Lightning shatters the sky and strikes the spire atop the cloning complex towering before you as you step off your ship and onto the rain-slick landing platform. Kamino, the Planet of Storms, is known for its roiling seas and constant torrential downpour.The fall of the Galactic Empire hit the planet’s primary export of military cloning projects extremely hard, but the Kaminoans remained afloat, both figuratively with contracts to galactic warlords, and literally with the brilliant engineering of their iconic seaborne cities.

The initial landing pad is a wide circle designed to accommodate a variety of ships, and is connected to a series of other platforms as well. Every surface is slick with rain, but avoids flooding due to the sloped edges that allow the water to run off into the sea below and away from the centerpoint.

The cloning facility’s exterior is characterized by similar slopes, and raindrops rapidly transform into steam as they touch against the series of lightning rods around the platform, much like they would if they dripped onto a lightsaber blade. You wonder which is deadlier as you observe the violent arcs of electricity course through the pylons.

History tells of the fateful encounter between Obi Wan Kenobi and renowned Bounty Hunter Jango Fett. The doors of the facility are sealed, which means that whatever challenge awaits you, will have to be faced in the heart of the omnipresent rainstorm. What history will you write?

Tra’an Reith took a deep breath, remembering the last time he was on this very platform and the battle he had won against his aggrieved foe; the traitor Cethgus Tiberius Entar. The rain was warm and welcoming, immediately soaking his robes. Eyeing the other transport that was just now lifting off, the Seer narrowed his eyes at the sight of his Consul and fellow di Plagia.

Slowly, he walked towards Vivackus Kavon di Plagia, shucking his outer robe as he moved, letting it get swept away in the wind, his legs slowly adjusting to the gravity and slick surface of the landing platform. Viv raised his eyebrows as he moved closer, the two of them coming to a stop just outside of lightsaber range, close enough to hear each other, and yet far enough that initiating combat would not be a seamless move.

“It’s time for you to step down, Vivackus. I am the Emissary of the di Plagia, and it is our will that you forfeit your title as Consul. Your recent failures have said more about you than all previous successes.” Tra’an’s words were just loud enough to be heard, punctuated by a bolt of lightning and its accompanying crack of thunder. The Miraluka’s eye sockets narrowed. His facial expressions still reminiscent of when he had eyes as a human. Tra’an smiled, teeth showing for the first time in ages.

“I’ll not be giving up my power so hard fought and won power and prestige, even at the will of the di Plagia. The Grand Master has seen fit to leave me in control of Plagueis, and I’ll not have anyone second guessing his will. Out of respect, if you reaffirm your loyalty to me, I’ll let you leave.” Viv’s right hand moved to rest on the hilt of his lightsaber. “Let’s not do this now. I need your support, not your obstruction.” Even as he extended his left hand, Tra’an took a step back.

“No, Vivackus, my friend, my Consul. I am here to represent the will of the pride and honor of Plagueis. You will step down as Consul when we are finished, whether or not you want to.” Tra’an flicked his left wrist and the ornate custom lightsaber designed by Shikyo Keibatsu dropped into his palm, the molten blade coalescing into existence.

“Why are you the hatchet man? Why not one of the others?” Vivackus question, filled with the indignation and annoyance of his situation, covered the sound of his own cerulean lightsaber joining the world yet again. Viv took a step back, then raised his left hand and signaled for the fight to begin.

Tra’an focused himself and felt the familiar feelings begin to rise within him as the possibility of combat became real. He had hoped that Vivackus wouldn’t just step down. His body tensed as he crouched and jumped forward, closing half of the gap between them in a single bound, his right leg coming down into contact with the slick metal.

As it landed, Tra’an felt for the grip of his boot to fully grasp the surface beneath the rain. As the water squished out from underneath the sole, he placed the weight of his entire body on the leg, knee bending and then unbending, the powerful muscles sending him vaulting forward again. His left leg made contact with the deck and the Seer adjusted his foot so that he slid on impact, closing the last of the gap between them with his momentum intact.

Something flickered across the Consul’s face and he jumped sideways, avoiding the hammer blow of Force energy that had been aimed at his right knee. The rain-slick surface left him skidding, as he landed, the former Quaestor’s lightsaber slicing through the space in which he just was. Tra’an’s right foot tangled in the robes that the crafty Miraluka had doffed in the rain, causing the Shi’ido to waste precious seconds ridding himself of the entangling garment. As he reoriented on the enemy, Vivackus had regained his own footing, once again taunting for the fight to continue. The rain began to feel colder, clammier upon their skin as the wind shifted again, the light moaning beginning to howl as if the storm sensed what was happening within it.

Jaw clenched, Tra’an walked slowly towards his opponent, his opportunity to bring this to a swift end destroyed by the Force’s timely warning and his opponent’s own cunning. A slow smile spread across the face of the Seeker. He did not have to seek what came to him now, as it came of its own will and accord.

“What is it with you and doing the dirty work of the Dark Council, Tra’an? You take Plagueis out of Jusadih to chase down the fantasies of Muz, you killed Ronovi because Dacien wanted her dead, and now you seek to remove me so that Aabs and Dacien don’t have to get their hands dirty? You really are just a slave to their will, aren’t you?” Like fresh forged knives, the taunts and barbs seemed to slice their way to the core of the Shi’ido, igniting his Rage.

Visibly shaking from the adrenalin and power flowing through him, Reith switched his own weapon to his left hand jumped into the range of Vivackus’ lightsaber. As the Warlord moved to counter, Tra’an blocked the motion and swung his right hand in to connect with the Miraluka’s jaw.

The crack of the bone fracturing under the impact could clearly be heard as the snap of his head disoriented the Miraluka and sent him staggering. As if on instinct, the crackling of energy could be felt through the air, Tra’an throwing himself aside as a blast of lightening jolted through the empty air. The rain sizzled as the power evaporated it. Manifesting his sense of will, Vivackus straightened, as if suppressing the pain.

“You’re strong in some ways Vivackus, but not strong enough to survive the fight. Surrender.”

Vivackus took a step backward and tenderly massaged his jaw with his off hand. A faint, but unmistakable metallic taste hit the Miraluka’s tongue. He spit and the red-tinged saliva almost immediately disappeared in the rain. Had he been here before? The downpour, the taste of blood. Vivackus remembered this feeling, and it was not from his own life. Lowering his saber slightly, the Warlord considered his opponent’s offer.

For a certain definition of “considered.”

Vivackus was too proud to relinquish his position on another’s terms, but Tra’an didn’t need to know that just yet. The Shi’ido was radiating through the Force like a bonfire, a stark juxtaposition with the chilling rain soaking through Vivackus’ robes. Every moment spent not attacking was a moment of his largest advantage wasted. Vivackus just had to wait for Tra’an to tire himself out. This also gave the Consul a chance to think. Tra’an had arrived at Kamino first. He had known Vivackus was traveling here, which was evidence of a larger - though admittedly less imminent - issue than the immediate confrontation. Was Vivackus losing his grip on the Clan? Perhaps he should step down.

No.

Doubt was a weakness Vivackus could not afford himself, especially in the face of the current threat. The Consul’s mind returned to the present. “Was the decision unanimous?” He spoke through gritted teeth as pricks of pain shot through his jaw with each punctuated syllable.

Tra’an raised his orange lightsaber high, horizontal to the ground. A soft translucent plane extended upward from the blade as each droplet rain instantly vaporized into steam. “Will you yield?”

A non-answer.

That certainly meant no. Vivackus rattled through the implications: Kz’set was certainly in the majority; the bug had never forgiven Vivackus for surviving after their confrontation on Korriban. Teylas had supported Vivackus through everything, though the current Proconsul stood the most to gain from usurping the current Dread Lord. Selika would have sided with whichever faction she believed would win, and after recent events, Vivackus almost certainly had burned through any goodwill he had with Aabsdu and Dacien.

Could Tra’an have been the dissenter?

Vivackus had found his angle. Summoning the Force to dampen the pain in his jaw, he spoke in measured tones. “You don’t agree with their decision, do you?”

“You’re stalling,” the Shi’ido growled, finally having grown wise to the game Vivackus was playing. Tra’an lunged and Vivackus backpedaled. The di Plagia kicked up water as they moved across the platform, blades sizzling against each other as every jab was parried. Tra’an’s preferred style was not well-suited to aggression, and the efficiency of Makashi partially wasted the Force-enhanced strength currently surging through his veins. The Seer was unconsciously trying to muscle his way through Vivackus’ defence, which - counterproductively - telegraphed his moves just enough for Vivackus to weather the onslaught.

Unfortunately, the Consul was rapidly running out of room. With each step backwards, the precipice loomed closer, and Tra’an actively worked to cut off Vivackus every time he tried to feint to the side. The Miraluka thrust his left hand out, and a wave emanated from his palm. Tra’an’s forward momentum prevented him from avoiding the blast. Lifted from his feet, the former Quaestor’s limbs flailed as he flew backwards through the air, landing with a splash in a large puddle, his lightsaber flickering off as it left his grip, clanking along the durasteel several feet away.

Vivackus took this time to strafe back away from the edge of the platform. “You’re better than this, Tra’an. Don’t you tire of being somebody else’s attack dog?” He shouted as a thunderclap rang out overhead. Tra’an staggered to his feet and extended his arm. The metal cylinder sprung to life and jumped back into its master’s grip and activated once more with a hiss.

“The decision was made,” Tra’an spoke slowly.

“By two men who dislike that I challenge their personal power over the Clan, and several others that are going along because they stand something to gain. Don’t try to pretend that you’re making some personal sacrifice for the good of Plagueis.”

“You almost caused us to lose everything!” The Shi’ido leapt high through the air, his blade raised high above his head. Vivackus dove to the side, orange plasma arcing through the space he occupied moments before.

“So that we could gain everything! Greatness is never achieved without a risk.”

Passion swelled to the surface. The Consul directed his anger and frustration at his clanmate. Extending his fingertips, the emotion manifested in an electrical arc that jumped between himself and Tra’an - a miniature impression of the electricity arcing through the clouds overhead. Tra’an threw out his own hand, catching the energy, and bouncing the brunt of it off in a random direction. The energy stream found one of the lightning rods surrounding the platform and arced harmlessly down, dissipating through the metal conductor. Pinpricks multiplied in Tra’an’s hand, the skin reddening from the burn received from the vestiges of the Force attack.

Vivackus noted that his opponent’s breathing was starting to become labored, indicating that the rage was waning.

Neither Plagueian moved a muscle for several seconds and a flash of light appeared above, followed soon after by a thunderous crack.

“Everything I’ve done,” Vivackus pleaded, “I did to lead Plagueis to greatness.”

“You’re not leading now. Why are you here?” Tra’an asked.

Would the truth be the best response here? “To find where I came from,” Vivackus replied.

The response came almost without thought.

“While you’re out here ’Finding yourself’,” he spat derisively, “the unit is faltering because you’re not there. You’re not leading it.” Tra’an moved backwards from Vivackus, taking time to focus his will into healing the burn on his hand. The skin itched as it slowly faded back to a tan color, smooth and unblemished, as if the arc of power had never bled over.

“You weren’t paying attention when we retook the Anchorage. You didn’t plan it, you didn’t help in it, you didn’t even bother to put in more than the bare minimum of looking like a leader. Teylas did it all for you!” The fire that had been simmering in Viv’s features blossomed into an inferno writ large across a face that hadn’t finished adjusting to the Consul’s normal study in stoic.

“Oh? And where were you when Plagueis needed you?", questioned Vivackus. "You gave the unit to a drunk who got terminated by the Grand Master in less than a month!” the Consul moved to close the gap between them, his words matching his slowly escalating pace. “You abandoned this unit when it needed you most, and left it to die. For what, so you could chase a skirt? You have no right!” He lashed out with his lightsaber only to find that Tra’an had switched hands and blocked him in such a manner as to leave their bodies open.

“I left because I wasn’t capable of leading anymore. I take no responsibility for the Grand Master being manipulated into removing Ronovi. Her removal made her into a drunk.” Their lightsabers flashed and hummed in the rain, constantly hissing and crackling as the plasma evaporated the ever present stream of water droplets. As Reith continued to press Vivackus, the Consul found it hard to remain engaged with his fellow di Plagia. No matter the steps he took to disengage, Tra’an was right there with him, step for step.

As the fight progressed, the strain beganto show upon the Miraluka, with his body language indicating that he wasn’t used to prolonged encounters. Recognizing it for what it was, the Shi’ido lashed out at Viv’s face with the Force, impacting the same spot he’d hit earlier with his fist. As if warned by the same living power, the Consul sidestepped the blow into a puddle and lost his footing.

Pressing his advantage, the Seer moved to disarm his opponent, only to find himself enveloped in liquid night. In the rain, it felt as if an ink well had been tossed upon the world. It streaked like a painting with a fresh splash of color. It was nevertheless impenetrable.

“You didn’t actually think I’d make it that easy for you, did you?” Vivackus taunted. The power laden darkness began to fade, revealing the reality of their storm torn landscape once again. Standing tall and proud, the Plagueian Consul looked almost regal with the storm behind him.

“I’d have been disappointed if you had; not that it matters. I have my mission. While I may not agree with the will of the collective, I recognize the danger you have become. Step down now, or we’ll finish this the hard way.” Tra’an fingered the disruptor on his right hip, popping the catch on his holster. “I don’t want to kill you, Viv, but if I have to, I will. And this time, there’s no convenient Grand Master to save you.”

Viv laughed, the sound punctuated by yet another flash of electricity crackling across the sky to slam into a nearby grounding rod.

“I don’t fear you, Reith. For all your words, you haven’t done it yet. Admit your defeat and leave me to my explorations.” Viv’s words ended in a sneer as Tra’an set himself to finish the fight.

“You should, Viv. You weren’t here to see me de-throne Kal. You didn’t see me when I had everything to gain and nothing to lose. I’m there again, Viv.” The sneer upon the Miraluka’s face died as his opponent seemed to accelerate at an unnatural speed, feet gliding over the water streaked surface. Using the water as an advantage, the shapeshifter abused the properties of the water-soaked surface to slide past his target, changing the angle of his feet to stop and turn on a dime. The molten blade caught the tip of his opponents robes, singing them.

Even as Viv caught the move in a counter, it began to dawn on him that even without the insanity that had powered his earlier attempt, the Shi’ido was capable of amazing physical prowess.

“Surrender, Viv, and I’ll spare your life and limb. Refuse, and it ends here for you.” Reith moved to draw his disruptor even as he put pressure on Viv’s lightsaber, locking it in place. The lightning flashed behind him, crackling through the air as it slammed into the ground only meters from them.

When it came to him the first time, it had been a dream.

Cold. Exhaustion. Frustration.

Roughly a month ago, the memories had gradually coalesced into something more concrete.

White noise from the raindrops, punctuated every several seconds with a crack of thunder. His drenched robes weighing him down. Wind, with the faint but unmistakable smell of saline.

Vivackus Kavon di Plagia had felt the odd lurching in his stomach of deja vu ever since arriving on this platform. There was something here for him, on Kamino, for him to discover. Vivackus knew that much. This fragment was the only piece he had ever been able to glean from that other past - that of his new Miraluka body. Everything else was like trying to remember the void before his own birth. He - his body - must have been here before. The longer he had dwelled on it, the clearer the memory had become. But why couldn’t he get further? While the scene itself increased in clarity, like a camera lens coming into focus, he was never able to see beyond this platform. He might as well have been trying to look past the edge of a painting.

Vivackus had to get inside, of this he was certain. If he could just get through the threshold, just break out of the scene, the rest would return to him.

Tra’an was a problem, though.

The Shi’ido’s hand reached for his disruptor pistol. Vivackus desperately grasped for Tra’an’s wrist. This was a tactical error, as it turned out. Amid the saberlock, with all hands occupied, Tra’an headbutted Vivackus in the temple, sending the Consul staggering backwards. A small part of Vivackus’ mind was amused to discover that Miraluka could see stars.

Vivackus’ lightsaber began to fall from his grasp, then dipped into a parabola upwards into Tra’an’s hand as he called it to himself through the Force. The supine Warlord scrambled backwards until his back hit a vertical surface, while Tra’an stalked him, holding both lightsaber tips less than a foot from his chest.

“I didn’t want it to end this way,” Tra’an’s voice was somber.

Vivackus was up against the door which connected the platform to the rest of the facility. Less than a foot from his goal, the Sith’s only obstacle was a few inches of durasteel. He just needed to figure out how to live long enough to get there. Tra’an drew back slightly, about to lunge with both lightsabers through Vivackus’ chest.

Reaching out around himself, Vivackus called the Force to lift as much of the water pooling on the platform as he could muster, directing it toward the lightsaber blades of his foe. As the water boiled instantly, he pushed the hot steam back up into Tra’an’s face.

The Shi’ido let out a scream. While not stopping his momentum, it did lessen his accuracy. Vivackus rolled sideways, feeling of white hot pain as a singe along his ribcage as the tip of his own lightsaber burned across his ribcage.

Tra’an was momentarily blinded by superheated vapor, and that was the opening Vivackus needed. Once again, his anger channeled through Vivackus’ fingertips into arcs of electricity. Unlike the last time, his lightning meet its mark without resistance.

Tra’an recoiled as the surge of lightning caught him from the side, his mind overcome by the pain that Vivackus willed onto him. The Shi’ido collapsed into a heap after staggering backwards a yard. Vivackus allowed himself a second of respite to compose himself, before edging along the doorway to the control panel. Using the artificial wall as support, Vivackus pushed himself into a standing position. Here was the keypad to the facility. Now Vivackus just had to remember the combination.

Nothing.

I don’t understand... This was all wrong. He saw the keypad, but why did he not know which combination to push? Panic began to set in. Pushing a combination at random, Vivackus was taunted with a condescending buzz.

Isn’t this where I’m supposed to be? Frantically, Vivackus began hammering at the keypad. Why didn’t he know the combination? It made no sense. He was here before. Where else had the memory come from? He was supposed to enter the facility, and that would jog everything else. He would be able to see where this body had been created.

A new emotion began to undercut everything else. Like a knot tightening deep in his gut, Vivackus had felt this once before.

Snap-hiss Behind Vivackus, the unmistakable sound indicated that Tra’an had risen once more.

“No...” More than a word, the noise was a sigh, coming out of Vivackus’ mouth as the realization dawned on him. The Warlord sunk to his knees.

It wasn’t a memory.

He had been confused before. The sensations had come to him as he was now, not as his human body was before, so the underlying assumption was wrong.

It had been a vision.

“I surrender.” Vivackus heard the words leave his mouth even before he spoke them.

“I won’t give you another chance if this is another trick, Viv.” Tra’an spoke, forcefully calm, but his intention clear.

Vivackus clenched his hand into a fist and hammered futilely against the keypad. “No, no tricks.” His voice was as transparent as it had ever been. “You’re right. I’m not fit to lead. I can’t even control myself. How could I control the Clan?” The rhetorical question was left unanswered as the Warlord slumped into the corner.

Tra’an held his lightsaber at attention, ready for something, anything.

Seconds turned to minutes, as water poured down on top of them both. When it finally became clear that there was no more deception, Tra’an slowly lowered his guard. Reaching out with his left hand, the Shi’ido grasped the collar of Vivackus’ robes and pulled the Miraluka up so that their faces were level.

“Get yourself together, Viv.” The statement was dripping with equal parts disgust, concern, and frustration. “You could have done so much better.”

Tra’an threw Vivackus to the side, and his body fell like a rag doll, landing prone on the platform.

As Tra’an walked off, hailing his shuttle, Vivackus stared with his eyeless vision into the sky. Raindrops pelted his face. Unable to summon the will to move, he looked into the sky. The fractal pattern of a lightning bolt appeared overhead, and in instant was gone again.

The vision always ended this way, who was he to argue?

Vivackus did not move from that spot for some time afterwards.