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Carrick Station is abuzz with activity, as always. Theron Shan walks down the corridor toward the briefing room, unnoticed by all the troopers, officers, and even Jedi he passes. Everyone here has their own agenda, their own battles to fight; no one has the time or energy to offer greetings to a nondescript SIS agent, and that’s just the way Theron likes it. Under the radar isn’t the easiest place to exist, but Theron relishes the anonymity. With a family legacy like his, he needs all the normal he can get.
Theron reaches the briefing room and finds someone he didn’t anticipate— his father, Supreme Commander Jace Malcom. He’s making small talk with Marcus Trant, Director of the SIS, and an officer Theron hasn’t met. The spy catches the end of their conversation from the entryway.
“I couldn’t be more proud of him!” Malcom exclaims. “Who needs the Force when you’ve got a mind like Theron’s? A tactical genius! You should have seen him on the Ascendant Spear when he—“
“Okay, that’s enough reminiscing for now!” Theron cuts Malcom off just in time. The Ascendant Spear may have been a win for the Republic, but it wasn’t Theron’s proudest moment. Nor Malcolm’s, for that matter. Letting his annoyance go for the moment, Theron approaches the three men and extends his hand. “It’s good to see you, Malcom. I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”
The light in Malcom’s eyes dims a little when Theron addresses him by his name. Theron can’t count how many times the man has told him it’s okay to call him “Dad,” but the spy figures that, eventually, Malcom will accept that their relationship will never be more than friendly. Even coming this far has taken real effort.
Malcom puts a cordial mask back in place as he shakes Theron’s hand. “Glad to see you too, son!” he exclaims. “And yes, I’m here because this mission is of the utmost importance. I’ll let Colonel Darok here explain his plan.”
Malcom steps aside and lets the officer, Colonel Darok, come forward to shake Theron’s hand. He’s bald with a stocky build, and an old battle scar across the left side of his face. “Greetings, Agent Shan.” Darok speaks in a neutral tone, obviously a career soldier. “The Supreme Commander can’t stop singing your praises, and Director Trant assures me you’re the best the SIS has to offer. And we’ll need the best for this op.”
Darok steps over to the holotable and starts pressing buttons. Soon, an image of a large, ornate pyramid structure appears. In the background, Theron notices large, faceless statues lining the edge of a barren valley, and the realization hits him like a grav train.
“The Sith Academy? Are you serious?” Theron asks in disbelief.
Colonel Darok is quick to reply, “Absolutely. After many sleepless nights studying their patrol patterns, I’ve discovered a gap. Large enough that we can use to send in a strike team. We can deal a blow to the Imps like never before!”
Director Trant steps forward and zooms in on the Academy building. “Our real objective is here, the Dark Council chambers on the upper level,” he explains. “According to our intel, there are databanks with critical information on the Imperial military, Sith Intelligence operatives, all the Dark Council members, maybe even their dead Emperor.”
Darok continues, “We’ll deploy in two waves. Wave One will consist of a garrison of our best troopers, to distract the enemy and clear a path. Then Wave Two will drop in, infiltrate the Academy, and get that data from the Dark Council chambers. That team will be your responsibility, Agent.” He looks to the spy expectantly.
Theron is taken aback. He stares at the holo image, deep in thought. No Republic operation has ever successfully invaded Korriban. In fact, Theron knows of a few battle-hardened veterans who would call this a suicide mission. Korriban is sacred to the Sith, even more so than Dromund Kaas. Theron knows they’ll defend that dustball with their lives, to the last Sith. His concern must be showing on his face, because Malcom slaps a hand on his shoulder, breaking his train of thought.
“No need to worry, Theron,” Malcom reassures him. “Colonel Darok has done his homework. This will work. And think of what we’ll learn about the Imps! Our strategic advantage will be unmatched for years to come!” His expression softens a little before he delivers the final stroke. “There’s no one I would trust more to handle this.”
Malcom smiles at Theron, squeezing his shoulder. A fatherly gesture if ever there was one. Theron nods to him, a little uncomfortable in this position. He turns away from Malcom and addresses Colonel Darok. “So, you said Wave Two will be my responsibility,” he says. “What exactly is Wave Two?”
”Who, actually,” Darok replies. “Commander Jensyn, a Jedi I’ve recruited, will lead a squad of commandos and infiltrate the Academy. He’ll pass whatever intel he finds over to you after—“
“Not so fast, Colonel,” Trant interrupts. “We haven’t vetted this Jedi, and I’ve never heard of him. This isn’t what we discussed.”
Darok scowls back at Trant. “What’s to vet? He’s a Jedi Knight.” Frustration clouds the colonel’s gaze. “Why? Are you suggesting the Jedi can’t be trusted, Marcus?”
Theron cocks an eyebrow at those words, but doesn’t speak. Malcom puts up a hand in a placating gesture. “Not at all, Darok,” Malcom says. “The Director is simply saying that we can’t send just any Jedi into the heart of the Sith Empire— one of the most secure places in the galaxy, to boot. Only the best for this op, isn’t that right?”
Damn, way to use his own words against him, Theron muses, impressed. The diplomatic side of Jace Malcom is rare, and not to be ignored. Theron thinks it’s no wonder Malcom has risen to such heights in the Republic military— brawn and the brains to match.
Colonel Darok crosses his arms and scoffs, “Fine. Jensyn doesn’t have to lead the mission, but he’ll still be involved. I’ve already briefed him.”
Malcom turns to the holotable dismissively, and says, “Then I suppose we’ll discuss you overstepping the chain of command another time, as I’m sure you and Theron here want to know which Jedi Director Trant and I have selected to lead the incursion.”
Malcom presses a few buttons on the holotable, and the image of the Sith Academy is replaced by one of a human woman.
At first glance, Theron thinks, Wow. She’s a Jedi? The only word Theron can find to sum up the woman on the holo is “captivating.” She stands in a demure pose, hands clasped in front of her. She’s of average height with a slim build, light-colored hair carefully coifed in an updo away from her face. She wears a circlet around her head; it almost resembles a crown he’s seen the royal house of Alderaan wear. The rest of her is clothed in a lightly armored battle shirt, padded greaves, calf-high boots, and a long, hooded cloak. She looks young, no older than twenty-five, but her serene expression belies a woman wise beyond her years.
Finally, Theron notices her lightsaber— or more accurately, her saberstaff— hanging from her belt at her left hip. Typically, only a Jedi Shadow would wield this class of lightsaber. Shadows are rare among the Jedi, as the Order trains their pupils to be direct, visible, and to tactfully defuse volatile situations with or without a full display of their abilities. A Shadow’s specialty is stealth, infiltration, and quiet, almost unnoticeable change. And when Malcom speaks her name, Theron realizes why he’s never before laid eyes on one of the most famous Jedi of their era.
“Gentlemen, this is Emrys Bridger, Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order,” Malcom announces. “She’s a member of the Jedi High Council, and Grand Master Satele assures me that she is the perfect Jedi to lead this operation.” He presses another button and brings up images of more beings around the Barsen’thor. “She brings with her a crew of highly capable individuals: Qyzen Fess, the Trandoshan hunter; Dr. Tharan Cedrax, an expert in exotechnology, Lieutenant Felix Iresso, decorated officer in the Republic Army; Zenith, the Liberator of Balmorra, and Nadia Grell, the Barsen’thor’s Padawan. They will be our Wave Two, infiltrate the Sith Academy and bring back that data.”
Malcom puts his hands on his hips, satisfied. Theron continues staring, amazed. He’s heard many tales of the Barsen’thor, but could never put a face to the name because she tends to avoid the spotlight. She works in the shadows, like him, quietly affecting the galaxy around her and refusing credit to the point where it’s annoying. And if Theron was captivated before knowing her name, he’s now mesmerized.
Colonel Darok, however, sneers at the Jedi in the holo image. “I’ve heard of this one,” he spits. “She’s no soldier, she’s a diplomat! She’s got no experience in war. And just look at her! Stars, she’s even younger than you, Shan! No way in hell she’s a Council member! And look at this motley crew, following her around, getting in everybody’s way. This little girl and her freak show have no place in this op!”
Theron and Trant exchange uneasy glances. It’s rare to hear such a rejection, particularly of such an accomplished Jedi. Perhaps it’s because Darok’s own pick was passed up. Or maybe, Theron thinks, there’s something more at play here.
Theron doesn’t have time to be suspicious, though, as the Supreme Commander fixes Darok with a glare that could melt the ice on Hoth. “That ‘little girl,’ Colonel, is the Jedi who exposed the Children of the Emperor,” Malcom snaps. “She’s secured alliances with multiple worlds in the Outer Rim, including Voss, and single-handedly turned the tide of the Battle of Ilum when she struck down Darth Malgus. Not to mention saving the entire civilization of Makeb from extinction. She’s more than capable. Or are you questioning my judgment?”
Malcom and Darok stare each other down for a tense few seconds before Darok looks away, admonished. “No, sir,” he mutters.
Director Trant takes over, bringing up another image on the holotable. “There’s another reason we chose the Barsen’thor,” he says. “She has a real talent for infiltration. Take a look.”
Colonel Darok and Theron look at the holovid, one with disdain, the other with awe. They see the Barsen’thor parrying blows from a Sith Lord, eventually cutting him down. Then she sheathes her saberstaff and makes a gesture with her hand. Theron’s jaw drops as he watches the Jedi disappear completely from view. Even Darok raises his eyebrows in surprise.
Trant stops the holovid and looks at Theron with amusement. “If only you were that good at stealth ops, eh Theron?” he jokes. Theron doesn’t acknowledge the taunt, eyes still glued to the holovid, now minus one extraordinary woman.
“It’s called a ‘Force cloak.’ Apparently, this ability is rare among the Jedi,” Malcom adds. “Master Satele says the Barsen’thor has the strongest connection to the Force the Order has seen in generations. Between her own skills and her crewmates’, she’s perfect,” he muses. “With her leading us, our victory over the Empire is all but assured!”
Director Trant turns back to Theron and instructs, “And it’ll be your job to guide her, Agent. You’ll brief her on her objectives, and be her handler throughout the mission. Colonel Darok will let you know when his forces are ready to deploy, then you’ll contact the Barsen’thor and read her in.”
Theron tears his gaze away from the holotable and asks, “Wait, we’re not telling her about this until the day of? How is she supposed to prepare?”
Director Trant replies, “Mission integrity is critical. No one else will know about this until it happens.”
His indifference is typical for any spy, but in this instance, it rubs Theron the wrong way. He scowls at his superior. “But she’s the lynchpin of the whole operation!” Theron shoots back. “We can’t send her in there blind, anything could happen! What if she fails—?“
“She won’t,” Malcom interrupts. “You just saw what she can do. She’ll be in and out before the Imps suspect a thing.”
Colonel Darok finally speaks up, “Don’t forget Commander Jensyn. He’ll back her up.”
“Have a little faith!” Malcom adds.
Faith, huh? Theron thinks. Easy for you to say.
The spy wears a sour expression as his director changes the holo back to the image of the Barsen’thor. He looks up at her, still impressed, but his wonder is now mixed with worry. Bitter memories come flooding back to him— of growing up among people like her. Of thinking his life would follow a certain path only to be devastated by an unforeseen, and unwanted, twist of fate. And now, it seems, mistrust is part of his nature. It’s part of what makes him a good spy, or so he’s been told. But he’ll be damned if he lets another person, an innocent, be broken by such a blow.
Theron is about to defy orders and demand her contact info when something stops him. He looks at her holo image again— serene, but strong. Young, but wise. Bruised by the horrors of war, but unbroken by them. He remembers her accomplishments— defeating the Children of the Emperor is no small feat. More importantly, she discovered them where they hid and exposed their corruption to the light of day. Her resilience shines through her pixelated visage, and somehow it puts Theron at ease. A part of him wonders what it would feel like to actually be in her presence. Faith in the Force is a little too much to ask of Theron Shan, but faith in her? He can agree to that.
Theron takes a deep breath in and looks back at the other men around the holotable. “Alright,” he concedes. “We’ll do it your way. But I want it noted that I disagree strongly with keeping the most important member of this team in the dark. No matter her capabilities, she deserves the respect of being read in.”
Director Trant gives Theron a long-suffering scowl and says, “Your opinion is duly noted, Agent Shan. That’s all for now. Return to Coruscant and await further communication from Colonel Darok.”
Theron catches Malcolm’s gaze one more time, reading something like sympathy in his eyes, before turning sharply and marching out of the briefing room. Of all the orders he’s complied with over his tenure at the SIS, this one is among the worst.
The main concourse of Carrick is loud and bustling as ever, but Theron barely registers his surroundings. Blindly, he strides down the stairs to the cantina, parks himself on a barstool, and orders a whiskey. The drink burns wonderfully down his throat, calming his nerves and bringing his focus back to the present. That’s when he notices his datapad beeping incessantly.
Theron pulls the machine out of his pocket and checks his inbox. Six priority messages from Director Trant— the dossiers for the Barsen’thor and her crew.
It’s protocol. Theron needs to know everything there is to know about his asset before sending them into the field. It will help him predict and plan for any potential problems before they arise and compromise the mission. But this is the first time research for an op has felt like an invasion of privacy.
Feeling like the worst kind of sleemo, Theron downs the rest of his whiskey in one gulp. He can’t bring himself to open the Barsen’thor’s file. Why can’t he? He’s never felt so strongly about an asset, ever.
Why her?
An insistent, irritating beep near his feet stops him from analyzing his emotions any further, thank the stars. His loyal astromech, T3-G2 sits near his barstool, his ocular lens looking at Theron expectantly. The droid was a gift from Master Zho, and Theron couldn’t remember a time when the little guy wasn’t by his side. If he could rely on anyone in this galaxy, it was T3.
“Hey, pal,” Theron greets his companion. “We’ve got a new mission. And from what Trant just told me, it’s gonna be a doozy. You up for it?”
T3 beeps excitedly, ever eager to work. A smile breaks onto Theron’s face, and he pats the top of the droid’s head affectionately. “I knew you would be, buddy. Let’s get to work.” Theron finally opens the Barsen’thor’s dossier, once again greeted by her serene face in a holoimage. He begins to read, reminding himself that this is just protocol.
And if he spends far more time than necessary memorizing her file, well, no one else needs to know.