Alabrek Castle
Kar Alabrek
Tarthos

"And that was when we lost track of the property." He stopped, watching the man for some sort of reaction, some sort of response. Thikka felt the seconds drag by, the dark predator glare of the man unmoving, as near as he could tell. Each moment grew more and more awkward, the liaison starting to feel the itch of idleness in his fingertips, but he willed it away.

He cursed himself inside his head, swearing that he would murder the man who called off and forced him to meet with a Lord, of all things. That was not the way he had wanted to spend his morning, panicking about details and how to approach bad news.

The Lion finally nodded once, then turned to walk away. Thikka let out a breath, watching the movement keenly. He had been worried that the Dark Lord would have reacted as poorly as he had heard from the others in the bureau, the Warhost attaches bringing back horror stories about the foxtrot uniforms in the field.

Ashen let the door slide closed behind him, his mind dissecting the situation. The 'property' was an antique from Ryloth, although from the images on the Liaison's datapad, not made by a Twi'Lek. He let his legs carry him to his ship, the rhthym of his boots in the corridor echoing off the walls. It would have to have some serious resonance in the Force for some mere treasure seekers to abscond with it. He flipped open the comm center in his arm's datapad, tapping otu a message to Blackwind to prepare for liftoff.

Meditation Chamber
Fallen Spear
Hyperspace

He sat in the middle of the room, a raised dias covered in deep royal fabric. His legs crossed, his arms resting on his knees as his eyes slid closed. He felt along the edges of consciousness, let his heart and mind still themselves, letting his senses open themselves up to the Force.

It was a tidal wave. It always was. The loud thoughts of countless sentients caressed his mind, the flow and ebb of life and death, soil and steel all making their presence known. He savored the stimuli, his mind sharpening as he focused his mind, as he narrowed his net.

It was there, in the industrial sector of Nar Shaddaa. He felt along its edges, tracing the connections between the artifact and the universe that birthed it. Sense slipped away, and vanished back into the ether, like a thread pulled back into the tapestry.

Muz stood up, cracking his neck as he looked up at the blue miasma of hyperspace through the viewscreen. He would have to have it in his possession if he wanted to know for sure. If the lost artifact was the brother to the box he had acquired on Kalsunor. If it was one of the pieces he had been hunting for.

Muz smiled.

Consul's Office
The Temple of Sorrow
Sepros

"Let me get this straight." Locke looked at the Quaestor incredulously. "You think that Muz went to go retrieve the Ryloth Relic?"

Tasha'Vel blinked at the Consul, as confused as he was. "That is what the Warhost Liaison reported to me."

"Why does he even care?" Locke sneered, pacing the area between his desk and the view. "Did we get any sort of analysis on what the relic did?"

"Not yet, but I can't imagine it would be so powerful as to attract his attention. If it was that strong, we all would have felt it when we picked it up." She watched the man pace. "And it's not like he's actually trying to make a name for himself and join the Black Guard..."

Locke paused for a moment, turning to look at her. "No, but that would be a hell of a benefit."

Tasha cocked her head to the side. "What are you talking about?"

Locke laughed. "Imagine the stories, Tasha. Suppose someone or something tried to attack you, and it got stopped by your Black Guard."

She looked at him like he had just ate a box of spice. "That's kinda their job, right?"

"Well, yes... but if it somehow were to slip that your Black Guard was a former Grand Master..."

"That seems awfully presumptive." She interrupted him. "Surely, he has more important things to do with his time. The One Si..."

"Exactly." Locke smiled, turning back to the view. "Muz is almost always off on his own business, business that I am sure most of us would rather not meddle. But even if only once that there was confirmation of Muz being a Black Guard, imagine what that would do to the morale of the clan..." Locke's eyes narrowed. "Of the other clans."

Tasha felt a smile creep up the corners of her mouth. "No one would dare strike at us."

Fithram Warehouse Offices
Industrial Sector
Nar Shaddaa

The Iktochi Triplets, Vari, Deri, and Turi smiled as they watched the businessman count out dataries, sliding them, stack by stack into the case. They had no idea why the pale human cared about the old artifacts, but they didn't care so long as he kept paying them. This one was particularly easy, lifting the relic from the ruin of the old skyhook while it still burned. The Sith took their sweet time coming back to the wreckage a,d the others would never doubt that they were among their number. It was one of the easier acquisitions they had seen in a few months, and the credits would go a long way to settling some scores.

The businessman, Vari never got his name, finished stacking the tiny chits, looking up at them as he slid the case across the table, then picking up his purchase with eager hands.

It was a fist sized cube, intricate etchings lacing the outer shell. They seemed to be indicative of more, hiding some sort of puzzle mechanism, some secret way to open the device and see something within. It was unlike anything that any of them had seen, but the Force sang within it. Whomever had created the relic had been force sensitive, to be sure. He turned it in his hands, letting his eyes slide up to the triplets.

Darkness moved toward them from behind, a full head taller than any of them, the dark visor of a battle helmet crowned with a beasts’ head and hair glinting in the dimmed office light. Eyes went wide as the businessman put a million paranoid theories into his mind at once.

Deri reacted first to the man's changing expression, spinning around to see the dark armor. There was only barely enough time for his eyes to register that someone was there before he found himself smashing into the ceiling, then the floor, the slick sound of bones breaking inside tearing flesh spurring his brothers into action.

Turi reached back, his hand drawing out a blaster as color swept his vision, the razor hum of energized adegans cleaving the durasteel from his hand, then the front of his face from his head. He staggered backwards, the shock of the stroke taking him to his knees before his body realized it was already past time to die.

Vari bellowed, throwing himself at the man, only to find a kick sweeping him from the air before he could even touch the man. The movement was almost too quick to see, a quick step, then the grinding of boot into the floor, compressing his throat and making his vision go grey. He gasped as he struggled for breath, the Dark Lord looking up at the businessman in the seconds before the violet violence of his weapon ended Vari's suffering.

"Mine." The word echoed from within and without, gravelly and heavy. The businessman could not put the relic on the desk quickly enough, stepping back away from it as though it were poisonous. Muz looked at the artifact, feeling along the Force, around the ties that linked it to the rest of the universe.

The businessman tried to make himself a ssmall as possible, flattening himself against the far wall, trying to edge his way toward the exit while the Keibatsu stared at the relic. Only fifteen feet from the door.

Muz twisted the line back. It was old, but not what he had expected. The power within the device was residual, locked up within the spinning gears, the potential minor. It might have been created as a test, a craftsman's game, or a tool to hone the skills of a holocron maker. Muz felt the tinge of disappointment as he let his senses drape back into the present. The fool was here to purchase this, and the stacks of Republic dataries in the case on the table told him that this wasn't the first in his collection. The Ryloth Relic was not what he was looking for, but...

Nine feet to the door, the businessman held his breath, trying to make himself as silent as possible. He felt the warmth before he saw it. The tip of the purple blade snarled in the darkness at him, holding him to his spot. He traced the line of the burning power up toward the man who held it.

"More."

Quaestor's Offices
Alabrek Citadel
Tarthos

"I didn't keep you waiting, I hope?" She came into the room, bowing carefully, her eyes never leaving the Grand Master. She had been through that training, keeping her manners as best she could, despite the cultural differences that the Kyataran had illustrated. Locke had him brought over to train any summit member who would be in close contact with the Lord, concerned that a faux pas would leave him to replace summit members too often.

Ashen didn't respond, only opening his hand and letting the Force take the relic from his hand to hers. She reached up, taking the relic with both hands, lowering her head in a signal of gratitude.

Muz watched her hold the relic for a moment, thought and question screaming behind his blackened eyes.

"Thank you, Lord Keibatsu." She looked up at him. “And those who took it?”

Muz only smiled before turning to leave.

The night was still and quiet, not a breath of wind across the open desert. Even on the down slopes of the mountain ranges in the distance there was utter stillness. The nocturnal predators were hunting their prey under the cover of the dark. The only illumination came from the reflected red light of the dwarf star at the centre of the system bouncing down from the three small moons that circled above, locked in their own orbit of this small planet. The stillness carried every little sound across the void, every sand fall, every scuffle, every foreshortened cry from the prey as they were taken.

Above the sky was clear. The planet did not produce enough moisture for clouds to form making the night time temperatures drop to below freezing, whereas the daytime temperatures soared towards the one hundred and fifties, boiling any life form that was not properly adapted to the massive variance of the climate.

The Eenzaam entered the upper atmosphere over the southern pole, far enough from any centres of population that the vortices from his entry would attract the least amount of attention. To any observer below it would simply look like another meteorite, or lump of debris in its final throes before total disintegration on the surface below. Quo had cut the engines so that the ship would glide down to the surface, the only sound being the tortured scream of the pressure wave impacting the bows of the TIE Oppressor.

He waited as the fiery trail died down as his altitude decreased and the pressure equalised against the hull. His speed bled off as the friction pulled on the superstructure of the vessel, buffeting the ship as she glided towards the desert below. Quo had the craft in a slow, long spiral down, keeping to the South as much as possible, he knew that he would be a long way from his targets, but he would keep the element of surprise. His scanners indicated that there were only two places on this planet that were populated to more than a family grouping, and they were both North of the bled that he was aiming to land on. Controlling his speed and descent were critical, in effect he was flying a glider, he didn’t want the sound of the engines to give away the fact that he wasn’t an asteroid plummeting to its doom.

Turning onto his final approach he scanned the sand that was flashing past beneath his cockpit view panel watching for any rocky outcrops that would end his landing cycle in a short, sharp, disintegrating type of way, something that he wanted to avoid at all costs. Releasing the landing gear he felt the speed bleeding off the ship as the aerodynamics were disrupted by the landing struts. Balancing his speed against lift he brought her in to a smooth landing, the skis skipping over the sand, kicking up dust as they gained traction on the planets surface, bringing her to a smooth stop without so much as a crunch or a bang to escape over the dunes.

Checking his instruments Quo shut down the ship, all electrical systems closed down so that there were no tell tale echoes from his arrival. He could feel that his quarry was here, all his senses were alerted to their presence. Opening the hatches beneath the panels on the struts he took down his pack, turning and making his way across the emptiness of the desert. He had four hours until sunrise, and he needed to be under cover by then, before the temperature rose too high for him to safely be out in the open. Clipping his vibrosword and lightsaber to his belt and hefting the pack onto his shoulder he set off northwards.

----------------

The thing with a small planet is the days are so short he thought as he approached the rocky buttress jutting into the smoothness of the desert. He was only a click or so away from the craggy cliffs, and the sun was already starting to show shards of russet from beyond the horizon marking its impending arising. The rays of its light were making the darkness darker in places as the shadows grew with the suns back lighting. Upping his pace he knew he had to get into shelter before the sun rose to its zenith when the sands would be like hot embers to his exposed body. Within ten minutes he had made it to the foot hills of the escarpment and began the climb up the slope. His eyes were scanning the shadows looking for a place to camp through the worst of the heat.

A crevice above him attracted his attention, turning to his right he began the ascent to what he hoped was a cavernous entrance he had spotted some three hundred feet above him. Scrambling over the lower faces, mostly broken and fallen boulders dislodged from above, probably by the constant cooling and heating of the surface material causing it to fracture and crash down from above. With sure feet he climbed higher until he was finally in front of the opening, making his way into the darkness, searching with his feelings for any unwanted predatory inhabitants through his connection with the Living Force. Sensing nothing he ventured inside, following the curve of the fracture slightly downwards and away from the heat that was building behind and above him. Settling down he set up his water reclaiming unit, and poured himself a mug of water. The best way of conserving fluids was to carry them round in your body and he knew that over the next three hours, until the sun had started setting over the hills in the far South that he would have to replenish all that he had lost in the night on his trek across the desert.

Patience was not one of Quo’s primary attributes, but he knew that he must wait. He also knew that his quarry would have to wait as well, the heat was simply too oppressive to allow any work out in the open in any resemblance of safety. The treasure hunters had no reason to leave quickly anyway, they had only arrived a few hours before he himself had alighted on the planets surface, they were far more likely to stay here for a while and keep a low profile. They had no idea that they were being persued, and would no doubt be making enquiries as to a buyer for their prize, that would mean staying and waiting themselves until notification was received.

He passed the hours by checking his equipment, making sure that he was fully prepared. He was focussed completely on his task, so much so that when he glanced up at his chronograph he realised that there were only a few minutes until the sun began sinking below the tops of the mountains far South of his current position. Packing up his gear again he rose and made his way out to the cavern entrance watching for a moment as the sun disappeared behind the crags far away. Setting out again over the sand he only had a hike of some forty minutes until he was on the outskirts of the largest settlement, the place where his computer had showed him that the thieves had landed their own craft.

That was how he saw them, as thieves. They had gone down to Tasha’s home planet and taken from her. They had taken only one thing, so they were being paid by someone else, someone who knew the value of the item, and that someone must never get their hands on it, and he would do anything to prevent it. He knew that the item had existed, but had no idea that his own Master held it in her inventory, he had no idea that it had survived. It was far too dangerous a thing to be allowed to be let loose on the Galaxy, even if he felt the pull of it, goading him into taking it for himself. He wouldn’t of course, his Master had given him a mission and he would complete it. Anyway he knew where it was should he decide that he needed it.

His reverie had made the miles pass by without conscious thought or effort, he only came back to the ‘now’ when he was less than two clicks from the settlement. Lying on his belly just behind the crest of a large dune overlooking the camp, for that was all that it was, there were no solid structures within its confines, merely a rag tag mismatch of temporary abodes. Scanning from his vantage point through his ocular magnifiers he could make out several ships of differing configurations. He soon zeroed in on a Corellian cargo runner. The markings were consistent with the testimonies of the witnesses to their flight from Ryloth, and the manifest had given him false identification number from the transponder. Taking out his pad he sent an electronic enquiry to the ships transponder which was answered by a ping. Checking the readout he saw that it was the same identification. He had them! He continued watching the encampment for the next twenty minutes seeing no signs of patrols or guards, only a couple of local militia that were watching the latest pod race broadcast on a viewer within a Sanger towards the eastern edge of the settlement.

Quo made his way down towards the parking area for the ships, moving quickly and silently down the dune alleys in a wandering path, using the shadows to his advantage. Through concentration he was able to avoid detection from the Force users within the perimeter of the enclosure, whilst the darkness concealed his physical form. Sprinting from the final dune over the open space set out for landing craft he stayed low and quiet as he approached the target ship. Slapping his hand onto the release button the boarding hatch slid out and downwards to meet the desert floor, a black shadow detaching itself from beneath to vault up the slope into lit interior. In an instant the hatch slid shut again leaving no sign that it had been activated to all but the keenest eyed passer by.

The ship itself was small, barely a more than a shuttle in all reality with a central area where the crew slept, ate, and carried out the minutiae of every day life. There were storage lockers along one of the walls along with a food unit for heating provisions. The place was a mess, detritus from the crew strewn about the compartment, discarded food packaging and clothing items laying around in a haphazard manner. Quo opened the lockers one by one finding nothing but the crews personal effects within their metallic interiors. He searched quickly and efficiently attempting to leave no impression that he had ever been there, even so it took him the best part of thirty minutes to ensure himself that the item was not located within any of the storage spaces contained within the oval room. Turning he left and headed for the cockpit area, although he felt this also may be a dead end.

Entering the bubble of the cockpit he knew that he was more vulnerable here than at any other part of his reconnoitre of the ship due to the plexiglass windows that made up sixty percent of the piloting control area. It gave the craft an excellent field of vision for the pilot, but gave little in the way of cover for anybody searching the area. From the outside his silhouette could be clearly seen from the outside. Concentrating hard he appeared to anyone observing the ship to fade out, his profile disappearing into the background. Moving with deliberate precision he checked the cramped confines of the cockpit for any hidden access panels, the floor, the walls holding the plexiglass, nothing!

A hiss and groan from the hydraulics signalled that the hatch was being accessed from outside. Quo froze. He waited listening for the noise as the crew boarded their vessel, the snatches of their conversation carrying along the corridor to his position.

“Why haven’t we had any reply yet? Do you think that the merchandise has become hot?” The lilting voice of youth carried through the silence of the ship, from the sound of it this was a young male, although Quo didn’t exclude the chance that it was a female. Moving from the cockpit silently he moved into the corridor, less chance of being cornered than the cockpit.

“Quiet!” The gruff male tones garnered no choice about it, “Someone has been here. Secure the ship!”

Sounds of activity filtered towards him as weapons were primed and systems activated sealing the ship from the inside. Dead bolts fired into place as the door to the hatch was sealed, the ‘thunk’ deafening as it echoed throughout the ship, the vibration sending shock waves through the steel skeleton of the cargo runner. Quo waited, his feet shoulder width apart, left foot in front of his right, his right hand wrapped lightly around the hilt of his lightsaber, his left containing one of his throwing knives. If he had to kill best to make it quick and quiet if at all possible.

The gruff voice boomed again from the central cabin, “We know you are here, come out and no sudden moves,”

Quo thought that he may be bluffing to bring out an inexperienced thief, but he would take no chances, moving forwards down the corridor he approached the opening into the oval space on the other side of the bulk head.

“Come out Jedi, Know you are here do I.” Another male, they were giving him more intelligence with every passing second.

Reaching the frame of the door way the young Zabrak was about to crane his neck around the edge to take a look. Instinct made him pull backwards at the last second, something inside him making him retreat as the blade of a lightsaber ignited and swept downwards, bisecting the air where a split second before his face was about to occupy. Quo’s own blade ignited with a ‘snap-hiss’, the crimson light reflecting from the panels in the corridor, making a sickly colouration where his own blade and his opponents illuminated the brushed steel of the tube in which he was standing.

The green blade advanced through the opening followed by its owner. The Human female was far smaller than he was although the musculature of her rippled with every movement. Her small frame was well toned, and she was light on her feet, the muffled footfalls belying the speed of her advance. Clad in leather trousers and jacket covering a simple cotton shirt her eyes were brilliant blue almost piercing in the gloom of the corridor.

Quo’s rapid movements had shattered the illusion of invisibility. Standing a good head taller than his opponent he advanced, his red and gold eyes glinting with the anticipation of taking down this light sider. His eyes narrowed as he advanced.

Her blade sliced forwards across him at neck height, his own blade meeting it in a jabbing motion, rolling around the diameter pushing it up and away from his head. The clash of the energy weapons leaving a smell of ozone in the confined space, the crack and spit from their connection rebounding from the walls amplifying the noise into an assault on both their hearing. Quo’s wrist flicked out bringing the tip of his blade around and down jabbing it into the soft tissue of the Force sensitives shoulder, a cry escaping her as she involuntarily reeled backwards. Quo jabbed again, his blade being parried uncomfortably by the Jedi in front of him, her balance and grip being weakened by the pain she felt, and the necessity to wield her own weapon single handed. Retreating she led his advance into the heart of the ship, back to the oval room whence she had emerged. As he emerged from the restrictive space of the corridor he mentally tallied up the opposition within the cabin. Three humans and a Gungan. As he entered the Gungan raised a bow caster to his shoulder, readying himself for releasing the energy of the weapon on the Sith warrior, his finger curling from the trigger guard onto the trigger itself.

Like a flash Quo’s left hand whipped out, the blade contained within it arrowing a track towards the would be shooter the glittering light reflecting from the cutting edge as it flew across the room. With an audible ‘thunk’ it struck the sniper between his eye stalks, the impact throwing him backwards into the lockers behind him. A crash followed by a crumpling marked the end of his life in a pool of his own fluids.

A volley of fire from his right from the largest of the men filled the room with blaster bolts and smoke from their impact. Quo moved at superhuman speed into the centre of the room, his blade beating a tattoo of deflection directing the bolts away from his body as he moved. One of the bolts deflected from the scarlet dancing blade struck the other human in the chest, the smell of burning flesh filling the air with smoky, barbecue smell as the victim fell where he stood, his legs buckling beneath him.

A gesture from Quo’s left hand and the space was filled with blue and white lightning, the energy leaping from metallic surface to metallic surface enveloping the two remaining foes within the fingers of its grasp. Holding both of them with the crackling pulses the Siths saber cut down the Jedi before him, separating her head from her body, the look of shock forever etched onto her features as her body fell onto the grill of the floor. A spinning strike covered the distance to the final opponent, his weapon disintegrating as the crimson saber cleaved it in half.

Quo ended the lighting storm as quickly as he started it, the silence of the cabin seeming to be deafening to the lone human treasure hunter as the Zabrak approached.

“Where is it?” The Sith growled the question toward the lone survivor, “I know you have it. Where is it?”

The final three syllables were emphasised, a gesture from the warrior of finger against thumb seeming to drive the air from the Captains lungs. His eyes widened, the iris and pupils fully separated from the lids surrounding them making them seem to be huge in his terror. His lips quivered, seemingly fighting to get the words out faster than his muscles would allow.

“Cargo bay, floor panel, code 14be568,” he stammered as his feet led his body backwards into the wall.

“Show me!” The words seemed to have a power all of their own, driving the Captain past him, Quo following a couple of paces behind.

The human pressed the release catch for the cargo bay and the hatch sprung upwards into the bulk head opening out into a small but functional cargo bay. Scurrying ahead the Captain pointed to the floor panel towards the rear right of the hold.

“Open it!”

Pressing down on the panel it released the mechanism, the covering flicking up a fraction before the treasure hunter eased it up and back to reveal the access panel below, his fingers tapping out the code. The door beneath slid across. Looking back upwards the last thing that the Captain saw was the Zabrak’s crimson blade slicing down towards his head. Quo reached down and pulled the humans remains out of the way and looked into the secure hold below.

With reverence he withdrew the item from its resting place in the base of the safe. Lifting it up in front of his eyes he absorbed the lines admiring the quality of its manufacture. How many others had actually held it before? Very few he guessed. Rotating it in his hand he viewed it from every angle trying to absorb the essence of it through his eyes. He could feel the power radiating from it, fuelling his own desire for power, screaming out to him to claim it for his own. He could feel the greatness issuing forth from it, calling to him through the Force. Turning it towards him he both admired and craved it, and the man who had once owned it. Holding it in both hands now he turned it so that the eye sockets were staring back at him. To hold the face plate of Darth Vader in his own hands tempted him more than any other item than he had ever beheld before, but he knew he had to return it to Tasha’Vel. She required it of him.

Placing it inside the canvas bag that he had brought to transport it he stood. Reaching into his belt pouches he removed several of the charges and set them. He would not leave any clues as to his passing, all traces must be erased. Approaching the hatch he accessed the door release before exitting and closing it behind him. Like a wraith he returned to the desert from which he came, retreating behind a large dune before keying the detonator. The Corellian cargo runner erupted in a mushroom of orange and yellow heat, shrapnel arcing away in all directions, the ‘plops’ of metal fragments impacting around him after the blast of the pressure wave had passed over him.

Satisfied that his work here was completed he turned away heading back towards the South, and his own ship deep in the desert. The darkness enveloped him as he retreated into the night carrying his precious cargo back to his Master. He would be home soon, back in the fold of his fellow Sadowans. And now he knew what the relic was, and where it was housed. The covetousness still burned within him, the embers fuelling his grip on the Dark Side. One day, when he needed it, it would be his. The fire inside was the only light as he began the journey home, no other illumination was required for the Sith, he could see his way plainly now.

**Ryloth, descending Orbit**
**JumpMaster 5000, Heavens Bound**

“We should be landing shortly Janos. I’d buckle up, Ryloth is not a friendly planet once you get into it’s atmosphere.” Captain Esric Sorin spoke through the ship’s intercom unit. A late model product of the “Han Solo” craze from a couple decades back, Sorin had teamed up with a Quarren named Rel, stole a freighter and made a go of things. The craft itself was in better shape than the Captain which spoke well for the trade he was doing. As it happened this pilot owed a favor to a scientist he met once years ago.
That scientist was now a Sith and sat uncomfortably in a new set of Brotherhood recon armor over top of his robes. He kept his lightsaber hidden for the time being, as it was easier to tell Sorin that he was a bounty hunter instead of a Sith. As it was, transport to and possibly heavy extraction from Ryloth was stretching the limits of the favor owed him. Contacts like Sorin and his co-pilot were the kind that intimidation only worked on once, then you’d never see them again. Janos was glad he had read the man right and played to his sense of adventure rather than threats.
Turbulence and a sudden spike in temperature signaled their entry into the atmosphere. They were currently on the dark side so surface temperatures only reached stifling instead of sweltering. Not that it would matter. Janos put on his helmet and paused a moment while the internal systems came online. He checked the seals of his body glove, the fit of his armor and finally he drew his blaster.
Grace
**Ryloth**
** Three miles from target site*

Janos walked down the gangway and tapped into the shipboard comm. “I’ll be back by dawn. If I’m not, burn the camp from orbit and go.” He clicked off the comm and sprinted off towards his target. His HUD showed him a waypoint tagged from orbit. His information came from Tasha, but who knew how accurate it was. Ryloth’s mountainous terrain and treacherous lava flows may make refining bacta better and the twi’leks happy, but he was already sweating . That any living things could live here, much less become sentient was a marvel. Perhaps their hearty genetic stock could be used for something later? Interesting thought.

His force-enhanced speed brought him close to the target site within a few minutes. He lay on the rocky ground about a half a mile out, concealed by a rocky outcropping. He zoomed the optics of his helmet in on the rudimentary camp. Just a few temporary huts and some space cleared out for a beat up old freighter to land. The ship itself may have been a YT model but the hull had been ripped to shreds and put back together at least twice by the look of it. Put together badly if the smoke coming out of the cockpit and engines was any clue. That solved the mystery of why these treasure hunters were still on planet after they supposedly acquired their treasure.

He scanned a little further. Speaking of the treasure hunters, a pair came into view. One human male, a twi’lek male and a trandoshan came into view. Janos could feel the wicked smile form as he suddenly began to look forward to what he was about to do. Memories of his early life as a slave medic overwhelmed him for a moment, as did the hate for that species. The human suddenly pulled his blaster and looked right at Janos, alerting his fellows who began to scramble.

Blast! Janos had made sure to scan for traps from the ship. He did a quick check of his surroundings just to be sure. Nothing! Then how?!

Realization hit him just as a strange presence seemed to try to pry into his mind. The human was a force user. Janos cursed out loud. Why was nothing ever easy?! The fool was untrained but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat. Quickly scanning the camp again three treasure hunters had become five and all of them were crouched behind cover. They must be in worse shape than the Sith realized because not one of them bothered to get the ships weapons online.
Stealth had gone out the window so the next and only option was brute force. He had half a mile to cover and he was alone. Luckily if he moved from outcropping to outcropping he could advance under cover.

The Sith jumped up and sprinted forward to the next bit of cover, a jut of rock a few yards ahead. As he slid into the relative safety of the rock he could feel and hear the thud of blaster bolts burning furrows into the dirt. From this distance their accuracy did not bode well for him. Sprinting to the next jut of rock the scenario was repeated. On the next dash however, his hopes of safety were dashed as a small metal orb landed a few feet away from him. The explosion blew the Sith off his feet and through the air several yards where he landed in a heap.

A cheer went up from the assembled vagabonds. Two immediately abandoned their cover and ran towards the body. The other three hesitated until the others, both human males reached the intruder. They carefully approached while the two younger men nudged the body with their toes to see if it lived. Smoking and tattered, the Sith was still in pretty good shape for some one that had recently been just a yard or so from a thermal detonator. The trandoshan was the third to arrive, young and eager for trophies.

“The Ssscorekeeper is generoussss with this bounty hunter. The gear alone will fetch a pretty price.” The scaled hunter hissed with glee.

“Be careful guys. I felt something when I spotted him. This isn’t your normal bounty hunter.” The force sensitive human was a few yards off, his weapon still leveled. His expression was one of unease and very much like a man with something on the tip of his tongue that he couldn’t quite get.

“Relax. Sserik blew him up. The TD was only a meter away from him! There’s no way he survived that!” One of the younger human males, poor fool.

“I don’t think we should-“ the Twi’lek was about 2 meters from the Sith when his speech was cut off. A blur of motion and a snap hiss cleanly bifurcated the two humans and a heartbeat later, decapitated the twi’lek.
The force sensitive and the trandoshan opened fire mostly striking the bodies of their comrades as they fell. The Sith battered bolts aside with his saber. The movement was odd, as if the wielder wasn’t used to fighting with his left hand, even still it was enough to cause the two remaining rogues to cut and run for the relative safety of their ship. Janos paused for a moment and let them go, allowing his barrier to deflect any of the panicked shots that might come too close.
He cradled his ruined right arm. If not for his force enhanced reflexes and his snap up Barrier he would be as dead as they thought. As much as laying on the ground in a smoldering heap had rankled his pride, he’d needed the time to stop the bleeding and make sure he wasn’t as broken as he felt. His armor had saved him from most of the shrapnel but one bit had nearly taken his right arm off just above the elbow. A multitude of curses flowed through his mind.

The remaining two treasure hunters had holed up at the top of the gangway of the derelict freighter. A prudent move were he just a bounty hunter. But Janos Breaker was Sith, and now he was mad.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion I gain strength
Through strength I gain power
Through power I gain Victory
Through Victory my chains are broken
The Force shall set me Free.
Janos stalked forward with the Sith Code in firmly in his mind. The Dark Side, normally a sweet whisper, once again roared in his ears. He removed the thermal detonator from his belt and telekinetically launched it into the open gangway. The explosion rocked the freighter up on it’s rear landing struts causing them to buckle. As it came down the forward struts were crushed up into the hull.
Janos put his saber away, knowing that there was no one and nothing left to oppose him. Cradling his ruined arm he approached the decimated gangway knowing what he would find. Next to the bits of scaled flesh, most of the human man lay twisted amongst the wreckage.
“You knew what I am. Why?”

“I knew as soon as we found that damn thing one of your kind would show up sooner or later.” The dying man did his best to smile but it came out as more of a grimace. “But I expected you to try and buy it. I didn’t think you’d risk hurting it but just coming in and killing us all.”
“Fool.” Janos turned towards the collection of huts and began his search. Trying to think through the pain, he guessed he should look in the best looking hut. It didn’t take long. Sitting in a padded crate was a deep red pyramid. Janos looked at it in awe.
Keying in his helmet comm he signaled Sorin to come to his location to pick him up. It would be a shame to give this up but he had sworn to do so. He may be Sith but he believed in honor.

**Ryloth**
**Versea Estate**
With his tattered black robes, scuffed armor and stump of a right arm in a bacta cast, Janos was very much at odds with the splendor around him. The gardens of this estate made him question which planet he was on. The one he had just nearly been killed on was a volcanic world covered in mostly rock and pain. This….this was a paradise!
A pair of ornate doors opened up to admit the battered Sith. Inside was a well appointed room with a Twi’lek woman seated at the far end. Various Clan force users were assembled around her. Janos approached at a swift walk, holocron under his good arm. As he neared Tasha he slowed and knelt. Placing the holocron at her feet he looked her in the eye.
“As ordered. A treasure of Ryloth delivered to you as my offering and application for the position of Black Guard. Forgive my appearance, as I have recently been very literally blown up. I’ll fix the arm soon enough. Should I be chosen, it will not hamper my abilities.”
He stood an stepped back.
Tasha looked down at the holocron and considered a moment. “Your offer is accepted. We will be in touch. See to your injuries.”
“Of course, Matriarch.” Janos stood and retreated to his waiting ship.

Getting into the ship yard would have been so much more difficult in the days of the Empire. Security in the current age was not as stringent, and access could be attained at a small price. No longer were the Emperor’s stormtroopers a constant presence throughout the Galaxy, the First Orders soldiery being fewer in number, and scattered further than their predecessors. Quo doubted that they weren’t trained as highly either, his few encounters with them showing them to be able, though nothing more. In the days of the Empire this place would have been crawling with white clad troopers, all with specific areas of authority, and a determination that could only be achieved from years of training, and the ability to choose only the best, which was established through the use of clones. Every one of them was exemplary. Every one servile to the Emperor.

He sat at the bar of a run down drinking establishment. Even with his Zabrak features he didn’t stand out here. Every patron in the subterranean dive was too busy looking after their own affairs to be interested in anyone else. In here he didn’t need to use stealth or subterfuge, in here nobody else was interested, and that was just how he needed it to be. Ordering another drink from the bar tender he waited. He had been waiting for three days. He well knew that there was a time restriction on this mission, but his opposition would be experiencing the same problems as he was gaining the proper paperwork and passes for the ship yard, but he had a couple of extra tricks he could use should the need arise.

Before he even arrived on this temperate, soft world he had put wheels in motion. Passing himself off as a Jedi escapee he had put the feelers out through the Corellian underground for somebody who could get him close to the ships. Someone who could get him inside the security wall and under the local security services radar. He knew that the real Jedi would be doing something similar to get to the CR90 Corvette that they so desperately needed. There weren’t many that fitted the bill, and only two that worked from Corellia, and the other one was on the opposite side of the planet, so the odds were in his favour that this one was doing the same for his quarry.

In between bouts of isolationist socialising he had rented a single room directly opposite the main entrance to the yard, above what was loosely termed an eatery. His evenings spent watching the entrance, and patrolling the perimeter fence, he had gathered the shift patterns of the workers, and even learned some of them by sight. He knew the patterns of the private security guards, and who were the weak links. The hours of study would pay off later he told himself secretly wishing for the chance to spread some death and destruction about. That would have to wait though, this was, after all, an Inquisitorious mission, he was meant to be subtle.

The communicator at his belt vibrated. Plucking it from his belt he held it to his ear, listening intently to the incoming message. He finished his drink, spinning from the bar whilst tossing a credit chip to the barman. “Keep the change,” he said as he made his way out to the city. Exitting the bar room door he glanced left and right along the street. It was raining hard, and the light was glinting from the pavement and puddles, reflections glinting in his eyes. Turning left he followed the other foot traffic up to the main thoroughfare through the suburb.

Capital Spaceport was teeming with life. The colours and sounds bombarded the senses though Quo made his way as though he knew where he was going. He was heading for the waterfront, it was time to meet his enabler. Passers by didn’t even cast a second glance at the horned man as he made his way towards his rendezvous. There were so many people of so many different races and species here that another oddity didn’t warrant any interest. Moving down the stair to the harbour he looked out to sea, over the top of the playboy accoutrements that were berthed at the moorings. The stocky Zabrak was down by the water in no time heading to the predetermined meeting point, a small bar set back from the water down a nondescript alley way. Disappearing into the gloom Quo entered, his senses seeking out any sign of danger as he entered, unconsciously his arm moving the fabric of his tunic away from his lightsaber on his belt.

Entering the bar by a small set of steps leading down into another dive. Quo glanced around before heading to the bar. “Ale,” he said as the bartender came by, throwing a credit chip across the bar top. A bubbling green liquid filled glass was slid back to him, connecting with the Sith’s right hand. Turning away he made his way to a small seating booth at the back of the room, deep in the shadows, away from prying eyes. As he sat a small, thin looking Rodian slid into the seat opposite. A sense of deja-vu swept over Quo, he had a bad feeling about this. Placing a small translator unit between them the Rodian keyed in a code on the upper surface of the module.

“Welcome stranger, funding do you bring?” The little machine approximated Zabraki, although the dialect was not one that Quo recognised. Reaching into his belt pouch he produced his data pad, turning it so the Rodian could see the screen. The green man opposite nodded his assent and Quo put his thumb to the screen followed by the Rodian, the screen confirmed that the funds had been transferred.

“Many you kind I helped, stopped never have they,” the translator warbled, ”Kungo called am I, happy to help I are.” His lips curved upwards in an approximation for a smile, his arms spreading to either side of his shoulders.

“For the right money you are,” replied Quo, then thinking better of it to maintain his cover as a Jedi, “but thank you for your assistance”

“Papers I have of you, very good, very good, tell them from real will nobody. Guarantee will I.”

Quo forced his face to soften, this trying to think like a Jedi was harder than he thought. It left a bitter taste inside his breather. Regardless, it seemed to satisfy Kungo as he sat back and chuckled, his large eyes glinting with the merriment. From beneath the table he produced a small folder. Sliding it across the table, glancing at the other patrons as he did so he theatrically bowed as Quo swept them into the shadows with his arm. Catching the folder in his left hand he flipped open the cover, taking out the identification card, ship yard pass, terminal pass, and a very official looking manifest check sheet. Looking them over Quo was genuinely surprised. This Kungo character was good, scrutinising the identification closely he revised his assessment. He was better than good, he couldn’t tell that this was a forgery. He would make a note in his database that this Rodian was a true artist. He would be a good contact to nurture.

“These are very good, I may well be contacting you for more of these for my, er, friends. I applaud you Kungo, you are an artist.” Again he gave the softened Quo look, nodding sagely as he spoke.

“Please am I, and welcome you are. Many things for friendship I can do, all is needed is asking,” Kungo was grinning from ear to ear, or as far as his undersized mouth would allow, “but now I am for leaving, and hoping you are coming back after over the troubles.” Standing his gave a short bow, in one movement he had wheeled away and disappeared into the gloom.
Quo finished his drink slowly, no reason to attract attention to himself, and no telling who was watching Kungo’s movements, either in here or out on the street.

The next morning Quo was awake early. The shift started at 0600 local time and he wanted to look around the ship yard. Joining the mass of workers he approached the security gate, his identification ready in his left hand. The security was waving through all the regulars, the ones he recognised by sight, checking around a tenth of the entrants to ensure their credentials were in order. Stepping in front of the Zabrak he waited, his right hand extended before him.

“Identification please.” He looked the Sith directly in the eye awaiting his card. Quo passed it to him, waiting patiently as he read it, scanning the image contained against the face that was before him. “No problems mate. First day?” A smile was affixed to the wide, generous mouth.

“Yeah, working on that old cargo runner, short term contract.” Quo looked over his shoulder at the throng of workers moving past.

“Right mate, over to the left, there’s a large green hangar, in there. Thanks,” handing the ID back to Quo he turned, seeking out his next target for checking. Moving off Quo headed where he had been guided, following the flow of people heading to their designated work areas. As he approached the hangar his eyes took in the layout. The entrances and exits, the staircases that climbed the outside of the building, leading to differing levels for access to the ship contained inside. It was a massive building, it would be very easy to lose yourself in a place like that, or get lost on purpose.

The throng had thinned as the other workers headed in different directions. As he approached the building there were only about thirty or so workers heading to the hangar. Hanging back slightly he let the others continue on their way, opening a gap between himself and them. This was not a high priority area, the CR90 was an old ship. It was an old ship thirty four years ago when they had been used at the battle of Yavin IV, and these days there were better ships available. That was probably why it had been selected by the scattering Jedi, nobody would be taking any notice of an old hunk of junk. Watching as the workers approached the hangar he could see no sign of security on this particular bay, but he watched for another minute or two as the workers dissipated to their various stations. Satisfied that there were no hidden security measures he made his way directly to the main hangar doors. Most of the workers were up on high, carrying out repairs to the main systems of the ship, down here there was nobody to be seen. Working his way across the floor he headed for the underside of the Corvette, taking in her shape looming above him.

Quo was at home in the shadows, and used them to his full advantage, ensuring that no-one saw his movements. Searching the underside of the vessel he was looking for something in particular. Just aft of the ventral docking port was an access hatch, only for use in emergencies where the engineers could leap to the safety of space wearing EVA suits in the event of emergency. It was hard to locate in he gloom, but Quo had studied the plans for this vessel in the briefing, studied hard and long, ensuring that he knew the ship inside and out. After a couple of minutes he located it.

Pressing the emergency access button a hiss of escaping gas, and a cloud of hydraulic steam marked the port acceding to his control. Reaching out with his senses he checked the other side of the hatch, sensing nothing there he climbed aboard, reactivating the control panel once he was ensconced inside. The hatch closed with a dull thud, and a breath of vapour. Looking up the access shaft he assessed the ledge above him to be some twenty two feet higher than his current level. His legs bunched thrusting himself upwards, his body becoming an arrow, easily making the distance. A couple of taps on the door control and he was inside the ship proper, his feet on solid bulkheads, the light soft but fully illuminating.

He needed to stop this thing getting away from here, and bringing explosives on boards through the gates was not an option, he would have to improvise. He was near the engineering compartment, but he had a feeling that there would be workmen in there. He had the correct clearance to enter there though thanks to Kungo. Working his way aft and upwards through the maze of corridors he was stood outside the engine bay within ten minutes. The door was open to the control room as well as the double doors to the engines themselves. Entering the control room he was surprised to find that there was nobody there. Quickly he made his way to the consoles beneath the viewing windows to the bay beyond.

His fingers danced over the controls, bringing up the schematics for the power control relays. If he could access them there was a chance that he could cause a feedback loop in the main power conduits and either destroy the ship, or delay it long enough for Brotherhood forces to pounce on her as she attempted to escape. Reading quickly he found two that could likely be made to do that. Turning he made towards the first of them. As he reached the door instinct made him stop, recoiling as a bright blue saber blade sliced millimetres from his face. Stepping back his own saber leapt from his belt, snapping into his mechanical hand with a reassuring ‘thwack’. Instantly it ignited, bathing the room in a crimson glow, the reflection flashing from the glass of the viewing area.

“A Sith,” came a voice from the corridor, “I haven’t seen one of your kind for many years.” Rounding the corner was a large human male, easily two and half meters in height, with a chest the size of an escape pod, or so it seemed to the young Zabrak. ‘How had he sneaked up on me?’ thought Quo, his body dropping into the relaxed stance, one foot slightly forwards of the other, shoulder width apart. Reaching with his left hand he drew his vibroblade from its scabbard, holding it in a reverse grip.

“Where have you come from young Darksider?” The Jedi before him strolling slowly and deliberately across the room towards the Dark Knight.

“I come from your nightmares, Light walker,” spat Quo, his eyes flashing gold and red, filled with venom, “I am the envoy of your demise.” Striding forwards towards his adversary he twirled the saber in his right hand, the left hand twirling the blade in his other providing a constantly moving target to the Jedi.

The Jedi set his stance, wide and low, his saber levelled at the Sith warrior, a gesture from his hand clearing the mobile consoles away to the sides of the control room, their movement seemingly of their own volition. “Your over confidence will be your downfall young warrior, the Force is to be caressed, not bludgeoned.” Quo wanted to wipe that benevolent smile from his face.

A leap covered the distance between them, Quo’s saber swinging downwards toward the head of the huge human. The smell of ozone, and crash of the impact almost deafening them both in this confined space. The Jedi was already moving to his right, his left hand extending, spread. The Zabrak felt the pressure of the push hit his chest, throwing him backwards across the room, his feet scrabbling for purchase. Stopping himself from hitting the wall behind him, a single bound brought him back into range of the Jedi. The blue blade was arcing around at waist height in a double handed grip, the Jedi adding power to it by leaning into it with both shoulders. Quo met it with his vibroblade, the blade whining as it deflected the blow, spinning across the room, knocked free from his grip by the power of the blow. The Zabrak’s own blade followed the fist that he threw, feinting the strike, a dummy which the Jedi succumbed to, attempting to block it with his own saber.

Quo’s left hand shot forwards, flashes of blue lightning tendrils reaching forward from his finger tips, enveloping the Jedi in a cloak of blue and white energy, his body pulsing with the power. The Sith’s eyes narrowed as he urged more and more power to surge through him. The Jedi groaned under the onslaught. Abruptly it stopped, Quo reaching backwards, hand open, summoning his vibroblade back to his hand. With a ‘zing’ it left the floor, flying true to his outstretched palm.

The Jedi rolled back onto his shoulders, flipping himself back to his feet, adopting the same wide stance, looking in pain, but sticking to his task. A roar marked the next attack from the young Dark Jedi, the twin whirling blades leaving gouge and scorch marks on the floor of the control room. Seeing the approach the old Jedi retreated step by step, drawing the Zabrak, in his frenzy forwards towards him. Sparks showered the room, the clanging and whirring noises deafening to both of the fighters. Quo stepped quickly, his attack frenzied and relentless, the Jedi fending off each alternate blow from the rising and falling blades. The lust for victory gleamed in the red and gold eyes of the Sith.

As he kept up the pressure his opponent gestured upwards and backwards with his free hand. Suddenly Quo was airborne, crashing through the glass of the control room. He felt himself tumbling as he fell, trying to right himself, balance his spinning so that he could attempt to land on his feet. The ground came up too soon, and with a crunch he hit the floor, his momentum sending him into an uncontrolled roll, his limbs flailing as he came to a stop.

Dazed, his brain reeling he tried to stand, finding his legs failing beneath him. He couldn’t focus, images zooming in and out uncontrolled. His breather didn’t sound right either, the valves seeming to stick, causing a wheezing noise and restricting his breath. Rolling onto his back he looked back to the control room, the old Jedi was stood at the broken window looking down. With a leap he landed on the engine room floor, a mere two meters away from him.

“I would like to say that you will learn, young one, but I’m afraid that I cannot allow you to live. Rest reassured that I take no pleasure from it.” He strode across the floor, raising his saber above his head, readying for the fatal strike.

Quo’s hand reached out, the prosthesis withstanding the impact better than his real left arm, bruised and battered at his side. Fingers outstretched he snapped the fingers shut. At the zenith of its swing the blue blade above his head paused, the Jedi looking down with compassion in his eyes. It made Quo feel sick inside. Gesturing a pull one of the huge shards of glass front he broken window leapt from its resting place, unseen to the ageing Jedi. Before he could begin his killing stroke the glass passed at shoulder height, severing both arms,. and more importantly, the head of the Light Side advocate. He was dead before his body hit the floor.

Exhausted and wounded Quo regained his feet. He had a job to do. Gesturing with his prosthetic he called first his saber, then his vibroblade back to him, replacing them into their places on his belt. Moving slowly he knew he had to rig the ship.
Within an hour he had set the power control conduits to overload once the ship was in orbit. It would either cripple her or destroy her, he wasn’t bothered which. He hurt, and he had to get out, and do it when it was quiet. Making his way down the to the hangar floor through the same network of corridors and hatchways he waited until night fell. Under its beneficial cover he made his way back to his rented accommodation, signalling the Inquisitorious that his mission was successful, filling them in with all the details. For now he needed to sleep, to recover. There would be no rescue from this one, he would have to make his own way back to Sepros. Later. When it didn’t hurt as much.