The Eenzaam skimmed the surface of the water, not close enough to cause a spume of spray to follow in its wake, but low enough to stay below any early warning stations that may be watching for traffic. The altimeter read four meters, but the waves cresting below the view port seemed a lot closer to Quo as he piloted the vessel onwards, deeper into enemy territory. The briefing had placed the ship within fifty clicks of his current position, and there were only two islands on the maps that the Clan had been able to get their hands on. The responses from his radar also showed only two islands out there. If it hadn’t crashed onto one of those it was covered by water to a depth of a hundred meters or more.

Turning towards the nearest of the islands he cut throttle to a little above stall speed. This not only would mask the sound of his engines somewhat, but would give him a chance of seeing any debris from above. Closing the distance still would not take him long. Scrutinising the radar readout in front of the pilot seat he looked at the radar reflection coming back from the island ahead. Two peaks that rose to over a thousand meters, but otherwise it was flat. Between the two hillocks was a valley that ran the width of the island from coast to coast. Setting that as his target he could see the island approaching quickly, expanding in the view port exponentially, filling up the window in less than twenty seconds. Banking slightly left he skimmed the tops of the few trees that were growing below his transit of the island. Nothing.

Starting at the centre of the island he worked his way outwards from the centre in an expanding spiral looking for signs of debris. With one eye on the terrain flashing past the cockpit he covered the area of the island in less than ten minutes, even to the peak of the twin mounds of the hills, he double checked the area.

Even through his connection to the Force he could feel nothing, but he had also been told that the Force sensitive could be a fake, and a trap to lure in Sadowan operatives. Nonetheless he tried without any success. Both Locke and Marcus had warned him that it may turn out to be a wild goose chase. Still he was tasked with completing it, and his own pride would not let him accomplish a solution, one way or another, without it being done to a hundred percent of his efforts.

Turning to the east he headed towards the second area that the briefing had highlighted, bringing his altitude down to the absolute minimum he could get away with. At least the weather was working in his favour, the dull overcast conditions would prevent him being spotted by any glint of reflection from his vessel. Up ahead there were storm clouds gathering in the distance, they would again mask his approach, on the downside they would make the search more difficult.

Approaching the north western coast of the remaining island he was jolted by a mental image of a broken ship, the force to his mind being felt as keenly as if he had been punched. He couldn’t tell which direction it came from, but it was weak, and it was someone who knew the ways of the Force. Banking hard he pulled away from the island, the angle of the bank bleeding speed off the craft in the most expeditious way he could. Closing down the throttles he made an approach to land on the spit of rock that jutted out towards the north west, a slim finger of land that was embraced by the sea around it. Waves crashed against the face of the rocks throwing spray over the spit, the haziness hanging over the headland.

The Tie Oppressor came in over the raised platform of rock, hanging momentarily on the repulsor system before settling down onto her landing gear. Almost as soon as she touched down Quo was leaping from the cockpit opening above the pilots seat. The engines whined as they wound down towards complete shut down.

Landing lightly on his feet he absorbed the impact, bending his knees, one before the other, his left hand touching the ground before him as he ended in a crouched position. Eyes scanning along his immediate sight line he waited a couple of seconds before rising and moving off into the scrub. Concentrating fully he merged with the background, and tried to keep himself in the background as far as his presence within the Living Force was concerned. Any cover he could give himself would be advantageous, but he wasn’t sure how long he could keep up this level of concentration. Better not to be seen than felt, if there were any guards with the Force user he would rather have the advantage over them initially. Moving steadily and quietly he moved south east towards the centre of the island.

On the display he had seen that the island was about two miles by three quarters of a mile, roughly speaking that is. Had the cruiser come down in one piece it would have made a significant crater, the damage probably causing massive destruction to the island. As Quo looked there wasn’t much evidence of destruction, so he either had to assume that it had broken up on its descent through the atmosphere, or that it was a hoax of some kind. But how could you hoax a connection through the Force?

Some thirty minutes of hiking through the undergrowth he began to see signs of impact. Several large pieces of panelling were laying around, along with sundry detritus. Shards of metal were stroon around the area, although he hadn’t seen the impact site, it did appear to be a crash site. Still that could be faked he thought. Staying low and quiet he followed the trail around the base of an incline leading to a rocky outcrop. Clouds circled the summit and he could hear the wind whistling as it whipped around the craggy rocks up above. Rounding a formation of rocks that blocked his view across the island he stopped sharply, instinctively crouching from the sight before him.

A large section of the cruiser had come down on the island alright. The crater was some two hundred meters long, and maybe ten meters deep, an earthen scar across the greenery. Smoke and steam escaped from the downed section, which at first glance had stayed together reasonably well during the break up of the ship, Quo guessed to protect the precious passenger. If the Dominion regarded this individual highly enough to protect his section of the ship with structural shields, then he must be of some import.

Watching from his vantage point Quo saw three figures emerge from the wreckage, two Kaleesh and a Trandoshan. The tattoos marking the Trandoshan’s face and upper body were similar to his own, badges of honour. This one was the one he would have to watch. The Kaleesh acted as guardians to the Trandoshan, flanking him as he moved around the wreckage looking for the best positions to place his guards. Pointing out a slight rise in the ground at the edge of the furrow one of the Kaleesh moved across to his assigned position. Another gesture saw the other Kaleesh soldier move over towards the rear of the section, hankering down amongst the litter and debris. All well and good hiding if I hadn’t seen you do it thought Quo sliding his hand down to his belt taking out two throwing knives.

The Trandoshan moved back to the opening in the side of the cruiser hull remnant, disappearing inside again. Quo guessed that this was where the person of special interest would be located. First though he had to take care of the two Kaleesh guards. Darkness would be falling before long, and then they would be more focussed. He already knew their number, now all he had to do was reduce them. Moving silently he worked his way around to the rear of the smashed hulk he made his way as close as he could to the Kaleesh ensconced in the mangled parts of the ship. Quo had got to within two meters of his quarry, he hoped that this would be close enough. His next move would make him visible to all the Dominion agents, especially the Force sensitive within. Timing would be his ally, and he needed to use it wisely. Taking a calming breathe he relaxed his body, readying it for the burst of energy he was about to put through it.

With a burst he leapt at the Kaleesh nearest to him, driving his throwing knife through the eye of the recumbent operative, driving the blade of his knife deep into the brain of the sentry. The blood flowed freely as the guard breathed his last, his body relaxing as life left the body. Pivoting on his toes Quo sent both of the throwing knives in a vicious rake across the five meters to the other guardian, one sailing over his shoulder, one catching him under his exposed left arm pit. A grunt escaped the soldier as he rolled in an attempt to evade further attack from the Sith. Closing the ground between them, sprinting low and fast over the up slope of the destruction trench. The Kaleesh attempted to bring his blaster up to fire on the Zabrak as he rolled. Quo flung out an arm in his direction, fingers of blue and white lightning arcing out from his hand enveloping the reptilian in its fizzing embrace. Reaching down with his right hand the Sith drew up his saber, igniting it as he covered the ground in a loping stride. Placing the hilt under the face guard of the Dominion warrior he depressed the igniter button, the crimson red blade appearing through the top of the Kaleesh skull, fried blood and brains oozing through the nose vents of the mask.

Whipping his hand upwards he wrenched the blade free of the corpse, slicing open through its head as the blade reappeared. Turning towards the opening in the side of the fallen ship he could already hear the thumping of the approaching Trandoshan, the tempo of the footfalls letting him know that his foe was approaching, and approaching fast.

From the murk of the interior the hulking reptile warrior emerged, his hands gripping a huge vibro axe two handed, his massive frame rippling with muscles as he moved. “The Sssssscorekeeper ssssssendsssss tributessssss,” he sneered as he approached the Sith, “I ssssshall enjoy asssssisssssting your demisssssse.” The eyes gleamed with menace as he hefted the axe around and over his head, building momentum on the swing. With a deftness that belied his size the Trandoshan released his right hand, his left completing a back hand swing towards the Sith. Quo had to move quickly to avoid the strike, and even as he regained his footing the axe had begun another arc towards his position. Whipping out his vibroblade with his left hand in a reverse grip Quo deflected the shot around his body as he pivoted away from the massive Dominion specialist.

Quo’s left arm tingled from the impact from the vibro axe on his blade, the power of the strike making both blades sing in protest. I don’t want to be there if he connects fully thought Quo to himself. Watching the Trandoshan regain the two handed grip, he definitely didn’t want to be in the way of a strike from that! Ominously the huge reptilian advanced, left foot, then right, the axe hefted high over his right shoulder, ready to deliver a killing blow. The lips of the Trandoshan curled back his lips, saliva dribbling from the fangs, Quo knew it would be saturated with venom. Planting his left foot the soldier began the swing leading with his right shoulder, letting all his upper body weight transfer to the axe head. Quo leapt, more up than out of the way, thinking only to take himself up and over the blade, but finding himself clearing the behemoth and landing behind him. A flick with his saber was all he could manage, scorching the skin on the Trandoshan’s flank.

The massive warrior was deceptively agile, continuing the swing he had started towards Quo, bringing around with a pirouette on his left foot, the cutting edge of the blade scything around at waist height. Quo had landed well, both feet had landed together, however his stance was not ideal, a little too square for him to counter. Leaning backwards, bending at the knees the axe head tip sliced across his torso, cutting through the cloth of his tunic, and leaving a thin, straight incision which immediately bled.

The Trandoshan had not escaped unscathed as far as positioning went as the momentum of the massive effort he had put into the strike had over balanced him as the movement reached its climax. Quo straightened up, his feet dancing into position faster than the Dominion soldier could re-establish his own footing, his left leg flicking out and behind him to prevent him over balancing.

Like a cobra Quo’s left hand struck forwards, the vibro blade clasped within its grip slashing into the right hand side of the rib cage, its upward strike cutting to the bones of the ribs. A roar of anger, pain, and frustration came from the Trandoshan, his left arm being flung backwards by the weight of the previous strike. Quo’s left foot moved backwards, his right forwards, as he transferred the strike to his saber hand. Punching from the elbow as his right shoulder was driven forwards by his weight transfer he snapped out the punch toward the solar plexus of the Dominion elite. A resistance felt in his wrist told Quo that his strike was true, the blade of his saber following the line of the punch through the centre of the rib cage, and exitting between the shoulder blades. Eyes gleaming, full of hatred for his enemy Quo twisted the pommel, whipping the blade across and down eviscerating the hulk, ending his challenge.

Before the body had even started crumpling to the ground Quo was turning. Heading towards rent in the side of the cruiser he entered the gloom. Reaching out with his senses he located the Dominion force user in one of the chambers to his right, and light was pouring out of one of the rooms some seven meters ahead. Cautiously Quo approached, placing his back against the wall as he got to the broken door way. Keeping his body behind the bulk head he glanced quickly around the corner.

Inside there was a rough litter, and a glow globe. Placed upon the litter was another Trandoshan, but this one was hurt, probably from the impact. The lower part of his left leg was missing, and the whole of his right arm. An open wound ran from above his right eyebrow, down over the upper jaw, and several of the fangs had been lost, leaving bleeding holes where they had been. The right eye looked as though it would never work again, the pupil opaque, almost the same colour as the surrounding white.

“I sssssensssssse you Sssssssith, finisssssssth thisssss!” The Trandoshan’s good eye glared at Quo, challenging him to kill him.

Quo’s eyes burned with hatred, but for once he would follow orders. Taking his comm from his belt he keyed the button on the side. “Quo to Locke, Consul, I have him, send in medivac crew, I’ll keep him alive until they get here”

Reaching into one of the belt pouches he took out a hypo spray. Moving across to the Trandoshan he paused, looking down on the Force user he stood and stared.

“Ssssssso, itsssssss poisssssssssson isssssss it?” The reptile curled up his lips in an approximation of a smile, sure now that the Sith was about to kill him.

“No,” replied Quo, lining up the hypo spray with the creature’s jugular, “just sleepy time. But I’ll be here when you wake up..... I promise!” Quo’s eyes narrowed as the Dominion agent lost consciousness, although he saw the fire of hatred burning in the red and gold eyes that looked down upon him. Quo turned and made his way outside, signalling his exact position to the extraction crew. He would see this particular lizard again, he would make sure of it.

His blade flashing crimson against the dark of the pre-dawn Quo was a frenetic blur as he covered ground. Cresting a rise made by debris from a fallen building he was immediately targeted by the Odetta faction soldiers who had used the mound of masonry as cover from the opposition forces. Laser bolts arrowed towards the Zabrak’s position, his blade performing a cyclic tattoo against the gloom as he met each one, deflecting them away from his body, a couple rebounded towards their origin, the explosions marking their termination. Quo’s wheeling dance down the obverse side of the redoubt left soldier after soldier either dead or injured, slain by the ferocity of the Sith and his attack.

A burst of lightning erupted from his finger tips sweeping across the area behind the fortification, following the sweep of his arm. Defenders fell by the swathe with the young Zabrak’s attack, unable to believe what they were witnessing, the disbelief turning to involuntary inaction determining the fate of many an inexperienced soldier. Quo used this to his advantage, leaping into the middle of their number, slicing them down from their midst with both blade and energy bolt. To some of the survivors time seemed to slow, the Sith taking an aeon it seemed to finish off their defence, though it only took thirty seconds at the most.

The quiet after the brief battle was deafening. There were a few muted groans from the wounded, one close to where the Sith warrior stood. A flash of steel as the throwing knife flew was all it took for him to silence that particular interruption. Striding across he retrieved the blade, wiping it clean of blood and brain tissue before replacing it into its position on his belt. His target in sight Quo didn’t even break his stride as he approached the bunker entrance. The doors were open wide, Quo didn’t know why, or even care. Striding through them he was immediately descending below the surface, down towards the laboratories and testing facilities below. Making his way around to the control room he put his back to the wall, stealing a quick glance around the corner. One body lay in the middle of the floor, a blaster mark in the centre of his chest, seemingly one of the bolts that he had marked as ‘return to sender’. That explained why the blast doors hadn’t been activated. Entering the room in a crouch he was alert for anybody that was hidden from view, but finding none. The other operator must have fallen outside the bunker with the other defenders. Finding the controls for the doors he selected them to the closed position, securing them with a new pass code.

Now the post was secure he needed to get down to the lower levels. Looking around he located the lifts down to the subterranean lair below. Stepping inside he used the journey down to restore his calmness and centre himself. Inside the flames of hatred and anger were already raging, boosted by the combat above ground. The taste was delicious. Reaching upwards he crushed the lighting orb that was fixed into the roof of the elevator, cloaking the small space in pitch darkness. In the darkness the Sith smiled to himself, awaiting the opening of the steel sarcophagus on the lower levels, already balanced on the balls of his feet.

The doors slid open onto a well lit corridor. Immediately the bolts of blue white energy were snaking out of the entrance way, arcing outwards before the guards at either side had time to react, shocking their nervous systems and ending their lives before they even struck the tile flooring. From the darkness crimson glowed as his lightsaber ignited as he emerged from the lift, his cloak flowing out behind him, his gold and red eyes glaring.

Armoured droids rounded the corner at speed before halting before the Sith, weapons sprouting from their bodies, all of them targeted on Quo. In a blur he covered the ground between them in an eye’s blink, his left hand gesturing towards the droid furthest away. With a flick from his fingers the droid was suddenly airborne, servos screaming as its gyros tried to compensate for the mass of inputs the brain was receiving. Blaster bolts were pinging in all directions as it flew, tumbling, before ending its trajectory with a crunch and explosion against a bulkhead wall some thirty meters away. A flashing sweep with the saber finished off the second one, slicing through its dome cleaving it into two parts, a glowing diagonal cut marking the Sith blades progress.

Quo knew where he was going, and soon covered the labyrinth of corridors to the mission targeted unit. The briefing had said that he was to get there at all costs. The import of the objective had been drummed into him, there were millions of lives at stake, not that the Sith cared. He was doing it because his Master had told him that he must, and he still needed her to gain more power and control, therefore he would do as she asked. He knew he must get there and retrieve the information, it was of supreme importance, what the briefing had not included was an evacuation strategy, that would be up to him.

Entering the laboratory through the double air lock he took the technicians by surprise. They were too engrossed in the computer screens to notice that it was the Zabrak that had entered, not one of the usual base personnel. Too late one of them looked up and attempted to raise the alarm. A gesture from Quo crushed the white coated scientists throat, a throwing knife taking another through the temple, his body crumpling over the input pad he was seated at. Hearing the thuds as the bodies hit the hard surface the lead technician turned involuntarily to their station, his mouth forming an ‘O’ at the vision that he beheld.

Quo was there, right behind him as realisation dawned, the Zabrak grabbed him by the throat, physically lifting his feet clear of the floor. “The antidote,” Quo half whispered, venom in his tone. The technician’s right hand pointed out the cabinet, sealed within a pressurised chamber. Striding across the laboratory, still holding the technician aloft Quo opened the chamber door, a hiss escaping the mechanism, cold, white vapour spilling out a floor level.

“Which one?” he asked, his eyes pointing the direction of the query, ”and the computer files.” He added, tightening his grip, making the scientist grasp at his fingers with both hands. Releasing the grip slightly on the larynx of the tech he waited, sure that his message had hit home.

The white sleeved arm pointed to the middle shelf, towards the yellow topped cannisters that sat on the right hand side. Quo grabbed, taking three in his hand and deposition them in one of his numerous belt pouches. “The files?” He growled.

Releasing the scientist he watched him as he scurried across the room to the computer terminal, hesitating as he looked at the collapsed body of his companion. Quo grasped the collar of the dead technician, wrenching him backwards and flinging him across the room, the body bouncing against the glass of the airlock, veins of fracture spidering across its surface. Quo watched menacingly as the lone survivor sat and inputted the pass code, the screen bursting to life with information. Working though the technician selected a single file, prompting reams of data to cascade across the screen. A quick glance upwards toward the Sith told him that this was the information he sought. A twist of his neck, with a crack that reverberated through the sensors in his prosthesis ended the technician’s usefulness. Quo tapped the input device, sending the file to a predetermined data source.

Keying his communicator he knelt before it “Asset attained, my Master,” he murmured, head bowed beneath his black cowl. A large hologram illuminated the space, a blue and white rendition of his Master.

“Understood. I shall make sure that our forces have the information immediately.” The image of Tasha’Vel Versea disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Reaching out with his hand Quo changed the frequency on the comm.

“Stahoes from Wing-Tzun, fire on the position of my comm link”

“Affirmed” came the voice of Bentre. Quo was already moving, the response fading into the background as he made his way to the elevators, his movements faster than should be possible, the doors of the lift not fully opened before the Zabrak was standing inside the steel box and pressing the touch symbol for the surface. He hoped that it was fast enough to reach there before the humans ship had time to lock on and fire at its target.

The doors opened on the elevator as Quo felt the pressure of the air change as the charge fired from Bentre’s ship arrowed downwards toward the subterranean complex below his feet. Speeding his way to the blast doors he keyed his code into the locking mechanism, the doors opening with a ‘crack’ at the same moment as the bolt of energy came through the roof behind him. The concussion of the impact hit him in the back just as he was moving off in a sprint, blowing him forwards out of the complex. Hitting the top of the fallen building rubble with his right elbow, the lower half of his prosthesis ripping off with the impact, spinning him uncontrollably in his flight.

The base erupted in a ball of light, the image reaching him before the sound. He briefly saw the roof of the complex lift off its foundations, disappearing in a million small fragments, each one a projectile following its own trajectory away from the destruction.

Quo hit the ground, his left thigh breaking with the first collision, his leg flailing at an unnatural angle. Further impacts with battle debris causing more damage each time his body smashed into them. Rolling to a stop like a rag doll, his body twisted and mangled by the sheer power of the explosion, and the resulting pressure wave. Contorted he lay in the middle of the thoroughfare, twisted beyond recognition as debris from the laboratory complex rained down on his body. Blood poured from a multitude of wounds, some caused by the crashing end to his trajectory, some by the flying debris. The dust covering everything made him seem like any other mound of shapeless debris lying around the vicinity, indistinguishable from the detritus by anyone but the most keen of sight.

Quo woke feeling very strange. Not only did he feel like he was about five years younger than he had when he had lain down to rest, but there was a weird feeling about the place. Raising from his litter he showered and dressed, not able to shake this feeling of foreboding that was filling every part of his being.

Crossing the courtyard in front of his quarters it niggled at his awareness again. What was that? It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jedi! A lot of Jedi! Usually he could feel a couple of them, Sang and Malik, with all their light side goodness purveying his consciousness, but there were more than fifty of them here. His mind felt like it was covered in sickly sweetness, and it was not a feeling he liked at all. His mind was reeling with all the goodness that he was feeling.

Heading towards the training area the feeling got even more cloying than it had been in his accommodation. Entering it hit him like a wall of oddness that made him feel physically sick. The younglings inside the training quadrangle were concentrating on the drills that were being given by their instructor.

“Deflect the blows, and immobilise. We are not here to kill the enemy, remember we are guardians of justice throughout the Galaxy, we do not wantonly slay those that stand before us,” the instructor continued his mantra as the young trainees attempted to stop the bolts randomly generated by the drone from hitting their bodies, jolting them if it should do so. “We are negotiators, not executioners, we attempt to achieve a diplomatic solution to our problems, however the opponent may not, therefore we must be able to dissipate his attacks without bodily harm if at all possible”

Quo stood, bemused at the rhetoric that the instructor was spreading to his pupils. What in frell’s name was he talking about? The clan stood for domination. Domination of those that could not resist. It stood for gaining power through whichever means was the most practical. The Sons of Sadow were interrogators, torturers, inveiglers and infiltrators, they were not diplomats. Inside his head he knew what they were.........and they definitely were not this!

The instructor turned, and Quo finally got a look at the face behind the twisted monologue being delivered. Bentre? At least it looked like Bentre Stahoes, but there was a smile plastered over the Corellian’s face. What the.....? Ben was a Sith, through and through. What sort of warped power had caused this? Reaching out with his feelings Quo probed, only finding lightness and conscience inside the human.

“Sith!” Stahoes started making his way towards the Zabrak, his pace quickening with every stride. His blaster leapt from its holster into Bentre’s hand, the big paw folding around the grip precisely, muscle memory guiding his movement through years of repetitive exercise. As his arm came up in front of him he squeezed off a couple of shots, dead on target. Quo’s Lightsaber leapt from his belt a split second after Bentre’s blaster, igniting in a crimson flash as the pommel slapped into his hand. Reacting to the double blaster bolts his wrist and fingers guided the weapon in a short arc intercepting the shots, their paths deflecting away from his body. Almost immediately there were three more blasts, a single followed by a double zeroing in on his body. Rolling the first away over his shoulder Quo flipped to avoid the second volley. The gap between them had narrowed all the time as they both covered the open ground. With just a few yards left between them Bentre’s own saber replaced the blaster in his hand, the familiar ‘snap hiss’ of the blade’s inception in juxtaposition with Quo seeing the light blue blade, rather than the expected red.

The blades clattered together, the air around them smelling of ozone, each blade trying to interrupt the flow of the other. Quo had already softened the impact by letting his wrist be pushed back towards his own centre line, allowing Ben’s to slide down it slightly, the Jedi increasing his own push against the stasis. Quo snapped backwards half a step allowing Ben’s own press forwards to over extend the Jedi, the young Sith shifting his weight first to the right, pushing the azure beam of light downwards and away from his body as his blade slid in a curve over the top of it as he moved his centre of gravity to the left. Quo’s right hand whipped forwards, his wrist cocking, bringing the scarlet blade down towards the Corellian’s head. Even as the blade began it’s decent Bentre’s left hand gestured, shooting forwards in front of his body. As if struck by an invisible wrecking ball the Zabrak warrior was thrown backwards, landing on his feet mere inches from the perimeter wall.

A snarl of rage escaped Quo’s throat, guttural and animalistic. His feet gripped the floor as his muscles tensed powering him forwards with superhuman speed, Bentre only just able to adjust his position to meet the new attack. The savagery of the Zabrak’s attacks forced the Light Side Jedi back step by step, blow after blow raining down on the defence that was being offered. Quo’s own anger and confusion fuelled his grip on the Dark Side, his gold and red eyes gleaming with the intensity of the feelings surging through him. The sheer speed and fluidity of the attacks were breaking down the beleaguered fendings of the Jedi before him. Whirling like a dervish he drew out his vibro sword with his left hand as his right continued the hammering blows with his lightsaber, the doubling of the attacks wearing his opponent down even though Bentre was summoning every trick that he knew to avoid them.

A reverse strike with his vibro sword jarred the sapphire coloured blade to a standstill, preventing the parabola of it’s path. Quo’s arc continued, the red saber slicing through flesh and bone, decapitating the human warrior, the head falling to the tiled floor of the training yard, the eyes rolling into the back of their sockets. The body fell where it stood, crumpling backwards into a heap, separated from its cranium by a couple of feet.

Quo looked down at the corpse of Stahoes. Shutting down his saber, and returning his vibroblade to its scabbard, his eyes took in the sight. A single thought crossed his mind. Ben wouldn’t like to live like that, better to put him out of his misery. Turning he strode away. This was going to be a busy day.

The sun beat down on the pavements of the island paradise of Pandemonium. The light was glinting from the windows of the focal point of the resort, the skyscraper built in the middle of the island. Holiday makers thronged the streets, buying the wares of the vendors before making their way towards the beaches and bars of the tropical destination.

Quo had taken the bullet tram to the destination, travelling as regular holiday maker. The rucksack on his back felt foreign and unwelcome as he left the station, sunglasses perched on his nose. Clad in a loud shirt, shorts, and walking boots he had never felt as ridiculous in his life. Glancing from left to right he took in the sights, making his way towards the bars that huddled together around the harbour like a flock of predatory birds, attracting in the passing trade.

Quo made his way towards them, looking for one of the taverns in particular. Searching the garish signs that winked and twinkled above each individual establishment he soon found it. Merrinbah’s. Looking at it from the pavement outside it was a mass of colour. The hoardings outside the main entrance advertising the wares that could be found inside. There were foods from other systems, dancing girls, live acts, and more alcoholic concoctions than you could shake a stick at. To the young Zabrak it was some form of technological nightmare, not a place he would normally frequent. Biting the bullet he entered.

The inside was, if anything, even more garish than the outer. Thousands of lights blinked in sequence as music battered at his hearing, the bass reverberating against his chest, the vibrations enough to take his breathe away he thought, even with a prosthetic breathing unit. The onslaught on his senses was incessant, his brain reeling to try and take everything in. Scanning over the room he took in the bar, the dance floor, the staging area, and the exits. There were two doors at the rear of the room, each one with a guardian dressed in black evening dress complete with bow ties. The one on the left was another Zabrak, the one to the right a Deshade.

Ordering a drink he took a booth against the wall, small, just enough room for two, and blanketed in shadows. Sitting down he watched. The writhing figures on the dance floor seemed to be lost in the rhythms of the music, or lost in each other in some cases. Watching and waiting Quo’s eyes reflected the dancing lights. He knew that his target was close, but he hadn’t seen her yet, she was never very far away from her base of operations, and this was ground zero. He paid particular attention to the guardians of the doors, watching the foot traffic that occasionally approached and was passed through to the area behind the solid looking doors. All of the people had one thing in common. They all had a slightly blue palour to their faces, and the eyes seemed to be a little too dark, as if they had sunk a little too far into their sockets.

Seven hours later he was still sat, watching the room, and was on his fourth drink, this time a fruit based mixture, sweet and cloying as it hit his mouth through the drinking tube, although not unpleasant to the taste. That was when she entered. He had never actually seen a Miralukan before, but he recognised her instantly with her visor. Even without it he would have noticed her. She was beautiful beyond words, and moved with a slinking gracefulness, oozing sexuality as she crossed the room. The dancers before her on her journey across the dance floor seemed to part before her as if pushed aside by an invisible force. Watching her was hypnotic, but Quo knew he had a job to do, he was here for business not pleasure.

As she approached the Deshade the hulk of a man stepped sideways, opening the door for the woman as she approached. For his size he managed to do it with a fluidity that belied his bulk, the woman sweeping through the portal like a spirit. The doorman closed the door behind her as she disappeared into the space beyond.

Quo watched further. A group of kids were heading towards the door, Quo realised what they were doing. They needed their fix, and having watched the king pin walk in they knew that they could get what they required. Quo knew that he could not sneak by the doorman using invisibility, the species had a partial resistance to the Force, and he wasn’t going to take the chance on his discovery. Joining the worse for wear revellers on their journey towards the door, making himself appear as intoxicated as they were, stumbling and rolling as he walked.

“We get zum biz-niz?” drawled the leader of the group

“Hmmmm,” replied the dinner suited behemoth, a thumb over the shoulder given as a signal to enter.

En masse they entered. Within the room were four more sentries, all wearing the pre-requisite evening wear. Sitting behind an obsidian desk, shiny and black with scrolled legs sat the Miralukan female. The seat she was occupying was tall backed with wings, matching the glittering table. She sat bolt upright, hands resting against each other at chin height, the index fingers steepled under her chin.

The self-proposed leader of the group spoke. ”We need some, ma’am. You know, like, enough for all of us.” He smiled as he spoke, his head slightly bowed, subconsciously giving respect to his benefactor.

“Five hundred creds,” came the lilting voice of the dealer, a wave of her hand to one of the minions to her left, who turned, retrieving a package from a cabinet placed near the wall, “money first”

The group began scrabbling in their pockets and wallets, passing the credit chips to their leader. Quo took the chance. Moving his pack round to his front he unzipped the top, reaching inside with his right hand. His hand wrapped gently around his lightsaber, letting the pack fall to the floor. The ‘snap hiss hum’ filled the room as his blade ignited. Three of the four henchmen reached beneath their jacket, trying to grab for the blaster pistols secreted beneath. Quo’s saber arced around to the right, the flight of it sending the blade through the neck of the first without diminishing the power of the throw. Too late the second saw the blade spinning towards him, entering his body through his upper arm before bisecting him across the chest, never getting a chance to level the blaster and fire on the young Sith. A gesture from his right hand brought the pommel back to his grasp with a gentle ‘slap’.

Quo was already rolling to his left, hopping from right foot to left as his body pirouetted through the air, each step closing the distance to the two men to his left hand side. His feet landed squarely between them, the crimson blade already chopping towards the right, blocking the blast that erupted from the pistol levelled at him, a serpentine twist of scarlet rotating round the blaster as the beam severed the hand holding it. With a gesture of his left hand blue and white lightning exploded from his fingers, enveloping the other where he stood, his skeletal structure flashing through the flesh as his being was torched in blinding light. A flick of the right wrist brought the saber blade around again, plunging to the hilt into the chest of his former target killing him instantly.

The revellers took flight for the nearest exit, scattering in all directions in an attempt to escape the carnage. Quo covered the ground to his ruck sack in a stride, his left hand diving inside the darkness.

The Mirulakan woman had vaulted from her chair, her slight frame belying the fact that her muscles were taught and well toned. Her legs propelled her backwards, the chair falling backwards, the occupant rolling backwards into a ready position, her left hand raised at chest level on her centre line, the right hand rising, fingers folded around a stubby blaster pistol. As she came to her feet she fired a burst of three shots. Quo’s saber danced, deflecting the shots away from him, their impacts hitting both ceiling and wall with a thud, the third skipped over his shoulder, hitting one of the running boys in the leg, taking him down as he ran. Quo spun on the ball of his right foot, two throwing knives arrowing towards the woman, the first taking the pistol from her fingers as the second buried itself in her shoulder, the force of it driving her backwards into the back wall, the protruding blade ‘thunking’ into the wooden panelling, pinning her in position.

Feeling rather than seeing the door to his rear right open Quo rolled forwards, twisting as he did so, reversing his direction. The curving path of his left arm continuing as he released another throwing knife towards the entrance, taking the other Zabrak in the throat, sending him backwards out of the room. Raising to his own ready position he watched as the Deshade decimated the door, charging through it with a bellow, sending splinters of wood in every direction. His charge took him through the retreating revellers, swatting them aside with his massive hands, leaving them in crumpled heaps as he zeroed in on the Sith warrior. With a roar he altered his trajectory to intercept the Dark Knight. Quo balanced himself on the balls of his feet, the left foot slightly further forward of his right, shoulder width apart, his saber held at waist height angled diagonally upwards.

The sheer mass of him drove the Dashade onwards, tearing through anyone that stood in his way. Quo waited, relaxing his body until the man mountain was within two meters. With a slide Quo dropped into the splits, passing below the grasping arms of the door man, and between his legs, seeming to disappear before the moving megalith’s gaze. As he dropped he thrust the saber upwards and backwards, then forwards with all his might, cleaving the massive frame from groin to throat. The Deshade’s momentum took him forwards, falling into the desk, smashing it to smithereens with his tremendous bulk.

Quo stood. Looking around the destruction was less than he had imagined... for him anyway. Making his way through the devastation he removed his blade from the pinned figure on the back wall. She looked for all the world that all the pain in the room had coursed through her body. She looked spent, exhausted.

“Clan Naga Sadow will not tolerate drugs within our territory” Quo stated flatly, brokering no argument with his tone, “and you, Pellara, are the most prolific of traffickers, at least, ... you were”

Quo walked across to his ruck sack, producing a pair of binders, attaching them to her wrists.

“Quo here, send a squad.” He spoke into his wrist communicator.

“On their way, Sir.”
Grasping her beneath her armpit he led her out of the building. One down, lots to go he thought. Picking up his rucksack up as he left the establishment he knew that the Clan would be pleased with his work even if they didn’t agree with his methods.

The cockpit of the Tie Oppressor was cramped, they weren’t really designed for comfort, more for the sake of practicality and functionality, and it was a place that Quo felt at one. Feeling the ship respond to his input on the controls gave him a comfort, if comfort can be allocated to a Sith. His reactions and concentration were not forced in here, it was more reflexive, more of an instinct than a chore. He’d spent many hours making this ship his own. The parts that he had added were bespoke, his own hands had manufactured the parts, his own brain had designed them, and the ship was the better for it he felt. From the modification that he had made to the main bomb bay, making it into a cargo hold, right through to the advanced electronics and sensors that he had installed it was down to him. The very seat he was sitting in was moulded to fit his body perfectly, cushioning and caressing him as the ship twisted and turned under his ministrations.

From the very first time that he had seen her, after he had unearthed her from her sandy grave on Jaaku, he had known that she was his. She had called to him through the Force, nagging him incessantly, guiding him to her hiding place beneath the golden ocean. He had brought her back to life, resurrected her, and brought her with him when he had arrived on Sepros. He had repaired her damaged systems, and through a process of cannibalisation of some of the rusting remains that he found in the forested areas of the planet he managed to get her ready for flight again. He extended the fuel tanks, and put in protective plating over them, boosted the shields up to one hundred and seventy three percent of optimum.

Deep in the jungle he had found several turbo cannon, that were in various states of degradation. Cobbling all the parts together, and manually carrying them back to his makeshift workshop in an abandoned hangar. Working all the hours that his body would allow he managed to get one of them working, the tree stumps and fragments of wood around stood as testament to its destructive power. Mounting it onto the air frame was a battle and a half, but through trial and error Quo managed eventually to mount it as close to the centre line of the fuselage as made no difference. He uprated the twin laser cannons that were already mounted on the wing stubs of the craft, recalibrating them and upping their fire rate so that they could almost match an X-Wings. Installing three extra battery units also improved the recycling of the shields, although it did little to improve the aerodynamics of the craft. There was a new rear cockpit added, courtesy of a crashed Tie Fighter so that he could carry another person, or more equipment if necessary. When he had finished, and all the new panelling was added to correct some of the deficiency she looked like a Tie Oppressor that had some strange kind of glandular problem, but Quo didn’t mind, she was his, and her bite was definitely worse than her bark. She was a fine ship, with a fine name.

The Eenzaam. It meant ‘Solitary’, and it was perfect for her. She was the only one, and Quo was proud of her. He had built her into the craft that she was, and he treated her as his own. He had never had a family, and probably never would, but the Eenzaam was his offspring, and he would look after her like she was flesh and blood. She would fight to her last breath, and could take on ships that were a lot better on paper. He had cured all of her shortfalls, from the sluggish response to the controls, to the poor quality of the sensors, to the lack of speed. She now carried an extra cannon, extra batteries, and proton torpedoes, and was still faster and more agile than any other Oppressor in the Galaxy.

Once all the work was completed he managed to get some time inside the main hangars, more specifically the spraying bay. The Eenzaam was given a coat of matt black paint to her hull, with three blood red slashes across the bow, looking like she had been raked by a rancor. Quo thought it was fitting, in that she had been a wounded animal when he had been led to her, and now she stood, newly recreated, with her scars and modifications she fitted his own persona. He too was scarred, and had a few prosthetic modifications of his own. They were a good fit together, they suited each other.

Now, seated in the front cockpit, he skimmed the surface of Sepros, swooping down over long abandoned cities and temples, feeling the g-forces squeezing his body into the custom made seat, he truly felt alive. Nobody could take this time away from him, and his mind went on journeys that his body could not follow. Confusions that angered him on the ground were as clouds around him as he flew, dissipated with the gusts of wind aloft. Spinning and looping his ship, diving down crevasses that were barely wider than the Eezaam, vortices whipping behind as he whirled and rolled. His mind was calmed, his thoughts blessed with clarity, and even the seemingly insurmountable problems of his earth bound alter ego were solved and processed, even as his body, strapped tightly into the ship was carrying out physically demanding aerobatics. He understood where he stood in the Galaxy, what direction he should follow, and knew the power of the Dark Side of the Force. Quo was as at peace as he ever was, he was home, home alone.

It was dark as Quo entered into Sang’s accommodation. Nobody saw him enter the area, and nobody would see him leave, his form merging into the background. Without sound he made his way through the living area towards the sleeping quarters. Listening intently at the thin door he tried to make out any sound issuing forth from the room behind the plasteel divider. There was no sign of movement from inside, no discernible echoes of habitation. Placing his prosthetic hand against it he used the precision engineering piece as an amplifier, feeling for slightest vibration. There was none. Easing the door sideways he entered the bedroom of the human Jedi.

Looking around he could see little in the way of ornamentation, save from a stack of data pads, and old fashioned books lining the back wall, surrounding a small desk and computer terminal. The bed didn’t look as though it had been slept in for several days, the bedding crisply laid on the bed looked undisturbed. Scanning the area for any sign of intrusion Quo could see no such evidence. The doors to the wardrobe slid open at his touch. Looking along the neatly arranged clothes nothing seemed out of the ordinary. His eyes took in the garments that were hung up, the all appeared to be pressed and clean, although something nagged at the back of his mind. What was it?

His hands opened up the built in drawers one by one, everything laid out in order, and everything apparently in its place. Opening each one told a story about the Jedi beneath his every day face to the Clan. He liked everything to be in its rightful place, organised, regimented. Maybe it was the way the academics brain functioned. Even the footwear at the bottom was arranged into pairs, with the fastenings tucked inside. There must be something more, his instincts were screaming that to him. As the last drawer opened at his touch there was a noise from the back that did not seem normal to him, not part of the operation of the unit. Pulling it forwards to its full extent Quo used one of his throwing knives to slide along the side, dislodging it from the runners that supported it. A click signified that it was now free of its shackles. Pulling sharply on the drawer it came free. The Zabrak placed it on the floor in front of the wardrobe.

Reaching into the dark space his fingers searched for the source of the noise. After a few seconds he felt it. A minuscule difference in height between the floor of the space and the object. Whatever it was was extremely thin, no more than a couple of microns thick at the most. Gently stroking it forwards it finally made its way out of the darkness, into the semi gloom of the room. It was a micro thin piece of acetate, clear and shiny, and in this light it was difficult to assess what was on it. Taking it gently in his hand he placed it into the same pouch as his interface unit, at least it should be protected within its plasteel shell. He replaced the drawer as it had been before, making sure that it appeared exactly the same as it had done before his disassembly of the unit.

Turning to the desk he scanned it, looking for the minutiae of ever day workings. No sign of anything being slid across its surface, nor any clues as to what Sang had been doing before he left. Quo moved over to it, lifting up the lid of the portable terminal. A hair detached itself from the lid of the unit, drifting on the currents of air until it landed on the work surface. Quo lifted it gently, rolling it in his fingertips, trying to ascertain from whom it had come by sight alone, failing utterly.

It struck him. The clothes. There were none of Sang’s combat fatigues hanging up. The ones in the wardrobe were either social or ceremonial wear, none of it had any use except for showing off in. Looking around he searched, it was here, he knew it was. Placing his face as close as possible to the wall surfaces he used the available light to highlight any abnormalities not usually detected. As he approached the third wall, the one to which the head of the bed was aligned it hit him. There was another hair, but this one was protruding from the wall itself. Moving closer to it, now standing on the bed itself, Quo’s fingers drummed as he scanned, gently, barely grazing the surface, but giving enough feedback for his ear to pick up as he pressed it to the wall. Approximately three feet above the head board the sound changed. It became more metallic, with a distinct echo.

Pressing gently in the middle of the area of the new sound he felt the click rather than heard it. Sliding out from the wall was a secret cubby hole. Extending itself away from the wall’s surface Quo could make out a data chip held within a suspensor field. Reaching out he took it, retrieving the hair at the same time. These would have to be analyzed. Pressing again on the front of the panel it retracted leaving no trace of its existence. Remaking the bed, and replacing everything as he had found it Quo egressed the quarters. He had to get somewhere where he could work on these parts of the puzzle.

His cloak of invisibility was his greatest ally, he remained fully concentrated on the image as he made his way back to his own quarters. Checking his own door for signs of tampering and satisfying himself that there were none he entered. His room remained in darkness as he made his way to his own litter, setting the windows to fully opaque, and setting the internal sensors to scan for any incursion into the immediate area. He switched his own desk light onto its lowest setting he arranged his interface, along with the data chip and both hairs onto his simple work bench.

Inserting the chip his pad lit up. DNA access required. Who’s though? Taking one of the hairs he set the sensors on the pad to read it. He watched as the small computer ran its scans, data scrolling across the screen, it shouldn’t take long for the owner of this particular hair was known to him. He would process the second as soon as this one was complete.

His mind reached out, searching the surrounding corridors for any signs of life. There were a couple, but they passed by, seemingly uninterested in the Zabraks ministrations. Still there was no harm in being extra cautious in the current series of events.

A beep signified a result. Glancing down he read, one eyebrow lifting slightly. It wasn’t Sang’s, and the owner was well known to the Sith. Tasha’Vel Versea, his Master. Quo saved the profile and placed the second hair onto the sensor area, again the pages of data scrolled across the view screen. Quo waited, he was good at waiting, championship material in fact.

Several minutes passed before the familiar tone signified the completion of the task. The results were in, his data pad displayed the results on the viewer, no surprise there, it was Sang’s. Quo was about to try that one first as the machine suddenly emitted a squeal, the screen went haywire, and then black. The Sith’s finger hovered over the access keys, the screaming interrupting his button press. The machine flashed back on, a holo-projection of his master appearing in the centre of his room.

“Well done my apprentice. I had no doubt you would figure out the clues and activate this message. You always were a clever little Sith,” a smile crossed the image’s face, “I am taking Sanguinius away for a while, although I shall return as soon as possible. We have to protect him from the mad ravings of the Grand Master, so I have taken your ship and have left to a place of safety. I’m taking him to Degobah, that should be far enough away from this madness. Cover our tracks my friend, I have complete confidence in your ability to do this, and shall return as soon as I possibly can. We can’t have two ranking officers disappear at the same time can we? Thank you for this my apprentice, I know that I have put you in a terrible position, but I shall explain all on my return. Thank you my friend.”

The interface closed down, before rebooting to it’s default setting. Quo scanned the database for the recent activity, the DNA files, and the message. All were gone. His Master had done a good job with the programming on the chip, which now displayed as empty. Taking the chip from his pad he held it in mid air, hovering, seemingly flying on its own, before igniting his lightsaber, incinerating it completely within the burning crimson energy beam. Nothing remained, not even dust. The hairs were treated to the same inconspicuous end, a brief smell of singing entering his nostrils as they were vaporised.

Cloaking himself in the Force again he made his way back over his tracks. Time to cover the trail. He knew that his Master would have done everything to cover the course of her actions, however, he knew that there would be no harm in double checking. This Grand Master was thorough if nothing else.

Kel Rasha. The Clan playground. Home for the wealthy, with facilities that would boggle the mind of the ordinary folk of the Orion System. Quo wasn’t in the slightest bit interested in the golden sands, or the playthings of the rich and famous that adorned the city by the harbour.

Twilight had fallen, and he was up slope of the fuel depot looking down onto the facility from his lofty viewpoint, scanning the facility through his viewers. There was plenty of security, but that wasn’t the foremost of his concerns. Where was this Security expert that the Black Glove had employed to guard the concern.

“On station, my Master” he spoke quietly into the comm. Voice only for this op. The light of a hologram would shine out like a lighthouse in the dark.

“Any idea who and what this Merc is?” Tasha’Vel’s voice broke through, barely audible, but just enough for Quo to hear.

“None as of yet, my Master, but I shall keep surveillance up until the mystery is solved”

“Report when you do,” a burst of static marked the end of the conversation.

Raising his viewers he scanned the perimeter fence of the facility. Working his way around the edge, his gaze finally alighted on a small building close to the water front, the only one with a visible light coming from it. That must be the guard room thought Quo increasing the magnification on the rectangular, nondescript building. This may prove to be a long night, but Quo was focussed as ever, and stood his post, concentrating solely on his target.

He watched several patrols come an go over the next three hours, mentally keeping a tally of all their comings and goings. He now knew the length of time each patrol would be circulating, when the changeovers would take place. He knew the numbers of each patrol, their patrol areas, the weapons that they carried, and the places where a couple of the patrols consumed their death-sticks whilst out there. However there had been no revelation as to the mysterious mercenary the Black Glove had employed........ up until now. The door to the guard room swung open, a silhouette outlined in the light from within. Quo zeroed in on the figure, zooming in another click, now the maximum his viewers were able to attain.

The outline was unmistakeable. Mandalorian. The armour gave the identification its positivity. He couldn’t make out the modifications from this distance, or the colours of the individual concerned, but it definitely gave him a starting point. They were all tough, and every one of them packed a few surprises within their weapons manifestos. Keying the comm he signalled Tasha’Vel.

“It’s a Mandalorian, my Master, identification not possible at this time”

“Proceed as planned, no changes are required” Another burst of static ended the consultation process.

Moving down towards the perimeter fence Quo stayed low, and fluid as a shadow as he traversed the hillside. Closing on the fence line he knew he had two or three minutes before the next patrol would make their way along this part of the perimeter. With a leap that took him well clear of the twelve foot wall, and the inner wire fence at some three meters tall Quo landed with a soft thud, barely audible against the background noise of the factory workings. Springing forwards as soon as his weight had settled on the balls of his feet he rolled into shadow, hardly leaving a trace of his landing. He knew this was all about timing, and this mission would have to be perfect to the second.

Moving beneath the gigantic pipework that seemed to feed over every foot of the plant, into the deep shadows and cover that he would need to succeed. He had watched as the Mandolorian had made its way towards the centre of the expansive fuel works, towards a large tower of which he had no idea of its purpose. Silently he covered the ground under the cover of the pipework, ensuring that he wasn’t seen by any of the patrols, their position superimposed on the map he had in his head. This would be the most difficult part for timing, he had two patrols crossing over the open area between him and the tower entrance, one patrol of two, and one of three, personnel. Waiting like a coiled cobra, a throwing knife in each hand, he slowed his breathing, and merged with the shadow surrounding him. Right on cue the first patrol appeared from behind one of the large fuel tanks, the three of them chatting in muted tones, relaxed and complacent in their familiarity. The other appeared from the other side of the tower, approaching directly towards Quo’s position. Quo’s red/gold eyes focussed on the patrol of two, narrowing as the hefted the two blades in their direction. Like a pair of guided missiles they buried themselves in the foreheads of the patrol men, they were dead before they hit the ground.

Grounding himself within the Force Quo used the effect of the shock register on the second patrol before he made his way towards second patrol. Shielding himself within the warmth of the Dark Side Quo was all but invisible to them as he approached, steadily and deliberately, his vibroblade in his left hand, his saber in his right. He knew that when he ignited his blade he would become visible to them, so he waited until he could almost feel their breathe next to his face. The patrol men were still standing, looking bemused at the site where their comrades lay dead. The didn’t realise that they themselves were under attack until the red blade of the lightsaber ignited in their midst, cutting down two of them, as the vibroblade in a reverse grip finished the last one. The whole assault had taken less than five seconds.

Quo got to the door of the tower. Closed. A gentle push found that it was not locked, obviously they had confidence in their security. Pushing it fully open Quo stayed back, waiting for a laser bolt to come pinging out of the opening. Silence. With a graceful roll of his wrist, fingers splayed open, the helmet of one of the guards flew across to him, into his waiting hand. Making as much noise as he could he rolled the helmet inside the doorway, a double ‘Fatoom’ as laser blasts impacted the helmet, ricocheting the helmet back out of the door.

Quo replaced the vibroblade in its scabbard, reaching out for one of the eight throwing knives he had left in his belt. The blasts had briefly illuminated the inside of the doorway, giving Quo a general layout of the entranceway to the tower. The stairway curved upwards along the left, winding anticlockwise up the tower. Towards the right hand side was a weapons locker, and a desk. Quo rolled inside heading to the area beneath the desk. The wall and floor around him erupted in a wall of dust, fire, and shrapnel as a rain of fire cascaded down on his position. Quo remained calm, using his connection with the Force to erect a barrier around him, deflecting the blaster shots in a flurry of rebounds that ripped through the fabric of the bottom floor. Through the debris saturating the air of the entrance way Quo had pinpointed the origin of the onslaught.

His left arm whipped the throwing knife upwards with a speed and accuracy that made the Mandalorian retreat behind an electrical supply node, the blade thudding into the wall near the left of its firing position. Ducking back to avoid the projectile gave Quo the chance to move. A single vault took him upwards some twenty feet, just a couple of meters below his assailant.

Being closer, and in a lit environment Quo could finally get a look at his foe. Clad in Mandalorian armour, and carrying an assault rifle. Coloured in black with red highlights this was not a Mandalorian that Quo was familiar with. Quo’s lightsaber ignited with a ‘snap, hiss, whum’, deflecting the new barrage of fire which was zeroing in on his position. Closing the gap to the mercenary with a burst of superhuman speed Quo unleashed a flurry of attacks onto his opponent. Saber and Vibroblade dancing a cyclonic blur towards the Mandalorian, deluging his quarry with a multitude of separate attacks.

An electronic explosion of sparks cascaded from the rifle as Quo’s blade sliced through it, severing the foresight and barrel, sending it tumbling down to the floor below. A burst of flame exhausted behind the mercenary as his booster rocket ignited, propelling the Mandalorian upwards, showering Quo in a bath of smoke and flame. Instinctively he leapt across the stair well chasm, up to the next ledge, apparently pre-empting the blast by a split second. The stair where the mercenary had stood but moments before was now a smouldering, melted mass of metal. Quo looked upwards. His foe was now on the top floor, peering over the edge, left arm extended.. A volley of mini missiles propelled their way down towards his position. A burst of speed took Quo upwards as the missiles struck the stairs and wall of the tower, blowing it outwards, a gaping hole where the Dark Jedi Knight had been standing a heartbeat before.

Quo rounded the final steps in one bound, the balls of his feet gripping the steel through his boots, halting his flight forwards, and pivoting him to the right. Firing from the hip with a blaster, the arc of fire was designed to intercept the young Zabrak’s flight. Too late the Mandalorian realised the error of his though pattern as Quo moved left of his firing position. With a swift and balanced swing of his Lightsaber Quo dissected the mercenary through the lower ribs. Falling in two halves his opponent was slain. Quo reached down and removed the helmet. Female. He didn’t know of any Mandalorian females that were working as mercenaries in this quadrant. He would have to investigate.

Leaping down the centre of the tower he landed on the balls of his feet, the helmet still grasped in his right hand. He made his way out through the door. He attached the helmet to his belt, replacing it with six transponders, three in each hand. Merging again with the Force he reinstated his cloak of invisibility. Dragging the bodies into the tower he closed the door, shorting the locking mechanism with his lightsaber. Who needed locksmiths?

There were still patrols around the site, but once these transponders were in position the site would be incinerated. Making his was around the site like a phantom, eliciting no interest from the patrols he placed all six in the designated positions, double checking each one to ensure the accuracy. With another superhuman leap he forded the wall in a similar manner to his entrance, covering the open ground quickly and quietly, wraith like, returning to his viewing point to watch the display.

“All is in readiness my Master” Quo keyed into the communicator.

“Double checked?” Tasha’Vel’s voice questioned.

“Yes, my Master” Quo replied

From above a plethora of fiery exhausts arrowed down from above, high in the atmosphere. Targeted on to the transponders they descended unerringly, bringing the cleansing fire that would, in the next few seconds, envelope the whole area in dancing heat. The first missile impacted, rupturing a fuel silo, spreading an incendiary flood over the site, beginning it’s own river of combustion as it went. One by one the explosions spread with each missile impact. Quo watched from above, a smile on his lips, his eyes reflecting the flames as he watched.

The message was very clear. They had been taken. Quo read again the information. One million credits for their safe return, and no security involvement. He couldn’t just sit and wait for them to contact him. What he needed was someone who could trace this, and he knew just the person. His comm system cracked into life, a burst of static broke through the squelch as the power came on.

“Bentre Stahoes, personal,” he spoke into his computer interface, watching as the frequency scrolled to Ben’s personal channel. He waited for a reply, fingers beating a tattoo on the work surface in front of him.

“Ben here, go,” the Sith at the other end of the comm sounded narked, even angry, at being interrupted.

“Ben, I need your help, I’m sending something over,” his fingers keyed the required sequence to send the message information over to the Corellian, “find out where it was sent from, and when.”

“What’s the magic word?” Bentre chided, knowing that he would get a rise from the young Zabrak.

“Abracadabra!” Quo spat back, “Ben this is important, I need this yesterday” The sincerity in his voice, and the concern conveyed convinced Stahoes that Quo was definitely not messing about.

“Sorry,” he replied, “I’m on it. I’ll buzz you when I get something. Need anything?”

Quo was a little stunned by the genuineness betrayed in his brother Sith’s voice. “No mate, if I do I’ll shout.” With a click he terminated the conversation. He set the comms to alert his mobile unit when there was a message.

Wheeling he made his way towards his weapons locker. Taking out his lightsaber, his vibro sword, and his throwing knives he placed them into their respective positions on his belt. Reaching across he took down his cloak from the hangar and returned to the main area of his apartment. Picking up his access card from the work top he left, heading for the hangar to prep the Eenzaam, ensuring that she was ready for whatever was thrown in her direction. He checked that his weapons systems were charged along with the shields, and ensured that all the panels were secured before climbing aboard and setting all the systems to standby, no telling how much time he would have and he had to be sure that he could be airborne at a moments notice.

“Quo, come in,” Bentre’s resonant baritone come across the airwaves, “I have the info you require, sending it now”

A burst of data flooded across the pad that Quo held in his hands. Glancing through it he could see the thoroughness of Ben’s slicing, even going into the minutia that others would have missed, or not bothered to uncover. “Thanks Ben, I owe you one.” With one leap he was aboard his Tie Oppressor, setting the navicomp to Sepros, the jungle planet within the Orion System. The engine whine raised as Quo gunned the ship for maximum acceleration. With a flash and a sonic thud it was airborne in a steep climb, heading for space at maximum velocity.

--

The jungle was thick, tendrils of growth had all but covered all of the surface with shades of green, the sunlight coming down in bars through the canopy above. Quo reached out with his mind, seeking any life that was in the immediate vicinity. He moved with stealth, using the available cover. Bentre’s data had signified that the transmissions had come from this area, Quo guessed that it was a temporary unit set up just for one transmission, but the orbit of this planet meant that the last 37 hours had been in darkness, the light only finding this side within the last hour. He was hoping that whoever sent it was only just clearing up after themselves to move. Ben was the best slicer he knew, nobody could have found out where it originated any quicker.

Quo’s mind flickered, he knew they were still out there, and close. Concentrating on his connection to the living Force, strong here with the abundance of life, he pushed forward through the jungle zeroing in on his quarry. He could feel four life forms out there, and they were all congregated together, and it included the two younglings, Summer and Jo. He could see the undergrowth thinning up ahead, a small clearing opening up before him. Anyone watching would have seen him fade into the background, chameleon like, his form disappearing like a ghost.

At the edge of the clearing he crouched, his eyes roving over the small encampment. He couldn’t see the children from this vantage point. Creeping slowly and deliberately he made his way towards the centre of the camp, between the two temporary accommodation structures. As he squatted between them the first of his quarry emerged from behind the largest. “Treemo, where are you?” he whispered, his hands clasped around an ancient blaster, scuffed and marked through battle. “In here, with the brats,” came his companions reply. Now Quo had them in his sights. A throwing knife took the former in the throat, the force of it propelling him backwards in an arc past the tree line. Quo rolled forward, his invisibility dropping as he rolled through the opening of the tented building, his saber igniting. As his feet found their grip on the forest floor his right hand flung the crimson blade towards his target, taking him just above the shoulders, the blade severing his head from his body. With a gesture the blade returned to his hand, his thumb triggering the off switch, with a flourish returning it to his belt. The children were wild eyed, the fear apparent on their innocent faces. Their mouths were gagged, their limbs secured together wrist to ankle. Whoever had tied them knew what they were doing. Quo bent, undoing their bonds with one of his throwing blades. Mentally he checked them over, they both looked fine.

A ‘snap hiss’ sound behind him alerted his senses to another lightsaber being ignited behind him. Bursting forwards he scooped the children up, one in each arm, crashing through the back of the fabric dwelling. Rolling as he entered the cover of the foliage he set them down, gesturing for them to remain silent, a nod signalling their ascension. A leap took him back to the centre of the camp, his blade igniting in his right hand, his vibroblade in his left, angled down and away from his body.

His sabre blade clashed into his opponents, the crimson light doubled by another scarlet one. Looking past the fizzling contact Quo saw a female Twi’lek, but this one was red skinned with black tattoos. Another Sith. How had he not felt her? Quo attacked with a flurry of strikes, beating the Twi’lek backwards, his eyes full of fury. Twisting away she mounted an attack of her own, her blade arcing around towards his torso, both hands and shoulders driving into the swing, her feet pirouetting on the spot. Quo met her blade with his vibro sword, deflecting the strike upwards as he bent his knees, the blade skimming just above his horns. His right hand struck like a cobra, the blade biting into the Twi’lek’s left abdomen, driving upwards and across, slicing the Sith in two.

Replacing his weapons he knelt next to her, looking down into red and gold eyes, a facsimile of his own. She was lying on her right hand side. Now Quo could see why he hadn’t felt her. Attached to her back was a Ysalamiri, cocooned in a reinforced dome on her pack.

“Why did you take them? Who sent you?” Quo barked at her. Already he could see the light fading from her eyes as the shock of her injuries set in. “Oh no you frelling don’t,” reaching down for his comms ”Quo Wing-Tzun to base, medivac needed, right now!” His order was shouted down the microphone.

“Stahoes here, ETA one minute. Couldn’t have you wandering about the system on your own,” a chuckle carried over the comm.

“I need this one alive, I need her to talk I will make her talk!” The anger was apparent, and warranted no argument.

“Coming in now big man, take it easy, she’ll live, stasis chamber is prepped and ready.” The was from the thrusters was already whipping the branches with its energy.

Quo returned to the place where he left the children. “Are you both OK?” He looked concerned, but the smile from both Summer and Jo eased his mind a little. Both of them threw their arms around him, small hands gripping tight around his neck.

“We’re fine now, Uncle Quo, now you’re here,” Summer said with a lilting voice, Jo nodded, a grin from ear to ear on his little face.

“Come on, let’s get you home and checked over.” Lifting them up he carried them to Stahoes ship, following the stasis chamber up the ramp.

“Can we have schnitzels?” Jo piped up

“Sure you can kid,” Bentre smiled as the met them at the top of the ramp, “as many as you can manage buddy”

Quo nodded at the Corellian words not necessary. The ramp hissed as it closed on them. Somebody will pay for this thought Quo, as did Bentre. You never mess with a Sith, or his family.

It had only been five minutes, or so it seemed to him. that he had been enlisted into the ranks of the Inquisitorius, and already there were ructions. Every time he thought he had a grasp on the Brotherhood it sent him another curved ball. Sat at his new desk he attempted to take in all the details that the message in front of him had spelled out. A traitor within the ranks. Not only that, he had been tasked to find out the who, why, when and where. He still couldn’t quite grasp why he had been selected for this mission, or by whom as it was unsigned, but he felt that it had something to do with Tasha’Vel, his Master, and her husband, Bentre Stahoes.

Quo rose from the desk, and destroyed the glassfilm that the message had been delivered on, grinding it to dust with the heel of his prosthetic hand. It left a gouge on the polished surface, a reminder of his first day on the job. Any traitor would have to have access to the files of the Inquisitorius, and the communications system presumably, and this was where he would start. As he strode away he exuded the look of a man on their way to somewhere for a definate reason, not a man who was taking his first steps in his first investigation. No sign of hesitation was evident.

Down in the bowels of the Supreme Hall of The Inquistiorius Quo found the archives, with plenty of consoles for his investigations of the Inquisitorius’ systems. He wasn’t the greatest slicer, but he could get into the system without having to log on and leave a trace. Going into the sub-systems he was amazed at the amount of communications traffic that was there. There had to be a way to narrow the search. He accessed the logs for encrypted communications, two thousand one hundred and eighty seven. Ok, within the last month, seventeen. Scanning down the list there were only three that came from the same originator, but it couldn’t be, Tasha’Vel Versea. He wouldn’t believe that his own Master was a traitor, there had to be another answer. Selecting the the three messages from her he tried to make out who the messages were sent to, but that was encrypted as well. Searching through the message he attempted to decrypt the message, or at least the recipient.

Saving copies of the messages to his own storage device he would try to break the code on his own console back at the Halls of Residence.

Quo searched again, this time for any files that had been modified or deleted from the system, and again found three that had been recently deleted, all of them within the last eight days, and two of them connected to his own dossier. What the fleg was going on here? Why would anybody be interested in his file? He was a low ranking member of the Society, he didn’t have any access to anything important, he was a complete novice in the Inquisitorius.

Copying the files to the same storage device Quo rose and took his leave of the Archive. Heading away from the home of the secret society, he headed back to his own accomodations, needing the solitude to make an assessment of the circumstantial evidence that he had gathered. Accessing his personal console he loaded the encrypted messages. He selected a program from the drop down list, and attempted to infiltrate the encryption. He had encrypted messages from Tasha’Vel on his communications window, he could use a couple of them to give his program a grasp on her encryption methods. He inputted the messages, and set the program onto the task of cracking it.

With that in hand Quo turned his attentions to the files that had been modified. There was nothing interesting to anyone in the files, only Quo’s dossier, an assessment of his training, and the notifications of his commendations. Quo’s face was contorted in both frustration and confusion. Nothing in here had the slightest bit of import to the Brotherhood, and the files contained no secrets that anyone outside it would be vaguely interested in. What was going on here?

Quo let the computer carry out its computations, managing to grab a couple of hours sleep before he was awoken by an insistant beeping. He made his way over to his console. The program had done it’s work, to a fashion. It had managed to decrypt the addresses of the recipients, and they read like a list of the great and powerful of the Brotherhood. The Master at Arms, the Consul of Clan Naga Sadow, the Proconsul, Bentre Stahoes, Tasha’Vel’s husband, along with a few other names that were well known to all Dark Jedi. Quo couldn’t believe that all these people were traitors. Another beep from the console told him that another part of the messages had been decrypted.

Reading from the screen before him, ”...and it will take place at the Sadow Palace on Sepros, . He must be in attendance before the action can be taken....................satisfied until the task is completed”, and it was signed by his Master. It sounded like an assassination attempt, but on who?

Quo rose, his intention to go to his ship, the Eenzaam, in order to face his Master, and put an end to this one way or another. A knock at the door. Approaching and opening it he was faced by his Master. Without warning four strikes to his pressure points were all that she needed to render him temporarily immobile, a hoodwink applied to his head. So this was how it ended he thought. How far away from the truth he was, and how he had been played by those who cared for him came as a shock. He had thought that he was alone, insignificant, however the extract from Tasha’Vel’s journal, gave the full story. Quo was finally in a place to call home, with people who cared and respected him
Journal entry - Tasha’Vel Versea 13/02 38ABY

The time had finally come and Tasha had arranged the events. Sneaking away down the many corridors and hallways, she had arrived to her apprentice's room. Knocking on the door, she waited till it opened. With the Force guiding her motions, her palms and elbows quickly struck the vital points on the figure blocking the doorway, rendering him momentarily stunned as she quickly blindfolded him, and began to guide him down the halls.

"Do not speak and just follow me," she whispered. Even though her apprentice was gifted in the Force, he stumbled behind her, unsure of himself.

As he reached out with his senses, all he heard were his master's footsteps and his own. Everything else seemed to come through a thick veil, hiding anything else from his senses. As they entered what felt like a giant hall, a voice boomed through the air.

"On your knees Sith!" The command came from a voice he couldn’t quite place. Struggling slightly, he was quickly forced to his knees by his Master as she spoke in a stern tone. "Quo-Wing-Tzun you stand before your elders. Bentre Stahoes, Marcus Kiriyu, Darkblade, and myself.”

“You have proven yourself an ally as well as a worthy adversary here in Clan Naga Sadow. For your efforts, hard work and dedication, we would like to present to you the title Dark Jedi Knight.” Igniting her lightsaber, she maneuvered the crimson blade near Quo’s left ear, and then to his right.

“Rise, my apprentice," she said as she took off the blindfold. “Rise as a Knight of Sadow.” As Quo rose up he could see Marcus, Bentre, Darkblade and Tasha standing in front of him, all wearing ceremonial robes with their faces covered. Around him the other Clansmen were gathered, who erupted in gleeful cheering."Well done, former apprentice, and welcome to the ranks of Knighthood!"

So this was the big cover up, no treachory, no secrets to damage the core of the Order, simply a ruse to get a young initiate to the Society to a place and time to celebrate his promotion to Knighthood. Quo wasn’t one for revelling, or growing attached to people, but the people gathered around him made it very hard not to. The only secrets that were of import were the ones he kept to himself as he looked around the room.

(Tasha’Vel’s journal entry kindly supplied by Tasha’Vel Versea)

The Eenzaam screamed down through the atmosphere, flames engulfing the shields as the friction of the air burned against the energy force protecting the vessel. Quo knew that he would have to get low and fast to avoid being detected on the parliamentary warning system. Zooming down towards one of the massive oceans that covered over half the planet he knew that there was little chance of being spotted this far from the capital, but he wasn’t taking any chances. The locals didn’t take kindly to outsiders, and he didn’t want to cause any further problems than he was facing already.

Skimming down towards the surface of the ocean the Tie Oppressor left vapour trails as she dived like a swallow chasing insects. Levelling out with a tortured groan she was a matter of feet from the waves as they broke. Quo reduced his speed, no need to announce his arrival any more than he had done already. At least coming in from this far out should stop him being sighted by any viewers, or more than a couple at most from any ships or boats in the area. None were showing up on his scanners, so either there were none, or they were very small.

His course would take him over the holiday resorts if he went directly to the capital, so he had planned his route to avoid the recreational areas around the coral reef islands, instead going a round about route, a couple of hundred kilometres west of them. His approach to the capital itself would be easily done. He’d set down approximately five kilometres away from the city, and cover the last part on foot. He was glad he only had Marcus to rescue, there wasn’t enough room to carry more than one passenger on the Eenzaam.

The communication console in his accommodation had bleeped into life late last night, interrupting his meditations. Annoyed, he had gone over to the machine intending to turn it off and resume, however the flashing yellow alert marker had put paid to that thought. An emergency? And encrypted? Sitting before the console he used the retinal scanner, and a drop of blood to verify that it was him, along with a voice recognition logarithm to further secure his identity the system automatically decrypted the message. Marcus Kiriyu was in trouble, he had been undercover for the clan, and his cover had been blown. Sending out an extraction request was a last resort for Marcus, usually he would handle it with military precision and get himself out. Quo sent an encrypted reply, letting Marcus know that he was on his way, set to repeat every three hours.

Now, outside the city Quo had to cover the ground quickly, and find Marcus. He knew his last position from the details of the message to within a half kilometre radius. Kiriyu had been near fun end of the city, close to the marina, the casinos, the seedy bars. Quo tried to imagine Marcus in one of those, but the thought of the six foot plus Epicanthix with his military bearing and smug look didn’t somehow fit. Moving swiftly Quo soon covered the ground towards the edge of the urban sprawl. Working his way down to the harbour area his eyes were scanning every building, every person, every boat as he made his way around the wealthy playboy’s playground. He wasn’t specifically looking for Marcus, although that would make life a lot easier, he was looking for signs. When Marcus sent the extraction call he should also have left a signpost, a clue as to what was happening, if he had followed standard operating procedure.

Then he spotted it. On edge of the pavement there was a series of three nicks in the plascrete. A normal passer by would have missed it, even an experienced operative would have struggled to distinguish those marks from any other set of marks made by a heavy object being dragged across the slabs. These marks weren’t parallel though, gouge marks generally are. Looking up as he continued walking Quo took in the building opposite in a single fleeting glance. So that was where he had been. Whether he was still there was debatable, probably not thought Quo..... however...... there were two of the rooms in that building that had their windows unrefracted against the sunlight. Turning as if he was looking back along the path he had just taken. One of them had a light on, the other lay in darkness. It would be too easy to be spotted from inside the lit room. The dark one would give cover, or there was simply nobody home.

Making his way across the street he passed beneath an awning protecting the foot traffic from the worst of the elements, and protecting him from the view from the darkened room. Using the crowds that were there revelling in the facilities, drinking and eating the finest of foods on the café fronts. Quo rounded the corner of the target building and with a burst of acceleration disappeared around the back, moving faster than any watching eye could keep up with., cloaking himself with the Force to gain entry. Moving slowly and deliberately he made his way to the service elevator, and keyed in the fourth floor, mentally mapping the layout of the building as he went. He had to concentrate, not only to maintain the cloak, but to avoid bumping into any of the workers that were carrying out their day to day jobs.

Approaching the front corridor of the building, making no sound as he went, he held his back to the central wall. Peeking around the corner Quo took it all in in a couple of seconds. Two security force personnel stood either side of the door. So there had been something here. Quo moved from the cover of the corner, approaching the guards with stealth. The door between them was shut, so they were either guarding something, or imprisoning something. Quo had to make a decision. Stretching out with his senses he probed the space behind the door. He could feel something , but couldn’t make out who or what it was.
Quo reached out to the minds of the guards, fogging their minds, slowing their reflexes and causing bewildering confusion. Using this as his cue he struck twice, rendering both of them unconscious. Moving quickly he caught the falling forms in an attempt to prevent whoever was behind the door from being made aware of his presence. Laying them down on the floor Quo approached the door, ear gently skimming the surface as he sought for any sound from within. Silence. Quo looked at the door trying the handle with his left hand. It opened easily, a gentle push opening it fully. Two slugs hit the far wall. Quo rolled into the darkness, another shot grazing his shoulder, passing through the material of his tunic. As his feet found the ground beneath him Quo flipped forwards, arcing high, towards the window, a twist landing him four centimetres away from it, the shooter framed in the light from the corridor.

Watching the shadow Quo saw him roll his body to the left, attempting to train his weapon on the Dark Jedi to make a killing shot. The room illuminated as the ‘Snap, hiss, whum’ of the ignition was followed by a shallow arc, taking the shooter in the mid part of his arm, a crescent of blood lit by the crimson glow of the blade. Leaping for the door Quo activated the lock, and set the opacity of the windows to their highest setting before lighting the glow globe.

“And that is what you call stealth is it?” Marcus chided. Quo approached him, removing the binders from his wrists and ankles that were securing him to the bolted down workstation.

“It worked didn’t it?” Quo quipped, “and you call yourself an under cover operative do you?”

“I was double crossed, the First Order had got here before me, and they knew I was coming. We have to get back and let them know. We can’t even be sure that our encryption is secure any more. Locke will have some tough decisions to make”
Picking up his gear, he checked the room. Reaching down he twisted the head of the groaning gun man on the floor, a ‘crack , crunch’ stopped the groaning. “They’ll be needing a new head of security,” said Marcus before heading for the door, Quo following closely behind.

“Don’t you think I should lead?” Quo asked, “seeing as how only I know where I parked?” A slight lean of Kiriyu’s head assented.

Within the hour they were stowing their gear into the Eenzaam, it would be a tight squeeze, but at least they would be on their way home. Quo retraced his entry route, no point in attracting anyone’s attention to their departure. The severity of the climb giving Marcus a chance to comment upon Quo’s piloting skills as well, likening the whole experience to a journey through a Rankor’s alimentary tract. Neither of them commented on the First Order, the security breech, or the possibility of there being a traitor. That could wait until they were safely back in the Orion system. That’s when the real discomfort would begin.