| Logs |
2003 June 14
| These Shattered Stars |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: These Shattered Stars Logs |
Chapter Six, Part Seven
Four days have passed since the Templars revealed themselves. In that time, the Silver Path has done a remarkable job of packing up the flotsam and jetsam from a few thousand years of habitation of the moonlet. Throughout the refuge only the lighting and life support machinery remain; it is impossible to remove, that though the last ship out will be salvaging what they can of the consumables the system uses.
It is now a day before the scheduled departure. The ships will leave one at a time over the course of two days -- an unavoidably noticeable increase in traffic, but perhaps not as noticeable as if all the ships departed at once. Colonel Raven is deep in conference with the elders of the Path as to the best way to handle the exodus, and interestingly there was one late-night session solely between Raven, the elders, and Valsha Redcloak. The Grey Company will be traveling with the Path for a time, at least until the coreward-most boundary of the gal-west Unknown Regions is reached.
Today, the three teachers and Sifu Danka have gathered the three in the triskele room. The walls are devoid of racks or decoration; even the triskele has been removed, but it is unmistakably the same room. Danka takes a breath. "Your training is nearing completion. We have taught you all that we can on an individual basis; now you must reach that final point where you may fully become the triat. We can go no further until we reach that point. Before we continue, do you have any questions?"
Fhazil considers for a moment, then shakes his head quietly. I'll do my best to rein in the Sithstain this time. He glances to Freyja. It... might not be so bad this time, though... I don't know what will happen.
Freyja considers a moment, then smiles quietly, "Neh, not I." She looks at her two friends thoughtfully, adding silently to them, Although I would like to speak with you both later, if we may, in my room?
Zero shakes his head, "Nothing, sifu. We're ready." He queries Freyja silently, Something wrong?
Freyja shakes her head, a slightly mischievous hint of thought flickering across her mind and glinting in her blue eyes as she replies, Neh... just have a question or two for you both! She grins, then half closes her eyes and settles calmly into a meditative pose, preparatory to the attempt to join as a triat with her friends.
Zero flexes the fingers of his right hand out of habit, most of his thoughts settled upon what might be coming next. All right. Just checking.
Danka nods. "Very well, then." She stands and steps back. "War's ravages have wounded this Galaxy, war within the Republic and without. Take your place in the triskele, and forge the bond which will bring healing to these shattered stars. May the Force be with you."
Freyja smiles, her eyes still half-closed as she puts out her hands to lightly lay them on both her friends, to make a pleasant bond of touch between them both and herself. Fhazil swallows, closing his eyes as he takes Freyja's hand and reaches to Zero's. The Sithstain within him seems to quiver, though he holds tight rein over it for the moment, and it seems content to watch the other two in the bond. Zero carefully takes either hand in his, his eyes open but lowered, not really seeing the room or the conspicuously bare floor.
Freyja takes a moment to sort of... let the Sithstain remember her. It hadn't been upset the night they'd danced... it'd surrounded them both. Perhaps if she helps Fhazil remember that night, his Sithstain will relax again. She lets the music of the night she'd danced with Fhazil slowly swirl alive in her mind. Flowing and glittering like a slow, broad river, the symphonic melody ripples out to share with both partners.
Freyja can feel Zero both listening and not listening, easily fitting into the triat plait. He's in his usual state of mushin, quietly simplifying the complicated procedure. She lets both memory and mental music beckon to Fhazil, waiting for him to arrive in his own time.
Fhazil, as before, has trouble. It is his Sithstain again; it rebels against the commingling of selves, rebelling against letting Fhazil be drawn into the three-cord knot that is the triat. For a moment there is nothing, and it looks as if it will be another failure. Zero can hear Sifu Danka, behind him, give a soft, sad exhale.
Then there is a strong surge in the Force, in that strong, wild manner that typifies Darksiders. The other two can feel Fhazil's training under his own teacher rise up slightly, taking up one of the mindsets he was trained in. The surge in the Force is enough to direct his will towards the music, the golden music, to cleave his will, his self to that of the group.
Even that seems not enough. For an instant, his Sithstain seems terrible to behold, ready to shatter Fhazil and the others-
Music stays it. Memory stays it. The memory of shadow dancing, memories of fighting alongside the other two in the triat. The Sithstain gives pause in its/Fhazil's fear. Dancing upon the notes of music and memory, some aspect of Fhazil tells that which is his Sithstain, This is my Self.
Reluctantly, it seems, and yet in an instant, the Sithstain -- no longer noxious to the group at all -- bursts outwards in a shadowy veil; the warm, comfortable cloak of a starlit night enfolding them and protecting them. Like the thin membrane of a soap bubble, it surrounds the triat. For Zero it is the first time, and for Freyja but the second, that they have seen Sithstain from within its overly protective coils, suffused through the cords of the triatic bond.
The Three are One.
The circle is now complete. Light and shadow and darkness. The power to create, the power to preserve, the power to destroy; all at once. As one, they see. As one, they think. As one, they feel. What one senses, all sense. The force is a fluid thing now, flowing between them like an eternal torus of water, immersing them in the synergistic current.
Freyja draws a slow, deep, quietly joyous breath, her eyes closed, 'seeing' the triat, 'seeing' them all breath and see her. Her mental music flows with lazy, sensuous pleasure between them all, and they all know what the question for later was... the Freyja part had worried they were all waiting on her, so decided she wished to join/join with them all through touch/mental linkage/love/sex... beloveds of the body as well as the mind, if they were all amenable. Hai/neh?
Thoughts seem to carry in and out of Zero's quarter without making a sound: perfectly reactive, empty. Someone has a dim reflection of something called the 'jeweled moment,' which is where Zero can be found... but it's his absence of presence that gives him away. His agreement comes so quietly that it seems for a moment like their own thought.
Fhazil's agreement comes as well, again as a thought-not-thought within the group mind. Yet as they see the intriguing way they are thinking, the sense that there is yet a deeper level of subsuming that may be reached, something deeper and much more encompassing... something profoundly more vast... something which it seems would require more than just three persons to survive it as separate being, something which would require four... or perhaps better, five....
Zero's passive reaction comes back as an echo of the original thought with a slightly altered tone, a sense of danger, wrongness. Too much... too deep.
Freyja, ever the curious explorer, heeds the shared Zero thought and doesn't slide them like a comet into the depths. Instead there's a careful peering, attempting to illuminate those depths for greater understanding -- while not dragging them all down there precipitously.
Deeper than this, there are further levels of subsuming. As they are now they are like a single mind, with each part sharing thoughts, sensations. Further, however, and deeper, there are levels where thought processes, where will itself becomes united. This requires such a unification of Self that it seems impossible such a disparate group as the triat -- made up of Lightsider, Greysider, and Darksider -- could ever reach those depths of unification of Self. In the triat there is still Freyja and Zero and Fhazil -- or rather Freyja-Zero-Fhazil. Deeper into those depths of subsuming there could at times be not even that relatively much self-identity.
The shared thought flickers through the three-as-one, Let's not. Neh.
Come back? Maybe not. Don't like it.
As they gaze down into the abyss, the group realizes this is where the Templars went after they had taken the secrets of the triat from the Kono. Only five strong-willed, devoted, selfless, dedicated persons could descend into that depth of subsuming and even hope to come back as self-thinking, self-feeling individuals. Five act, think, feel, react, and emote -- if such a term could even be used for the Templars -- as one.
Freyja wonders idly if Cassandra's manus has been shattered, and that's why they're so different seeming, and only three... but the thought's not as interesting as the other two here now with her. She turns her partnered gaze instead on the three-as-one, happily sharing the sensual delight of touch/scent/sight memories of the two by the third. The casual brush of a friendly hand down one's back; the warm scent and stirring sight of lithe bodies in martial movement; a sweet, mind-intoxicating kiss; silky, shining hair like a caress across one's skin... do they think/feel well of her too? The thoughts are offered like food or water -- shared nourishment to draw them all closer.
Zero's thoughts echo back with a faint doubt... he can't believe, his strong individualism struggling to break out of his empty-mind and color his thoughts, that anyone could come back from such a deep place unchanged. He turns himself mentally away from the concept, and back to Freyja... a recollection he had somewhere, a dark slash of light and shadow that could be a skyraker of his homeworld, and someone saying, "You never know just how you look through someone else's eyes." If he wasn't doing exactly that, he might laugh.
Fhazil is still mildly stunned. As with Zero, the Darksider shudders and turns away from the thought of surrendering so much of the Self; interestingly, the Sithstain does not react to any one person but rather all three, though it too tightens around the group protectively against the idea of such surrender of identity. Fhazil is still surprised by the all-encompassing nature of the triat, of how odd and yet on some level natural it seems to be of three minds at once, to know all three sides. He knows what it is like for Freyja to be a Lightsider, and for Zero to walk upon the Saber's Edge. This time, though, there is no confusion of memories.
Zero finds the experience mildly unsettling, even through the filter of complete reaction. He finds himself, distantly, faintly gratified by what others see of value in his home culture: his incongruously agrarian family, his skill as a fighter and the mental balance he provides... but at the same time, he finds himself embarrassed as others see his other self: the assassin, coldly introspective, efficient, ruthless, friendless, and silent. Even a fulcrum has two sides, he supposes... but a single thought, jarringly clear, rises above the snarl of inward thought: was I really such a hegah san? Zero's memories drift in and out of his native dialect; with most of his memories their memories, the others can hear it as something rudely self-deprecatory.
There is the faintest of humor washing softly across the deprecation, along with the reassuringly intended understanding of the concept of walling oneself up mentally for self-protection... and, hopefully, the realization that at least here and now, it is not necessary.
Fhazil's background, his own memories after joining the Sith, are hardly things to be proud of: battles, fights against the Republic, soldiers falling to his sword. But there is a certain pride there, the pride of being a soldier and pursuing a noble, honorable goal. And in that wash of memory the others see just how damn big that blaster pistol Freyja first held on him was in his eyes.
He is still mildly confused by the triat, but like a good soldier he knows enough: It works. The luminous being with fiery wings that is Freyja, the wraith of light and shadow that is Zero... along the cords of the triat the essences of the three flow together: liquid fire from Freyja, silvery shadows rippling like water from Zero, and from him the oil of ebon night, shimmering in purple and blue and black as it takes up the reflections of night and destruction. And within the cords light and dark and twilight become one, somehow fire and shadow and night flow together in his eyes and form an alchemical composition that defies explanation from him.
Zero finds he can't focus too hard on one side or the other, as Light and Dark unconsciously pull at either side of the Edge like the gravity of a planet and its moon. His reactions to Freyja and Fhazil's respective selves surprise him for their similarity; a sense of great respect for someone doing something he knows he could not. The light in Freyja seeks to give and be and protect, to grow unchecked and illuminate, simultaneously warm and consuming like its representative fire.
The darkness wrapping itself around Fhazil is a hungry id, fear and destruction, cold and empty, a checked savagery, like an animal at bay. From his place on the Edge, he begins to see the divisions in everything, how unlike his dark nature Fhazil's outward self is; how controlled Freyja seems despite the core she is wrapped around, incessantly seeking to expand its light.
He forces himself to stop there; the dichotomies start to branch out forever and he feels himself losing his balance. Still, he reasons, they aren't so different as dogma would have one believe.
Freyja is quietly gratified. Part of her had worried at pushing her friends too hard -- part that she was holding them all back. Illogically contradictory, of course, but insecurity doesn't make sense. It's a pleasure to feel the fretting fade away in the certainty of shared realization and understanding. Instead she simply immerses her selves in the enjoyment of union within the triat. There's no time pressure, that she knows of... and in a way they aren't just her friends any more... they're an integral part of her, and she of they. Eventually the slow idea flows upwards... want to try working out together like this?
Zero regains his balance after a moment, and responds, I don't think I can walk and do this at the same time yet. There's too much to take in... it's like seeing in all directions.
Sometime during the endless moment as the three explore themselves and their new perspectives... Danka finishes exhaling that sad breath.
The group realizes soon thereafter that however wonderful the triat joining currently is, it's also extremely tiring! With mingled emotions, a bit reluctantly, they gently release... and the plaited mental Yormungander slithers lithely apart. There's not so much a feeling of ending, however, as an understanding of future potential.
Freyja laughs delightedly, leaning forward to catch both her triat partners in a hug, "Hai! Hai, we did it!"
Time comes back to Zero with an unpleasant feeling of dilation. He winces, feeling a sensation like something pinching at the bridge of his nose and the back of his neck. Fatigue, he realizes. For all of half a second? He exhales deeply, and says articulately, "Ngh."
Danka and the other teachers seem inordinately pleased and happy. "Well done," Danka says, her eyes damp. "Very, very well done."
Zero sways a little on his knees as Freyja embraces him, and grins wanly, "I hope that gets easier."
Fhazil blinks as the Sithstain coalesces once again within the tree of his self, quiescent and calm and sleeping, and now no longer making the other two nauseous at all. He stands, a little unsteadily. "Oh, wow..." he murmurs. "I... it worked...?" He gives a halfway tired smile. "I'm... I'm very, very glad I didn't mess that up this time..."
Freyja yawns hugely, then gets a faintly startled look -- she'd forgotten how tiring these sorts of things are! She grins and nods amusedly at Zero's comment, "I think so. Let's go rest, eh? Come to my room, like we thought." She shakes her head at Fhazil, smiling and tiredly rubbing her head gently against his, "Neh, silly, you didn't mess up. We're all still learning."
Unless the others demur, she'll turn with them, her arms still happily around them, and walk with tired care to the room. She'll politely ask Vakkal if he could make sure no one bothers them, then firmly close the door. Collapsing, resting, and snuggling are in order, she thinks!
Freyja wakes up feeling contented and deeply relaxed. It takes a moment for her to remember why... and then a slow, intensely joyous smile crosses her face. She stretches with care, pointing her toes and fingers, enjoying the gentle brush of skin across skin, and the warmth of her beloveds curled up -- tangled up, she happily realizes -- next to her. She's not sure, but she thinks Fhazil's sleeping on her hair... when did it get that long? She squints sideways and grins... lovely color, and he looks so peaceful zonked out like that! On her other side Zero is all enwrapping arms and legs. She sighs happily... if this is what being a triat is like, she simply cannot understand why it's not done more!
Zero shifts quietly, a hand brushing along Freyja's belly. He grunts softly and opens one eye halfway. He smiles, sighing, his voice a breathy half-whisper. "Mmm. Good morning."
Freyja beams at Zero, her eyes very bright with happiness. She's not got words yet for such a new experience, for her... just an upwelling of joyous memory, gladly shared. Zero smiles a little more, coming more awake, and gently brushes his lips across hers. "Wish we hadn't waited so long."
Freyja mmms contentedly, her eyes half-closing. Zero can feel her savoring the tingling sensations, enjoying both his and hers, before she nods once, still smiling. Zero grins brightly in the dark, and murmurs, "I love you." He punctuates the statement with another kiss, grinning lopsidedly, "There. I think I've broken the last rule of Jedi heterodoxy. I'm officially a heretic."
Fhazil seems to be sleeping very deeply, and it isn't until there is the subsonic rumble of a ship launching from the moonlet that he rouses, yawning silently and stretching out, drowsily brushing silvery hair from his eyes, "Good morning to you both," he says sleepily, grinning.
Freyja laughs softly, one hand lightly brushing the back of Zero's head to encourage him not to move away just yet, and lets the kiss linger. He can feel her thought as well, I wonder why we're so uptight about kisses on Balmorra... they feel so... so... it's like drowning in pleasure...! Her thought trails off a little incoherently as she submerges herself in sensation and motion.
Freyja sighs happily a few moments later, turning to gently nuzzle against Fhazil's head, her hand resting gently and warmly on Zero's back. She murmurs softly, "I love you too... both of you are so good to me." Slowly her words, rather than just emotion and sensation, are returning. It's a lovely new feeling for her.
Zero mms softly, making a low sound in the back of his throat. Let's do that more often. Languid thoughts drift in and out of his consciousness... how odd, he thinks, that when she put her arms around him last night, her hand found the one place in his back, between his shoulder blades, that remained smooth and unbroken by scar or injury... and there it stayed.
Freyja nods, unaware Zero's thought wasn't spoken, smiling with her eyes half-closed, Many more times, please?
Zero grins and nuzzles gently into Freyja's neck. Done, and done. Fhazil doesn't speak -- he seems just too pleasantly drowsy to even form proper words with his thoughts, but in a sense that's appropriate for him. The warm, comforting sense of assent and affirmation to the others is all he gives; nor is it more than is needed.
Shortly, distantly through the corridors, there is the sound of activity increasing its tempo, the faint smells of hasty breakfast being prepared in field-ration form, and another subsonic rumble as another ship departs the refuge.
Freyja tilts her head slightly to listen, then grins and kisses Fhazil's cheek lightly, "We should rise and see if we can help, hai? But you'll have to lift off my hair, Fhaziza." A bit wistfully she looks around, then smiles, "More later, hai. Mmm..." She stretches languidly again, still happily glowing.
Fhazil blinks cloud-gray eyes, then hastily lifts up his head. "Oof, sorry about that...!"
Freyja giggles softly, "Didn't mind! Was sweet." She brushes slender golden fingers through her hair, then says musingly, "Sure got long fast..."
Zero sits up on his elbows, stretching and arching his back. His frame protests a little, popping muffledly. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head a bit, clearing the dust. "It sounds like it's nearly time for us to go." He grins, "I was counting ships for the past few days, but..." he laughs softly, "...I lost count somewhere last night. So I can only assume our place in the queue is coming up."
Freyja blinks, then giggles at Zero, leaning to hug him gently. Zero smiles and sits up a little more to embrace Freyja. "Mmm. I guess we should see to helping. I should go and start prepping the Eclipse... especially if we're taking on more people." He smiles, though, "But more, later. Definitely."
There is a knock on the door, and looking completely unsurprised (albeit with a bit of a grin) Vakkal pokes his head in. "Sorry to wake you -- oh, good, you're awake." A little more seriously he adds, "There're three ships left. The Presbyter and the Colonel and a couple of techs and Mandalorians are going to be the last out, so our turn is coming soon."
Freyja beams at Vakkal, almost singing with happiness, "Gooood morning, Vakkal! Thank you for the warning; we'll be ready in time!"
Zero sits up a little more and looks around for his pants. "Damn, I really have lost count. Be there in a moment, Vakkal."
Vakkal nods. "There're some rations in the main hall. They've sealed off most of the rest of the refuge and started pulling life support comestibles."
Freyja flips her fiery golden bangs out of her face, looking a bit perplexed... she really doesn't remember her hair being quite so long. Still, she reasons -- her beloveds seemed to like it a lot! An excellent reason to encourage its growth, she contentedly decides as she rises and starts to dress. She practically dances out of the room with her three friends a short while later, heading for breakfast. She's surprisingly hungry!
Zero slips on his shoes and his pants, throwing his sash over his shoulder and grabbing his shirt, apparently meaning to dress en route. He smiles to the others, "Save me a tin of breakfast? I don't want to hold up the evacuation." He heads for the door, "Let's go, Vakkal." He pauses and good-naturedly raps the canine on the shoulder as he passes into the hallway and out of sight. "It's a beautiful day; have I mentioned that?"
Freyja is singing happily and quietly to herself as she enters the breakfast room with Fhazil,
"But now I know just who you are
And I know you hold my heart
Finally this is where I belong
It is you I have loved all along..."
She breaks off to cheerily greet the people present, "Good morning! Is there anything left to eat? Does anyone need any help moving anything? Isn't it a lovely day to leave?"
Breakfast -- such as it is: freeze-dried nerf sausages, crimplecress flat cakes, and blue milk -- is quickly found in the main hall and retrieved from a passing adept. The Presbyter and Colonel Raven, both with a few aides, are hunched over a folding table beneath where the Silver Path emblem used to hang. "We're almost done," Raven is saying. "I have escorts on each of the ships, and the last set of initial jump coordinates are being calculated for the last few ships."
Freyja finds dining with beloveds a delightful affair, filled with new experiences. Much to her pleasure, she finds sharing food is surprisingly sensuous -- and she indulges in that pleasure unabashedly with Fhazil, occasionally stifling giggles, while they wait for Zero and Vakkal to return and update them on the Eclipse' status.
Freyja spots Crane nearby, and at Freyja's exclamation the Mandalorian grins. "It's certainly auspicious," she says to Freyja. "In the Mandalore calendar this is 6 Autumnrains, when the crop fields are tilled for the winter months, and-" A slightly loud clearing of the throat from Raven, and a mildly stern, if wry, glance from same, makes Crane's smile turn sheepish. "Sorry. Hard to keep the ways of confidentiality when we're with our old brethren." Her voice drops. "Mandalore is far from here, but we're always concerned about giving away too much information about it."
Meanwhile, at the ship docks Zero and Vakkal see Yulo Hrrun on a catwalk, looking over the nearly shockingly empty berths. It's almost humbling seeing how many ships that used to be apparently rotting away here are now capable of deep space.
Neatly stacked beside the ramp Zero and Fhazil find a set of small crates consisting of spare parts, spare life support comestibles, and extra food and water. They're already on repulsorlift pallets for easy loading. If the two look his way, Hrrun gives a kind of half-sad, half-hopeful wave to them -- a wishing-of-luck and safe journey. Another ship rises on repulsorlifts and heads out the hangar entryway. Now only the Rapid II bulk transport and the Platinum Eclipse, as well as some small, fast gunboats belonging to the Mandalorians, remain.
Zero sighs a little, murmuring to Vakkal, "You know... if I'd had to guess how many of those wrecks were really spaceworthy..." He shakes his head, "So much for my killer's eye. C'mon, let's get the stuff loaded... we'll have to stow some of our gear to accommodate eight here." Even as he works, shouldering a coil of charging cable and mounting the ramp, his tangible link to the others practically vibrates -- a warm, golden feeling inside that lets him take pleasure in even the most mundane tasks aboard ship. Through his resonant happiness, occasionally, the phrase "I love you" hums along the link, as if he'd never said it before and enjoyed the sensation of the thought in his mind.
Freyja tends to send back an unconscious tingle of pleasure and agreement when that gentle stroke of thought from Zero touches her. She feels like a banked fire inside, wanting to share all her warmth and to bask in the joy of contact, both mental and physical. She smiles at Crane, and the other two can feel her quietly amused guess that after the tilling (if their culture is anything like every other agrarian one Freyja knows of) there's great rejoicing at being stocked up successfully for the winter... a fertility festival that celebrates the gathering rather than just the planting. She gently runs her fingers along the back of Fhazil's neck, giggling quietly inside to the others, So we celebrated like Mandalorians, eh?
Zero grins and holds up two fingers and a thumb to Hrrun, an old expression for "success" from his homeworld. "See you when we get there," he calls out. "Keep your seals tight." He puts his shoulder to it and starts loading the crates. Hrrun gives an odd sort of smile, but nods and waves as he heads back to the manager's office at the other end of the catwalk.
It doesn't take long for the extra cargo to be loaded, and within half an hour Zero and Vakkal have returned to the hall. By this time adepts have taken away most of the furniture to be loaded aboard the transport, and the group that remains are standing. One of the Mandalorians hefts what looks to Fhazil and Zero to be a very odd, if obscenely large, thermal detonator or concussion grenade in one hand.
Zero takes a spot near the back, as is his habit, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall -- then thinks better of it. He creeps up behind Freyja, curling his arms loosely about her waist to hug her from behind, his head on her shoulder to see the briefing. Freyja grins happily, curling one hand around Zero's clasped hands and leaning her head against his as she listens.
The Presbyter nods to Raven, confirming something. "Very well, then. We're ready to be going." She goes over to the triat, their teachers, and Vakkal, a smile in her voice. "Well. It is time to depart. You are all ready, I take it? Colonel Raven has the coordinates to the first rendezvous. It is a roundabout route to foil any pursuers, so it should do well."
Freyja nods politely, "Thank you, Presbyter, from all of us, for your kindness." She adds a little wistfully, "I'm sorry we missed Valsha leaving... but I'm sure she knew we all wished her and hers the best."
The Presbyter nods. "They will be traveling with us for a time, so you will see them again, at -- what was that world, Colonel?"
Freyja says, "Ah, good; I'm glad to hear that."
"It has no name," Raven says, grinning. "It exists on Huttee star charts as a fifteen-character designator. It's habitable, but not enough to have been colonized for very long. For as long as we'll be there, to just pick up supplies from freighters, it will do us well enough."
Freyja is only half-listening, looking around and quietly filing away her pleasant memories from this place. Training, togetherness, facing challenges together... she's learned a lot here. She was happy here. She smiles, and her partners can feel both her gladness, and her quiet enthusiasm to be happy in many, many other places with them.
Zero grins, nuzzling Freyja's cheek, and sends to the others, Ah, Hutt Space... yet another fifteen-character world named Blorp.
Freyja giggles in spite of herself as she turns her face towards Zero's gentle nuzzle. Well, if we're lucky the Mandalorians here will persuade whomever hired the Mandalorian after Captain Thorn to cut it out... and then we'll see him when we're back on Tynnea, if we go by there again!
Raven gives a datapad to the group. "Here are the coordinates, and a good route to take. It avoids most major population centers; takes three jumps but it should get you there in three weeks. We've arranged a window of one week there, so don't worry if you're a few days late."
Freyja beams happily at the Mandalorian colonel, "Thank you!" She's just too glowingly full of pleasure right now to be upset or worried about anything.
Zero smiles and nods, taking the pad. "The Eclipse is a fine ship, Colonel." He salutes smartly in the Sedraki fashion, "That'll be more than enough time. We'll be glad to see you there."
Crane coughs a little. Raven gives her a cheerfully wry look. "Oh, yes. Regarding the... other matter. I've sent a message on to my superiors. With luck they'll get hold of the one hunting your friend before long." He nods, and returns the Salute in the same manner. "Safe journey, to you all." He looks to the Presbyter, and nods.
Freyja brightens noticeably, her eyes sparkling, "Oh, really?! Thank you so much!"
Zero grins to himself. Either the Colonel is very, very well traveled, or he's got the best eye of any man I've met. Unless we salute the same way they do on Mandalore, that was perfect. Like he was used to doing it.
The Presbyter looks around, letting out a soft exhalation through her breath mask. Then she nods. "It is time," she says. "Come. The Mandalorians will be releasing a bio-agent which will eat any stray DNA in the refuge. By the time the Jedi come here, they will find less than dust."
Freyja nods, "Then we should go." She gives a small, polite bow to the Presbyter and the Colonel, then turns to go. Unless they demur, she contentedly curls one arm around Fhazil's waist, and the other about Zero's shoulders, to leave. She does wonder, though, with a twinge of concern, if the three Templars have escaped already. She's not looking forward to the pain they're going to cause her's and Zero's families.
Zero sends Freyja a faint reassurance as they go. Anyone trying to cause his father and mother any pain are going to be on the receiving end of more than their share. As if reading Freyja's mind, Crane notes, "We have knocked out the Templars and put them discretely in a hostel room in a station elsewhere in the system. They should recover sometime in the next twelve hours -- we'll have been long gone."
Freyja grins quietly at Zero, reassured by the thought. Odd though it may sound, she's glad Fhazil has no family to worry about him. She nods to Crane quietly, "Thank you. I hope..." She considers, then just sighs, "Well, thank you."
The group heads down the corridor towards the hangars. The Mandalorian with the large bomb-like thing pauses at the door. Just before the Presbyter seals it, he twists a handle on the object and lobs it in. A second later it starts hissing in an aerosol release -- and then the door is shut. Minutes later the groups are aboard their respective ships and Hrrun gives them clearance to depart.
Freyja is humming in quiet happiness to herself as she straps in and adjusts the commo headset. Faint mental touches reassure her that everyone here she loves is aboard and ready... and Vakkal informs her the teachers are all aboard and settled also.
Zero grins, expertly guiding the Platinum Eclipse out of the hangar. "I'll bet that's the first time the Templars have ever been on that side of a black-bag operation. Serves them right." He calls over his shoulder, "We'll be set to jump just as soon as we clear the asteroid. Hang tight just a little longer, everyone."
Freyja giggles softly, her mood improving, and reaches forward to lightly run her fingers along Fhazil's shoulder. She can reach him and pass the sensation/emotion/caress on to Zero also -- and she really shouldn't be distracting the pilot just now anyway!
Departure from the asteroid is accomplished quickly, and there doesn't seem to be any undue attention being paid to them. Shortly, then, the Platinum Eclipse makes the jump to hyperspace and away from Zhar. Freyja sings an old Balmorran traveling song, quietly and cheerfully to herself, "On the road again, with my friends... just can't wait to be on the road again...!"
Zero sits back, head against the seat support, and sighs in relief. "Well," he says, "that's it... we're clear and away. No interference until we reach..." He considers that any possible interpretation he could make of the planet's nomenclature would come out inevitably as a somewhat rude noise, and with elders on the ship... he settles for, "...wherever it is we're going. Everyone can relax and move around now."
"We're in the pipe, captain," Ghorrdo reported as Thorn walked onto the bridge. "No anomalies. Dorn has the hyperdrive purring like a fat and happy katarn."Thorn nodded tensely. Once, a report like that would have made him smile. Now his levity was overshadowed by the events of the past few weeks.
The Mandalorian was good. Damn good. Vhorg, a Gammorean they had picked up on Sankrist, had been killed in the last attack, when he unwisely jumped the bounty hunter from behind. The ship had been lightly damaged from a pair of concussion missiles in a remote turret that fired as the Rapier had launched. There had been a half-dozen other narrow scrapes, and only the array of dirty tricks secreted in the ship, and the skill of the crew, had kept them from being atomized.
"I think we might be able to lose him this time," Ghorrdo was saying. "We haven't seen him at all in the last three ports we stopped at."
Thorn snorted. "I'm not taking any chances, at least until half the Balmorran sector cabinet is strung up. We know too much, Ghorrdo; I keep telling you that."
The Rodian was silent for a moment. "Ban'ta pudhu," he muttered. "You're right, I just keep hoping...."
"Hope is good," Thorn said with more cheer than he felt. "Keep holding on. We have contacts and friends all throughout Hutt Space. We can keep running for as long as it takes to deal with the Mandalorian. Orfune sent me a message saying she's trying to get us some help in swatting the hunter. I'll trust her."
Ghorrdo started to nod, but then leaned forward, his rubbery mouth pursing oddly. "Hey... what's that....?"
Thorn looked outside the forward bridge windows. The shimmering tunnel of hyperspace roared in a titanic flow around them, pseudo-light and sheets of energy speeding by them as they traveled many times faster than the speed of light. As he watched, a small globule of energy seemed to appear in the wall of the tunnel before the ship sped by.
"There's another one," Ghorrdo exclaimed, as this one seemed to zip right by their path, still leaving a wide margin for the ship to pass by safely. "And another."
Thorn slowly shook his head as he watched a third and then a fourth of the small, glowing energy nodules appear in the hyper-tunnel. Then a fifth one came close to the ship, and before the ship was clear a wrenching tremble ran through the ship. "I have a bad feeling about this," Thorn murmured. "Ghorrdo! They're hypermass pulse-mines!"
"Mining a hyperlane?! Are they mad?"
"That or pirates... or bounty hunters! Quick, drop us out of light speed-!"
Ghorrdo leaped for the controls, but it was too late. One of the pulse-mines came too close to the Rapier, and the hyperdrive gave a complaining shriek. The ship wrenched itself out of hyperspace, the star-lines of the hyper-tunnel becoming a Balmorran knotwork of confusion before settling into points of light.
Thorn pulled himself into the center seat and slapped the intercom. "Battlestations, everyone, battlestations! Dorn! Switch us to sublight engines and get the hyperdrive running again!"
"I can't! Whatever the hell it was that pulled us out of hyperspace, the drive didn't like it! The cooling jacket's sprung a leak again; I'm going to have to repair it."
"So do what you can; pulse-mines have a short half-life -- whomever laid them is still in the area-"
"I've got them on sensors!" Ghorrdo snapped. "By the Maker...!"
"Talk to me, Ghorrdo!" Thorn said as he prepped the ship for sublight maneuvers -- harsh sublight maneuvers.
"I've got one freighter or naval auxiliary, some kind of corvette, and five gunboats. The 'vette is pumping out pulse-mines, and... the gunboats are closing."
"We're getting a signal, skipper!" one of the crew shouted.
"Corsair Rapier, we have you in our gun sights and pulse-mines surround you. You cannot run; you cannot jump to light speed." The voice was unmistakably that of the Mandalorian that had been pursuing them.
Thorn grimaced. "Not like this," he muttered. "Not like this!" He slapped the communications controls. "This is Thorn of the Rapier. So you got yourself some friends, hey?"
"Captain Thorn Falk, someone who is very wealthy and very powerful wants you dead. We can do this one of two ways: oblige them, or make them think you're dead."
Ghorrdo and Thorn exchanged a glance. "They're stalling for time," Ghorrdo said.
"Mandalorians don't stall for time," Thorn said quietly. He turned back to the console. "All right, you've got our attention."
"I was hired by the Balmorran Sector Cabinet to find and kill you and your crew. I was told you had been involved in the slicing attempt on the Sector computers, and had been exposed to very sensitive information relating to the war against the Sith. The fund allocation was approved by the office of the senator and arose from monies which were sloshed between three different funds, from at least two sources external to the Republic. One of these sources was Kessel."
"Talkative for our executioner," Ghorrdo commented. Thorn held up a hand. "Is this the part where you tell us the senator's master plan and then kill us?"
There was a pause, then the Mandalorian's voice came back, mildly humorous. "Not unless you want it to. Captain, I must have your answer. Decide, right now, if you will be willing to disappear for perhaps even the rest of your life, with the remote possibility of someday clearing your name. Or if, right now, you would rather die."
Thorn muted the console. "Ghorrdo, keep the crew alert and ready for anything. I can't trust this Mandalorian farther than I can toss him, and right now he's too far away for me to toss him." He turned on the console again. "What do you propose?"
"We can make it look like we destroyed your ship, when in actuality you, your crew, and your ship come with us to the Unknown Regions."
"Where in the Unknown regions?"
"A safe place, Captain. A very safe place."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because, frankly, Captain, there's something rotten going on in Balmorra, and despite our reputation, we Mandalorians don't like being someone else's fodder-boys. Especially when the person hiring us is as crooked as the Seven-Fold Nebula. And especially when there is no reason to have more -- relatively -- innocent blood on our hands. This is not the first time we've done this."
"But we need your answer right now. By merely doing this, we have no choice but to destroy you if you decline. But we need your absolute and total cooperation if you are to survive. There can be no contact with anyone who knew you before, at least until the ones who hired us are dealt with in their own ways."
Thorn's jaw worked. Most of the crew had no tight ties with anyone; even so, the option was this or death. He knew his crew well enough that they all believed in the old adage of "Where there is life, there is hope." Ghorrdo had siblings, but none he was at all even friendly with. But Dorn... Dorn would never have the chance to see Balmorra or his family again. And for himself... he was fond of Orfune and of some others in the Hutt's employ... and Freyja Makkaisdottir-Rigg...
He closed his eyes. I guess it all caught up to us after all. But if there's a possibility... "All right, Mandalorian," he said. "What do we do?"
The Mandalorians had a duplicate of the Rapier.
He had no idea where they'd gotten a ship made in the same lot of Ryzokac Thunder VII patrol freighters which Rapier had originally been in. And he had even less idea of how much work it had taken to match the dupe's hyperdrive coil signatures with those of the Rapier's so perfectly. He didn't know how the Mandalorians had also matched most if not all of the dirty tricks loaded in the Rapier, and that was something he would have dearly loved to know. He also had no idea what one team of Mandalorians were doing as they shuttled between the duplicate Rapier and his own, seemingly doing nothing but walking along the halls. He tried asking; the answer he got became unintelligible to him after the second sentence. It sounded vaguely like witchcraft.
Whatever the answer to those questions, he actually felt a brief moment of panic as the Mandalorian gunboats blew apart the fake Rapier with disturbing rapidity.
The crew had genetic samples taken from them, and residues were scattered within the debris. The Mandalorian who had been hunting him remained behind, taking holos and forensic samples which would confirm Thorn and the crew of the Rapier were all indeed dead. The real Rapier and the other Mandalorian ships jumped out.
Thorn sat in his chair, fingering the amulet one of their... captors? rescuers?... had given him. Small, round, and heavy, with no markings, made from something they had called only "Mandalorian iron," he and the other crew members -- each of which had been given one -- were supposed to wear them until told otherwise. He didn't know what it was all about, but when he held the amulet he was vaguely reminded of the Oghan lotus blossom he had given Freyja.
"That should do it," the Mandalorian in blue and gold trimmed armor said pleasantly. She took off her helmet then, revealing the blue skin and red eyes of a Chiss. She had identified herself as Major Roon Owl. "Two weeks and we'll be in the Unknown Regions, on our way to Mandalore."
Thorn frowned. "Why there?" he asked.
"I'm hoping you'll be able to tell us that, Captain Falk. All we know about the contract against you was that the Balmorran Sector Cabinet -- and likely Senator Kallatis -- wanted you killed. We doubt the reason given. Is there anything you can tell us that might shed light on this?"
Thorn stared at the Chiss for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said. "I think so. But first, how did you find out that you weren't told the whole truth?"
It seemed the Chiss had the ability to give a small, enigmatic smile that appeared to speak volumes but in truth said very little. In this case, however, Major Owl's smile seemed to say all it needed to Thorn. "Let's just say that someone who was very concerned about you managed to meet a Mandalorian or two on the Outer Rim, and referred us to your contract."
Thorn thought for a moment, then grinned and nodded. "All right." Thank you, Freyja. He began to speak.
The Platinum Eclipse does indeed make good time, and it is early in the one-week window that the ship bursts out of hyperspace and wings in towards the unnamed world. It is a plain system, with a tired red sun and a dozen balls of rock orbiting it. The second world out from the star is where the coordinates lead, and an ersatz landing field is quickly found. Not only are some of the Mandalorian gunboats and Silver Path ships there, but also three freighters that have already started refueling and re-supplying the small ships.
Freyja is eager to disembark. While she's very happy with the progress she and her triat partners are making, it's nice to get out and stretch her legs -- with no worry of running into someone else! Zero tchs under his breath. "Tcha, they're running a tight operation... maybe this really will go off without a snag. That would be a change of pace..."
The time spent at 'Bloop,' as Zero called it, is short. It's just enough time to coordinate the next leg of the journey, ensure everyone made it, receive the news that the Jedi have not yet arrived at Zhar as of then, and the news that the Templars had quietly and without any issues fled the system the day after they awakened. Fortunately there was no way they could have gotten a trace on the Silver Path's route.
Another month passes, and after another rendezvous for re-supply the ships gather in a small, bleak star system; the sun burning so hot it edges up into the ultraviolet end of the spectrum. The ships land on the eternal dark side of a world tidally locked with the system primary. This time a few more Mandalorian gunboats are there as well. Time passes...
Freyja has just finished cleaning up after a strenuous but satisfying workout with Vakkal, and is dressing in her room, when there's a tap on the door. She calls, "Enter!" as she's pulling her short, athlete's crop-top over her head.
Zero steps into the room, hands behind his back, wearing his simple white shirt from home and his baggy black slacks. He smiles a little, "Hey, Freyja... do you have a moment?"
Freyja finishes pulling her top on, giving Zero a curious smile, "Surely. What is it?"
Zero grins a little sheepishly. "Well, ah... I have this book I brought from home, kind of on a whim. I thought, well, maybe you'd like to have a look at it, since we're pretty much done training now and don't have anything to do until we part ways with the convoy." He produces a slim, carefully bound volume from behind his back. "Here, um... have a look."
Freyja tilts her head curiously at the book, absently brushing her fiery gold hair out of her face with one hand. She reaches for the book with the other, then smiles at the cover, "Oh! A pillow book." She studies it more thoughtfully, then adds, "Neh, wait... this isn't Balmorran..." She settles on the edge of the bed, gently opening the slim volume and smoothing the pages carefully open, "Where is this from, Zeriza?"
Zero blushes faintly -- with his pale complexion it's impossible to hide it. He scratches the back of his head. "Well... it's from home, like I said. It's kind of drawn from all the divergent cultures that combined to form what eventually became Sedrak's native culture. It's... pretty ancient stuff. Although I guess it's supposed to be pretty good, heh... since it's still being printed. I brought with me when I left the first time... I was, you know, alone. But now that things are different, I thought maybe you'd like to look at it."
Freyja oohs softly, admiring the lovely color prints, "This is really nice work, Zero! You don't see printing like this any more, really... it's all holotech related stuff." She smiles in quiet appreciation, turning a page, then oh!s again, "I remember this one! Splitting the Bamboo... always thought it'd take a small, very agile girl for that one!" She giggles, then looks up and grins at Zero, patting the bed next to her, "Want to have a seat, and we can look at it together?"
Zero nods and sits down gingerly, folding his hands in his lap. "It's kind of an anachronism we never grew out of on Sedrak, what with calligraphy being so important. It's the only world I know of outside of the Core where you can find real and holo books in equal measure."
Freyja sighs quietly, still smiling, "Anachronism? Oh, I don't know... I rather like the... the straightforward purity of a painting, as opposed to entire pillow book holovids." She runs her fingers lightly, almost reverently across the colorful page, "See? You can see details in paintings that they usually just fade out, in the holovids... like her flowers and his lovely bead necklace, and the hangings on the wall... that one looks almost like it's telling some ancient legend, don't you think?"
Zero mms and leans a little closer to Freyja, nodding. "Looks like an old woodcut. A landscape, maybe... or a backdrop for a poem. It's too small for me to say from here." He smiles a little, "I don't know if I'd look good wearing beads, myself."
Freyja murmurs calmly, "Certainly you would. Dark-veined wood, I'd think, to go with your lovely pale skin... and I'd wear... lilies, maybe? Pale and sweet-scented, since I'm so dark-skinned compared to you." She reads quietly, a small smile in her voice,
"Who is this dark beauty coming this way?
Who can she be, young and lovely,
Naked yet devoid of shame, charming everyone she meets?
See how she walks, loose-hipped --
...her hair floating loose about her.
Just the sight of her makes men and Gods tremble..."
Freyja sighs quietly again, still smiling. "Mmm... lovely prose... so evocative."
Zero smiles a little in response. "You know... I think that verse describes you very well," he murmurs, leaning his head against her shoulder. "I can't speak for the gods, of course... but I still tremble now and then."
Freyja flushes slightly, then grins and rubs her cheek lightly against Zero's head, "Th-that... thank you, Zeriza. That's sweet of you." She slowly turns another page and reads quietly again, although this time it's not prose, "The outer room, balmy with perfumes, should contain a bed; soft, agreeable to the sight, covered with a clean white cloth and having garlands and bunches of flowers upon it; a canopy above it, and two pillars..." She looks around the mostly-stripped room and sighs quietly, then says firmly, "We'll just have to make the room nicer later, hai? We can all help, and make it nice for all of us."
Zero blushes a little and smiles, "Maybe after we leave the convoy we can see about turning the Eclipse into something more homelike." He grins thoughtfully, "Maybe we're more like the nomads than we thought, aiyah? Just on a larger scale." He murmurs, "Wonder where I could find beads..."
Freyja grins softly, her gaze far away and her voice low, almost throaty with thoughtfulness, "Maybe so, hai... and we can get nice beads from Balmorra, I'm sure. It's standard fare there." She lightly runs the fingers of her free hand along Zero's back as she reads the next bit, "The following are the places for kissing: the forehead, the eyes, the cheeks, the throat, the bosom, the breasts, the lips..." She tilts her head to regard Zero thoughtfully, then smiles slowly again. A moment later she leans towards him, murmuring, "The forehead..." She drops a few gentle kisses across his brow, "...the eyes..." She very carefully kisses there as well, slowly and delicately, then breathes softly, "Like this? Is this how Sedraki do it?"
Zero smiles quietly, raising his head to gently brush his lips across hers. "Mm. I always imagined it was something like this..." He leans in to kiss her again, more lingeringly, before leaning back just a fraction of an inch. "Of course... I guess it's open to interpretation..." He bends his head again to touch his lips gently to her heart, just below the neck of her top.
Freyja sighs softly, smiling dreamily and with her eyes half closed... although she's not so distracted as to forget to carefully set the wonderful printed book aside. She reaches to rest one hand lightly on the back of Zero's head, running her fingers gently through his moon-white hair, "Show me, mm?"
. . .
Some hours later finds the two of them curled together in the warm darkness. Zero lies with his head in the crook of Freyja's shoulder, his breath coming warm and slow against the hollow of her collarbone, while Freyja's hands glide gently across his back, again coming to rest in the one spot between his shoulder blades that remains unblemished. Stirring quietly, he murmurs to her, "Mm... Freyja? Can I ask you something?"
Freyja makes a lazily contented sound of assent. She's too relaxed for much more than that, currently.
Zero murmurs, "I think that's how you do it... by the book," he smiles, "-but... I don't really know anything about Balmorran men or customs. So I don't know if you..." He trails off, trying to frame what he means, before finally raising his head to ask, still whispering but serious in expression, "Do you... I mean, am I handsome, Freyja? I know I'm damaged goods and all that... I just want you to... be happy when you're with me. Does that make sense?"
Freyja smiles lazily, her voice still a bit dreamy, "You're asking me about Balmorran men? I don't really know that much about them, to be honest. Never had the time or inclination to find out." She lets her fingers trail lightly along his back again, then adds confusedly, "Why... why do you think you're damaged goods, Zero? I don't think you are... I think you're nice."
Zero hesitates for a moment, then rests his head against her shoulder again. "It's just..." He pauses, sighing quietly as she touches him, before going on, "It's... my scars. I never really thought about them from someone else's point of view, before. After the first time, I started to worry... that they're probably unattractive. You know I still have to work hard to smile properly..."
Freyja smiles again, shifting slightly to take his hand and run it lightly across her right thigh, where there's a very old, wide, somewhat messy scar. "That's where a slaypneer stomped me, by accident, when I was a child. That's one of many damages I've gotten over the years. Some healed up cleanly, others scarred. Master Roakkana says scars aren't blemishes... they're a sign of your character." She touches his back lightly again, adding, "You're not unattractive, Zeriza. I like your smile -- you have character. That's one of the things I like about you."
Zero mms again softly and relaxes against her -- completely this time -- embracing her warmly. He kisses her again, his lips ghosting over her heart, her forehead, and her lips at last, and whispers, "I'm glad, Freyja. Very glad to hear that." He smiles again; the right way, too. "Because I love you... very much."
Freyja's reply is non-verbal... soft kisses and warm wrapping around him in return, accompanied by a gently reassuring/joyous/filling/enveloping/loving warmth in his head. Zero twines himself gently with her, an interchange of pale and dark limbs; mentally as well as he shares his every thought, his happiness in every jeweled moment he spends next to her.
A month after the sudden and rather dramatic departure from Zhar of a large number of ships that were previously apparently rotting as scrap, more ships arrive at Zhar. These are considerably better kept. There's not a ship in the arriving fleet which is larger than a stock courier, but for one, and that one is hardly more than a bulk freighter itself. They are of many and varied designs and makes, but all share two things in common: plenipotentiary red and the Bendu wheel on their hulls.
This far from the borders, it was really no wonder that forces of the Republic traveled in fleets rather than individual ships. What was more surprising was that Republic ships were there at all, let alone Jedi ships. The people of Zhar were not by nature a curious lot, but this sparked up more interest, curiosity, and speculation than anything else over the past thousand years.
It was, thought Padmé Cerina, as much speculation as she herself had voiced about this mission... to say nothing of the speculation she had not voiced.
She sat in the small, cramped bridge of the Morning Stars, uncomfortable with the ship's large size. Jedi Knights were used to small, quick ships, able to evade and hide rather than taking on any possible enemy capital ships. Small ships also allowed a Jedi to better use her affinity with the Force in a battle. That was why most of her ramshackle Armada was made up of couriers, each carrying perhaps no more than five or six Jedi, with most bearing two or three. Not so the Morning Stars; with a flight crew of six Jedi and four civilian merchant spacers, her hold carried a further ten Jedi, guardians of highest skill, armored and armed appropriately.
From the bridge she felt, somewhat, the ten warriors practicing with glaives, all of them keeping their training up and sharpening their senses. Their presence was less a comfort and more an enigma. "Jedi Cerina," the pilot said, "all ships report safe arrival. Our scans show no unusual activity."
She nodded. "Bring us towards Zhar. The Watchers' report said that their activities were centered there."
Which was, she knew, only partly true. A report had said that some intelligence activity had been centered on Zhar, but Cerina could not believe that the report now burning in blue letters on her datapad was from the Watchers. It spoke of an intelligence activity undertaken against a heretical Force cult which might have ties to the Sith. Of course, something like that would need to be investigated. If it was anything like the cults they had discovered evidence of on Sedrak, or in the Deep Core, then it was a potentially explosive danger.
But still she could not shake the feeling this was not a Watcher mission. When she had been given this assignment, she had gotten a number of conflicting viewpoints from it. None were as straightforward as her orders, and yet at the same time none were as cryptic as the possible meaning behind those orders. She had been given command of a formation of ships referred to in her briefing as an "armada." That alone concerned her. Armadas were, traditionally, formed in support of the legions of the Army of Light. And there was no Army of Light.
Or was there?
Technically, Jedi often let the Force guide them, though the Order did have a say in where they were sent at any given time. It was with some surprise, then, that she'd received the Rampart Legion (a group of young Jedi hailing from Balmorra Sector) request to join her "armada." Not having any reason to refuse them, she allowed the ten Knights to join in. Certainly, if the Order had no pressing need of them elsewhere. She wouldn't turn down the extra sabers for a trip into Hutt Space.
Before she had departed Coruscant, with Morning Stars and the other ships merely awaiting her arrival, Master Sur-Qam Talin of Alderaan had quietly approached her. And he had not been alone.
"The Council," he had said, "is at a crossroads. Within our ranks, we are of two minds towards the Sith. Compared to the rest of the Order, one of these thoughts is far more prevalent than it perhaps should be. You are being sent to Zhar to find evidence of heresy, but I fear the heresy will be behind you.
"It is enough you know I am seeking atonement by what I do now. When you leave I will attempt to make right what has gone wrong, but I do not have hope that I will succeed. How this relates to your mission, I hope to the Force that you shall never need know. As far as you are concerned, however, I am doing two things which will not be taken well by my peers on the Council.
"I bestow upon you the grade of Knight Grand Cross, as Knight-Captain of this armada. The crossed sabers of that grade will, I fear, stand you in good stead in the coming months. It is a martial title, much as knight-cardinal once was.
"Second, I am sending this one with you
She watched Parin now, as he sat silently at the sensors console, efficient and quiet, speaking only when he had something to report. He never raised his voice, though he was always infallibly courteous. In the infrequent sparring he participated in, he never used his saber, preferring a forcefield-sheathed shinai. In fact, Cerina had never seen him ignite his saber at all. As if reading her mind, he straightened, and turned. "Jedi Cerina," he said softly, "the Rampart Legion ships are fanning out."
She frowned. "I didn't give orders for the armada to disperse."
"They look like they are lengthening their sensor baseline, as if looking for something."
"Contact them, I want to know what they're doing."
"Yes, Jedi." After sending the message once... twice... and a third time, there was finally a reply. "They say they are doing a routine scan for hyperspatial traces."
"We should be able to do that ourselves. Why are they fanning out?"
The pilot spoke up now, providing, "The longer the baseline, the more accurate they can be, and the fainter the trace they can pick up."
Cerina chewed on her lip. She didn't like this. She should have known, between their eagerness to join her armada and the warnings from Master Sur-Qam, that the Rampart Legion had some ulterior motive. But what? "Tell them... tell them to return to formation; we don't want to make the local population nervous. It could be interpreted as setting up for an attack run." As an excuse, it was even plausible.
There was another pause. "They're stalling," Parin murmured.
She shot a look at him. "Send the message again. Emphasize 'immediately.' And note that this will look bad for them in my report if they disobey my orders."
This time the Legion didn't even respond. Carina was opening her mouth to give another strongly worded order when Parin said, "They are standing down and returning to formation."
She frowned. "Did they find anything?"
Parin was uncomfortable for a few moments. "They... they say they did not."
She nodded. "Jedi Garuus, please see if you can find any trace of whatever they were looking for. With their formation, how old of a hyper trace could they pick up?"
"It depends on how many ships jumped out at once, Jedi Cerina, and how many have jumped out since then and before. Zhar does not get a lot of traffic."
She nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "Do what you can. Meanwhile," she turned to the pilot, "get us clearance to land at one of the larger spaceports here. We don't want to swamp one of the smaller ones with all the people we have." She returned to contemplating the situation. The actions of the Rampart Legion only added further mystery to the situation, but it was becoming more and more sinisterly clear that something was most assuredly not right.
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