Star Wars: Bloodstalker

By Brandon W. Nichols

The following story contains several elements which may be disturbing for certain readers. Discretion is advised. If this story were to be presented as a feature film, it would likely have a rating of R. Please be aware of this before proceeding further.

This is a piece of fanfiction from the Star Wars universe. It has been written to pair with most (not all) Star Wars canon, and can also be paired with my Star Wars Requel Trilogy, which can also be found at this blog.

 

                The Jedi Archives are generally considered a place for quiet contemplation.  An afternoon browsing through the extensive collections was often a cathartic experience.  Voices rarely rose above a whisper.  Distractions were few and the conditions within were as comfortable as possible.  But none of those comforts applied today. 

                He felt irked that this task had to take place in an area where he went for relaxation.  Still, orders were orders.  Jedi Kento Marek walked into the archives and approached the front desk. 

                “Master Nu,” he said, greeting the elderly woman at the entrance.

                “Knight Marek,” she said, looking up from some holocrons that she was sorting.

                “I was summoned,” he said.

                “Yes, if you will proceed to Reading Room Three, we need to redocument one of your archive records,” Nu said.

                “Certainly.  Thank you,” Kento said.

                He walked through the stacks and found the room that had been assigned.  He had expected to be greeted by a couple of Nu’s young acolytes.  Instead, he found Jedi Master Adi Gallia and his former master, Plo Koon.  He checked the door, not certain if he had gone to the correct room.

                “Kento, come in, please,” Gallia said.  Her voice was light, but commanding.

                “Master Gallia, Master Koon,” Kento said, giving a slight nod to both of them as he entered.

                “Good to see you again, my old padawan,” Plo Koon said.

                “Yes, Master,” Kento said, reverting to old habits of address. 

                “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Kento,” Adi Gallia said, motioning him towards a chair at the end of the table.

                “I was told there was a problem with a file,” he said, more of a question than a statement.

                “Yes, the killing of Padawan Buran,” Gallia said.  “The file was accidentally corrupted.  The Council asked us to retake your testimony for the archives.”

                “I’ve never heard of an archive file being corrupted before,” Kento said.

                “The archives are maintained by sentient beings.  Mistakes are inevitable,” Koon said.

                “I wonder if Master Nu would agree,” Kento said.

                “At any rate, if you’ll sit and speak about the events, all will be corrected,” Gallia said.

                Kento sat in the empty chair.  A burgundy R2 unit wheeled over from the corner and aimed a lens at him.  A light came on.

                “Just start at the beginning,” Gallia said.

                Kento paused for a moment to let the memory come back.

                “It was about a year ago.  I was escorting a group of younglings back from the academy on Ilum.  As I’m sure he’s already told you, along the way, I received a message from Master Koon, asking me to take a shuttle to the planet Tertan-Ral…”

                                                                                –

                The smell was the first thing that hit you.  Even with the smoke from the dying fires that smoldered on the horizon, the smell of seared flesh was overwhelming.  Local security had offered him a breathing mask, but he declined.  It was important to take in everything he could about this crime scene.  He would call on all his senses, and, of course, the Force.

                Kento Marek walked through a burned-out field.  What passed for the local constable accompanied him.  Only days ago, this had been thriving farmland.  A common crop grown by the settlers of this newly inhabited planet.  The fledgling farms of Tertan-Ral only took up a fraction of the smallest continent of this untamed world.  This colony had barely developed its own infrastructure, but already, it had seen its first murder.

                Kento paused at the edge of the clearing and tried to take it all in.  In his time as a Jedi, he’d seen some disturbing things, but this surpassed the rest in its ability to arouse dread and fear.

                The body was laid out, facing up, in a patch of grassland between two fields.  The killer had clearly arranged the scene and then lit the surrounding crops on fire, likely either to draw attention to the body, or to cover his tracks as he made his escape. 

                The victim’s limbs were staked down.  Her robes had been stripped away.  There was no sign of any personal effects.  Not clothing or a lightsaber or so much as a hair tie.  She was a human, no more than nineteen years old.  Just a padawan here on assignment.  Her first mission on her own, taking the Trials to become a full-fledged Jedi Knight.  Somehow, things had gone so horribly wrong. 

                Sherriff Que’tan paced awkwardly around the perimeter.  She was a middle-aged Bothan woman who had been enforcing the law in this colony since its inception.  At the moment, she seemed very ill at ease.  Frontier constables had to deal with frontier crimes.  Most of those revolved around crops or cattle.  It was beyond her experience to handle a grisly murder.  Kento didn’t blame her a bit for requesting assistance from the Republic. 

                “Had she made any enemies, Sheriff?” Kento asked, not looking up from the body.

                 “Oh, not at all.  Abi was a big help to the community.  Ever since she got here, she’s been clearing out Sheeyan traps and helping folks along the outskirts.  She diverted the creek by Harvest Point when we set the millwheel in.  Even helped me out with a band of rustlers who were causing trouble.”

                “You think it could be them?” Kento asked.

                “Doubtful.  The leader was Jerek Goll and he’s been in my jail for the last month.  Along with the rest of his crew,” the sheriff said.

                “Any outliers in that crew?  One that got away?” Kento asked.

                “Not that I know of.  And if there was one this crazy, I feel like I’d know him.”

                Crazy wasn’t the word Kento would have used.  This scene wasn’t made by a crazed individual.  It wasn’t random and it wasn’t messy.  If anything, it was quite the opposite. 

                The body itself was ghostly.  The skin’s color was faded.  The lips were blue, as though she had frozen to death, though the weather here was pleasantly warm.  In the arms and legs, Kento could see the muscles in strain, pulled taut.  Deep gashes had been made along the forearms, likely to open her arteries.  What was strange was the lack of blood.  Her arms were clean, aside from the wounds.  So was the ground around her. 

                Across her forehead there was a symbol.  It was seared into her skin.  The killer had carved it into her face with a lightsaber.  He’d seen saber wounds before and the thought of it made him shiver.  If it was done post-mortem, it would have been ghastly.  If she had been alive for the torture, then it would have been agony. 

                Kento redirected his gaze from the body and took in more details of the scene.

                “Do these stakes catch your interest, Sheriff?  The ones that are holding the body down,” he asked.

                “The wood is local.  You can find those at any farm or campsite on the planet,” the Bothan woman replied.

                “I assume the same for the ropes?” he said.

                “Correct,” she confirmed.

                Kento pondered aloud, “Even a wounded padawan should have been able to break free from these bonds.  There’s nothing special about the knots or the material.”

                “Which tells us that she was killed elsewhere and placed here,” Que’tan said.

                “As does the lack of blood.  No blood trail anywhere?” he asked.

                She shook her head, “We found nothing.  With the fire in the fields, it’s hard to be sure, but we found no footprints, no signs of dragging the body.”

                “He wouldn’t have dragged her.  Look at this work.  Whatever his motivation, this was something he was proud of.  Something that mattered.  He wouldn’t have dragged her through the dirt.  She’s been placed here.  Placed for us to find.”  He sighed and wiped sweat from his brow.  A disgusting thought came to him, “This is his art.”

                Sheriff Que’tan pondered that for a moment. “Brought here on a speeder, you think?” the sheriff asked.

                “Possibly, but let’s not jump to conclusions,” Kento said. 

                “It would narrow the field a bit.  There are only a handful of speeders in the colony.”

                “Let’s not assume she was killed by someone from the colony, either,” Kento said.

                He needed a moment to think.  So much of this was beyond him.  He stood and scanned the horizon.  To the north, he saw low rocky hills.  To the east was the settlement, only a few structures, none more than ten meters high.  He could just see the rooftops at this distance.  This place barely had roads, but now it had a murder. 

                Kento could sense the Sheriff’s tension without needing to look at her.  He thought it would be a kindness to refocus her mind.

                “Sheriff Que’tan, tell me about Tertan-Ral,” he said, looking for a topic that wouldn’t fluster the peace officer.

                “We’re a young colony.  Only been here for about 10 years.  It was started as a counter-claim site.  Czerka wanted to use it for industrial farming, but the founders made a case that the planet’s pristine nature was worth preserving.  But they had to keep a camp here to maintain the claim.”

                “What’s the population?” Kento asked.

                “A few thousand.  Six or seven, at last count.  But the families are spread far and wide.  There’s an abundance of land, as you might have noticed, so the colony expanded around the local river system.  Upstream and down.  Where there is water, we grow.  Our infrastructure isn’t very advanced, but we aren’t starving,” Que’tan said.

                He noted that she sounded much less ill-at-ease now.

                “Speaking of infrastructure,” Kento said, “The spaceport leaves something to be desired.”

                Sheriff Que’tan nodded, “All we have is a clearing for freighter traffic.  A lot of the time, the freighters don’t even bother.  They just find a spot to put down near the farm that has their cargo.  It’s very informal.”

                “You get many offplanet visitors?” Kento asked.

                “No, not really.  A Republic inspector visits once a year or so, usually around harvest time.  We see the occasional traders come through looking to make a deal.  And there was a cult collective that passed through a few years ago.”

                “A cult?” Kento asked, his ears perking up.

                “Some kind of nature commune.  They passed through here, trying to recruit people who would worship the dirt of something.  I dunno.  Never paid that much attention.  They had a big meeting over at Chep Kithern’s ranch and then flew away a few days later.  I doubt it’s related.”

                “Still, something to keep in mind,” Kento said.

                “If you say so,” she replied.

                “Anyone recently?”  Kento asked.

                “Hard to say.  We had a harvest of watrucore last month.  About a dozen ships landed around the orchards.  I assume they all left after they loaded up.  If someone wanted to sneak down here though, it wouldn’t be hard to hide an incoming ship.  Just fly in at night and put her down somewhere out of sight.”

                Kento nodded. “Who actually found the body?”

                “Jeh Wygot.  This is his land.  He found the body and notified us as soon as he could,” she answered.

                “According to him,” Kento said.

                “According to him,” the Bothan echoed.  Then she added, “Considering these are mostly his crops that were burnt, I don’t consider him a suspect.”

                Kento made a wide circle, scanning the clearing around the body for evidence.  Nothing seemed to have been left behind on the perimeter of the crime scene, either intentionally or not.  He traced a spiraling path out, looking for any other evidence.  Finding nothing of interest, he returned to the corpse of the young padawan and leaned over it.  He took a deep breath and got a trace of ozone.

                “Force lightning,” he said, to no one in particular.

                “I’m sorry?” his companion responded.

                “I’m seeing signs of electrocution.” 

                “She’s been drained of blood.  The cuts on her arms are what killed her,” the sheriff said.

                “Maybe,” Kento said, emphasizing the word.  “But clearly there’s more to it.  The killer could have drained her body after she was dead.”

                “What the hell kind of creature does that?” the sheriff asked.

                He waved her over, “Look at the skin.  Do you see these burn marks here?” he pointed at the victim’s chest, over her heart.  There was white scarring that extended out in random patterns, as though she had a lightning bolt embedded in her skin.

                The sheriff nodded, “I see them, but I don’t understand. 

                “She was hit with Force lightning.  That might be what set the fields on fire as well,” Kento said.

                “Force…lightning?” she asked.

                “Dark side users are able to use the Force to generate electricity.  They can use it as a weapon.  Or, as I suspect here, as a means of torture.”

                The sheriff looked stunned, “You mean you’ve seen this kind of thing before?” she asked.

                “No, ma’am.  It’s an old Sith method.”

                “Then how do you…?”

                “I’m a history teacher,” Kento said. 

                “The Jedi sent me a history teacher?” the sheriff asked.

                Kento frowned at her, “It’s a big galaxy, Sheriff.   I was on my way back to Coruscant.  I got redirected here because I was closest.  If you’d like to request someone else, feel free.  I imagine your concerned citizens would rather get help now than later.”

                The Bothan held up her hands in mock surrender, “I meant no offense, Master Jedi.  I’m just surprised.”

                “I know how you feel,” he said, examining the victim’s wounds.

                “Never doubt the power of a history teacher.”

                Kento turned around.  The voice was not that of Que’tan.  He spun and saw a human male standing on the trail at the edge of the field.  The man was large, both in height and weight.  He wore thick boots and a dark bomber jacket that were for a far colder climate than this planet offered.  A pair of dark goggles hung from his neck, ready for use.  The attire told Marek this man was no local.  Kento’s eyes went to the glinting plate on his shoulder.  A patch that held a long oval.  Confirmation came when he spotted the lightsaber dangling from his hip.  This man was no farmer. 

                Kento held up a hand to pause the man’s approach.

                “Stop.  Please don’t move.  I can’t have you contaminating this scene,” Kento said.

                “I wouldn’t dream of it,” the man said, putting his hands out and stopping.

                “How did you get past my deputies?” Que’tan said.  She looked at the newcomer warily.  Kento saw her hand move towards the blaster she kept on her hip. 

                “There were deputies?” the man asked, looking over his shoulder up the dirt path.  “I’m sorry to startle you.  I came to offer my assistance.”

                “We’re quite all right here,” said the Bothan sheriff.  “The Jedi have no need for outside help,” she said, curtly.

                “I think I have information that might pertain to this case,” the man said.

                Kento studied him again.  

                “And who are you, sir?”

                “My name is Orion Xadau of the Jal Shey,” the man said.  He added, almost apologetically, “I’m a Jal Shey Ranger.”  He tapped the oval on his shoulder plate by way of an identification.

                “What is the Jal Shey’s interest in this matter?” Kento said.

                “Same as the Jedi’s.  A threat to our people,” Xadau said.

                “There are no Jal Shey here, besides yourself.  This is Jedi business, sir.  I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Kento said.

                The man jutted his chin at the body, “This one might be Jedi business, but the last three weren’t.”

                Kento turned to address the man, “What are you talking about?”

                “Half a year ago, one of our Neophytes never came back from an assignment.  We sent two Rangers out after him.  They all turned up dead.  Not an ounce of blood in their bodies.  Does that sound familiar?”

                “You have my sympathy, but I’m not sure…”

                “Have you checked the back of her neck?” Xadau interrupted.

                “I’m sorry?” Kento said.

                “On the back of her neck there will be a puncture mark.  Some kind of dart that the killer is using to drug the victims,” Xadau said.

                Kento looked to Que’tan.  She shrugged, “We haven’t moved her since we found her.”

                “Could I trouble you to check?” Xadau said.

                Kento motioned for Que’tan to go to the body.  He stood between this outsider and the victim.  Nothing about this felt right to him.

                Xadau spoke as the sheriff moved, “A small puncture hole at the top of the spine.  White striations in the skin indicating electrical damage.  Deep wounds.  All my victims had them.  And not a drop of blood in the bodies,” Xadau said.

                Que’tan gave the men a wide berth as she went to check the victim’s neck.  As delicately as she could, she turned the head slightly and then leaned over, her fur touching the ground.  In life, Abi Buran had long black hair.  The sheriff brushed it aside.  Kento saw her examine the back of the neck, look up at him and nod grimly.

                Kento lifted his right arm and called upon the Force.  Instantly, his saber was in his hand.  A blue blade shot out from the hilt.  The blade cut through the air and extended just under the chin of this Orion Xadau.  The man froze. 

                “Now, that’s really the kind of information only the killer would know,” Kento said.  Xadau reflexively backpedaled for a couple of steps, but Kento stayed with him, the blade under his chin.

                “Hey, hey, hey!  I just told you, this isn’t the first victim,” Xadau said, through gritted teeth, keeping his chin up to avoid the blade across his neck.

                “So you say,” Kento said.

                “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Xadau said.

                “Please don’t move,” Kento said, as politely as he could.  “You claim to be a Jal Shey.  That’s a Force sect.  We’ve seen evidence that this was done by a Force user.  You carry a lightsaber; she has wounds from a lightsaber.  You’re not a local and we’re pretty sure the killer isn’t either.  You’ve got information that the killer would know, and you just got here.”

                Sheriff Que’tan chimed in, drawing a blaster and aiming for the man’s chest, “Not to mention, plenty of killers like to insert themselves into the investigations, which you’ve just done.  Now, how did you even know about this?”

                The azure blade hovered neatly below Xadau’s neck.

                “If I could just show you the datapad I brought with me,” Xadau said.  His hands started to move.  Kento lifted the blade ever so slightly and the man froze once again.

                “The sheriff will handle that,” Kento said. 

                The Bothan woman approached Xadau slowly.  She kept her blaster aimed at his chest.  It was immaterial.  If this man twitched, Kento was resolved to take his head.  There was an unsettling energy here and he’d been taught to trust his instincts.

                Xadau sighed, “It’s in the pocket on my right leg.”

                “Make sure you relieve him of that lightsaber as well,” Kento said.  “And check if he’s carrying anything else.”

                “There’s a blaster on my right hip and I’ve got a tool kit in the pocket of this jacket.  Feel free,” Xadau said, spreading his arms wide.

                Que’tan gingerly lifted the bulky blaster pistol from its holster and tossed it onto the dusty path.  It landed with a heavy thud, scattering some loose dirt.  She took the saber hilt and tucked it into a loop on her own belt.  Xadau didn’t flinch when she pulled the datapad from his pocket.  She stood back a few feet to check its contents.

                “Sheriff?” Kento asked, not taking his eyes from Xadau’s neck.

                “It’s other murders.  Looks a lot like what we have here.  Staked down, stripped, pale.  That weird symbol on the forehead.”

                “Do you see any indication they were taken by police and not just his personal candids?” Kento asked.

                “Really?” Xadau said, turning to look at the Jedi incredulously.

                “They look like crime scene holos to me,” Que’tan said.

                “Uniforms?” Kento asked.

                “Not seeing any…” Que’tan said.

                “Give it to the Jedi,” Orion said, with a note of exasperation.

                “What?” Que’tan asked.

                “Give it to the Jedi.  Psychometry is standard for Jedi investigators.  Hand it over, he’ll sense where it’s been and realize that I’m telling the truth,” Xadau said.

                Kento didn’t move from his guarded pose, still ready to subdue this man.

                “Master Jedi?” Que’tan asked.

                “That won’t be necessary.  We’ll…”

                “Oh, come on!  If I was lying, I’d…” Xadau said, interrupting.

                “Stay.  Calm.” Kento said, interrupting him right back.

                Xadau bristled. 

                “What do you want to do here, Master Jedi?” Que’tan said.

                “Put the binders on him.  We’ll take him back to your office and check his credentials.  If his story checks out, then that’s fine.  If not, we’ve got a suspect.”

                “So much for professional courtesy,” Xadau said as his wrists were put into the electrobinders.

                “If you’re telling the truth, this will be sorted out before sunset.  If not…” Kento let the thought hang.

                Orion Xadau rolled his eyes as the Bothan sheriff led him away. 

                                                                                –

                Adi Gallia interrupted his account to gain more perspective.

                “So, your initial instinct was not to trust Orion Xadau?” she asked.

                “He was a variable that didn’t fit.  I didn’t like what I sensed from him,” Kento said.

                “Which was?” Gallia prompted.

                “A swagger.  A self-confidence that seemed to smack of arrogance.  In itself, that means nothing, but at the time, I felt like it might be the sly confidence of a man who knew he was getting away with something,” Kento said.

                “Getting away with murder?” Gallia asked.

                “It seemed possible… at the time,” Kento said.

                Gallia nodded for him to continue.  

                                                                                –        

                An hour later, Kento rode in an open-air speeder with Sheriff Que’tan.  The suspicious interloper sat in a sealed compartment in the back.  He could neither see nor hear their conversation. 

                Que’tan tilted her head to indicate their suspect, “I think he’s clean.”

                Kento shrugged, “Maybe so.  But I’d just as soon be cautious.  And I’d rather not look like an idiot if we let him go and we’re wrong.”

                Que’tan’s fur rippled in the breeze as she drove back to the central part of the settlement.  “Why wouldn’t you take the datapad?”

                “What?” Kento asked.

                “When he said you’d be able to sense he was telling the truth.  I don’t understand what that was all about,” Que’tan said.

                “He was talking about psychometry.  It’s a skill that certain Jedi have.  You touch an object, and you can sense where that object has been.  What’s been done to it, or done with it.”

                “Like if I hand you a murder weapon, you could see the crime?” Que’tan asked. 

                “Something like that,” Kento said.

                She withdrew Xadau’s lightsaber from her belt and held it up to the Jedi.  Kento waved it away, not touching the weapon. 

                “I don’t have the skill,” Kento said.

                “I thought he said all Jedi investigators…”

                “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Kento said.  “Most Jedi who investigate crimes have some level of psychometry.  But it’s a rare skill.  And I told you, I’m a history teacher.”

                She shrugged and threw a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the cell on the back of the speeder.

                “Do you really think he’s a suspect?” she asked.

                “If he is, he won’t be hurting anyone back there,” Kento said.

                “I’m running a check as soon as we get back,” she said.  “If he comes up clean, you really need to read him in.  If he’s telling the truth, he’s got data we need.”

                “If,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                The Tertan-Ral colonial headquarters was a clump of boxy structures cobbled together from local stones and clay.  The facilities were rustic, but by no means crude.  Old fashioned, but workable.  A Gonk droid in the corner connected to the central computer terminal.  A dusty protocol droid sat behind the reception desk, motionless and deactivated.

                They opened the rear doors for both the holding cell and the sheriff’s speeder to put the prisoner inside.  He gave them no trouble, apart from a massive eye roll.  Once that was done, the sheriff set about to check his credentials. 

                As Que’tan pulled up the files on Orion Xadau in the Republic database, Kento scrolled through the photos on the datapad.  He saw a grisly scene, much like the one he’d been confronted with this morning.  Unlike Abi Buran, this body was found in a on a sandy beach, not amidst farms and crops.  

                A Selkath boy, no more than a teenager, stripped and tied down on a beach.  His belly slit down the center.  He’d been drained.  The body a husk, devoid of blood and life. 

                Abi Buran had received a collection of searing cuts on her forehead.  The same cuts were made into the young Selkath’s snout.  A lightsaber had carved the angled symbol into his scaly flesh.  Even in still holos, the scene gave Kento sense of disquiet. 

                Kento withdrew the notepad that he had used at the crime scene and began to add in his observations about the images.  Before he could go on to the next set, Que’tan pushed back from her desk and spoke.

                “The files confirm he is who he says he is.  Jal Shey have him as a Ranger, whatever that means.  He was called in to assist with three murders on Telos IV.  I spoke with a lieutenant from Telos homicide.  They only called him in afterwards.  Said he’s been very cooperative.  He’s not our guy.”

                Kento shrugged, “Worth a shot.”

                “I’ll go let him out,” Que’tan said.

                Kento put up a hand to stop her, “That’s okay.  It should be me.”

                Kento took his time walking down the cramped corridor to the twin holding cells.  Orion was in the farthest one.  He was laying on a thin cot, staring up at the bare rock of the ceiling.  He didn’t look up as the cell door was unlocked.

                “They confirmed my credentials?” Orion said.

                “One can’t be too careful,” Kento said.

                “Well, I think one can, but I respect the work,” Orion said.

                “Would you care to join us?” Kento asked, swinging the door wide open.

                “Yeah,” Orion said, swinging his legs off the bed and rising.

                They entered the office and Orion used the Force to snatch his datapad from the table where it sat.  He plugged it into a console and an image came up on the main screen.

                “So far as I know, this was the first victim.  His name was Manteo.  He was a Jal Shey on a research assignment, doing work on Telos with a diplomatic mission.  He goes out to get dinner one night, doesn’t come back.  The next morning, they found him on the beach.  No blood, no signs of a struggle.  Puncture wound on the back of the neck and sliced down the gut.”

                “Did you know him?” Kento asked.

                “I pulled him and his cousin Darvus out of a gladiator academy on Zhar four years ago.  Darvus checks in with me every few days to see if I’ve caught the bastard who gutted Manteo yet.”

                “I’m sorry for your loss,” Kento said.

                Orion hit a button on the pad and the image changed to a close-up of the puncture wound.  “My theory is that Manteo was taken by surprise.  Hit with a dart of some sort and drugged.  He never saw it coming.  Whatever was in the dart put him out but didn’t kill him.  He was taken to some other location, tortured, gutted, drained, and then his body was put on display.”

                “All in one night?” Kento said.

                “Fifteen hours between the time he was last seen alive and the time he was found,” Orion said.

                “Any idea what he might have been drugged with?” Que’tan asked.

                “Without blood to analyze…” Orion said.

                “Right, of course,” Que’tan said, then continued, “You think that might be intentional?  The killer is using something traceable and doesn’t want it to lead back, so they drain the blood?”

                Orion grimaced, “I don’t think that’s it.  If that was the case, why not just use a different concoction?  And why target Force users?”

                “Sith ritual,” Kento said.  The other two turned to face him.

               “Speak on it, history teacher,” Orion said.

               Kento turned to Que’tan to explain.  “Ancient Sith warriors used blood as part of certain rituals.  Lightsaber construction, war paint, initiation rites.  Sometimes they’d even drink the blood of enemies as a way to steal the power of those they killed.”

               Que’tan put a hand to her chest, “How horrid.  Does that even work?  Drinking the blood?”

               “Of course not,” Kento said. 

               “But there are Sith cultists who believe it does,” Orion said. 

               “There were.  The Sith are gone,” Kento said.

               “Are you sure?  Because I’m looking at some pretty compelling evidence that they’re not,” Orion said.  He pulled up an image of the brand carved into the young Selkath’s forehead.

               “Does anyone know what that means?” Que’tan asked. 

               Orion looked to Kento, “History teacher?”

               Kento looked grim, “My ancient Sith is a little rusty.  But I believe it’s a symbol that indicates danger.”

                                                                                –

               As they delved into the details, Sheriff Que’tan stepped away to take an incoming call.  Orion and Kento went over the holographic recordings carefully, comparing the three previous scenes to the death of Abi Buran. 

               “Your victims: a Selkath, a Nautolan, and a Mon Cal,” Kento said.  “Could he be targeting aquatic species?”

               “I was thinking that, until your human girl turned up,” Orion said.

               “Right,” Kento said.

               “But these are just the ones we know about,” Orion said.

                “You think there’s more?” Kento asked.

                “It’s a very big galaxy,” Orion said.

                “I know of no other missing Jedi,” Kento said.

                “Zeison Sha, the Guardians of the Whills, the Baran Do, the Miraluka.  How many sects are out there?  How many people with abilities that were never identified?  Until this morning, I thought this was just about the Jal Shey.  Clearly, it’s more than that.”

                “We need to find out if there are more,” Kento said.

                Que’tan came back into the room, “Sorry to interrupt.”  She held up her comlink, “I just spoke with Doc Ondug.”

                “Your coroner?” Kento asked.

                “Cities have coroners.  We have a town doctor,” Que’tan said, smiling grimly.

                “What did he say?” Orion asked.

                “Not much.  He says Buran died from blood loss but was also in shock from torture by electricity.  No defensive wounds.  She didn’t fight back.”

                “Taken from behind.  Probably never saw her killer,” Orion said.

                “Not until the torture began,” Kento said.

                A beat passed in silence as they each considered the final moments of Abi Buran.  Que’tan broke the stillness.

                “He’s a local doctor.  And he’s more used to Ithorian anatomy.  You might want to have her body examined by a professional,” Que’tan said.

                Orion perked up, looking at Kento, “Would that be acceptable, Master Jedi?”

                Kento looked rankled in his chair, “To honor the dead, we prefer to burn the body.”

                “I think honoring her memory would demand that we do everything to stop her killer,” Orion said.

                “I agree,” Kento said.

                Orion rose from his seat, “The Jal Shey have a ship only about ten parsecs away.  It has all the proper facilities.  Once we have done the tests, you could take her back to Coruscant, or whatever else your religion requires.”

                Kento’s mouth wrinkled as he considered the offer. 

                Sheriff Que’tan chimed in, “There’s not much more I can do for her here, Master Marek.”

                Kento nodded.

                                                                                –

               The short, stubby Republic shuttle lifted off from the surface of Tertan-Ral.  Kento swung the nose around, making one more pass over the settlement.  A stormfront loomed large and grey over the town.  He set a course for low orbit and let the ship’s navicomputer take over.

               As he cleared the cloud cover, the shuttle was bathed in sunlight.  He pulled up a communications channel back to Coruscant. 

               Ready to leave a message, he was surprised to see the projected image of Plo Koon appear on the communications screen.

               “Master Koon, this is Kento Marek, reporting in.”

               “What have you learned?”

               “We have a complication.  The physical evidence bears similarities to a number of other killings that have taken place recently.”

               “Other murders?” Koon asked.

               “Yes, there appears to be a linkage.  All the victims were Force users.  Usually, juveniles or young adults.  We were contacted by a member of the Jal Shey who has been investigating the loss of three of his compatriots.  He’s convinced that the death of Abi Buran is merely the latest in a string of murders.  He’s asked me to join his investigation.”

               “That would be prudent.  What is your next step?” Koon asked.

               “We are going to a Jal Shey vessel to compare evidence,” Kento said.

               “Very well.  Take caution in your dealings with the Jal Shey.  They practice a very different approach to the Force,” Koon said.

               “Yes, Master Koon.  I will update you on our progress moving forward,” Kento said. 

               The connection ended and Kento took a moment to ponder the advice of Plo Koon.  Personally, Kento had no knowledge of the Jal Shey, apart from being vaguely aware of their existence as a Force sect that had been operating for several millennia. 

               The shuttle reached low orbit.  Far ahead, he could see the white outline of Xadau’s ship.  The long thin wings ended with large round engines.  The ship rocked back and forth a bit and he saw a hailing signal come up on his central console.

               “Republic shuttle, this is the Thunder Child.  How do you read me?” Xadau said over the radio.

               “Loud and clear, Thunder Child,” Kento said.

               “I have the coordinates for the jump to hyperspace.  Will you allow your navicomputer to be slaved to mine?”

               Kento bit his lip, “I’d prefer to maintain control myself,” he said.

               “Perfectly understandable.  How would you feel about docking our vessels?  I have a topside hatch that can accommodate you.  There’s no need for you to travel in such cramped quarters.  And it will give us some time to discuss the case.”

               Kento shrugged.  The offer was tempting, and he was eager to learn more about both this man and the situation that had brought them together. 

               “I’ll take you up on that.  Making my approach now.  Prepare for docking.”

               Ahead, the thin white ship slowed, and he could see more detail as he got closer.  The computer identified it as a KB-TR Doomtreader.  A ship often used by both smugglers and constables due to its cargo capacity, speed, and defenses.  He noted a pair of laser cannons as he came around the vessel.  The white livery was broken up by a symbol on the wings.  A winding blue path that looped back on itself.  As he brought the shuttle down on top of the Doomtreader, Kento wondered about the meaning of the logo.

               The pressure seals engaged, and he made his way down a ladder into the other vessel.

                                                                                –

                “What were your impressions of the Jal Shey?” Gallia asked.

                “Well, as I’ve said, I was offput by how Xadau first approached me, but that was a matter of circumstance.  Not entirely within his control,” Kento said.

                “But the rest of the order?”

                “They’re a fascinating sect.  They seem to place no stock in our traditions, even our values.  They believe in the pursuit of knowledge as an absolute.  The best of them would gladly walk, unshielded, on a primordial world of lava and death if they thought could learn something worth knowing.”

                “That’s an interesting way to live,” Gallia said.

                                                                                –

               A voice came over the ship’s intercom, “Welcome aboard, Master Jedi.  Take a seat.  I’m going to put her in ‘H’ and I’ll be right down.”

               Kento sat in a chair that was bolted to the floor.  It was one of several around a rectangular table that was the centerpiece what he now realized was the ship’s galley.  He looked fore and aft, down a corridor that ran the length of the ship.  He saw no other crew members, no droids, no movement of any kind.  He heard the pitch of the ship’s engines change and felt the slight lurch that accompanied a jump to lightspeed.  A moment later, he was joined by this Orion Xadau as he came down the hallway, presumably from the ship’s cockpit.

               “Glad you could join me,” Orion said as he entered.  “It can be a little tedious travelling alone.”

               Kento nodded, “Thank you for the invitation.”

               “Can I offer you something to eat or drink?”

               “Thank you, but no,” Kento said.

               Orion shrugged and went about making a sandwich.  Kento paused to watch for a moment before the silence became less than comfortable.

               “So, I’m afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage.  I know very little of the Jal Shey.”

               “We’re a well-kept secret,” Orion said, with his back turned.  Kento could sense a hint of irony in his tone.  The ranger turned and sat down at the table with a plate and a cup.  Kento got a waft of aroma from both.  Neither was enticing.

               “Perhaps you’d care to educate me.  Your customs, your beliefs,” Kento said.

               “Oh, we have no beliefs,” Orion said.

               “No beliefs?” Kento replied, with a raised eyebrow.

               Orion shook his head, “We study the Force for what it is.  We seek knowledge wherever we can find it.  We pass that knowledge along as best we can, and we use what we learn to help those in need.  We have no beliefs higher than those.” 

               “Interesting,” Kento said.  “So, you abide by no call to the Light or Dark Side?”

               Orion steepled his fingers, “Light and darkness are different sides of an imaginary line.  One cannot exist without the other.  We do believe in balance.  And our call to render aid and assistance means we are not open to those with selfish tendencies.  Those who use the Force for their own ends won’t find a place in our order.”

               “Interesting.  How did you come to the Jal Shey?” Kento asked.

               Orion sipped his drink and put it down, “I was born on Nubia.  My parents had long wanted a child, but were unsuccessful.  My birth was a great joy for them.”

               “Were they approached by Jedi about their youngling?”

               Orion nodded, “And they were adamant that nothing would separate them from their firstborn son.  By the laws of Nubia, parents are not required to surrender offspring to the Jedi.  It chills me to think that such is not the case elsewhere.  I must say, the idea that you take younglings at such an early age is somewhat horrifying.”

               “If the Jedi had to rely on the altruism of new parents, the order would wither,” Kento said.

               “Your words, not mine,” Orion said.

               “Please,” Kento said, gesturing for the Jal Shey to continue.

               “My upbringing was typical for any child of Nubia.  I had friends, pets.  I played grav-ball and swam in the sea.  But as I matured, my power with the Force began to grow.  When I was done with my mid-academy term, I was approached by a Jal Shey Ranger.”

               “Rangers are recruiters?” Kento asked.

               “One of our many functions,” Orion nodded.  “I was offered a place at the academy on D’rinba IV and my parents gave their assent.  That was the start of my life in the Jal Shey.”

               “Do you miss them?  Your parents?  You must have fond memories of them,” Kento said.

                “I try to return at least once a year.  I’m a bit overdue, but we keep in contact.  It’s a distant relationship, but it is a relationship nonetheless.”

               Kento raised an eyebrow, “You keep family connections?”

               Orion nodded, “Family isn’t anathema to our order.  Attachment isn’t a thing to be feared.”

               “Attachments can lead to jealousies.  Such things are the vanguards of anger and hatred.  They lead to the Dark Side,” Kento said.

               “Yes, but they don’t have to,” Orion countered.  “We trust our people to maintain their own hearts and to be unafraid to explore their emotions.  Anger and jealousy are as much a part of life as air and water.  They need not be feared, merely understood.”

               “And if your vaunted understanding leads you down a path to the Dark Side?” Kento asked.

               “A path goes both ways.  And with enough knowledge, any problem can be overcome,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

                “They don’t seem to have any fear of connection, passion, even temptation.  The strictures we put in place to protect our emotions are seen as childish games of pretend.”

                Gallia raised an eyebrow at him.

                “They have a method to their madness, Master,” Kento said, defensively.  “I don’t condone their lifestyle, but they reserve a high place for altruism.  The desire to learn is only challenged by the desire to render assistance.”

                “And this keeps their baser instincts in check?” Gallia asked.

                “So it would seem.  They put no stock in material or power.  To a Jal Shey, the only status is in the things you’ve learned or the ones you’ve helped.”

                “That sounds familiar,” Gallia said.

                “I thought so too.  I think if we had more interaction with them, we’d find more common ground.”

                “And their relationship to the Force?” Gallia asked.

                “It’s odd.  They have no knowledge of what we call The Living Force.  Or rather, they think of it as something different altogether.  By their creed, the Force itself has no will, no desire or goal.  They think of it as just another fact of nature.  Along with gravity and magnetism.  They take no spiritual value in it whatsoever.”

                “Astonishing,” Gallia said.

                “They have no icons for their worship, but they do seem to revere the midi-chlorian itself,” Kento said.

                “How so?”

                “It’s the symbol of their order.  The blue oval that is on all their vessels and badges.  It’s the outline of a single midi-chlorian.”

                “But not an object of worship?” Gallia said.

                “No.  They’re the opposite of what we see in sects like the Guardians of the Whills.  The Guardians on Jedha spend weeks in meditation, seeking to find some greater understanding.  The Jal Shey think understanding is only to be found in knowledge.  They worship nothing, study everything.  It’s a never-ending cycle of learning, exploration, and altruism.”

                                                                                –

               Kento looked across the table at his host with a wary eye.

               “Forgive me, but it sounds a bit dangerous.  The pursuit of knowledge can easily become a quest for power.  Coupling that with a laissez-faire attitude to emotional attachments seems like a recipe for disaster.  Throughout history, we’ve seen students of the light fall into darkness and then wreak havoc on the entire galaxy.  Revan, Malak, Qel-Droma…”

               “And the solution is to cut ourselves off from love and passion?  How’s that going so far?” Orion asked.

               “We’ve maintained peace and justice for thousands of years,” Kento said.

               “I think when the Republic talks about peace, what they really mean is quiet.  It’s easy to mistake one for the other.”

               “No system is perfect,” Kento said.

               “I quite agree.  I would simply estimate that your list of those tempted by the Dark Side is incomplete.  Aren’t you just waiting for the next one?  Those names you gave were all Jedi.  None were Jal Shey.”

               “Not to be insulting, but, isn’t it possible that Jal Shey are simply not strong enough in the Force to render that kind of chaos?  Is it possible that your people are not infamous because they simply lack the strength to be?” Kento said.

               “And here I was trying to avoid the word ‘hubris’,” Orion said.

               “You said yourself you look for those with a small talent for the Force.  I should think that’s likely because the Jedi tend to sweep up those with more talent at an earlier age.  Your order takes in those who did not measure up.”

               “Or who were left behind,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

                “You sound like you came to admire them,” Gallia said.

                “Well, they do practice what they preach.  Their libraries are vast, and their diplomats are skilled.  Individually they devote themselves to the perfection of whatever they practice.  They do everything they can to promote justice in places where the Republic holds no sway.  I think their approach to the Force is misguided and possibly naïve, but it’s certainly not disingenuous.”

                “I have heard stories of the skill of their diplomatic corps,” Gallia said.

                “And you were not misinformed.  My visit to the Compendium was certainly eye-opening,” Kento said.

               “Tell us about that,” Plo Koon said, chiming in from the far end of the table.

                                                                                –

                The ship’s computer came over the loudspeaker.  “Attention, hyperspace trajectory nearing completion.  Arrival in two minutes.”

                By unspoken agreement, the two men got up from their chairs and headed for the bridge.  Orion downed the last of his drink and put the cup back on the table.  He took the pilot’s chair on the left.  Kento settled into the right-hand seat.

                “Strap in.  This baby can give a bit of a kick when she comes in and out of hyperspace.”

                Kento nodded and pulled the leather safety harness over his shoulders.  Orion did the same.  As the white swirls of hyperspace shifted to cold black, he felt the straps dig into his shoulders.  He was glad of the Ranger’s advice.

                Out of the ship’s large cockpit windows, he beheld a spectacle he’d not expected.  The ship before him was a massive grey egg, smooth as a krayt-dragon pearl.  Rows of running lights illuminated her exterior.  A few stripes of blue, black and orange ran around the circumference.  From this distance, Kento could not tell if they were decorative or functional.  As his vision focused, he could see that the outer hull was not truly seamless, but rather held a few doorways and blisters.  He could see instruments of various sorts, but nothing that he recognized as weaponry.  At the thicker end of the egg, sweeping fins projected an aerodynamic feel.  He craned his neck to see that these were engines of some sort, though they were inactive. 

               The Jal Shey Ranger opened a communications channel and spoke.

                “Compendium, this is the Thunder Child, do you read me, over?”

                A gravelly voice came over the communications circuit, “Thunder Child, welcome home.  Our scans indicate you have a passenger on board.  Please identify.”

                Orion gestured to Kento to speak for himself. 

                “This is Kento Marek of the Jedi Order.  Ranger Xadau was kind enough to offer to assist in my investigation.”

                A moment passed, Kento could imagine some small conference taking place aboard the star cruiser regarding his status. 

                “Welcome, Master Jedi.  We would be honored to have you aboard.  Thunder Child, you are cleared to enter bay three.”

                Orion throttled up and approached the large vessel.  As they neared, Kento realized that he’d somehow underestimated the size of the cruiser.  He marveled at the scale.  Orion noticed his gaze.

                “She’s very old.  A gift from a long-dead nobleman of Chandrilla.  It began as a space station that he’d constructed to provide quarantine facilities during an outbreak.  Our scholars and healers were able to turn the tide of the epidemic and stop it from spreading.  As a thanks for our efforts, he gifted us with the vessel.”

                “It’s beautiful,” Kento said.

                “We’re quite proud of it,” Orion agreed.  “I’ve spent most of my time with the order operating from this ship.  It’s a home for all of our people.”

                “I thought you said that your academy was on D’rinba IV?” Kento asked.

                “We’re nomadic by nature.  Our base on D’rinba will one day be abandoned, but this ship is the home of our archive.  The Compendium houses the collective knowledge of the Jal Shey.  What we have learned and what we have discovered.  Our libraries are the beating heart of what we do.”

                “I’m honored,” Kento said, as the Thunder Child moved through the large bay doors.

                The ship lurched slightly as Orion set it down on its landing struts.  The outgassing of various valves sent a light mist into the air in front of the egress ramp.  Both men unbuckled their safety harnesses and Orion led the way out of the ship.

                At the base of the ramp, they were met by two security droids.  They carried quarterstaffs and spoke in a tinny baritone, “Halt.”

                Orion blushed slightly at the questioning look from Kento. 

                “Ranger Orion Xadau, returning from a patrol flight.  This is Kento Marek of the Jedi Order.  An authorized guest.”

                “By whose authority?” the right-hand droid asked.

                “Mine,” Orion said.

                “Authorization code?” the droid asked.

                “Oh-eight-one-five-nine-zero,” Orion said, looking a bit annoyed.  He reached for the patch on the shoulder of his jacket.  With a light pull, it came free.  He handed it over to one of the droids.  Kento saw that there was an info card of some sort on the back of the patch.

                The eyes of both droids simultaneously flickered for a beat as they processed the information.  After a beat, they returned to normal.

                “You are cleared for entry.  Welcome home Ranger Xadau.  Please surrender your weapons,” the droid said.

                Orion sighed and pulled the chunky blaster off his hip and handed it over to the droid.  He pulled the lightsaber hilt off his belt with the Force and surrendered it as well.  The droid deposited both weapons within a case on its back. 

                “Good thing we’re not in a hurry,” Orion said, idly.

                The other droid looked at Kento and he realized it was waiting for him to do the same.

                “I would prefer not to surrender my lightsaber,” Kento said, as much to Orion as the droid.

                “Oh… right, it’s a thing with y’all, isn’t it?” Orion asked.

                “That would be a way of putting it,” Kento said.

                Orion turned to the security droids, “My guest’s religion prohibits him from parting with his weapon.”

                Kento thought that was a bit of a simplification, but he didn’t want to argue.  In the back of his mind, he began to ponder the odds he may have to fight his way out of here.

                The eyes of both droids again began to flicker.  Clearly there was some central control that they had to consult. 

                “Please wait here,” the right-hand droid said. 

                Orion gave a heavy sigh and nodded, “This really shouldn’t be a problem.”

                “Please wait here,” the droid repeated.

                “Are we all right?” Kento asked.

                “Yeah, they’re gonna send someone down.  Someone with a little more creative thinking skills than Rusty and Clank over here,” Orion said, gesturing to the two droids.

                “I don’t want to cause a problem,” Kento said.  Orion waved away his concern. 

               Across the bay, Kento saw a door open and a helmeted Feeorin female enter, flanked by four guards of various other species.  The Feeorin was tall and muscular.  The helmet she wore was open-faced and came down over her ears.  It had a crest that ran from the bridge of her nose down the center of her head.  The plume gave her a semi-regal look.  She carried a lightsaber on her hip.  Kento noted that it was a double-bladed design.  Across her chest, she wore a plate of metallic armor.  The plate was embedded in a yellow-gold tunic which was topped by a blue cloak that flowed outward from her shoulders. 

               It took no intuitive powers for Kento to deduce that this was a person of great significance.  As confirmation, Orion snapped to attention and tapped a closed fist on his chest.  The Feeorin woman returned the gesture.

               “Ranger Xadau,” she said, “What’s the situation?”

               “Chief Ranger Vux, allow me to present Jedi Knight Kento Marek.  He’s joining my investigation.  I’d appreciate it if you’d allow him to retain his lightsaber while he is aboard, as a courtesy.”

               Vux looked over Kento with a skeptical eye.  “This vessel is primarily a school and a library, Master Jedi.  There are no dangers aboard,” Vux said.

               Kento put on his most contrite look, “I have no doubt, Chief Ranger.  But this weapon is my sole possession and it’s not one I part company with easily.”

               Vux pondered for a beat and nodded, “I will ask that you keep it inactive during your time aboard.”

               “Of course,” Kento said.

               Vux turned to Orion, “Ranger Xadau, as this Jedi is your guest, I’m holding you responsible for his actions aboard the Compendium.”

               “Understood, Chief Ranger,” Orion said.

               Vux sighed as she turned back to the security droids, “Return Ranger Xadau’s saber please.  I’m authorizing him to carry it while he escorts our guest.”

               “Authorization code?” the droid asked.

               “Chief Ranger Vux, code nine-seven-five-five-three-six.”

               The droids parted for Orion and Kento to step off the ramp. 

               “Sorry about that,” Orion said, taking his lightsaber back from the droid who had collected it.

               “I understand,” Kento replied.

               Vux cleared her throat, “Your signal indicated you have brought another victim aboard for analysis.”

               “That’s correct,” Orion said.  He pointed up to the shuttle on top of his own vessel, “The docked shuttle on the topside has the body.  I’d like the victim transported to one of the research labs,” Orion said.

               “Very well,” Vux said.  She snapped her fingers and the guards who had flanked her now moved up the ramp.  Kento and Orion stepped aside to clear the way.  After a few moments, the floating platform with the body of Abi Buran emerged.  They had set the cover for opacity, which seemed a kindness both to Buran and the scores of Jal Shey who were, no doubt, between here and the research laboratory.

               The four guards now stood vigil over the body, each at a corner.  They paused at the bottom of the ship’s ramp.

               “Attention!  Honor guard on the move!” Vux said.  Her voice boomed like thunder throughout the hangar bay.  All work around the various ships stopped.  Technicians downed their tools and stood rigid.  Even the droids ceased motor functions.  Kento appreciated the show of respect.

               The guards escorted the platform through the bay and into a corridor.  Orion and Kento followed close behind, with Vux bringing up the rear.  The transition from the dingy hangar deck into the clean, brightly lit corridor brought Kento some comfort. 

               Down three corridors and up a turbolift to another level, the various Jal Shey followed the example of those from the hangar bay and refused to move or speak while the procession passed them.  Kento gave a few polite nods and tried to mentally catalog the species that he saw.  There was great variety. 

               At the entrance to one of the laboratories, they were met by a Bith scientist.  Kento could not guess the Bith’s age or gender, but they quietly took possession of Abi Buran’s body and pushed it inside the laboratory room.

               Vux and her guards waited outside.  Orion gestured for Kento to follow him in.  He spoke in hushed tones to the Bith, whose back was turned, already studying the corpse as the platform was locked onto the exam table.

               “We need a forensic workup.  Note any signs of trauma.  Any abnormalities pre or post-mortem.  I’ll have the case file transmitted to you shortly.  Please compare to the others that were attached,” Orion said.

               An automated voice emitted from the lab’s main computer.  It spoke in the Bith language, which Kento could not understand a word of.   The Bith listened carefully and then replied in the same language.  A moment later, the automated voice came again.  This time it spoke Basic.

               “Understood.  I will do an analysis and compare this to the other bodies you’ve identified.  Please allow one day for the work to be done.”

               Orion bowed slightly and put a hand on Kento’s upper arm, gesturing for them to leave. 

               “Thank you,” Kento said as they exited.

               The automated computer voice translated his Basic into Bith.  The door shut before a reply could be given.

               Orion and Kento returned to Vux and her guards in the hallway.

               “Thank you for the respect you have given to my fellow Jedi,” Kento said.

               “As we would for anyone, Master Jedi,” Vux said.

               “Of course,” Kento said.

               “I’m sure Orion will be fine escorting you around the Compendium.  Please feel free to use our facilities as you see fit.  If you have time, I’m sure some of our Scholars and instructors would be grateful to speak with you.”

               Kento gave a small smile and a nod, “That would be quite fine.”

               “I’ll leave you two to your work.  If you have need of my guards or myself, don’t hesitate to call,” Vux said.

               With that, she spun on her heel and marched away, her guards resuming their flanking positions at her back.

               “You should feel honored,” Orion said, watching Vux walk away, “There are less than a dozen Chief Rangers in the entire galaxy.  And only her within twenty light years.”

               “Is she your boss?” Kento asked, “Chief Ranger… she’s a commander of some sort?”

               “Not exactly.  Rangers are under the command of the Scholars.  We take our assignments from them.  Chief Rangers are those of us who have completed the four great tasks.”

               Kento was kind enough to play along, “Which are?”

               “You have to craft a weapon imbued with the Force.  You have to defeat an enemy without killing them.  You have to return from the exploration of an unknown place.  And you have to save a life through your service as a Ranger.”

               “Those are great tasks,” Kento said.

               “They are reflective of our values.  Preserving life, cultivating knowledge, using what we know to serve others,” Orion said.

               “You imbue weapons with the Force?” Kento asked.

               “We imbue many things with the Force.  Our weapons, our armor, even little things like gloves and tools.  As you noted, many of us aren’t as strong with the Force as a typical Jedi.  We’ll take all the help we can get.”

               “Interesting,” Kento said.  “And how does one do that?  Imbue something with the Force?”

               “It’s very draining.  It takes much concentration and patience.  Even our best crafters only do it rarely.  It’s a rite of passage to become a Ranger though.”

               “I see,” Kento said. “So, you’ve done this yourself?”

               Orion held up his saber, offering it to Kento, “My handiwork.”

               Kento looked askance at the weapon.  Orion’s face was overcome with a wry smile. 

               “There’s no harm in it, I assure you,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

               Plo Koon interrupted him at this point, “I remember you spoke gravely about your experience with Jal Shey weaponry.”

               “Not all their weapons, just the lightsaber that Xadau carried,” Kento said.

               “Why did it trouble you so?” Adi Gallia asked.

                                                                                –

               Kento took the saber by its handle.  He hadn’t really looked closely at the hilt until now.  He twisted the saber back and forth, noting the black finish and the knurled grip.  The emitter had four chromium claws which gave it a menacing look, as though they were gripping the blade for greater power.  A few thin red wires ran like veins down the black and silver cylinder.  Though he barely could focus on the design or construction as an overwhelming feeling moved through him. 

               Power.

               This was, indeed, a weapon imbued with the Force.

               Just from his first grip, he felt the power coursing through the hilt.  It rippled back and forth, even with the blade inactive.  There was a simple activation button that Kento dared not press.  It chilled his blood just to heft the instrument in his hand.  A feeling screamed into the core of his being, and this saber was undoubtedly the source.

               Cold.  Death.

                This was a weapon imbued with the Dark Side.

                                                                                –

                Without making a scene, Kento quietly returned the weapon to its owner.  He lamented the lateness of the hour and Orion offered to show him to the guest quarters.  Kento was in need of solitude and silence.

               They had given him a private room.  Nothing too ostentatious, just a quiet space with soft lighting and a bed.  He had a desk with a computer, but he used neither.  After an extended rest under warm running water, Kento sat on the floor and tried to find his center.  It had been a long and trying day.

               After he’d touched Xadau’s weapon, the Dark Side seemed to linger within his subconscious.  The result of that presence was a flood of nightmarish thoughts.

               The images of Abi Buran refused to leave his mind.  That poor girl, victimized in ways that exhibited such unnecessary cruelty.  And without the chance to defend herself in the slightest.  Tortured for no reason that he could understand, apart from simple homicidal mania.  He was helpless to stop the feelings of anger that roiled under his calm exterior.  Whoever had done this needed to be brought to justice.  And he felt that justice may demand a death in return. 

               He began to meditate, hoping to restore himself. 

               The desire for retribution was unworthy of a Jedi.  He knew that intellectually, though it did nothing to change his feelings.  He had spent a lifetime keeping a firm grasp on the Light Side, but the events of the day had manifested an internal wrath.  In searching for the source of his difficulty, he found only one source that could be the cause.

               Orion’s aura had been discomforting since their first encounter.  His instinct had told him to be wary from the beginning, hence the drawn saber at the crime scene, but facts had required him to drop his suspicions. 

               Kento had met Jedi before who stretched the edges of morality.  No one who breathed was totally free of darkness.  But this was different.  The desire for knowledge ran in parallel to the desire for power.  Could he trust a man who did not see the danger of the Dark Side? 

               If Xadau had, indeed, imbued that weapon himself, then what did it say about him as a wielder of the Force?

               Before he could sort out the maelstrom of thoughts that swirled in his cerebrum, a gentle tone sounded through the room.  He’d fallen asleep in the midst of his meditation and stayed in that pose throughout the night.  The soft electric hum that pulled him back into consciousness had apparently sounded throughout the ship like some version of a reveille.  The Compendium was waking up.  A new day, such as it was, had begun aboard ship.  The automatic lighting in the room shifted from soothing nocturnal to stimulating morning. 

               Rinsing his face with warm water, he donned his robe and clipped his lightsaber back in its comfortable place on his belt.  He felt prepared to face the day. 

               Opening the door to his guest quarters, he was confronted by an antiseptic hallway, well lit, but clinical.  Juveniles of various species shuffled past, some gossiping, some with their faces buried in a book.

               His curiosity piqued, he decided to follow the assortment of students as they all seemed to be heading in the same direction.  At the junction with the next corridor, he spotted Orion, approaching from a side hallway.

                “I was hoping to come get you before you woke up,” Orion said, his voice raised a bit to be heard over the din of students that filed past them.

                “Quite alright,” Kento said. 

                “I already checked with the lab.  They tell me they’ll have a report for us this afternoon.  Can I interest you in some breakfast?” Orion asked.

                Kento shrugged and nodded, “Actually, yes.”

                                                                                –

                In the commissary, a droid dispensed a scrambled egg onto his plate.  The egg seemed appetizing enough, though it was a pale blue color.  Kento declined whatever meat was being served but did accept a fruit-filled pastry of some sort from a rather persistent server droid. 

                Orion, with the bulk of a man who was no stranger to a dining table, sat across from him with a plate loaded down with various foods.  Kento took a sip from a mug of caf and was impressed.  So much about the Jal Shey struck him as peculiar, but he was not immune to the charms of certain creature comforts.

                Biting into a forkful of egg, Orion opened the conversation.

                “If our forensics people can figure out what your padawan was hit with, it should give us something solid to chase down.”

                “I take it you’ve had a lack of leads?” Kento asked.

               Orion nodded, “These aren’t typical murders.  The motives clearly have something to do with the Force, but it’s hard to be more specific.  Whoever this guy is, he doesn’t leave much evidence to work with.”

               “The ropes and stakes,” Kento offered, “Maybe Que’tan’s droids will have some luck pulling samples from them.”

               “The ones from Telos were clean.  Same with the bodies,” Orion said.

               “Gloves? Wiped down after he was finished?” Kento guessed, “Or maybe he just used the Force for everything.  Someone powerful enough to create lightning wouldn’t have to touch you to kill you.”

               “But there’s more to it than murder.  Torture is personal, at least outside of war.  It’s an act of hatred.  It seems to me it’s not the kind of thing you’d want to wear gloves for.  You’d want to get your hands on the object of your hate.  You’d want to feel them suffering.  Visceral, up close.”

               Kento internally shivered at the Jal Shey’s analysis.  Not the words of a Jedi.

               “We’re assuming too much at this point,” Kento said.

               “You’re probably right.  I’ll wait for the report from the lab.”

               Kento nodded and a moment passed in silence.

               “What do you want to talk about?” Orion asked.

               Kento suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  The man was off-putting enough, but now he added chatty to Orion’s growing list of bothersome adjectives.  He longed to be back in the cold snows of Ilum surrounded by eager padawans and those who knew better than to dabble in the Dark Side of the Force.

               Around them, eyes began to turn towards their chairs.  Young students took notice of him as he took his breakfast.  The Jedi robes must be quite eye catching to those unaccustomed.  He hadn’t given the matter much thought, though Orion had told him he might be a point of interest here.

               Orion caught his look, “The neophytes know you’re a Jedi.  Some of them have only seen lightsabers in holos.”

               Kento frowned, took the saber from his belt and set it on the table, as though it were another utensil.  He regarded it for a moment.  From other tables, he could hear low gasps of surprise.

               “Don’t all the Jal Shey carry lightsabers?”

               “No, in fact, a lot of our Scholars consider any type of weapon to be obscene.”

               “But they still let you build sabers and teach combat?” Kento asked.

               “Well, I’m a Ranger.  My role is to protect the Scholars and the Neophytes.  We keep the academy safe.”

               “What else do Rangers do?”

               “Disaster relief.  Public works projects.  We try to be altruistic.  A few years back, I helped design some storm shields for this mining facility out in the Subterrel system.”

               “You’re an engineer and an investigator?”

               Orion shrugged, “I’m whatever I can be.  There aren’t a lot of us.  Only a couple hundred Rangers to protect a couple thousand sentients here and at the academies.  We can’t afford to be as specialized as you guys.  We have to do as much as we can.  It’s a big galaxy.”

               Kento nodded, “I know how that feels.”

               Orion cocked an eyebrow in his direction, “How’d you pull this duty?  What’s a history teacher doing investigating a murder?”

               Kento grimaced, “I was in the area, on my way back to Coruscant when I was ordered to go to Tertan-Ral.  The Council had heard about the markings on her forehead.  They thought my studies in history might give me some insight.”

“Right.  So, you can read Sith script?” Orion asked.

               Kento nodded, “I didn’t know it was a padawan that had been killed until I got there.”

               “Was she one of yours?” Orion asked.

               Kento nodded, “Not my padawan, but one of my students.  I’ve had so many.  I vaguely remember her.  Bright, eager, dedicated.  Most of my students are like that.  Still, to lose one…” he let the thought trail off.

               Orion looked shocked, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

               “There is no death.  There is the Force,” Kento said, repeating the last line of the Jedi Code.  “Still, such a horrible way to die.  Especially for one so young.”

               “Does the Council know that you taught her?  I would imagine they’d want someone who didn’t…”

               “I don’t think they put that together.  I’m not going to tell them.  And I’d appreciate if we didn’t speak of it again.”

               “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to handle this?  If it’s personal to you… I mean… Jedi are known for being dispassionate, are they not?”

               “Don’t I strike you as dispassionate?” Kento asked.

               “Actually, you do,” Orion said.

               “Good,” Kento said, sipping his caf.  “Peace and justice.  Abi Buran is sorely in need of both.”

                                                                                –

               After they finished breakfast, Orion offered to show Kento more of the ship.  Kento was grateful for the distraction from the grisly work that lay ahead of them.

               Entering the library, Kento felt very much at home.  The Jedi Archives back on Coruscant had been a haven for him during his time as a padawan.  He’d spent many happy hours poring through tomes and holocrons.  The Jal Shey had a similar affinity for libraries.  He estimated that the two collections were comparable in size, though he did not broach the subject. 

               In another section of the ship, Orion showed him research facilities for all manner of scientific study.  Kento felt a bit embarrassed that he could not identify much of what he saw.  There were laboratories with laser containment fields, swirling vortices of particles, even what appeared to be a small raincloud that patrolled over a vast room of plants, dispensing water in semi-random intervals. 

               In several labs, Orion was greeted as a friend and often a scientist would wave at the pair of them through a transparisteel window looking out onto the corridor.  Occasionally a juvenile student would pass by them and give a polite bow to Kento.  He did his best to respect the gesture.

               One room along the tour had quite a crowd gathered near the door.  Orion seemed as curious as Kento about what was going on inside.  They made their way around the massed grouping of various species and Kento was confronted with a scene that tensed his entire body.  He almost reached for his saber.  Almost. 

                Kento lowered his voice, “Is that a Nightbrother?”

                “Yes, he is.  We are very lucky to have him here.  They’re very hostile to outsiders,” Orion said.

                “Is he a prisoner?” Kento asked.

                Orion looked shocked at the suggestion.  “Not at all.  We sent a delegation to Dathomir, hoping to learn more about their ways.”

                “Their ways are tainted by the Dark Side,” Kento said.

                “And?” Orion asked.

                “Is their dark magick really worthy of your study?”

               “So judgmental,” Orion said, clucking his tongue with disappointment. 

               “They’re an enemy of the light,” Kento said, trying not to be overheard by the gathered crowd.

               “How can you solve a mystery if you refuse to learn about half of it?” Orion asked.

                “There is a difference between…”

                “We chase knowledge wherever we can find it,” Orion said, dismissing Kento’s objections.

                They watched as the Nightbrother stood in the center of a training circle.  The young Zabrak took a fighting stance.  A young Rodian stepped into the circle and bowed.  The Zabrak followed suit.  Kento recognized the Teras Kasi pose that the Rodian took. 

                The pair began to spar, igniting conversations and a few friendly wagers among the assembled onlookers.  Droids recorded the fight from several angles.  The Rodian defended herself from several blows, but eventually the Zabrak got the upper hand and placed her in a hold that she could not escape from.  The Nightbrother released her quickly and respectfully.  A final bow concluded the fight, along with a round of applause from the spectators.

                A moment later two young men emerged from the crowd.  They stood shoulder to shoulder and bowed to the Zabrak.  The Nightbrother smiled as he prepared for another match.  He seemed eager to face two Jal Shey at once.

               “They’re great survivors,” Orion said, leading Kento away from the demonstration.

                                                                                –

               Orion seemed apologetic as he led Kento down a hallway lined with classrooms.  Through transparisteel partitions, younglings looked out at the pair of them as they walked.

               “Word got out about you, last night, I’m afraid,” Orion said.  “When she found out, she made me promise to bring you by so the younglings could meet you.”

               “Who’s ‘she’?” Kento asked.

               Orion knocked on a doorjamb and Kento looked within.  He saw a striking human woman, standing at the center of a half-circle of seated students.  Cascading brown hair framed her light features. 

               Each youngling turned from her instruction.  Kento saw twenty pairs of eyes light up as Orion stepped inside.  A muted ripple of excitement echoed through the younglings. 

               “I’m sorry I’m late,” Orion said.

               “That’s okay, we were just talking about the time of the High Republic,” said the instructor.  She moved to greet them, walking through a projection of the old Starlight Beacon space station.  She put out both hands and Orion responded in kind.  They shared an embrace which said nothing, but hinted everything.  Orion turned and motioned to Kento.

               “Jedi Knight Kento Marek, allow me to introduce instructor Jayla Mote and her charges,” Orion said.

               “Instructor,” Kento said, giving a polite bow.

               “Orion told me you taught history.  He thought you might enjoy seeing how we do it here,” Jayla said, gesturing to her students.

               Kento smiled a bit.  He looked over at Orion who gave a polite shrug. 

               Kento paused, surveying the classroom, noting its similarities to his place of instruction on Ilum.

               “He was correct,” Kento said.  He gave a wry look to his tour guide.  Orion seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

               “Would you care to take a few questions from the class?” Jayla said.

               “I would,” Kento said.

               “Who’s got a question for our visitor?”

               Twenty hands shot into the air. 

                                                                                –

               Progressing through the innards of the Compendium, Orion and Kento again encountered Chief Ranger Vux, this time she was without her honor guard.

               Orion snapped to attention and gave that fist thump of a salute as they met in an intersection of corridors.  Kento paused his stride and watched Vux return the salute.

               “Master Marek, would you be interested in seeing a Ranger induction?” Vux asked.

               “I’m not sure if we have the time…” Kento said, looking over at Orion.

               “It would be so good of you to spare it.  We’d be honored for you to observe,” Vux said.

               They may not embrace the light, but they were damnably polite people.

               “Lead on, Chief Ranger,” Kento said, doing his best to keep emotion off his face.

                                                                                –

               Under a vast dome of stars, several Jal Shey gathered. 

               The room was at the front of the Compendium.  The nose of the ship was apparently a transparisteel shell that was used for ceremonial purposes.  A ring of raised seating around the edge gave the place the feel of a sporting arena.  In the center of the room, a circle of Jal Shey stood reverently. 

               As they took their seats, Kento could see a pupil standing at the far end of the chamber. 

               “Oh, I love to watch these,” Orion said.

               The young pupil, a Namara, entered the circle of Rangers.  She carried a lightsaber hilt in her hands.  Across the circle, Vux approached her, and they bowed to each other.

               “Moment of truth,” Orion said to Kento, nodding towards the action.

               The Namara activated her lightsaber.  An orange glow filled the center of the chamber.  The illuminated blade showed a broad smile come over the young woman’s face.

               Applause filled the room.  Orion explained.

               “Her weapon activated.  Not all are so lucky.  She was able to imbue it with the Force.”

               Kento nodded, mostly understanding what was happening.  Vux lit a silver blade and doffed her helmet.

               Kento asked, “Are they going to…”

               But before he could finish, the Chief Ranger attacked the young pupil.  The Namara girl defended herself with her new lightsaber.  The clash of silver and orange blades was both familiar and unique from Kento’s own perspective.  He’d seen saber duels between teachers and students.  Sparring sessions among Jedi could be quite intense.  But before him now was a masterful exhibition of saber skill.  Vux offered no quarter to the neophyte and the young woman presented a competent defense. 

               For a few minutes the fight went on, encircled by the Rangers both on the floor and in the elevated seating.  There were no cheers, no calls, this was not a sport, but a ceremony.

               In a flash of movement and light, Vux managed to twirl the orange blade out of the young pupil’s grip.  The saber spun in midair over the combatants before Vux snatched it into her hand.  The Namara girl lowered herself to one knee.

               Clearly this had been a test of bladework that the young woman had failed.  There was a silent moment and Kento honestly worried he was about to witness a dark ritual come to a violent completion. 

               Vux spoke in a voice that commanded the room.

               “Be without fear in the face of your enemies.  Be brave and upright in the light of the Force.  Speak the truth, always, even if it leads to your death.  Safeguard the helpless and do no wrong.”

               As one, the assembled Rangers spoke:

               “Together we learn.  Together we guard.”

               Vux hefted the young woman’s saber, and it floated through the air, hovering in the space between them.

               “Rise, Ranger, and begin your work among the stars.”

               The Namara girl stood and took back her lightsaber.  The chamber erupted in applause.

                                                                                –

                “They are a people steeped in contradictions.  Force users, without the conviction of belief.  Intellectuals who fail to understand the Living Force.  Diplomats without a planet to safeguard.  Warriors without a cause beyond knowledge itself.” 

               “Can one take the Force simply as a natural phenomenon?  Can one simply deny the brilliance of the light or the dangers of the dark and walk back and forth on a path between the two?” 

               “I thought about that as I learned more of their culture.”

                                                                                –

               Orion led him into a new section of the ship.  Small cleaning droids skittered away as they walked down the corridor.  No younglings strolled by.  The walls were bare and industrial.  The one window looked out onto a firing range where a trio of Rangers seemed to be taking target practice.

               At the end of the hall was a flat grey doorway.  The Aurebesh above the threshold identified it as “Ranger Command.” 

               Once inside, Orion was greeted by a few colleagues and dutifully introduced Kento to several forgettable Jal Shey Rangers.  The eager Rangers peppered Kento with questions about Coruscant and the life of a Jedi.  Kento tried to be polite as Orion abandoned him to the group’s inquiries.  Orion used the opportunity to take a seat at an empty desk and check a datapad.

               Kento might have expected to be as much a subject of fascination for Jal Shey adults as he had been for the younglings.  As the novelty of a Jedi amongst them wore off, Kento joined his co-investigator at his desk. 

               Orion held up the datapad he’d been using and turned it around to show Kento the readout.

               “The labs got something,” Orion said, handing it over to Kento. “Some blood was left in her capillaries.  They found traces of spice.”

               Kento looked through the numbers displayed.  Much of it was incomprehensible to him.

               “We figured she had been drugged,” Kento said.

               “Now we have confirmation.  Unless we’re assuming she was using it recreationally,” Orion said.

               “Not likely,” Kento said.

               “If we can trace the source of the spice, we may be able to find this Sithspawn bastard,” Orion said.

               “There’s a lot of spice out there.  Kessel, Nar Shaddaa, Ryloth…” Kento said.

               “Forensics says this batch likely came from Nar Shaddaa.  There are signatures that only the Hutt clans use,” Orion said.

               Kento looked through the text at the bottom of the data and saw that information in the notes.

               “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the Hutt spice trade,” Kento said.

               “I do,” Orion said.

               Kento looked up at him, his face a question mark.

               “I went undercover with a gang of spice dealers in the Baxel sector a few years ago,” Orion said.

               “Undercover?” Kento asked.

               “I was trying to stop a trafficking ring that was shipping slaves through Hutt space,” Orion said.  “A lot of the pilots were spice addicts.  They get chatty when they’re partaking.”

               “Was your cover blown?” Kento asked.

               “Hard to say.  I slipped away during a raid at a warehouse on Outland Station.  I asked the station cops to report me as killed, but it’s not like they had a body to recover,” Orion said.

               Kento shrugged, “Well, this is your field of expertise.  What’s our next move?”

               “Let’s go to Outland.  We’ll see if anyone remembers me,” Orion said.

               “And if no one does?” Kento asked.

               “There’s a lot of action on Outland.  Even if my cover was blown, maybe a dealer there remembers a strange customer.  Our guy would probably be distinctive.”

               “Worth a shot,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

               Ten hours later, the Thunder Child settled onto a pad in docking bay seventeen of Outland station. 

               Orion had loaned Kento some clothes.  A Jedi on Outland Station would be far too conspicuous and draw the wrong kind of attention.  Kento had declined to carry a blaster.  He had also refused to leave his saber back on the ship but did agree not to reveal it unless absolutely necessary. 

               In a jacket that was two sizes too big and trousers that were far from stylish, Kento walked down the ramp and immediately frowned.  The station’s interior was home to dozens of merchants, selling everything from machine parts to grilled meats.  The stench of fighting beasts wafted up from the gladiatorial arena in the next district. 

               “Where’s our first stop?” Kento asked, “Spice dealers?  Station police?”

               “Never go straight to a dealer.  They spook easily,” Orion said.

               “Where to then?” Kento said.

               “There’s a weapons trader I know pretty well.  He’s a good guy.  Helped sneak me out during that warehouse raid.”

               “He knows you’re Jal Shey?” Kento asked.

               “Yeah.  He’ll also know if my cover’s been blown,” Orion said.

               “Good place to start,” Kento said.

                Kento looked around, barely suppressing a sneer.  It was clear that he couldn’t stand to be in a seedy station that was home to cutthroats, pirates, and bounty hunters.  Orion had to stifle a laugh.   The pair rounded a corner and Orion brushed a hand over the blaster on his hip.  He wasn’t planning to use it, but it felt good to know it was there.

               Even on Merchant Row, it was impossible to escape the smell of fuel oil wafting over from the docking bays.  It seemed like every meter of Outland Station had a layer of grime covered in fumes.  It was dank and colorless and fetid.  It was as though the station was designed to be as uninviting as possible, all the better to move along hapless travelers. 

                But if you were looking for black-market weapons, you really needed to talk to Dex.

                 Dexter Jettster ran one of the only stores on Outland that had a functioning air conditioner.  Affable and fair-minded, he was known as an honest broker for blasters, vibroblades and heavy weapons.  If you had a bit of business to take care of in the Baxel Sector, Dexter was the Besalisk to see.

                “Dex!” said Orion, walking into the storefront.  Kento followed a few paces back, looking over his shoulder.

                “Orion!  You son of a Hutt.  How are ya?” said the four-armed arms dealer.  His yellow eyes lit up at the sight of an old friend.

                “Can’t complain.  You still keeping busy?”

                “Got enough work for all four arms.”

                Orion glanced around the shop, noting the stock of weapons on the racks, “I’d say you do at that.  You’re open a little early today, aren’t you?”

                Dex waved one of his four hands in a quasi-exasperated gesture, “Ehh, my brother-in-law is in town and driving me crazy.  Figured I’d open a little early to get out of the house.”

                “In-laws will do that to you,” Orion said, not really having any idea about that sort of thing.

                “Who’s your friend?” Dex said, nodding his crest towards Kento, standing just inside the entrance.

                “Oh, that’s Marek.  He’s working a case with me.  We think we’re after the same guy.”

                Jettster eyed the Jedi with suspicion, “Is he a bounty hunter?”

                Orion shook his head, “Nah, you know I don’t run with those guys.”

                “One of your Jal Shey people?” Dex took a guess.

                Orion decided to go with it, “Yeah.  He’s new to this sector.  The Scholars wanted me to show him around.

                Dex nodded, apparently buying the ruse.  He glanced around furtively, a useless gesture as they were alone in the store.

                “You trying to get back into the spice trade?” Dex asked.

                Orion looked around just as furtively, “Possibly.  There’s a guy using spice to hurt some people.  I’d like to have a conversation with him.”

                “I don’t know anything about that,” Dex said.

                “Of course you don’t,” Orion said, patting Dex on the side of his arm, “But if you hear of any strange characters, you know who to call.”

                “Sure,” Dex said.  He put two of his hands on the counter.  “Are you looking for kyber?”

                Kento stopped glancing around and focused on the conversation.

                Orion gave a sly grin, “I’m always looking for kyber,” he said with a wink.

                “Heh, I may have something better for you.  I’m glad you stopped in.  This has been burning a hole in my display case,” Dex said, turning to remove a black box from the safe behind the counter.

                Orion and Kento gathered around the countertop, shielding the case from the eyes of any passersby.  Dex flipped a couple of locks open and spun the case around to show his customers.

                Inside was a lightsaber, chromium hilt, with a wrap of white tape spiraling down the handle.  Orion looked to Dex for permission to pick it up.  Dex silently nodded his assent.

               The Jal Shey lit the blade and Dex’s shop took on an eerie green glow.  The blade was strong, and the emitter was steady.  Orion twisted the saber back and forth and the hum of the power module crackled through the air.  He swished the blade a bit and appraised it as he had so many others.

                With a nod to his companion, he retracted the emerald blade and held the hilt up to take a closer look.  The handle had a bit of heft.  The balance was favored to the base, which you often saw with lightsabers created by padawans and other learners.  There was a power adjust and a small emitter guard.  It was a well-crafted weapon, especially considering it was probably someone’s first attempt.  There were markings on the pommel that he couldn’t readily identify.  They appeared to be text of some sort, but it wasn’t Aurebesh.  This seemed older, mystical somehow. 

                He turned the handle and pointed the pommel at Kento, showing him the engravings on the bottom of the weapon.  Kento leaned in and squinted, trying to make out the lettering.

                “It looks like Whillscript.  This isn’t Jedi.  It belongs to one of the Guardians,” Kento said.

                Orion nodded, “Not our people then?” he said, hoping Kento would pick up on the deception and play along.

                The Jedi was keen and attentive.  “Definitely not.  Those markings are distinctive.  No one uses them outside of Jedha.”

                “I thought the Guardians preferred the lightbow,” Orion said.

                “Not all of them,” replied Kento.

               Dead Force-users popping up randomly in the Outer Rim and here he was in a black-market shop, holding a perfectly functional lightsaber.  Orion’s instincts told him this was no coincidence, but the game had to be played.

               “That’s a fine weapon, Dex,” he said.  “Rare to see one loose.  Whoever lost that must be pretty broken up about it.”

                Dex’s mouth gave a little cluck as he replied, “I figure you’re always needing Kyber for sabers.  This would save you a bit of construction time.”

                Orion nodded, “That’s true.  I’m definitely interested.  Can I ask where you got it from?”

                Dex leaned back and shrugged, “You know I can’t tell you that.  It’s not how things are done.”

                The Jal Shey raised his hands defensively, “I hear you, Dex.  Just figured I’d ask.  Someone out there found this one, maybe they’ve found more.”  Orion was careful to use the word ‘found’ as it did not imply a crime.  There was no reason to tip his hand at this point.

                Dex dismissed the idea with a headshake, “I told the guy if he had any more that I’d take ‘em.  Told him I knew of a few interested parties,” Dex said with a nod to Orion.

                Orion grinned, “Yeah, sure.  Keep ‘em coming.  I’ve got students who need them.”

                Kento brushed past Orion and waved his hand across Dex’s face, “Who sold you the lightsaber?”

                Dexter’s eyes were locked.  He spoke as in a trance, “A bounty hunter named Montross.”

                Kento started to wave his hand again and Orion pushed him towards the store exit, putting distance between the Jedi and the shopkeeper. 

                “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Orion asked. 

                “We need to know where he got the lightsaber,” Kento said.

                “So, what, you just wave your hand and invade his mind?” Orion said.

                “It’s a common power for Force users.  I’m surprised…”

                “I know how it works, you idiot!  I’m saying you can’t just go around doing that whenever you want!”

                “It was effective.  We know who to talk to now,” Kento said.

                Orion continued the pushing.  He had a forearm across Kento’s chest and kept shoving until the two men were past the store entrance and standing in the middle of Merchant Row.  He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the stunned Besalisk in the store behind them.

                “His business is repeat customers!  He can’t stay open if he’s got a reputation as a snitch!  By what right do you mess with his mind?  Are you headspun?  You know what happens to people who betray bounty hunters?  They get killed!  What is wrong with you?!”

                Kento was every bit as calm as Orion was angry.  “We have a murder to solve.  Several, actually, if you’ll remember.  Every moment that passes, we get that much closer to another victim.”

                “You’re about to make him the next victim!  There’s about eight ways we could have gotten that information.  You had to go with the one that puts lives at risk!” Orion said.

                Kento looked around; a few pedestrians seemed to be taking an interest in this loud confrontation.  He nodded to indicate their observers.  Orion gave him a small shove to let him go.  He looked disgusted with the Jedi.

                “I thought you guys weren’t supposed to be about the quick and easy path,” Orion said.

                “I’m just trying to stop the next killing,” Kento said.  Though his tone was deferential, it was clear that he felt no remorse.

                Orion sighed, exasperated with this monk and his obliviousness to the realities of the Outer Rim.  “I’m gonna go back in there, buy that lightsaber off Dex, and try to smooth this whole thing over.  You go back to the ship and don’t talk to anyone.  You so much as say hello to one of the barkers over at the arena and next bloodless corpse that shows up is gonna be yours.”

                Kento tilted his head, clearly inclined to say something, but choosing a different approach, “Very well.  I’ll wait for you on the ship.”

                Orion watched him leave and felt a ripple of anger spread from his clenched fists, surging through his muscles until the moment passed.  He suddenly felt very glad that the Jedi had missed him, and the Jal Shey had not.  This was no way to run an underworld investigation.  Now he had to go make it right.  He turned to step back into Dexter’s shop. 

                                                                                –

               Orion might have been angered by his method, but the results could not be denied.  They had a name: Montross.  While Orion went about his business with the shopkeeper, Kento returned to the Thunder Child and ran a search.

                According to Republic files, Montross was a bounty hunter, officially registered with the guild.  Records indicated that he was once affiliated with the Mandalorians, but there had been some incident which led to him being severed from the creed. 

                Kento stared into the pale, hardened face that looked back from the flat screen.  He seemed an odd choice for a ritualistic killer.  For bounty hunters, pragmatism is a professional requirement.  Bounty hunters didn’t carry out elaborate ceremonies when they claimed a prize.  That time was better spent getting paid. 

               There were some exceptions.  Certain species took death very seriously, even when it was financed.  Trandoshan hunters tended to keep trophies and there were always the occasional maniacs who enjoyed the bloodshed for its own sake.  Still, if this Montross was draining blood and electrifying bodies for some elaborate Sith ritual, Kento would consider it very peculiar. 

               As he pondered what to do with this new information, he saw Orion approaching the ship.  The hydraulic whirr of the entry ramp lowering announced the return of the captain of the Thunder Child.  Kento met Orion in the ship’s galley. 

               The Jal Shey Ranger slung off a bantha-leather shoulder bag and placed it on the table.  Silently, he began to unload its contents.  Three lightsabers, each distinctive with varied levels of wear and tear.  As Orion put each one down in a neatly organized display, Kento could sense that the tension between them had not abated.

               “I wanted to apologize for how I behaved with the shopkeeper,” Kento said.

               “His name is Dex,” Orion said, not looking up.  “Dexter Jettster.  He’s a friend of mine and he’s been running that shop for more than a decade.  You think that kind of longevity is easy around here?”

               “I do not,” Kento said.

               “Out here, reputation is everything.  And Montross’s reputation isn’t forgiving,” Orion said.

               “Again, I was just trying to…”

               “Maybe stick with ‘I wanted to apologize,’” Kento said.

               “I’m sorry,” Kento said.

               “Let’s move on.  When all this is over, maybe we check on Dex and make sure this doesn’t come back to haunt him?” Orion said.

               “Agreed,” Kento said.

               A beat passed.  Orion picked up the first saber and examined the handle.

               “Do you recognize it?” Kento asked.

               “No.  It doesn’t look like it’s Jal Shey construction.  Our Rangers prefer to build out of plastoid.  That’s more readily available to us.”

               “I don’t know of any unaccounted for Jedi beyond Abi Buran,” Kento said, looking at the weapon, “And this isn’t hers.”

               Orion bit his lip, “Zeison Sha?”

               “Who?”

               Orion shook his head, “Zeison Sha isn’t a person, it’s another order, like the Jal Shey.  They teach the Force but they’re also more secretive.  Big on self-reliance.”

               Kento shrugged, “I’ve never heard of them.”

               “They would consider that a victory,” Orion said.

               “Do you know any of their group?” Kento asked.

               “No, just a few passing encounters.  No one I could track down again.  Besides, I’m not sure this is one of theirs.  I’m guessing.”

               “Okay, what about this one?” Kento asked, picking up the next in line.  It was the one he had noted in the shop, with the Whillscript.

               “You said that was from the Guardians.  Do you know the language?” Orion said.

               Kento stared at the hilt and translated, “First the Force, then the saber.”

               “Not overly helpful,” Orion said.

               Kento shrugged, “And this?” Kento said, pointing to the last. 

               It had a smooth handle.  Very simplistic.  Almost like a child’s toy.  The plain cylinder ended with a bulky ring at the top near the emitter.  The pommel widened out a bit at the base but ended in a flat plate. 

               Kento picked it up and turned it over, looking for anything that he could use to identify the owner.  There was nothing at all that made it distinctive.  No markings, no ornamentation.  Orion smiled slightly as he looked over the saber. 

               “Weird, isn’t it?” Orion said.

               “Yeah.  I’ve never seen a saber that was so plain,” Kento said.

               “Neither has the owner,” Orion said.

               “What are you talking about?” Kento asked.

               Orion smirked, “It’s from the Miraluka.  They don’t bother with anything decorative.”

               “I don’t understand,” Kento said.

               “The Miraluka are blind.  They don’t have eyes.  They see everything through the Force.  They don’t have any need for anything fancy.  They’re the only ones in the galaxy who would build something like this,” Orion said.

               “Fascinating,” Kento said, still examining the bare lightsaber.

               “The Miraluka are rare, but there are still a few out there.  I met one in my youth,” Orion said.

               “What was your impression of them?” Kento asked, not looking up from the saber hilt.

               “Unnerving.  You could feel them looking right through you.  Like they were reading your inner spirit.  Felt like an invasion of privacy,” Orion said.

               “Strong in the Force?” Kento asked.

               “Very,” Orion said.  He rubbed his face and sighed.

               “You don’t sound happy,” Kento said.

               “None of these are Jal Shey.  We don’t build sabers like this.  And we haven’t found Abi Buran’s lightsaber either.  Whoever killed her, they didn’t sell her weapon to Dex.”

               “So not Montross?” Kento asked.

               “I just don’t see it,” Orion said. 

               “What do you think?”

               “Montross is an ex-Mando bounty hunter.  Our victims were drained of blood and the corpses carved with Sith symbols.  That’s not a Mando thing and it’s not a bounty hunter thing.  It doesn’t add up.”

               “I agree,” Kento said, sitting back, putting the lightsaber down on the table. 

               A beat passed between them in silence.  Kento was the first to speak.

               “Well, he is a hunter,” Kento said.

               “What do you mean?” Orion said.

               “If I wanted to find Force users and I didn’t want to be caught, I might hire a bounty hunter to track them down for me,” Kento said.

               Orion pinched his lower lip between two fingers and shrugged, “Could be.  Maybe have the hunter hit them with a dart to drug them.”

               “That’d make the kill much easier,” Kento said.

               “And if you’re Montross, and you’ve already disabled the target, why not take the lightsaber and sell it for profit?” Orion said.  “And maybe he’s been off hunting and hasn’t had time to sell off any of the sabers from my victims.”

               Kento pointed an empty hand in the air, “Makes more sense than a Mandalorian with a taste for blood.”

               “So, we’re looking for a client?” Orion said rhetorically.  Then he frowned, adding, “Montross would never give up a client.”

               “There are ways around that,” Kento said, waving a hand past his own face.

               Orion’s mouth wrinkled, “Maybe… if we can find him.”

               “How do we find him?” Kento said.

               “Take out a bounty?” Orion asked.

               “On who?” Kento said.

               “You could take one out on me,” Orion said.

               “He’s just helped to kill three Jal Shey and now there’s a bounty on another Jal Shey?” Kento asked.  “No way he’d take that assignment.”

               “Same for taking out a bounty on you then, I suppose,” Orion said.

               “You suppose right,” Kento said.  “How about your original plan?  Tracing the spice.”

               Orion tilted his head, “I checked with Outland PD before I came back.  They still have my undercover name listed as killed.”

               “And your underworld contacts?”

               “According to the locals, they’re working out of Nar Shaddaa,” Orion said.

               “Should we go say hello?” Kento asked.

               “We?  No.  Me?  Yeah,” Orion said.

               “You can’t walk in there with no backup,” Kento said.

               “I’m already coming back from the dead.  It’ll be hard enough to explain as it is,” Orion said.

               Kento thought for a moment, “How about this?”

               And then Kento explained the plan.

                                                                                –

                Orion set the course for Nar Shaddaa and the Thunder Child made the jump to hyperspace.  When he came back to the galley, he found the table had been set up with a demesne.  Kento came up from the aft section just as he arrived.

                “What’s all this then?” Orion asked.

                “Forgive me.  I was looking for a scanner to use on the sabers and I found you had a board.  It’s been ages since I had a good game.  I was hoping to engage you.”

                Orion smiled, “What makes you think I’m worth the effort?”

                “The quality of these pieces,” Kento said, gesturing to the table, “A man doesn’t have a Shah-tezh set of this high a quality unless he’s well-versed in the game.”

                “Let’s find out,” Orion said.  He sat down on one side of the square board.  Kento took the opposite chair. 

                Orion took note of the position of the pieces, “You play the Outcast arrangement?”

                “I do.  I like the ancient version best.  Is that acceptable?”

                “Oh, absolutely.  I prefer the old ways myself,” Orion said.  He moved his Beast out as an opening.  Kento responded with pushing his Disciple forward.

                “A shame we don’t have a clock,” Orion said.

                “That would be quite a test.  I haven’t had a timed game since my youth,” Kento said.

                “The older Rangers encourage neophytes to play.  They say it teaches critical thinking, combat tactics, survival strategies,” Orion said.

                “On Ilum, it’s something of a pastime.  Mostly for the instructors.  The younglings have their own entertainments.”

                “Sounds like a peaceful place,” Orion said.

                “At night.  During the day it’s a swarm of chaos.  Students everywhere.  Overachievers out to be noticed.  I try to get them to sit still for a history class and they’re just waiting to go to lightsaber training,” Kento said, with a mild laugh.

                “Well, as a saber instructor, allow me to apologize,” Orion said, returning the mirth.

                “Are you a student of history?” Kento said, moving his Beast into play.  “This game isn’t all that common now.”

                “I have an appreciation for the old ways, yes,” Orion said, taking Kento’s Dowager with his Vizier.

                “I didn’t know if that was born of natural interest, or if it came from Jayla,” Kento said.  He took back the Vizier with his Counselor, completing the exchange. 

                “Haven’t you got enough to worry about?” Orion said, sliding his Beast to a better location.

                Kento smirked, “Even Jedi have imaginations.”  He slid his Disciple up to attack.

                “I’m sure you can find a better use for yours,” Orion said, responding to Kento’s countermove.

                “What area piques your interest the most?” Kento asked.

                “In history?” Orion said, then continued after Kento’s nod, “Well, the Raktatan Empire was fascinating to me.  Just the sweep of it.  The barbarity.”

                “Fascinating to be sure,” Kento said.

                “I feel rather embarrassed to admit, one of my favorite subjects was the development of the lightsaber,” Orion said.

                “Why the embarrassment?” Kento asked.

                “It feels rather pedestrian compared to more vaunted studies.  Not as intellectual as the time of the High Republic, or the Trials of the Mandalorians.”

                Kento nodded and wrinkled his mouth, “Plenty of insight to be gained in the study of the saber.”

                “It’s fascinating from an engineering perspective,” Orion said.

                “That’s right, you’re a designer of some sort, yes?” Kento said.

                “When called upon.  Rangers need at least three areas where we can be useful,” Orion said.

                “Such a unique organization of skills,” Kento said.

                “Speaking of which,” Orion said.  He then proceeded to move his Counselor across the board to attack Kento’s Imperator.

                “Oh, lovely move,” Kento said, retreating from the danger.

                “How did you get good?” Orion asked.

                “One of my colleagues at the academy.  Kelleran Beq.  Brilliant Jedi.  We came up through the ranks together.  Now he teaches across the hall from me.”

                “Sounds like a good friend,” Orion said.

                “Very much so.  How about you?  Who taught you the game?”

                “My mentor, Ranger Tyco.”

                “Was he your Master?” Kento said.

                Orion shook his head and smirked, “No, it’s not so formal as that.  New Rangers accompany veterans for the first couple of years.  It’s supplemental training.  You do what they do.  I live long enough, and they’ll give me a trainee of my own.”

                “Tell me about him,” Kento said.

                “Tyco?  Oh sure.  Very protective of me.  He was a big Ishi Tib.  Tall, like he would have to duck under the hatch combings back on the Compendium.  Scared me half to death first time I met him.  I was still young back then.”

                “Weren’t we all?” Kento said, filling the space.

                Orion paused to move a piece.  Kento let him speak as he thought about his next move.

                “Great mentor though.  Taught me a lot.  I remember this one time; we were working a case on Suntilla, helping locals round up some bandits.  We got word that our suspect was spotted at a cantina and a fight had broken out.  I ran out to our speeder and Tyco, he kind of shoved me over into the passenger seat.  He liked to drive.  The place was about two klicks out.  Halfway there, he pulls over at a supply station, parks the speeder and he looks over at me and says, ‘I’m going inside for a drink, do you want anything?”

                Kento looked up from the board in surprise.  Orion laughed.

                “That was the same look I had!  I said to him, ‘What about the suspect?’ you know, ‘We gotta get over there quick.’  And he looks at me and says, ‘It’s a bar fight.  You never show up in the middle of a bar fight.  You show up at the end when everyone is too tired to fight anymore.’  And then he went on inside.  A few minutes later, he comes back, hands me a bottle.  We go over to the cantina.  Sure enough, there’s our suspect, laid out on the floor, unconscious.  We put the binders on him and by the time he wakes up, he’s already in a cell,” Orion said.

                Kento laughed, “Solid work.”

                “I sure thought so,” Orion said.

                “What ever happened to him?” Kento asked, “Ranger Tyco, I mean.”

                “I have no idea,” Orion said.

                “You lost touch?” Kento asked.

                “No, I mean that literally.  He went out on a long-range scouting trip.  We do those.  Looking for new hyperspace routes.  Exploration, you know.  One of our tenets.”

                Kento nodded with realization.

                “I’m so sorry,” he said.

                “I don’t know if you should be.  All we know is that he left, and he never came back.  That might not be a tragedy.  Maybe he died, maybe he lived.  Maybe he found peace out there.  Maybe he found love.  I like to think he found some world where the beaches go on forever and he’s so happy there he decided to never leave.”

                “That’s a nice thought,” Kento said.

                “In my experience, we all believe what we want to believe.  If you don’t have any evidence, might as well go with the thing that makes you happiest.”

                                                                                –

                The dim reflected light of Nal Hutta, far overhead, did nothing to add to the ambiance of the Nar Shaddaa slums. 

                They had parked the Thunder Child on a landing platform outside of what was laughingly referred to as an entertainment district.  The seedy looking Neimoidian at the end of the platform charged them fifty credits as a parking fee and promised them that no harm would come to the ship during their visit.  Not that they believed him. 

                Orion walked a step and a half in front of Kento.  He wore the same bomber jacket that he’d had on the day they met, sans the Jal Shey badge at the shoulder.  Kento’s best incognito look was an overcoat with military boots.  His lightsaber was tucked into an interior pocket and again he was resolved not to show it unless it meant the difference between life and death. 

                Orion’s blaster hung prominently on his hip.  He had a holdout strapped to his ankle, underneath a durable pair of pants.  Flying in, they had agreed if they ever had to brandish a weapon, then the plan would quickly collapse and may very well cost them their lives as a result. 

                The seedy cantina was guarded by a pair of Gran standing outside the door.  Kento wondered if they were brothers before realizing it was immaterial.  Their yellow-brown skin looked patchy and grey in the dim blue light of the entrance.  They had an odor he couldn’t identify, but given what he knew of the area, he assumed it was the stench of spice.

                Orion approached the door and the larger of the two Gran put out a hand to stop him.  The Jal Shey Ranger spoke in Huttese, which Kento could barely understand.

                After a short dialog, Orion said the name “Zave Tep.” He repeated it again and the two Gran conferred with each other for a moment.  Then, the larger one turned back to Orion and pointed a digit at Orion’s chest.

                Orion waved his arms back and forth, crossing them in front of his chest, but that gesture just seemed to make the large Gran more insistent.  He continued the pointing.

                With a sigh, Orion unzipped his jacket and tugged on the collar of his white undershirt.  Kento, craning his neck around, saw what all the fuss was about.  On his chest, over his heart, Orion had a set of scars.  They formed the shape of the Aurebesh letter Dorn.  The scars were old, somewhat faded.  They looked to have been made with a vibroblade. 

                The body language of the two Gran changed considerably once they saw the scars.  Their focus turned from Orion to Kento.  Kento’s muscles tensed in response.  Before anything came of it, Orion stepped in between the Jedi and the guards and spoke in fast, clipped Huttese.

                The larger Gran said something to his smaller companion.  The smaller one opened the door and went inside the cantina, leaving the three of them to stare awkwardly at one another.

                Kento asked what was happening.

                In a quiet voice, Orion caught him up, “They’re seeing if Zave wants to see me.  We’re only getting in if he says it’s okay.”

                “What do you think?” Kento said, not taking his eyes off the large Gran guard.

                “If it’s a yes, we’re golden.  If it’s a no, run,” Orion said.

                “How very reassuring,” Kento said.

                “Don’t talk so fancy.  This ain’t the place for it,” Orion said.

                Kento made a mental note to check his accent at the door.

                A moment later, a Duros man came out, poking his head out of the door slowly, then swinging the door wide when he recognized Orion.

                “Fixer!” the Duros shouted, coming into the hall and wrapping Orion in a big hug, “Thought you were dead, man!  Look at you walkin’ around like it’s nothing!”

                Orion laughed and returned the hug, “Zave, brother!  It’s good to see you again.”

                “What happened?  How’d you make it out?”

                “I didn’t.  Blues got me when we split up.  Hit me with a stun round and I went down like a sack full of beskar.”

                “Oh, no,” Zave said.

                “When I woke up, I was in binders and they told me to give up the freighter codes or they’d ship me off to Oovo IV,” Orion said.

                “Spatters!  What did you do?”

                “I told ‘em ‘Darkhearts for life’ and they shipped my big behind off to Oovo IV,” Orion said. 

                “Aww man, you bad.  Why’d they say you were dead?”

                “Wires got crossed somewhere.  The blues thought I was going to turn, so they declared me dead in case I wanted a new life.  I’m betting they never cared to update it.  It’s not like I got people looking for me,” Orion said.

                “I’d have looked for you!” Zave said.

                “Nah, it’s fine.  I did two on Oovo before I found a way out.  Stashed aboard a transport and made it back to civilization,” Orion said.

                “Dumb blues can’t keep us down for that long,” Zave said.

                “Darkhearts for life?” Orion said.

                “Darkhearts for life!” Zave said.

                They shared another laugh.  Zave turned to look Kento up and down.

                “Who’s your shadowkeeper here?”

                “Krattik,” Orion said, introducing Kento.  “He’s the money.”

                Zave looked apologetically back at Orion, “If he’s not a Darkheart, he can’t come in.”

                “I was hoping you’d make an exception.  We’re here for business.  I need to talk to Seris,” Orion said.

                Zave looked back at Orion and bit his lip, “Seris isn’t big on visitors.  Especially not these days.”

                “What’s going on these days?  Somebody run you out of Ryll country?” Orion asked.

                “I can’t get into it in front of an outsider,” Zave said, waving an empty hand at Kento.

                Orion spread his hands apart, “That’s fine.  Not my business.  But we’ve got a good deal here.  I just want to put an offer on her table.  If she doesn’t like it, we’re out of there in five minutes.”

                The Duros sighed.  He put his hands on his hips.  Kento tried not to tense, but he was worried for a moment that Zave was going to draw the blaster on his belt.

                “Okay, I’ll walk you in.  Just don’t make me regret this,” Zave said.

                “I’ve got you, brother,” Orion said, as they walked by the Gran guards who graciously allowed them to pass.

                                                                                –

                Zave’s table was a booth on the far wall.  The screens displayed various sporting events from around the galaxy.  There was a variety of scents in the air.  Some of them industrial.  Many of them illegal.  The various species represented at the tables did not evoke any particular pattern that Kento could detect.  There were Kel Dor, Geonosians, a smattering of Twi’leks.  An old Ithorian at a round table was dealing a sabacc game. 

                Apart from the fact that everyone was armed, this could have been any of a number of bars on any of a number of planets.

                Orion settled into the booth next to Kento.  They sat across from Zave, who already had a drink in front of him.  Orion signaled the droid waitress for two local ales of some sort.  Kento was trying to say and do as little as possible, lest he arouse suspicion.

                Zave watched them sip their drinks and then got down to business, “What’s your offer?”

                “I’d rather take it straight to Seris,” Orion said.

                “Seris pays me to listen to offers.  There’s a process here.  You know that,” Zave said.

                Orion tilted his head and nodded, “Okay, we’ve got a supply of death sticks that we’re looking to exchange.  It’s a simple exchange, death sticks for spice, and we’ll give you a thirty percent markup over current market value.”

                Zave’s mouth wrinkled, “Why so generous?”

                “Our distributor got wrapped up in some Republic nonsense.  A customs inspector who didn’t get paid off in time.  We need to unload this cargo within the next day or two, or it’s going to start drawing attention.  Time is of the essence.”

                “We don’t mess with Republic customs,” Zave said.

                “We’re not asking you to.  We get the stuff out of our hands and once it’s in yours, no one has a second thought about it.  Nothing’s traceable.  At least not yet,” Orion said.

                Zave stroked his chin, “That’s reasonable.  Have you got a ship on ready stand-by?”

                “A stolen KB-TR Doomtreader on a landing pad a ways from here,” Orion said.

                “Stolen?” Zave said.

                “Took it off some idiot lawman when I got out of Oovo IV.  Left the bastard stranded and eating my wake,” Orion said with a grin.

                Zave laughed, “You always were good with ships.”

                “Still am,” Orion said.

                “So, what’s with your strong, silent-type buddy here?  He doesn’t like talking?”

                Kento bristled but kept himself as reserved as he could.

                “It was my mistake that got that customs officer on our scent.  He’s supervising to make sure I clean up my mess.  Not out to be all that helpful, but you gotta look good for your boss.  Seris would tell you that,” Orion said.

                “She sure as Sith would,” Zave said.  He rubbed his hands and looked around the room furtively.  “Thirty percent markup?”

                Orion just nodded.

                “Anything else?” Zave said.

                “You wouldn’t happen to know of a good bounty hunter who’d be interested in killing a customs official, would you?” Orion chuckled.

                Zave laughed, “Could be.  We’ve got a couple gunhands who have come through for us,” Zave said.

                “Let’s talk after we make this deal,” Orion said.

                “Show me what you’ve got,” Zave said.

                From the pocket of his bomber jacket, Orion pulled a death stick.  The vial had bands of yellow and red chemicals within.  He handed it over to Zave who held it up to the light over the booth.

                “I got enough of those to put ten heavy load lifters to work for half a day,” Orion said.  “Go ahead and see for yourself.”

                Zave took the cylinder and jammed it into the side of his neck.  Kento watched the vial drain into his dark blue skin.  He sat back and his eyes fluttered.  Orion watched him carefully, his palms flat on the table.

                “How’s that flight through hyperspace, Zav?”

                The Duros made a noise that Kento completely failed to identify.  Somewhere between a snarl and a shriek, it cut through the air like a siren and was over as fast as it started.

                “Wizard!” Zave said, before chuckling and snapping his fingers rapidly. 

                The waitress droid came up again, this time, her tray had an orange-red powder on a serving dish.

                Orion turned to look at the platter, “What you got for me, Zave?”

                “Oh, you’re gonna love this, Fixer.  New stuff we’ve been hawking.  This is top-grade Sansanna.  Good stuff,” Zave said. 

                Orion looked at the powder like it was a meal.  Zave put a hand on his before he could grab a pinch.

                “No, no, Fixer.  Don’t be rude.  Your bossman should get the first taste.  We want to be respectful to management,” Zave said, eyeing Kento as he looked askance at the spice on the tray.

                “I don’t partake before a deal is done,” Kento said, trying to sound as rigid as he could. 

                Zave’s small mouth formed a smirk, “It speaks!” he said. 

                Kento felt his nerves jangling, “Again, I don’t…”

                “You want my product, but you don’t want to try it?  Could be Hutt fodder in there for all you know.  Never trust a man who won’t use his own stuff,” Zave said.  He pulled a vibroblade out of an inner pocket on his vest.  He dipped the tip of the blade into the spice, then snorted it.  His face contorted slightly, and Orion used the moment to tap his knee against Kento’s.  Zave’s reaction lasted just long enough for the move to go unnoticed.

                “Your turn, big boss,” Zave said, dipping the blade again and offering it to Kento.

                Kento felt his nerves jangling, “A deal is not yet done.  I don’t…”

                From behind him, a pair of hands slammed down onto his shoulders.  Kento was held in place by a strong, meaty Gammorrean who was reaching over from the next booth.  He started to shrug off the green paws and would have turned to fight if Orion hadn’t just as quickly put a hand on his chest.

                “Hold up!  Let’s not get crazy here,” Orion said.

                “I offer you the good stuff and you’re not gonna take a taste?” Zave said, shaking the spice off his blade and pointing it directly at Kento’s throat.

                “He’s an accountant, Zave!  He’s not a player like you and me.  My boss sent him along to make sure I get this done.  He doesn’t know how it works.  Look at his face!” Orion said.

                “I don’t like his face.  Maybe I’ll cut it off and find him a new one!” Zave said, the words ringing out as he twisted the blade back and forth a few centimeters from Kento’s neck.

                “Make this deal, you’ll never have to see his face again,” Orion said.

                “Nah, I think you brought a blue in here,” Zave said.

                “Sithspit!  I know a blue when I see one.”

                “Yeah, so do I,” Zave said, pushing the vibroblade closer to Kento’s neck.

                “He’s legit!” Orion said.

                “No one ever died being too careful.  Wasn’t that your favorite, expression, Fixer?” Zave said.  He pulled the blade back, in preparation for an attack.

                “Stop,” Kento said. 

                Everyone froze.  The big Gammorrean held his grip tight.

                “Rack that up again,” Kento said, nodding down to the spice on the table.

                Zave smirked and dipped his blade into the spice.  An orange chunk came up and he held it under Kento’s nose.

                Kento sniffed deep, inhaling the spice and feeling it invade his brain like a spike hammer.  The world went hazy as chemicals overran his cerebrum.  He could feel long-dormant synapses firing at maximum capacity.  Around him, lights flickered and began to heat up.  His blood screamed through his veins, desperate to release the surge of energy that invaded each cell. 

                The universe became abstract and somehow more real.  Vivid and stark.  Colors burned his eyes.  Sound echoed and warbled, reaching his ears, but not his mind.  He felt his head start to swirl and the steadying hand of Orion on his arm did nothing to stop the motion of the stars as they tried to throw him out of his seat.

                The last thing he heard before his head hit the table was Zave’s laughter.

                                                                                –

                Back in reality, Orion tried to contain his horror as Kento slipped into an unconscious stupor at the table.  Zave found the tableau hysterical and made no effort to hide his glee.

                “I think you might not be so well off with your bossman now,” Zave said.

                “You may be right, halfwit.  You had to go swing your rod like that?” Orion said.

                “Only way to catch the big ones,” Zave said.

                “Son of a Sith,” Orion said.

                “Save your gumslapping,” Zave said.

                “I want to talk to Seris,” Orion said.

                “And you’ll get your chance, but I need something first,” Zave said.

                “I already got you buzzed.  What do you need?” Orion said.

                “I had a four-man job tonight.  One of my crew didn’t show.  I need another outlaw,” Zave said.

                “I don’t do that run and gun poodoo anymore.  You know I’m a stick and thruster man,” Orion said.

                “You’re a rough rider and that don’t change no matter how nice you dress.  You don’t walk in here strapped and then say you can’t throw down,” Zave said.

                “I’m not doing another damn bank job, Zav,” Orion said.

                Under the table, Zave tapped his vibroblade against Orion’s thigh.  Orion didn’t flinch.

                “I didn’t know that they started neutering guys who got sent to Oovo IV.  I’m very sorry for your loss,” Zave said with a mocking tone.

                “You’re talking like a guy who is sick of having all his teeth, Zav,” Orion said.

                “I’m getting you out of a jam.  Whatever happened to customer service?” Zave asked.  He shifted his blade around Orion’s leg.  “Besides, this is what I’m after,” Zave said, tapping the blaster on Orion’s hip.

                “Let’s not be rude,” a voice said.  Orion turned.  At his other hip stood a Zabrak woman.  Her voice was sweet and feminine.  It purred out from her throat like a cascade of nectar over wet rock.  In the low light of the screens her blue skin glistened. 

                Orion craned his neck to address her properly.

                “Seris,” Orion said, with a note of relief.

                “Orion.”

                “Been a long time,” he said.

                “A long silence,” she said, letting the thought cut the air between them.

                “They don’t give you holocalls in Oovo IV,” Orion said.

                “You got a functioning comlink on your stolen Doomtreader?” she asked.

                “Life got kinda busy,” Orion said.

                “It has a way of doing that,” she replied.

                “I’m sorry,” Orion said.

                “And I’m bored.  You have business here?” she asked.

                “A trade.  Simple deal,” Orion said.

                “I heard,” she said, tapping a piece of hardware on her ear.  She had been listening this whole time.  “Not so simple these days though.”

                “What can I do?” Orion asked.

                Seris turned to Zave, “Are you ready to pay a visit to the Red Sleeves?”

                “Y..yeah boss.  We’re ready to go on your nod,” Zave said.

                “I’m nodding,” Seris said.  She looked down at Orion, “Take him along.  If he makes it back, we’ll do some business.  If not, that’s fate’s way of saying it’s not your day.”

                Orion tugged his collar slightly and shook his head back and forth, “Fine.  One job.  After that I’m done with free samples.”

                “Fair,” Seris said.

                Before she could say another word, Kento snapped back to reality with a snort and a cough.  Seris seemed quite amused at the sight of it.  She turned to Zave.

                “You want to take your new friend along?  Show him what the life is like?” Seris said, indicating the newly conscious Kento.

                “Not particularly,” Zave said, regarding Kento with a contemptuous sneer.

                “Wise choice,” Seris said, then turned back to Orion, “Next time you bring someone to my place of business, they’d better be a Twi’lek who can dance.”

                “Noted.  Are we through here?” Orion asked.

                “Done,” Seris said, and walked away.

                Zave rose and looked back and forth between Orion and Kento, “Let’s go.”

                                                                                –

                Zave demanded that they drop Kento off back at the ship.  Orion made no objection.  As Zave parked his speeder at the edge of the landing pad, Orion escorted his spice-addled friend all the way to the entry ramp.

                “You gonna be all right?” he asked Kento, quiet enough to avoid being overheard.

                “Everything is sonic,” Kento said, still abuzz from his first foray into illicit substances.

                “Sure is.  Just go inside, stay away from anything sharp.  Or, you know, switches and buttons.  Maybe just lie down, that should help.”

                “I can’t lie down.  It’s the universe that’s spinning,” Kento said, grabbing Orion by the lapels.

                “Okay, stay out of trouble,” he said, pushing Kento up the ramp and turning back to Zave’s speeder.

                “You get that lame sorted out?” Zave asked.

                “Yeah, he’ll be fine.  Just not used to the good stuff,” Orion said.

                “You drive,” Zave said, sliding into the passenger seat of the speeder.  In the rear were the big Gamorrean and one of the Gran guards from the cantina entrance.

                Orion shrugged and got into the driver’s seat.  As he did, Zave extracted a black bag from under the floorboard and pulled out three police uniforms.  Zave took one for himself and handed the other two to the pair in the back seat.  Orion gave him a questioning look.

                “You never used a disguise on a job before?” Zave asked. 

                “What’s the deal, here?” Orion asked as the other three dressed.

                “Red Sleeves took a score off Twak the Grey a few days ago.  We heard they have it stashed in a place over in Gardulla’s Kitchen.  We’re taking it back,” Zave said.

                “And the uniforms?” Orion asked.

                “Seris doesn’t want to get into a gang war.  She just wants the product,” Zave said.

                “What’s the product?” Orion asked.

                “Do you care?” Zave said.

                “Is it heavy?  Is it something that’s gonna try to kill me?  Is it something that’s gonna explode if it takes a blaster bolt?” Orion asked.

                “Relax.  Just a machine part that we’ve been needing,” Zave said.

                “Ugh, fine.  But I’m not putting on a police uniform,” Orion said.

                “Why not?”

                “For one, it’s a dumb disguise.  Those two are carrying heavy blaster rifles.  Rimpo sector blues don’t have that kind of gear.  Same with my K-2,” Orion said, holding up his blaster pistol.

                “By the time anyone notices, we’ll be long gone,” Zave said.

                “Famous last words,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

                Gardulla’s Kitchen was nestled, well…trapped, really, between an industrial sector and the refugee district.  It was a haven for cutthroats, runners, smugglers, and thieves. The nondescript blocks provided a certain anonymity, and it was easy to blend in when there were dozens of housing units with the same exterior look and the same reeking scent of narcotics, waste, and industrial sludge.

                Orion parked the speeder about half a block down from a cross-street.  Past the cross-street was a neighborhood of decrepit refugee housing units.  The two thugs in uniform stepped out first.  Zave followed and Orion began to walk with them.  Zave waved him off.

                “Go around the back.  It’s unit eighty-three.  Come in from another angle,” Zave said.

                “I’m not shooting anyone, and you shouldn’t either.  Half these people are packing something.  You start blazing, there’s a bunch more of them than you,” Orion said.

                “We’re just here to serve a warrant,” Zave said, with a smirk.  He held up a datapad with a forged document on its surface.

               “Whatever, I’m just the guy who does the thing,” Orion said.

               Zave waved him down a side alley.  He walked around, trying to stay out of sight.  Passing one row of refugee shanties, he looked both ways before stepping back into the light.  Down the block, a cluster of Nikto boys were playing some sort of dice game.  Behind them, a Gand woman was rummaging through a garbage dumpster.

               Coming around a corner, Orion heard Zave’s distinctive baritone shouting, “Rimpo PD, put your hands up!”

               “He’s early,” Orion muttered, running the last few steps around the corner.  As he did, he saw a Klatooinian at the corner ahead of him.  The jacket he wore was brown but had bright red sleeves.  Orion heard angry shouting around the bend.  The Klatooinian took aim with a slim blaster pistol.  Orion rushed him.

               Before the enforcer could get a shot off, Orion had the barrel of his K-2 pointed at the Klatooinian’s head, an arm wrapped around his neck.

               “Let’s not start shooting just yet.  You got folks trying to sleep around here,” Orion said.  The dog-faced thug snarled at him. 

               “Shut up.  You got ambushed.  There’s no shame in it,” Orion said.

               “You’ll pay for this, whoever you are,” the Klatooinian grumbled.

               “We all will,” Orion said, dragging him by the collar into the courtyard between a few of the refugee dwellings.  He walked him up to where Zave was faux-apprehending a couple more thugs, all of them Klatooinian.  It made sense.  That species tended to travel in packs.

               Zave nodded his approval as Orion brought his hostage up to the dwelling entrance.

               “Did you even know he was there?” Orion asked.

                “You got him, so what does it matter?” Zave asked in return.

                “Sloppy,” Orion said, shaking his head.

                Zave and the Gran pushed one of the Klatooinians up to the front door of unit eighty-three and held a large rifle on him, telling him to knock.  The captured thug knocked hard, fast, and loudly until a voice came from inside the unit.

                “Tell him to let us in or it’s your hide,” Zave said.

                The captured Klatooinian at the door shouted for entry.  When the door cracked open slightly, Zave kicked it in and shoved the thug inside.

                “Rimpo PD!  This is a raid.  Nobody move!” Zave said, waving his blaster rifle around a bit more than was necessary.  The surprised guards inside the dwelling raised their hands at various speeds of compliance.

                “In and out, Zav.  Let’s not make a meal of it,” Orion said, following him through the door.  The Gran stayed outside for security.  Their uniformed Gamorrean came inside to hold a gun on the hostages. 

                “Everybody on your knees!” Zave ordered.  He shoved one human woman out of the back room and into the living room.  Orion saw the Gamorrean holding the four red-sleeved hostages in place and decided to search the rest of the dwelling.  Zave was too busy shoving his Klatooinian friend around to notice.

                “I want the code for the safe!” Zave said. 

               Orion stopped listening as he had started searching the bedrooms.  A young Klatooinian pup was hiding under a bed.  The paws that stuck out from under the bedframe easily gave him away.  Orion gave a pitying frown, then dragged the boy out from his hiding place. 

               A quick glance confirmed that this was no thug and no threat.  Just a scared youngling who had bad parents and an unlucky life.  Orion took him by the wrist and helped him off the floor.  He walked the youngling down a corridor to the nearest refresher.

               “Stay here.  Stay quiet.  Stay out of sight,” Orion admonished the boy.  The young pup eagerly nodded his agreement.  Orion locked him inside.

               Returning to the kitchen, Orion saw Zave holding a gun to the head of the human woman.  Orion wanted to reach out and stop him, but that might increase the overall danger.

               The leader of the thugs spoke up, “Zero, eight, two, one, eight, nine!” he shouted, giving up the code for his wall safe.

               “There we go!  See?  You can be reasonable,” Zave said, shoving the human woman against the far wall.  She hit hard, grabbed her shoulder, and then sat on the floor.  Orion winced in sympathy with her pain.

               Zave turned to the wall safe that was hidden behind a cooling chamber.  He wiggled his fingers playfully now that he knew the code.

               “Zav, no!  Don’t open that yourself!” Orion called to him.  He grabbed the gang leader off the floor and pointed his blaster at him.  Orion’s other hand took the Klatooinian by the collar.  “Make him open it.” Orion said, shoving the empty bag that used to carry the police uniforms into the Klatooinian’s hands.

               “Good idea,” Zave said.  He positioned the thug leader in front of the safe and held his rifle on him once again.  Orion turned to monitor the living room.  The Gamorrean had the hostages in binders.  He was keeping things under control.  Orion could hear raised voices outside. 

               “Get that off of there!  E chu ta!” Zave shouted.  Orion turned to look.  Zave continued, “This brainbolt has a thermal detonator wired up to his safe!”

               “Dumb,” Orion said.

               Zave shoved the barrel of his blaster into the thug’s back, “If that goes off, it’ll take the whole house with it, you blope-head! “

                “Thirty seconds, in and out, Zave.  This is taking too long,” Orion said.

                Orion turned to watch the hostages on their knees in the living room.  One of them snarled and shimmied a bit on the floor, baring fangs in Orion’s general direction. 

                “Easy there, long tooth.  Unless you want to taste laser for the rest of your life, you cut that out right now,” Orion said.

                Zave called from the next room, “Happy Life Day, Fixer.  We got the score!”

                The front window shattered suddenly.  A brick was the culprit.  Undoubtedly thrown by an angry gang member who was new on the scene and trying to get information from a Gran in a fake police officer’s uniform. 

                “Don’t fire.  Nobody fire,” Orion said, nodding to the Gamorrean who was not paying him any attention.  The green-skinned porcine enforcer was focused on the Klatooinian in front of him.  They were having a conversation in a language Orion couldn’t speak.  Their voices began to increase in speed and volume.  Orion recognized the signs of trouble brewing.

                “Don’t!” Orion shouted, not in time to stop the Gamorrean from firing his scatter blaster into the chest of the mouthy Klatooinian who had apparently insulted him.  Another shot rang out as the Gamorrean finished him off.  The next shot followed only a moment later and came streaking in through the shattered front window.  More followed.  Their cover was officially blown.

                Orion ducked back into the kitchen just before the doorjamb he was standing in played host to two quick bursts of blaster fire.  He had missed it by no more than a handful of seconds.

                “Go time, Zav,” Orion said, opening the rear door to the dwelling.

                Zave turned away from the safe to face him. 

                “What are you…?”

                Zave never got the chance to finish his question as Orion slugged him hard in the gut.  The Duros doubled over in pain and began to wheeze hard, straining for breath.

                “I tried to be nice,” Orion said.  The front room was now bathed in blaster fire.  Another hostage had been shot.  The Gamorrean took a round in the shoulder, then another in the forehead.  Orion grabbed Zave and hustled him out the back exit.

                The black bag with their hard-won item was left by the wayside.  Orion couldn’t think of a single thing it might contain that he was remotely interested in.  He changed his grip on his weapon, then whipped Zave across the face with the handle of his K-2 blaster.

                A trail of blood trickled across the Duros’s ample forehead.  Orion took him by the collar and dragged him across the clearing.

                He pulled a comlink from one pocket, keeping his K-2 pointed at Zave’s head.  He spoke fast and with an edge of panic.

                “Kento, I need you at the refugee district in Gardulla’s Kitchen in two minutes,” he said.

                “Who the hell is Kento?” Zave said, between wheezes.

                Kento’s reply crackled from the comlink, “I don’t know how to fly this thing.”

                Orion had no patience for that, “This is a great time to learn.  See you in two minutes!”

                Sirens and blaster shots could be heard beyond the row of dwellings.  Orion winced, knowing that innocent refugees were likely to get caught up in this disaster of violence that he’d helped to bring about.

                He dragged Zave down another row of dwellings, ducking in amongst hanging laundry, trying to stay out of sight. 

                Above them, a police probe droid was descending to take a closer look at the situation.  Orion could see its arms floating at odd angles, directing recordings of images and the paths of incoming officers all at once.

                “You see this Sithshow you put on here?” Orion asked.

                “You blew the op!” Zave said.

                “Shut your mouth.  You’re so glitbit you think you’re some kinda warrior.  If I didn’t need what’s in that big, empty head of yours, I’d put a hole in you right now,” Orion said, shoving Zave down an alley.

                When they emerged, Orion pulled the Duros thug into an alcove at the corner of a building.  A moment later, a cluster of uniformed officers ran by.  All armed, all looking for a fight.  Zave had enough wits about him to keep silent as the cops moved towards the disturbance they had created.  He might be mad at Orion, but jail was jail and the only thing he cared about now was a way out of this neighborhood.

                A low rumble came overhead.  They looked up.  To Orion, it was a glorious sight.  The Thunder Child passed slowly overhead.  He saw the ship’s big white wings rock back and forth slightly as it made its way down the block.  The clearing ahead marked the far end of the refugee district.  There was enough space for the ship to set down. 

                Orion shoved Zave out of the notch in the wall and they made their way up the street.  Behind them, a Rimpo District police speeder came around the corner, blue lights blazing bright in the darkness.

                Orion looked back over his shoulder at the approaching speeder.

                “We’re burnt,” he said, running for the clearing ahead.  He keyed his comlink, “Kento, I could use some backup out here.  We’ve got incoming.”

                “I can’t use the guns on this thing,” Kento said. 

                “Grab a blaster and cover us at the ramp!” Orion said, panting from the run and the adrenaline.

                Orion saw the Thunder Child settle on its landing legs.  The entry ramp swung down and made a thud as it hit the ground.

                A shout in Huttese came from somewhere on the right.  Orion saw a young Rodian emerge from a door, aiming a blaster at Zave.  Before he could react, the Rodian got a shot off.  The bolt caught Orion in the shoulder and spun him around.  He fell hard to the pavement.

                                                                                –

                Still dazed from his first taste of spice, Kento Marek saw Orion take a blaster shot and fall to the ground.  In the distance, the Rimpo Police speeder closed in on the scene.  Leaving Orion behind was not an option.

                Neither was using a lightsaber.  If anyone knew that the Jedi or the Jal Shey were looking for Montross, then it would likely lead back to that shopkeeper on Outland Station.  Not to mention any potential leads would dry up faster than a lake on Jakku.

                In the flight out from the Compendium, Kento had familiarized himself with the Thunder Child’s internal features.  One of which was a hidden compartment behind the cockpit where Orion kept a small cache of weapons and spare parts. 

                With the big wings of the Doomtreader taking up a considerable portion of the road, he unhooked his safety harness and grabbed a thin, sleek blaster pistol from the notch in the wall.  It felt odd in his hand.  He’d never held such a weapon before.  He tucked the weapon into his belt.

                Running down the landing ramp, Kento was confronted with a nightmare in searing lines of color. 

                Zave had picked up the chunky K-2 blaster that Orion carried and was firing it at anything that displeased him.  The young Rodian had disappeared down an alley after a close shot.  The police speeder had taken a couple of bolts as it charged down the street.  The driver had swerved at one angry red bolt that hit the windscreen.  The speeder had plowed into an open dumpster and angry police forces were scurrying out into the roadway.

                Despite his credentials, he felt sure that both his and Orion’s actions would not be met with an understanding eye by the local patrolmen.  Instead he ran the twenty meters to where Orion had fallen.  Zave turned around, holding the K-2 blaster and looked ready to aim it at Kento’s onrushing form. 

                Kento clocked him across the jaw with a closed fist.  Zave reeled and dropped the blaster on the ground, then fell himself.

                “So uncivilized,” Orion said, looking up at Kento from the ground.

                “But effective,” Kento said.  “Are you all right?”

                Orion nodded, “I just got the oxygen knocked out of me.  Help me up.  I’ll be okay.”

                Kento leaned down to help scoop up his partner.  Orion got a look at the wound for the first time.

                “Damned Rodian ruined a perfectly good jacket,” Orion said.

                Before he could get another word out, a shot sizzled over Kento’s head.  He could feel the heat of it singe his hair.  The Rodian had returned.  Kento looked up and saw another line of red energy coming straight at him.  He put a hand out and the angry red bolt stopped, less than a meter away from his face.  The crackle of energy echoed off the durasteel walls around them.  In the distance, more sirens and footsteps.

                The blaster bolt hovered in midair.

                The world around him froze as well.  Zave stared in awe at the unmoving shaft of energy.  Orion held still, half on Kento’s shoulder.  His eyes took in the red light with shock.  Even the attacking Rodian boy was dumbfounded by this turn of events. 

               Zave broke the stillness, “What the…?”

               Before he could get another word out, the Rodian lifted his weapon again and fired.  Kento did not have the focus to stop a flotilla of blaster shots.  Instead, in a flash he deposited Orion back on the ground and twirled on his toe and pulled the blaster from his belt. 

               More shots sailed over him as he brought the weapon up and squeezed the trigger.  The Rodian boy dropped to the ground like a stone.

                “Oh, no.  No, no, no,” Kento said, lunging towards the body, far too late to take back what had just happened.

                He had been aiming above the boy’s head.  Hoping to send him running again.  At worst, he would have hoped for a flesh wound, enough to slow the Rodian down.  Instead, the shot had caught him between his large, limpid eyes.  The stunned look and lifeless black pools burned into Kento’s brain.  He stared down in horror at the dead Rodian.

               Behind him, Orion got to his feet. 

               Zave had regained his senses.

                “What did you do?” Zave shouted, walking up to look at the body on the ground.

                Orion spoke for the stunned Jedi, “He just saved your life, Zave.  Now get in the damn ship,” Orion said.  He carefully took the blaster from Kento’s hands and tucked it away.  The Jedi could not stop staring at his victim.  The Rodian boy would never rise again and Kento knew that he was the architect of that fall.

                “I don’t mean that!  How did he stop a frelling blaster bolt?” Zave asked.

                “What are you talking about?” Orion asked, sounding incredulous.

                “That bolt stopped in midair!” Zave yelled.

                “Naw, it didn’t.  You’re talking crazy, spicesniffer.  That stuff’s invaded your mind,” Orion said.

                “The hell it has.  I know what I saw.”  Zave got to his feet, “Are you one of Braca’s boys?”

                “What crazy are you running, Zav?” Orion said, pointing his K-2 back at the Duros and shoving him further up the street.  He pulled Kento by the collar to get him moving. 

                “Did Braca send you here?  Are you on his payroll now?  His boys got that Jedi stuff.  They can do all that weird magic crap.”

                Orion turned to look at him sharply, “What did you say?”  He pointed his K-2 at Zave’s head.

                “Uh, nothing.  I don’t know.  Let’s get out of here,” Zave said.

                “What the hell did you just say about Jedi stuff, Zave?” Orion said.  With a wince, he herded both Kento and Zave up the ramp. 

                “Who the hell is Braca?” Orion said.  Behind them, another Rimpo District police speeder came around the corner, blue lights blazing bright in the darkness.

                “Braca’s nobody,” Zave said.

                “Uh huh, we’re gonna have a little chat about this guy,” Orion said, closing the Thunder Child’s ramp now that they were all aboard.

                Kento looked stunned and downtrodden.  Orion took him by the collar and shook him a bit.  When Kento’s eyes found his, Orion shoved the blaster into his hand and spoke.

                “Put this idiot in the cargo bay downstairs.  Lock him in there.  I’m gonna get us out of here.”

                Outside, through the hull of the ship, a loudspeaker could be heard:

                “Unidentified Doomtreader.  This is the Rimpo District Police.  Power down your engines and prepare to be boarded!”

                Orion looked back at the now-closed entrance to his ship, “Like hell, lawman.  We’re out of here.”

                Kento was still dazed.  He had barely heard Orion speak, much less comprehend the words.  He noted the Jal Shey Ranger heading up to the cockpit.  He knew Zave was looking at him as though he’d just grown another head. 

               Ten seconds later, both of them were knocked off their feet as the ship swiveled and then boosted away, leaving Nar Shaddaa, and the Rimpo police, far below.

                                                                                –

                Orion put Zave in the cargo bay and locked the door.  Kento went in search of someplace quiet, to process what just happened.

                He searched the ship’s galley for some kind of intoxicant.  Anything he could imbibe that would erase the memory of those huge, lifeless eyes.  Those black eyes that seemed to pull on him with a gravity that was too strong to resist.  Eyes that called to him beyond the veil of death.  Eyes that accused him. 

                He found nothing that he could identify as alcoholic.  Nothing that would even remotely affect his mind.  Orion struck him as a meat and starch kind of man and the contents of the cold storage chamber and the pantry seemed to confirm this.

                “Would it have killed you to have a bottle of Ryloth Ale on this entire damned ship, Xadau?” Kento said, shutting the pantry door in disgust.

                He sat with an empty glass, staring down at the random marks on the table, trying to forget the face of that young Rodian he had put down in the street.  The mottled red skin, bumpy enough before he had put a new mark between the eyes.  Did he have to take that shot? 

                Footsteps came echoing in from the corridor.  Orion walked into the galley and Kento looked up from the table.

                “Great work back there.  You got us out of that mess just in time,” Orion said.  He opened a cabinet door and pulled out a medkit.

                Kento couldn’t bring himself to talk about it.  Orion surveyed him and recognized the look.

                “Your first kill?” he asked Kento.

                Kento just nodded.

                “I’m sorry.  I know how it is,” Orion said, slipping off his jacket and shirt.  He peeled the backing off of a bacta patch and slapped it over the angry red wound on his shoulder.  His face contorted for a second and then relaxed.

                Orion groaned in relief, “That’s a lot better.  What’re you drinking there?” he said, nodding to the glass in Kento’s hand.

                Kento held up the empty glass, “You didn’t have anything strong.”

                “Oh.  I’m sorry.  Here, let me take care of that for you,” Orion’s hand extended, and he pulled the empty glass from Kento’s hand with the Force.  Kento watched him pull a stool out from under a countertop and stand on its lower rung.  Orion reached up for one of the pipes that ran under the ceiling panels.  The red pipe had a small valve handle and some kind of outlet.  Kento watched, baffled, as Orion opened the valve and a green liquid poured into the glass he’d been holding.  When it was a third full, Orion set it down on the counter, then snatched another empty glass with the Force and filled it with the same amount from the pipe.

                “What are you doing?” Kento asked, completely confounded.

                “The sublight fuel mix is nasty, but it’s also effective,” Orion said, putting the stool back.

                Kento stared at the glass Orion handed him, “As a beverage?”

                Orion held up a hand, “Don’t drink that straight.  It’ll kill you dead.”

                Kento put the glass down and sat back from it.  Orion went to the cold storage chamber and pulled a bottle of blue milk from the rear.  He opened the top and filled the remainder of both glasses, shaking his to swirl the liquids into a teal sludge that looked anything but appetizing.

                “You’ve got to cut it, otherwise it’ll eat you from the inside,” Orion said, holding up his own glass by way of a toast.

                “Are you serious?” Kento said, staring at the concoction in his hand.

                “Don’t knock it ‘til it knocks you over,” Orion said, taking a sip from his glass.

                The look on the Jal Shey Ranger’s face went from amused, to stunned, to pained and back again.  He set the glass down and let out a youthful, “Wheoup!” shaking his head in reaction to the drink.

                Kento Marek, a Jedi who, until recently, had never tried illicit substances or murder, now felt himself ready for yet another new experience.  He took a sip of the drink and felt the reverberations through his mind, all the way down to his toes.

                He shook his head, not quite ready to let out such a sophomoric yawp as his companion, but impressed nonetheless.

                “That’s shattering,” he said, taking another sip.

                Orion nodded and they drank in silence for a moment.

                “You said you knew how this is,” Kento said.

                Orion nodded.

                “Can I ask?” Kento said.

                “Twice.  Had to put down a raider who had hijacked this transport I was in.  It was a liner out of Kuat with a bunch of engineers.  Guy thought he’d rob some folks and take a transport pod out to get his payday.  But he saw this woman he took a shine to and tried to take her as a hostage.  I didn’t like her chances if he got away, so…”

                Kento nodded, “No shame in that.”

                “No shame in you putting down that Rodian with the blaster, either,” Orion said.

                “He was just a kid,” Kento said.

                “A kid with a blaster and a good aim,” Orion said.  “You want proof of that, take a look at my shoulder.”

                “I could have…” Kento said.

                “You could have what?  Held back more shots with your mind?  Tossed him off the pavement?  Let him kill me or that idiot downstairs before the cops showed up?”

                “There were other ways to handle it,” Kento said.

                “Guy draws down on you, he’s decided those other ways ain’t for him,” Orion said.  “I’m pretty sure you didn’t mind trick him into picking up a blaster and pulling the trigger.”

                “That’s not the point,” Kento said.

                “There ain’t no right way to handle this kind of thing, so I won’t tell you you’re doing this wrong, Jedi.  But I appreciate that I’m breathing right now and you had a lot to do with that.  And I’d rather you be breathing than him, if I had to pick between you.”

                “I wasn’t trying to kill him,” Kento said.

                “I wasn’t trying to kill that hijacker.  I didn’t wake up that morning wanting to do that.  But I took an oath to defend the helpless and there you go,” Orion said, downing the last of his drink, “I don’t know what your oath says, but I think you’re in the clear on this one.  Anybody gives you hell about it, you show ‘em this,” Orion said, tossing his burnt and holed bomber jacket onto the table.  Kento could see the blackened scorch marks where the blaster bolt had hit.

                He shook off the justification, “The Living Force teaches us that…”

                “Oh, don’t even start with that!” Orion said, interrupting him.  “The Force isn’t calling you to save lives or to take them.  You aren’t violating its will because you ended someone who was about to end you.  The Force doesn’t have a will.  No more than gravity does.”

               A beat passed and Kento took another sip from his glass.  Orion went on.

               “It’s survival.  Most natural thing in the galaxy.  Nothing good or bad about it.  You did what you did to save yourself and you saved me in the process.  You don’t owe that guy a thing.  He would have blasted me, you, Zave.  He had a shot in that weapon for all of us.”

                “I’m just saying that to take a life violates the spirit of what we as Jedi…” he trailed off, not quite knowing what the end of his thought was.

                “Don’t pawn your actions off on some all-powerful nonsense that you can’t get a handle on.  You pulled me out of the fire back there.  I’m not gonna let you beat yourself up over it,” Orion said.

                “You’ve got a strange way of thanking me,” Kento said.

                “If you want to get all existential, start blaming the spice or the Force or the blaster or whatever, that’s fine.  But you do a disservice to yourself.  Hell, you do a disservice to that Rodian in the street.  He made a choice to put himself in a fight.  You made your choice to do what had to be done.  Face it head on and you give him some respect in death.  Try to hide behind bad intentions or mysticism and you don’t do anybody any good.”

                Kento put his newly emptied glass down and sighed, “What was your second kill?”

                Orion looked at him in silence across the table for a moment.

                “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he said.

                                                                                –

                They both slept hard.  It had been a grueling day for both.  There was nothing more to be said.  Orion had his wound, Kento had his dead-eyed remembrance.  They both had one more round of milkfuel and went to bed.   

                The next morning Kento woke to the sounds and smells of frying meat emanating from the galley.  He padded in from his sleeping quarters and Orion put down a plate in front of him.  Kento silently took up a utensil and dug in.  The eggs and meat were some of the best he’d ever had.  It dawned on him that this was likely due to a long-imposed hunger, rather than Orion’s culinary skills.

                Orion sat across from him with a sandwich of the same foods.  Two mugs of caf sat on the table and they ate in silence.  Orion gave a perfunctory nod as he finished and put his plate and cup in the sonic dishwasher.

                Kento was in the process of handing his empty plate over when they heard a banging sound coming from the floor.

                “Fixer!  You better let me out of here right now!” Zave said, shouting from the cargo bay in the belly of the ship.

                Kento and Orion looked back and forth at each other and shared a guilty laugh.

                “Uh, did we forget we had a prisoner down there?” Orion asked.

                “It appears so,” Kento said, staring down at the floor.

                “Well… that’s… different,” Orion said, not quite sure what else to say.

                “I mean, we were pretty drunk,” Kento said.

                “Not that drunk,” Orion said.

                “Is there a refresher down there?” Kento asked.

                “There is not,” Orion said.

                “Oh.  Well, we’d probably better check on him,” Kento said, rising from his seat.

                “I suppose.  Not like we have better things to do,” Orion said, leading Kento out of the ship’s galley.

                “What’s our course?” Kento asked as they walked down the hall.

                “I put us in the spacelane headed for Kessel.  If anyone tracks us, we’ll look like spice smugglers trying to get away.  After we deal with him, I’ll pull us out of hyperspace and replot our course,” Orion said.

                “Sounds good,” Kento said.

                “FIXER!!” came the shout from the cargo bay.

                “Why does he call you that?” Kento asked.

                “When I ran undercover with these guys, I got in with them by fixing a couple of their freighters.  The ships had been sabotaged and they didn’t have a competent engineer in the gang.  No one knew how to fix it,”

                “And you did?” Kento asked.

                “Of course I did.  I’m the one who did the sabotage,” Orion said.

                Kento laughed as they made their way down the ladder.  On one side was the egress ramp, closed against the vacuum of space.  On the other side was a door with a single window that allowed them to look at Zave, in an otherwise empty cargo bay.

                The Duros thug looked quite upset with his predicament.

                Orion dragged over a crate and sat down, facing the window, “Morning, Zave.  How did you sleep?”

                “Let me out of here right now, Fixer, or your next death notice won’t be quite so fictional,” Zave said.

                “What a charmer he is,” Kento said.

                “You Sithspit traitor!” Zave said.

                “Calm your blue butt down, Zave,” Orion said.

                “Right now, or Seris will send everything she’s got after this decrepit little cutter of yours,” Zave said.

                “They always threaten you,” Orion said to Kento. 

                “So I can see,” Kento said.

                “Hey, I’m talking at you!” Zave shouted.

                Orion spoke louder to Zave, “Shut up.  Just shut up.  I am so done dealing with you like a man.  Seris isn’t going to send so much as a bartender after you, Zave.  She’s got a dozen other thugs to worry about.  You’re a rounding error to her.  You want to be useful?  You want out of that hold?  Tell us about Braca.”

                Kento prompted him, “You said his people had Jedi skills.  What did you mean?”

                “I’m not telling you anything until you let me out of here and let me use a damned refresher!” Zave said.

                Orion shrugged and opened the door.

                “What are you doing?” Kento asked.

                “I don’t want him making a mess in my cargo bay.  You see a cleaning droid around here?”

                Zave stepped out and looked between the two of them.  Orion pointed a thumb at the ladder behind him.

               “Upstairs, first door on the right after the galley.  Touch anything important and I’ll have him lightsaber your face off,” Orion said.

                Kento blanched at the threat, but Zave seemed unaffected.  He rushed up the ladder quickly.  Orion followed him up.

                “You really think it’s safe to let him out of there?” Kento asked.

                “I think we can take him if he gets rowdy,” Orion said. 

                As they reentered the galley, Orion set the stool on one side of the table and moved the two chairs to the other.  A few minutes later when Zave emerged from the refresher, Orion waved him to the stool. 

                “Braca,” Orion said.

                “Why should I tell you a thing?” Zave said.

                “I’m the one flying this ship.  I choose where you get off.  You want to go back home?  You want to go to Kessel?  How about Oovo IV?  How about in open space a few lightyears away from Oovo IV?”

                “If he’s a Jedi, he’s not going to let you space me,” Zave said.

                “If he was a Jedi, he’d just rip the knowledge out of your head,” Orion said.

                “He can do that?” Zave said.

                “You wanna find out?” Orion said.

                “I think you’re bluffing,” Zave said.

                Orion tapped Kento on the foot under the table.  Kento looked at him sideways.  Orion nodded.

                Kento put out a hand.  He waved it past Zave’s face.

                “Tell us what you know about Braca,” Kento said.

                Zave blinked.  He looked unmoved, “This is what you’ve got?”

                Orion looked at Kento and shrugged one shoulder towards Zave.

                Kento waved his hand again, “You want to tell us what you know about Braca.”

                Again, Zave seemed unaffected.

                Orion put a single finger in the air and said to Zave, “Give us a moment.” 

                “Take your time,” Zave said.

                Orion put a hand on Kento’s shoulder, and they turned to confer quietly, “What’s going on?”

                Kento sounded apologetic in his whisper, “I don’t know.  This has never happened to me before.”

                “You think it’s the shooting?” Orion asked.

                “No, I think it’s the spice,” Kento countered.

                “That stuff can mess with your brain,” Orion said.

                “Either way, this isn’t happening,” Kento said.

                “So what do you want to do?” Orion said.

                “You’re the Ranger.  Did they teach you interrogation on D’rinba IV?” Kento said.

                “Okay, okay.  Relax,” Orion said. 

                They turned back to Zave, who looked more smug than his Duros face seemed to allow for.

                “You two about done?  Can I go home now?” Zave said.

                “Okay, you’re right.  He’s no Jedi.  He can’t invade your mind.  But that means he also doesn’t give a damn if I dump you in a gundark nest,” Orion said.

                “I know you, Fixer.  You’ve got that messed up sense of honor among thieves.  And you’re a bad liar.  Why don’t you talk payment?  Or at least tell me what’s going on here?”

                Kento took the datapad from the countertop and activated it.  He pulled up the images of the dead Selkath victim.

                Zave looked down at the datapad and recoiled in horror, “Ugh, hey!  What is this?  What are you showing me here?!” he said, turning away.

                “Open your eyes!  That’s what we’re trying to stop!” Orion said.  “There’s a crazy guy out there who’s hunting people, pumping them full of spice, and carving up the bodies.”

                “And you want me to help you track him down?  What, so I can be his next vic?  I don’t think so!” Zave said.

                “He’s only going after Force users.  You wouldn’t be of any interest to him,” Kento said.

                “Sure, right,” Zave said.  “A guy carving people up doesn’t seem like he’d be vengeful at all.”

                “Okay, look, forget Braca for a second.  What do you know about a bounty hunter named Montross?”

                “You said forget about Braca,” Zave said.

                “Yeah, we’re talking about Montross now,” Orion said.

                “That’s still talking about Braca!  Montross is Braca’s hunter of choice,” Zave said.

                “Montross works for Braca?” Kento said.

                “I told you; I’m not talking about this!” Zave said.  “Quit trying to trick me.”

                “How do you know Montross works for Braca?  You’re in a rival gang,” Kento said.

                “Last year, we had a spice runner who went rogue.  He made off with a tanker worth of Kessel glitterstim.  Wanted to set himself up with a fat paycheck and leave us all in the dust.  We sent three bounty hunters after him.  Montross killed two of them and our runner.  Not long after that, we found some of Braca’s crew hawking that spice on Nar Shaddaa,” Zave said.

                “So he’s good?” Orion said.

                “He’s very good,” Zave said.

                “You think he could do this?” Kento said, holding up the datapad.

                “No way.  When Montross kills you, he just kills you,” Zave indicated the datapad, “That’s straight crazy,” he said.

                “But Braca?” Kento said.

                “Braca’s a kingpin.  He’s got people, just like Seris.  You keep them in line however you can,” Zave said.

                “Fear is a pretty powerful motivation,” Orion said.

                “You said his people have ‘Jedi stuff’.  What did you mean?” Kento asked.

                “They’re like you.  They can do all that hand-waving stuff.  Throw you across a room and stuff like that,” Zave said.

                “Do they carry lightsabers?” Kento asked.

                “Who the hell carries a lightsaber?” Zave said.

                “I do,” Kento said.  He pulled his saber from his belt and put it on the table.

                Orion looked down to admire the curved-handle of Kento’s lightsaber.  The chromium glinted in the lights of the galley.

                “That’s nice.  I haven’t seen one like that before,” Orion said.

                “Focus,” Kento chided.

                “Right,” Orion said.  Then he turned back to Zave, “Look, let’s bottom line this thing.  You can tell me where to find Braca and I’ll drop you off anywhere you want.  Name the planet and I’ll have you there fast as I can fly.  You’ll never see me again and I’ll forget your name.  All I need is a location.”

                Zave chuckled, “You two are idiots.  You never heard of Braca until yesterday.  And now you think you can just walk in and grab him.  What, after you deal with Montross out front?  I wish I could give you that location.  Just have you march right in and get your heads blown off.  You two deserve it,” he sighed, “Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that.  You’d know that if you did any research.”

                “What are you talking about?” Orion said.

                “Braca doesn’t have a base.  He’s not like Seris.  There’s no bar or hideout or whatever you’re picturing.  He stays mobile.”

                “On a ship,” Kento asked.

                “Yes, on a ship.  He’s got a big ship and he keeps it moving,” Zave said.

               Orion asked, “What’s the…”

               “I don’t know the name, or the registration, or where he flies.  As you can imagine, this isn’t a guy that people talk about all that much,” Zave said.

               “What about Montross?” Kento asked.

               “What about him?” Zave asked.

               “How do we find him?” Kento said.

               “He’s a bounty hunter.  Put out a bounty and wait.  Or dangle some money out of a window and see if he shows up.  C’mon, guys,” Zave said. 

               “You ever heard of Hoth, Zave?” Orion said.

               “No,” Zave said.

               “It’s about to be your port of harbor unless you tell me something useful.  They got these things called wampas.  You’re gonna love it there,” Zave said.

               Zave sighed and made an obscene gesture with his hand.  “What do you want from me, Fixer?  I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

               “I don’t need the Force to know you haven’t given me everything,” Orion said.

               “Fine.  There’s a bounty out now on a guy.  I figure Montross might be interested,” Zave said.

               “Where?”

               “Who’s the target?” Orion asked.

               “A guy named Voster Dent.”

                                                                                –

                “And so, after you spoke with the merchant on Outland Station, you contacted the local police?” Adi Gallia asked.

                “Yes, Master.”

                “And from them, you heard about the undercover identity of Master Vos?” Gallia asked.

                “Yes, Master.”

                “And that’s when you called me?” Plo Koon asked.

                “Yes, Master.  Just as soon as we left Outland Station,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                The communications console beeped and whirred as the image of Master Plo Koon materialized on the screen.  His face was unencumbered by a breathing mask, which told Kento that he’d reached the Jedi Master in his private quarters.  The Kel Dor species could not live in an oxygen atmosphere, but within his quarters at the Jedi Temple, other gases were piped in for the comfort of the respected Master.

                “Master Koon,” Kento said.

                “Kento, how goes it?” the Kel Dor master said. 

                Kento could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his former master without a mask.  The sight was startling.

               “The killer’s name is Braca.  We are tracing him through a bounty hunter that he uses to locate Force Users.  Somewhere in this galaxy is a being called Voster Dent.  We need to find him, and we need to find him fast.  He’s Braca’s next target,” Kento said.

               There was a rumble through the communications circuits.  It was impossible for an oxygen breather to accurately read the facial expression of a Kel Dor, but he could sense unease even through the screens and lightyears that separated them.

               “Do you know this person?” Kento said.

               An audible sigh was emitted from the speakers.  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Koon said.

               “Is he a Jedi?” Kento asked.

               Again there was a grumble, “Is your Jal Shey friend in the room, Kento?”

               Orion poked his head in from over Kento’s left shoulder, “I’m here, Master Jedi,” Orion said.

               “Could you not be?” Koon asked.

               “Um, sure.  It’s my ship, but I get it.  Everyone needs a little privacy,” Orion said.

               There was an awkward moment as Kento and Orion shared an exchange of silent glances.  Each unsure, each straining for graciousness.

               Orion shuffled past Kento, and an audible click of the bulkhead door could be heard.  The two Jedi could converse privately.

               “He’s gone, Master.  Who is Voster Dent?”

               “Voster Dent is an undercover identity for Quinlan Vos.  Vos has been infiltrating Hutt operations in the Outer Rim for some time,” Plo Koon said.

                “He’s in danger,” Kento said, matter-of-factly.

                “Do you really think so?” Koon asked.

                “Yes, I do,” Kento said.

                “He’s a full-fledged Jedi Knight, with years of training.  Very strong in the Force,” Koon said.

                “And the killer we are tracking has defeated many Force users.  We know of at least seven,” Kento said.

                “Seven?”

                “I’ll deliver the lightsabers after my mission is complete.  This man Braca is incredibly dangerous.  Wherever Quinlan Vos is, he needs to be aware of this threat,” Kento said.

                Silence passed between them.

                “Do you know where Quinlan Vos is, Master Koon?”

                “I’m sorry to say I don’t.  But I do have a comm code for him,” Koon said.

                “I’m ready to copy it down,” Kento said.

                “You need to be very careful.  If you interrupt him at a critical moment, you may well put his life at risk yourself,” Kento said.

                Kento could only think of one reply.  One Plo Koon had taught him as a boy.

               “Trust in the Force.”

                                                                                –

                Dawn breaks twice on Tatooine.  Under the long shadows of early morning, Quinlan Vos slept hard.  In a small hovel on the outskirts of Mos Espa, he rolled over groggily at the sound of his beeping comlink. 

                That wasn’t supposed to happen.  No one on this planet had his comm code. 

                Last night’s hangover made the beeping echo through his skull like a warship’s collision bell.  He needed to make it stop.  He went to the water tank.  Opening the valve, he threw a handful of cold water into his face.  That did the trick.  The beeping had gone from a howling fury to a reasonable annoyance.

                Withdrawing a lockbox from under his table, he entered the code on the tumblers.  The latch opened and he found the three most important objects to him on this planet.  One was his lightsaber, the other was his credentials, the real ones.  The last was the comlink that was his only connection back to the Temple on Coruscant. 

                He accepted the incoming signal and plugged the comlink into the projector.

                “Whoever this is, do you have any idea what time it is here?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

                “I don’t even know where here is,” Kento said.

                “Who the hell are you?” Quinlan asked, getting a good look at his caller for the first time.

                “My name is Kento Marek.  I’m an instructor on Ilum,” Kento said.

                “I haven’t been to the academy in years.  And last I checked, I don’t have to do homework anymore, so what do you want?”

                “I’m calling to tell you that you’re in danger,” Kento said.

                Quinlan looked at the projector sideways.  It dawned on him that he was shirtless, “I’m a Jedi on an undercover assignment on a planet controlled by the Hutts.  I’ve been in danger for three months.”

                “This is a different threat,” Kento said.

                Quinlan sighed and pulled up a chair, facing the projector again.  He put his head in his hands for a moment and groaned, then looked back at the blue holographic visage that confronted him.

                “What is it?” Quinlan asked.

                “There’s a bounty on your head,” Kento said.

                “There’s always a bounty on my head.  Which of my three undercover identities does someone want dead?”

                “Voster Dent,” Kento said.

                “I haven’t used that name in a long time,” Vos said.  “Who put a bounty on me?”

                “A spice runner named Braca,” Kento asked.

                “Braca?  I don’t have any beef with Braca.  What does he want with me?” Quinlan asked.

                “Braca is targeting Force users.  Jedi, Jal Shey, different types.  He’s killing them ritualistically,” Kento said.

                “Creepy, but okay.  What do you want me to do about it?” Quinlan asked.

               “Do you need to be extracted?  We have a ship.  If you tell us where you are, we can come and get you,” came another voice.

               “Who is that?” Quinlan asked.

               “Orion Xadau, I’m a Jal Shey Ranger working with Jedi Marek.”

               “Well, whoever you are, you’re not going to mess up my operation.  I’ve been at this too long now,” Quinlan said. 

               “We need to locate Braca.  You seem to be his next target.  I don’t wish to blow your cover, so I’m open to suggestions,” Kento said.

               “The bounty is for Dent?” Quinlan said.

               “That’s correct,” Kento said.

               “Good.  The last time anyone saw Voster Dent was on one of the moons of Cato Neimoidia.  I’ll book a ticket on a transport to Daiyu.  I’ll do it under the name Voster Dent.  There will be a record that a good bounty hunter could trace,” Quinlan said.

               “I see.  So you’ll book the ticket, but won’t make the flight?” Kento asked.

               “Exactly.  Fly to Daiyu and go to my safehouse there.  I’m transmitting the coordinates for it to you now,” Quinlan said, pressing a few buttons on his console.  “If they can find the flight, they can find my safehouse.  You’ll be able to wait for your hunter and get the drop on him there,” Quinlan said.

               Kento conferred with Orion offscreen and then returned his attention to Quinlan, “We can be on Daiyu in less than a day.”

               “I’ll arrange the flight tomorrow.  You may be in for a wait,” Quinlan said.

               “That’s fine with us,” Kento said.

               “Good.  Don’t ever contact me again,” Quinlan said.

               “Understood,” Kento said.

               “One more thing, who is Braca sending after me?” Quinlan asked.

               “A bounty hunter named Montross,” Kento said.

               “Hmph, he must really want me dead.  Best of luck.” Quinlan said.

                                                                                –

               The Thunder Child set down at a busy dockyard on the planet Daiyu.  They had stuck Zave back in the cargo bay.  He’d served his purpose.  Orion went to give him the happy news that they were going to let him go, now that he could cause them no trouble.

               As Orion descended the ladder and peered through the cargo bay window, he saw the Duros crouched in the far corner.  He was bent over, with his back to the door.  Orion thought something might be amiss, so he opened the door in a flash. 

               His orange saber lit the dim cargo bay as he walked brusquely towards his captive.

               “Set away, there, Zave.  What have you got there?”

               The Duros turned.  Orion saw an orange powder around Zave’s face.  His red eyes flashed bright with the sheen of a spice high.  The Jal Shey Ranger was disgusted, if relieved.  Better a stash of spice than a thermal detonator.  He deactivated his saber.

               “Zave, you idiot.  Why have you got to get into that right now?  I was just about to let you go,” Orion said.

               “I step off this ship and I’ve got scary men who want me dead.  Might as well enjoy it while I can,” he said, shaking the empty vial of spice.

               “Nothing like a good fix,” Orion said, shaking his head.

               “You killed me.  You know that?  If Montross hasn’t marked me yet, then Braca surely will,” Zave said.

               Orion rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we’ve all got problems.  I kinda doubt you’re important enough for them to care about.  And I’m about to make it not matter.  Get up.  This is your port of harbor,” Orion said, grabbing him by the back of his collar.

               Orion marched him to the landing ramp and all but shoved him off the ship.  Zave stumbled and then started to laugh maniacally.   Kento looked on at this little melodrama and was anything but amused.

               “Go back to Nar Shaddaa, or better yet, go do something else,” Orion said.  “Whatever you’re thinking about, forget it.  History has proved your first thoughts aren’t winners.”

               Zave’s eyes seared into Kento’s mind, “Nothing I could do to you would compare to the wrath of the Black Queen.”

               “What are you talking about, spicesniffer?” Orion said.

               “You’ve seen her,” he said, pointing to Kento, “In your dreams.  The last and the first.  The final arc of the loop.  She’ll be glad to make you a part of her glory.”

               Zave pushed a chilling laugh into the putrid air between them.  Then he slowly backed away onto the streets of Daiyu.  He kept his eyes on Kento and Orion.  Which meant he never saw the hoverttruck that swept past and plowed into his right side.  The bulky vehicle flattened him into a shattered stew of bone and blood.  

               Orion and Kento shared a look of horror.  They raced to the streetcorner not ten meters away.  The truck carried on as if nothing had given it the slightest delay.  Droid drivers were programmed not to stop.  A crowd formed around the remains, but it quickly dispersed when blue lights appeared at the end of the block.  The Daiyu locals would handle this, and Orion saw nothing to be gained from informing the police of their involvement.

               Daiyu was a capacitor.  It soaked up stench and energy and grime and neon and spat them out in equal measures.  Everywhere you looked there were droves of people.  A fetid stew of life and decay, with a pinch of death mixed in for spice.  At every turn there were three different species Orion could identify and at least one he couldn’t.  The crowds shuffled on sidewalks.  They filed into hovertrains.  They conducted commerce and conversation.  For someone who could feel the energy of life, it was almost deafening to be in such a wash of it. 

               Kento was still stunned as they passed by a row of grimy shops.  Orion walked next to him but tried not to look the Jedi in the eye.

               “Are you okay?” Orion asked.

               “I uh…”

               “I’ve never seen anything like that either,” Orion said, finishing his thought.

               “Yeah,” Kento said, trying to shake the memory from his brain.

               “Do you have any idea what he was talking about?  That thing with the dreams and the, what was it?”

               “The Black Queen?” Kento asked.

               “Yeah,” Orion said.

               “No.  I don’t… no.”

               “He’s a spice user.  You can’t take him too seriously,” Orion said.

               “Well, not anymore,” Kento said.

               Orion coughed down a small chuckle, “When you were high on that stuff he gave you…” Orion let the thought trail off.

               “It was weird,” Kento said.

               “It always is, the first time.  And the twentieth,” Orion said.

               “You’ve had it?”

               “I was undercover for a year.  Didn’t have a choice,” Orion said.

               “Did it… I mean, what was that thing with the loop and the…”

               “I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,” Orion said.

               “I thought you wanted to know everything,” Kento said.

               “I thought I did too,” Orion said.  He grabbed Kento by the sleeve and pulled him into a building.  They had reached the safehouse.

                                                                                –

               Vos’s safehouse on Daiyu was somewhere between squalor and decrepit.  They had found a Trandoshan couple squatting there upon their first arrival.  It had taken a forceful suggestion to get them to move along to another apartment. 

               Kento was relieved that the place had running water, but that was about the only amenity it could boast.  The mattress, such as it was, was a patchwork of stains and smells that he dared not consider.  The view was of another building across an alleyway.  The natural aura was a cross between rotting meat and narcotic violations. 

               The cold storage had two bottles of Aqualish beer.  Sitting in the only two chairs that were structurally sound and bacterially non-invasive, Kento and Orion talked things out while they drank.

               “Are you doing okay with all of this?” Orion asked.

               Kento paused for a long moment, clearly in silent contemplation.  Orion was about to prompt him when he spoke first. 

               “Death, crime, spice.  You live in a world of madness.  You ever worry that it’ll corrupt you?  You ever worry if you’re a bad man?” Kento asked.

               Orion shook his head and sipped his ale, “No, sir. I know for sure that I’m a bad man.  The galaxy needs bad men.  We keep the rest of the bad men from the innocents.”

               Kento washed that insight down with a sip of ale.  Orion moved them to other subjects.

               “So, I’m thinking I should be his bait and we’ll have you concealed and ready to step in,” Orion said, cracking open his bottle on the edge of the table.

               “Why are you playing the bait?” Kento asked. 

               “From what we saw on Tertan-Ral, he hits his targets with spice,” Orion said.

               “Braca does, not Montross,” Kento said.

               “That’s an assumption.  Either way, we know spice is something that is used to incapacitate the victims,” Orion said.

               “So, why should it be you?” Kento said.

               “I saw how you were when you got that bump of spice back on Nar Shaddaa.  I thought I was going to have to take you to a medical droid,” Orion said, with a slight smirk.

               “It wasn’t that bad,” Kento said.

               “Let’s not lie to each other,” Orion said, with a mild smirk.  “I’m amazed you woke up, let alone were able to come get us.”

               Silence bore through the space between them.  They each contemplated the task to come and neither did so with relish. 

               Orion checked the time, “I think he’ll wait for night.”

               “I would, if I were him,” Kento said, nodding.

               Orion pulled the K-2 off his hip and toggled one of the switches on the blaster, “Here.  Take this,” he said to Kento.

               “I’m not shooting anyone,” Kento said.

               “You mean anyone else?” Orion said.

               Kento gave him a stern look.

                “Relax, I set it on stun.  You may need to put him down and a lightsaber in his back isn’t going to tell us where Braca is,” Orion said.

                Kento wrinkled his mouth but took the blaster.

                “One thing,” Orion said, putting a hand over his as he held the blaster, “We don’t talk this over.  He comes in.  He comes after me.  You shoot him.  He falls over.  No talking.  No bartering.  No bantha poodoo.  Put him down.”

                “Then what?”

                “Then we haul him back to the Thunder Child and figure out what’s next.  He’s too dangerous to deal with when he’s armed,” Orion said.

                “Another kidnapping?” Kento asked.

                “It’s not like I planned the first one,” Orion said.

                “Still, we’re going to get a reputation as kidnappers,” Kento said with a wry grin, taking a sip of his ale. 

                “It’s not an original plan, but it’s worked for us so far,” Orion said.

                Kento tapped his bottle against Orion’s and smiled, “Old Mandalorians had an expression: Drink it all, you’re dead tomorrow.”

                “Let’s hope Montross has a sense of humor,” Orion said.

                “Doubtful,” Kento said.  “If he gets the drop on you…”

                Orion waved away the concern, “I’ve heard tell of these Trandoshan enforcers from Black Sun.  Black Sun uses them for debt collection.  They don’t have to work too hard.”

                “Why is that?” Kento asked.

                “They have a method.  They catch you, then they tie you up.  They starve you for ten days.  Then they start cutting pieces off.  They cut off everything that isn’t vital and feed it to you.  By then you’re hungry enough to take it.”

                “Yeesh, that’s bad,” Kento said.

                “When there’s nothing left that you can’t spare, they bring out a deep fryer and cook what’s left.”

                Kento didn’t have a word for that.

                “Yeah, so, whatever we got in front of us… it ain’t that.”

                Color came back to Kento’s face slowly.  He sat back and downed the last of his beer.  “You know, we ought to have a nice meal.  We aren’t likely to have too many chances to sit and eat in peace from here on.”

                Orion’s eyebrows went up, “That does sound good.  You want to run out and grab us something?”

                Kento nodded, “Sure.  What do you want?”

                “Nothing fried.”

                                                                                –

                Kento found a hole-in-the-wall establishment that sold noodles with various accoutrements.  He paid the merchant well and went to an adjoining shop for a couple of bottles of water and a couple more with exotic tinctures. 

                The four flights of stairs leading up to the apartment were dimly lit and bug-infested.  He lamented the lack of a functioning turbolift in the building. 

                When he reached the door to the apartment, it was blasted off its hinges.

                He froze.  Almost losing his grip on the food containers.  He placed the bags on the floor and drew his lightsaber, fingering the button, but leaving it inactive.  The snap-hiss would surely alert an intruder to his presence.  The blaster stayed on his belt.  When the danger was close, he wanted something familiar. 

                He tiptoed inside, checking the corners of the room as he came through the door.  No sign of anyone.  The kitchen was empty.  So was the bottle he’d left on the table.  Orion’s wasn’t next to it.  There was no sign of his partner. 

               He heard a loud creak from the bedroom. 

               Kento’s head snapped around.  The door to the bedroom was cracked open.  He pushed himself flush against the wall and looked through the slit between the door and the wall.

               He saw Orion on the floor, he was face down.  Kento watched for a moment, but he couldn’t tell if the Jal Shey was breathing or dead.  His mind raced.  If Orion was already dead, he wasn’t sure if he could handle Montross on his own.  If he was stunned, then Montross might be using the body as bait. 

               He had to go in.  Fast and loud, or slow and quiet?  His heart raced.  He reached out with the Force.  He sensed the energy beyond the frame.  Montross was inside.  He was sure of it.

               An idea came to him.  It formed at the edge of his mind, like a hazy shadow.  Then suddenly it came into a clarity that he rarely felt.  It snapped into shape, crisp and sharp.  As a boy, Master Koon had taught him that such moments were insights into the will of the Force.  Orion had given doubt to that theory.

               In a clear voice, he spoke through the door, “Montross.  You are targeted.  Slowly, put your weapons down and your hands up.”

               “Whoever you are, stay away from the sabaac tables.  You’re a horrible bluffer,” Montross said.

               Kento had been taught that violence had to be a last resort.  He was proud neither of what he had done, nor of what he was about to do.  But justice demanded action.

               The hilt of his lightsaber emitter made a slight noise as he pressed it to the wall.  The snap-hiss that he had worried would give him away now sounded muffled as the blade of his saber cut through the wall between him and Montross.

               In a streak of plaster, steel, and blue plasma, Montross saw the lightsaber blade burst from the wall and come for his throat.  Kento cut through the wall and slashed hard for the spot where Montross stood.  The rush of panic echoed from Montross and was more than enough to confirm his location.  Even then, the bounty hunter let out a shocked yawp as he stumbled back, trying to avoid the blade.

               Kento wasted no time, using a surge of the Force to shove through the flimsy wall.  Shabby residences like this rundown building used cheap material as a matter of course.  The shards burst forth in a hypnotic shower as he shoved his way into the room.  Kento shut his eyes to avoid the spray of debris.  Vision itself was superfluous now.  The Force told him all he needed to know. 

               A quick slash and the blaster rifle Montross carried was cut in half.  The bounty hunter was falling back on his heels.  When he hit the floor, he backpedaled.  By the time he reached the far wall, Kento’s blade was under his chin.

               Montross looked up.  His white hair stood on end.  After a beat he brought his hands together and clapped, “Nice move, Jedi!”

               Kento smiled despite himself. 

               “If you’re not going to kill me, would you mind if I stood?”

               Behind him, he heard a groan.  Orion flailed a bit on the floor.  Kento fought all his instincts to keep from turning to look. 

               “Toss… the guns,” Orion said, groaning.

               Kento nodded, jutting his chin at the ankle holster on Montross’s armor.

               Montross reached for it with both hands.  Kento snapped the saber blade in front of his eyes, “One hand, two fingers, toss it in the corner.”

               Montross slowed his movement, putting his right hand up.  His left hand slid the holdout blaster out of its holster and slid it across the floor.

               “One… more,” Orion said, still clearly in pain.

               Montross shared a look with Kento, then sighed and nodded.  He reached under the brown shoulder plate of his Mandalorian armor and pulled out a smaller blaster.  Again he tossed it away.

               “Blades,” Orion said.  Kento heard him groan as he sat up.

               Montross pulled a vibroblade from the gauntlet on his wrist.  With a pair of pinched fingers, he tossed it in the corner.

               Behind Kento, Orion groaned and fell back on the floor, face up this time, exhausted.

               “You didn’t kill him?” Kento asked, throwing a shoulder back to indicate the stunned Jal Shey Ranger on the floor.

               “I’m here for Dent.  If Dent wasn’t here, I need him alive to tell me where he is,” Montross said.

               Kento nodded, “Get up.”

               Montross put a hand on each of the walls that cornered him.  As he rose, Kento felt a strange sensation at his back.  In a flash, a blue bolt came from between his legs.  The stun shot hit Montross square in his chest plate.  He crumpled back to the floor in a heap.

               Kento turned and saw Orion holding his K-2 blaster, ripped by the Force from its temporary residence on Kento’s belt. 

               “No… frelling… talking,” Orion said.  Then he fell back on the floor.

               Kento looked back and forth between the two stunned men. 

                                                                                –

               It was easier than he thought to hire a load lifter droid.  The company that hired them out didn’t ask questions.  And the droid itself didn’t even have a vocabulator.  Kento threw all Montross’s weapons and armor into a bag.  When the white-haired bounty hunter stirred, he fired another stun bolt into his back.  That stopped the groaning.

               He put a shoulder under Orion’s arm and together they gave the appearance of two drunks staggering back from a bad night at the cantina.  Walking a few paces behind the load lifter, they were simply one pair of unsavory characters in a stew of seedy eccentrics. 

               He paid the droid’s fee with a few coins in its receiving slot and then used the Force to deposit Montross’s thick frame into the cargo hold.  He poured Orion into the small bed aft of the ship’s galley, then went to the cockpit.

               An hour later, he was in open space and Orion padded in, groggy and limping.

               “You alright?” Kento asked.

               “Yeah, he hit me in the leg, and it still hasn’t woken back up yet.  But I’m good,” Orion said.

               “Good,” Kento said.

               Orion looked over the ship’s consoles, “What’s our…”

               “HEY!  Let me out of here!” came a loud and angry voice from below.

               “I think our guest is awake,” Kento said.

               “Let’s see if he’d like some breakfast,” Orion said.

               “Have I mentioned how much I love running a B&B with you?” Kento asked.

               “No, but it’s nice to hear you say so,” Orion said as they made their way down the ladder. 

               “Hellooo, Montross,” Orion said as they looked in on him through the window in the door. 

               “You’re kidnapping me?” Montross said with a snarl.

               “Oh, I’m sorry, you object to being taken somewhere against your will, bounty hunter?” Kento said.

               Montross rolled his eyes, “If you’re not gonna kill me, what’s the point of this?  Is there a bounty on me now?”

               “Braca,” Orion said.

               “I don’t give up clients,” Montross said.  “It’s bad for business.”

               “He’s a bad client,” Kento said.

               “I don’t care,” Montross said.

               “He’s giving you a bad name out there,” Orion said.

               “What are you talking about?” Montross asked.

               “Have you seen what he does with the people you bring him?” Kento asked.

               “Of course not.  That’s not the job,” Montross said.

               “He guts them and drains the blood,” Kento said.

               “And pays promptly,” Montross said.

                “You really want to get a reputation for being morbid?” said Kento.

                “With some clients, that might help,” replied the bounty hunter.

                “Ugh,” Kento said, disgusted.

                A silence settled for a long beat.  Orion saw that letting Kento try the moral approach was a mistake.  He changed tactics. 

                “I’m curious about your methods,” Orion said.

                “What do you mean?” Montross asked.

               “Word on the street is that you don’t do live bounties.”

               “Carefully cultivated word,” Montross said.

               “So why drag home live bodies for Braca?” Orion asked.

               Montross rubbed the fingers of one hand back and forth.

               “I still get my kills in when I need to,” Montross said.

               “Oh yeah?” Orion asked.

               “You should talk to the last guy who tried to interfere with my business.  Oh wait, you can’t.”

               “Big, tough guy,” Orion said, acting unimpressed.

               “Shopkeeper had that same attitude,” Montross said.

               “What?” Orion said, turning to look him in the eye.

               “Some fool on Outland Station who didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.  I made sure that mouth will never open again.  Fat, ugly, slob.”

               Orion turned to look at Kento.  Kento had a hand to his mouth and his eyes had gone wide.  Orion pulled him away from Montross’s gaze. 

               He gripped Kento’s shoulder and spoke to him in a honed whisper, “Don’t let on.”

               “What?” Kento asked matching his low volume, “He killed your friend!”

               “Shh!  There’s no reason for him to know we were involved.  Information is all we have here.  Let’s not give away some out of anger,” Orion said.

               “I’m not letting this pass,” Kento said.

               “Braca first.  We throw Montross to the authorities and Braca will go so deep underground we’ll never find him.”

               “Are you really going to pretend like nothing happened?” Kento asked.

               “If Dex was here, he’d tell you the same thing.” Orion said.

               “Are you two handmaidens done gossiping?” Montross called out.

                Orion changed the subject, “What do you fly?”

                “What’s it to you?” Montross said.

                “Just answer the question,” Orion said.

                Montross harrumphed and looked around the empty hold, “I fly a CloakShape.  Not much, but it could outfly and outfight this hunk of junk.”

                “What does Braca fly?” Orion asked.

                “Ha!  Nice try, blue.  I’m not that stupid,” Montross said.

                Orion held up an empty hand, “Look, is his ship nicer than yours?  I mean, you’re a bounty hunter.  CloakShapes are small.  How do you even fit a bounty in there with you?”

                Montross laughed, “Most of the time I just bring the heads.”

                “Charming,” Orion said.  Kento turned away from this loathsome character.

                “What’s your point, blue?” Montross asked.

                “I’m betting whatever he flies is better than your dinky little starfighter.  How’d you like to trade up?”

                Montross stroked his stubbled chin, “At least you’re starting to get interesting.”

                Kento chimed in, “And we’ll let you keep the spice.  His ship will be loaded with it.  You can sell it off, no questions asked.”

                Montross looked pensive, “Do you have anything remotely resembling a plan?”

                Orion stepped forward, “Contact him through your usual channels.  Tell him you located Voster Dent on a ship.  This ship.  You’ll give him the course and position and he’ll take it from there.”

                “That’s not usually how this works,” Montross said.

                “Then make something up!  Earn your money, nerfherder.” Orion said. 

                “You might even get him to make an upfront payment for the freighter coordinates,” said Kento.

                “Not likely, but it’d be nice.  Still, a new ship isn’t worth betraying a client.  Word gets around,” said Montross.

                “Braca’s not going to be a free man for long whether you do this or not.  We’ll get him with or without you.  You can either sit back and watch, or you can get paid a lot of money for a bare minimum of work.  You pick it.  By the way, option three is you learning to breathe vacuum real fast,” said Orion.

                Montross steepled his fingers and laughed.  “That’s the spirit!  Hey Jedi, you could learn something from your friend here.  At least he’s not playing around,” said the pale bounty hunter. 

               Clearly, they’d gotten his interest. 

               Orion looked him over, “It’s not about the money for you, is it?  It’s not even about the reputation.  You don’t have any real loyalty to Braca.”

               “Don’t think you understand me so easily,” Montross said.

               “You sat there this whole time and the word ‘credits’ hasn’t come out of your mouth,” Orion said.

               “What’s your point?” Montross said.

               “You like the hunt,” Orion said.

               “I love the hunt,” Montross said. 

               “Would you rather hunt the weaklings that Braca has you taking down now, or do you want a prize that’s truly worth your time?”

               “Braca himself,” Montross said.

               “Anyone can take down a padawan.  It takes a true hunter to take down a kingpin.”

               Montross gave a hearty laugh and crossed his arms.

               “Toss in a thousand credits and you’re on!”

                                                                                –

               “And so, you set a trap for this man Braca,” Gallia asked.

               “With Montross’s help,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                  After the credits had been transferred, the tension lessened somewhat.  Montross had gone from kidnapping victim to hired mercenary, and he was still a professional.  Orion wasn’t impressed with the lack of a snarl from their newest visitor.  He kept a wary eye on Montross and Kento joined him in his suspicions. 

                They sat on either side of Montross as he worked the communications console.  This was their first look at Braca. 

                He wore a mask.  A thin hood of black material framed the durasteel oval that covered his face.  A pair of lines cut vertically over the eyes, all the way to the base of both cheeks.  There was no aperture for the mouth or nose.  Black ovals, linked with a line, marked the eyes.  The visage was designed for ominous anonymity.  It was the mask of an assassin, a cutthroat, a man who would sacrifice honor for power. 

                The voice that came forth was controlled, but edgy, “Montross, do you have my package ready?”

                Right to business. 

                “Hit a bit of a snag.  I found Dent on Daiyu, but he slipped away.  He stowed away on a Doomtreader before I could cut him off.  I’d go after him myself, but my ship’s hyperdrive is down.  I need to get it fixed, but I know where he’s going.”

                Braca pursed his lips and looked off to the side, perhaps at an underling.  Perhaps not.

                “This is unlike you, Montross.  I expected better,” Braca said.

                “You can have him now, or I can bring him in later, what’s your pleasure?” Montross said.

                Braca gave him a disapproving look.  He sighed and nodded, “Send the damned data.  If I get to him before you do, your reward money is forfeit.”

                “That’s why I always take half upfront,” Montross said, with a bit of a chuckle.  He pressed a few buttons and the ship’s navicomputer transmitted the data packet. 

                Braca looked aside to another screen and examined the incoming information.

                “Adrathorpe?  You think he could be heading for Jedha?” Braca asked.

                “You pay me to shoot, not to speculate,” Montross said.

                “If I get there and he doesn’t show, I won’t be paying you ever again,” Braca said.

                “He’ll be there,” Montross said.  He projected the confidence of a man who was comfortable ending lives.

                “We will see,” Braca said.

                                                                                –

               It would take a while to reach the Adrathorpe system.  Montross, being the least nervous man onboard, was asleep in the cargo bay.  Kento found Orion, munching on a midnight snack in the galley. 

               For a long time, neither of them spoke.  Orion waved a hand to indicate the fuel line, offering to fix Kento another of his milkfuel specials, but Kento shook him off.  He wanted nothing that might dull his senses in the coming fight. 

               But there was a question on his mind that remained unanswered.

               “With your friend, Dex…”

               “Don’t do that to yourself,” Orion said.

               “I’m just so sorry,” Kento said.

               “When the time comes, we’ll get justice for Dex.  But he can wait,” Orion said.

               “I just…”

               “It’s okay,” Orion said.

               They sat in silence for a bit.  Somehow, sharing a space allowed them to share their burdens.

               “What was your second kill?” Kento asked. 

               Orion paused, sighed and rubbed his face, clearly pained from the extraction that Kento was now causing.               

                “You think the Force has a sense?  Can it make choices?  Does it know how we suffer?  Does it care?” Orion asked.

                Kento grimaced and shrugged, “I’d like to think it cares.  I’d like to think that it tries to tell us all to do better.”

                Orion gave a single chuckle of an exhale.  There was no humor in it, “One of my first assignments as a Ranger was to look into slave trafficking out near the Rishi Maze.  Bad business.  We’ve been trying to stop it for decades now.  But the Jal Shey aren’t exactly a massive group.  And we have more Scholars than Rangers.”

                “I noticed,” Kento said.

                “We needed to know what routes they were using to get off Nal Hutta, so I volunteered to be sold at one of the slave trading houses.”

                “That was bold,” Kento said.

                “Be without fear in the face of your enemies,” Orion said, quoting his oath by way of an explanation.  He continued, “I was on this transport, in a hold with a few hundred others.  They didn’t have to keep us in binders.  The only way out was ray shielded and about twenty meters over our heads.”

                “Effective,” Kento said.

                “Very,” Orion said.  “While I was in there, I met this Twi’lek girl.  Her name was Sana.  Beautiful.  Such a cliché, I know.  Twi’lek girls are victimized at a ridiculous rate.  There were probably two dozen like her around the hold.  But she and I got to talking.  She wasn’t from any special family on Ryloth.  No money.  No prestige.  But she was smart.  She learned navigation and took a job on a freighter.  It was honest work.  No smuggling, just a small shipping outfit.  Legitimate and proper.”

                “That’s pretty rare in the Outer Rim,” Kento said.

                Orion nodded, “Her ship got hit with an ion storm and had to put down on this small moon.  It got bad.  They ran out of food pretty fast.  She talked about how her crewmates turned pretty savage after a few weeks.  She was worried about being… she was worried about what the men would do to her; so, she ran.  Took the other woman who had survived, and they fled into a wasteland.  Just with the supplies on their backs.  The other woman froze on the third day.  Went down, never got back up.”

                Orion shivered, “She trekked across a tundra, alone, for… well, she lost track of time.  She was half-starved by the time she found shelter.  Said that she just kind of collapsed in this little igloo that was abandoned.  When she woke up, they’d found her.”

                “Her crew?” Kento asked.

                Orion shook his head, “Zygerrian slavers.  Vicious cutthroat types.  Even by Hutt standards.  They used the moon as a supply cache.  Came back to stock up and, what do you know, they found a Twi’lek girl just waiting to be captured.”

                “Terrible,” Kento said.

                “Terrible was what happened next.  I’ll give you the kindness of sparing you the details, but, whatever you imagine, it was worse,” Orion paused, gathering himself, “After they had their fun, they sold her to another group and eventually we wound up on the same ship together.  Girl had done nothing wrong, but that’s where the Force brought her.  Your vaunted Living Force that’s in all of us.  Including those men she ran from.”

                Kento let the thought wash over him for a beat.  He hated himself for asking, but he had to, “Orion… what happened to her?”

                “I happened,” Orion said.  “You know I couldn’t let that go.  The plan was to wait for me to be sold to a slaver before extracting me.  But they wouldn’t sell us as a group, so… I decided to blow the operation.”

                Kento nodded, unsurprised at that twist.

                “When we put down on Ord Mantell, I used a mind trick to get past a guard.  I’m not nearly as good at that as you, but I just clouded his mind enough to let us walk past,” Orion said.

                “Just the two of you?” Kento said.

                “I figured my extraction team would have come back for the others later.  The plan was just to figure out their shipping patterns.  We didn’t want to stop one shipment, we wanted to stop all of them,” Orion said, indignantly.

                “I was just asking,” Kento said.

                “Yeah.  We ran.  Stole a speeder and Czerka Security came after us,” Orion said.

                “Czerka?  You were sold to Czerka Corporation?” Kento said.

                “You think you build a corporate empire with justice and mercy?  You know how many ‘sentient assets’ they keep on their books?”

                “I…” Kento said.

                “Save it,” Orion said.  “While we were running, Sana found a blaster in the speeder’s storage box.  I drove, she shot at them.  Took out two of the speeder bikes.  She was good.

                “Sounds like it,” Kento said.

                “I was working the comms, trying to get my people to come in and get us, but I couldn’t reach them.  The Czerka guys closed in.  There was a crash.  The whole thing went to hell,” Orion sipped his drink and winced from the taste.

                “I crawled out from under the speeder and found the blaster on the ground.  Two guards were already taking her.  I hit the third with a round and he caught me in the hip,” Orion said.  He patted his right side, marking the location of the wound.  “I went down, and I really thought that was it.  It hurt like hell.  I saw them dragging her away and she was screaming at me.  Begging me.  She didn’t want to go back.”

                Kento nodded.

                “One shot.  It was clean.  She didn’t suffer.  Czerka guys were pissed, but they didn’t kill me.  Slaves are worthless if you shoot them.  Two weeks later, the Jal Shey pulled me out, just like they planned.  Then Czerka changed their shipping routes, so we lost the opportunity.”

                Kento sighed, “That’s just…”

                “Awful?  Horrible?  Appalling?” Orion asked.  “I’ve heard them all.  None seem to do her any good.  I’ve seen a lot of bad in the galaxy.  Seen a lot of…” he trailed off and finished his drink.  “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t see the Living Force in all of us.  I stick to what I can measure.  What I can see.  And I can see that not all of us are worthy of redemption.  If the Force has any kind of will, then I want no part of it.”

                                                                                –

               The Thunder Child exited hyperspace on the outer edges of the Adrathorpe system.  Orion set a course that would take its time transiting through the orbits of the inner planets.  Once again, all they had to do was wait.

               Kento meditated in the galley.  Orion came down from the cockpit and interrupted him.

               “Montross?” Orion asked.

               Kento sighed as he came out of his meditative mindset, “He’s in the refresher,” he said, nodding to the door that led aft.  “I sealed off access to the engine room.  I don’t think he can cause much trouble.”

               Orion gave a half-shrug, “Fine.  As long as he behaves.”

               “Won’t be long now,” Kento said.

               “I want to go over his intel again,” Orion said.

               And right on cue, Montross emerged into the ship’s galley.  His armor was stored in a corner.  He strode in, naked and unashamed.  Orion rolled his eyes.  Kento’s were politely averted.

               “This is a fine ship, blue.  I haven’t seen water pressure like that outside Chandrilla,” Montross.

               “I’m surprised they let you on Chandrilla,” Orion said.

               “Hah!” Montross said.

               “Let’s go over what we’re facing again,” Kento said.

               Montross donned his underarmor, “Jedi are so boring.”

               “How many?  What do they have to throw at us?” Orion asked.

               “Braca has two enforcers.  They’re like him,” Montross said.

               “What do you mean by that?” Kento asked.

               Montross sat down across the table, “They have the Force.  All your mystical energy stuff,” he said, waving his hand in the air between them.

               “Weaponry?”

               “Nothing all that special.  Blasters of every sort.  Vibro-blades.  When they need to get a point across, they usually just choke you,” Montross said, holding his hand out and squeezing the air.  He gave a wry chuckle.  “Why bother shooting someone when you can do that?”

               Kento frowned and bit the corner of his mouth, “No lightsabers?”

               Montross paused for a soft beat, “Nah.  Never seen anything like that from his people,” he said.

               “This is strange,” Kento said.

               “How so?” Orion asked.

               “I just was figuring he was a rogue.  An ex-somebody.  A lost Jedi or some-such.  A Force user of some stripe that fell to the Dark Side,” Kento said.

               “I think that’s accurate,” Orion said.

               “But no signature weapon?  Nothing distinctive?  Half the Force sects in the galaxy carry something notable,” Kento said.

               “But not the other half,” Orion countered.

               “Still, it’s strange.  Especially if he thinks of himself as a Sith,” Kento said.

                “Look, I’ve fought Jedi before, but it was usually a fair fight.  You’ll need to keep him from using the Force against me and the beat cop here,” Montross said.

                Kento nodded, “I can keep him in check.”  He didn’t let on about Orion’s powers.  Montross’s ignorance was an advantage.

                “If not, we’re all dead,” Montross said.  He had no mark of fear in his voice.  A hunt was not glorious if it had no danger.

                                                                                –

                “Alert!  Vessel on approach!  Alert!  Vessel on approach!” the ship’s computer announced. 

                Orion sat down in the cockpit and checked the screens.  He killed the alarm and activated the ship’s intercom. 

                “We have incoming.  It looks like a large freighter.  Mon Cal construction.  Not running a transponder code,” Orion said.

                “That’s him,” Montross said over the ship’s speaker.

                “Kento, open the weapons locker and let our houseguest have his pick.  Then get in the aft section and wait.  They’ll come in through the top hatch,” Orion said.

                He plotted a course for the edge of the system, but locked the ship’s sublight throttle at three-quarter’s speed.  Braca needed to see a target running for its life, but not one that was so fast it would get away. 

                Coming back to the galley, he looked up at the top hatch and made a quick calculation. 

                “Given the course and speed, I think we have about three minutes before…”

                The lights went out throughout the ship.  The everpresent thrum of the engines fell to stark silence.

                “Ion blast,” Orion said.

                “Here he comes,” Montross said.

                “Quiet,” Kento said.

                Emergency lighting activated.  Dim and amber, giving the ship a stressed feeling.  Orion looked aft and saw Montross donning his helmet and gripping his DK-42 Blasterbuss.  The wide angle of the barrel would serve him well in close quarters. 

                “Did you get a rebreather?” Kento asked, holding up his mask. 

                Orion pulled a face mask off the wall and put it on.  On the galley ceiling, a mechanical whirr-snap echoed through the ship’s hull.  The Thunder Child was about to be boarded. 

                The clicking of a crank tink-tink-tinked through the hatchway above them.  Slowly the hatch began to open.  As the space was half ajar, a canister fell through and landed on the galley table with a dull thunk. 

                Gas began to spew forth.  A green noxious cloud that filled the space.  Orion took the goggles he wore around his neck and moved them over his eyes.  He did a quick check of the seal on his mask.  It held.  He shut the door to the galley.

                A purple-blue Lasat enforcer jumped down through the open hatch.  Over two meters tall and built like a tank, he shrugged off the gas.  It had no effect on the Lasat species.  He spun slowly, checking the two sealed doors.  One led forward to the cockpit, the other led aft, to the engines.  

                “Dent!” he yelled, loud enough to be heard behind the sealed hatches.  “Wherever you are, you’re not getting away.  Surrender now and we’ll make this quick and clean.”

                Kento stood in the hallway aft of the galley and stared at the closed door.  He could hear the brute’s words clearly.  He spared a glance to his left.  Montross was standing in the small, cramped space of the refresher.  He slid the refresher door shut.  Braca’s people were after one Jedi, not three warriors.  Surprise was a powerful ally.

                Kento’s saber gave a deafening scream as the blue blade activated.  It was a calculated move.  Beyond the door, the Lasat turned to face the sound.  He thought he had the drop on his prey.  The trap was set.

                A pair of shots hit the electronic locks that sealed the doorway.  The clamps were blasted to pieces and fell uselessly to the floor.  Lasats were known for their strength and this one did not disappoint.  His massive foot kicked the door down and it fell away, revealing a cloaked Jedi in a mask.

                “Dent, you’re out of options.  Come quietly and it’ll all be over soon,” the enforcer sneered. 

                Kento backstepped a bit, trying to passively signal fear, though adrenaline ran cold through his veins.  He changed the angle of his saber, but the Lasat didn’t fire.

                Stepping over the broken hatch door, the Lasat gave a slow pursuit down the corridor, one step at a time, looking for an angle.  A true hunter, he kept his eyes on the target.  His focus was absolute.  He saw a chance and fired one shot at the Jedi’s feet.  A blaster bolt pinged off the floor and was intercepted by the blue blade.  Another off the wall had the same result.

                “Not bad, but it’s hopeless,” the Lasat said.  A scraping sound came from his right flank.

                “It sure is,” Montross said, levelling the blasterbuss at this invader.  He pulled the trigger and the Lasat’s head vanished in a fury of plasma and light.  The headless corpse fell to the floor in a heap.  The thud as it hit the grating echoed through the Thunder Child. 

                Even Montross looked surprised at the power of the weapon he wielded.  He’d been going for a killshot, but he’d never fired a blasterbuss before.  The recoil had knocked him back into the refresher.  He kicked the corpse to punctuate the power he now felt with this new weapon.

                In the front of the ship, Orion knew just what had happened.  His plan was working perfectly.  He opened the door to the galley and looked up at the hatch that led into Braca’s ship.

                A single, Force-assisted leap flung him through the opening, and he landed on the lower level of the Mon Cal freighter that had disabled his ship. 

                “Happy Life Day, you shikweasels!” Orion said as he drew his blaster.  He found himself in a large, open cargo bay.

                A pair of armed Gammorean guards took aim at him from ten meters away.  Orion blasted the first with his K-2 and wheeled around on his toe to dodge the incoming fire.  His bomber jacket flung out like a cape behind him, and a bolt singed the black nerf leather.  In a whirl, Orion lit his orange blade and deflected a shot back at the remaining, green-skinned guard.  It caught the pigman square in his broad chest and he went down with a grunt. 

                As Orion cleared the way for Kento to come aboard, a Dug clambered down a staircase.  A pair of blasters carried by its forelimbs spewed an array of incoming fire.  Orion ducked for cover behind a crate.  Kento scrambled behind a table.  Orion saw the Dug gesture over to the right and then a crate flung itself through the air.  It passed right over Orion’s head.

                “Thugs with Force powers.  What will they come up with next?” Orion said.

                Orion’s Huttese was a little rusty, but he could pick out some fairly heinous insults spewing from the mouth of this Dug.  Kento rose and the Dug’s blaster shots blanketed him.  The Jedi twirled his saber rapidly and spat back the incoming fire in dozens of directions, though none at the attacker. 

                With the laser light show already in progress, Orion leaned out from behind the crate.  He changed the K-2’s setting to a three-round burst.  The first two went wide, but the third caught the Dug in one of the rear legs.  The second burst finished him off completely. 

                Kento came to his partner, and they stood back-to-back for a moment, surveying the empty chamber in which they now stood.  The door at the top of the stairs swung shut and locks activated.  The only other exit appeared to be a large bay door at the opposite end, or the hatch that led back to the Thunder Child.  Orion took a step towards the door and stopped dead in his tracks when the ship’s intercom sounded.

                Braca’s voice came out bombastic and confident.  “It seems we have a womp-rat infestation on my ship.  Let’s see if our pet is hungry.”

                Kento turned as the bay door opened.  The Jedi and the Jal Shey looked out at Braca’s solution to the problem they presented.  Beyond the cold grey door was the shimmering pale fur of a fully-grown nexu.

                The glowing red eyes signaled an untamed fury.  This was no housepet.  This was a statement.  Do what was expected or the boss will feed you to his jungle beast.  The quills on its back rose in sharp lines.  The fangs flared out behind a bright red tongue.  The split tail swung back and forth.  For a moment, they stood pondering each other.  The hungry and the hunted.  Then the creature pounced.

                Orion spared a hand to push Kento out of the way.  He shoved the Jedi aside so as to take the full attention of the beast for himself.  It was a tactic that had gotten them aboard this ship, but it did maximize the danger.

                The nexu leapt for the Jal Shey Ranger.  He tucked and rolled, barely avoiding a large row of snapping fangs as he changed position.  The nexu flew centimeters over his head and he swung his orange saber for its soft underbelly, missing by a small margin.

                Across the bay, Kento slid into a wall and turned to watch the fight.  He was ready to charge in, but his feet were stayed by the sight of Orion taking on this massive, quilled jungle cat singlehandedly.

                “Magnificent valor.”

                The nexu circled and snapped at Orion.  He brought his K-2 up but a swipe from the nexu’s claws sent it skittering out of his hand and across the floor.  He spotted a chair in the corner, reached out to grip it with the Force, and turned its legs towards the beast’s jaws.  His orange saber swung around as a threat, but the nexu wasn’t easily dissuaded.  This human looked tasty, and it greatly enjoyed a warm meal.

                Kento could wait no longer and rushed forward, ready to take a swipe at a back leg or a flank.  He was unready for the whipping motion of the nexu’s split tail, which swung around and wrapped him up by the waist.  He found himself lurching through the air unexpectedly.  His azure blade with its curved handle jolted from his hand.  It tumbled uselessly through open air.  He reached out with the Force and snapped it back into his palm.  The nexu’s tail released him just as quickly and he sailed into a pillar at the end of the room.

                “Ha! Ha! Ha!  Good kitty!” came the cackling laughter from the intercom.  Braca was clearly enjoying this entertainment. 

                Orion shrugged off the mockery and spared a thought for Kento, who had been unprepared for that wild ride.  The Jal Shey made a mental note to avoid this creature’s tail.  He hadn’t known it could do that either. 

                He poked with the chair and prodded with his saber blade.  Neither had much effect.  After a few snaps of its fangs, the nexu decided it had had enough of Orion’s antics.  A swipe of its paw and the chair was shattered.  Orion went on the attack and swung for the claws as the nexu went for his head.  The saber blade cut through the longest claw on the left leg.  The nexu recoiled and screeched. 

                It was hard to say that he’d really hurt the creature.  This seemed more of a surprise to the beast.  The big cat pounced again, and Orion saw his opening.  He ducked under the incoming bite and brought his blade around his waist.  He could feel the resistance as it cut into the nexu’s hide just above the bend in its front leg.  He carried the motion forward until the nexu had a cauterized stump replacing its landing leg. 

               The monster was so unready for this that it tumbled over upon hitting the ground.  The scratching of its quills against the floor made a horrible sound.  It was accompanied by the shrill shriek of a wounded animal.  Orion winced as he plunged his blade into the nexu’s skull, trying to make it quick.  The cruelties of the galaxy did not begin or end with sentients. 

               A silence descended through the room.  Orion looked around and saw no sign of his Jedi companion.

               A gust of air and a mechanical clank filled his senses.  He turned, looking for a threat.  His skin prickled in random places.  It took a moment to register why.

               The hatch that he had come through, the one that led back to his precious Thunder Child, now stood exposed to open space.  The automatic circuits in Braca’s ship were working to close it, but the rush of air slowed their progress.  Instead of a quick slam, it took a few seconds for the door to seal.  By the time the air pressure was restored, Orion knew it was already too late.

               “Did that son of a Hutt just steal my ship?” Orion said, realizing that Montross would no longer be assisting with this operation.

               Another cackle echoed through the chamber.  Braca was quite amused. 

                                                                                –

               “I felt like a fool for not predicting Montross’s betrayal.  He was supposed to follow us in, but he chose the quick payday.”

               “His code of honor had ossified,” Adi Gallia said.

               “Well, we had put him in a bind, and he was as loyal as his options demanded,” Kento said.

               “After your fight with the nexu, what happened next?”

               “Well, we went forward together into the next cargo bay.  That’s when we got pinned down…”

                                                                                –

               Orion looked around, but Kento was nowhere to be seen.  After the nexu had tail-whipped the Jedi into a column, Orion had lost track of him.  Likely he was dazed and had retreated to recover his senses.  Just as well.

               The Jal Shey Ranger stalked forward towards the doors the nexu had used to enter.  Another bay lay beyond.  This one had holds on either side that were filled with a red-orange powder.  Braca’s spices were here and unguarded.  That would not last for long.

               On a landing above him, he heard an electric thrum just a moment before his instincts told him to leap away.  As he turned, he saw angry red blaster bolts fill the space where he had just stood.  He whirled and saw the source.  Another Lasat brute, as big as the one who had boarded the Thunder Child.  This one stood on a catwalk, at the controls of a massive repeating blaster. 

               The air sizzled with plasma filled fury as he leapt atop one of the spice holds.  The blaster bolts trailed his feet and he started to run.  Leaping ahead, he made another double-jump, this time to the far side of the catwalk from the turret.  The blaster fire continued. 

               To pause and try to redirect the bolts would have been folly.  There were simply too many and they came in too fast.  Instead, he dove for a doorway and flung his body into the corridor beyond.  He turned and drew his blaster, firing a thudding bolt into the door controls.  The heavy partition slammed down behind him. 

               Energy bolts sang an angry chorus into the bulkhead door.  His attacker had been foiled, but only briefly.  The crew of this ship would certainly know how to get around this temporary barrier he had erected.  There was no time to lose.

               The corridor offered him only one direction and he chose to think of it as forward.  If it led to the bridge, all the better.  If it did not, he would have to hope that Kento’s luck was better than his. 

               Up a staircase and down a hallway, he found what appeared to be crew quarters.  His suspicions were confirmed when a black-haired Wookie stepped out of a hatch.  The arms that grabbed him were as black as night and far more terrifying. 

               He was being choked and hauled up simultaneously.  The Wookie aimed to dash his brains against the ceiling or cut the air from his lungs.  It was a good plan.

               Orion, so surprised from the sudden intrusion, had dropped his blaster and it clattered to the floor half a meter below his feet.  His hand found the lightsaber on his hip, and he lit it and swung for anything, not picky about his target. 

               A howling shriek and a soupçon of cauterized blood and the affair was half-over.  The Wookie didn’t drop him as much as lose both hands to a lightsaber slash.  The bellowing beast was too stunned to put up a fight, but Orion took no chances.  A slash to the throat ended the threat and he winced at cutting down such a prime example of the species. 

               At the end of the grated walkway was a single door.  He didn’t need to see a label to know that it was the bridge.  He could feel the end coming and it was a relief.  He gave no quarted to the idea that it might be his end beyond that door.  Rest would come after, in any case.

               Where the hell is Kento?

               A flick of his fingers opened the door and he prepared himself for anything that lay beyond.  The hilt felt comfortable in his right hand.  He could feel the power imbued within the chamber.  The contained fury.  The fire that awaited a spark through the crystal. 

               The blaster in his left hand was weighty.  The alloy of the grip cooled his palm.  He squeezed the grip and felt it resist.  It was unyielding, just like he had to be.  He knew what it was to take life, but there was no pleasure in it.  He did not delight in death as Montross or Braca did.  But the weapons he carried were there to steel his resolve.  They were well chosen.

               The bridge looked out onto a field of stars.  Like most Mon Cal designs, there was room for a respectable crew, but the various seats were unoccupied.  He glanced from side to side and saw switches flipping on their own volition.  Buttons were depressed without being touched.  The entire ship was under the control of a single man wielding the Force with stunning accuracy.  And he was alone.

               “Braca,” he said, facing the back of the captain’s chair.  Slowly the chair spun in place.  The mask he’d seen on the hologram now came into stark relief.  Somehow, in real life, on a body that was fairly average, it didn’t seem quite so scary.  Definable features showed Orion that this was not the ineffable demon that his mind’s eye had created. 

               He wasn’t a Dark Lord spawned from ancient Sith hatreds.  This was a spice runner.  A Sith cultist.  And his lunacies had drew him into a pursuit of power and death. 

               Orion’s blade hissed to life.  The orange saber cast an eerie glow over the bridge.

               Braca rose from his chair and pulled off the mask.  A human face looked out from underneath.  Braca was male, fair-skinned and had a hard-scrabble look.  His face carried a bit of stubble.  His nose had clearly been broken and repaired at some point, but the eyes were the real story.  The eyes were lit with a fire that Kento had come to recognize.  He’d seen it in that cantina on Nar Shaddaa.  He’d seen it on Zave’s face just before the bus hit.  He’d seen it in the eyes of the Abi Buran.

                It was the light behind crazed eyes.  A light that only came from the use of spice.

               “Have you come to kill me?  It’s not as easy as it once was,” Braca said.

               “That’s entirely up to you,” Orion said.

               Braca’s hands were spread apart.  He had no weapon that Orion could see.  His body was not physically imposing.  It was actually more unnerving.  There was no threat he could identify.  The unknown was always more troublesome than the overt.

               Braca’s eyes closed and a smile came across his face.  Orion’s hand tensed on the trigger to his blaster.  It was tempting just to end this, but that was not the way of the Jal Shey. 

               The killer gave another low chuckle like the one Orion had heard through the ship’s speakers.

               “What pitiful games you play with the Force.  Channelling all your energy into toys and using them for your naïve notions of altruism.  A child at play, wasting an energy he could never truly understand.”

               “At least I don’t kill people,” Orion said.

               “Yes, you do,” Braca said.

               Orion flinched and then recovered himself.

               “You can walk out of here or be carried out in pieces.  Make your choice,” Orion said.  He used the Force to draw a set of binders from one of his trouser pockets.  The binders floated in the space between them. 

               Braca held his wrists out as though he might actually accept his incarceration.

               “Even if you end me here, your existence would be a waste.  You push against an ocean of darkness, and you think it noble.  All your vaunted knowledge and you cannot grasp futility.  Your vitality is wasted by your blind adherence.  I could use your essence for something truly magnificent.  Let me take your burden.”

               With that, a spark emitted from Braca’s fingertips.  In a flash it had become a crimson maze of energy.  A burst of red lightning that arced forward, towards an unsuspecting Orion.  Braca howled with laughter as he rose and channeled all his rage into Orion’s position.

               The Ranger snapped his orange blade up reflexively.  The searing energy crackled, and he could feel it overloading his saber.  He had heard of Sith lightning as a historical fact, but this was different somehow.  The red light that lit his face told him this was something deeper, uglier. 

               The cerise channels reached out and were soaked in by his saber.  He grunted in pain and flinched.  The raw power was overwhelming.  The lightning pushed his blade as effectively as if he was in a duel.  His boots slid back across the floor, straining against the shove he’d received.  When his blade could absorb no more, the lightning skittered down and invaded his right hand.  His fingers clenched so tightly that he thought he might crush the hilt of his own lightsaber.  But the blade had been imbued with a dark power all its own.  It held through the onslaught, though he felt death in his fingers.

               Braca was not trying to wound him.  He was trying to drain the life out of him.  Orion suddenly realized how Abi Buran felt in her final moments.

               He could feel his grip on the saber slipping.  Without really thinking, he dropped his blaster pistol and gripped his saber hilt with both hands, groaning against the attack.  The K-2 clattered to the floor and the clang of metal on metal gave Orion an idea. 

               With as much concentration as he could muster, Orion lifted the weapon off the floor with his mind.  He turned it with a flick of his chin and took aim at the serial killer who spouted lightning from his fingertips. 

               The aim didn’t have to be perfect.  Any spot would do.  He rotated the barrel just a bit more.  When his palms ached and his lungs cried out for relief, he squeezed the trigger with the power of his mind.

               A single blast shot out of the K-2’s barrel and struck Braca in the leg.  In a flash, the lightning stopped.  Braca fell to a knee and clutched his wound.  He’d never seen it coming.

               With the threat neutralized, Orion snapped the K-2 back into his hand.  He fired three more times.  Putting bolts into all four of Braca’s extremities. 

               The pained cries turned to shocked whimpering.  Orion felt nothing approaching sympathy as he kicked Braca in the face.  The man flailed and spun, landing in a heap on his chest.  Orion had the binders on him before he could recover.  Another set of binders went around his ankles and Orion hauled him up on his knees.  He let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.

               With the K-2 pointed at Braca’s head, Orion found the switch on the captain’s chair that activated the internal comm network.

               “Attention.  To all crew.  Braca has been defeated.  Whatever compensations you gained from him are no longer available.  Fill your pockets and use the nearest escape pod.  There is nothing left for you on this ship but pain and death.”

               “Nice touch, errand boy,” Braca said, kneeling behind him. 

               Orion aimed his K-2 for Braca’s forehead and kept checking the ship’s systems.  Without glancing Braca’s way, he added, “Give me a reason.”

               Braca’s expression went from haughty to amused. 

               “Did the acolyte send you?  Has he finally communed with his goddess?” Braca asked.

               “What are you talking about?” Orion said, finally sparing a look at his captive.

               “The Black Queen will take her place and the cycle will begin anew.  The Force is a flat circle.”

               “The Black Queen?” Orion asked.

               “She sent you because I wouldn’t walk her path.  You slowly grind the gears and think you can stop the machine, but you only whirl around the rim.  She knows the way to the center,” Braca said.

               Before Orion could counter, there was a mechanical whoosh as the door to the bridge opened.  He drew down, blaster at the ready, saber blade extended from his hip.  Kento appeared in the doorway. 

               “Oh, good, you’re not dead,” Orion said.  “I was worried.”

               Kento staggered in, Orion wondered if he’d been hurt further after their encounter with the nexu.  He looked closer.  Kento’s eyes were filled with tears.  His body was tense.  He breathed through his teeth, as though his rage might force its way out in a primal scream.

               “It’s okay, buddy.  We got him,” Orion said, pointing his blade at the defeated, kneeling Braca.  Orion went to holster his sidearm. 

               Orion turned back to the navicomputer, “I may have found something interesting…”

               Kento’s blue blade sprang to life.  He took two steps towards the kneeling Braca.  Braca hadn’t turned to face the Jedi, so he never saw the blade that cleaved him in half.  Kento’s strike was true.  He cut Braca down from the shoulder to the hip.  The body fell to the deck in two pieces.  He was dead before he hit the floor.

               Orion was so shocked by the act that it took him a moment to realize it had truly happened.  He stared at Kento with a look of appalled surprise.

               “What the hell?” Orion said, looking at the two pieces of the kingpin on the floor between them.  “Kento…why?”

               Kento’s look hadn’t changed.  The tears still flowed; the teeth still gnashed.  He offered no words to Orion.  Instead, he waved a hand towards himself and turned.  Orion followed.

               With the walk of a soldier on a mission, Kento marched out of the bridge.  He led Orion past the crew quarters, through a spacetight door into the middle section of the vessel.  Orion hadn’t been through this area before.  He saw the remnants of a few thugs that he assumed Kento had cut down.  They were a mix of species, and the detritus of their remains did not provoke any special interest. 

               Kento led him to a room with a damaged door.  Kento pointed at the Aurebesh on the panel.  Once it had said “MEDBAY” in crisp lettering.  That had been struck through with a blade of some sort and carved underneath was a symbol.  The last time Orion had seen that symbol, it had been carved into Abi Buran’s forehead.

               Inside the door was a nightmare come to life. 

               On the table was a Sullustan boy.  No more than a juvenile.  His ears were underdeveloped, and his facial flaps were clearly not fully grown.  The boy was spread out on a table.  His arms and legs were locked into binders.  Tubes ran into his arms and chest.  The boy’s body had been drained.  The desiccated corpse was all that remained. 

               Braca’s latest victim.

               Orion took in the body and felt dread seep into his bones.  He circled the room, taking in the tanks and tubes and the horrible, clinical nature of it all.

               “Monster.”

               It was the only word that he could utter.  He looked at Kento.  Kento shook his head and waved for him to follow again.

               Kento led him to the rear where a door had been jammed open.  A thrust from a lightsaber had rendered the lock inoperable.  Beyond was a storage closet.  A dark hold, devoid of light or heat.  Orion lit his blade for illumination and screams filled the air.

               Within were the bodies of children.  Some dead, some living.  Those that could draw a breath cried out in terror.  He wheeled back on his heels, as startled as they were.  It took a moment for him to reach out and assure them the danger was gone. 

                                                                                –

               “After we killed the nexu, we came into the aft cargo bay.  We were looking around at these holds full of spice when all of a sudden, we took fire from a turret that was on a catwalk above us.”

               “Braca had people lying in wait?” Adi Gallia said.

               “It was Braca himself.  I think he wanted to handle us personally,” Kento said.

               “Bold of him,” Gallia replied.

               “Well, he was probably high on spice at the time,” Kento said.

               Gallia acknowledged that thought with a head nod.

               “We hid behind a crate, taking fire.  I tried to block a few incoming shots, but it was a big gun and I had to duck back down.  The only way to deal with it was to split up.  I circled in one direction to draw his fire away.  When he started shooting at me, Orion broke off and ran in the opposite direction…”

                                                                                –

               Two escape pods had been used.  Kento swept the ship, from room to room looking for anyone else who might be alive.  He found no one.  In the meantime, Orion had found food and water for the children.  The two men met on the catwalk in the spice hold.  The remains of the dead nexu stared back at them through the hold’s outer doors.

               “They’re eating.  Took a bit to calm them down, but they’ll live.  The ones that are still alive, at least,” Orion said.

               Kento had dried his eyes, but they were still full of pain.  The anguish on his face had shifted from rage to something more melancholy. 

               Orion saw him reach for the lightsaber on his belt.  He held it up and examined it, twisting it back and forth as though he were looking for signs of trouble.  Then he tossed it away.  Orion watched it tumble through the air.  The clatter as it hit the floor was jarring.  Kento’s silence was a stark contrast.  It took Orion a moment to understand the symbolism. 

               “You can’t go back, can you?” Orion asked.

               Kento rested his arms on the catwalk railing and nodded.  It was as though he feared that to open his mouth might allow the galaxy to spin on.  He desperately wanted it to stop in its tracks. 

               “Your elders, or whatever they call it, they wouldn’t condone…” Orion let the thought trail off.  Killing Braca in cold blood would be an unforgivable offense.  He knew enough of the Jedi ways to know that they didn’t kill prisoners. 

               Kento breathed in and out for a moment, just pondering the space in front of them.  Orion shook his head slightly and shared the silence.

               He looked down at the black scorch marks on the floor, where he’d been targeted by that damned turret.  There was a line of blaster fire that raked across the path he’d taken.  He could look at it and remember his movement vividly.  His eyes trailed back to the turret from whence the fire had come.

               An idea formed.  Like most, it began as a faint sense and then snapped into place in a flash.  Fully formed, crisp, and lethal.

               “Stay right there,” Orion said.  Kento turned to look at his partner, but otherwise made no acknowledgment. 

               Orion went to the bridge and looked at the bisected corpse on the floor.  Lightsaber wounds were cauterized and there was no stain of blood on the carpet.  Kento’s single strike had been true.  He’d cleaved Braca but otherwise had left no sign of violence.

               Using the Force, Orion levitated both halves of the body.  It took all his concentration to bring them back to the cargo bay. 

               With his own bare hands, he moved Braca’s body to the now empty turret.  The one that had fired on him less than an hour ago.  He placed Braca’s body just so on the floor so that it appeared that the spicelord himself had been at the controls of the weapon.  Kento looked on with uncomprehending interest. 

               Leaning over the railing, Orion extended a hand out towards the floor below.  Ten meters away, Kento’s lightsaber began to wiggle and slide before shooting up from its discarded place into Orion’s hand.  The Jal Shey Ranger took the saber and activated it.  He smiled as the blue light came over his face.  With a moment of calculation, he took a swipe, slashing downward, cutting the air.  His slash cut through the turret handle and the catwalk railing.  Otherwise it had no effect. Then he took the controls of the turret in his own hands.

               Kento flinched when Orion began to fire the massive weapon.  Another channel of fire was blasted into the floor.  Orion blasted along the opposite side of the room, as though he was firing at a running target that wasn’t there.  He aimed again for a crate that he had bypassed earlier and blasted it until it started to crack open and smoke. 

               He ceased firing and peered out over the catwalk, looking down at his handiwork.  He seemed pleased with the result.  Orion pocketed Kento’s curved hilt saber and walked back to where he’d left the morose Jedi, who regarded him with confusion.

               “After we killed the nexu, we came through those doors,” Orion said, pointing at the doors to the hold.  “Braca was up here, and he started firing down on us.  We dove for cover behind that crate,” Orion pointed down at the smoking crate on the floor below.  “He had us pinned.  Our only chance was to split up.”

               Kento’s eyes narrowed.  He peered at Orion skeptically.

               Orion continued, “You ran out that way to draw his fire. I went the opposite direction, looking for a way up to his position.”  He pointed at the trails of blaster fire on the floor below, indicating the two paths.

               He went on, “I came through that door.  Braca was so focused on you that he never saw me coming.  He had you pinned.  It was just a matter of time.  I had no choice.  I had to kill him, or he would have killed you,” Orion said.  “Any Jal Shey Ranger would have done the same in my position.”

               Kento looked out at the scene below.  It was a violation of everything he believed in.  But so was cutting down a foe that had surrendered.

               Orion held out the lightsaber to Kento.  Kento could see everything in that curved chromium cylinder.  His entire life lingered in the chambers and circuitry.

               He took the weapon from Orion’s hand and placed it back on his belt.

               “Justice,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

               “Whatever else happened between us, I still owe him for what he did on the ship that day.  He saved my life,” Kento said.

               “And there was no avoiding Braca’s own death?” Gallia asked.

               Kento pursed his lips, “Absolutely no avoiding it.”

               Gallia nodded for him to continue.

               “After Braca fell, we used the ship’s intercom to tell the rest of the crew.  Told them they could run in exchange for their lives.  It would have been too much trouble to try to bring them all in.  We had no backup, and it was just the two of us.”

“And that’s when you found the younglings?” Gallia asked.

               “Yes.  Braca’s operation was beyond appalling.  I’ll admit, I felt such hatred for him when I realized what he was doing to those younglings.  I think the satisfaction I felt at his death was one of my first brushes with the Dark Side.”

               “It would have been impossible to be dispassionate from such a revelation,” Gallia said.

               “Still, it was not my proudest moment,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                The pair of them looked at the children recovered from the hold.  The younglings eagerly ate and drank but said nothing. 

               Orion jutted his chin at them as they sat quietly, “Do you read any of them as Force sensitive?”

                “No.”

                It was only the second word out of his mouth since he’d killed Braca.  Kento wasn’t quite ready to be a Jedi again. 

                “They need doctors, psych droids, social workers.  I’m not any of those things.  Some of them might even have parents looking for them.  I don’t even know where to start,” Orion said, thinking out loud.  “Would the Jedi…”

                Kento gave him a look that stopped that thought before it could gestate.

                “The Compendium has plenty of doctors, but it’s not a long-term solution,” Orion said. 

               He looked around and bit the corner of his mouth.  “Well, if you’re an orphan, where’s the best place in the galaxy to grow up?”

                                                                                –

                Twelve hours later, they emerged from hyperspace. 

                “Alderaan Control, this is Orion Xadau of the Jal Shey.  I’m requesting permission to land at the Aldera City Spaceport.  I have a dozen passengers who need medical assistance.  Do you read me?”

                “Alderaan Control to unidentified freighter.  We acknowledge receipt of your request.  Please state your ship’s name and registration.  Over.”

                Orion turned to Kento in the copilot’s chair.  He shrugged and pressed a button to pause the communications link.

                Kento looked haggared.  The sleep that he’d gotten on the flight out had been fitful.  The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins also left him in a confrontation with his own darkness.  Orion studied his stupored companion.  Jedi training prepared one for many things, but apparently not homicide.

               Orion shook Kento’s shoulder to rouse him from the trance that he seemed trapped within.

                “What is it?” Kento asked, suddenly aware of his surroundings.

                “They’re asking for the ship’s identification.  I don’t think it’s going to go over well if we say we’re a hijacked spice freighter,” Orion said.  “Any ideas?”

                Kento shook his head and sank back into his seat. 

                Orion gave a roll of his eyes and reopened the channel.

                “Alderaan Control.  This is the Transgressor.  Newly acquired property of the Jal Shey.  I doubt if the ownership records have been updated yet.  Again, we are requesting medical assistance for several juvenile passengers.  Younglings in need of help.  Over.”

                There was a pause while Alderaan Control considered the situation.  Then they came back, “Transgressor, Alderaan.  You are cleared to land at Hospital Pad Four.  Sending coordinates.  Medical services have been notified.  You will be required to give a statement to Aldera City Police before you are cleared to leave.  Please acknowledge.”

                They’re calling the cops on us.  Orion thought.  I probably would too.

                “Thank you, Alderaan.  We appreciate the help,” Orion said.

                Orion set the ship on a new course to enter the atmosphere.  The view of ionized air out of the cockpit seemed to rouse Kento from his stupor.

                “The Transgressor?” he asked, looking at Orion with a raised eyebrow.

                Orion didn’t look up from the controls, “I named it after you,” he said, dismissively.

                Kento made a face that could charitably be described as sour, “You Sithspawn son of a…”

                “Save it,” Orion said.

               The stubby wings of the newly christened ship bit into the thickening air.  As the cloud cover broke, Orion saw Aldera City spread out before them like a glittering sea of civilization.  The pristine white towers reached for a beautiful blue sky.  Around the perimeter, a crystal-clear lake moated Alderaan’s capital city.  The grasslands extended to the horizon, broken up only by the occasional, tastefully sleek hovertrain.  It was truly a city of splendor.

               “I think we picked the right place.  They deserve to grow up somewhere that beautiful,” Orion said.

               Kento’s silence had returned.

                                                                                –

               Like everything else on Alderaan, the paramedics that met them on the landing pad were pristine, efficient, and gracious.  For the most part, the children walked out on their own legs, but a couple had to be carried.  Kento took one Twi’lek girl in his arms.  Orion did the same for a young Cathar boy. 

               Once the doctors and nurses were fully engaged with Alderaan’s latest refugees, Orion and Kento were approached by a small phalanx of uniformed officers.  The leader of the pack, a Muun woman, spoke for the group.

               “Which of you is the captain?” she asked.

               Orion gave a sidelong glance at Kento and decided to take the lead role in this little melodrama that now had to play out.

               “Orion Xadau, Jal Shey Ranger.  At your service,” he said, barely suppressing the urge to bow.  Alderaan’s opulence had already started to affect him.

               “I’m Captain Gaal, Aldera City Police.  We have some questions.”

                                                                                –

               As the local star descended towards the Aldera City horizon, Orion emerged from his interrogation.  He exited the police station and went to find Kento.  He felt rejuvenated.  This entire planet had a quality that warmed him to the core.

               Braca was dead and gone.  The orphans were being tended to.  He’d lost his ship but had a new one to replace it.  All in all, he couldn’t complain.  All that was left was to make sure that he and Kento got back to their respective homes in one piece.  He took a monorail back to the hospital and found the Transgressor right where he’d put it down this morning. 

               In the last light of the day, Orion finally got a look at the ship from the outside.  He hadn’t had the time to study it when they were unloading the children… and the bodies.  The freighter was small, nothing too heavy or flashy.  She was a Mon Cal build, which meant her hull was sleek and smooth.  The blue-grey fuselage brushed out into a pair of short wingtips.  Her bridge was set high and towards the rear.  Strakes and blisters completed her look.  She had served a monster for too long.  Orion was determined to put her to good use now.

               An external preflight check was his next order of business.  He searched for any damage or signs of problems and found none. 

               Inside, as promised, the Aldera City PD had vacuumed out every last trace of spice from her holds.  They’d had people crawling around the ship all day, documenting evidence, and ridding the Transgressor of her illegal contraband. 

               Orion could only assume that the story he had told of Braca’s crimes and death had been confirmed by Kento.  Otherwise, he’d be incarcerated by now. 

               As he entered the bridge, he saw that they’d been kind enough to top off the fuel tanks.  A kindness more likely born out of a desire to be rid of this scandalous ship and her crew of suspicious characters. 

               The view from the bridge offered a gorgeous vista of the lake around the city, with the sun setting over the grasslands beyond.

               At the shore of the lake, maybe a hundred meters from the nose of the freighter, he spotted Kento, kneeling in the grass.

               Walking over to his companion, Orion wasn’t sure what to expect.  Kento had certainly had a rough go of it.  What was to come might test his mettle even more.  The Jedi would make him speak about these days and Kento might be fragile enough to crack from the memory.

               He chose a soft tone, not wanting to disturb Kento’s meditation.

               “Kento?  We should be leaving.  I can fly you back to the Compendium for your shuttle, or anywhere else you’d rather go.”

               Kento kept his back to Orion, facing the lake.  The orange hues of sunset brought no comfort to him.

               “Where could I possibly go?” Kento asked.

               “Back to Coruscant.  Back to your temple,” Orion said.

               “To live a lie?” Kento said.

               “To live a life,” Orion said.  “If you’ve lost your way, find it again.  Let the Light Side return to you.  You’ll feel it soon enough.”

               “I can’t feel anything anymore!” Kento’s words still carried great anger.  He rose and turned, facing Orion.

               “Since we met, I’ve been shot at, spiced up, and my mind has been run through a meat grinder.  You have destroyed whatever connection I had to the light!” 

               “Oh, I did that?” Orion asked mockingly.

               “You go wherever your vaunted knowledge takes you.  Light, dark.  To your eyes, it’s all the same.  I felt your nature when I held your saber, back on the Compendium.  I should have cut you down, then and there, but I didn’t.  I let your darkness fester and it spread into me.  Your corruption made me a murderer.  Your anger twisted my path.”

               “That’s got to be the spice talking,” Orion said.

                Kento’s blade lit once again.  The stark blue light played amongst the tree branches.  The wildflowers at their feet took on a melancholy hue.

                “The only way I can save myself is to destroy you,” Kento said.

                “I think you might actually believe that,” Orion said.  His orange blade crackled to life.  He drew the blaster from his hip and tossed it aside, into the grass.  He planned to come back for it.

                Kento aimed the tip of his blade for Orion’s chest.  Orion brought his blade up in a defensive stance.  The Jedi advanced.  The Jal Shey sidestepped.

                Orion did what he always did with unknown scenarios.  He scanned his brain for any obscure knowledge that might help.  Kento’s saber told him volumes.  The curved hilt was distinctive.  It was the choice of fencers, fighters who valued precision and accuracy over power.  Few Jedi chose such a design for their weapon.  That Kento had told him something.  He’d seen shades of it in their various actions.  Kento was no berserker.  He was a man of finesse. 

                The question was: would he fight that same way?  Finesse was a virtue that often fell by the wayside when emotions ran high.  This case had been a trial for him.  So much trauma, so much blood.  Some of it on his hands.  Still, guilty or not, distraught or not, Kento Marek was a Jedi and not to be underestimated. 

                Across the small, deadly space between them, Kento Marek wasted no thought on analysis.  His body settled into old stances, familiar positions.  His mind perceived his enemy through a haze of anger.  The duel became a mission of clarity. 

               From the moment he’d touched Xadau’s blade, with the dark side coursing through its every molecule, he’d been set on a course of destruction.  Such things were possible in the Force.  There were dark energies that gathered, that reached out.  He had simply been infected by the ones that swirled around this Orion Xadau.  Through the centuries, there had been good Jedi who had dealt with such corruptions.  Some had survived, some had succumbed. 

               He’d spent many a happy hour as a boy watching Count Dooku instruct younglings such as himself on the fine art of Makashi.  The rare and respected Form II of lightsaber combat.  Most Jedi chose different tactics for their fighting style.  Kento had never considered anything else.

               The blue blade cut through the air, aiming for Orion’s heart.  The Jal Shey countered with a simple parry.  Kento advanced through the motion, raising his blade higher than he needed for a powerful downward slash.

               So much for finesse. Orion thought as he darted out of the way. 

               Jal Shey fighting techniques were a bit different from other sects.  Instructors prized fluidity of motion, efficiency of action.  Orion remembered their words. 

               Your opponent will choose the power he brings to bear.  If that power can be deflected or absorbed, then it need not be opposed.

               In other words, get out of the way so you don’t get your head cut off.

               Both of them had suffered an elongated string of bad days.  Days filled with death, exhaustion, violence, and cruelty.  Now that they had found this peaceful world, it seemed utterly tragic to use its ground for yet another act of savagery.  But the stars were unfeeling, and destiny had a way of asserting itself at the most inconvenient times.

               He leaned back on his heels, dodging the swipe at his neck.  Kento’s next strike went for his thigh in a swinging circle.  Orion backstepped further, knowing the lake was somewhere behind him, but without a clue of his line of retreat. 

               The slashes and slices were entirely out of form for a fencer.  The quick motions that he was expecting had not appeared.  One might attribute that to attrition, but Orion credited anger for Kento’s lack of balance. 

               He parried and backstepped, whirled and countered.  Only one of them wanted this to be a fight to the death.  If Kento’s vaunted Jedi elders could see him now, they’d surely raise more than a skeptical eyebrow.  Cold blood might run through Kento’s veins, but Orion had no wish to spill it on the grasses of Alderaan. 

               As his initial energies wore away, Kento’s attacks became more precise.  Powerful swings became fast thrusts.  It was an encouraging sign to his opponent.  If Kento’s anger had diminished, perhaps his rationality might return. 

               Orion gave a beat from his saber that was countered by an off-balance lunge.  He twirled and let Kento’s momentum carry him stumbling by.  For an instant there was an opening at Kento’s back.  If he’d wanted, a swift downward strike would have cut the Jedi in half.  The thought never came to him.  Orion made a brief swipe, aiming for the back of Kento’s legs.  It was a move intended to send a thin cut that might end the fight, but the maneuver hit nothing but air. 

               As Kento recovered his footing Orion took the pause in the fight to look at his hand.  The discolored scars gave his skin an angry randomization.  Braca’s lightning had taken a toll.  It was the same damage he’d seen throughout the bodies of the victims.  His hands ached, from the lightning and the fighting.  All this violence and death had taken a toll.  For a moment, seeing Kento rise from his staggering attack, he considered just relenting.  He wanted to rest.  Wanted to end the madness that he’d been pushing against for so long.  It would be so easy to let go.

               This little monk is trying to mind trick me! 

               Orion smiled as he realized that this duel was now taking place in their heads as much as in this meadow.  His amusement only seemed to enrage Kento even more. 

               A growl came from the Jedi’s mouth as he reset his feet.  He charged forward, advancing heel-toe and arcing his blade through a mesmerizing infinite pattern.  As he closed, his feet shifted, and he launched his body like an arrow aimed for Orion’s heart. 

               With no time for a swirling dodge, Orion simply sidestepped and saw Kento shoot dangerously close to his left hip.  He brought his saber down as Kento swung for his center.  His strike was perfect.

               Kento’s beautifully crafted lightsaber hilt was cut through the hilt.  The blade winked out of existence and the pieces of the grip sprayed out and tumbled to the ground.  Kento landed in a heap on the soft grasses and gave an enraged roar.

               For Orion, it was more than he’d hoped for.  Time was the only thing that would heal Kento’s wounded spirit… and wounded pride.  No words from his tongue would be comforting to the infuriated Jedi. 

               He retracted his lightsaber and returned it to his right hip.  Reaching out with the Force, his blaster rose from the grasslands.  Kento looked ready to pounce with nothing more than his bare hands.  Orion flipped the setting on his K-2 to stun and took aim.

               “Goodbye, my friend.”

               The blue stun bolt put Kento in the dirt. 

                                                                                –

               “And it was sunrise when I woke up.  He’d left me in that little meadow by the lake.  Took the ship and flew away sometime in the night.”

               Adi Gallia pondered him from across the table, “And you haven’t seen or heard from him since?”

               “No, though he did leave a note behind,” Kento said.

               “A note?” Gallia asked.

               “Yes.  When I woke up, I found a note underneath one of the lightsabers we had recovered.  It was the one with the Whillscript.  The note asked me to return the saber to the Guardians.”

               “And did you?” Gallia asked.

               “Yes, I hired a transport and flew to Jedha.”

               “How were you received?” Gallia asked.

               Kento paused, considering his words, “Cordially.  The Guardians of the Whills are a solemn people.  They were grateful to know the fate of their lost youngling.”

               “Which of the victims…”

               “The Sullustan boy.  I didn’t know until they told me, of course, but I returned his saber to the Guardians, and they were kind enough to allow me to rest and recover on Jedha.”

               “How long did you stay?”

               “A few weeks, I’m not sure exactly.  I had been deeply troubled by the events, as you can imagine.  The suffering of the younglings had preyed upon my soul.  And my exposure to Xadau and the ways of the Jal Shey had brought me dangerously close to the Dark Side.  I needed to reconnect.  On Jedha, in the Temple of the Kyber, I was able to find my way back to the light.”

               “Do you think that Xadau sent you there for that reason?” Gallia asked.

               Kento thought about that for a moment, “I suppose it’s possible.  The Jal Shey are nothing if not altruistic.  But I think it was more about him not wanting to go himself.”

               “What do you mean?” Gallia asked.

               “The Jal Shey study the Force as a scientific phenomenon.  They’re deeply moved by the power of the Force, but they have no respect for its spiritual nature.  The Guardians are just the opposite of that.  They revere the Force’s spiritual aspects.  Whenever I mentioned the Jal Shey on Jedha, the Guardians reverted to a posture of silent hostility.”

               “That’s very interesting,” Gallia said.

               “I found it to be an echo of the duality of the Jedi and Sith.  The Jal Shey value knowledge while the Guardians seek spiritual enlightenment.  That may not be a reason for conflict, but it does not make for camaraderie either.”

               “Do you sense a slant?” Gallia asked.

               “How do you mean?”

               Gallia continued, “Knowledge and spirituality aren’t aspects of light or darkness.  One can use both to embrace the Light Side or the Dark Side of the Force.  Indeed, I’d say that both are required for either pursuit.”

               “I agree,” Kento said.

               “What I’m asking is, having spent time with both groups, do you sense that one is closer to the light and the other closer to the dark?”

               “Oh, I see.  I think it would be unwise to assign a blanket statement to the groups as a whole.  I will say that I found Orion Xadau to be far more comfortable with the Dark Side than any Jedi should be.”

               “And you think Xadau’s inner darkness led to Braca’s death?”

               “I think Braca murdering younglings and shooting at us with a blaster turret led to Braca’s death.”

               Gallia angled her head slightly, accepting the bluntness of his answer.

               “Did you sense the Force within Braca?” she asked.

               “Yes.”

               “But Xadau was able to cut him down?”

               “With sufficient numbers, anyone can be defeated,” Kento said.

               “Your ‘sufficient numbers’ were two,” Gallia said.

               “In this case,” Kento said.

               “Does it strike you as odd?” Gallia asked.

               “What do you mean?” Kento asked.

               “You defeated Braca who was clearly an adept of the Dark Side, but you were bested by Xadau, who, by your own testimony, you said was not nearly as strong in the Force.”

               “Well, I was having difficulties from…”

               “Whatever happened to the lightsaber of Abi Buran?” Gallia interrupted.

               “I’m sorry?” Kento asked.

               “The lightsabers you recovered from Outland Station.  You said one was from the Sullustan boy who was with the Guardians.  The others were presumably from other victims of Braca.  Why did you not find Abi Buran’s lightsaber?”

               “I really don’t know.”

               “By your testimony, Braca let Montross take the sabers as part of his payment.  But you encountered both Montross and Braca and never found Abi Buran’s lightsaber.”

               “That’s…”

               “Xadau was the one who suggested your approach to the case, correct?”

               “Yes.”

               “Xadau was the one who first encountered Montross?”

               “Well, I had gone out for food…”

               “Xadau was the one who cut down Braca before he could confess?”

               “If you recall, I was under heavy blaster fire…”

               “Xadau was the only one who was able to defeat a Jedi in single combat,” Gallia said.

               “Again, I…”

               “Do you really think that a single Jal Shey Ranger could defeat a Jedi Knight without some form of enhancement?”

               “I’m sorry?” Kento said.

               “The blood rite that Abi Buran was subjected to is clearly a Dark Side ritual, would you agree?”

               “I would,” Kento said.

               “And you said Xadau was a Dark Side user,” Gallia said.

               “No, I said his saber was imbued with Dark Side energy,” Kento said.

               “But you have no ties from Braca to the death of Abi Buran,” Gallia said.

               “The symbol over the door was carved into her face!” Kento said.

               “There has been another murder,” Gallia said.

               “What?” Kento said.

               “Three, actually.  All within the last two months.  A series of killings.  Force users.  Younglings,” Gallia said.  She pointed to the R2 unit beside the table.

               On the wall behind her, images were projected of more bodies.  Kento was shocked.  He saw a Neimoidian who was drained and carved up in the same manner.  There was also another human girl like Abi Buran, and a Trandoshan boy.  Similar circumstances for all of them.  Not trussed up in some clean room on a spice freighter.  Sliced to the bone and left on display.”

               The carved symbol on the forehead, the bodies drained of blood.  He looked on in horror at the images.

               “We contacted the Guardians of the Whills.  They have been searching for a youngling of theirs who was kidnapped.  A young Falleen woman who went missing on a mission to Boz Pity.”

               Plo Koon leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees.  Kento recognized the posture from countless lessons of his youth.  Koon’s gruff voice hit Kento like an avalanche.

               “Is it possible that Xadau knew Braca before he ever met you?”

               Kento was flabbergasted.  His mouth moved, but no words came.

               “I have no idea what either of them did before we met,” he finally said.

               “Is it possible that Xadau is more adept with the Dark Side than you realized?” Koon asked.

               “How could I know the contents of his mind?” Kento said.

               “Is it possible that this technique of Braca’s was somehow used by Xadau to enhance his Force powers?” Koon asked.

               “We never saw any evidence that it worked,” Kento said.

               “I believe you did,” Adi Gallia said.

               “Braca had some abilities, but I don’t think…”

               “Not Braca.  Xadau,” Gallia said.

               “That can’t be…”

               “Xadau had intimate knowledge of the case before you met him.  You were wary from the start.  He managed to gain your trust and then directed you to other suspects.  It’s possible that Braca was an accomplice or a rival of some sort and he used you to discover his location and eliminate him,” Gallia said.

               Kento stammered.

               “It would explain why he never tried to capture Braca.  In the situation as you describe it, he did not have to choose a killing blow,” Koon said.

               “I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” Kento said.

               “You were deceived,” Gallia said.

               “No,” Kento said.  “That can’t be.”

               Plo Koon sighed through his mask and nodded to the R2 unit.  The image on the wall changed.  It was an image of onlookers gathered at a crime scene.  One face in the crowd was circled.  Kento recognized it as Orion Xadau. 

               “This was taken by police on Iridonia,” Plo Koon said.

               The scene shifted again.  Kento recognized the Transgressor on a landing pad.  Orion was walking off the ramp, dressed in his signature bomber jacket. 

               “This was recorded on Batuu, which is where the human girl vanished,” Koon said.

               Another image, this time it showed Orion walking into an establishment.  His trusty K-2 was on his left hip. 

               “A restaurant on Boz Pity,” Koon said.

               “I take your point,” Kento said.

               “It’s more than suggestive, Kento.  It’s suspicious,” Gallia said.

               “So, all of this was just to reel me in?” Kento asked.  “No problem with the archive records?”

               “We wanted to get our facts straight,” Koon said.

               “And now you have,” Kento said.

               “Unless you have something to add,” Koon offered.

               “Yes.  I don’t appreciate being deceived.  By Xadau or by you.  If you want to question my judgement, say it to my face.  You want to go after Xadau, best of luck.  But don’t waste my time with false pretenses,” Kento said.  He rose from the table and turned to leave.

               “Where are you going?” Adi Gallia asked.

               “I’m going to find Xadau and see how many lies I’ve been told,” Kento said.

               “Kento…” Plo Koon said.

               Kento paused in the doorframe and looked back, “I’ll need a copy of the evidence.  Droid, follow me.”

               The R2 unit disengaged from the computer terminal and rolled away, following Kento Marek out of the archives.

               Adi Gallia turned to her fellow Master, “We could have handled that a bit better.”

               Plo Koon shook her head, “I disagree.  He’ll track Xadau to the ends of the galaxy now.  His path will only end when he’s found justice.”

                                                                                –

                Ten hours later, Kento released the clamps and allowed the Delta-II fighter to float away from the small hyperdrive rig.  He wiggled the ship’s controls and felt the response.  As he maneuvered, the starfighter’s astromech plotted a course for the Outland Station and displayed it on his viewscreen.  He twisted the ship around to the proper heading and pulsed the engines.  He would dock at the space station in half an hour and from there could start to properly chase down Orion and get some answers.

                Out of nowhere, a blue bolt flew past his cockpit.  He banked the Delta-II and twisted his neck.  The shot had come from behind him, but he could not see the source.  His sensor array reported a contact to the rear but gave him no useful information other than that his attacker had a much larger vessel.

                Another ion blast flew past as he started to come around.  Kento noted that the ion shots would only disable his ship, not destroy it.  He began to suspect that his journey here had been predicted.

                With his laser cannons spun up, he finished the turn just in time to meet the third ion bolt head-on.  His astromech squealed from a power surplus and shut down to avoid damage.  Similarly, his cockpit crackled with electric energy before going as dark as space and freezing.  He was dead-stick and isolated.  There was nothing that could be done until the energy dissipated.  That could take hours.

                His radio could still receive, though transmitting would be difficult.  He heard his headset beep, followed by a familiar voice.

                “Jedi vessel, this is the Transgressor.  Prepare for docking,” the voice of Orion Xadau, Jal Shey Ranger, was as infuriating to him as the humiliation he’d felt in the council chamber. 

                This man has defeated me two times now, there will not be a third.

                His attacker came into view.  He recognized the Transgressor immediately.  The lovely, curved lines of her hull had been given a fresh coat of paint.  She now sported what looked to be a pair of blue racing stripes over a white finish.  Orion had been busy.  He’d added the blue oval of the Jal Shey on the starboard wing.  A pair of laser cannon were embedded in her nose, matching the ion cannon slung underneath.  Kento took that as a good sign.  If Orion’s aim was to kill him, then he could have simply blasted the helpless starfighter into dust. 

                The Delta-II was swallowed up by the larger vessel.  As his small starfighter settled to the surface of the cargo bay, he gave a moment for a quiet meditation.  He might have to kill Orion and he would need all his reserves to do that.

                Inside, the bay had been cleaned out.  There was no trace of any of the ship’s former illicit activities.  No sign of the dead nexu that had given them such a challenge.  Even the vague scent of spice had faded over the last year.  Or it had been deliberately scrubbed away. 

                He exited the Delta-II slowly.  He knew not what he would encounter, but he was determined to stay in control of the situation, and himself, as much as possible.  The doors that led to the next bay opened.  As they retracted, Orion stood dead center, hands out, unarmed.  He wore the same jacket Kento had been shown in the holographic recordings. 

                “Sorry for the theatrics, Kento.  I figured you’d come looking and I couldn’t chance it if you were told to take me out.”

                Kento stifled a confused look and settled for one of exasperation.  He swung his robe open enough to show the handle of his lightsaber but made no move to reach for it.

                “Orion, the Jedi don’t send people to… take out… targets.  We’re not bounty hunters.  You know that.”

                “Still, we didn’t exactly depart on good terms last time.”

                “I’m not here for revenge.  I’m here for answers.  Why are you here?”

                “Because we have unfinished business,” said Orion.

                “I couldn’t agree more,” said Kento.  He pulled his new saber to his open palm and the snap-hiss of the blade filled the bay.  A green blade lit the space between the two men.  Xadau did not flinch.

                Across a few meters of air, they measured each other’s intentions.

                “Kento, you really want to kill another unarmed captain of this ship?  That’s a little bloodthirsty.  Especially for a Jedi,” Orion said.

                “Someone is out there killing younglings.  Just like before,” Kento said, angling his blade a bit.

                “I know,” Orion said.

                “The Jedi think it’s you,” Kento said.

                “I know,” Orion said.

                “But they also think you killed Braca,” Kento said.

                “What do you think?”

                “I think you’ve been working alone.  Maybe the Jal Shey don’t trust you anymore.  Maybe they do.  Either way.  You’re trying to find the real killer, and you’re not gonna stop until you do.”

                Orion nodded.

                “But that doesn’t explain why you seem to get to the planets before the dead bodies show up,” Kento said.  He brought the glowing green blade up, aiming the tip between Orion’s eyes.  The Jal Shey didn’t flinch.  They stood only a few meters apart.

                “You want me to explain?  Or you just want a body to bring back?” Orion asked.

                “I’m debating,” Kento said.

                Orion shifted slightly to the left.  Not an attack, just an adjustment in posture.  The Jal Shey, from a distance, examined the weapon pointed at his head.

               “Nice design.  I see you went with a straight handle this time.  The green looks good.  Excellent construction.  That’ll do the trick.”

               Kento spoke over the hum of his saber blade “You were right.  Curved handles aren’t that good unless you’re in a fight against another saber.  Blaster deflection comes up a lot more.  Your stun bolt taught me that.”

                Orion nodded, then reached a hand behind his back.  He pulled out a curved handle that Kento recognized immediately. 

               Kento set his feet in a combat stance, ready to attack.  Orion put up a hand as though asking for his patience.  He held his saber with two fingers, displaying it, rather than brandishing it.  He left it unlit, then tossed it into the air, towards Kento.  Kento reached out with the Force to arrest its motion in midair.  The saber hilt hovered in the space between them. 

               Orion spoke as Kento pulled his saber closer, “Based my new one off your old one.  Hope you don’t mind.  I think a curved handle is going to come in handy pretty soon.  There’s going to be an old-fashioned saber duel before this is over.”

                Kento looked at him warily, “You didn’t seem like you were looking for a fight here.”

                “Oh, not with you, Kento.  Not with you.  It’s time you learned the truth about these killings.”

                Orion’s saber slowly floated towards Kento.  Silence and tension filled the rest of the space between the two men.  Kento still wasn’t ready to trust.

                Orion took the initiative, never being comfortable with silence.  “I’ve got something to show you.  If you still think I’m guilty after you see it, you can take your pick which saber you use to kill me.”

                With it now being close to hand, Kento took hold of Orion’s new lightsaber.  Everything about it felt different.  His first saber had been a weapon of darkness.  This one immediately conveyed a sense of the light.  The curved handle was instantly familiar to Kento.  He activated the blade.  A beautiful cerulean blue blade sprang from the emitter.

                The Jedi’s dark resolve abated, “Show me what you’ve got.”

                                                                                –

                Orion led Kento down the length of the ship, to the lab rooms where they’d seen the worst of Braca’s horrors. 

               “There’s a Falleen girl.  She’s the latest,” Kento said.

               “I know.  Taken on Boz Pity two days ago.  She’s one of the Guardians,” Orion said.

               “She hasn’t turned up yet,” Kento said.

               “I noticed that,” Orion said.  “This one is different to him.  Special, I think.”

               “Why?” Kento said.

               “I haven’t figured that part out yet.  Maybe you can help.  But I need to catch you up first,” Orion said.

               They paused at the door to the room where they’d found the dead Sullustan boy.  The room marked with the same symbol that had been carved into the victims.  Orion waved Kento inside.

                The lab had been cleaned up.  A crisp, antiseptic look on every surface.  Orion pulled a chair out with the Force and placed it in front of the central table.  Kento sat down.  At the back of the room, Orion opened a cabinet door.  When he stretched up, Kento noted the K-2 on his hip.

               “Lose the blaster, will you?” Kento said.

               Orion sighed, “Not ready to trust me yet?”

               “Until I see your evidence, I’d rather be the only one armed on this ship,” Kento said.

               Orion placed his blaster on the countertop and then pulled an item from the cabinet he’d opened.  He set the ornate red and gold pyramid on the table in front of Kento.

               “Is that what I think it is?”

               “If you think it’s a Sith holocron, then yeah,” Orion said.

               “Where did you…?”

               “I found it in Braca’s quarters after I left you on Alderaan.  He had it hidden away in this little panel in the wall.  I’d probably have missed it if I hadn’t bumped the panel with my elbow one night.”

               “What’s on it?” Kento asked.  He eyed the holocron with suspicion.

               Reaching back into the cabinet, Orion pulled out an exquisitely curved bottle and set it in front of Kento.

                Kento looked just as surprised, “This is Starlight Brandy.  That’s one of the most expensive liquors in the galaxy.  Isn’t it only available on…”

                “Taris, yeah.  Stuff is like a hundred credits per shot.”

                “Did you find that hidden away here too?” Kento asked.

                “Yeah,” Orion said.  “Spice kingpins can afford nice things.”

                “Like a nexu for a pet?” Kento said.

                “Uh-huh,” Orion said.  He pulled up a chair and sat down across a corner of the table, to Kento’s right.

                “Why are you putting this in front of me?” Kento said, indicating the brandy.

                “You’ll see,” Orion said.  He activated the holocron. 

                A face appeared to hover over the crimson pyramid.  It had the cold blue color of a holographic recording, but the features it contained gave Kento a visceral shock. 

                The bone spurs at the brow that ended in sharp points.  The stunted tendrils that hung down from the cheeks and chin.  The eyes that glowed even through a hologram. 

                “A pureblood Sith?  It can’t be,” Kento said, staring back at the feminine visage with disbelief.

                “I said the same thing,” Orion said.

                “They went extinct, millennia ago.  Some scholars think they never really existed.  Just an old myth.”

                “She looks pretty real to me,” Orion said.

                “This recording must be ancient.  The holocron… it’s a relic.  Incredible,” Kento said, unable to take his eyes away from the floating face before him.

                “I don’t know a lot about this, Kento.  You’re the history teacher.  Teach me,” Orion said.

                Kento tried to organize his thoughts under this mild shock to his mind.  He found the words through a haze of surprise.

                “Thousands of years ago, Korriban was an isolated world.  A species originated there and called itself Sith.  They had red skin and faces much like this one.  They were adept with the Dark Side of the Force, though they barely understood what they were meddling with. 

                “At some point a group of Dark Jedi came to Korriban, after being cast out from the Republic.  They found the Sith species there and the two groups fused.  They bonded over a mutual affinity for the Dark Side and a desire for power.  From that alliance, an empire sprang up.  It conquered much of the Outer Rim and made inroads into the Old Republic. 

                “Over time, the original pureblood Sith were held in high regard.  They were seen as paragons of darkness.  Leaders, warriors, assassins.  Eventually, they interbred with the Dark Jedi to the point where purebloods like her just… faded out.  They didn’t perish as much as they became something else.”

                “The Sith,” Orion said.

                “Exactly.  What we call the Sith now are the physical and spiritual descendants of the ancient Sith Empire.  The species died, but the culture remained.  Dark Side worship.  A desire for power.  Infighting, backstabbing.  The Sith carried on those traditions very well.”

                “And she,” Orion said, referring to the face projected from the holocron, “Is an original Sith?”

                “Looks to be, yes, a pureblood.  A Red Sith.  A True Sith.  To my knowledge, no one has seen a pureblood Sith in almost five thousand years.”

                “You should see this,” Orion said.  He tapped the holocron in one area and the image changed.  Above the floating face of this pureblood, a symbol formed in the air.  The same symbol that was cut into the door of the room in which they sat.  The same symbol cut into the faces of the victims.

                “What is going on here?” Kento said.

                “I’ll let her explain,” Orion said.  He let the holocron recording play.

                                                                                –

                “If you are hearing this, then you have accessed my legacy.  I am Darth Fatalis, Black Queen of the Sith.”

                “I rose to power after the death of the great Marka Ragnos.  My ancestry afforded me certain privileges within the empire, which I used to blaze a new path to glory.  Armed with ancient Sith alchemy and guided by the Dark Side, I discovered a secret which led to my exile on this barren world.”

                Kento looked at Orion, who shrugged in response.  The recording continued.

                “As a check on the power of the barbaric Ludo Kressh, I began to absorb the midi-chlorians of my fellow Sith through a ritual known as bloodstalking.”

                “Bloodstalking is a technique that allows one Sith to drain power from another, leaving the victim devoid of life and essence.  With each victim, the user becomes more and more powerful with the Dark Side.  Fusing the midi-chlorians of many Sith to enhance the powers of one. 

                “Bloodstalking is achieved through this method,” Fatalis said. 

                Kento paused the recording, “That’s impossible.  You can’t transfer midi-chlorians…”

                “Just watch,” Orion said, reaching for the holocron.

               “Am I going to want to see this?” Kento asked.

                “No.”

                Kento started the recording again.  He watched as this Sith, this Darth Fatalis, restrained a young human girl.  Holding her down with the Force, the Sith cut into the victim’s forehead, leaving the distinctive mark they’d noted before.  Then cuts were made into the young girl’s arms, causing the blood to flow at a prodigious rate. 

                “Oh, stop!  Stop!  That poor child,” Kento said, unable to do a thing to ease her suffering across the inconquerable barrier of time.

                Kento watched as Fatalis projected lightning from her fingers, the rivulets of blood coalescing in the energy to give the lightning a searing red quality.  The young girl’s body spasmed, wracked with pain.  The girl’s frame contorted and stretched in horrible ways.  The restraints kept her in place, but the raw energy that coursed through her body almost wrenched her loose.

                On the recording, Fatalis had used the Force to compact the blood of the now drained and deceased human girl into a swirling ball of red liquid.  With more lightning entering the sphere, it began to rotate faster and faster.  As it sped up, the sphere was drained of color, as though the lightning had leeched away any remnant of the red blood that had once coursed through the victim’s veins.  What was left was a smaller, glowing orb, still lofted by the Force energy that Fatalis projected.

                Kento watched as Fatalis brought the orb to her frame and let it enter her body through the skin.  The wicked smile on her face marked the conclusion of the ritual.  Behind her, the desiccated body of her victim fell limply back to the ground.

                Orion stopped the recording.  Kento, with gritted teeth and tear-stained cheeks, reached for the bottle.  As he drank, Orion spoke, calmly and clinically.

                “That red lighting… that’s what Braca tried to hit me with,” Orion said.

                “The striations on the victim’s bodies,” Kento said.

                “Braca must have learned from this holocron,” Orion said.

                “So did whoever is doing these new murders,” Kento said.  He paused, looking at the holocron again, “Is there more?” he asked.

                “I don’t know.  That’s all I’ve been able to access.  There seems to be a slot for something but I don’t know what.”

               “Sometimes they used kyber crystals to store data.”

               “You can do that?” Orion asked.

               “We can,” Kento said, nodding.  “Some Masters keep journal files and store the data there.  More private than ink and paper.”

               “At any rate, there wasn’t anything else with this when I found it,” Orion said.

                Kento nodded.

                “Do you still think I had anything to do with this?” Orion asked.

                “No,” Kento said.  “But why are you in such proximity to these new victims?”

                “I have a theory.  I think whoever this killer is can track my movements.”

                “How?” Kento asked.

                “Maybe they have a beacon on this ship.  Maybe it’s in the holocron.  Maybe it’s something totally different.  But I think they decided to follow me and they’re leaving a trail of bodies in their wake.”

                “You’ve tried to set a trap?” Kento asked.

                “Twice.  Whoever it is, they’re cautious.  No open confrontations.”

                “You think they knew Braca?” Kento asked.

                “I do.  At some point either Braca taught our killer how to do this, or it was the other way around.  Braca used bloodstalking to build himself a nice little criminal empire.  This killer… is going a different way.  I think he killed your Jedi and my Rangers.  Braca was surely a killer, but he wasn’t our killer.”

                Kento put a hand to his mouth, in realization, “So, if I hadn’t killed Braca, he might have…”

                “Don’t do that to yourself,” Orion said.

                Kento seethed with inward directed anger, “We need to find this Sithspawn.”

                “How do you propose to do that?” Orion asked.

                “If Braca knew this guy, they must have been in the same place at the same time.  If we knew where this ship had been, we could check those locations.”

                “I thought of that, but the ship’s navicomputer is locked.  There’s a security program in place.  All the navigation records from before we took the ship, I can’t access any of that,” Orion said.

               “I wonder if he can,” Kento said, nodding to the R2 unit that he’d brought along from Coruscant.

***

               On the bridge, the R2 unit whirred and chittered.  Kento watched it connect to the navicomputer.  The flickering lights seemed to indicate that it was searching, or processing, or slicing.  Either way, he let it work in peace.  Orion stepped in from the corridor and sat down across from him, in the captain’s chair.

               “How have you been?” Kento asked, swiveling to face him.

               “Eh, passable.  When the Jal Shey heard about the new killings, they weren’t too happy.”

               “Same with the Jedi Council,” Kento said.

               Orion shook his head, “Truth be told, I can’t blame them.  I haven’t slept real well since I found out.”

               Kento nodded, “I can imagine.”

               Orion let out a breath and sat back in his chair.

               “I was actually on Coruscant a few months ago.  I thought about trying to see you, but I wasn’t sure if…”

               “What brought you to Coruscant?” Kento said, cutting him off.

               “I was helping Dex set up his new place,” Orion said.

               “Dex?  The shopkeeper?  He’s dead.  Montross said…”

               Orion put up a hand, “Montross thought he killed him.  It was a case of mistaken identity.  Dex’s brother-in-law was at the store, Montross got them mixed up.  Couldn’t tell one Besalisk from another, I suspect.  The brother-in-law caught a blaster bolt, Dex got away clean.  He’s got a nice little diner now in CoCo Town.”

               “Oh,” Kento said.

               “You don’t sound too happy,” Orion said.

               “Well, it’s just… I thought I’d gotten him killed,” Kento said.

               “You didn’t,” Orion said.

               “I just got someone else killed.  Someone who didn’t have anything to do with this,” Kento said.

               Before Orion could reply, the R2 unit beeped excitedly. 

               “He’s got something,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

               The Transgressor emerged from hyperspace in the outer part of the Anoat system.  As the field of view reversed from white brilliance to black night, Orion ran a sensor scan of the surrounding area.

               “Okay, Anoat system.  What have we got?  Looks like a handful of planets.  Anoat itself is the only thing really interesting.  Decent population.  Lot of potential customers for our old friend.”

               Kento shuddered a bit at the reference to Braca as an “old friend”.  He had never been able to fully clear his mind of the image of Braca’s body.  And now here he was again on the bridge, the site of his greatest failure.

               Orion kept talking, more to himself than to Kento, as he continued the sweep.  “Hey!  There it is.  Navigation coordinates are pointing us to an asteroid field out at the edge of the system.  It’d be a good place to hide from the law.”

               “Hiding a secret spice operation, perhaps?” Kento asked, with a raised eyebrow.

               “I’m thinking so.  I can’t get a reading from this far out, but let’s get closer and see what we can find.”

               Half an hour later they approached the edge of the asteroid field.  The cluster of rocks, large and small, tumbled and bumped in universal randomness.  Kento was apprehensive about flying through such a maelstrom of stone and vacuum, but he didn’t give voice to his concerns.

               “Are you picking up anything?” he asked.

               “There’s a shadow beacon,” Orion said.

               “A shadow beacon?” Kento asked.

               “Yeah, it’s tuned to the ship’s navicomputer.  It’s putting out a signal only we can see.  But it’s intermittent.  Not surprising, considering all this,” Orion gestured to the chaotic mess of rocks outside the cockpit window. 

               “Can you navigate that?” Kento asked.

               “I really shouldn’t,” Orion said.

               “Are we sure there’s something in there?” Kento asked.

               “According to the navicomputer this ship has been to this system many, many times.  I’m sure there’s some kind of beacon in there that only this ship can pick up on.  I just can’t be sure there’s anything in there worth searching for.”

               “We have to risk it,” Kento said.

               “Yeah, I know.  I know.  Just… not wild about this.  Strap in.  This is going to get interesting,” Orion said. 

               Kento pulled himself into the seat at the sensor station and buckled the harness.  Orion pulsed the sublight engines and entered the asteroid field.

               “Keep an eye on the scanners.  We’ve got to find that signal among all the hash.  When you spot it, point me in the right direction,” Orion said.

               Kento put his hands over the sensor screen and peered into it.  He was grateful to have something to look at besides the asteroids.  When the shadow beacon’s signal blinked into life on his screen, he called out the angles to Orion. 

               “Left thirty, mark eight point four,” he said. 

               Kento felt the ship lurch as Orion adjusted the direction.  He saw the screen in front of him rotate and the markers spin around.  Then another sudden twist as Orion flew to avoid an incoming rock.  He dodged and weaved among the boulders.  Kento felt a spat of nausea as he stared at the sensor screen.  He looked up to stare out the window and was confronted by a small mountain of rock.  He quickly went back to the little electronic screen on the console.

               “Angle up at eighteen.  Mark four point seven,” he called out.  Again, the change of motion played with his innards.  This was starting to feel like a very bad idea.

               “I think I see it,” Orion said.  “That looks like it could be it over there, look.”

               Kento looked up, scanning the sky.  He saw a cloud of debris over to the right.  Bits of transparisteel and ship hull pieces hanging in a cluster over the smashed wreck of a freighter.  The freighter’s rear had been pulverized, presumably from impacts with other asteroids.  The forward section, what was left of it, was attached to an asteroid.

               “That doesn’t look like most of the rocks here,” Kento said.

               Indeed, it did not.  The asteroids in this field were mostly round or oblong.  They were lumpy, random masses.  This particular asteroid looked like a pair of spheres that had fused together.  It held position amidst the swirl.  There seemed to be no translation or rotation.  Kento didn’t need an explanation.  It was clear what he was looking at.  This was a space station, small, but no doubt efficient.  A cylinder that was padded with a bulbous outer coating that made it look like a couple of local rocks had become conjoined.

               As the Transgressor circled around the other side, the ruse was completely lost.  Embedded in the other end of the cylinder, opposite the ruined freighter, was a docking port.  Available and inviting.

               “Not a bad little design,” Orion mused.  “He brings in the spice on one side, processes it inside the station, offloads it to a freighter on the other side.  Simple in and out.”

                “Pretty small,” Kento said.

                “Minimal crew.  Don’t split up the profits any more than you have to.  You could run something like that with two or three people, maybe a couple of droids.  You’d make a killing selling down on Anoat.  If you had enough freighters and raw material, you could run spice through this whole sector.”

                “So, this was just Braca’s flagship, not his whole operation?” Kento said, indicating the Transgressor.

                “I believe so,” Orion said.

                “Let’s see if they left anything behind,” Kento said.

                Smoothly, Orion brought the Transgressor up to the empty docking port.  A series of heavy clicks indicated they were connected securely to the station.  Orion got up from his chair and made his way to the hatch just aft of the bridge.  Kento followed close behind.

                “Keep your saber at the ready.  They might have left traps.  Spice runners aren’t known for being very trusting.”

                Kento used the Force to pull his saber hilt into his right hand.  Orion did the same for the blaster on his left hip.  Kento watched the bulky weapon float past Orion’s chest and saw the Jal Shey aim it at the closed hatch.

                “Do you want me to go first?” Kento asked, hefting his saber.

                “I’d rather you watch my back.  I’ll take point,” Orion said.  He opened the hatch.

               A chill filled the air.  The cold bit into Kento’s skin like an impact with an iceberg.  He shivered and pulled his robes tighter around his shoulders. 

               The interior of the station was dark and eerie.  Whatever powered the vehicle had apparently depleted.  The lights were off, heating was off, and so, apparently, were the artificial gravity systems.  Internal illumination from the Transgressor revealed a few details, but the shadows held most of the territory.  Orion hit a button on the barrel of his blaster.  A cone of white light filled the space wherever he pointed the weapon.

               Orion pushed off from the hatch and floated into the chamber.

                Kento watched as the Jal Shey Ranger pirouetted and checked the walls all around him. 

               “Looks clear,” he said.  “Are you sensing anything?”

               Kento shook his head, “The Force tells me nothing.  There is no life in this place.”

               “That’s actually good news for us,” Orion said, making his way further down.

               “If you say so,” Kento said, following him in.  He lit his saber blade and the module filled with viridian light.  The snap-hiss visibly startled Orion and Kento gave him a sympathetic shrug.

               “Good thinking,” Orion said, turning back towards the space ahead of them.

               Odds and ends floated randomly through the vessel.  There were long tables down the middle of the cylinder.  A floor and a ceiling provided a sense of up and down, but with the lack of power, there was no gravity to enforce those senses. 

               They dodged glass containers and floating bags, both empty and full.  The air stung Kento’s nostrils when he inhaled too deeply.  A chemical smell, combined with a tang that undoubtedly marked the remnants of a sizable batch of spice.  Kento grimaced and wished he’d brought a breathing mask. 

               The curved side walls led up to cabinet doors near the ceiling.  Orion floated up and started opening the doors one-by-one, searching for anything that might be of interest.  Kento took the opposite wall and did the same.  By unspoken agreement, they started to call out the items they found.

               “I’ve got glassware and goggles.  Looks like basic laboratory stuff,” Orion said.

               “I’ve got a scale and a box of gloves,” Kento said.

               Orion shifted down, “A couple of empty boxes and…” he paused, handling some object, “I think this is a fire extinguisher.”

               Kento nodded, checking the next cabinet, “In here, there are rags and cleaning supplies.

               Orion checked the last door before the far wall.  He opened it and his head pulled back suddenly, “Whoa.  Interesting.  It’s… it’s a droid.”

               Kento frowned.  Based on the size of the cabinets, it must be a small one.

               “Is it active?” Kento asked, abandoning the row of cabinets he was checking.

               Orion pulled a small metal foot from the cabinet.  The rest of the droid came with it.  Kento’s first thought was that it looked kind of cute.  It appeared to have no weapons and it was not even half a meter tall.  The small frame made it non-threatening.  He couldn’t imagine any danger from this little sprite.  It had a boxy, bipedal frame, mostly white with some blue trim.  The legs bent backwards.  The head was angular, with a pair of antennae coming off the top, almost like ears. 

               Orion held the little droid like an injured pet.  It made no movements, emitted no sound. 

               “It must be out of power,” Orion said.

               “That makes sense.  It’s been out here for more than a year,” Kento said.

               “Based on where we found it, I don’t think it was something that Sithspawn took good care of.  Poor little fella,” Orion said, cradling the droid in his arm.

               “Have you ever seen a design like that?” Kento asked, tapping one of the droid’s feet.  The unit began to slowly tumble in the space between the two men.

               “Not familiar to me.  Still, who knows what it might be able to tell us?” Orion said.  “We’ll take it back when we’re done.”

               Kento nodded.  Orion put the little droid down on a countertop, uselessly as it merely floated up in the zero gravity.  He pressed the tiny frame into a corner and held it motionless for a moment.  Satisfied that it wouldn’t float away, he confronted the round door on the far wall from where they’d come in.

               “Does that lead to the busted freighter?” Kento asked.

               Orion shook his head, “No, I don’t think so.  The station is bigger than this,” he said, indicating the room they now occupied.  “I think there’s another module, probably the same size, behind this one.”

               Kento nodded to the hatch, “Okay, let’s check it out.”

               Orion swung the hatch open.  Kento angled his body slightly and went in first, floating in mid-air through the hatch combing.  Again, there was a dark void, though this one was more cramped.  His saber blade lit boxes that floated around just as randomly as the asteroids outside.  The crates bumped and nudged together gently, slowly. 

               “Storage,” Kento said.  He sniffed the air and grimaced, “Spice storage.”

               Kento pushed one crate aside before it could bump his shoulder.  Orion watched from the first module, waiting to see if he found anything noteworthy.

               The green light gave the space an eerie feel.  It cast the room with stark shadows.  Orion floated in the doorframe between the two modules, watching as the Jedi looked around.  He glanced to one side of the module just before the shadow swooped down.  The sudden loss of light from Kento’s blade was jarring.  He looked up just in time to see the outline of a figure between him and his partner.  This was no small, unthreatening droid.  This silhouette was bigger than either of them.  And Orion could see the shadow of a large, repeating blaster at the end of one arm.

               “Statement: You are an intruder,” the droid said, before he commenced firing.

               Kento barely turned in time to dodge the first shot.  The rest came in a fast stream of angry red bolts.  His saber swept the space between his head and the blaster fire.  It was enough to save his life, but only barely.  He tumbled backwards, bouncing off the floor and several crates all at once.  His training gave him the presence of mind to use the floating boxes for cover.  He kicked off and scrambled, trying to dodge more fire. 

               Blaster bolts burst open crates that floated near him, spilling potent doses of spice into the air.  He moved to cover his mouth and ducked away.  Behind him, he heard more blasts ringing against the far walls of the fuselage. 

               Orion, a witness to this ambush, had a perfect shot on a stationary target.  He brought up his blaster and levelled it at the droid’s back.  His shot struck the droid in the center of its exposed spinal column.

               And had no effect.

               The droid spun in midair to face this new threat.  Orion squeezed off two more ineffective shots before throwing the blaster at the droid, half in frustration, half in an attempt at distraction.  The blaster pistol bounced off the droid’s head and had no impact on its subroutines. 

               Orion was now its primary target.

               The Jal Shey Ranger used the Force to snatch his curved hilt saber from its place on his belt.  In one fluid motion, he activated the blade and flung the hilt at his attacker.

               The saber flew through space, the blade drawing out as it tumbled.  Guided by the Force, the spinning disc of light slashed through the droid’s neck at a sharp angle.  The sharp, pointed stump housed the connections that commanded the weapon to fire.  As the blade cleaved the droid, the attack ended as quickly as it had begun.

               Silence filled the space.

               Kento emerged from a cloud of spice dust.  He brushed it aside with the Force.

               “What was that?” he asked.

               “Some kind of sentry-droid.  Must have been left behind like our little friend.  Probably programmed to kill looters,” Orion said.

               Kento waved an arm behind him, “That would explain them.”

               Orion looked up, following his gesture.  There were a few corpses floating amongst the crates.  They were riddled with blaster shots.  Kento turned, saw the bodies and flinched.

               Orion floated over for a closer look.  He whistled forlornly, “Must be the crew of that freighter outside.  I figured the vacuum got ‘em.  Not so lucky.  Or maybe more lucky, depending on your point of view.”

               “Thanks for handling that,” Kento said, indicating the fallen droid.

               “Well, you got to cut the head off last time.  It was my turn,” Orion said, rather deadpan.

               “You know…” Kento said, his frustration oozing to the surface.

               “Save it.  Let’s get this done and get out of here.”

               “It’s a mess with all this spice in the air.  I say we leave and try out the little droid you found.  If it can’t tell us anything, we can always come back,” Kento said.

               Orion shrugged, “Good enough for me.”  He tapped the big battle droid’s frame with his boot, “You recognize this one?” he asked.

               Kento used the Force to snatch the severed head from the air and pull it to his hand.  He held it over the droid’s bisected neck and raised an eyebrow. 

               “Yes, actually.  It’s an antique.  Old hunter-killer model.  It’s a relic.  Must have been restored, or maybe a reproduction, lovingly built from old schematics.”

               “That tracks.  Spice runners are showy.  Having something like this would be intimidating to rivals,” Orion said.

               “He must have paid quite a bit for it,” Kento said.  “It’s a shame you had to destroy it.  If it’s an original, it belongs in a museum.”

               Orion shrugged, “Bring it along.  We’re already taking the little guy.  Maybe I can fix it,” Orion said.

               “Are you sure?  It just tried to kill you,” Kento said.

               “You tried to kill me last year and you’re sitting in my copilot chair.  Bring it along.  It’s worth saving.”

                                                                                –

               As the Transgressor emerged from the asteroid field, Kento felt a sense of relief.  He could feel the tension slough off of Orion as the ship cleared the last of the large rocks.  It was much less stressful to be in open space again. 

               “I’m putting us in an orbit that shouldn’t draw any attention.  We’ll let it drift for a little while.  Let’s see what that droid can tell us,” Orion said.

               Together they left the bridge and walked aft.  The droid had been left to charge in the workshop, just forward of the engine room.  As they entered, Kento saw the droid spring up from the workbench where they had put it down to charge.  The boxy little biped hooted excitedly and hopped back and forth on each foot, like a playful gizka.

               “Well, hey there, little fella,” Orion said. 

               The little droid hooted cheerfully.  Kento could see one of its lensed eyes refocusing, looking back and forth between the two men. 

               Orion spoke to the droid like a pet, “My name is Orion Xadau.  I’m a Jal Shey Ranger.  This is my friend, Kento Marek, of the Jedi Order.”

               The droid beeped and whirred, then tilted its head down, in what passed for a modest bow. 

               “BD-N8, we’re delighted to meet you,” Orion said.

               Kento interjected, “You can understand that thing?”

               Orion turned to look at him and frowned, “I speak binary, yes.  And let’s not refer to our new friend as a ‘thing’, shall we?  Especially when we need his help.”

               The droid whistled in a series that went rapidly between high and low.

               “Really?” Orion asked.

               Again the chittering whistles, a new pattern now.

               “Czerka Corporation?” Orion asked.

               Again Kento heard an incomprehensible response.

               “You want to catch me up here?” Kento asked.

               Orion ignored him, still talking to the droid, “Okay, that is this ship’s designator.  But it’s not a Czerka vessel any longer.”

               “This is a Czerka ship?” Kento asked, raising an eyebrow.

               “That’s what he’s telling me.  Czerka Corporation, the pharmaceutical division.  It’s a research vessel.  Or it was when he was last on board.  They were surveying worlds for new medicinal plants.”

               “That would explain the sensor arrays,” Kento said.

               “And all the cargo space,” Orion said.  He turned to address the droid again, “When we found it, it belonged to a spice runner named Braca.  Do you know him?”

               BD-N8 put out a smattering of excited sounds. 

               “He says Braca was his master.  Braca was a Czerka employee, and our friend here was assigned to him.”

               “So, the droid is Czerka property too?” Kento asked.

               “So it would seem,” Orion said.

               The droid gave a series of clicks and whistles that seemed to trail higher in pitch.

               Orion addressed the BD unit, “We found you aboard a space station that manufactured spice.  Do you know anything about that?”

               Kento said, “We don’t care about the spice operation.  Ask him about the murders.”

               “I’m easing in,” Orion said.  “Are you in a hurry?”

               “Yes!  I’m trying to catch a murderer before he kills again,” Kento snapped back.

               Orion shrugged, “This’ll be easier if you don’t try to rush it.”

               Kento sighed, took his lightsaber from his belt and put it down on the workbench, next to the droid, “Have you ever seen one of these before?”

               The little BD unit looked at the saber hilt intently.  He emitted a cone of light and scanned the saber hilt back and forth for a moment.  Then a series of clicks and hoots came forth.

               Orion replied to him, “That’s right.  We had a friend who was murdered.  She carried a weapon like this.  We’re trying to find the person who killed her.”

               The droid hooted mournfully.

               “No luck?” Kento asked, taking a guess.

               Orion ignored him.  The droid continued a low toned chirping.

               “Well, that could be something,” Orion said.

               “What’s he saying?” Kento asked.

               “He only has one record in his memory that references a lightsaber,” Orion said.  Then he addressed BD-N8 again, “Can you show us the file?”

               The BD unit whirred and chittered once again.  Its connection to the charging station began to rotate in a random pattern.  Above the workbench, the viewscreen illuminated the otherwise dim room.

***

               BD-N8’s electronic eyes came online.  In another room, a voice could be heard, shouting for him,

               “Nate!  Come on, we’ve got work to do!”

               The droid hopped off its perch and padded through the workshop, looking up from knee-height at a human male with a slight frame.

               “Charging time is over little man, we’ve got to see what’s out there.  Hop on up,” Braca said.

               BD-N8 climbed up onto the shoulder of his master.  Braca walked through the ship and onto the bridge.  Out in front of the ship was a red, rocky planet. 

               A small scout ship flew into view.  Braca pressed a button to open a communications channel.

               “Tarrus, do you read me?”

               “Loud and clear.  I’m telling you; this place has a lot of potential.”

               “I’m not so sure.  This whole world is rusted desert,” Braca said.

               “Not all of it.  This one grove is bursting with life.  It’s an oasis in the middle of a planet-wide desert.  The vegetation in that area looks a lot like Felucian jungle to me.  Don’t you want to know what’s growing there and why?” Tarrus asked.

               “All right, you sold me.  I’m starting the landing cycle.  We’ll put down at the outer edge of the grove.  Follow me and we’ll go in together.”

               “Good plan,” Tarrus said.

               BD-N8 watched as Braca brought the ship down over a rusted landscape.  Out the bridge window, a clump of trees appeared on the horizon.  As he approached, the clump took on the form of a large patch of jungle.  By the time he landed, the jungle trees and plants dominated the forward view.

               “Let’s see what we have here,” Braca said to BD-N8.

               The little droid clung to Braca’s right shoulder as he exited the Mon Cal freighter.  On the ground, BD-N8 watched as Tarrus landed his small Mankvim-814 interceptor.  Tarrus emerged from the cockpit.  BD-N8 zoomed in on his frame.

               Tarrus was a blood red Nikto.  An exceptionally brightly colored example of his species.  He was bulky and muscular.  It was amazing that he fit in the cockpit of his little interceptor.  This was clearly someone who valued his physical prowess.  Such mentalities were common among the Nikto.  His parents must have been proud.

               Braca waved Tarrus over and BD-N8 hopped down off his shoulder.  The little droid looked around the edge of the jungle as Tarrus and Braca conferred.

               “The director still wants us to prioritize pheromones and pollenators,” Braca said.

               “You’re the chemist.  I’m just the scout,” Tarrus said.  “How am I supposed to know what’s in there?”

               “Just don’t turn this into another Dantooine fiasco,” Braca said.

               “Oh c’mon.  That girl was beautiful, and it was two years ago.  How long are you going to keep bringing that up?” Tarrus said.

               Braca laughed, “As long as you keep getting mad about it.”

               “Yeah, yeah, funny,” Tarrus said, giving Braca a playful shove to the shoulder as they started into the jungle.  Tarrus went first, chopping at some of the undergrowth with a vibrohatchet. 

               BD-N8 recorded and scanned every plant that he could see from his spot on Braca’s shoulder. 

               “Why here?  What’s so special about this particular spot?  Everything outside of here is a wasteland,” Tarrus asked.

                Braca shrugged, “Something about the soil, or maybe there’s water underground.  But we should find the center of this grove.  Whatever the reason, we’ll find it at the center.”

                “Is Nate getting all this?” Tarrus asked.

                The little BD-droid hooted an affirmation. 

               As a group, they moved into the jungle.  After a couple kilometers of trudging, the two explorers came upon a stone archway.  In the capstone, an ancient symbol was carved. 

                “Any idea what that means?” Tarrus said, pointing up at the archway.

                “Not a clue,” Braca said.

                BD-N8 recorded them moving through the stone arch.  A pathway was cut into the jungle foliage.  They walked a short distance and came into a clearing.  A large, flat stone stood at the center.  It had the dimensions of a banquet table.  A grand disc that had been perfectly positioned at the core of this strange jungle.  Clearly an artificial marker or monument, its significance didn’t need to be stated to be obvious.

                At the center of the stone was the Sith holocron.  BD-N8 took note of an object that was sticking out from one side of the small pyramid.  The recording highlighted it and identified it as a lightsaber.

                Braca retrieved the holocron and it activated at the first touch.  The sharp-lined face of Fatalis hovered in the air above the pyramid’s apex and spoke.

                “If you are hearing this, then you have accessed my legacy.  I am Darth Fatalis, Black Queen of the Sith.”

                                                                                –

                “Nate, pause the playback, please,” Orion said.

                The image froze on Braca and Tarrus staring at the face of Fatalis. 

                Kento stared at the faces on the viewscreen with angry resolve.

                “Droid, pull up everything you have on this Tarrus,” Kento said.

                The recording faded and a new image came up on the screen.  It was the logo of Czerka Corporation.  That winked out and a file came up.  Orion began to read the Aurebesh on the screen next to the holograph of Tarrus’s face.

                “He’s a Kajain’sa’Nikto, obviously,” Orion said, “Born on Kintan.  Family migrated to Corellia.  Went to the Corellian Security Academy.  Dropped out after a year and signed on with a shipping outfit.  The company got bought out by Czerka and he got assigned to the scout ship Botanical Harmony.”

                Orion paused, “This ship is called Botanical Harmony?” he asked BD-N8.

                The droid hooted in the affirmative.

                “Dump that, I’m still calling it the Transgressor,” Orion said.

                “Focus, laser brain.  How can we find this guy?” Kento asked.

                “Nate, resume playback,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

                The image changed back to the jungle grove and Tarrus and Braca staring, dumbfounded, at the holocron’s recording. 

                Orion and Kento watched the two men observe the rest of the recording.  Neither appeared to be horrified.  Both had a look of fascination.

                Instead of ending, as it had for Orion and Kento, the holocron kept playing.  Fatalis’s voice continued.

                “As you are the first visitors to this sanctuary, I offer you a gift.  Embedded within this holocron are stasis-tubes that contain concentrated midi-chlorians.  Consuming the vials will confer upon you the ability to control the Force.  If you already wield the Force, these will greatly enhance your abilities.”

                Panels on the sides of the holocron rotated and retracted.  The object altered its shape and three vials emerged from the structure.  Braca took one, Tarrus another, they left the third in place.  Each examined his vial with a skeptical eye.  Fatalis went on.

                “Through the technique of bloodstalking, you will acquire greater power.  Every time you extract the blood of a Jedi through this ritual, you will gain more strength in the Force.  The lessons contained within this holocron will teach you everything you need to know.  How to construct a lightsaber.  How to defeat a Jedi.  How to use the Dark Side of the Force.  The grove will provide for all your needs.  When you are ready, I will instruct you in the final ritual.  The rite that will lead the Sith to become the greatest power the galaxy has ever seen.”

                Tarrus reached out to pause the holocron’s recording.

                “What are you doing?” Braca said.

                BD-N8 watched as Tarrus unsealed the stasis-tube and swallowed its contents.

                “Tarrus?” Braca said, stepping back.

                Tarrus looked positively gleeful as he absorbed the midi-chlorians, “This is everything.  The power of the Force.  We could do whatever we want.  We could be whatever we want.”

                “Are you sure?” Braca asked.

                Tarrus turned and saw a small rock at the edge of the clearing.  He took a deep breath, then reached out with his hand and the stone began to wiggle.  After a couple of tries, it levitated.  One more attempt and it flew into his hand.

                “I’m sure,” Tarrus said.

                Braca nodded and grinned.  He took his own vial and consumed it just as Tarrus had.  BD-N8 recorded a ripple that passed through his body.  The shock of the absorption gave Braca a chill that ran through his spine.  He recovered quickly. 

                “Wizard,” Braca said.  Then he turned to his little companion droid, “Nate, stop recording.”

                “Why?” Tarrus asked.

                “Whatever we’re going to do now, it’s no business of Czerka’s.  From now on, we work for ourselves.”

                The recording stopped.

                                                                                –

                Orion and Kento shared a silent moment of reflection.

                “Can that really be the way of it?” Kento asked.

                “What do you mean?” Orion asked.

                “Concentrated midi-chlorians?  I’ve never heard of that,” Kento said.

                “You know about midi-chlorians, though, right?” Orion said, tapping the patch on his jacket, the one with the blue oval logo of the Jal Shey.

                “I know what the Jedi have taught me.  They’re a microscopic form of life.  They live within cells and tell us the will of the Force,” Kento said.

                “It’s a little more complicated than that,” Orion said.

                “Teach me,” Kento said.

                “Midi-chlorians in sufficient quanties allow people like you and I to tap into the energy fields that make up the Force.”

                “I thought it was one field,” Kento said.

                “It is, depending on your perspective.  Small scale or large scale.  It’s all interconnected.”

                “Okay.”

                “The point is, the more of them you have, the more energy you can access,” Orion said.

                “Jedi 101,” Kento said.

                “Yeah.  And I’m betting in your classes, they tell you that midi-chlorians can’t be transferred from one person to another.”

                “Yeah, they were clear on that.  They do get passed down through bloodlines, but you can’t move them between bodies,” Kento said.

                “There’s nothing in the structure or workings of midi-chlorians that says they can’t be transferred.  We’ve just never seen it done.  Jal Shey researchers have tried this for hundreds of years.  No success.  Every generation or so, someone comes along to try again.  To take midi-chlorians from plants, or animals, or dead Force users and salvage them.  They’ve never gotten anywhere.  They’re never viable after a transfer.  We don’t understand why.”

                “And you think Fatalis figured it out?”

                “I think she could have,” Orion said.

                “Then why the exile?  If she’d given them this ability, they’d revere her, not cast her out,” Kento said.

                “’Given them’?” Orion asked.  “Sith do not give anything away.  If she learned this power, she would use it for her own ends, and may the Force be with anyone who stood in her way.  No, I suspect she started to prey on other Sith to the point that she became a threat, and those in power dealt with her before she could prey upon them.”

                Kento nodded, “Betrayal is the way of the Sith.”

                “I suspect our friends learned that the hard way,” Orion said, nodding to the frozen image of Braca and Tarrus standing together.

                BD-N8 gave a mournful hoot and chittered a series of clicks.

                Orion blushed, “Sorry, buddy.  I forgot you were listening.”

                The droid issued a rapid series of whistles and tones.

                “Oh, yeah, we’d definitely like to see that,” Orion said.

                “What’s he saying?” Kento asked.

                “He made another recording.  This is his last log entry from this planet.”

                “Show us,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

                A ripple of lightning crackled through the night sky.  The stars were blotted out, dimmed behind a thick bank of low clouds.  Hard rain pounded every plant and rock.  The jungle soaked in the moisture eagerly.  Nate’s sensors turned to record an argument that had broken out between Braca and Tarrus.  They stood by the center stone, arguing back and forth.  In the background, a pair of huts had been constructed.  The smouldering remnants of a campfire had been doused by the downpour.  A small pile of animal bones and fruit peels sat between the huts.

                “We can’t do that!  It’s a trick.  That’s not a path to glory, it’s a path to our deaths!” Braca said, yelling at Tarrus.  The rain came down on their heads.  Their raised voices could barely be heard over the thunder. 

                “We can’t refuse!” Tarrus yelled back.  “She’s given us everything.  We owe it to her to see this through!”

                “She’s been dead for a thousand years.  We owe her nothing!  You said yourself, we can be whatever we want to be.”

                “I want this!” Tarrus said.  His fists clenched.  His body shifted to tower over Braca, “She’s gotten us this far.  I want whatever destiny she has set for us.”

                “You’re a fool,” Braca said.  “It’s been months of this, and she’s led us up a blind alley.  Can’t you see this was her plan the whole time?  She doesn’t care for you!  She can’t.  She’s gone!  She’s just using you!  She would have used whoever got here first!”

                “I don’t believe that.  Look at what we can do because of her!  She’s never led us astray before.”

                “I don’t care.  I’m not going along with this.  I’m leaving.  Now!”

                “Then go!” Tarrus said.

                “And I’m taking the holocron,” Braca said, snatching it from the stone pedestal.  He tucked it under his arm.

                “Like hell you are,” Tarrus said.  He reached out with the Force to snatch the holocron back.

                The holocron hovered in the space between them for a moment, both men using the Force in an invisible tug-of-war.

                “It’s worth a fortune.  I’ll need credits to start out,” Braca said.

               “You’re not taking her from me!” Tarrus screamed. 

               BD-N8 zoomed in on the floating holocron and watched as it vibrated back and forth.  It seemed like it would shatter into pieces until, suddenly, the lightsaber that was mounted on its forward panel came loose and flew through the air, into the outstretched hand of Tarrus.

               Braca and Tarrus fell back, stunned at the sudden end to their struggle.  They each held a piece of Fatalis’s legacy.  Braca tucked the holocron under his arm, just as he had before.  He got to his feet and whistled for BD-N8.  The droid eagerly sprinted to catch up to his master.

               Nate climbed up onto Braca’s shoulder as the young man ran into the jungle.  From behind, he heard the iconic snap-hiss of a saber activating.  And a beat later heard a howling roar that bounced randomly off the trees.  A call that could not have come from Tarrus himself.  A howl that could only be summoned by an enormous creature.

               “What the hell was that?” Braca said, not bothering to look back at Tarrus or this new threat.

               BD-N8 skittered a fearful bleat.  The jungle ahead was dark, damp, and dangerous.  But it was nothing compared to the dangers from which Braca now fled. 

               After a few leaps over fallen branches and a moment of being bogged down in a mud pit, Braca heard his pursuer’s approach.  Nate snuck a peek over his shoulder and saw a searing slash cut through a fallen patch of brush.  Another followed it, creating an X.  Then the brush burst forth in a spray of wood and chaos.  Tarrus was shown in outline, backlit by a clash of lightning. 

               BD-N8 kept his photoreceptors on Tarrus.  Braca didn’t turn back.  Braca never saw Tarrus’s outline overcome by shadow.  He didn’t see the massive, clawed hand reach out and snatch the Nikto off the ground.

               But he heard the scream.

               Ahead was a huge purple leaf that blocked the route between two branches.  Braca hunched and launched his body straight at it.  He burst through and the light around him shifted.

               The rain ceased; the stars appeared above.  He looked around.  He was no longer in the grove.  He’d reached the edge.  The storm raged behind him, but only came down over the jungle.  The ground beneath his feet was dry as a bone. 

               “Unbelievable,” Braca said, looking back at the grove behind him.  The rain gave the scene a thin curtain of water.  The windy night air chilled him to the bone.  He turned and found the Botanical Harmony a few hundred meters away, right where he had left it, on a dry patch of desert.  Tarrus’s little scout ship sat next to it, undisturbed after several months in the elements.

               BD-N8 hopped down and trundled over to a plant at the edge of the grove.  A cone of light shot out from the droid’s head, and he scanned the delicate flower.  Behind him, Braca laughed.

               “You don’t have to do that now, Nate.  We don’t work for Czerka anymore,” Braca said.

               The droid turned to his master and hooted in response.

               “You got everything?” Braca asked.

               The image shifted as BD-N8 nodded his head. 

               A wide grin broke out over Braca’s face.  He patted his hip and BD-N8 joined him on the egress ramp.  Before he stepped onboard, he gave one last glance to the jungle he’d escaped. 

               “So long, Tarrus.”

                                                                                –

               The little BD-droid stopped the playback and Orion and Kento collectively shook their heads and faced each other. 

               “Braca left him to die,” Orion said.

               “That’s cold,” Kento said.

               “That’s Sith,” Orion said.

               Kento shivered.  “Well, it looks like Tarrus survived… somehow.”

               “Braca went out and made his fortune dealing spice.  Tarrus started bloodstalking,” Orion said.

               “One wanted money, one wanted power,” Kento said.

               “Power to do what?” Orion asked, “That’s what I don’t get.  What does Tarrus want to do now?  With as many victims as he’s had, he’s got to be incredibly strong in the Force.  If the goal was to bring the Sith back, where’s his army?  Where’s his fleet?”

               Kento shrugged, “There are a lot of ways to take over the galaxy.”

               “He strikes me as a head-on type,” Orion said.

               “Does he?  He kills from the shadows, incapacitates his victims, then steals their power.  That’s devious, but it’s not head on.”

               “You’re right,” Orion said.

               “That’s funny, all this time I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say those words to me in that order,” Kento said.

               “Shut up,” Orion said.

               “Now that I’ve heard,” Kento said.

               “This is it, Kento.  The Falleen girl.  I’m thinking she’s special.  Don’t ask me how.  But, on Boz Pity, she would have turned up by now if Tarrus was still on his usual routine.”

               Kento nodded, “If she’s special, there’s only one place in the galaxy he’d have taken her.”

               Orion nodded back.  They sat in silence for a long moment.

               Kento broke the stillness first, “Set the course.  I need to make a call.”

                                                                                –

               Orion gave him privacy at the communications station.  Kento put in the comm code that he’d memorized before he left Jedha last year.

               It took two tries before her face appeared.  As beautiful as he had remembered.  Even through the clinical blue light of a hologram, her smile could light the darkness.

               “Mallie,” he said, unable to remember another word at the sight of her face.

               “Kento,” she said.  Her nova-bright smile faded after a beat, “You’re not calling to tell me you’ve left the Jedi, are you?”

               Kento winced and shook his head, “It’s not time, Mallie.  One day, perhaps, but…”

               “Why are you calling?” she said, stopping him from another empty promise. 

               “We have a line on your missing Falleen girl,” Kento said.

               Mallie perked up at that statement, “What do you know?” she asked.

               “If it’s what we think, the killer is headed for a planet in the Unknown Regions.  I’m sending you the coordinates now.”

               “Wait, back up, who’s the ‘we’?” she asked.

               “I’m working with Orion again,” he said.

               “Wow.  With all that happened I never thought…”

               “Yeah,” Kento said. 

               She let the thought take root before moving on, “Are you also calling the Old Folk’s Home?”

               “Coruscant is even farther away than you are.  We’re making our best speed to this world, hoping we can save the girl.”

               “How about the Jal Shey?”

               “Orion says no.  He says we should handle this ourselves,” Kento said.

               “What do you say?” Mallie asked.

               “We owe a debt.  This girl wouldn’t have been kidnapped if we’d done things right the first time.  I’ll take the help, but I’m not stopping and I’m not slowing down.  Whatever it takes,” he said.

               “You don’t have to do this alone,” Mallie said.

               “A few hours might make all the difference,” Kento said.

               “You talk about debt, Kento.  What about the debt you owe me?” Mallie asked.

               Kento winced, “You saved me from the Dark Side.  I owe you everything.”

               “Then don’t throw your life away before you pay me back,” Mallie said.  “There’s happiness to be found out there.  We can look for it… together,” she said.

               “Mallie…” he said, looking back at her across the void.  He lost himself in her eyes once again, just as he had on those warm nights on Jedha last year.

                Mallie held him with her gaze for a long beat.  She had spent a long time learning to read his face.  She employed her knowledge well.

               “Kento, I know what it sounds like when you say goodbye.  You’re not coming back, are you?”

               “If I don’t, at least you’ll know where to find me.”

                                                                                –

               The world returned to her in a haze.  At first it was just light and shadow.  It took a while for the two of them to get together and form shapes.  Then for the longest time, the shapes were blurry.  They formed nothing that she could identify.  Not that her thinking skills were at their peak.  Her head felt stuffed, clogged.  There was an intellect that had been tranquilized in the same way that her body had. 

               And her body was of no help either.  The muscles didn’t respond to her commands.  The pheromones that she had used in so many situations sat dormant.  All that she had was her breathing.  Her lungs carried air in and out.  Air that tasted stale and mechanical, but air that kept her alive.  The air was so cold on her reptilian skin.  It weakened her to her bones.

               Sleep was her only companion.  The dreams that came to her were sometimes frightful, sometimes calming, but always strange.  She could tell the difference between dreams and wakefulness by the colors.  Her dreams were radiant and vivid.  The waking world, such as it was, was a blurry mess of white and grey. 

               The shadows shifted, moving of their own accord.  It took her an eternity to realize that it was her own body moving.  She had not chosen to move, indeed, didn’t think herself capable of it.  She was being lifted, loaded, placed, and transported. 

               The shadows fell away, and light swirled through her eyes.  It warmed her skin.  It brought an energy that she’d been denied for so long. 

               She let gravity pull her face to the side.  The sleeve of her tunic had ripped at the elbow.  The burgundy fabric gave way to the green skin of her arm.  She let herself be mesmerized by the intricate network of scales that ran down her arm. 

               With color, certain things began to return.  She remembered a world of sand and heat.  A place of rest.  Important to her.  She remembered words.  Jedha, Force, Whills.  The meanings toyed with her memory.  It seemed good progress to know that there were things she needed to remember.  

               Rough hands moved her from the cart to the stone.  She let out a quiet whimper of discomfort as her back thudded against the rock.  Her captor cared not for her pain but did care that she stirred with energy. 

               She saw a needle enter her arm and the dreams returned.

               Before she drifted back into the abyss of color, she heard the rough-handed male speak one final missive.

               “It won’t be long now, my queen.”

                                                                                –

               The Transgressor emerged from hyperspace.  The system it entered had no name.  Merely a topographical designator.  The galaxy had plenty of unscouted worlds.  The computers had nothing to say about this one, except that the ship had made one previous visit to this planet. 

               Orion used the smooth underside of the freighter as an airbrake, gently bringing the ship into the upper atmosphere.  The scans had shown only one point of interest on this planet.  And that’s where they were heading.

               “What do you think that thing was?” Kento asked, as the Transgressor glided silently over a low range of arid mountains.

               “The thing that attacked Tarrus?” Orion asked.

               “Yeah.”

               “The Sith like their pets.  You saw what Braca kept,” Orion said, referring to the nexu they’d defeated, “I’m betting whatever Fatalis hid in that jungle was even more impressive.”

               “Let’s hope Tarrus managed to kill it.” Kento said.

               “Hoping beyond hope,” Orion said, guiding the ship down.

               “There’s the grove,” Kento said, pointing a bony finger at a spot on the horizon.

               “I’m heading for Braca’s old parking spot,” Orion said.

               With its sublight engines bringing it into a hover, the Transgressor settled onto the surface of this uncharted world.

               “Are you ready for this?” Kento said.

               “Not quite.  Give me a minute,” Orion said.

               Kento expected him to take a moment to meditate and draw upon the Force.  Instead, he walked to the rear of the bridge and opened a panel in the rear wall.  Kento looked over his shoulder.  Inside were a variety of weapons. 

               “What are you doing?” Kento asked.

               “You really want to face a jungle with a lightsaber?  I don’t know what that thing was we saw in the recording, but I’d rather be able to hurt it when it’s ten meters away as opposed to one,” Orion said. 

               Kento saw him pull out some sort of blaster with a large, bulbous muzzle. 

               Orion smiled as he hefted the weapon, “DK-45 Blasterbuss.  That son of a Hutt Montross stole my old one.  It’s perfect for boarding actions and rawka hunting.  You want one?” Orion asked, indicating another matching weapon still in the locker.

               Kento shook his head, “I’d wind up shooting your foot.”

               Orion shrugged and held up a small, compact blaster pistol in a leather holster, offering it to Kento, “How about an S-72 holdout blaster?”

               “I’d wind up shooting my foot,” Kento said.

               “Are you sure?  I’ve got a spare.  This thing comes in handy.  Hell, in a pinch, you can hit the overcharge and it’ll go off like a thermal detonator,” Orion said, strapping the little blaster to his right ankle.

               “For a group that doesn’t seem to like violence, the Jal Shey certainly keep you well stocked,” Kento said, watching Orion check all his gear.

               “The Scholars don’t believe in violence.  The Rangers believe in preparation,” Orion said.  He slung the blasterbuss around his shoulder, the strap running over his bomber jacket.

               “You’d better let me take point,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

               Orion led the way into the jungle.  Just as they’d seen on BD-N8’s recordings, it was an odd, sharp transition from desert to rainforest.  The little droid now clung to Orion’s shoulder.  Kento was reticent to take it along, but Orion made the point that Nate knew the area better than either of them.

               The underbrush had grown thick and wild.  The recordings had shown a path cut out through the trees and vines, but Orion and Kento found no clear way through the growth.  After a few faltering attempts to reach the interior, Kento lit his saber and began to hack and slash at the downed branches, clearing a path as Orion swept their flanks and rear with his bulky weapon for any signs of danger.

               The strange flora fought for sunlight under the heavy canopy.  Deep purple leaves gave way to bright yellow flowers, which accompanied fruits that were as blue as the overhead sky. 

               In a small clearing, barely large enough for both men to stand comfortably, they found a stubbly treetrunk covered in red petals that glistened with dew.

               A sharp spiny growth emerged on several of the flowers and spat a dart at the two Force wielders.  Kento’s blade swished crisply through the air and blocked a dart from entering Orion’s neck.  The Jal Shey Ranger rolled and brought up his blunderbuss, firing a fusillade into the wall of spiny flowers.  When the patchwork was a crackling ruin, he lifted himself up from his kneeling position and nodded a small thanks to the Jedi. 

               “Told you this would come in handy,” he said, giving the heavy weapon an appreciative pat. 

               Before Kento could reply, a great howl was heard echoing through the trees.

               Kento and Orion looked at each other, then back in the direction where the roar had come from.

               “I think you might have woken up Fatalis’s pet,” Kento said.

               Orion turned to go in the direction of the call.  Kento put a hand on his shoulder, “Whatever that thing is, it’s not Tarrus.  We need to find the girl.  She might still be alive.”

               “If we don’t deal with whatever this is, we’re going to have to look over our shoulders when we find Tarrus,” Orion said.

               “The girl is more important,” Kento said.

               “Two enemies, two of us,” Orion said.

               “That’s not smart,” Kento said.

               “How many monsters can you take on at once?” Orion said.

               “I blew this thing because I wanted to kill something more than I wanted to save something.  Don’t make my mistake,” Kento said.

               Orion thought for a moment, “Nate, show Kento which way to the camp.”

               The little droid hopped off Orion’s shoulder and aimed a footpad off to the left, away from the sound of the roar.

               “Save the girl.  I’ll watch your back,” Orion said.

                                                                                –

               The terentatek was drawn to violence.  Drawn to conflict.  It was a creature of the Dark Side and it ruled this grove with a fearsome, clawed fist. 

               A slave of the Black Queen, it had lain dormant for centuries, nurtured only by the swirling energies that gave rise to this twisted haven of life amidst a world of desolation. 

               When Fatalis had come to this hallowed ground millennia ago, this entire world was an arid sphere of sand and rock.  The pitiful Sith younglings that had been deposited here were placed to bait a trap.  Fatalis could not resist the siren call of strong younglings, laden with midi-chlorians that she could possess for herself. 

               After Fatalis had begun the bloodstalkings, the Sith elders launched their cowardly strike.  Her ship was bombed into oblivion by fast-moving gunships.  Distracted by the hunt of the younglings, she had been unable to retaliate against those who had stranded her. 

               With all her great power in the Force, she could not lift herself off this planet or survive in open space without a starship.  Even if she’d had the means to call for help, not a single being in the galaxy would aid her escape.  Her very name had become synonymous with danger.  A threat feared by anyone who could wield the Force. 

               Fatalis would not gently confront the ravages of time and starvation.  She called upon the only resource she had left: the Force.  She used it to grow a fearsome garden amidst the wretchedness of this planet.  Guided by her hand, she raised a jungle amidst the sand.  She populated it with life that would sustain her body and her legacy.

               Time was her greatest enemy.  If she allowed it, erosion would scatter her very atoms to dust, but she was not one to give in without a fight.  Fatalis knew how to play the long game.

               The holocron had been lovingly crafted from the bombed and battered ruins of her ship.  The knowledge she possessed would one day reemerge into an unsuspecting galaxy, and her acolytes, though separated from her by millennia, would one day spread her unrelenting savagery. 

               As she surveyed her jungle and the monument to her own glory, she felt the need to create once more.  She needed a protector.  An enforcer.  A test for those who would come for her legacy and a grand exemplar of the power she controlled.  Her pet would suffice.

               The terentatek had been a gift to honor her victory at Kijimi.  It had started so small, so pitiful, but she helped it grow.  It matured into a powerful monster.  Like her, it fed on the blood of Force Sensitives.  And of that, she possessed a great deal.

               When she entered her slumber, so did the beast.  It burrowed into the soil that teemed with dark life.  It waited for the moment it would be summoned.  When conflict came to the grove.

               For thousands of years it slept, until the stirring clash between two acolytes brought it out of its torpor.  It set about for the stronger of the two.  In the life of the animal, that had seemed like only a fleeting moment ago.  The struggle had been epic, but the terentatek had lost, signifying the rise of a worthy acolyte for the Black Queen. 

               Now, having been defeated, the beast served its former foe.  And when it sensed new conflict in the grove, it sought to confront the threat to its new master. 

               Awakened by the sound of blaster fire in its territory, the beast rose from its dormancy.  The terentatek shook off the dirt from its tusks and opened its claws back and forth.  Taking a long breath, it inhaled an unknown scent.

               It howled and set off for its new prey.

                                                                                –

               Despite his mild obsession with weaponry, Orion Xadau was no hunter.  He’d always looked with disdain upon sentients who thrilled in the death of animals.  Food was one matter.  He’d kill to eat, if he had to.  He’d kill to survive.  But it seemed the most horrid of morals to go after a beast, fearsome or not, for no purpose beyond one’s own glory.

               He considered that as he hefted the blasterbuss and pushed through the trees.  In his mind, he wanted to protect Kento, let him be safe as he found his redemption in the confrontation with Tarrus, but part of him wondered if there was an uglier motive for his movement.

               He’d left Kento behind.  Left him to deal with this slayer of Jedi.  Was it fear that had turned Orion’s course?  Was it trepidation that led him away from Tarrus?  He hoped not.  The logic was sound.  Two foes, two directions, two men.  But he feared more than just the fight ahead.  Unlike Kento, he could afford to embrace the feeling.  He let the anger swirl around him, hoping it might fuel the fire within his soul.

               He pulled his old saber from its clip on the small of his back.  The weapon that had given such pause to Kento.  The black-paneled saber imbued with the power of the Dark Side.  He set it in the groove on the muzzle of his blasterbuss, as a bayonette. 

               Whatever this beast was, he would use his entire arsenal to protect his partner from it.

                                                                                –

               Nate led the way, hopping through tight spaces as Kento cut a path behind him.  The little droid waited patiently for the Jedi to follow.  In a cramped space between some trees, Nate paused and gave a muted whistle. 

               Kento looked down at the droid and saw that it pointed to an aperture between the branches.  Kento bent over and peered through the opening.  Beyond it he could see the stone marker where the holocron had once sat.  The huts that Braca and Tarrus had built were now ruined crumbles of wood and leaves.  But the area was anything but abandoned.

               Across the stone, Kento saw the object of his torment.  The bulky form that had led him to this place of ruined evil. 

                                                                                –

               Tarrus donned his helmet, the last of the gifts he had recovered from his Black Queen.  The armor crackled with Dark Side energy.  The helmet gave him a fearsome visage.  An embrace of Ubese and Mandalorian designs, the stalker armor was designed to draw fear in those from whom fear was anathema.  The Jedi suppressed their fear just as they suppressed their own innate selfish desires.  The Sith stalker armor was an ancient collection of claws and plates that was designed to embody the nature of the Sith itself.

               On leather belts, Tarrus held the collection of sabers he’d taken from those he had bloodstalked.  The armor bristled with melted durasteel that he’d forged from the weapons of lesser users.  The ones who had failed to impress him.  The sabers he’d kept on his belt were only from those who had given him something of a challenge. 

               The Falleen girl languished in anesthetized agony on the altar.  Her sacrifice would fulfill his glorification.  The Black Queen would honor his journey and lead him to the greatest glory.  She had found a way to cheat time and death and would teach him to do the same.  With those abilities, the conquest of a galaxy would be mere child’s play.

                                                                                –

               The attack came from his right.  He’d paused to get a sense of the terrain before him.  As he was summoning his senses, the swipe came from his side.  A set of claws that crashed through the branches and aimed for his head. 

               He was knocked into a tree trunk before he could really understand what had happened.  Behind him, more flora was cut down.  A shaft of light cut through the canopy of overgrowth.  His attacker was backlit.

               Orion Xadau became the first Jal Shey Ranger to face a terentatek in centuries.

               He pulled the trigger and fired a volley at the beast.  Terentateks did not have the size of a rancor, but they had the ferocity of five.  They relied on sharp claws, spines and tusks to impose their aggression.  A series of blasts from the heavy weapon did nothing to slow it down.  Orion watched the bulky shots land on the beast’s chest.  The scorch marks looked damaging, but the terentatek shook them off with no ill effect.

               Then it charged forward and took a hard swipe, knocking Orion’s weapon away.  The blasterbuss with its orange-bladed bayonette was ripped from his arms in one swipe.  It skittered out into the jungle, far beyond his reach. 

               Orion spotted a wound that he’d not seen before.  One finger on the beast’s massive left hand had been sheared cleanly off.  It took a beat to realize that the source had been the blade that he’d attached to his weapon.  The swipe had disarmed the Ranger, but it had wounded the animal.

               He drew his new saber from the spot on his belt.  The sky-blue blade now offered his only protection against the monster.  He was hemmed in by the dense jungle, but he found a way to maneuver, keeping some distance. 

               The monster swiped again, and he managed to cut its palm before it knocked him over.  He was woozy from the blow and missed the incoming punch that the beast gave.  He was stunned when his back slammed into a tree.  It might have been for the best as that blow would have hurt more if he had full command of his faculties.

               Another slash from his saber sliced a paw and drew an angered roar from the monster, but Orion knew that this was a losing battle.  From a distance, the beast had the advantage.  His saber was only a meter, but the arms of this creature were much longer.  He resolved to go toe-to-toe and closed the distance.

               Swirling in a lunge attack, he plunged the lightsaber into the terentatek’s chest.  The animal squealed in pain and knocked Orion back.  The Ranger lost his grip on his weapon and skidded to a stop against a web of vines that coated a hard boulder.  The air rushed from his chest, and he slumped to the ground.  He stared, in shock at the sight of his saber hilt sticking out from the monster’s chest.

               “How does that not kill you?” he asked, coughing.  A howling roar was the only response he got.

               Needing the saber back, he drew upon the Force to pull it, but he was still dazed and the attempt was found wanting.  The K-2 blaster on his belt found its way to his palm.  He fired a few shots at the wounded beast, but they did little more than annoy it.  Aiming for the eyes, he found his hands too shaky to get off a proper shot. 

               The terentatek recovered before he could get up.  It charged in and he practically welcomed it, wishing Kento the best and hoping that the Jedi’s fight would fare better than this one had.

               He dropped the K-2 blaster.  Now regarding it as the useless toy it was.  When the terentatek scooped him up in its massive, clawed paw, he tumbled over and looked down at his leg.  He spotted the last of his weapons and smiled.

               The terentatek prepared to swallow him in pieces, wanting a warm meal out of this annoying prey.  When it lifted the infuriating human to its mouth, a metallic clank echoed off its fangs.  The beeping that accompanied the unusual taste was distracting and it paused in its motion, long enough to swallow the unknown morsel that had hit its tongue.

               The little holdout blaster, now lodged in the esophagus of the monster, overloaded its power pack and gave a last beep to signal to anyone around that it was now doomed to explode.

               The detonation of the holdout blaster split the terentatek in half.  Chunks of blood and meat decorated the forest.  The clawed hand that held Orion Xadau tumbled down to the ground and opened.  The Ranger sat up slowly and looked around for the lightsaber he’d buried in the beast’s chest.

                                                                                –

               “Step away from the girl!” Kento said.  His green saber activated; the sound splintered the air in the clearing. 

               Tarrus turned.  His fingers, fitted with the armor’s razor claws, curled back and forth as he evaluated the Jedi before him.

               “No,” Tarrus said, calmly.

               “Whatever you aim to do here, I know you didn’t account for me.  If you want to kill her in peace, you should deal with me first.  Step away.”

               Tarrus chortled under his mask.  He seemed very comfortable in this space.

               “No, little priest.  You are unwelcome here, but I’m very glad to see him,” Tarrus said, pointing a fingerspike at the little BD-droid that had guided Kento through the grove.

               BD-N8 looked up at Kento and hooted something that sounded like a question.  Tarrus reached out with the Force and snapped up the little droid from the ground.  Nate’s squeal of terror lasted all the way until the droid landed in Tarrus’s hand.  He gripped it by the neck spar and pried open a panel on its head.

               The Sith stalker reached inside and pulled out something small from the droid’s casing.  He tossed the diminuitive little biped aside and it squealed again before being dashed against a rock.  The droid fell to the ground with a sickening crash.  One leg twisted as though to get up, but then stopped.  The glow of the photoreceptors died.

               Kento looked on in shock at the death of BD-N8.  Then he turned back to Tarrus, who now held a black crystal between his fingers.

               “You have delivered all the icons for the ritual.  The Black Queen thanks you for your service,” Tarrus said.

               “What are you talking about?” Kento said.

               “Soon the Queen will ascend to our plane, and then she will show me the path beyond it.  Your contribution to her ascension will be noted,” Tarrus said.  From behind him, he produced the holocron.  The one that Kento and Orion had left aboard the Transgressor.

               “Where did you get that?” Kento said.

               “These are her lands and that was my ship.  Nothing on this world is beyond my grasp,” Tarrus said.  “Including your blood.”

               With that he drew one lightsaber from his belt, lit it, and flung it at Kento’s body.  The Jedi saw the green blade tumble through the air, and he knocked it away with his own.  The clash of sabers sent a ripple through his arm.  He felt the blade’s power as it held firm against his own.  From ten meters away, Tarrus dueled him without touching the lightsaber. 

               Kento fought against the floating lightsaber itself, offbalance as he faced a foe that regarded him as nothing more than a nuisance. 

               He gathered what he could as he backstepped and slashed through the defensive rings he’d learned as a padawan.  The saber that attacked him through thin air was the blade of a proper Jedi.  He realized that Tarrus was using the weapons of his victims in this fight.  Kento seethed with the knowledge. 

               The Jedi swung a quick cut, dodged, and slashed, shearing the saber hilt in half.  He stood back as the lightsaber tumbled to the ground.  Tarrus turned once again.  Kento had fought well enough to demand his attention.

               “Well done, little priest,” Tarrus said.  He lit another saber, yellow this time, and charged in after the Jedi.

               The blades crackled as Tarrus swiped for Kento’s head.  Kento backpedaled and found an opening, then charged forward, lunging for the small aperture at the heart of Tarrus’s armor.  Tarrus gave a kick and a shove that put Kento off his footing.  He tumbled and rolled, then aimed a slice for Tarrus’s chest. 

               The Nikto deflected the blow and reached out with the Force, pulling Kento in suddenly.  The icy grip on Kento’s neck cut off his next breath quite well.  His saber tumbled out of his hand and hit the ground below, leaving a fiery scorch mark in the grass. 

               Blade points from each of Tarrus’s fingers dug in to the skin of Kento’s neck.  He kicked and punched at anything he could reach before Tarrus jammed more razor-sharp claws into his side.  The blood began to flow from Kento’s abdomen.  He felt the air rush from his body.  His flank screamed with pain.  He fought for air against the iron grip of the Sith stalker.

               Tarrus gave a gleeful grunt of approval as the Jedi started to bleed out.  He hefted the human over his head, blood rivulets spread from Kento’s core and splattered Tarrus’s helmet. 

               Kento looked down at Tarrus holding him aloft and at the lightsaber on the ground.  With what remained of his strength, he reached out for his blade and called it to his hand, activating it as it flew up from the dirt.

               The blade cut through Tarrus’s arm and left a sheared stump before it reached Kento’s hand.  In shock, Tarrus dropped his prey to the ground.  Kento fell in a heap, still wounded severely.  A swipe from Tarrus’s remaining hand sent four claws slashing across Kento’s chest.  The new cuts bled profusely.  The Jedi tunic he wore was soaked in blood.

               Another backhand from Tarrus’s only remaining fist knocked Kento into the borderlands of consciousness.  He tumbled and fell back, his head smacking the ground with a hard jolt.

               For a moment, neither warrior could rise.  Tarrus’s reserves of strength outmatched Kento’s.  He got to his feet slowly.  He came over to once again choke the life out of this maddening little Jedi.  The Nikto assassin peered down at his prey.

               Kento put everything he had into one last surge.  His arm lifted and he jammed the hilt of his saber between the ribs of Tarrus’s armor.  The blade drove through the Nikto’s body and came out the other side.  Tarrus reached out and pummeled Kento’s head until it cratered into the dirt below.

               With the Jedi dealt with, Tarrus felt the life began to ebb from his body.  He was nothing if not dutiful and there remained only one thing left to live for.

               He turned to face the altar where he’d placed the holocron and the helpless Falleen girl.

               The Black Queen called him from beyond the ages.

               Orion found his way into the clearing.  He had heard the cries of pain and anguish and sensed the danger ahead.  He was beaten, dazed and weary, but he was still on his feet.

               The scene he found at the meadow was as confusing as it was bloody.

               A stump of an arm lay on the ground near his friend.  Kento lay facing the sky, blood spreading over his body from wounds that looked vicious in the descending twilight. 

               On the stone table, the Falleen girl lay atop the center.  On her body rested the Sith holocron that had started so much of this trouble. 

               Orion saw Tarrus approach the stone monument and, with a single, shaky hand, place the black crystal into the forward panel of the little pyramid. 

               Tarrus fell to one knee as he reached out.

               Orion was twenty meters away.  He sprinted forward but could not stop what was to come.  He cried out in desperation.

               “No!”

               Lightning sprang from Tarrus’s hand and entered the holocron through the black crystal.  The ebon gem flared with illumination and channeled the energy through the holocron and into the green body of the Falleen girl.  It passed through her heart and down into the stone below.

               The stone which contained the final resting place of Darth Fatalis, Queen of the Sith.

                                                                                –

               With a powerful burst, Fatalis awoke from her stasis.  The centuries of wait rolled off of her like so much water.  She used the Force to explode the stone sarcophagus and emerge into the harsh light of the world that had held her body through the ages. 

                Around her were the ruins of her ascent.  The stalker, outfitted with the armor that she had designed centuries before, now lay dead at her feet.  He had given everything for her resurrection, and she lovingly ran a fingertip over his helmeted jaw.

                “Such devotion,” she said. 

               Her first words in twenty generations.

               Orion watched as the last of the pure Sith surveyed her humble empire of grass and death.  For a moment, he wondered what she would do next.  Whether an eon of sleep would dull her sharp edges.  Whether such a historic relic was worthy of something more than his lightsaber’s blade.

               Tarrus stirred briefly, still clinging to some last bit of life.  She extended a hand towards his chest, then lit him up with a scalding blast of Force Lightning.  Tarrus gave one final scream as he learned the lesson every Force user must discover:

               Betrayal is the way of the Sith.

               With a satisfied smirk, Fatalis ripped the lightsaber from the hand of her dead acolyte.  Then she turned to face the last man standing. 

               Orion Xadau, Ranger of the Jal Shey, drew his lightsaber.  The curved handle contoured to his hand.  The blade extended in a brilliant azure line.  For the first time in his life, he felt resolute looking upon the countenance of his own mortality.  Death itself smiled upon him now.  All he could do was smile back. 

               Stifling a wince from the pain of his last fight, he faced this final challenge. 

               “Fatalis, Dark Queen of the Sith,” he said, forgoing his own introduction.

               Fatalis used the Force to hold her pilfered lightsaber in midair.  With a wave of thought, she disassembled the pieces and watched them hover in place.  She withdrew the black crystal from the holocron and inserted it into the mechanism.  When the components coalesced and the exchange was complete, she lit the blade.

               White light sprang from the blade, but the inner core was black as night.  A black lightsaber. 

               “The Black Queen,” Fatalis said, aiming her blade at the Jal Shey.

               “My apologies,” Orion said.

               “You carry the mark of the Jal Shey,” Fatalis said, leveling her saber to indicate the patch on his jacket.  “I’m amazed they survived for this long.”

               “Knowledge is the ultimate survival tool,” Orion said.

               Fatalis dismissed the statement without a retort.  She regarded him with an amused contempt.  “The stalker proved too weak for the trials ahead.  My apprentice will have a position of great honor in my new empire.  If you are strong enough to submit to me, you would enjoy a reward the Jal Shey could not fathom.”

               “I’d rather be the first one you kill,” Orion said.

               “Very acceptable,” Fatalis said.  Then she sent a barrage of lightning towards Orion’s chest.

               He snapped his saber blade up and caught the lightning in its arcing fury.  “I’ve seen that trick before.  You’d be surprised what I learned chasing your errand boys.”

               “An education in death, no doubt,” Fatalis said, closing the distance between them.

               “Seems that’s one you never learned yourself.  I’d be happy to give you lessons,” Orion said. 

               He swung his saber for her neck.  Fatalis retreated.  Her jet-black hair glistened in the light of their blades.  Her tendrils agitated as she set a foot into the grass and countered his strike.  She sent a riposte to his strike, then countered with a fleche attack, which he barely defended.

               “How kind of you to use the old style.  Takes me back to the days of killing real Jedi,” Fatalis said.

               He advanced on her with his saber aimed straight at her chest.  She put up a beat that knocked his blade offline.  She swung fast, whirling through the air and shoving him with the Force.  Her blade struck home on the shoulder of his bomber jacket.  She sliced through fine Corellian leather before contacting his flesh.  He cried out in pain as he stumbled out of the line of the fight.  A small blaze of fire appeared on his jacket and ran its course before dying. 

               He brushed the smoke away and turned to face her again.  She snickered at him. 

               “Such bravado, wasted on a pitiful weakling in the Force.  Jal Shey were little more than targets in my time.  All those years of study haven’t made your kind more formidable,” she said.

               “And here I was thinking arrogance was a Jedi trait,” Orion said.

               He charged in again.  She moved to block his blade as she had before, but Orion saw the move coming, lifted his saber and twirled it over hers, sending a cutting stab through her left arm.  Had she not rolled her shoulder, he might have caught her between the ribs, or the chest. 

               Before she could counter, he drove his good shoulder into her side, toppling them both in a crash-tackle flailing of limbs and blades.  She backflipped and reeled out of the movement.  Before she found her balance, Orion was on her again, hacking at her like a tree he meant to chop down. 

               Fatalis dug her heels in and defended his burst of strikes.  Her blade was fast, but time had robbed her of the quick reflexes she had once known.  Orion found another opening after a dozen attempts.  She felt the fire of his blade plunge into her upper thigh, and she roared in pain.  She extended an arm and tried to backhand him across the face.  He used his free hand to block her arm, then sent a counterpunch into her jaw.  She hissed and brought her blade around, swiping her blade from left to right.  He pulled back before she could separate his face from the rest of him.  He stumbled away from the attack and backpedaled.

               Wounded and angry, once again she launched lightning at his core.  On his heels, he could not find the balance to avoid the blast of energy.  The lightning hit him squarely in the chest.  The electric fury knocked him through the air.  He impacted with a sickening crack of bone.

               Orion lay on the ground with his lungs on fire.  His heart was on overdrive, straining against the energy that threatened to shut it down permanently.  He looked at the night sky above.  A bowl of stars, the shimmering light of the galaxy he had spent a life trying to protect.  He felt the peace of exhaustion.  The relent of a man who had given all he had in service.

               Cutting off his view of the stars, Fatalis moved to stand over him.  He tried to swing his blade for her body.  She kicked his arm aside and gave a small sigh.  A swipe of her blade sent his lightsaber skittering away.  He let his arm fall back to the grass, trying to embrace the last comfort of his life.

               For the first time in fifty centuries, Fatalis was impressed with the skill of an opponent.

               She hovered over him, looking down into his eyes, “Lie still, little scholar.  You have already done everything that is necessary for the honor of your order.  This was a good death.  The Jal Shey will know of your bravery.  The last of them will die remembering you did your utmost to protect what they held dear.”

               She withdrew a dagger from behind her breastplate.  He recognized it as the blade she had used to carve up the youngling on that horrifying recording from the holocron.

               She held his wrist gently, determined to spare him any further pain.  She drew the tip of the dagger down the length of his right forearm.  He screamed in pain, then gritted his teeth.  The blood began to flow like a cascading river.

               Fatalis rose to watch the blood spill out.  She called upon the Force and the rivulets began to coalesce above Orion’s body.  She was patient, letting his life ebb away at the pace nature provided. 

               Ten meters away, Kento gasped at his last traces of life.  He had heard the fight take place nearby but was so focused on keeping the blood inside his own veins that he’d not been able to so much as see who was winning. 

               When Fatalis gave her monologue, he knew that his friend was done for.  Kento Marek had too much pride to let Orion die first.  All that remained to him was a choice.

               Not a choice of life or death.  Not a choice of victory or defeat.  Not a choice of bravery or cowardice.  The choice that remained was which saber to use.

               He looked over at the lifeless husk that was Tarrus’s body.  His vaunted Sith stalker armor had done nothing to stop Fatalis from draining his essence.  The limp shell of the Nikto’s body was still adorned with the hilts of his victims, both Jedi and Jal Shey.  Kento looked for a moment before finding the one he knew must be there.  The piece of evidence he’d neglected for so long.  The hilt of Abi Buran, Jedi Padawan.

               He lifted it with the Force and flung it towards the crimson bitch that had ruined his life through her mad pursuit of immortal power.  With his last remaining strength, he activated the blade. 

               Kento was too tired to turn his head and see the blade spin into the distance.  He was too drained to watch it strike Fatalis through her right lung.  He was too fatigued to see his attack succeed.  The fate of the Black Queen was beyond his concern.  All he wanted was rest.  If the price was death, so be it.

               Fatalis looked down at her body in horror.  She reached over her shoulder and withdrew the lightsaber from the gaping wound it had created.  The Jal Shey and his wretched honor were now the least of her worries.  Her acolyte’s final failure had now caused her such unconquerable pain.  She would end the Jedi, drain his power for her own healing, then see if there was anything left of the Ranger that was worth her attention.

               Fatalis tossed aside the troublesome weapon that had pierced her back.  She lifted the dagger and stumbled over to the prone Jedi.  With a seething hiss she aimed the tip for his heart. 

               Kento Marek watched his murderer lift her implement and then saw the back of her head explode with red light and smolder.  The blaster bolt struck her through her long black hair and bore a neat circular hole into her skull.  She crumbled to the dirt, with her dagger leading the way down, a useless arc that ended in dust and grass.

               Fatalis was no more.

               Kento spared a glance at his partner.  Orion’s arm flailed a weak greeting.  In his palm, he clutched his K-2 blaster pistol.  The one that Kento had long thought too inelegant for any wielder of the Force.  Had he air in his chest and blood in his heart, he would have been more than happy to sing a song of thanks to the blaster and the factory droids that had forged it.

               “Nice… shot,” Kento said, before he passed out.

               Orion, for once, let him have the last word.

                                                                                –

               The transport vessel overflew the planet’s lone point of interest.  The intermittent lights from the fighting were the only sign of intelligence across the entire system. 

               From her position in the forward observation area, Mallie spotted blue and green lights interplaying amidst the trees ahead.  She saw a flash of red and then the world succumbed to darkness once again.

               “Pilot!  Put us down where those lights were!” she said, practically screaming into her headset.

               The Guardian ship Kyberlight landed in the clearing.  As the doors opened, a flood of Guardians spilled out into the dimly lit meadow.

               “Put up an illumination flare.  We need to find them,” Mallie said.

               Three seconds later, the clearing was lit with a searing white dawn.  The stars were banished behind a miniature sun that had risen, courtesy of the dropship.

               Mallie and her fellow Guardians spread out from their landing site and searched the area.  Lightbows drawn, they were prepared for danger, but they would settle for any sign of life.  One of her brethren was the first to come across the fallen warriors. 

               He called to them over the dull whine of the dropship’s idling engines.

               “I’ve got two here.  Need medical!  On the double.  They’re hurt bad!”

                                                                                –

               Kento woke up slowly.  He tasted bacta.  The world looked green.  He floated in a tank that seemed to display him like a pet in a bowl.

               Beyond the hazy green universe, he saw a Mon Calamari man trudging over to a computer terminal.  He waved to get the being’s attention, but his arm was severely slowed by the thick bacta and his body’s own weakness. 

               After a fleeting attempt to contact the universe beyond, he gave up and surrendered to sleep once again.

               Unknown hours later, his eyes opened, and he inhaled a deep breath.  This time he hadn’t the need to request attention.  A gathered band of sentients now surrounded his tank.  He spotted a face among them that he’d come to know very well.

                                                                                –

               When he was cleaned up and in a proper bed, Mallie was the first to enter his recovery room.

               “Orion?” he asked, with a crackling voice.  It was the first word he’d been able to utter.

               She didn’t begrudge him the lack of an emotional reunion.  She had information he needed.  Intimate words could wait.

               “He’s alive.  For the moment.  He was hurt worse than you.  And you were barely alive when we got there.  We put him in bacta, but it’s not working as well as we’d hoped.  Stab wounds are simple to fix.  But what he got hit with, we don’t really understand.  He’s alive, but he’s not getting better.”

               “He got hit with Force Lighting.  Some special brand that Fatalis cooked up to drain life,” Kento said.

               Mallie nodded, “I’ll tell the healers.  Maybe it’ll help.”

               “I need to see him,” Kento said.

               “He’s in a bacta tank,” Millie said.

               “I still need to see him,” Kento said.

                                                                                –

               The Guardians of the Whills were able to undo the damage from Fatalis’s fulgurations with the two tools that had served them so well in the past: time and the Force.  It took days before Xadau was ready to be moved from the bacta tank.  It took a week in a bed before consciousness returned to his mind.  When he stirred, the first thing he saw was Kento Marek, asleep in a chair. 

               Orion pulled the breathing mask from his face.  He inhaled and tasted the desert sand that swirled outside this refuge. 

               “Is this Jedha?” he asked, with a rasping voice.

               “Yeah,” Kento said, not getting up.

               “The Guardians?” Orion asked.

               “They’re not mad.  I vouched for you.  They patched you up.  You killed Fatalis.  Bought you a lot of goodwill,” Kento said.

               “Did we save the girl?” Orion said.

               Kento just shook his head.

               “Jal Shey?” Orion said.

               “Worry about that later.  Go back to sleep,” Kento said.

               Orion took the advice.

                                                                                –

               The temple on the mesa was more or less sacred ground to the Guardians.  Within its walls were the beds and bacta tanks that had kept Orion and Kento alive and comfortable for the last month.  Kento and Mallie returned to the overlook where they had spent so much time together, so many months ago. 

               They sat around a campfire at the edge of the mesa.  Ahead, the lights of Jedha City twinkled in the distance.  The night sky above lent an intimacy to their discussion.

               “He’ll survive.  The damage is healing.  It’ll be a while before he’s ready for any kind of duty,” Mallie said.

               “He’s afraid of all of you,” Kento said.

               Mallie sighed, “We don’t think the Jal Shey are evil.  They just can’t see what we see.”

               “It’s immaterial.  He’ll live.  He’ll breathe in and out.  He’ll learn you aren’t out to get him.  Learning is what he does best,” Kento said.

               “You’re still not sure how to feel about him, are you?” Mallie asked.

               “He’s my friend.  My friend who drove me to the Dark Side.  My friend who saved my life.  My friend I was ready to die next to,” Kento said, blinking back tears. 

               “And what am I?” Mallie asked, trying to move him to a happier subject.

               “You’re the one who saved me from myself.  I came here a year ago and I was lost.  After he put me down on Alderaan, I wanted… ohh, Mallie.  I wanted to wring his neck.  I wanted to…” Kento shook his head, fighting back the emotions that flooded in now.  “He saved my life.  You saved my soul.”

               Mallie picked up Kento’s hand and kissed it.  Kento gave a tight smile and nodded.

               “Not the Jedi way,” Mallie said, lending voice to his thought.

               He held her grip for longer than he needed to.  When it was gone, he would be a Jedi again, with all the responsibilities it demanded, so he kept his grip on her and held tight.

               “I have to maintain… something,” he said.

               “I know your heart.  Time will take care of the rest,” she looked out into the desert, “It always does.”

                                                                                –

               Days later, Kento returned to Orion’s recovery room.  The Guardians had brought him some food and water.  Kento found him asleep.  He took a moment to look around the room.  The weapons had been confiscated.  The Guardians might trust Xadau, but only to a point.  His bomber jacket, slashed and scorched, was draped over a chair.  His trousers and gunbelt were on a hangar in the closet.  On a table beside the bed were the remains of BD-N8.  According to Mallie, Orion had been calling out the droid’s name in a delirium when they were loading him onto a gurney. 

               In his few waking hours Orion had been tinkering with the droid, trying to fix the damage Tarrus had caused.  He’d made some progress, but there was a long way to go.  Much like Orion himself.

               Kento found a chair and sipped from a cantine of water that the Guardians had been kind enough to provide.  He sat in quiet contemplation of his partner for a long moment.

               Orion’s shoulders shifted back and forth, and his eyes opened slowly, first halfway, then full when he saw Kento at his side.

               “You still here?” Orion asked.

               “Yeah,” Kento said.

               “You watching me sleep?” Orion asked.

               “I got here, and you were asleep.  I was about to go, but you woke up,” Kento said.

               “You going for good, or you just going?” Orion said.

               “There’s something going on.  The holonet has a bunch of stories.  Something about the Trade Federation blockading a planet.  I didn’t get all the details.  Either way, I need to head back to Coruscant.”

               “Sure.  I bet Vux is wondering what happened to me.  I should report in,” Orion said.

               “Eh, rest up.  Take a few more days.  Let them finish putting you back together before you go out there to get ripped apart again,” Kento said.

               Orion tilted his head, “That’s good advice.  This bed is pretty comfy.”

               “You need anything?”

               Orion smiled, “Get me out of this room.  I haven’t seen anything of this planet except the hospital.”

               Kento helped him out of bed.  The few Guardians who noted their movement seemed disinterested.  The dusty sands of Jedha whipped around the exit at the end of the hall.  They began to walk to the edge of the mesa, under a blanket of a billion stars.

               “You know, something occurred to me while you were asleep,” Kento said, supporting Orion on one shoulder.

               “Oh yeah?  What did you learn?” Orion said.

               Kento rolled his eyes, “I didn’t say learn, I said occurred.”

               “Lay it on me,” Orion said.

               “Last year, you beat me in that little scrap on the landing pad,” Kento said.

               “I remember it well,” Orion said.  They neared a bench at the end of the temple grounds that offered a magnificent panorama.  Kento helped Orion to sit, then settled next to him.

               “Yeah, but my point is, you didn’t kill me,” Kento said.

               “If you’re looking for a rematch, I’m not really up for it at the moment,” Orion said.

               “Sithspawn bastard,” Kento said, giving Orion an insult and a grin.

               Orion chuckled and then winced from the pain, “What about it?”

               “You didn’t kill me.  You defeated an enemy without killing them.”

               “Uh-huh,” Orion said, looking out at Jedha City spread out like a carpet in the valley below. 

               “Well, you already imbued a weapon with the Force.  And you walked on an unknown world.”

               “Wasn’t unknown to the Sith,” Orion said.

               “Close enough.  Definitely forgotten, at the least,” Kento said.  “And when Fatalis came at me with the dagger, you were the one who stopped her.”

               “Are you sure you don’t want to take credit for that one?  I took credit for the last one,” Orion said.

               “Shut up,” Kento said, in an exaggerated tone of annoyance.

               “What’s your point?” Orion said.

               “You saved my life, in your service as a Ranger.  That’s all four tasks.  You’re a chief!  All you have to do is live and go back to the Compendium to tell the tale,” Kento said.

               “Ahh,” Orion said.  He took a beat and let the thought wash over him in silence.

               “You don’t sound so happy about it,” Kento said.

               “Well…” Orion said.

               “What’s the problem?” Kento said.

               “If I go back and give my report… I’m not gonna lie to them again,” Orion said.

               “I’m not asking you to.  Nothing wrong with what we did out there,” Kento said.

               “That’s not what I mean.  If I tell them what we saw, what we found, what we learned…” Orion paused, letting out a long breath, “I’m not sure if anyone ought to know how to suck the Force out of someone and use it for themselves.  Bloodstalking…”

               Kento nodded, “You think they’d use it?” he asked.

               “I think somebody would.  Not my people, but… a thing that’s known… a thing like that,” he sighed, “I mean, we keep records.  Archives.  I just…” Orion couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.  

               Kento smiled, “Maybe you’re right.”

               In silence, they looked out on the horizon and waited for the dawn.

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