Fiction Gallery

The quiet calm of the cell swam around Corvus, the middle aged man enjoy the break from the torture and interrogation.  His body and mind ached, wracked with pain from Scion’s handiwork.  He was surrounded by an energy field, the plasma humming as it shimmered down to the floor.  That is, until, it all of a sudden shut off.  The quiet hum left abruptly, the sucking sound of absorbed energy seeming to burp into the air to take its place.  Then, silence.  No alarms rang, no emergency lights kicked on, nothing to indicate power failure of any kind.  The Corellian smelled a trap, but he felt like a fool just sitting there.  
He got low and skulked towards the wall, his efforts working towards masking any sound he could make.  What was going on?  The Smuggler knew he had no friends inside the Castle, knew that once he gave the Tarenti what they wanted he was as good as dead, so what was going on? The Human pushed those thoughts away, focusing more on his survival and less on the circumstances of it.  He moved towards the door and pressed the button to open it, revealing an empty hallway devoid of any guards.  He took a right and followed the hallway, lights flickering every so often.  Perhaps it was a power failure after all, thought Corvus to himself.  It wouldn’t be long, mere moments from leaving his cell, that the Corellian came to the end of the hallway and upon another door.  His brow furrowed as he debated with himself, sweat beading on his forehead.  His hand trembled as it rose to hit the button, the door activating and revealing more corridors devoid of any life. 
“Phew.” sighed Corvus. 
“Phew, indeed.” said a voice from behind him, “Thought Scion was gonna hog all the fun.” 
The Corellian didn’t look to see what the voice came from, instead he booked it down the hallway.  The voice from behind turned to boisterous laughter as the Smuggler ran further and further away from it, turning a corner and activating another door.  
Inside what appeared to be a boiler room, Corvus waited in darkness.  His heart pounded, adrenaline coursing through his veins and ridding his body of its aches and pains.  But as most good things do, the sensation dissipated as light bathed the room as the doors opened once more. 

“Fear is a strange thing.” said the voice, “To those attuned to it, fear can lead you to anything.” The voice flicked the lights on in the room, and the visage that embraced Corvus’s eyes was horrid. A chalk white figure with no ears, nose, or lips stood before him. The abomination had a beard, braided and soaked with saliva, that seemed to only briefly distract the Smuggler from the rest of his strange body. Brands and tattoos covered his skin, something Corvus got a good look at when the strange figure grabbed him by the throat.
“My name is Samael, I’ll be your executioner tonight.” he said, something akin to smile covering his face. Corvus swung his knee as hard as he could, impacting the Umbaran’s testicles with great force. The Sith released his grip and let go of Corvus, who immediately ran out of the room and further down the hall. Samael laughed as the pain ebbed and flowed through him, giving him one more reason to want to kill Corvus. The Smuggler ran for minutes before he found an elevator, which he promptly began to hit the up button. His finger smashed against it repeatedly, gaining in ferocity when he saw Samael round the corner. The doors opened, and the Human ran inside.
“Close. Close. Close!” said Corvus as he hit the close door buttons.
Slowly but surely, the doors finally began to close and the elevator ascended Castle Tarentum. Corvus slumped against the wall as he thought of a way out, some possible escape from the hell he found himself in. The elevator chirped and the doors opened, Samael waiting on the other side with a wolfish smile.
“Can lead you to anything.” said Samael, thrusting a punch forward and connecting with the forehead of Corvus. His brain jostled back and hit his skull, knocking the Human unconscious. The Umbaran looked down at the Smuggler and frowned, dragging him over to one of the submersibles that the Tarenti used to leave the Castle. He took the Smuggler and dipped him in the water, focusing on the darkness inside himself and sending it pulsating through the Human. Electrical arcs of power skittered out of the Human as the Umbaran threw him on the ground.
“Just kill me if you’re gonna do it.” said Corvus. “Can’t. See, if I kill you, it’s this whole big thing. The higher ups would KILL me if I killed you. Believe it or not, they still think you’re useful. But me? Not so much.” said Samael, kneeling over the Human and pressing one of his daggers into his throat, “I mean, I COULD kill you. Accidents happen, I could say you gave me this…” As he finished his sentence, Samael cut a large gash into his face, the blade of his dagger scratching the crystal eye. As he did it, the Smuggler took his opportunity and swung as hard as he could at the Umbaran. He connected with the side of his head, tossing the man off of him and able to get up. The Sith dropped the dagger, its blade delivering a much deeper gash than intended, blood spewing from the wound. The Umbaran began to laugh once again as he scrambled to find his blade. The Corellian, however, had found it first. He tackled the Umbaran to the ground and forced the blade on his throat. The Sith smiled and encouraged him, seemingly begged him, but the Human wouldn’t do it. Instead, the Human began punching the Umbaran over and over, landing four strikes before the scarred Sith knocked him off. Corvus landed on his back, twisting awkwardly in the air and arms flailing to and fro. When he landed, his hand hit some control panel and activated two buttons. Doors opened up, seeming to appear from nowhere, and droids marched out from their hiding places. They carried large blaster rifles, the sight of which caused more adrenaline to swarm Corvus. “Hoo hoo hoo!” cooed Samael, “You invited guests for lil ole me?” The droids swiveled on their feet and pointed at Corvus, who was rapidly trying to slice into the terminal and reprogram the droids. Samael giggled as he saw the Smuggler panic, the droids raising their guns and taking aim. Corvus didn’t look up at them, just continued his work with the determination of a man who might soon be dead.
“Any last words?” asked Samael as he awaited the firing squad to react. “Yeah...good bye!” said Corvus. One of the submersible’s hatch doors opened, the Smuggler rolling and sprinting to get to it. The Umbaran commanded the droids to fire, but they refused to respond. The Sith cackled as he watched the Smuggler work towards escaping, the Human playing right into the Tarenti’s trap. When the Corellian got in the sub, he closed the hatch and left as fast as he could. Water sprayed into the air as he sank into the depths, the sound of Samael’s final cackle repeating in his ears.
Relief washed over the Smuggler, freedom and his survival open for him to enjoy. Corvus couldn’t help, however, that something was wrong. Was that too easy?

Back at Castle Tarentum, the Tarenti assembled in the Throne Room. Samael was standing before them, explaining what had happened. His voice was monotone, calm, and it was apparent he took no pleasure in explaining what happened. “So, he didn’t suspect anything?” asked the holographic image of Farrin. “Not to my knowledge. His mind was too busy focusing on escaping, he didn’t seem to realize I was not actually trying to hurt him. He’ll lead us to what we seek. I still think I should have been able to hurt him...at least take an ear.” explained Samael. “There will be a time for that, Samael.” said Sith Bloodfyre, “For now, retire to your quarters and wait further instructions.”

Quo sat in the diner watching as the clientèle went about their business ordering their meals and drinks. There was a constant buzz about the place as the conversations of the patrons merged into a background mush of noise. Their humdrum existence was not in the slightest bit interesting to the Sith as he observed the movements of the serving droids, and of the owner who was preparing the food behind the serving hatch.

There were three WA-7s in the cantina, all identical to each other, even the vocal units installed were identical. He had tried to discern any difference between them in the hours that he had observed them, and at a cursory glance none would have been apparent to the casual watcher, however he had noticed several idiosyncrasies in their behaviours, probably internal glitches in their core programming that had crept into the systems over the years of use that differentiated the three into distinctly individual units to the trained eye. The owner of the establishment obviously had not taken the time and expense to eradicate these vagueries, and he himself seemed to be able to distinguish between the three seemingly identical units.

“Table twenty four, Ne-ne,” he called from the galley kitchen to one of the waitress units, “and there are two spiced caffs to go for the two gentlemen at the counter”

The WA-7 addressed as ‘Ne-ne’ wheeled its way over to the serving hatch and took the orders across to their respective customers, the ‘face’ of the unit displaying the happy smile that was designed to put sentient life forms at ease. Her voice was bright and sing-song in its nature conveying a simple pleasure into the conversation that it engaged in with the clientèle. The programmers had decided that a high pitched, female register voice would make interaction more pleasurable to living beings, and this one had a slight giggle added to its speech patterns, either intentionally or through a programming fault which made its individuality more recognisable to the Sith taking it all in.

The unit behind the counter serving the patrons seated on the tall bar seats was different. Sure, it had the same sing-song female voice, although without the giggliness, but this one had a strange habit of wiping its hand over its cranial unit in a mimicry of the habit of some of the locals that frequented the eatery. This again was a distinguisher that Quo had picked up on early in his observations.

The third had a tic, the vocal processor unit had a habit of looping for a fraction of a second, resetting the word that it was attempting to say, giving it the appearance of having a slight stammer. At first the Zabrak had found it irritating, although now he just saw it as an error that should be fixed. It did, he would admit to himself, make it easy to spot the droid from its counterparts.

Atra and Evant hadn’t been able to discern from their interrogations which particular droid the information had been deposited in, he would have to discover that for himself. He tried to put himself in the position of a Jedi who was cornered and tried to deduce by logic which of the droids was the most likely target to search, however, even with his keen intellect he couldn’t decide which one it would be. Every time that he though he had a definitive answer his brain threw up a new scenario which countermanded his decision.

It would take longer to determine which one of the droids contained the information. He was gathering information every time the droids passed his spot, he watched them for signs of tampering. Fresh scratches, screw heads with no paint on them, panel alignment. He was sure that the owner did all his own servicing when required, there was a toolbox on the floor of the kitchen with droid maintenance tools sat within the open drawers, he had spied it as he entered. Even with the do it yourself approach to repair there should be a build up of food remnants and airborne particulants over the surface of the fixings through working near to hot food, and grime built up to form a protective film over the bodies of the droids. Any fresh tampering would be relatively easy to spot he thought, how wrong he had been. For over an hour he had tried to gain an incite to guide him, but the droids weren’t still long enough for him to thoroughly scrutinise them.

Sweeping around he sent a piece of cutlery off the edge of the table in front of him, making it look like an accident. The ‘giggly’ droid wheeled over to retrieve it giving the Sith a chance to sweep his eyes more thoroughly over the body panels of it as it extended an arm to pick up the errant utensil. Searching intently he could not establish any portion of it that was not covered in the thin film of grease and grime, there certainly were no marks of disturbance in the recent past at any rate. One down, two to go.

Standing from his table he made his way across the floor of the diner towards the lavatories, that would bring him closer to the ‘stammerer’. He followed it as it carried across another order from the kitchen although he tried not to look like he was following it. His gaze roved across the body of the droid, every surface coming under fierce scrutiny. Every fastening and panel was ingrained on his mind, although he couldn’t find any sign of interference. That left only the droid tending the counter to check.

Making his way back from the cubicles of the lavatories he made his way over to one of the unoccupied stools at the counter. At least with this one he didn’t have to travel around the place to try and get a good look at it, this one was restrained by the confines of the counter area. Ordering a spiced caff he sat watching as the droid perambulated the confines of the counter space. At first he didn’t notice it, but after a few minutes of scrutiny he noticed it. It was small, but from the gleam from the scratch it was recent, the newly scuffed surface flashing silver as the roof mounted lighting caught it as the droid moved.

Down near the midriff of the droids body, partially hidden away by the arm the panel had recently been removed. The layer of grease and grime showing signs of disturbance and several of the fixings had new working marks on their surface. At least now he had his target. Finishing his beverage he rose and made his way from the diner. He would communicate his findings to the Voice and return just before closing under the cover of his Force induced cloak of invisibility.

Several hours later he entered the diner again, following through the door left open by one of the final customers of the day. Taking up his place in the corner of the seating area he knew he could wait for the diner to close in this position without being disturbed, he only had to wait another 5 minutes until the final clients were ushered from the premises leaving him alone with just the droids and the owner for company. He bided his time watching as the receipts for the day were calculated and tallied, the profits being stored into the safe, the cafeteria made ready for the following day, before the owner made his way to the doorway. A cursory glance around as he brought out the remote for the droids, keying the button to deactivate them for the night and he was away, locking the door behind him.

Quo approached the dormant droid behind the counter under cover of darkness, his senses guiding him through the murkiness. Light was entering through the windows, however the polarisation prevented much of it entering, making the diner appear to be complete darkness from the outside. There was no reason for him to keep up his invisibility in the darkness, but still moved warily. He had no idea what sort of security the establishment had to watch over it, so was not going to take any chances. If there was surveillance all it would discern would be a dark shadow. The cowl of his hood would prevent them seeing his face.

His leather clad hands ran over the body of the droid quickly locating the panel that had been removed. Whoever had replaced it had left it sitting proud of the surrounding panels, making the task of locating it in the dark a lot easier than if he himself had done it. Taking out an extraction tool from his belt he felt with his hand for the recesses of the locating pins before loosening them, letting them fall into the open palm of his other hand. Within seconds he had removed the panel and looked into the black opening behind it. In this light he could not make anything out so reached in and searched with his hand, slowly and methodically he searched the recess, working around the perimeter of the space. There were a myriad of wires and servos that activated the droids movements, but he felt nothing initially. Turning his hand over in the space he moved it upwards to the top of the recess. There he found what he was seeking, attached quickly to the inner framework of the droid.

Removing the item he replaced the panel ensuring that the fit was flush this time before running his hand across the surface, smearing the grease and grime in a thin layer across the surface. He would look at it later. Moving from behind the counter he made his way through the kitchen towards the rear exit. No point in attracting attention by going through the front. After all there may be security personnel patrolling at this time at night. A glance at the door showed that it was a simple lever lock, no obstacle to the Sith. Manipulating the workings through subtle machinations of the Force he opened the lock. Stepping into the night he reversed the process to lock it again behind him. The cafeteria owner hadn’t done anything wrong, there was no need in his mind to punish him by making his place vulnerable to robbery.

Quo moved in the shadows, checking that he wasn’t being followed as he went. Within twenty minutes he was back in his accommodations, sitting before his portable computer. The item that was deposited within the droid turned out to be a data car. Quo had connected it to his computer and downloaded the files to memory. There was no information that at some point wouldn’t prove valuable to him. There were several encrypted files on the stick that he was currently attempting to decrypt using the laptop software. Looking up from the screen showing it’s progress he decided that it was opportune to inform Arta and Evant of his discovery, ommiting the copying of the data of course.

“Quo to Evant, Antwort, I repeat, Antwort.”

He had used the agreed password to tell them that he had found what they had been seeking. He waited for a response, whether to return to base or to continue the mission with an amended objective. There were surely discussions going on in the office of the Voice to determine the best course of action on which to proceed. It was some thirty five minutes later when the reply was forthcoming.

“Anwesig.”

A simple one word code that had the Sith packing his meagre possessions required for the mission together. It was a matter of moments before Quo was making his way back across the city, towards the Inquisitorious Citadel and his debrief. A sense of pride flowed through him, he had done the job quickly and quietly, no fuss or mess to clear up, and he himself was unscathed. Things could not have gone better he thought to himself, nobody knew he had been there, apart from to drink spiced caff, and nobody was any the wiser to his real intentions, just as any good Inquisitorius agent should do.

Sweeping into Evants office with no announcement he deposited the card on the Voice’s desk, a curt nod passed as a greeting. Quo waited patiently as the Seer closed his hand over the prize. The Grand Master would be pleased. Placing the card into a biometrically locked drawer he would present his findings to Pravuus later after he had read it himself. The solid wooden doors to his office were slammed shut keeping the rank and file partitioned away from this secret world, of which many were simply oblivious, just the way they should be. Evant felt the touch of the Dark Side caress his mind, velvet darkness stroking gently on the core of his being. Today was a good day.

Together we win Divided defeat is on Scholae forever

Fighting to the end Lay down arms forward Peace has come

Imperium and Excidium are as one Horizon is war

Go go go forward Scholae Palatinae go Time has come

Dear Diary:

I can't tell anyone this, but need to tell someone, I need to do something to help me figure out what happened. But if I told anyone...well they would likely either have me committed to the medical bay, or have me under some sort of surveillance. So, it appears as though you will have to keep my secret. The past week was suppose to be about a week of relaxation, though I don't really know the meaning of the word, or so I have been told, it definitely was anything but that!

At the starting of the week I received a very interesting little package. There was no name as to who sent it, but it felt dark, like the force itself had sent it. Which is unheard of, at least as far as I know or have heard. But it is so far the only explanation for it. That, or someone had me in mind for a hidden plan or maybe experiment. Makes me smirk to think that perhaps it could have been my old master Macron. After all, he wasn't too thrilled about handing over the keys to his lab after a bet we had...Not sure I will find out who sent it...what was it? Well diary, it was a holo pad with coordinates and a small black crystal. It peaked my interest. Months ago I had been planning a trip to search some old catacombs, including one known for hidden treasures powerful in the force, and rare crystals holding many properties. But I had gotten side tracked with calls from the Clan....come to think of it, that had been planned with Maleous...maybe he sent it...

Diary, when I move you I can catch my reflection at times, and I can see that my eyes are almost black, at least when I think about how I may have gotten the package and blaming those I have trusted, and do trust, with my life. I don't understand...you see...no I can't tell you, not yet any way...sounds strange, but I don't even feel like I can trust you diary.....

Hmm, let me continue with what happened. Since we were not getting the call to help I decided to go. Commandeering a shuttle, I headed for the coordinates, not telling anyone, which was probably a bad move. Of course, I likely would have still gone even if someone had tried to stop me, if they somehow knew what the co-ordinates were...then again, the two I would have told would have been Macron and Maleous...both of whom I suspect may have...there it is again diary, the soulless black swirls in my eyes.

The flight was pretty uneventful and took about a day. When I landed the planet was dry, dusty. Wind would swirl up the sand and dirt making it hard to breathe and see. Thankfully I had been able to land near by the co-ordinates. Covering my mouth and nose with a cloth, I closed my eyes, using the force to guide me to the opening of the tunnel into the catacombs. It was more difficult then I thought though. It was as though the wind itself was created by something strong in the dark side, pulling at my robes and feet. Sometimes trying to help me to the entrance, others trying to pull me away, away into a trap. I had no doubt there were sand pits that the instant I stepped on the grains they would fall away and suck me into them....hmm something seems to be trying to make me forget, or change my memories...my eyes weren't closed the entire time...no, I remember now. I felt the wind turn into hands and pull at my heels, almost puling me off balance, drawing me to the side of my goal. I opened my eyes at the jerking motion, thinking maybe I had somehow missed the approach of an enemy in the whipping force driven wind. But there was no one there. The grains stung my eyes, but also whipped against my cheeks. Looking back at the tunnel I started running then, feeling the hands as though they were still trying to grab at my ankles, pulling me back. But it also made me more determined. As soon as I ran into the tunnels entrance, it was as though the wind stopped outside. I took a couple steps in before turning around to look at the opening, and I didn't see any sand blowing at all dairy...it was an eery calm. As though the wind itself knew the best way to get me into the tunnel was to try and keep me away from it...as I let the cloth fall from my face I shook the thought from my mind. It that was a possibility, then it mean that something had wanted me there, something or someone was waiting for me.

My boots made soft indentations in the floor of what I now realized was a well cloaked cave. It felt like I was walking on skin. The ground saturated just right, that if I made any sudden movements or vibrations I would break through the first layer and sink deeper into it. I would have to keep moving. Igniting a glow stick to help me see in the cave didn't do as much as I had hoped. The light almost being sucked into the darkness, as though it was a living breathing entity. I am not sure how far or how deep I went into the cave diary but...well...oh I am so not sure I can tell you what happened...what if you are linked to the QUAs data pads? What if Macron or Maleous are listening in or connected?...What if someone finds you?...

Enter encryption code Dear diary:

How nieve this one is...Oh her body will serve me well...yes, a vessel that will get me where I need to go. I will just have to bide my time until I grow strong again...but until then, I can have some fun with her. At least it will keep me entertained while I'm in here...

End encryption code

I remember coming around this corner and feeling shadows around me. The force shivered with danger. My reflux was to ignite my sabre. The air was think with the black shadows, even with my sabre glowing and humming in dark energy, it was hard to swing it and fight what I'm starting to think wasn't really there in the first place. I planted my feet and swung my sabre in an arch ahead of me, only to feel a cold shiver run up my spine. Spinning on the toe of my foot I brought my sabre up in an upper cut, but it hit nothing, and dairy...I swear the purple light from it was gone, as though the darkness swallowed it whole...Amazed, stunned, and in awe, I looked into the blackness. I could feel the hilt in my hand, I could feel the vibrations of the humming blade, but I could no longer see it. I know I shouldn't have been so distracted, but it happened. And just like the sandy wind outside the caves entrance, two hands seemed to wrap around mine on the hilt and pull me forward. As I was thrown forward by the force of the pull, I swore I would see someone on the other end of my blade, as though they used it to end their life....but there was nothing there...but diary...oh i you could only hear me sigh or know that I've stopped writing at least 5 times now...I'm not sure if it is because I just don't want you to know, or if it is because I don't want to remember...

When I saw nothing on the end of my blade, when I couldn't even see the light from it, my mouth dropped open. Instantly I felt my hands drop to my sides, my back arch, my chest open and exposed to any blade that may come from the darkness, as something...well, the best way to describe it, diary, is swallowing a black cloud. I could feel it moving down my throat, almost choking me as it held onto my body. The tip of my blade sizzling against the skin like ground. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. Gasping for air, my body suddenly fell to the ground, I was choking but diary....I remember looking at my blade and once again seeing the purple light coming from it. The cave no longer dark. Blinking and feeling as though something cold and dark was moving through my veins I went to pick up my sabre but then....then everything went dark...the next thing I know I'm waking up in my shuttle, my hand clutching the crystal that was sent to me. I'm not sure if it was all a very long dream, like perhaps the crystal was laced with a sedative and by touching it I was sent into a long sleep....I wouldn't put it past Macron to have some fun with his alchemy skills...Wait what am I saying? Macron is like family to me...but then again...

Diary I've been sitting here in my shuttle ever since. However, I have to go back soon...I'm not sure what I'm going to do...I'm certain something is wrong...I feel as though I'm not the only one in my body.....

---

Dear Diary:

Made it back to my quarters, but the strangest thing has happened. I'm sure I have written in you over this past week, but I can not get into the files. They are either encoded so well, or someone deleted them. But I don't understand why someone would delete them, or even more so, why I would encode them so that even I could not access them...

*Enter Encryption Code

Dear Diary:

She must not remember. If she did she might tip off those around her. I have searched her memories. The Alchemist she has known for so long and even trained her, and the Mystic she has recently met, could be a threat to my return...

End Encryption Code

“The problem is simple, Sadowans. We know the Dominion are here, but they are such a mixed group of species we can’t distinguish them from our own citizens. If this parasite persists for much longer, we could be facing the collapse of our entire system. We have to flush them out, whatever way possible,” Locke’s voice came through clearly over the hologram channel. There was no mistaking the severity of the situation.

“What do you propose we do? We can’t very well arrest at random, and if we make it known there is an issue we could face mass panic,” Bentre responded.

“To be honest, this threat is too great to remain conservative. I’m open to whatever suggestions you have. I expect your best ideas by the end of the rotation. Locke, out,” the Sadowan Consul concluded as the hologram blinked out of existence.

Aul sat back in his chair, in front of him a desk littered with notes and articles barely visible in the darkened barracks quarters. His datapad was a continuous scroll of information, projecting a starscape of characters onto the human’s eyes. Most of Naga Sadow’s Knights were out scouring the streets of Seng Karash looking for anything suspicious, but Aul, newly field-elevated due to his performance on the initial attack on the Dominion, had locked himself in his room to think. This was a puzzle, and like most puzzles Aul had encountered in the past this would couldn’t be forced into a solution.

The Dominion was here - in their midst. Their numbers weren’t so great that they could be easily identified as an amassing force, and the diversity of their appearances helped them meld in seamlessly with the already varied populace of Aeotheran.

“These Dominion scum… how can we possibly root them out?” the scientist mumbled to himself. He placed both elbows on his desk and sleepily laid his head in his hands with his eyes closed. “We can’t sacrifice the health and safety of civilians… despite what the Dark Jedi say.”

A few moments later Aul fell asleep, his head slipping through the palms of his hands and landing heavily on the desk with a thud. Celsus snapped awake and shook the tiredness from himself. Trying to focus his vision again, his eyes rested upon an article laying on the edge of his desk about the detection and ablation of cancer in Twi’lek patients.

“Cancer! Of course!” Aul exclaimed as he quickly opened a holo-connection to Locke.

“Aul, good, what’ve you got for me?” the Consul asked expectantly.

“The Dominion is a cancer, sir,” the Knight began.

“Uh, yes. Sure, it’s a cancer, a parasite, whatever you want to call it. We know this already,” Locke responded, sounding unimpressed.

“No, what I mean to say is we can approach the Dominion presence on Aeotheran as if we were approaching the detection of a cancer. You see, under certain circumstances you can identify the origin of a cancer by looking for signatures of accumulated substances in those cells that are not found in the surrounding tissue. Simply put, the Dominion will have a signature in their bodies from their extended time on Cha’kota that the Aeotheran civilian populace won’t have. We can ‘tag’ the signature, just like we do with cancer so we can surgically remove it,” Aul explained.

“Ok, I think I’m following. But how do we tag it?” the Sadowan leader asked.

“Uh… just one moment,” Aul responded and typed a string of queries furiously onto his datapad. He tapped his fingers anxiously on his desk as the results of his search compiled. As a satisfying beep came from the datapad, Aul let out a small chuckle. “Sir, blood test results from some of our captured Dominion subjects indicate a high elevation of a number of isotopes, but most importantly there is a surprising amount of solubilized, conjugated silver in their blood. Most importantly, every species of prisoner we have shows the same level. Precipitated silver colors skin a distinct blue shade. We can precipitate the silver in their blood with simple salt solutions, and it’s extremely quick. Salt the water, sir. The color change is almost always permanent, so they’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Salt? That’s it? What if they don’t drink the water?” Consul Locke asked skeptically.

“Showers, misters, random ‘hose breaks’ whatever the case. Find a way to get them drenched in salt water or to consume some of the salt water. Salty food even. Just get their salt levels up and the balance will shift, precipitating out the silver into their dermis and turning them blue,” explained the scientist.

“I’ll send the word,” finished the Consul, “let’s hope this works.”

Falling in love with Lilith. Our illicit passion led to me killing my first master when we were both a Padawan for him. From then on it has been a constant battle for me stay Gray and not fall wholly in to the Dark..

Dathomir where magic brews Mercs and crews engage the night Endless swamps of land to fight Where the dark arts shine so bright

Dathomir where nightsisters rule the land Dark witches practice by hand Where deadly stories are told Magic games are played at night

Nightbrothers obey thy commands Where warriors gain insight Ruthless players roam the night Tacticians day and night

Tarentum landed upon the ground The secrets of magic at night they burn Where many have come to die Witches gather and their secrets swirl

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.

A turning point in my life, was when I was only twelve. My adoptive father taught me many things, one of the most important was trusting no one. My father and I stopped at the city of Kandarin, on planet Calabrex to hide from some assassins following us. During our few months there, I fell in love with a girl named Kallina. We spent every waking moment we had together, that we could. Unfortunately, I should have followed my father’s teachings, as I learned on our last night in Calabrex. Even now I can still feel her last breather against my neck as I slid the knife between her ribs. I only did this out of anger because of her betrayal and lies. You see, she was the apprentice to one of the assassins hunting us. It caused me to turn down the path of the dark side before I was able to find the balance of myself in the Grey Jedi Order. I do slightly regret killing her but it also caused a great change with a great lesson. Never trust anyone.

Korroth sat on the cold metal floor, his hands dumped to the sides, his head slouching forward. His eyes were wide open, though the cell was completely dark. The other captives had fallen silent by now; no more sobbing, no more screaming, no more banging against the walls. The stench was thick and overpowering, hardly any air circulated in the cramped room. Occasionally one of them shifted around to relieve the ache in their limbs, but most had become near-catatonic in their state of dehydration and starvation.

The Pau’an’s brow furrowed. His fingers closed into fists. His mind was not here, it was in his home city, on the day of victory, the day of peace, when he and his confederates had liberated the Ikan people from war. On the day when the Ikan people had recompensed their liberators with death.

The young revolutionaries had thought that no price was too high to stop the bloodshed, to bring down the warmongering City Council. Even their own intimate patriotism was slaughtered for the sacrifice. They had surrendered their city to the enemy, but to avert its destruction, to end its absurd suffering. They had thought that the Ikan people would rejoice and work together to rebuild.

But not so. The people would not share in the sacrifice. They took the peace, sure, but not the bloodied hands. They killed the young betrayers and, though Korroth was still breathing, they killed him too.

Sisters in night might in sundered life to dust We make life in ash

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.

Communications, W/GSP Broken Blade Exact Location: Unknown 34 ABY; 1640 Hours, Local Time

The Onderonian paced back and forth, muttering under his breath after listening to a report. Behind him, one of the Arconae watched in silent amusement as Edraven barked out an order for the DIA Operative to be brought up on a holo conference.

As soon as the young male’s profile appeared, Celevon wasted no time in getting straight to the point. “I’m just guessing here... With the disappearance of our commander, did you assume that we were unable to carry out our duties? Because of your botched assassination attempt, then incompetent actions in covering your tracks, we have a massive clusterfuck on our hands.”

“Sir-”

The Assassin growled, glaring fiercely at the younger Agent. “You. Were. Seen. And, beyond that, the Ol’val Security Force has an eyewitness statement of your incompetence!”

“Sir, I don’t think-”

“That much is obvious,” Celevon sneered, interrupting the male once again. The Onderonian ignored the mingled embarrassment and frustration that appeared. “Were your duties within my purview, you would be returned to basic training if not shunted to janitorial staff for this blunder. We’ll sort this clusterfuck you’ve created.”

“Sir-”

The Assassin gave the Communications Officer a gesture to end the call, stalking out of the area the moment the screen went blank.

“With all due respect, General, why did you not step in when Colonel Edraven was berating one of your operatives?” the Communications Officer asked curiously.

“My own sentiments were not far off from his,” Strategos shrugged, slipping a cigarette between his lips. “Patch me through to the Director - Encryption protocol DN-38-416.”

It was a strange feeling being back on Aeotheran after all the time he had spent away from home to his Clan. A great many things had changed, there were security droids and guards everywhere. Neighbour spied upon neighbour with every rumour and claim made by anyone bearing a grudge against another being investigated thoroughly by the forces of Naga Sadows internal security department.

Even within the Houses of the Clan there were accusation and counter accusation, everybody seeing the Dominion lurking within every corner. The seeds of mistrust were germinating and taking hold, their flourishing buds sowing introversion and suspicion throughout the whole organisation, even the elders and leaders were not immune to its grip and control. The populace were so focussed on watching what their Clan mates were doing that it would be easy for any foreign agency to infiltrate the system and fuel the suspicions with their own schemes and disrupt the status quo.

Quo himself was not immune to the psychological effects of the rumours and stories doing the rounds in general society. He found himself checking and re-checking his weapons more regularly, training harder and for longer, preparing himself from the shadow of threat the the Dominion had deposited on the Sadowans. He had changed his routines and routes to and from his usual destinations, constantly on guard from being followed by enemy insurgents, employing all the techniques at his disposal to shake any follower that he had perceived, be they either real or imagined, or indeed the coincidental Sadowan whos route echoed his own.

He read constant reports on the search for, and in one case, the discovery of, a Dominion Cell that had infiltrated the planet. He checked and double checked all the information that filtered down through the Inquisitorious about the operatives, their insertion techniques, their mode of integration into the local populace, their plans, their intelligence gathering schemes, their planning and implementation of it, and the stroke of luck that had exposed them to the Sadowan Intelligence Service. He read of their capture and interrogation, and the secrets that they had been forced to reveal to their tormentors, which in turn revealed that they were not the only cell that was active on the Clans home world.

The Zabrak had internally collated all the information available to him, and made a précis of it, including it within the encrypted files that were contained within his data pad. The information that was filtering down to him was so abundant and frequent that he had to have an aide mémoire of some description, and his pad with its biometric security systems was the most secure and reliable source should he require his memoires aiding at any point. The file was substantial even now, several terabytes of information already amassed within the confines of the electronic repository.

It was through all this information that he had seen it, bringing him here to the heart of the city to sit in this food outlet with a mug of hot spice-caff waiting patiently for his suspicions to be either proven or dispelled. Patience wasn’t one of his strong suits, but he knew that to gain results that would satisfy his own mind, and by extension the minds of his superiors within his own House, he had to stay in position and see how this game would play out. Through his own intellect and logical processes he had come to his conclusions, and that they were not necessarily the accepted truth that the Clan propaganda merchants within the civil services were putting forward through the accepted literature being propagated was of little concern to the Sith.

Through the door of the cantina strode a human male. At first glance he appeared quite ordinary, wearing the garb of an everyday citizen he approached the raised counter. Quo’s eyes followed him from under the cowl of his hood, taking in every nuance and idiosyncratic movement of the man. The leather outfit was rough and looked like it had seen many adventures over its lifetime. From the boots on his feet to the haphazard look of the head gear that he wore this man was never going to be a forerunner in the race for fashionability. Hanging at the belt was an old blaster, its surface scuffed and grazed by years of usage, although it still appeared to be functional. On the opposite side hung a riot baton that looked a lot newer than the rest of his apparel even though it had been re-painted to reflect a camouflage pattern rather than the more usual white colouration that matched the First Orders troopers.

Ordering a drink the stranger went to a corner booth, away from the exposed entrance. Sitting in the semi circular seating he attempted to avoid attracting attention, even if the movement was subconscious it was still telling to the eyes of the observer seated towards the front of the establishment. Moving to the right of the booth he gave himself as much cover as possible without openly looking like that was what he was doing.

Quo sipped at his spice-caff content to see how this was going to unfold, his muscles primed to explode at a moments notice should the need arise. To everybody else he looked perfectly relaxed, enjoying his beverage, letting the day flow about him as he spent a day off in the sunshine of the city. Even with his breather prosthesis he could enjoy the taste of his drink as he sucked it through the feeder tube that extended from the lower bout of the mechanism. His data pad was laid on the table in front of him, the intelligence gathered given to him in bites of information as he required them, currently it carried a facsimile of the face of the stranger over to his right.

Reading as though it was the latest news, or some celebrity scandal that he was reading he looked like any other news feed reading civil servant in any other cantina across the Galaxy, semi bored, reading to kill an hour or so as they ate or drank. In reality he was engrossed in the data that was streaming across the page, informing him of all he needed to know about the subject. Bounty hunter, Human, thirty, several pages of completed contracts, and a synopsis of all the systems that he had visited. It all seemed solid information, from reliable sources, however, there was one thing missing from it. The fact that he was a First Order Intelligence Officer on a mission to infiltrate the Dominion.

The Dominion was a great unknown largely, and their hierarchy and driving forces were mysteries that the Brotherhood had attempted to ascertain. They had used their own operatives to try and infiltrate the Dominions forces and send back the information they had gleaned. Of over three hundred agents they had only heard back from a handful, and the intelligence raised more questions than answers. Many of the spies that Brotherhood had attempted to plant had either disappeared completely or turned up many months later, dead. Quo had little doubt that the others fates had duplicated their compatriots but they had never been found. The handful of agents that had returned gave conflicting reports making the young Sith wonder as to whether they were either brainwashed before they were abandoned to their own fate, or they were double agents sent to spread misinformation. Nevertheless some of the information had merit, including the piece that he was acting on now.

Another half hour passed uneventfully, several customers arriving and leaving the establishment without so much as a glance at the booth at the back. Quo had the feeling that the contact that he was expecting was not going to happen, that in fact his information had been erroneous, that after all the stranger was nothing more than an ordinary bounty hunter awaiting another contract. Even so the Zabrak sat and waited, feigning disinterest as he drank his way down another spice-caff.

Entering the cafeteria another woman, this one clad in the jump suit of a cadet pilot of the Sadowan Militia, ordered an sinth-ale before sitting at a small table near to the booth. As she sat she slightly obscured the leather clad male from Quos eye line, making his observations slightly more awkward. Placing a shoulder pack on the floor next to her she took out a plas-sheet containing the latest snippets of news from across the Galaxy. Reading she sipped at her ale apparently engrossed in the reports from the far flung distance of space, her eyes scanning quickly across the sheet as she read. Quo assessed her as he watched both her and the stranger behind her. She was dressed as a militia, but the finger nails of her hand were neatly trimmed and lacquered, the hands suggesting that she was unused to combat or heavy work, the lack of cuts and callouses evident of a life of prestige, not of manual labour. The hair also was mussed, but the cut was fine and well done, not done by the barbers of the Militia College. The make up was clean and simple, hiding any perceived imperfections, and although it was well applied it was far too much to be allowed under the regulations of the Militia.

As if by accident a passing waitress clipped the backpack sitting alongside the woman, spinning it round on its bottom panel, the front flap now facing away from Quos position. The woman’s spin on the chair sending it scuttering across the tiled floor as her heel smacked into the back panel. She made it look like it was an accident, even flailing her hands towards where the bag had sat in an effort to convince anybody that she had attempt to retrieve it before it had spun out of her grasp. Quo had to admit that it had been well choreographed well, and had obviously been rehearsed. Even he hadn’t seen the waitress as an accessory until she had skilfully flicked the bag without obviously looking like she had meant to do it. The bag itself had pirouetted towards the booth, landing underneath the table.

The stranger reached down with both hands, hefting the back pack up to the seat, and even Quo struggled to see the slight of hand as he dipped into the front pocket and retrieved the item that had been placed inside for him to collect. The sweep of his left hand as he offered the ‘lost’ item to its owner, received with a smile and a glance that was a little too quickly broken off. Finishing her drink she thanked him and rose to leave picking up the plas sheet as she made her way towards the door. She didn’t notice the dart which attached itself to her jump suit which Quo had blown across the diner from his drinking tube. If it was spotted it would appear to be some form of small insect zipping across the space, soon lost against the background of the city. The micro probe gripped itself into the fabric of her clothes securing itself against being dislodged. It would only transmit for just over an hour, but it should be enough for the security forces to home in on the woman once she was away from the drop. A quick glance at the data pad showed the little bug was already transmitting, Quo keyed the access for the real Militia to be able to read the frequency and capture the traitor.

Quo’s fingers were a flurry of activity as he also reported the actions of the waitress, leaning back with the pad in his hand as if trying to read something whilst capturing her image. Not bad he thought as he looked at the captured image before forwarding it to the leadership of his Clan. He would not move on her yet, the more she believed that she was under the radar the more useful she would be.

The stranger finished his own beverage, Quo finishing his own a couple of seconds later. Almost as one they arose from their individual seats, leaving credits for their refreshments and leaving within a pace of each other. This was where Quo would come into his own.

The stranger turned to the left heading down the boulevard of lights and advertisements into the citys main pedestrian thoroughfare. Quo walked across the plaza outside heading for a small stall seemingly to browse the news that was fed onto plas sheets to take away. All the while he watched the leather clad bounty hunter out of the corner of his eye. Moving away from the stand he followed on the opposite side of the wide walkway, watching his quarry in the reflections of the shops and bazaars that he passed as well as glancing over every so often as he kept a slight distance behind him.

Some two hundred meters he tailed the Dominion spy before he lost him. Closing the distance as quickly as he could he soon realised the reason why he had lost his target, he had climbed a stairway that climbed upwards leading off the pavement. Stepping into the narrow space that accessed the stair well the shadows engulfed him. Anybody watching would have seen the Zabrak seemingly disappear into fresh air. Moving slowly and deliberately he made his way upwards.

He could hear the bounty hunter up ahead of him, the footfalls echoing down the narrow enclosure as he climbed, oblivious to the Sith that was tracking him. Quo was almost silent in comparison, closing the distance, knowing that wherever this was leading would soon be over. There had been no exits from the climb at any level so Quo pushed on, a growing belief that this lead to only one place, the roof. Perfect place to park the vessel that had brought you, and with a growing feeling of certainty that they were the only ones that were up here, things couldn’t be better.

Quo entered the final landing, an open doorway before him showing the roof area open to the elements and empty apart from a solitary shuttle and a light speeder vehicle that was only able to travel inside the atmosphere, not in space. Making his way over to the shuttle he could see that the hatch was lowered and there were a leather clad pair of legs just about to ascend to the interior.

In a flurry of action Quo whipped out a throwing blade and in one fluid motion the blade was flying out from his hand, zeroing in on the thigh of the Dominion operative. The blade thudded into the muscle, all the fury and anger that the Zabrak felt being channelled into the throw. With a thud the leg was swept out from underneath the bounty hunter, his body hitting the metal of the hatch. Quo closed the gap between them to less than five meters with a leap that defied any watchers belief as the stranger started to bring up his blaster pistol to aim at the fully revealed Sadowan.

Rolling to get a bead on the black form was harder than the hunter expected, his muscles not responding as quickly as they usually did, it felt like he was moving through treacle. Within a couple of seconds of being speared through the thigh his bodily functions were becoming slower and slower. It felt like an age before his arm came up to the aiming position by which time the Zabrak was in front of him, up close and personal.

“You can try squeezing the trigger, but by now I’m sure my neurotoxin is fully enmeshed with your brain,” Quo was sneering as he said it, his red and gold eyes were burning into his soul, “and your muscles are unresponsive. Now it is time that I get you out of here and I can ask you some questions.” He half turned away before resuming his position, “And, yes...... it may well hurt”

Eyes gleaming he lifted the bounty hunter onto his shoulders carrying him up the access ramp and securing him into the third seat at the rear of the cockpit. Firing up the engines he knew a place where he could take him, without further ado he lifted the shuttle off the roof, swinging the nose round to the West.

“My Master will help you,” Quo hissed from the pilots seat, “help you fill in all the details we are missing.”

The reflected red from the controls added to the fire in his eyes as he took his prize to where he would be most useful, towards his Master, Tasha’Vel Versea, and towards revelation.

There once was a man who looked like a Panda and liked to walk naked in the woods. I came upon this man. I wish I was born Miralukan.