allowing sternness slip in my voice. "I will not accept it."

Likely, it was an insult of the worst kind, but I did not have the time nor interest for wasting my time with irrational social notions. Perhaps the Wookiee was not the brightest light panel around, and I had to work around this potential mess that was forming right in front of my eyes. But I was not planning to carry any extra luggage during this journey, and over two meters of fur most certainly did not fit into what I was aiming to do.

Zaalbar watched me in silence. A Wookiee really cannot look shocked, but it was an excellent attempt.

"There is nothing you need to pay him; you are not in such debt, " Sandra explained softly. "As Daraz said, your young friend kindly has promised to escort us to a nearby location and after this, our ways will part."

"Allow me to support you, then, during your task," the Wookie proposed, and Sandra politely accepted.

"Me too," Mission exclaimed unworriedly. "Where ever Big Z goes, I go too. And besides, you'll need me in the Black Vulkar base," she continued without attempting to hide her confidence.

"Sandra, I don't think we need assistance from a child," Carth intervened. "It will be a very dangerous mission."

"She'll direct us to the base, as agreed," Sandra said. "Nothing more. But their aid down here is valuable, and I will keep her safe...if she needs such protection, which I somewhat doubt."

"I am not a child!" the young Twi'lek chimed in.

Sometime later Mission had guided us to a location suitable for a short rest and wait, another doorway to a service room. It would have been insane attempting to enter the Black Vulkar base during the daytime when minds were spry and thoughts clear. The most suitable timing was during the night hours when less movement in hallways was expected, and there was a possibility of breaking and entering without notice.

There were about five hours of flexibility offered by the schedule.

Watching my companions step inside one by one, I decided I apparently was not following, as Sandra's fingers were pressed tightly around my arm. She had demandingly pulled my movement to a halt.

I turned around to meet her serious features and green eyes.

"Daraz," she said quietly. "I only guided the grenade, nothing else."

I watched her long not wanting to understand her words. But regardless of this, I did, and somewhere deep inside I knew she was telling the truth, which was of the kind that tasted like poison.

"Your aura is very unusual," she continued, eyes still fixated on my features. "Often you don't seem Force-sensitive. This was how I sensed you on Dantooine."

"But here... Sometimes... You support yourself to the Force like it was a natural part of your core. What you did there, in that hallway... How brutal and clumsy and chaotic it was - it was Force usage, Daraz. Based on everything I know, it should not be possible without training. I do not understand it."

Her words came out fast-paced as if she had been holding those in for a long while. She heaved out a short breath, concern prominent on her features and heavy in her eyes.

"Have you been trained in the ways of the Force?" she asked, and I could only shake my head. I wanted to grimace.

"Whatever is your opinion on my order, Daraz, you must return to Dantooine," Sandra said. "We need to ask for the council's wisdom in this matter. There are no other options."

"We've already gone through this discussion," I responded, sharply.

"Do you feel tired?" she unexpectedly asked.

"We all feel tired," I stated laconically. "This is bloody war. It tends to have that side-effect."

"I sense it, Daraz," she said. "I can see it in your eyes. You feel it in your physical form, burning in your muscles...but also in your soul. You are going over your limits, exhausting yourself since you cannot control what you are unleashing… I am worried about you."

I stood silent, gritting my teeth together.

This time it had been me who was not in control. I had been the bloody liability, and I detested it, but could not do much about it. Sandra had fed me the worst kind of acid, the truth, and it burned in my gut like I had drunk molten durasteel.

"Please consider, Daraz," she said, softer, possibly sensing my hesitation. "For the sake of yourself. Others, too."

The sensation of pressure around my arm was gone, and the Jedi's slender form meters away, heading toward the room.

I pushed my fists against the wall and supported my head to them, furiously ramming my fiercely racing thoughts to an organized pack.

I could well remember the moment I had regained consciousness at the Jedi Enclave months back. They had all the answers for me - even to questions I did not feel a need for asking; of things that did not carry any value or meaning to me.

They had treated me like a friend…and an enemy at the same time.

In the inexplicable flashes reminiscent of vague yet powerful memories, I had found myself often observing the world in a manner I could explain as...different. Enhanced in clarity. I felt myself anticipating events in those memories, reacting to surroundings instinctively in a way that I was no longer able to repeat, by choice at least.

Give or take a couple of weeks, the timelines matched a bit too well. No longer was I ruling out my possible presence aboard the Revenge a half a year ago. What exactly had been my role? Likely I was not cleaning the hallways in the form of some Sith janitor at least...

I was not entirely sure if I desired to go this far, but knew it had to be done.

A large number of Jedi had joined Revan to the Unknown Regions years ago, returning as…the Dark Jedi.

The thought felt absurd, yet correct at the same time. However, although I had a connection to the Force and I would have been a fool not admitting it, in my current state I was practically nothing more than blind to it. Like a creature living in the dark waters in the bottom of an endless sea, with no conception of the sense called sight.

I had absolutely no control over it, did not see it existing in my life. Could not utilize it. Such an uncontrollable attribute was not an asset, but a hindrance, which had resulted in me inadvertently broadcasting our location to only the Force knew how many Dark Jedi.

Kriff.

You must play with the cards you've received; I reminded myself, good or no. Turn them in your favor.

I had made my choice. Several of those. The first one was to gain any rest there was available since it had been a rare luxury in the past days...weeks.

The Jedi gave me a short sideways glance, as I stepped in. She was sitting in a meditative position near the wall next to the entrance.

Out of the number of bad alternatives I was going to be choosing from, her order represented the one that was ranked somewhere subzero on my list. I wondered how far she would eventually go, attempting to ensure my return. She had shown genuine concern here, but under different circumstances, she should be considered a potential threat.

She does not know. She may be innocent, I thought.

She is one of them, the cynical part of my mind reminded.

I was so close to the 'who' that not much more than a name was missing. But at this point, the 'why' was evolving to be the more interesting of the two. What did I have that was of such high importance for them?

Exactly what was my purpose?

Expecting a hectic night, I had to prioritize an opportunity for resting high, and after giving my blaster a quick cleaning, I turned my equipment bag into a makeshift pillow. The Jedi offered to take the first and only watch, stating she could support herself to the Force and thus required less sleep.

Nevertheless, yet again, I was not going to be given much of that. My subconsciousness had chosen otherwise, as the past returned fiercer than ever.

...

...The grey eyes – the eyes of steel.

No. Not just mere eyes…

She is standing there, facing me, the woman wearing light brown battle robes. Her lightsaber is like a golden su n cutting away the darkness. She has made he r choice – good.

This way she will be more useful to me.

She opens her mouth, shouts: "You cannot... !"

Chapter Text

...The grey eyes – the eyes of steel.

No. Not just mere eyes…

She is standing there, facing me - the young woman wearing light brown battle robes. Her double-bladed lightsaber is like a golden sun that cuts the darkness with its fiery edge.

She is a glowing beacon to me; she is at the center of my focus.

The ones surrounding her are nothing. They are shadows – they are worthless insects, fleas, nuisance; they do not exist for me. I will crush them one by one.

The determination in her will. I sense it when probing her defenses. Soon, I will tear them down like they are nothing more than paper. And she has made her choice.

She opens her mouth, shouts: "You cannot...!"

Trying to appear confident but, effortlessly, I slide past her protections, see through her. Sense the uncertainty she so desperately wants to hide. Relish in it. Feel my lips curve into a smile, yet it is not a smile of joy but cold amusement.

Proceed, Jedi, show me what you can do!

The single crimson blade dances in front of my eyes as I turn it to my opening stance. The blade points toward her, and her posture tenses even further.

She has made her choice – good, this way she will be more useful to me. It will not save her from what I consider inevitable.

Regardless of it, Bastila Shan, from this specific moment onward…you shall be mine!

"Daraz."

It was nothing more than a whisper.

A woman's voice in the shadows, I perceived. Soft, careful.

…Concerned.

…" You cannot…"…

…You shall be mine!...

"Daraz."

The name was repeated in a hushed tone, and for a short moment, I did not recognize it…until the reality, the present moment took hold of my conscience with an icy, near painful grasp, and mercilessly began to pull me back.

It was the name I had been taught to respond to like a trained pet, a dark, stray thought reminded cynically. Like a true pawn.

The sensation of the dull hardness of the duracrete floor traveled through my muscles, and I pushed the level surface with my hands, forcing myself to a sitting position. I smelled the unwelcoming odors of the sewers – the rot, the mold, the decomposition, and death; perceived the dense darkness around me. The fragments of my current existence scattered all around me found clicking their correct places.

I steadied my head against my hands and felt the slight moistness at my hairline.

I wanted to cling on to the dream…no, the memory. Every fiber of my being wanted to hold on to the thoughts and emotions in it almost desperately but found my attempts failing, my fingers slipping, sensations fading.

…You…

Even without opening my eyes, the Jedi was a calm presence next to me. I sensed her slender form kneeling beside me, her warm empathy as she touched my mind.

…shall be mine…

I felt a sensation of pressure on my shoulder. A hand, fingers bent around my shoulder in an attempt to provide comfort, I understood and wanted to shake my head and grimace in resentment. I had no need for such; the gesture was wasted on me.

And the present was there with the utmost clarity.

"I do not know what you dreamt of, but I can sense your pain and anger, Daraz. And the danger in those thoughts…"

I shrugged my shoulders in disdain, and the sensation of the calming fingers disappeared. The Jedi's presence left my side. It was not the nonessential gesture of compassion which disgusted me to the core, but way more considerably the moment of weakness I had shown there…allowing myself to slip into a state when I was an easy target for her Jedi senses. I did not have the luxury of affording these mistakes I inadvertently kept repeating time and again like a bantha-brained fool, due to lack of command over my mind.

Bloody Hell!

Dreams gave me freedom with the bitter cost of loss of control. I had managed to create a hairline crack to the barrier surrounding the deepest parts of my mind, which had allowed me another look through to the core. The mindscape had not been beautiful…but tainted. In the dream, in the memory, I had watched the unfolding events through the eyes of an emotionless, dark soul…

…Recognized it as my own; understood that it belonged to me…

…Had touched the Force with ease, and sensed its essence within me…

…It was not benevolent but a cold black, captivating void reaching out, smothering all light around it…

I immersed myself into that moment, repeated Bastila Shan's words in my head, tasted the tone of them again. The lost memory was no longer a whisper at the edge of my dreams, yet it did not provide me all the answers I so desperately sought.

"You cannot…" Those were Bastila Shan's words, thrown at me in somewhat faked confidence. It was a challenge…or a threat.

There was more to this sentence, more words, and syllables, yet my mind could not reach that far, yet. I could not do…what? I asked myself. Bloody, take her out to drink a glass of exported Aldreaanian wine at a dingy cantina? No wonder. Kill her? Looking at the evidence, this seemed like a way more obvious choice.

Through the eyes of my previous self, she had been not a Jedi but an asset, a tool. I had eyed her like a predator eyes its prey, allowing it to flee for cold entertainment before the final lethal bite.

I had sensed her uncertainty when she had measured me.

Daraz, you are the enemy, I told myself once more. No longer feeling surprised but clarity.

One plus one. Basic math. It wasn't too hard to come to the obvious conclusion.

It appeared most logical I had encountered Bastila Shan aboard the Revenge right before the warship's ultimate destruction. We had fought, and regardless of my confidence, it seemed she had pretty much wiped the floor with my Sithy self. I had been valuable enough to be saved before the most infamous Interdictor was blown to smithereens, useful for reasons still shrouded by not much more than questions.

It most certainly had not been a selfless act, this performance or play, to put it another way. At warfare, knowledge was one of the most potent weapons, so possibly they assumed I held that. Exactly what of that kind? I had absolutely no idea.

It was no coincidence I had awoken at the Jedi enclave, with no recollections of my former self. It was no accident I was right here at this very moment, my mind filled with what appeared mostly fake memories of a smuggler-turned-Republic soldier. The acknowledgment was a dark storm gathering in my mind.

Eventually, some form of retribution was in order, the dark and calculative side of me encouraged.

As a result, I had been weakened, was but a hull of my former shelf. I did not have knowledge and control over the Force in a manner I appeared to have in the past.

But one has to work with the tools at hand, no matter how primitive they are.

Ensign Eldran Daraz was a pawn. He was a marionette, supposed to be stiffly dancing preprogrammed movements aligned with the will of the Jedi Council. Obviously, my apparent incipient awareness over the situation was not a planned course of events. That especially was something I could exploit.

The strings of control of a marionette go both ways, I reminded myself. Careful planning and calculated actions can turn a marionette…into the puppeteer.

I saw the red-haired Jedi's slender, athletic form at the other end of the service room, and could only wonder what her part in all of this was. I did not think the Council had disclosed my true identity to her; she was way too single-mindedly tied to the morality of actions and thus a perfect creature to watch over me. A pawn like me, forged to serve a different purpose.

Before all of this was coming to an end, likely, I was heading to a situation where I was forced to classify her as an enemy for good.

But not yet.

Due to her skill with the Force, she was stronger than me at the moment if we were to battle, and I would have been a fool to underestimate her. It was imperative for me to take note of where her strengths and weaknesses lay. Her empathy was one limitation for sure. It may have made her an excellent Jedi, but this did not necessarily correlate with her being an excellent soldier in a situation where she was forced to choose between bad and worse.

It was going to be interesting to see if she had the mental capability of lifting her lightsaber against me.

Jedi Knight Sandra Aravena watched Ensign Eldran Daraz stand up and walk quietly to her. Tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in all black, he was an imposing sight even in the low-light environment of their makeshift base of operations. He silently walked past their sleeping companions, gait fluid, his gaze spending approvingly a half a second longer on the blaster pistols the Wookiee had cleaned and assembled. For a man of his size, he was very agile - a result of years of disciplined training, a trait very uncommon for someone of his kind.

But she had seen his determination even on Dantooine when he was supposed to be tied to his sickbed.

Based solely on his demeanor, she would have thought he was a Jedi. Except for she had been told differently by a source she had been taught - and learned - to trust.

As he sat down next to her, only the slight heaviness in his movement hinted that fatigue was starting to eat through his muscles.

The soldier did not have the same opportunity and the skill as she did, to gain strength through meditation and the Force. Slowly but surely, Daraz was consuming any reservoirs of energy he had built up during his time on the Endar Spire. Eventually, the disregard related to the boundaries of his own strength was going to blow up into his face one way or another.

"You are strong but not a droid, Daraz," Sandra whispered. "You need more rest."

"I'm done sleeping for tonight," he responded, voice quiet. "Been through worse. Have I ever told you how I fled from PSFs for three days and nights consecutively when my vessel lost its hyperdrive in the Corellian system?"

There was some lightness in the tone of his quiet voice, but something behind his eyes did not quite reflect it.

"How did it go?" she asked, almost whispering, not entirely sure if she was interested.

"Not too well, I suppose," he shrugged. "Since at the moment, I'm sitting inside a Tarisian sewer."

Understanding, she could not entirely deny the feeling of genuine amusement, and the resulting small smile pulling her lips shortly before she forced herself serious.

"What do you plan to do, Daraz?" the Jedi asked. "After this is over."

It was still one of her main concerns, especially now, after witnessing the ultimate uncontrolled chaos the man was capable of a few hours ago.

"Assuming there will be such an 'over'…" he said, regarding her with a sharp but tired look.

"What do I plan? Truthfully? To get off-planet, drink a couple of quick shots of old'n strong Mandalorean tihaar in some off-world cantina, and then perform some stress-relieving in pleasurable female company so to speak."

"Daraz! There is a child around," Sandra hissed.

"…But I do understand that will not be the outcome," the man continued, seemingly ignoring her. "I have you to take care of it, haven't I?"

Calculated words and Sandra understood what he referred to, but was not interested in threading further on that road.

"Independent on my guidance related to your return," she pointed out dismissively, "I recall you have a binding contract with the Navy. You still have - was it? – minimum of ten years of service remaining?"

"Nine years and three months, to be exact," he corrected nonchalantly. "Pretty long run. Based on what I remember, they appear to have been very reasonable regarding the outcome of my case… I should be thankful."

He smiled joylessly.

"The war might even be over before my release."

"We shall hope it is," she said quietly.

And we shall hope you do not destroy yourself along the way, she thought.

Unless you already have. I have seen firsthand what happens to people like you.

Stress has the tendency of luring extreme personalities out of people, and Daraz did not appear different in that respect. Based on the man she assumed to have known on Dantooine, this was not the same person. This man in question was adamant on walking the path of his choosing like a battering ram with so little regard to the price he was paying for his actions that he did not look back.

The less than three weeks between the present and the day they set foot on the shuttle taking them to Endar Spire, could have been years. A lifetime.

"You never went to the Mandalorian Wars," Daraz suddenly said. "For someone who wants to set the world straight so…strongly, I find that surprising."

For a moment, she stayed quiet, due to the perceptive words. Daraz was correct. Although barely a Padawan at the time, she could have been there. The Jedi still easily remembered the stern expression taking over her Master's features when Sandra had expressed her wish.

"My Master advised against it," Sandra explained. "She understood the danger, saw the importance of neutrality."

And her Master had been correct. Although Revan and Malak had been unstoppable, a force of nature, and although their actions initially shrouded by fine intentions, they had led the galaxy to further turmoil and bloodshed.

"You have never mentioned your Master before. Where is she stationed now?"

"She…she is gone."

Sandra did not want to take the discussion any further, the wounds still too raw on her flesh. The soldier raised a brow at her but did not pursue further.

The Council's orders were clear, but she was uncertain if even they were able to help this stubborn man. The Council had undoubtedly been aware of his underlying potential. But they had also seen the danger tied to it in combination with his character. That must have been the reason why she had received her assignment in the first place. She was able to watch over him to a certain extent, but her tools were very limited in this hostile environment.

She had seen the likes of him follow the path of destruction and death. Her Master had been one casualty to such actions, one of so many.

By definition, the term 'problem' refers to a harmful obstacle along the way that needs to be dealt with.

We were facing a massive problem, size-wise.

I scolded myself for not pulling every single detail about the sewers out of the girl with a pair of pincers. A creature of that magnitude was not supposed to fit in hallways like these, but that was a bloody lousy excuse for not thoroughly verifying any assumptions.

"I just hope the rancor monster is no longer there."

She had chimed those words with a young happy-go-lucky attitude and left me cursing silently.

Where would it go, kid? Where in the damn bloody Hell would it go?

Based on her own words, Mission had been able to sneak past it before. For a group of five that was not an option. Even with stealth field generators, of which we had only one and not five, there was a high likelihood of someone ending up as a rancor late-night snack. The beast had more senses to utilize than just its sight.

We had taken a good look at the space and its sole inhabitant before retreating a few intersections back to formulate an action plan. A sort of, anyway.

The room, or rather a hall, was about thirty meters wide and at least three times longer. I had taken a good look at the creature – after all, it was pretty hard to miss – and had wanted to grimace. The animal was over four thousand tons of muscle, bone, and extremely thick brown skin, and when standing tall, it would almost touch the ceiling of the space.

This one was lying on the floor, seemingly asleep, the disproportionately long arms with sharp nails so characteristic for its kind crossed in front of it.

The creature was efficiently sealed in its shadowy and stimulus-free location. Likely brought here as a hatchling, now it had grown way too massive to fit in any of the hallways in front of it, or through the strengthened durasteel double-doors standing behind. Perhaps it had been captured directly from the wild of Dathomir and sold through the black market with some substantial credit. It was not unheard of.

A rancor in the wild is dangerous. A captured rancor, trapped in a far too small space and unable to convey its natural instincts, is off-the-charts dangerous.

As a grim proof of this, corpses and skeletal parts of creatures in various states of dismemberment and decay were littered around the space. This likely was the reason for the generous 'payment' for this mission Gadon had promised. Likely he did not expect to see a situation where he actually had a need to pay, to give up their precious spot in the swoop race. And in case he had to, it was no doubt well worth it.

"The Beks were working on some ways to kill the rancor, but I guess it didn't work out," Mission said. "I think…" she thought for a second, "Gadon mentioned some scent to lure the rancor away."

"Seems their 'test run' if you will, did not go smoothly," I stated, shaking my head unimpressed, remembering that some of the corpses had been wearing rags reminiscent of Bek colors.

Not that our options were much better.

Two basic rules apply when fighting a rancor.

First: bloody keep your distance.

A fully grown rancor has a horrendous range with its long arms and nails. Way more than any man equipped with a sword of any kind. The most common way to perish when facing a rancor is to eventually find your body clutched between its long fingers and your head between its sharp teeth.

Second: ditch any blaster weapons.

A rancor's skin is one of the most potent armors designed and provided by nature herself. Layers on top of layers of gnarly cartilage hidden below the thick skin. Unless there's the will of the Force or whatever-the-heck equally powerful giving added support and a ton of extra luck in the supply bag, blaster bolts are more likely to give the rancor a tickle than actually wound it in an advantageous manner. Blaster bolts may sting, irritating the animal more and increasing its bloodlust.

Grenades are a little better, a thermal detonator actually useful. Blaster weapons are not much more than disadvantageous extra weight.

We were about to break both rules and break them simultaneously. Carth was aware of this; the acknowledgment was a dark shadow over his features, as he shook his head.

My personal weapon, the vibroblade, was almost as useless as my blaster pistol.

Perhaps it can use my vibroblade as a toothpick while chewing my head off my shoulders, I thought cynically.

But two fighters were needed in close quarters. This was certain. Due to the reach of the creature, sending one out was suicidal…but two brought along some form of diversion and thus, an opportunity. My task likely was to be a tempting snack running around the room, attempting to keep the rancor's attention directed to me and avoiding its claws while Sandra finished the creature off with her lightsaber. Sounded like a plan, I shrugged.

Unless.

A thought formed inside my head. She did not know who or what I had been, and it might be enough required for pulling this tricky maneuver off right now.

"We have precisely two weapons powerful enough to kill this creature. Only two. We need to use them both."

Sandra quickly understood what I meant. After all, she had carried two Jedi weapons in her supply bag since the events aboard the Endar Spire. The other one was her personal weapon. The second one was a crimson-bladed saber, hilt adorned with Sith engravings. That specific lightsaber had belonged to the Dark Jedi I had shot.

The Jedi stood silent as she studied my features, sizing me up, and then shook her head slowly from side to side.

"A lightsaber is not an ordinary soldier's weapon, Daraz," she repeated the words said onboard the Endar Spire like she had memorized them years ago. Yet this time, she was not bleeding, and the tone of voice remained as unyielding as that day.

I was well aware I could not say the lightsaber was just a sword. Since it was not. It would have made me sound ignorant, and such a statement would have worked against me, increased her already strong resistance. Obviously, nor could I say I absolutely knew how to operate the weapon of Force-users. Since Ensign Daraz did not have such knowledge.

"I will be able to control it, Sandra," I told her. And stretched out my arm toward her, open palm up, waiting.

"You will hurt yourself… Or someone else." The Jedi folded her arms, and her mouth was pressed to a thin line.

"There's a much higher likelihood that the rancor will do it before me, Sandra. Not utilizing all assets adds only unnecessary risk," I pressed her, hearing the edge of tension growing in my voice.

"That weapon will not only cut you; it will sever a limb instead."

"At least I do not need to be concerned about bleeding then," I replied quickly. "I am willing to take my chances here."

The Jedi was silent, still hesitating, weighing pros and cons, risks and necessities, an aura of uncertainty flickering behind the emerald eyes.

"Normally, I would not entrust a soldier with a lightsaber," Carth commented calmly, seeing the bigger picture. "But you have seen Daraz with his sword, and Sithspit – he's spent his share of hours in training halls. I suggest an exception is made, knowing what we have against us over there with the limited resources we have at hand. He'll not be as efficient as a Jedi, but will get the job done."

There was some wisdom in the Commander's words even the Jedi was unable to deny, and his support was the final hit to the Jedi's defenses that had already been weakened by the growing seed of uncertainty I had planted. She heaved in a short breath and pulled the silver cylinder from her backpack. No more than a half a second later, it was pressed in my hand with a hasty gesture.

Although countless times I had visualized myself holding one of its kind, blue or crimson, in those fragmented reflections from the past, all of this did not fully prepare me to the feeling of the actual physical object once again in my hand. The weight of it; the sleek, the very familiar shape…and the realization of intense almost-memories intuitively pulled from my subconsciousness as the sensations reached my mind.

I did not hesitate to take what was offered there and then.

The balance of the hilt was not perfect, analyzed the Dark Jedi within me with a scrutinizing eye. No more than twenty grams too heavy at the front, yet I would need to take this into account when handling the weapon.

My preferences were, to some extent, differing from the original creator of this lightsaber. Still, it was a decent weapon. Not perfect, but acceptable.

Somewhere in the distance, I observed absent-mindedly, the Jedi was giving me instructions with short, forced sentences. I felt myself nodding once roughly toward her direction as if her guidance had sunk in. But in reality, the words could have been just generic gray background noise without any syllables holding them together.

My hands found their correct locations on the hilt effortlessly, and the crimson blade sprung forward, accompanied with a snap-hiss, illuminating the hallway with a shade of deep red.

…The single crimson blade dances in front of my eyes as I turn it to my opening stance...

Black-clad hands, blood-red vambraces, a crimson blade. Then. Aboard the Revenge.

It would have been so easy to slip there and then. To allow my muscles to guide the blade to one of the many opening stances my mind and body instinctively knew so well. It would have been effortless to let myself fall in the rhythm of the familiar dance of elegant yet fierce sequences I remembered hundreds, thousands of.

Absolutely effortless…and utterly foolish.

So, I restrained myself, swinging the lightsaber only a couple of times, as if to test its balance, behavior, and range. The blade hummed.

"I can control it," I said, hearing my voice coming out as if short of breath, without being able to fully conceal the violent stir within my mind. Possibly it made sense to my companions - after all, I was supposed to be a soldier handling a notoriously dangerous Jedi weapon for the first time. Perhaps. Likely.

I deactivated the blade.

"The strategy is pretty straightforward," I said, having again gained control of myself. "Sandra and I will move close and aim to cripple it, reduce its ability to move. And after we are successful, then either of us will attempt to slay it. Before this, it can move far too well, and due to the reach of those arms, the risks are way too high."

Sandra nodded, agreeing.

"Keep it out of our backs with blaster bolts," I directed the words to the trio with blaster weapons. "It is an animal; it should follow the greatest distraction. You should be able to turn its attention away from us."

Wookiee acknowledged in Shyriiwook.

"We'll keep it away," Cart replied.

"Remember, it is just an animal," I said, directing my words mostly to Mission and not really the others. "Powerful and deadly, yet just an animal. Animals are driven by instincts and not logical planning. It will not plan, it will react, and thus it is predictable. A predator, something on top of the food chain, does not have a built-in tactic for the situation it is going to face. That is our advantage. Let's utilize it."

"Let's get this out of the way," Carth replied, shouldering his weapon, the grim understanding of the high-risk battle looming in the near future darkening his features.

"Just an animal," Mission whispered to her Wookie companion, whose arm was protectively wrapped around her shoulders.

"And bloody do not, in any situation, get stuck between the rancor and any wall over there," I pointed toward the open space a few intersections away. "That's a kriffin' suicide. Make sure you always have a path to retreat in case it charges at you."

We were about to take another risk.

It was acceptable since we were so deep below the Lower City, and due to the presence of the massive guard, there was only a low likelihood of Vulkar proximity on this level. Several stories worth of duracrete, durasteel reinforcements and air were in between us and their base of operations hundreds of meters above. All of this worked as efficient noise isolation.

Nonetheless, we needed access to the legs of the bipedal carnivore, and while it was sleeping, this was not possible.

I activated a frag grenade, and tossed it toward its broad head, counting down seconds in my mind.

Four. Three.

It was an accurate throw, and with a clack, the sphere landed almost next to its massive flat face and fluttering nostrils. As I pulled back to the protective cover of the nearest hallway, I assumed its small reptilian eyes having opened and locked their beastly, unintelligent gaze to the small round object.

Two. One.

An explosion shook the ground, and shockwaves echoed through the duracrete. This was followed by a roar and thumping sounds, as the massive creature lifted itself up, its tiny brain trying fiercely to comprehend the combination of noise and a flash of pain. As the final resonances of the explosion were absorbed by the surrounding structures, Sandra and I were already closing the distance. The Jedi was following the wall leading to the left side of the rancor, and I ran along the wall on the other side of the hall. The Jedi's steps were agile and quiet.

Understanding of the actual physical size of a rancor can only be substantiated when actually being forced face-to-face with one. This one's head towered at seven meters. With that, it wasn't large for its kind - just medium-sized. The observation did not feel relieving. At all.

It snarled, confused. Still dozens of meters away, and way too far.

If I had hoped for the frag to do any actual damage to the creature with some additional help from the Force or even sheer luck, maybe by sending some shrapnel to its eyes, I had to discard those thoughts. With only some mild wounds on its thick-skinned shoulders, its head looked fairly undamaged. Probably after one galactic standard year, it would bleed to death.

Just as dangerous as before the frag, the three-meter long arms with sharp nails clawed the empty surrounding air around it as it spotted us. And we had to get closer.

"Fire!" I shouted.

And the blaster weapons sang, a stream of bolts cutting the empty air between Sandra and me, and hitting the rancor with a series of tapping sounds. Black circles appeared on the brown skin without any blood leaking out, and the creature roared in fury as it locked its gaze to the group with blaster weapons.

And it charged, growling, the massive strength of the creature hurdling it to formidable speed plowing against the stream of blaster bolts. It went head-on towards the shooters, the inflictors of pain and irritation.

And we took our positions near the mid-section of the hall and waited.

When the distance was no more than a few meters, the crimson blade sprang forward, and I turned it to a violent swing. A flash of blue appeared on my left, as Sandra moved, her actions synchronized with mine. The hissing red blade sunk into the rancor's leg, which gave some resistance to its movement, requiring more physical strength to keep the momentum up. It ate its way violently through flesh, muscle, and bone, cauterizing veins.

But most importantly, it cut through the tendons.

The creature fell forward and hit the ground with a loud thud as it lost the ability to use its legs. Both of us had succeeded. The first part of the plan was complete. Done.

A whiff of burnt meat reached my nostrils, but I was too busy dodging the animal's arm with sharp nails to take more note of this.

Numbers always give a tactical advantage in close-quarters battle, no matter the strength of the opponent. Two against one, and as the rancor could only efficiently attack one of us, it gave the other one an opening. This was what we counted for, laid our strategy on top of this presumption of its built-in behavioral patterns.

We followed the plan, and I slashed its arm with a series of defensive strikes, as Sandra lashed out with her saber on the other side. It reacted by pulling the arm back. The rancor's massive head turned slightly, and the body shifted when the reptomammal attempted to get a visual of Sandra's form. The Jedi quickly sidestepped its arm when it made a sweeping stroke at her.

The dominating form of danger still was its range of over three and a half meters. Even without normal mobility, it still was more than capable of inflicting some severe damage. Eventually, we had to move within the main danger zone because directly at the center of it was the head, and the tiny brain its skull sheltered.

This defined the rhythm of the battle. We alternated, switched turns, landed blows, and retreated, shifting the animal's focus always from one attacker to another. No expert swordsmanship and complicated moves, just accurate and straightforward hits. Eventually, it would tire, slashing arms become clumsier, and one of us would be able to close the precious distance to finish it off.

That was the plan.

And this was where it went terribly wrong.

A rancor is one of the creatures nature has evolved to survive in environments a majority of sentients attempt to avoid for the entire extent of their lives. A true survivor should never be underestimated.

I managed to land a broad blow to its nonexistent neck area and had to jump quickly back to dodge another sweep from a claw. Again, this allowed Sandra to attack and should have redirected its attention. Should have.

But something had snapped within its tormented brain, and it fixated to the only cause of pain and irritation in its world it could anymore distinguish. Me.

Even without the use of its legs, snarling, it lunged meters by pulling its body with its claws. The mouth full of sharp, protruding carnivorous teeth attempted to get a taste of my blood with a bite that caught only air as I dodged backward.

Again, within a second, I was in its reach and had to duck and parry to avoid a claw. The blade hissed, and a finger fell from the rancor's claw off before I retreated again. Someone's blaster rifle blazed, and smoke rose from its side. Behind the rancor was a flash of blue, as Sandra attempted to divert its focus with no success.

Each defensive strike left a dark, scorched crack on its arms, but it did not slow it down. And I was seriously in a hurry, attempting to gain some safety distance to the massive beast.

Until my back thudded against a wall.

Shit.

You could compare the experience to being run over by a speeder at full speed. To the exact moment, where just a fraction of a second prior to the impact, you realize that soon it will hurt…

…hurt like Hell.

Instinctively, I managed to tense my muscles just before the rancor's enormous claw hit my body with tremendous force. I flew in the air like a child's toy, and when my body found the location of the floor again, it hit all air out of my lungs. My grip had loosened, and the lightsaber slipped out of my hand, I realized, while gasping convulsively for air.

I needed the saber, or I was dead.

The silvery shape had rolled to my right, too far, way out of my reach. And this was all I had time to observe before the massive creature was right on top of me. One sharp nail sunk into my left shoulder as the mouth with long sharp teeth and no lips appeared to cover everything else in my field of vision.

Have...

...to get…

…it.

With effort and teeth exposed, I stretched my right hand – my only free hand - out toward the lightsaber...and the weapon was again in my hand. I pushed the cylinder against its lower jaw at the same time as it lunged to bite my head off.

I activated the blade.

A vertical red pillar appeared inside its mouth. As it instinctively pulled its head back, the plasma blade started to eat its way towards the sharp-toothed opening. However, it was not my blade that ended its life. It was a blue lightsaber, and an accurate hit directly from above that punctured its skull and fried up the tiny brain for good.

The rancor screeched for one final time and vomited something reminiscent of blood on me before rolling to its side.

This was the first time I could actually get some air into my lungs. I rested there for a while, my brain attempting to analyze the extent of damage to my body. Now when the surge of adrenaline was leaving my veins, it did not feel precisely enjoyable but also not lethal.

The Jedi jumped off the rancor and walked to me as I slowly pushed myself to a sitting position against the wall, grimacing. She kneeled next to me, and her fingers gently took hold of my jaw as she turned my head from one side to another, assessing my situation.

"You are not critically injured," she observed, openly relieved.

I saw her fingers having gained a red coating when she let go of my face.

"Eldran, please don't die," Mission shouted from dozens of meters away, openly extremely worried, as the rest of the team hurried to us.

"It's mostly the rancor's blood," I responded dryly, understanding I was pretty much covered in it. Most likely, I looked terrible.

I started the painful job of opening the bindings of my armor, locating fresh jolts of pain flaring from my shoulder and left side. I had to get the wounds cleaned before an infection took place and compromised the mission. Based on sensations, the damage appeared to be only flesh wounds, and possibly I had a couple of cracked ribs. Nothing major in my books.

When I had stripped my upper body bare, the bleeding wounds on my shoulder and side were clearly visible. The injuries would impact my efficiency in battle, which was something I had to live with. A couple of more scars to add to the collection was nothing to lament about. Reduced mobility, however, was an unwanted visitor.

"What did you mention about getting stuck between it and the wall?" Carth queried, some lightness in the tone. The Commander had also analyzed my situation and was glad to see I had no intention of joining the pile of decaying corpses in the room.

"That it is a bloody joyride. Like a kriffin' vacation."

Sandra had retrieved kolto from one of our supply bags, and the Jedi walked to me. Mission took my armor for cleaning, and mentally I wished her good luck since it was fully covered in blood and grime.

"Let me do this," the Jedi said.

She cleaned the hole on my shoulder and dosed kolto to the area as I watched the swift work of her hands. The Jedi pressed her hand on top of the open injury. Her touch was soft, and felt cool.

"Stay still," she commanded.

And I sensed the gentle flow of the Force through my body and tingling in the wound, as the muscle fibers grew and connected, damaged veins built their walls and circulation of blood normalized. After she was done, it was fully closed. The shade of the skin was a couple of degrees lighter at where the wound had been, reminiscent of the damage endured.

She continued to work on the scratch wounds on my side.

"You are not completely healed yet, so be careful. Kolto and nature will continue the work," Sandra said after she was finished.

I gave her a short nod and rotated my shoulder to analyze its mobility. A slight weakness remained, but other than that, I seemed fully functional. I felt a bit impressed.

I was not a person who distributed gratitude easily, if ever. But I did value the fact that I was fully back at the fighting strength and could pursue the mission as planned and without unneeded limitations holding me back.

"Thank you," I said, and started to don on the partially cleaned and slightly damaged armor. Sandra did not request returning the Sith lightsaber, nor would have I given it back even if ordered. Not anymore.

However, with her Jedi senses, she must have noticed that a certain aspect had been out of place at the end of the battle.

I had called the lightsaber, and it had come. I still doubted I could repeat this at will had I wanted.

Yet, every passing moment and after each fought battle, it had become increasingly challenging for me to any longer distinguish Daraz from…

The Dark Jedi.