Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presents: UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT -=WARRIORS OF THE OUTER RIM=- THE FULCRUM OF FATE Part IV Benjamin D. Hutchins Anne Cross with the invaluable assistance of the Usual Suspects and thanks to all the sources (c) 2008 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 2412 JRO CITY, GRUSHKA ZEBULON SECTOR (THE COREWARD FRONTIER) Most people arriving at Tan Sai Ch'tor Spaceport noticed one thing about Jro City before all others: It was -hot-. When a person, especially a member of a species evolved in Standard conditions, emerged from the climate-controlled coolness of a spacecraft, the heat and accompanying humidity weren't like being smacked in the face so much as grabbed by the throat. Travelers newly arrived in Jro City had been known to just keel over on the tarmac from the shock of it all. Though he also noticed the heat - he was, after all, only human - it was of secondary concern to Leonard Hutchins as he stepped from the Hydrargyrum's ramp to the tarmac of Tan Sai Ch'tor. His connection to the Force had been whispering to the back of his mind since he and his partner M'yl'ya Kyn'o'bi had arrived in the system, and now that they were actually on the ground just outside the capital, the whispers became murmurs. He stood for a few moments looking off into the distance, at the green hills just visible in the tropical haze beyond the tall duracrete defense wall surrounding the spaceport, his face thoughtful. "Noyyj'ttat," Emmy grumbled as she stepped down beside him. "If it was any hotter here they'd have to issue environment suits at Customs. ... Len?" Len gazed thoughtfully at the far hills for a moment longer, then said, as if to no one in particular, "This planet is troubled. I sense a great deal of conflict." Emmy frowned. "I don't feel anything," she said, sounding a trifle miffed at the universe. Then, trying to turn it into a joke, she added, "Are you sure you're using that thing correctly?" Len was too preoccupied to take her up on the offered straight line; he had his eyes closed now, as if trying to zero in on the source of the disturbance he had sensed. There came an odd howling noise from overhead, low at first but growing in intensity. "Down!" Emmy cried, dive-tackling Leonard and bearing them both to the tarmac. A moment later, the hangar across the way exploded in flames, sending bits of tin siding and plastiform flying in all directions. The two Jedi lay where they'd fallen for a moment, letting the rain of debris settle; then they lifted their heads and looked around at what had suddenly become a scene of chaos. Uniformed soldiers, jumpsuited spaceport personnel, and a few startled-looking civilians ran this way and that; from further up the hardstand a firefighting vehicle rolled out of its bay and made for the burning wreckage of the hangar. "No, you're right - I sense it too," Emmy said dryly as she got to her feet and pulled Len up. A Grushkan in the uniform of the colonial government's indigenous police force ran up to them. He was a shortish, reptilian semi-humanoid - to Len's eye, he looked strikingly like a male of the Tau Ceti Race - with yellowish scales and large, strikingly green eyes. His uniform, obviously designed by someone with a more human design sense, made him look almost comically like someone's oversize pet dressed up in a costume, though the holstered blaster pistol at his side was serious enough. "We are under missile attack," the officer told them. "The spaceport will be closed. If you are going to raise ship, I suggest you do it now." "But we've just arrived," Emmy told him. "Oh. Ehm." The officer thought for a second. "Actually, that changes my advice very little. Grushka is not a place for tourists just now." "We're not tourists," Len said. "We're here looking for someone." The Grushkan nodded. "Ah, I understand. You have a friend or loved one who has been caught up in our troubles. In that case you had better come with me to the terminal. It would be foolish to remain in the open." As the two Jedi followed the officer toward the terminal building, which looked less like a spaceport terminal and more like some kind of military command bunker, Len asked him if there were any safer parking spaces available. "I'd hate for something to happen to my ship," he said. "I'm happy to pay any parking fees, of course." "The hardened revetments are for the use of the colonial authority," the officer said, but then surprised Len by going on, "I will have your vessel placed in one of them and tell anyone who asks that it belongs to the Regional Governor. It looks expensive enough. No one will question it." So saying, he keyed the commbadge pinned to his uniform and reeled off what sounded like instructions in a choppy language with a lot of hard-bitten consonants. Len raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that likely to get you into some trouble if it's found out?" he asked. The Grushkan made a dismissive gesture. "Za'kest to the colonial authority's parking regulations," he said. "Such a fine vessel. It would be a shame to let the kest'za rebels blow it up." "Well, that's very kind of you, Officer... " "Sergeant. Taa Kloym," the Grushkan said. "At your service." "I'm Len Hutchins," Len said, "and this is M'yl'ya Kyn'o'bi." By this point they had entered the terminal building and were negotiating a rather depressingly decorated corridor toward the central concourse. "We're looking for a man who was last heard of at this spaceport on the fifth of last month. He made a call from a pay phone here." "Human?" Kloym asked. "Yes," Len said. "About fifty, grey hair, rather stout." "Wearing robes like yours?" Len hadn't thought of this. "I suppose so," he said. "I didn't see him myself." Kloym nodded. "I remember him. He stops by, oh, two or three times a year. I cannot think of his name right now. He always says he is a researcher for the Hitchhiker's Guide, but that and fifty parrakk will get you a large klorva at Bukstaa's." The officer took a moment to toss a friendly skeptical glance over his shoulder at Len. "I suppose you two work for the Guide as well." "Well, no," Len said. Before he could go on, Emmy added, "We're with the Consolidated Press." "Ahh," said Kloym, winking one big green eye at her. "Well, that is a different story." He stopped at a double sliding door, tabbed a control, and stepped into the office it revealed, gesturing. "Have a seat and make yourselves comfortable," he said. "It will take me a minute to run you up some visas. I do not suppose you have any, oh... -credentials-." "I'm afraid not," Emmy said regretfully. "Out here on the Frontier they tend to do more harm than good." Kloym opened his mouth for a moment - the mannerism was the Race equivalent of a laugh, and Len supposed it was the same for Grushkans. The officer clearly didn't believe Emmy's line about being wire-service reporters, but he just as clearly didn't care. "What's going on around here, anyway?" he asked. "Nobody told us anything about missile attacks on the spaceport back at Headquarters." Kloym climbed up into a curious perchlike chair behind his desk and started tapping the keys of his dataterminal with long-clawed fingertips. "Oh, your standard indigenous civil war," he said offhandedly. "The Stresk Brotherhood seek to overthrow the colonial authority; the colonial authority seeks to assert its lawful dominion over all the people of Grushka... and so it goes." He shrugged. "You seem awfully laid-back about it," Len mused. "We Grushkaani are always fighting over something," Kloym said. "If it were not the fate of the colonials, it would be mining rights in the Vstekka Hills or fishing concessions in the Gulf of Dekabb. Or simply redscales against yellowscales. We fight amongst ourselves. It is what we do." He opened his mouth in another silent laugh. "Personally, I think it is the heat." The officer typed for a few more seconds; in the background there came the muffled boom of another missile explosion. "Mind you," he added, "before the humans came, our struggles tended not to involve quite so many -exploding- things." Neither Len nor Emmy seemed to have anything to say to that, and it didn't appear that Kloym really expected a reply anyway. He finished typing, waited for one of the devices on his desk to spit out a couple of plastic chits, and handed them over. "There you are," he said. "Your presence is now as legal as anything gets on Grushka. And now let me give you a few items of practical advice. Do not loiter in marketplaces; the resistance likes to bomb them. Do not linger outside restaurants and hotels; same reason. Do not look a redscale in the eyes; he will take this as a challenge for possession of his mate. Also, it is best to avoid conversation with the Colonial Marines if possible. They are very unhappy here and are generally quite willing to file objections to overly curious passers-by with the butts of their rifles." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a few moments, then said, "I guess that is about it. Good luck in your search. I would tell you to enjoy your stay on Grushka, but I believe humans cannot do this." JYURAI Darth Vader awoke, as he had done so long ago, in darkness, and just as it had been so long ago, everything had changed. He was not enclosed. Wherever he was, it was too dark to see, but he could tell. His helmet and breather assembly were gone, and he was not sealed in an environment pod. Yet... there was no pain. No pain -anywhere-. He took a deep breath, smoothly, effortlessly, smelled clean linen and a hint of something sweet. Wildflowers... trees? He couldn't be sure. It had been so long. Something like that, anyway. A forest. Wait. Smelled? His eyes went wide in the darkness, and he realized he could make out the dim shape of a grid some distance above him. Ceiling tiles. His eyes... were adjusting. Vader raised his right hand, looked at it in the darkness. He still couldn't see well enough, but he put it near his head and flexed it, and heard nothing. No servos, no clicking metallic struts. He touched his face and felt smooth skin on both sides of the contact. He traced his fingers up along the line of his jaw, across an ear, up the side of his head into a tousle of thick hair. -Hair?- He was covered by a sheet. He reached down and threw it aside, splayed his right hand across his chest. No tubes, no wires, no horrible scarred portals to the mangled inner workings of his body... just a broad expanse of solid muscle and skin, divided only by the cleft between his pectoral muscles. A dream. This had to be a dream. He sat up, raised both hands to his throat, felt nothing but a throat. The back of his neck had a fine down of hair in place of the stiff steel ribs of vertebra replacements and the wires of his control harness. He held his head in his hands, gently twisting this way and that, felt nothing but a good solid skull moving smoothly on a strong, healthy neck. Moving feverishly now, he ran his hands down and all along his body to his very toes. He was entirely naked, and entirely complete. He could see well enough now to make out two doors leading out of the small, dark room he was in. One had a strip of light showing under the bottom; the other did not. He made a guess, got out of bed, and went to the one without, passing through after a brief fumble for the touchplate that opened it. Beyond it, as he'd hoped, was a bathroom, all pleasant light wood and polished glass. The light flicked on as he crossed the threshold, and Darth Vader stood, suddenly staring at himself in the enormous mirror covering the wall behind the sink. The face of Anakyn shar Atrados, Crown Prince of Atlantis, looked back at him, high cheekbones, chocolate-brown skin, thick black hair, and all. He looked a bit wild and piratical with his hair uncombed and his beard untrimmed. Vader stood and gazed at himself for several minutes, as astonished by the sight of his undamaged body as he was by the sensations of inhabiting it again. It was a long time before he turned to the sink and took up the toiletries arrayed there. GRUSHKA Jro City was a strange study in contrasts. Beautiful native architecture was marred by sandbag barricades and iron gratings haphazardly erected in an effort to prevent grenade attacks on shops and restaurants. Curiously unconcerned citizens went about their business under the watchful eyes of nervous native militiamen and human colonial soldiers sweating in their battle armor. Len and Emmy roamed the city for a little while, getting the lay of the land, before locating the headquarters of the colonial authority. Like the soldiers standing on every other street corner and flanking the door to every establishment where colonial officials might have business to do, the officer who greeted them when they entered the building's lobby was not a member of a government military force. Rather, she was a corporate security officer, wearing the blue and brown uniform of the company whose logo emblazoned the wall behind her. "Hello," she said with a smile that didn't go to her eyes. "Welcome to Viridia. How can I help you?" Emmy looked puzzled. "Viridia? This is Grushka." "Grushka is the -indigenous- name for this planet," the desk officer told her in a condescending tone. "Its -official- name, Viridia, was selected by shareholder vote when the Earth Alliance issued Czerka Corporation the contract to manage and administer colonial interests here." "How... eighteenth-century of you," Len observed dryly. Then, before the officer could object, he went on, "You do know that the Earth Alliance no longer exists, by the way?" "Of course we're aware of that," she said, a trifle severely. "We're not some isolated backwater here. Our hyperwave system is top-of-the-line. We're in constant contact with our corporate headquarters." Then, with the polished, slightly meaningless cadence of someone issuing a long-practiced spiel, she went on, "The collapse of the Earth Alliance does not nullify the binding perpetual lease on the Viridia system and its resources that body granted to Czerka Corporation in 2395. The company has a responsibility to maintain the infrastructure and administer the rule of law for Viridia and all its inhabitants." "Mm-hmm," said Len thoughtfully. "What's going on with all the... you know... -bombings-, then?" "A minor insurrection," the officer replied promptly. "Outside agitators are stirring up trouble among the rural population in an attempt to discredit and inconvenience the Corporation. It's nothing the Colonial Marines can't handle." "I see. Well, in any event, that's not what we're here for. We're looking for a colleague of ours by the name of Wald Corto." Len was mildly surprised to feel a flicker of alarm pulse through the desk officer, though she contained it very well indeed. "There's no one by that name associated with the colonial authority," she said, poker-faced. "Does he work for a subcontractor or relief agency?" "No," Len said. "He'd most likely have been just passing through, like us. He's a researcher for the Hitchhiker's Guide." The desk officer shook her head. "We don't have tourists on Viridia," she said. "(Can't imagine -why-,)" Emmy murmured wryly. "And we -certainly- don't encourage visits from -hitchhikers-," the officer plowed doggedly on. "The colonial authority is here to administer the colony and manage the planet's resources, not support indigents. Had your friend come here looking for material for the Guide, I would have told him as much." "She was lying," Emmy observed as they left. Len nodded. "Of course she was. She recognized Master Corto's name the second I said it, and it alarmed her that a stranger would come in off the street and ask about him. The question is, why?" "Why do I feel a very long day coming on?" Emmy asked rhetorically. JYURAI Obi-Wan Kenobi and Alaia ner Ronor were in the Royal Infirmary's dining area - it was much too nice, and the food much too good, to call it a cafeteria or commissary - chatting with Rei Ayanami when the news reached them. Or trying to, anyway. Rei wasn't really much good at chatting. She didn't give them the impression that she resented their intrusion on her mealtime, or that she found their questions annoying; she simply didn't have verbose answers for them. She didn't know who the people were who had attacked Vader, though she could say that their apparent leader was a Minbari woman. She didn't know who Vader was or why he'd come to Jyurai. She didn't even really know why she had stuck around to see if he would recover - or if she did, she chose not to elaborate on it for the Jedi. Sensing that the conversation was foundering, HK-47 put in cheerfully, "Social placation: You will have to excuse the master. She means no disrespect; she simply does not indulge in needless vocalization for purposes of social interaction with fellow organic meatbags." "HK," Rei objected quietly. "Contrite acquiescence: Shutting up, Master." Obi-Wan was about to suggest that they leave Rei to her meal and perhaps arrange to speak with her at greater length later when Kirayo Masaki approached their table, smiling. "Captain Ayanami," she said. "I'm pleased to report that the patient you brought us has made a full recovery." "Where is he?" Obi-Wan asked, rising. "I need to see him." "Of course, Master Jedi. He's anxious to see both of you. This way, please." She showed the foursome to the door of one of the Recovery Suites, pressed the chimer, and left them to it as the door slid back. Inside the door was the sitting room of the suite, a small, comfortably furnished living room just like the one in Obi-Wan and Alaia's temporary quarters. Standing in the middle of that room, dressed in the white coverall of a recovering patient, was the handsomest man Rei Ayanami had ever seen. Not that she was swept, swooning, off her feet by the sheer beauty of him, for Rei Ayanami was not that sort of girl. All the same, he -was- beautiful, enough to make her pause momentarily in the doorway and note the fact to herself. He was tall, broad-shouldered and athletic, with thick black hair brushed back and showing a bit of silver at the temples, and his face was aristocratic and a little severe, with a precisely trimmed vandyke beard. He brightened visibly as he saw Rei entering and, ignoring Kenobi and his companion entirely, he bowed to her, quite formally. "I am Darth Anakyn shar Atrados tal Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith," he rumbled, his voice just as deep as before, if slightly less amplified. "Will you do me the honor of telling me your name?" She replied, out of habit, "Captain Rei Ayanami, Cipher Zero," before she could think of anything better. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance at last," Vader said. "We had little chance to talk when last we met." "I'm here too," Obi-Wan put in sarcastically. "Of course," Vader replied, with perhaps just a trace of astringency. "You'll have to excuse me," he added archly. "I didn't recognize you without your ears." "Your passport says your name is Anakyn Skywalker," Obi-Wan added, his tone slightly cajoling. "That was M'yl'ya's idea," Vader told him. "She thought it would attract less attention on the Rim." The Sith Lord then turned his attention to the young woman standing to Obi-Wan's right. "A new padawan learner already, Obi-Wan?" He smiled slightly. "I sense the hand of Yoda in this." "Aren't you surprised he's still alive?" Obi-Wan inquired, but Vader brushed the question off with a shake of his head. "Of course not," he said. Turning fully to Alaia, he added, "Congratulations, young lady. You have acquired an excellent instructor. Hopefully you will not repay him for your lessons as I did." Alaia, who had up to that point been quite proud of the way she'd been maintaining at least a facade of proper Jedi impassivity in the face of this strange figure, blinked at him. She felt she ought to make -some- sort of response to that, but she was utterly tongue- tied. Vader let it pass, perhaps unsurprised that his presence would have that effect on a padawan, and returned his attention to Rei. "Captain Ayanami," he said. "I'm pleased you are still here. I half-expected to wake and find you gone... and we have a great deal to discuss, you and I." GRUSHKA Emmy was quite right, of course; it was a very long day, a day of trudging around Jro City and its environs in the humid heat, under the suspicious glares of soldiers who refused to speak to them and the indifferent eyes of the locals. By nightfall, Emmy had to admit that she was growing extremely sick of the place - especially with the compounding disappointment that darkness brought no relief from the heat. An hour or so after dark, they sat at a table in the back of a downtown restaurant, considering their options. It hadn't escaped either Jedi's notice that the restaurant they were in was occupied almost entirely by humans, customers and staff alike, nor that nearly everyone in the place wore a Czerka uniform. "It would've been nice of the Council to warn us that this place was in the middle of a -civil war-," Emmy grumbled. "Maybe they don't know," Len replied. "Who pays attention to the Coreward Frontier?" "Not the Galactic Alliance, apparently," Emmy said. "I don't see how this colonial arrangement can possibly be legal." Len shrugged. "I'm not sure," he said. "When we get back and make our report, it's entirely possible that the IPO will look into the matter, but it -was- fairly common practice for the EA to grant colonial administration rights to corporations by bid. Heck, it's an old practice; the United Galactica used to do the same thing, back in the day, and they picked it up from the Salusians." "I wouldn't have a problem with it if the planet wasn't already inhabited," Emmy said. Len nodded. "That's why I think the IPO will be interested," he said. "But in the meantime, we've still got a job to do, and to be honest with you, I'm not sure how we're going to do it. It's pretty obvious we're not going to find Master Corto in the city." "And if he's not -in- the city... that's a lot of jungle to search," Emmy said glumly. The waiter brought their dinner, which Leonard had ordered more or less at random, since neither of them could read Grushkanese. It turned out to be some sort of fish dish, accompanied by soup and a ricelike prepared grain. They had no idea what order these things were intended to be eaten in, so they fell back on Core Systems habit and started with the soup. "Well, nobody's staring at us," Leonard observed after a few spoonfuls, "so I guess this probably isn't supposed to be sauce." Emmy snorted, reminded of another adventure, years before, when they were Master Aldous Gajic's padawan learners together. A moment later, the slender form of a red-scaled Grushkan slipped into the chair opposite Len. "Enjoying your d'katha soup, Master Jedi?" he asked. Len almost looked him in the eye, remembered Sgt. Kloym's admonishment, and glanced away, feeling slightly ridiculous and rude. "Actually, it's quite good. You seem to have me at a disadvantage." "My name is - well, we don't have half an hour, so to you my name is Glex. Did I hear you say - ... what are you looking at?" Len blinked, nearly looking at him again. "Nothing." "Uh... I'm over here." Glex tilted his head and scratched at the top of it with one clawed forefinger. "Is this some kind of primate shunning ritual?" "He's just trying not to give offense," Emmy said. "By avoiding eye contact? ... Okay, whatever floats your klatvaja." Glex shook his head, clearly bemused. "Anyway, did I hear you say 'Corto'?" Len frowned, then risked a glance directly at him. When that didn't seem to draw any kind of response, he turned his head and looked straight into the redscale's face for a five-count. "... Okay, I have to say I don't follow your body language at all here," Glex said. "After dealing with the occupiers - excuse me, the colonial administration - for the last few years, I thought I knew how you humans did things, but... " Emmy blinked. "You mean it's -not- a challenge to look a redscale in the eyes?" Glex opened his mouth wide with amusement. "Who told you that? Some yellowscale, no doubt. He was just having a little fun with you, human. It's a cultural thing. Had you met a redscale first, we would have told you that yellowscales are enraged by being addressed in the second person. That isn't true either." "Oh." Len spent a couple of seconds feeling fairly stupid, then shrugged it off and said, "Do you know something about Master Corto?" "Well, I don't know any 'Master' Cortos, but I know a human named Corto, sure enough. Fattish chap for a human. About so tall. Grey... what's that stuff on your head called?" "Hair," Emmy supplied. "Yes. Right. Hair. Sound familiar?" Len nodded. "That's him. Have you seen him recently?" Glex shook his head. "No," he said, "not recently. But I know where he is. He's in K'Kovra Province. That's about a hundred miles south of the city." "How do you know?" Emmy asked. "Because that's where the Stresk clan comes from... and your friend Corto has set himself up as their god-king." While they digested that, Glex leveled a blaster across the table, aimed straight at Len's chest, and then went on in a less conversational voice, "So I'm sure you can understand why I'm interested in the fact that -you're- interested in -him.-" JYURAI Rei Ayanami sat very upright on the couch in Darth Vader's recovery suite, her hands on her knees, and regarded him with a near- blank expression. Then she said calmly, "I've encountered Sith before, Lord Vader. I've seen what joining their order has earned them. I have no interest in becoming a thing like that." "You have encountered -false- Sith," Vader told her with equal calm. "Adherents to a twisted echo of a doctrine that lost its way millennia ago. In their obsessive pursuit of power, they fail to realize that they are the weakest of all. It takes great strength - strength found in only a very few beings - to master the Dark Side of the Force." "There was nothing weak about the Minbari woman in the spaceport," Rei pointed out impassively. "No," Vader agreed. "You're correct. The failing of the one who calls herself Kahm Talann is not a lack of strength... but a lack of -wit-. One must always have one's wits about oneself if one seeks to command the Dark Side, for it is a subtle thing. Those who believe they can conquer it with strength alone soon find themselves outmaneuvered, unwittingly doing the bidding of the very thing they thought they had subdued." At the far side of the room, Alaia leaned toward Obi-Wan and murmured, "Master, should we be letting this happen?" Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. "Letting what happen?" he asked. "He's trying to convince her to become his student." "Yes, I know." "His student of the -Dark Side,- Master," Alaia hissed, exasperated by his deliberately-obtuse routine. "Do you really think it's right for us to just stand here and let a -Sith Lord- recruit new members for his order? The Sith are murderers and tyrants. They're... -evil.-" "Are you listening to what he's saying?" Obi-Wan asked, his tone mild and inoffensive, but with the faintest edge buried beneath its innocuous surface. "I know it's difficult, Alaia, especially given what you've recently been through, but you must open your mind and your heart, not just your ears. Never mind what you've been told to think. Listen to his words and gauge their truth for yourself before you judge him. Don't make the same mistake I did three thousand years ago." "The Jedi are wary of the Dark Side, and rightly so," Vader said. "Their teachings say that it is quick to make itself useful in order to seduce the unwary and make them its slaves - and they are correct. The path of the Dark Side is a treacherous one, and anyone who tries to walk it unprepared is a doomed fool. Having seen so many fall in the attempt, they concluded millennia ago that it was too dangerous to even try and simply did their best to seal it away. "But I came to believe as a young Jedi that there are some in the universe who can walk that path successfully. It is far from -easy,- but it can be done. My own journey was filled with peril and disaster... and not only for myself. I faltered at several points, chased blind alleys, was nearly consumed... plunged the galaxy into a darkness from which it has only recently emerged. But in the end, I was right." Rei considered this for a moment. When she spoke, her tone was neither accusatory nor dismissive; she was simply stating what she saw as an inescapable conclusion. "It would seem," she said, "that the Jedi were correct as well. It wasn't worth it." "But it -was!-" said Vader, gesturing with a clenched fist, his dark eyes shining with intensity. "It was not only worth it, it was -necessary.- It -had- to be done, -whatever- the cost." "Then you don't regret the suffering you caused?" Rei asked, as if merely curious, nothing more. "Of course I do," said Vader without hesitation, and Obi-Wan noticed Alaia's eyes widen in surprise. "One can do a thing, knowing that it must be done, and still regret the effects it has on others. But sometimes a greater good must be served." "Say, for the sake of our discussion, that I understand and believe everything you've said," said Rei. "What makes you think I could possibly succeed where so many generations of aspirants have failed - and what makes you think I would ever care to try?" "I know you will succeed because I will make -certain- you succeed. As for why you will try... " Vader smiled slightly. "If you do not, you will never know how great you could have been... and you will never settle for that." "How can you be so certain?" Rei asked, the faintest hint of challenge creeping into her voice. "Because I see in you the same thing I saw in myself," Vader told her. "You've been searching all your life for your purpose. I'm offering you the chance to discover it. -This- is what you were made for. The Force guided us onto intersecting paths for a -reason.- We -need- each other." Rei arched an eyebrow, but did not otherwise reply. "I need a student to prove me correct," Vader explained. "You need a teacher to show you how to avoid the mistakes I made." His eyes intent on hers, he leaned forward slightly and went on in a lower voice, "I need you to make the rebirth of the Sith more than just one man's epiphany in the shadows. You need me to guide you along a path that you will surely walk anyway." He held out his right hand, his eyes still locked on hers. "Join me," he said. "Together we will show the galaxy the -true- power of the Dark Side." Across the room, Alaia realized that she was holding her breath. Obi-Wan gently put a hand on her shoulder. Rei gazed back at Vader for several seconds, her face still all but expressionless. Then, folding her arms across her chest, she shook her head. "What you say is interesting," she said, "but words are only words. You're asking me to make a lifelong commitment to a philosophy I've barely heard of, much less believe in - and one you admit is dangerous to follow." She got up and added impassively, "I can't quite decide whether to find your presumptuousness amusing or insulting." Now we'll see whether he has -truly- changed, Obi-Wan thought to himself as Vader rose to his feet. He shot a glance at Alaia, hoping she would get the message and stand back if matters took a turn for the violent in the next few seconds. Being emotionally prepared to face the Dark Lord in conversation was one thing, being physically prepared to face him in combat quite another. But all Vader said was, "My preference would be 'amusing,'" with the deadest of pans. Rei looked up at him for a moment - he was immensely taller than she, but she didn't seem the slightest bit intimidated - and then smiled microscopically. "Very well," she said. GRUSHKA "... What are you doing?" Glex demanded, sounding more bemused than upset. "I'm finishing my soup," Len replied calmly. "And then I plan on eating this fish." Glex regarded the Jedi as though he thought one of them was losing his mind, but couldn't quite decide which one. "I'm pointing a -gun- at you," he pointed out slowly. Len glanced up and nodded. "Yes, I see that. Emmy, would you be a dear and pass the tea?" "Of course," Emmy replied with equal calm, doing as she was asked. "Doesn't that... -concern- you at all?" Glex inquired. Len shook his head and added a couple of packets of sugar to his teacup. "Not particularly." Glex's nictitating membranes nictitated. "I must say that's a unique viewpoint," he admitted. "Would you care to share your reasoning?" Len shrugged reasonably and started on his fish. "Well, there are two main reasons. For one thing, I don't think you'd shoot me. After all, I haven't answered your question yet." "... And?" "Well," Len went on mildly, "there's the small matter of your weapon not being charged. Difficult to do someone harm from across the table with an unloaded blaster." Glex looked down at his blaster with some consternation, turning it sideways so he could see the charge status display - and a moment later the weapon was in Leonard's hand. "Hey!" Glex sputtered. Emmy giggled; no matter how many times Len did it, that trick never got old. "Relax," said Len as he tucked the blaster away in his belt. "I did you a favor. If you -had- actually tried to shoot me, I can pretty much guarantee you wouldn't have left this room alive. Eh, Fenn?" A burly man in green Mandalorian armor slid into the table's one remaining empty chair, the muzzle of his casually cradled blaster carbine somehow contriving to seem as if it just happened to be aimed at the Grushkan by mere chance. "Aye, that seems doubtful," the Mandalorian remarked in a lilting, hard-to-place accent. "Been a while, youngsters. An' how's yer august master?" "Master Gajic's well, or at least he was the last time we heard from him," Emmy said. "Good, good. Passed your trials, then, the pair o' ye? Figured ye would. Now then! What's got this native lad in such an uproar?" "He seems to think we should tell him why we're looking for Wald Corto," Len replied. "I was planning to do that anyway, but the bit with the gun was just rude." Fenn chuckled. "It's difficult to find a man with decent manners on a planet as hot as this," he concurred. "Bearin' in mind what Master Jedi here just said, are ye prepared to be civil now?" he asked Glex. "He's got the only gun I brought," Glex replied sourly. "Aye, well. He's a tricksy bastard. Comes o' being a redhead, I think. His ma was the same." Fenn slung his carbine. "Truth be told," he added to Len, "I'm wonderin' why meself, only I have enough sense not to ask a Jedi Knight a question at gunpoint." Len smiled, finished his fish, used his napkin, and folded it neatly before answering. "There's not really much to tell," he said. "The Jedi Council's concerned about Master Corto. He's dropped out of contact, which isn't like him. Or so they say; Emmy and I have never actually met him. They asked us to come out and look for him. This was the last planet he called in from." Fenn nodded. "Ahh. It appears we're trailin' the same game, then, though for different reasons." Emmy looked puzzled. "Why are -you- looking for him?" "It's a job," Fenn replied. "Seems your friend's whippin' one of the indigenous clans into quite a fightin' force, and it's givin' the Czerka people fits. The colonial authority hired me to locate him and... ah... persuade him that it'd be in his best interests t'mind his own business as regards colonial affairs. They neglected t'mention he's a bloody Jedi Master, though. Somebody's gettin' a nasty note about -that- convenient little oversight, believe you me. Says right on my website that paranormals're extra." "I don't suppose," Len mused as he signaled the waiter for the check, "that you could be prevailed upon not to kill him. At least not before we find out what's really going on and take a shot at convincing him to leave with us." "Oh, I could probably be persuaded," said Fenn airily. "The great thing about weasel words in contracts is, they cover -everybody's- arse." "Great!" said Emmy cheerfully. "Now all we need is a native guide." Glex looked from Mandalorian to Jedi to Jedi, then sighed and hung his head in dejection. "I hate my life," he said. JYURAI Alaia's communicator buzzed silently against the inside of her wrist. She cast a regretful look at Vader and Rei as they sat, body language more casual now, and continued their negotiations; once she'd gotten past the idea that having more Sith in the universe was a Bad Idea, she knew that she was looking at a pivot point in history. And her master, clever and infuriating as he was, probably wasn't going to bother writing it up, since after all, he -knew- Vader. Obi-Wan was many things - Alaia was still discovering just how many - but he was no historian, and she doubted he had the perspective to understand how truly important this moment might prove to have been. Reluctantly, she slipped off to check what was important enough to cause the Ebon Hawk's comm systems to page her. The answer made her bite at her lower lip. A full-holo hyperwave communication clear out here from the Temple was unlikely to be good news, especially not with the priority code it bore. She slipped back in the door and found herself the focus of four unsettling gazes. "What's wrong, Alaia?" Obi-Wan asked her, and Alaia sighed inside, wondering if she was ever going to manage the serene bearing and countenance Master Befin had had. "We have a priority communication from the Temple on Alderaan, Master," she said. "It's coded secure channel only - which means going back to the Ebon Hawk." Vader and Obi-Wan's gazes met, and the two of them nodded in uncanny unison. "Then by all means, let us go back to the ship and see what this message is." "Um." "Yes, apprentice, all of us," Obi-Wan said in that infuriatingly cheerful, obstinate tone of his. "If it arrived at this moment, with all of us together, then there is some purpose behind it." And he stood up and strode purposefully from the room. Alaia couldn't keep the corner of her mouth from quirking, even as she struggled with her exasperation. "Cheer up, Padawan," Vader said as she held the door for him out of reflex. "Either you'll teach him better manners, or you'll kill him." Rei, thankfully, said nothing at all; just met her gaze for a moment, then nodded and passed by her. The main hold of the Ebon Hawk was configured as a sort of war room, with a large central console housing the ship's main computer and comm gear, surrounded by sufficient seats for a full crew. The console had a central holoprojector built into the top. Alaia wondered about this configuration. It almost seemed as if the vessel were set up to function as a sort of -flagship-; from this compartment, with the right communications links, a person could run a small starfleet, or coordinate some fairly extensive ground operations from orbit. A funny thing to find in a freighter, either way. Obi-Wan punched his authorization code into the computer, let it scan his right retina, and acknowledged receipt of the waiting message. After a moment's pause while the message downloaded from the central server on Alderaan (only a moment for a full-holo recording - another sign that the Ebon Hawk's systems were significantly harder-core than one would expect on a simple freighter), the holoprojector glowed to life. "Master Kenobi," said the holographic image of Atin-Vae Springsteen. "The Council is pleased to learn that your mission to Jyurai has been a success. And now, you will be unsurprised to learn, we have another job for you." Obi-Wan paused the playback for a moment and observed, "She's right. I'm unsurprised." "After 3000 years, I should expect so," remarked Vader. "Well, I don't imagine -you're- suprised either, Anakyn." Vader replied dryly, "I would say that very little surprises me these days, but I seem to have had a wall drop on me recently, and I was not expecting that." Obi-Wan chuckled and resumed playback. "We've lost contact with our outpost not far from your current location - another formerly-lost temple, like the ones on Naboo and Sarati," Atin-Vae's hologram explained. "We were hoping to put it back into service in order to have a branch office, if you will, near Jyurai, since there are obviously some ancient connections there that both our own historians and the Jyuraians want to explore. "The planet's name is Palaven. I've attached an updated gazetteer entry for the Hawk's onboard database, just in case the one it already had was out of date. As it happens, we have a Jedi Knight who's -from- Palaven - Quintus Verorian, I've attached his file as well - so figuring out who to send was easy enough. Quintus has been working with some local contractors to get the place back in shape for the last six months. It's in better shape than the one on Sarati, so that mostly amounted to installing a generator, updating the plumbing, and whatnot... but now he's dropped out of contact. "That's not such a big deal in itself, but we can't make contact with anyone in Kedar, the town nearest the temple, either. It's in a fairly remote area; the centers of turian civilization have shifted since it was built. The turian police sent someone in to investigate, but he hasn't reported back either, so they'd like us to have one of our own follow up. We're still hoping it's all just some kind of communications snafu - that's common enough on Palaven, the place isn't exactly radio-friendly - but at this point that seems increasingly like wishful thinking." Vader folded his arms, frowning at the hologram. "This one has a gift for understatement," he remarked. Atin-Vae waited a moment, as if she'd expected some kind of comment to be made at this point when she was recording the message, and then went on, "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to go to Palaven and find out why Quintus has dropped out of contact. If there's a problem, see if you can remedy it. Also, if you can find any sign of Lartus Kerovik, the investigator the local police sent, the turian government would appreciate it. "Good luck, Master Kenobi. And make sure you read up on Palaven before you make planetfall. There are local conditions you should know about it. At the very least, you'll want to pack plenty of sunblock. Springsteen out." "Well," Obi-Wan remarked as the hologram flickered out. "I guess Alaia and I are off to Palaven, then. What about you, Anakyn?" Instead of answering, Vader looked at Rei, who had stood silently by the doorway leading forward to the cockpit while Springsteen's message played. She looked back at him, a faint frown crossing her face. "I haven't changed my mind in the last six minutes, if that's what you're wondering," she said flatly. "However, I'm prepared to make you a counteroffer. HK-47 and I will travel with you for a while. We'll see whether your actions support your words. If they do... " She made a noncommittal gesture. "I'm not ruling anything out." HK-47, who had stood silently by this whole time, interjected before Vader could reply: "Alternate scenario: If they do -not,- and you attempt to force the issue, I will kill you." Vader looked from the girl to the droid and back again, his lips twitching into a mostly-suppressed smile. "Agreed," he said without apparent irony. MONDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 2412 GRUSHKA It took them three days of hiking and boating along a sweltering jungle river to reach what Glex described, without enthusiasm, as Stresk country. This span of time had more to do with the impassability of the jungle and the slowness of the boat than the distance they'd actually covered from Jro City; on the second night, in camp, Emmy could still faintly hear the sounds of rebel rocket attacks on some strategic point in the city. Maybe the spaceport again. She hoped Sergeant Kloym was all right, even if he had played a mean trick on them with that thing about redscales and eye contact. Their guide, apparently still a bit bitter about his conscription, didn't make much conversation, apart from warning them that the growths on the sides of the vaguely-palm-like trees weren't safe to eat (not that any of them had been considering eating them) and informing them that the ten-legged beetle/spider-ish creatures they spotted scuttling through the undergrowth were harmless herbivores. He also noted that the eel/caterpillar-ish things they occasionally glimpsed pacing the boat through the muddy water were neither harmless nor herbivorous, and one would do well not to go overboard. He seemed to be feeling chattier on the third day. As they made their way along a barely-discernible path through the jungle, moving away from the river to the south of its banks now, he turned his head back to regard the armored figure of Fenn for a few moments, then remarked to Emmy, "Your big friend must be a real... what's the phrase? He-male? To wear all that kest'za armor in this place." Before Emmy could respond, Fenn spoke up. "It's air conditioned," he said. "An' I can hear you." "Hngh," Glex replied, squinting. Emmy giggled - - the Force whispered a warning. Before she'd consciously registered what the danger was or where it came from, she'd drawn her twin lightsabers and turned a little to the right of their direction of travel. Leonard mirrored her movement, moving up a little and turning to cover the left, his own single saber snapping to life. Fenn, who had neither lightsaber nor the Force to warn him, was only a half-step behind the Jedi anyway, his blaster carbine out and leveled as he backed up between them to cover the rear. Two dozen or so redscaled Grushkans, dressed in tattered shorts and commando-style web gear, seemed almost to materialize out of the jungle (which, Len reflected, was more or less what their red scales were adapted to do, this part of Grushka being rich in erythrophyllic plants), holding various weapons that appeared, for the most part, to have been stolen from the Colonial Marines. "Hands up, humans," the apparent leader, a slightly-smaller- than-average redscale who had a vest as well as shorts, announced. Based on the briefing file he'd read on the way from Alderaan, Len thought the shorter snout and larger eyes meant this one was female, but apart from that there wasn't really any way to tell. Seeing his opportunity, Glex ran for it, plunging into the underbrush off to one side. Cursing, Fenn whirled, raising his carbine despite the startled brandishing of weapons this caused among the Grushkans surrounding them. "Whoa!" said Len, extending a hand to push the muzzle of Fenn's carbine gently down. "Easy, Fenn. You might as well just let him go. He's served his purpose." Fenn's helmet tilted in a way that implied he was eyeing Len warily. "This is part o' your -plan?-" Len smiled, deactivated his lightsaber, and put it away. "Can you think of a better way to find their camp?" he asked. Fenn sighed, shoulders slumping, and let one of the Grushkans relieve him of his carbine. "Jetiise," he grumbled with a resigned shake of his head. The Stresk took them another few hours into the jungle, but what they finally arrived at, just before nightfall, wasn't really done justice by the term "camp". It was more like a small city, with permanent buildings and stout-looking walls made from blocks of the opalescent stone Len had noticed scattered mossily around the jungle. As they were being herded through the gates and along one of what appeared to be the main streets, Len took in the sights and realized that the buildings all seemed to have some public function or another. Here was one that was apparently a market, there a stable enclosing several bipedal animals that reminded him vaguely of furless tauntauns, over there a temple. There weren't houses in the way one would expect of a human settlement, just little circular areas marked out with polished boundary stones, each centered on a small fire. The three, plus their escorts (one comically loaded down with as much of Fenn's arsenal as they could take from him without removing his armor), entered a plaza at the center of town, fronting on a structure that appeared to be a modest sort of palace. In front of the building was a platform, several stone steps leading up to a small plateau on which was an unmistakably throne-like chair... ... and in that chair, markedly thinner than when he'd been holographed but still instantly recognizable, sat Jedi Master Wald Corto. "Hmm?" he wondered, looking over the three. "Humans? And a Mandalorian, to boot. What have you brought me, Lieska?" The vest-wearing Grushkan bowed. "Intruders captured in Zone 14, Master," she replied. "They were led into our territory by a redscale not of our clade." "And where is the redscale?" Corto inquired. His voice was low, mellow, and pleasant, without any hint of menace. Somehow, Emmy found that more disquieting than if it had been otherwise. "He escaped, Master," Lieska told him. "I have scouts trailing him. He brought them here from Jro City. Probably they are spies working for the human overlords." Corto got up from his seat and descended the steps, regarding Len and Emmy curiously. He still wore his own Jedi robes, a bit threadbare but scrupulously clean and mended, and their own garments marked them out immediately. "Spies? Oh, I don't think so," Corto said. "At least, not for the colonial authority. Not these two." Then he smiled, revealing very white teeth made whiter by contrast with his deep suntan. "Welcome to Grushka, colleagues. I'll be with you in a moment, if you don't mind." "Master - " Emmy began, but Corto shushed her with a negligent wave of his hand. "A moment, if you please," he said, and then breezed past them to face Fenn. "Those two aren't working for the colonials, but I'll wager you are, eh, Mandalorian? What's your name?" Fenn, stolidly silent, made no move to answer or take off his helmet. Corto seemed to find this amusing. "No? The strong, silent type, eh? Well, fine. Have it your way." He turned and started walking away - - then whirled, his right hand raised, and blasted Fenn with the unmistakable actinic shriek of Force lightning, his face suddenly twisted in a look of unspeakable hatred and fury. The change was so sudden and so total that Len and Emmy, who had started to think this was all part of some long-range plan by their Jedi colleague that they'd blundered into the middle of, recoiled in horror. Fenn's beskar'gam, armor of legendary durability, took the brunt of the attack, shedding rivulets and crackling branches of lightning in all directions and sending Corto's followers scurrying for cover. Some of the onslaught got through, though, and the Mandalorian bellowed in pain as he was bowled over backward. He crashed down hard on his back, his breath escaping with an audible "UMPH," and twitched, muscles spasming, as Corto kept the firehose of hate trained on him for a few seconds longer before relenting. "When I ask you a question, boy, you -answer- it," Corto snarled, his mellow voice as hideously transformed as his face. "Go to hell and take yer Force with ye," Fenn gasped back. In the next two seconds, several things happened at once. Corto raised his hand to give Fenn some more medicine. The nearby Grushkans, most notably Lieska, drew weapons and moved in to support their leader. Len shook off his shocked paralysis and yanked his lightsaber from Lieska's belt, already moving to place himself between Corto and Fenn as he did so. Emmy likewise overcame her shock and reclaimed her weapons, but she moved to cover Len's flank instead. Fenn, reacting instinctively to an imminent threat, raised his right arm and triggered the compact vambrace flamethrower the Stresk had completely failed to notice when stripping him of weapons. He narrowly missed hitting Len, who checked his lunge at the last possible instant with the aid of the Force, and the stream of uncontained plasma struck Corto full in the chest, instantly igniting his patched robes. Corto recoiled, immediately engulfed in flames. Grushkans yelled in terror and dismay, scattering, except for a couple of particularly hardened followers who gritted their needle-like teeth and prepared to counterattack. Len shifted gears, planting his feet and turning toward Corto, and gave the burning Jedi Master the hardest Force push he could muster, blowing him clean off his feet and over backward so quickly that the impact snuffed the bulk of the flames. A Grushkan darted up with a heavy blanket and finished the job, throwing it on the fallen Corto and beating out the last of the fire with it. At the same time, Emmy, sabers drawn, faced down Lieska and her two battle-ready colleagues. Somehow, the moment passed without further violence, possibly because the Stresk were just as stunned as everyone else that their master had so suddenly and brutally attacked the Mandalorian. "Okay... easy now," said Emmy, staring down Lieska, who seemed the most likely to escalate the situation further. "Let's not do anything to make this situation even worse." Lieska glared for a few moments, then slung her weapon and gestured to the others to stand down. "Get Master Corto to the hospital," she snapped to them. Len put away his lightsaber and knelt next to the still- smoldering form of Wald Corto, who was moving fitfully under the blanket. What part of his face wasn't red and blistered was ashen, and his eyes were unfocused, staring up at the evening sky as the stars came out. "Master? Can you hear me?" Len asked gently. "Help is on the way. Hang in there." Corto stirred, reached from under the blanket, and caught Len's forearm in a grip like steel with one red-raw hand, staring at him with sudden intensity. "-Warn them,-" he grated. Len leaned closer. "Warn them about what, Master? What -happened- to you?" But the moment of clarity had passed, and Corto fell back, his hand slackening and dropping from Len's arm, his eyes glazing again as he stared up at the sky. "... de verschrikking," he murmured, his voice nearly inaudible, as a couple of his followers gingerly maneuvered him onto a stretcher and lifted him to carry away. "de verschrikking... " Len watched the Stresk carry him toward one of the buildings near the plaza, then sighed, shook his head, and turned to see to Fenn. "I thought you were going to try -not- to try to kill him," he said as he put out a hand and helped the Mandalorian up. Fenn released the seal on his helmet and pulled it off, shaking his head and combing a hand back through his sweaty shag of blond hair. "I -did- try," he said. "But when a man's roastin' yer shebs, some sort of response is called for, yeah?" He tucked his helmet under his arm and gave the Jedi an apologetic look. "It was a reflex. I wasn't expectin' -lightning.-" "Nor was I," Len replied glumly. He turned to Lieska, who stood glowering at the three of them. "Thanks for not letting this turn into a full-on fracas. We didn't come here looking for a fight." Lieska grunted. "I didn't do it to spare your delicate sensibilities," she said. "Master Corto called you colleagues. I'm hoping that means you can explain what the kest is going on." "Actually," Emmy said, "we were hoping -you- could provide some insight into that question." Lieska slapped the tip of her snout, which Len guessed was the Gruskhan equivalent of a facepalm. "Oh, terrific," she said sourly. EQUATORIAL REGION PALAVEN, ENIGMA SECTOR Obi-Wan wasn't sure what season it was in this part of Palaven, but it felt like summer. It was hot by humanoid standards, but not intolerably so. The real problem came in the form of invisible solar radiation; the planet's metal-poor core didn't develop much of a magnetic field, leaving it open to most of the output of its G-type primary. The local wildlife - including the native sapient species, the turians - had dealt with this through the interesting and useful expedient of evolving semi-metallic skin. Alaia was largely indifferent to it thanks to the genetic heritage of her own homeworld, which orbited a star considerably brighter than Palaven's or Sol. They'd all need to take doses of Rad-X, but as that was a standard part of any spacer's medical kit, all three of their vessels had plenty of it. Of the others in the little group that arrived to investigate the Jedi temple, Rei was the worst off, with her ivory-white skin. She had half-seriously considered wearing an environment suit, but settled instead for an adaptation of a technique she'd seen indigenous people on other high-rad worlds, such as the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine, use. Obi-Wan thought the method, which involved wrapping almost all of her exposed skin in strips cut from a thermal shielding blanket, made her look a bit like a burn victim, but without it (and the dark goggles and hooded cloak she dug out of a closet aboard the Cipher Zero) she'd quickly -become- one, so whatever worked. Next to the slightly outlandish figure Rei cut so outfitted, Darth Vader looked almost normal. With limited time before their departure from Jyurai and no regular clothes aboard his ship, he'd had to make do with a quick visit to an autotailor and some hasty improvisation during the flight over. It escaped Alaia, at least, how he could be anything other than sweltering in the outfit that resulted. For one thing, though the tunic and trousers he wore were of the regular Jedi cut, patterned after the ones Obi-Wan had on, Vader's were black and the tunic was made of leather. For another, he wore over it bits of armor plate salvaged from his old life-support suit: breastplate and pauldrons, greaves made from his armored boots - all in gleaming black, of course - and topped the lot with a heavy-looking black cloak. For his part, Obi-Wan just wore his usual buff-colored robes and a lighter-toned cloak, his only concessions to the local conditions a pair of dark glasses and a liberal slathering of anti-rad lotion. Alaia wondered whether this constituted some kind of strange bravado for her benefit, or if he really thought that would be sufficient protection. Oh, well, she thought as they all met up outside their small group of starships. Might as well proceed under the assumption that he knows what he's doing. Finding Kedar was easy enough. Getting answers from someone on the ground there was less so, as there didn't seem to be anyone there. "Something happened here," Alaia said uneasily as she stood in the square in the middle of town and looked around. "Something -bad.- The Force is... -reverberating-." Vader walked past her, stopped a few steps closer to the broken, dry fountain in the center of the square, and looked around at the silent buildings and empty streets. "It's death you feel, young padawan," he said gravely. "Hundreds of people... perhaps thousands. Everyone in this town, wiped out. You hear echoes of their terror." "But... -how?- If everyone in town was killed, where are the bodies? Why are the buildings still standing? It would take an -army- to kill everyone in a town this size. One not too concerned about property damage." HK-47 scanned the rooftops, ever alert for snipers. "Didactic contradiction: A properly configured and equipped high-quality droid could perform a complete surgical neutralization of a comparable population center. It would take considerable time to do correctly, however, and I would expect to see some sign that the townspeople fought back. Hypothetically speaking." Obi-Wan shook his head sadly, met Vader's gaze and said, "You're thinking what I'm thinking, aren't you, Anakyn." Despite the phrasing, it wasn't posed as a question. Alaia found Obi-Wan's habit of addressing Vader by his original given name freshly disconcerting every time he did it, but Vader seemed not to mind; indeed, there was no apparent irony in his voice as he nodded and replied, "I am, Master." Half an hour of walking up a well-worn dirt track into the hills near the town led them to a gate. This was clearly intended only to stop vehicles, since though it barred the road, it had no fence extending from either side. It did, however, have a turian hanging from its grid of crossbars, and across his chest, crudely lettered with some sharp implement, the warning "STAY OUT". Suppressing a shudder, Alaia wondered whether she'd ever get used to the sight of sapient cruelty, and then whether it would be a bad sign if she did. "Lartus Kerovik, I presume," said Rei almost inaudibly. "Let's get him down from there," said Obi-Wan grimly. It was their second major surprise of the day, and the first ray of light in this entire episode, that Kerovik - though he'd been thrashed within an inch of his life and then hung on a gate and left exposed to the elements for almost a week - was still alive when they freed him. Obi-Wan consulted his copy of the Guide ("Do turians respond to bacta?") and administered the first aid it indicated was appropriate. "Officer Kerovik? Can you hear me?" he asked when the turian stirred and groaned. "Captain," Kerovik murmured. His voice had a curious metallic undertone, almost like the voice of a robot. "I'm sorry?" Obi-Wan asked, slightly puzzled. "Lartus Kerovik," the turian said. His eyes, deep-set in the bony, rigid mask of his face, flickered open and his jagged-fanged mouth made something Obi-Wan supposed was his race's equivalent of a wry grin. "Captain, Turian Hierarchy Security Force. 3C64724." "Name, rank, and serial number," Alaia mused. "Master, he must think we're with... whoever did this to him." "Captain Kerovik, my name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. This is Alaia ner Ronor. We're Jedi Knights, we've come to help you." Kerovik laughed weakly. "Yeah. That's what the other one said. Right before he broke both my legs." "Quintus Verorian?" Kerovik nodded. "Murdering bastard. Killed everyone in Kedar. Took their bodies to his temple up there." He gestured vaguely with his head. "Must have taken him days. Nine hundred and forty-four people. I found him in town. Must've been taking one last look around. Make sure he didn't miss anyone. He told me he was a Jedi too. That he'd welcome my help finding out what happened to the people of Kedar. I let my guard down. You see what that got me." "Puzzled query: Why did he not simply kill you?" HK-47 wondered. "I've been asking myself that for the last... however many days," Kerovik said. "When he was nearly finished with me, he seemed... seemed to panic. Said I'd be one too many. But he couldn't let me go, I knew too much... so he just... hung me on the gate... figured he'd let the sun finish me off." He tried to shake his head. "Crazy. Completely out of his mind. Explained the whole thing to me while he was... breaking me. Seemed to think his plan was clever. Whatever it was. He didn't really get to that part." "Is he still up there?" Obi-Wan asked. "I think so. If he left, it wasn't by this route." Obi-Wan nodded. "We'll check it out, but first we need to get you into a sickbay." He looked up. "Captain Ayanami, do you carry a ground vehicle aboard your ship? All we have on the Ebon Hawk is a swoop bike, and that's hardly suitable." Rei nodded. "I'll get it," she said, then set off at a brisk trot, HK-47 automatically falling in behind her. After a short wait, the others heard the sound of an approaching motor - a heavy one - and then, in a cloud of dust, a squat, angular, six-wheeled armored vehicle topped a small rise, made a 90-degree turn, and slid to a halt right next to them. A moment later, a two-piece side door opened, part swinging up on pneumatic pistons, part lowering to form an entry ramp, and HK-47 leaned out. "Query: Will this do?" he inquired. "You might've mentioned you had a -tank,-" said Obi-Wan as HK-47 emerged from the vehicle carrying a stretcher. "Pedantic correction: Technically, the ExoSalusia Heavy Industries M-35 is a cavalry fighting vehicle," HK-47 replied, laying out the stretcher. "You might've mentioned you had a cavalry fighting vehicle, too," Obi-Wan grunted as he and Vader eased Kerovik onto the stretcher. "Evasion: You never asked," said HK-47. As they all drove back through Kedar's silent streets toward the ships, Alaia went up front and leaned into the cab. "Where'd you get an ExoSal Mako?" she asked Rei. "Came with the ship," said Rei. "RSMC surplus." "Usually they remove the weapons from surplus military hardware before selling it to the public," said Alaia with a pointed glance aft at the Mako's midships 155-millimeter mass accelerator turret. "Usually," Rei agreed. They installed Kerovik in the Ebon Hawk's tiny but state-of- the-art sickbay for one basic reason: Unlike the slightly larger medbay aboard the Cipher Zero or the even tinier one tucked into Vader's gunboat, the Shadowstorm, the Ebon Hawk's came equipped with a 2-1B- class surgeon droid, who tutted medically about his turian patient's state of disrepair. "Major Kerovik has suffered extensive injuries," the droid, who answered to the near-inevitable name "Doc" as well as his alphanumeric designator, reported. "His condition is stable and will remain so, but he should be transferred to a fully equipped hospital configured for turian patients as soon as possible if he is to make a full recovery." "We'll take him to the capital when we've finished our investigation," said Obi-Wan. "Will that be good enough?" Doc nodded. "He is in no danger, but any significant delay will prolong his recovery." "I don't think we'll be here much longer... one way or another," said Obi-Wan. "Regretful statement: Poor Doc. I have great pity for him," said HK-47 as the group rode back toward the temple aboard the Mako. Alaia arched an eyebrow. "Why?" "Explication of the obvious: His function is to repair organic meatbags," HK-47 said. "This requires him to have an intimate understanding of all their... meatbag parts." The droid gave a mechanical approximation of a shudder. "I have some knowledge of meatbag anatomy in order to maximize my efficiency in the execution of my primary function, and that is more than I wanted to know." "Your primary function being assassination." "Protest: An unfair generalization! My primary function is to safeguard the master's life and health through any means necessary. It is merely a convenient consequence that the most efficient means of achieving this goal commonly involves the termination of other meatbags." "HK," said Rei quietly from the driver's position, "do you remember the conversation we had about freaking the mundanes?" "Rote response: As you well know by now, Master, my memory is eidetic. I forget nothing." "Well, you're doing it right now." Alaia didn't think of herself as a mundane, nor did she believe she was particularly freaked, but under the circumstances, she didn't really have the heart to argue. Little more was said until they arrived at the temple, the Mako's armored prow having dealt with the gate in short order. They moved as a group onto the grounds, looking warily about, but the place seemed deserted. Unlike the temple ruin Alaia was familiar with from Sarati, or the other temple sites she'd seen or heard of in her short but well- informed career, the Palaven temple was mostly open to the elements. It had the traditional four spires, but here they were freestanding columns of stone jutting into the sky around a smaller central building, rather than towers on a larger structure. What appeared to be the living quarters were arrayed around the grounds as rows of separate structures, small bungalow-like outbuildings. Here and there were marked-off spaces that looked like practice areas, and off in one corner a long, low, much newer-looking building that proved to be a combination workshop and powerhouse. The central building was squarish and squat, perhaps two stories tall, and it was almost entirely a single hall with a balcony-like upper level ringing it within and a domed ceiling... but the dome was gone, and the inner walls were spalled and scorched as if something had exploded in the main hall, and recently. Dotted around the perimeter were strange glyphs on the floor, the black scars that formed them starkly vivid against the white stone. In the center of the room, sitting in seiza, was a turian in tattered Jedi robes. For one electric moment, Alaia thought Quintus Verorian was waiting for them - until she realized that she couldn't feel his presence in the Force, and that he was kneeling in a large pool of a deep-blue substance that was once, but no longer, liquid. His lightsaber lay deactivated at his right side. His right hand, with its two fingers and single opposable thumb, was still wrapped around the ornately carved hilt of the blade he'd driven into his abdomen. On the wall behind him, where it would be readily visible to anyone entering through the main door, someone had used a hot cutting tool - almost certainly a lightsaber - to carve the words: WHAT HAVE I DONE? "An excellent question," Vader observed, his grimly serious tone removing any flippancy the remark might have had coming from another. Obi-Wan squatted next to one of the strange marks on the ground, squinting at it as his vision blurred uncomfortably with the seething raw hatred of the Dark Side in its worst aspect. "This is not good," he muttered, and looked up as Vader and his new not-quite-apprentice stalked around the room, checking, he assumed, for traps or other unpleasantness that might affect Jedi, but which would presumably ignore them. "I know this," Alaia whispered suddenly, squatting next to a different mark and diligently avoiding the sight of the dead man in the center of the room. Her eyes widened, and Obi-Wan saw her pupils dilate. Her aura flickered for a moment, and then Obi-Wan saw her take a deep breath and shut her eyes. He smiled approvingly for an instant, then frowned as the gravity of the situation reasserted itself. "What is it?" he asked. She lowered one hand until it was about a handspan above the mark, flinching, and he saw sweat start on her forehead. Then she pulled away, her jaw clenched with strain, opened her eyes and sat back heavily. "This symbol...and that one, and that one," she pointed at two of the fifteen that were burned into the floor, "were on the walls of the Sarati temple. Anahita said they made her dizzy. Master Befin did something with them, and they didn't bother her anymore, but he told me I wasn't to touch them." "I can see why," Obi-Wan said, grimacing. "Do you know what he did?" Alaia shook her head, then scooted away from the mark to lean against the wall and rub at her forehead. "I don't. It was two years ago, when I was having some problems with my control - and my temper." That brought a faint snort of amusement from Vader. Alaia had to smile crookedly at that, despite the circumstances, and Obi-Wan shook his head. "Anakyn, do you recognize them?" he asked. "No," the Dark Lord said, shaking his head and scrutinizing the circle. "But I would not step into the center of the circle if I were you - their power is concentrated here, and it screams with the madness of the Dark Side." He glanced aside at Rei, who was frowning with concentration. "The marks at the Temple were old," Alaia said slowly. "Some of them were damaged by rockfall and other things." "These are new," Rei said, squatting next to yet another mark. "So either they were copied from the ones in your Temple, or the resemblance is just coincidental." Her tone of voice left little doubt how likely she thought the latter possibility was. Vader squatted in the center of the circle, then stood. "There are fresh lightsaber scars on the floor here," he said. "And there," he added, gesturing toward a spot on the ceiling. "You see more clearly than I do," Obi-Wan said, standing to squint at where his old friend was pointing. "The Dark Side is clouding my vision." "So Verorian was here - possibly fighting someone," Rei said, walking toward the door. "He was driven back into the middle of the circle, or perhaps led there, and then whatever they did, happened." Obi-Wan felt Alaia's shudder before he heard her gasp, and he turned in time to see her roll to her knees and retch, her aura flaring and seething as she did. He took three long strides to her side and held her shoulders as she heaved several times more, then croaked, "Water?" Rei pulled a flat canteen from her toolbelt and offered it to her. "What did you see?" she asked. Obi-Wan could feel her trembling under his hands as she took a drink, then whispered, "I couldn't... I couldn't keep from seeing it when you described it. You're right. It was the Sorcerers, the same ones who attacked us on Sarati. They, they drove him in here, and there were three more waiting. Then they all activated the ring and..." She swallowed hard. "He came completely unraveled inside." "What?" Obi-Wan felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. "They drove a Jedi mad," Vader said slowly. Alaia nodded. Obi-Wan met Vader's gaze, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment, and then they nodded slowly in agreement. No one said anything more for the next half-hour, in which the five searched the rest of the site and found nothing. The dormitories were empty, as was the workshop. The only sign of the inhabitants of Kedar was a large charred spot and a freshly covered grave in a clearing behind the temple grounds proper, where - either as part of whatever plan he thought he had in his madness, or in the differently-flavored madness of his final remorse, Quintus Verorian had cremated the lot of them and buried their ashes. They did the same for him, in accordance with Jedi tradition. As the pyre consumed his remains, Alaia wondered whether someone who committed so terrible an act, even in the grip of... -whatever- the Sorcerers had done to this man... would still become one with the Force, as the Masters always said Jedi did when they died. She would ask Obi- Wan, she thought, he who had -had- that experience, if he had any insight into the matter... but not now, and not, perhaps, for quite some time. The ride back to the ships was undertaken in gloomy silence. Not until the Mako was stowed next to the Shadowstorm in the Cipher Zero's main hold and the five of them stood in the gathering dusk outside their parked vessels did anyone speak again. "Once we deliver Captain Kerovik to the capital, Rei and I will resume the search for the Sorcerers," Vader said. "Leonard and M'yl'ya should soon be finished with their errand on the Frontier. We will meet them there. I suspect the matters are connected. The Force... whispers to me." Obi-Wan nodded. "Alaia and I will go back to the Sarati Temple, and see what we can learn there." He paused, smiling grimly. "Even though it seems likely that they will have prepared some sort of trap there." "Well, my master, you and I have always had a firm policy regarding traps," Vader said, smiling back just as grimly. "I will send word if we find anything." "Thank you, Anakyn," he said. "May the Force be with you." Vader nodded. "And with you, my master." "Thanks for the water," Alaia said, passing Rei's canteen back to its owner. "Be careful." She couldn't quite restrain herself. "-He's- not safe." Rei nodded. "You as well." And then she quirked a half-smile. "None of us is safe." Alaia turned the thought over in her mind for a moment, then nodded. "No," she agreed. "You're right." GRUSKHA "We had known Master Corto for some time. Years. Since before the trouble with the colonists started," Lieska said. She sat on one of those perchlike Gruskhan chairs in what looked like a conference hall, in the building behind the platform where Corto's peculiar throne stood. Judging that they wouldn't be very comfortable, Len and Emmy sat cross-legged on the floor. Fenn, his helmet back in place and his arsenal restored, stood by the door, looking out, his head moving slowly back and forth as if he were a radar set scanning the night-black jungle beyond the settlement's lighted perimeter. "Did you know what he was?" Len asked. "Of course," Lieska replied. "He never made any secret of that. He came openly, wearing his robes, just as you did. When the... difficulties... began, he told us that he couldn't get directly involved. Against some Jedi bylaw, apparently. But he stopped by from time to time, brought us medical supplies and various items to improve life in town, made sure we were holding our own." "After his last visit, the Dasshek clade made a deal with the colonists to have us pushed out of this area," one of the males who had flanked her during the unpleasantness, who had since been introduced as Nej, said bitterly. "When Master Corto next appeared, we had been branded outlaws. Terrorists. We'd been pushed to this corner of our ancestral territory, this one town. But he seemed to know that. He had... changed." "That was a month ago," said Lieska. He appeared from the jungle like he always did, but Nej is right, something was different about him. He had become... -decisive-. He said what was happening to us wasn't right, and that he had been chosen by Ta'kral to lead us to victory. That under his leadership we would drive the humans from Grushka and have a dominant voice in the planet's affairs when they were gone." "Who's Ta'kral?" asked Emmy. "In ancient times, the redscales of this area knew the creator of the world and the Grushkaani by that name," said Nej. "You would call him our god." "In ancient times... but no longer?" said Len, raising an eyebrow. Nej nodded, a human mannerism he had probably learned from Corto. "Few of us have worshipped the old spirits for centuries. We're not backward headhunters, Jedi," he added with an audible sneer. "We know the secrets of hyperspace and laser weapons, not just fire and the wheel." "Nej," said Lieska, just a trifle sharply. The male said nothing, but didn't stop giving Len a disdainful glare. "Many of our difficulties with the human colonists stem from their widespread view of us as primitive aboriginals," she explained to the Jedi. "Why do they think that?" Emmy asked. "Because that's what Czerka told them," Nej snapped, "and they're too pigheaded and self-satisfied to bother discovering that they were lied to. Humans had no business colonizing this world. That's why we fight to remove them." "I'm sorry," said Len in his most diplomatic tone. "I had nothing to do with Czerka's decision to colonize your world, nor with the Earth Alliance's decision to let them do it." "But you're not in any hurry to reverse either one," Nej sneered, unwilling to be placated. The right corner of Len's mouth twitched upward and his blue eyes twinkled slightly. "So sure of that, are you?" he asked, and Emmy stifled a giggle brought on by his deliberate use of Yoda's distinctive phrasing. "Nej, if you could refrain from dragging politics into the discussion for just ten skavars, I would consider it a personal favor," said Lieska acidly. Nej subsided. "Very well, Master Lieska," he said mockingly. "Please go on," said Emmy to Lieska. "Master Corto reappeared and said he'd been... touched by one of your ancient gods?" "More or less. Of course, most of us don't revere the ancients any more, as Nej said, so we thought it was a bit strange. He seemed to expect us to consider him some kind of divinely chosen savior... but we followed him anyway, because we trusted him. Most of us believed the Ta'kral thing was an act for the benefit of our enemies, some of whom are more superstitious than we." She paused, blinking slowly, and seemed to be smiling. "You would have to know Master Corto. Such theatrics... weren't out of character. And his leadership has been brilliant. We've reclaimed almost all the territory we lost, become a resistance group the colonial authority feels it has to reckon with. A few more moves in the game and we would have had them outmaneuvered. And now... " She looked up, past Len, as another Grushkan entered the hall. "What is it, Veren?" "Master Corto... he's dead," Veren replied solemnly. Emmy bowed her head, saying a silent prayer to the Triforce for the spirit of a colleague she'd never really known. Lieska, too, looked at the table, though it was difficult to read her reaction on her face. Nej's reaction, on the other hand, was easy to read. "Well, that's it," he said disgustedly. "With him dies our future, unless one of you plans to stay and take over now that you've -killed- him, -Jedi.-" "That's -enough,-" Fenn snapped, startling Lieska slightly - the Mandalorian hadn't spoken a word since he put his helmet back on. Now he leveled his carbine across the room at Nej and said in a low voice, "When ye speak to the Jedi, Gruskhan, ye speak with respect. -I- killed yer master, not them, and only because he tried to kill -me.-" "They brought you here," Nej replied, rising from his seat and fingering the hilt of the combat knife strapped to his web harness, "and I am not afraid of you, Mandalorian." "Well, ye would be if ye had any brains," Fenn replied pragmatically. "We can't stay," said Len. "Our mission was to find Master Corto, and now we must report back to the Jedi Council and tell them what happened to him." "What in the six moons makes you think we're going to let you -leave?-" Nej demanded incredulously. "The fact that you are," Len replied imperturbably. He got up from the table, seeming to ignore the belligerent Grushkan, and gave Fenn a discreet sign behind his back, warning the Mandalorian to hold his fire. Addressing Lieska, he went on, "You know we can't involve ourselves directly in your conflict. Nor could Master Corto, had he been in his right mind. You -also- know that doesn't mean we can't help your people." Lieska rose slowly, maintaining direct eye contact with the significantly taller Jedi. "It doesn't mean you -will,- either," she pointed out. "No," Len conceded. "But you know I will. Don't you? You can sense it." "What are you babbling about, human?" Nej snapped, but now both Jedi were ignoring him and focusing their attention on Lieska. "How long had Master Corto been training you, Lieska?" Emmy asked. Lieska blinked slowly, using the gesture to shift her gaze from Len to Emmy. "He... recognized the Force in me years ago," she said. "During his first visit to Grushka, when I was just a hatchling. Nearly as soon as I was old enough to speak, he told me what it was, and that not everyone around me could touch it as I could. He said... " She paused; so soon after Corto's death, this was obviously difficult. "What?!" Nej blurted. Like the others, Lieska ignored him. She gathered herself back together and went on, now looking at Len, "He said it wasn't a shameful thing, but that the others might not understand it, and so I shouldn't tell anyone about it until the time was right. He didn't take me with him, but every time he returned... four or five times a year... he kept track of my development. "A few years ago, he appeared just before my twentieth hatching- day celebration, when I became an adult. After the celebration, he took me to a... a special place, far from here, in the southern reaches of the Tageska Forest. Wild territory, where no clade claims rights." "Master... what is this place?" Lieska asked, looking around her, eyes wide with wonder. Corto smiled the kindliest of his many smiles and patted her thin, scaly shoulder. They stood at the edge of a clearing in the dense forest, next to the Jedi Master's battered old two-seat Verpine V-19 starfighter. That in itself would have been a matter for some awe, as, until just now, Lieska had never traveled in an aircraft of any description, much less a starfighter. The experience was somewhat overshadowed, though, by where they had come. Standing before them, rearing up out of the jungle, stood a great ziggurat, a steeply sloping five-stepped pyramid perhaps three hundred feet high - not counting the four great obelisks that jutted still further upward from the corners of its flat roof. Despite the heavy growth and encroachment of the forest all around it, the pyramid stood aloof, a hundred feet or more of clear space surrounding it on all sides. Lieska had seen places where fire or a za'keld's death had poisoned the ground, but this wasn't like that; there was living grass on the ground all the way up to the ziggurat's sides. It was more like the forest growth was keeping its distance out of... -respect.- "This is my greatest discovery," Corto told her. "Once, it was a temple where Jedi like me lived and worked. Judging by its size, there must have been dozens of them here, maybe even hundreds. There are places like this scattered all over the galaxy, left behind by the Jedi of a previous Great Epoch, but this one is by far the grandest and best-preserved of all the ancient temples I've seen." Lieska blinked. "Jedi? Here on Grushka? I've never heard of such a thing." Corto chuckled paternally. "Oh, you wouldn't have," he said. "I suspect you're the first native Grushkan ever to set eyes on the place. This temple was built before your ancestors settled their first villages or devised their first written language. It may even have been built here specifically so that the Jedi could observe and study them - watch them climb the long ladder to civilization. The ancient Jedi had the time and the luxury for such studies." "And no other of us has ever seen it?" "Probably not, or there'd be some record of it." Corto smiled. "For the moment, I believe you and I are the only people in all the galaxy who know it's even here." Then, while Lieska was trying to take on board the honor that had just been bestowed upon her, Corto said, "Come. There's more to see," and began climbing the stairs set into the center of the ziggurat's face. Lieska blinked rapidly a few times, then followed him hurriedly. Up close, the ziggurat's construction was even more impressive than it had been from a distance. There appeared to be no seams in it anywhere; though Lieska knew (or at least thought she knew) it to be impossible, she could have sworn that the whole thing had been hewn out of one colossal block of silvery-veined, opalescent grey-black stone. It almost felt alive beneath her feet. It was a long climb to the top of the ziggurat, but despite his white hair, weathered face, and portly build, Corto didn't seem the slightest bit winded when they got there. Lieska, though young and fit, could have done with a breather, but she was too busy continuing to be amazed. The ziggurat's roof wasn't plain and unadorned like its sides. There was a great circular track of some silver metal inlaid in its surface, then another a few feet less in diameter within it, and between them a wheel of symbols traced out in the same inlaid metal. Lieska counted them; there were eight. She couldn't recognize any of them. They looked completely unlike any sort of Grushkan writing she'd ever seen. In the center of the great circle was another, much smaller one, just big enough for a man to stand in, and a ninth symbol was etched within that. Corto walked almost to the center of the roof, stopping just outside the tiny innermost circle, and then turned and beckoned to Lieska to join him, his face aglow with delight. "Can you feel it, Lieska?" he asked. "The power here? The light?" And she could, a little, and more so as she approached the center of the great circle. It began as a whispering at the edges of her awareness, as her experiences of the Force had always been since hatchlinghood, but as she moved closer to Corto and the central marking, it grew stronger, clearer, until it was so intense at at the same time so undefined that it was almost maddening - like having a word in the fork of her tongue, but a million times more definite and vague all at once. She stopped, as Corto had, just outside the central circle, and when she did, he walked around it so that he was standing diametrically opposite her. Then he settled into seiza on the stone, his knees almost touching the inlaid silver of the center circle, and gestured for her to mirror his action. Grushkan leg structure did not lend itself to the usual posture for seiza, so she crouched instead, most of her weight bearing on her hindclaws and stubby tail. "I have watched you grow for many years, Lieska, and I know what you've gone through - because I went through the same thing as a boy, more years ago than I'd like to admit," he added with a faint touch of wryness. "You know - you can sense - that there's more to the universe than the here and now, the basic matter and energy of which we all consist. It hovers at the edge of your consciousness, this cosmic All, like a shape barely glimpsed in the dark, vanishing instantly if you turn all your attention upon it. As you've grown older, and your mind has developed, it's become harder to ignore, yet harder to grasp - but always it is there, everywhere, all the time, connecting every living thing at the same time that it defines our individuality. "I've shown you some of the mysteries as you've grown, Lieska, but I've done my best to keep you from this final step, not because I wished to hold you back, but because I wanted you to be ready when you took it - and because I knew I must be present when you took it. "Close your eyes." Lieska gave him a puzzled look, then did as instructed. "Concentrate on that inner feeling, that light within you. Feel how it spreads, how it resonates with the light within me, the light of this ancient temple, the light of the forest around us... the light of Grushka itself. "Now open your perceptions further. Stretch out with your inner senses. See how Grushka is itself but one point in a sea, a -universe- of light. All life is light. All life is one. "This is the Force." As he spoke those last four words, Corto made a subtle adjustment to something she hadn't known he'd built within her years before, and suddenly the muffled, clouded feeling Lieska had lived with all her life dissolved into a brilliance of infinite light. She made a harsh rattling in her throat, the Grushkan equivalent of a gasp - an obsolete evolutionary trait some long-lost proto-Lieska had used to warn her clademates of surprise, in a time when all surprise was danger. Her eyes opened, but they didn't see her immediate surroundings; they saw only the unending, expanding, spiraling cosmos. "Control your feelings," said Corto, his soft, warm voice slicing through the new fog of astonishment and borderline panic enshrouding her consciousness. "Don't judge; experience. Don't think; feel. Don't fear; understand." Slowly, she came back down from the transcendent high of stepping back to see the entire universe, slipping back into her own identity. She still felt as if she'd spent her entire life with deadscales on her eyes and someone had just peeled them off, but she no longer felt as if she were on the edge of willingly vanishing into the everywhere nowhere of that endless radiance. She knew, though, that she would never be the same. "After that, Master Corto taught me whenever he could," Lieska told Len and Emmy. "This past month... I suspected that something wasn't right with him, but... until he attacked your Mandalorian friend, he'd never done anything quite so... -blatant.- He had flashes of cruelty - anger - in battle against our clade's enemies, but I was able to convince myself he had everything under control. He was a Jedi Master." She hesitated, then sat back down, put her hands on the table, and looked at them blankly. "He was -my- Jedi Master." Nej, who had sat dumbfounded throughout her explanation, now got up again and stared at his clademate incredulously. "Za'kest!" he cried. "I knew you were Corto's favorite, we all knew that, but now you tell me you're really a kest'za Jedi yourSELF?" Lieska shot him a look of mingled misery and annoyance. "I might have been, one day," she said. "Or you might have become something else," Emmy said gently. Lieska nodded. "I know. Master Corto was trying to keep teaching me the right things. Sometimes I felt him... falter. Looking back on it now, I understand that. He... he struggled against something, something inside him. But he never failed me. I think he would have died first. I think... he -did- die first." "Oh, -wonderful,-" said Nej sourly. "So, basically, our savior really -was- crazy enough to think a dead god had given him his destiny, and he was molding -you- to be just as - urk!" This last came out because Fenn had slipped up next to him while he was ranting and fitted the cold muzzle of his blaster carbine neatly into the Grushkan's left earhole. "What say we go find somethin' else f'r ye to occupt yourself with and leave the lady to her grief, boyo," he said. "Uh... all right," said Nej, suddenly agreeable. "We'll be outside, havin' a look at the tactical picture," said the Mandalorian with a nod to his Jedi companions, and the two left. "Lieska," said Len, "I know this is hard for you, but I need to know how far Master Corto got in your training." "Not very far. It was all very piecemeal, as I told you. Probably a complete mess to anyone trained in a more... normal setting." Len smiled slightly. "I wouldn't know," he said. "-We- were trained in an abandoned mining town on Bonadan by a man who's dedicated his life to the search for the Stanley Cup." "The what?" "Never mind. Have you built a lightsaber?" "No. We were... " She hesitated. "I can't believe he's gone. We... I'm sorry. We were going to do that next week. Before the assault we were planning on the yellowscale collaborators' strongpoint at Vek Ta. Master Corto was very excited. He'd found a crystal somewhere he said he thought was suitable. Such things are hard to find on Grushka, apparently." Len nodded, rubbing the point of his chin between thumb and forefinger. He glanced at Emmy, who nodded. "Then you may have been further along than you think," Emmy said. "Building a lightsaber is a task for a fairly advanced padawan learner." "Oh. ... Well, that's good to know, I suppose." Lieska sighed, bowing her head until her snout almost touched the table. "All for nothing now." "Not necessarily," said Len. The young Grushkan looked up at him. "What do you mean?" "The Order is more organized of late than it's been in a long time," he told her. "If you come with us to the central temple on Alderaan, I'm sure a Jedi Master could be found who would be happy to take you on. Finish your training. You can still be a Jedi, if you want to be." "We aren't allowed to leave the planet," Lieska told him. "If we did, people might find out that Czerka has been lying about our sophistication. Or lack thereof." She made a resigned spitting sound. "I figured as much," Len said, his little smile returning, "but I don't care. If you want to come with Emmy and me when we leave, no one in Jro City is going to stop you. I guarantee it." She looked tempted, almost hopeful, but said, "Who will look after my clade? I'm the closest thing to a leader now that Master Corto is gone, since Elder Theska perished in battle with the colonials." Len's smile widened slightly. "Come, Lieska," he said. "Master Corto must have told you this: Trust in the Force." They cremated Corto in the center of the plaza, the flames of his pyre dancing high into the night sky, as a Stresk band played first mournful songs, to tell his spirit they would miss him, and then joyful ones, to reassure him that they would go on. It wasn't until after the ceremony was over, and Corto's ashes buried in a place of honor next to the bones of Elder Theska, that Lieska gathered her circle and told them she was leaving. "You'll be shot," was the immediate pronouncement of Dej, who was Nej's younger brother and seemed to tend toward glumness where his brother was bellicose. "No scale leaves the planet. That's the invaders' law." "Leave that to us," said Emmy. "Who will lead us?" Dej asked. "We're all doomed without Master Corto -and- Lieska." "Actually, my brother, I've made an arrangement that may yet see us win the war," said Nej with more than a hint of smugness. "... What?" asked Dej, too shocked to declare that, whatever Nej had in mind, it wouldn't work. "I've hired a military advisor," Nej announced. "General Shysa?" "Seemed th' least I could do, given the circumstances," said Fenn. "Still, I think 'General' might be layin' it on a bit thick, Nej. There can't me more than a battalion of ye. 'Major Shysa' will do." Len and Emmy spent the night in Stresk'vr, setting out at first light for the long hike back to Jro City with Lieska as their guide. Since they weren't trying to infiltrate the area undetected (until the time came to make sure they were ambushed, that is) as they had been on the way in, the route back was much more direct. They were back at the city gates by nightfall. It rankled Lieska to play the role of Len and Emmy's indigenous servant for the benefit of the colonial marines on guard at the gates, but since the alternative was a full-dress firefight, she swallowed her pride and played the role well, passing herself off as a member of a more docile clade. It wasn't like most of the humans would know the difference anyway, and the yellowscales who worked for them didn't give a damn. TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 2412 JRO CITY, GRUSHKA The redscale slurping soup at the counter in the restaurant near the colonial authority's office nearly jumped out of his scales when a hand suddenly came down on his shoulder. Admittedly,this was done in a chummy, companionable sort of way, not with the heaviness and painful grip of a colonial marine putting the arm on, but it startled him nevertheless. Not as much as what happened next, though. "Hello, Glex!" said Leonard cheerfully as he slid onto the stool next to the Grushkan. Signaling the human counterman, he said, "I'll have whatever he's having. And some of that rice stuff." "Coming right up," said the counterman. "Same for me, please," Emmy called as she took the seat on the other side of Glex. "Sure thing." "Uh... hi," said Glex. "Fancy seeing you guys here." "Yeah, isn't it. We just happened to be passing through on the way back to Tan Sai Ch'tor and figured, well, we liked the soup so much last time, might as well hit the old place again once more before we raise ship." "Oh! So... you're, uh... leaving, then. That's... good. You, uh... you didn't have too much trouble with the Stresk, then?" "A little, but we sorted it out. It's good that we ran into you again, though. I never got to thank you for your guiding services. And I have something that belongs to you." "What's that?" asked Glex, sliding his eyes as far as possible to the left in an attempt to look at Len without actually turning to face him. Len put the blaster he'd taken from the Grushkan a few days before on the bar and slid it over so that it clinked against Glex's soup bowl. "Wouldn't want you to think I'd leave you defenseless. This can be a tough planet." "Uh... thanks." Still waiting for the other shoe to drop, Glex took the blaster from the counter and tucked it away in the shoulder bag he was carrying. "Well, got to run," he added over-casually, dropping some coins on the counter next to the bowl. "See you around." "Bye," said Len agreeably. "Take care," added Emmy with a pleasant smile. Glex nearly broke his leg trying to sidle toward the door without turning his back on them, got shoved by a colonial marine he'd nearly run into, and then abandoned any pretense of dignity and ran for it, scuttling out the door in a visible panic. Emmy giggled and hopped over a stool so she was next to Len, and a moment later Lieska joined them. "That was cruel," she said. "What?" Len replied piously. "All I did was return his property." "He's going to be paranoid for weeks, assuming that you're out there plotting to kill him." "The poor man's psychological problems are none of my business," said Len. "He should get help." Tan Sai Ch'tor Spaceport was a much more tranquil place when they passed back within its walls after dinner, the resistance having apparently taken its rocket attacks elsewhere for the time being. "Ah, hello, Consolidated Press reporters," said Sergeant Taa Kloym cheerfully when he saw them crossing the concourse. "Did you have any luck finding your missing colleague?" "In a manner of speaking," Emmy replied. "Unfortunately, he... seems to have perished. Covering the colonial conflict." Kloym tutted. "A shame," he said. "My regrets. Bad enough those -involved- in the troubles die in such great numbers." He eyed Lieska. "Hello, redscale female," he said in the same cheery tone with which he'd greeted Len and Emmy. "Are you with these two?" Lieska did an admirable job of lowering her eyes and pretending to be deferential. "Yes, honored officer. They have hired me as their guide and porter." That the two humans didn't have anything for a porter to port didn't seem to faze Kloym in the slightest. "Good, good. Nobody knows the territory hereabouts like the local redscale clades, I always say. Especially the Stresk," he added with a startlingly human-style wink. "Will you be wanting your ship readied for launch?" "If you please," said Len. "We'd like to get underway tonight, if it's not too much trouble." "No trouble at all," Kloym assured him. "We've just had a freighter come in - all the way from the Rim somewhere, they must have burned some serious tachyons to get here so fast - and they've been asking for a separate revetment for a small craft. I'll give them the one you're parked in. They're not supposed to be using it either, but za'kest." "Thank you for all your help. I hope things settle down here soon," Emmy told him. "And thanks for your advice about dealing with redscale males. It was quite helpful." "Yes, indeed," Len agreed. Kloym opened his mouth slightly in amusement. "I'm glad to have been of service." By the time they got out onto the brilliantly floodlit tarmac, the port's spacecraft handlers had towed the Hydrargyrum out of the hardened revetment Kloym had flagged it into and were using a similar repulsor rig to back another ship carefully into its place. "... That's the Shadowstorm!" Emmy asked, pointing. "Damned if it isn't," Len said. "What's Lord Vader doing here?" "Let's ask him," said Emmy, nodding to the dark-cloaked figure striding toward them. They were in for two surprises when the Sith Lord drew close enough for them to get a good look at him. The first was that he wasn't wearing his environment suit, and looked in pretty damn good shape for a man who'd been confined to one for three millennia. The second was Rei, though technically she was only a surprise for Len, since Emmy hadn't known her in childhood. "Rei!" said Len, giving her a hug. "What in the galaxy are you doing here?" "I've agreed to travel with Lord Vader for a while," Rei told him. "He wants to show me some... things. I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to let him." "Interjection: And I haven't decided yet whether I'm going to kill him," HK-47 put in. "I'm glad you guys are here," said Len, letting the droid's peculiar statement pass. "We've got a little bit of a situation here that you can help us out with if you're willing." "That -is- what we came here for," said Vader with just a trace of asperity. "How did you know where to find us?" Emmy asked, still marveling at the sight of Darth Vader in his natural plumage, so to speak. "Obi-Wan told us," said Vader. "Presumably he found out by asking the Jedi Council. We decided," he added with a faint smile, "that they were not ready for me to speak to them directly." "Probably a good idea," said Emmy. Len gave Vader and Rei the quick rundown of what had befallen himself and Emmy over the last few days, including a quick sketch of Lieska's description of the Jedi temple in the Tageska. "Normally we'd go check it out, but I want to get Lieska to Alderaan as quickly as possible, and under the circumstances I don't think it would be a good idea to take her to that temple first," Len told Vader. "Not if what I suspect is true." "You think the temple may have had something to do with what happened to Master Corto," said Rei. Len nodded. "You may be more likely correct than you know," Vader said, and told the two Jedi about what had happened, as near as they could tell, on Palaven. "Okay, now I -doubly- don't want to take Lieska anywhere near the place," said Emmy when he'd finished. "Agreed," said Vader, nodding. "Rei and I will investigate this temple." "Great." Len nodded. "Then Emmy and I will take Lieska to Alderaan, and once we have her squared away, we'll see where the Council wants us to go next." "Perhaps by that time, our investigation will have borne fruit, or Obi-Wan's, or both," Vader said. "Guard yourselves, my young friends. I sense something in this. A presence at once familiar and unknown... " He trailed off, gazing into some unknowable distance, then then seemed to come back to the present. Clasping first Len's forearm, then Emmy's, he intoned, "May the Force be with you." "That... that was Darth Vader?" Lieska asked as she followed Len and Emmy to the Hydrargyrum. "In the flesh," Emmy replied, and did not add out loud, And rather more of it than when I last saw him... "I thought he was evil," said Lieska. "And -dead.-" "It's a long story," Emmy told her. SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 2412 ALDERAAN "Naturally, we've read the report you transmitted before you jumped to hyperspace," Mace Windu told Emmy and Leonard. "We're saddened to learn of the passing of Master Corto. He was a friend and a valued colleague. His death diminishes us all." "However," Bolo Burke put in, "we couldn't help but get the feeling there were things you didn't share with us in your preliminary report." Len nodded. "You're correct in that, Master Burke," he said. "There were details we didn't wish to transmit, even in cipher. We believe what happened to Master Corto was connected to the incidents on Palaven and Sarati, and possibly others we don't yet know about." He went on to explain in greater detail what had become of Wald Corto, and what Lieska had described of the ancient Grushkan temple. "Passed on a disturbing report from Lord Vader Obi-Wan has," said Yoda. "Support your theory his evidence does." Len's mouth was a thin line. "I feared as much," he said. "Shall we join Lord Vader or Master Kenobi in their investigations?" Emmy inquired, but Windu shook his head. "Neither," he said. "We want you to return to Naboo and examine the temple Leonard found there. Count Dooku believes it was built around the same time as the one on Sarati. It may contain evidence of these same strange symbols, and if whoever's behind all this hasn't found it yet, it may give us some insight into what's going on." "It's possible that a site our unknown adversaries haven't discovered yet may be able to tell us what, if anything, was there -before- they placed the markings found on Palaven and Sarati," Archivist Faloon added. "We can only hope that, if such information is there, it hasn't been unwittingly disturbed or destroyed by the renovation efforts." Len nodded. "Very well." Seeing Windu preparing to dismiss them, he put in, "There's one more thing, before we go. Master Corto had a student, a Grushkan native. She was nearly ready to build her lightsaber when he died." Windu frowned. "A delicate time. Wald's death must have upset her greatly. Does she want to continue?" "Very much so, Master Windu," Emmy said. "She's here now, waiting outside." "I thought the natives of Grushka were primitive protosapients," said Zaerdra Kinshasa, looking puzzled. "There's... much about the situation on Grushka that isn't as it's been represented to the outside galaxy," said Len. "This intrigues me," said Vert. "She's waiting outside, you say?" To Emmy's nod, the Irken Master went on with a smile, "I want to meet her." Windu nodded. "Send her in to speak with us, please. And may the Force be with you." "You're up," Emmy told Lieska as she and Len emerged from the council chamber. Lieska blinked. "'Up'?" "The Council wants to speak with you," Len explained. "Alone?" "Yes." "But... I mean... " She looked from Len to Emmy, eyes wide with dismay. "They won't hold me responsible for Master Corto's death, will they?" "What? No, no," said Emmy, patting her shoulder. "They just want to ask you about your training, see if they can get a feel for how far along you are and who among the Jedi Masters here would best suit your needs." "And they'll probably ask you about the situation on Grushka," Len added. "Give it to them straight. When I leave here, I'm going to prepare a report to the Chief of the International Police about the same thing. With the Jedi Order and the IPO head office both leaning on the Babylon Foundation, the Galactic Alliance will have to take action." Lieska looked at him. "How can you be so sure this 'Chief' will listen to you?" Len smiled. "He's my father." "... Oh." Lieska looked at the council chamber doors, blinked again, and swallowed. "Guess I should get it over with, then. Wish me luck." "You don't need luck, Lieska," Emmy told her. "You have the Force." "May it be with you," Len agreed, still smiling. "We'll be in touch." They were up on the roof, making final preparations to leave for Naboo, when Emmy noticed the tall, thin, patrician figure of Count Vladimir Dooku striding toward the Hydrargyrum. "Good evening, my young friends. I understand the Council has dispatched you back to Naboo," he said in his rather startlingly booming voice. "That's right," Emmy told him. "Are you heading back as well?" "I think the knowledge of the temple I've picked up during the renovation may be useful," said Dooku, nodding. "If you don't mind my inviting myself, I may as well fly back with you." "You're welcome to, by all means," said Len. "The quarters are a bit closer than you're used to, I suspect, but there are four bunks aboard," he added with a slight grin. Dooku chuckled. "Don't let my aristocratic air fool you, young man," he said. "I've traveled in much lower style in my time. However, that raises a point," he added with a thoughtful air. "The line of my forefathers, the previous Counts of Serenno, reaches back through the era when I believe your temple was built. It's possible that my ancestral library contains information about the period that Master Faloon's archives lack. Serenno is not so very far off the hyperspace route from here to Naboo; why not detour there on our way and see what there may be to find?" Straightening his already very erect posture slightly, the silver-haired count bowed and added in an even more formal tone, "I would be honored to have you as my guests for a few days while we research the matter together." Len and Emmy glanced at each other, then nodded. "That's very gracious of you, Count Dooku," said Len. "We'd be delighted." TO BE CONTINUED