BOOK III OF THE PHOENIX TRILOGY
Duel of the Fates

by Patricia Spillane Smith and Carsten Jensen It is a time of relative peace and prosperity in the Galaxy.  The Empire has joined the Galactic Alliance; after brokering a peace accord between the Vryjj and Elmasian systems, they requested and were granted full representation in the Senate.  In another surprising turn of events, the once vile and vicious Hutts ceded their financial holdings along with several systems to the Alliance; clemency and full membership in the Alliance were granted by a majority vote.

The Jedi, ever protectors of the people, have abandoned diplomacy almost entirely, focusing instead on assisting the poor and underprivileged, rebuilding systems destroyed by wars and natural disasters.  They are also involved in scientific endeavors, investigating unusual phenomena all over the galaxy, expanding their knowledge of the living Force more deeply and devotedly than ever before.

Recent reports of ‘blackouts’ of entire planets in the Outer Rim as well as rumors of a new power have sent shockwaves of uncertainty and suspicion through the galactic Senate.  The Jedi, having sensed unusual tremors on the Force, have sent several agents to investigate these unusual occurrences.

********************************

She sat naked in the dark, eyes closed; her breath, calm and composed, breathing in and out monotonously.  In her trance like state she let her mind empty of all thoughts and doubts and worries and concentrated on finding the balance within.  The source.  The peace.

Breathing in.

Breathing out.

The inky darkness soothed her, comforted her, held her tenderly in its velvet grasp, opening her up to every secret mysteries and vile deed.  It caressed her tenderly; she could almost feel its sensuous breath on her bare skin.  Warmth spread inside her, from her womb outwards, until it filled her entire body with flaming hot white light.

She felt it searing her within, opening her mouth to cry out, but no sound came.  She exhaled sultry heat, her insides a molten lava, her throat and mouth fiery holocaust.  A lightning shock raced through her chest; gasping she braced for the next.  Another came, then another until she opened her eyes wide and collapsed onto the floor, exhausted and soaked, her trance broken.

“I’m sorry Master,” she apologized to the darkness, “I’m sorry, I have failed you.  Why must we wait so long?  We have it all within our grasp!” Tears streamed down her face, her throat choking back sobs.

Luminous eyes eerily penetrated the darkness.  “Not yet,” a silky voice spoke softly, its hands grasping the agitated girl.  At their mere touch, she flung herself beseechingly about the neck of the other.

“It’s all right, my sweet,” the voice spoke again, stroking the silken hair gently, “It will all be over soon.” The master took the woman gently by her chin, looked into her eyes, crooning words of patience, of stillness.

Her fear quelled, a voice behind them began to speak.  “My master, you wanted to know his whereabouts,” Lady Isis said, her voice soft and detached.

“Yes?” The voice waited.

“I followed the rumors, confirmed they were true.  Hedegaard is dead, my master.” Lady Isis whispered.

“I see.  This is a sad turn of events we should have foreseen,” the Master whispered to Lady Isis.  Smiling slowly, she kissed the apprentice once on the brow, gazing steadily into her eyes.  The girl’s eyes flared wide, her mouth forming a silent scream of everlasting horror, her body falling to the ground... white wisps of smoke rising from her lips.

********************************

“How did you find me?” he asked through clenched teeth, eyeing the robed man with the ignited lightsaber who had challenged him.  The two arch enemies faced each other in a dank clearing of gnarled ancient Irian trees.  The twisted, nonetheless noble ascent to the heavens of their thick black canopies allowed precious little light to shine through, placing the forest floor in continual twilight.   There was something about the Jedi, some wild fury lurking just beneath his ascetic surface; it had been there the first time they had met.  Though both had aged since, he still sensed an intense inner fire.

“You control the Force, but you are no Jedi,” Rhyss accused the wild-haired, steely eyed pirate, his deep brown eyes boring into his opponent’s.  “I’ve been tracking you for months through the Force,” he continued, his voice a hoarse whisper, his grip tightening on his lightsaber hilt as he held Carsten Hedegaard at bay.  “The rumors of your death were too convenient.  You’ve gotten around... Tiona Avaria, Mandalore, Shaak’tira, Necca Tiem!

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old fool,” Hedegaard responded archly.

“Why did you come back?” Rhyss asked, relaxing his stance a bit, though his saber was still ignited.  “What are you up to?”

”Why not?” Carsten responded with a slight shrug, digging his hands further into the pockets of his tight black trousers, as if to hide within his clothing.

“You’re not a man known for wanting to face justice; you knew we’d find you.  So, why?”

“Why should I tell you?” Carsten smirked.  “You never tell me anything...” Hedegaard shifted his weight, hands still in his pockets.

“You can tell me, or tell the authorities back on Coruscant; your call,” Rhyss answered curtly.  “Let’s go.”

“I’d rather die than go anywhere with you,” Hedegaard replied quietly.

“You have a death wish.  That has to be it,” Rhyss looked at him intently, his expression puzzled, as if attempting to grasp him, figure him out.  “The single vigilante!  The hero!  Risking your life for what?  Fame, the rush, the reward of being a folk hero?  You think a few good deeds here and there can atone for a lifetime of crime” Rhyss’ voice mocked.

“Enough of your vile nonsense; I don’t have time for you!” Carsten yelled, still rooted to the spot, hands balled into fists in his pockets, “Kill me now or let me go!”

“I would have done so ages ago, had it been my choice,” Rhyss roared, lifting his lightsaber for the final killing blow, feeling a slight tingle in the Force.  “Who are you trying to protect?  I sense something...” Rhyss felt a surge of recognition run through him, as he realized that they were not alone.  With utter disbelief, he lowered his saber, murmuring, “You found her.”

********************************

“Back on the job!” Jain commented cheerfully, as he checked the flight status console on the main board.  Not receiving a reply, he glanced to the passenger seat at Patrice, noticing her half-closed eyes, pursed lips, brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

Jain didn’t ask the Jedi Master what she was thinking about; he knew very well that she would tell him if it was a matter of importance to their mission.  Whistling a little tune to himself, he began to wonder what was concerning his former master so.  She had seemed oddly detached for some time, even before they had been given this assignment: to check out communications anomalies on Kal-Sar III beyond the Outer Rim.

He remembered when they had been given the assignment: News had come that a small research vessel passing through the Nolkatar sector had noted some abnormalities in signals they were receiving from within the Kal-Sar system.  Word was sent to a nearby tracking station that they would investigate the phenomenon.  Soon afterwards, the ship ceased all transmissions.  When the Trans-Galactic Relay station had tried to hail the ship and the system, nothing but static answered them.  The tracking station had sent their own research ship to investigate, but they too had lost contact when it entered the system.

Unwilling to risk another ship, TGR had handed over the investigation to the Republic Bureau of Investigation.  The RBI sat on the report for a week, before notifying the Jedi Council.  Naturally, the Council had responded that the RBI was responsible for investigating, but receiving no response, the Council Masters decided the Jedi should investigate the matter themselves and they had sent Patrice and her former apprentice Jain.

Patrice shook her head, grimacing, “This mission will give us more questions than answers.”

“Have you had one of your premonitions again, Master Patrice?” Jain frowned.

Normally Patrice’s morose moods were not something Jain paid much attention to.  After all, she had seen many, many years in the Jedi Order, and was long past the time most human Jedi ended their active involvement in mission work.  However, today, he thought, there was something different in the emanations he felt from her.

“It’s Adrian,” Patrice said softly.  “Whenever I think of him I feel deep, powerful tremors in the Force,” Patrice bowed her head, whispering, “He is all alone.”

“Once this mission is over we can ask the Council’s permission to visit Kiria,” Jain suggested.  ”I’d like to see my old Master again.  The two oldest children were tiny the last time I was there; Alexi, is now about the same age Adrian was when  you began training him as a Jedi.  Oh, and I heard Arlyss is having another baby.”

“Has it really been that long?” Patrice evaded the implication, once more shaking her head.

‘This is hardly a surprise,” Jain thought, considering Patrice’s sudden shutdown.  After all, she had counseled Adrian against having any more children after his eldest had been born.  Something about the Force had been disturbing to her during Arlyss’s labor that day, the Jedi Master had explained. 

Jain thought it had merely been Patrice’s reaction to the pain the queen had experienced in labor, coupled with her shock at Adrian’s military mobilization of the Kirian people.  But ever afterwards, Patrice had refused to discuss Adrian any further, and would quickly change the subject or say nothing at all if Adrian and his family were mentioned.

********************************

A lone figure stood gazing lazily out over the city, her hands braced on the railings of the hotel balcony.  She gazed up at the sky at the birds that created a moving silhouette against the building across from her, their movements an effortless dance against the rush of the city.  The early autumn wind billowed her long skirt into a pouf about her legs, causing her to shiver against the clip of the wind.  Normally it was a lovely view, especially this time of year; however, the sky was grey and dull, casting a pall over the frenetic interchange below. 

It was a rare thing, for her, this feeling of belonging to the moment.  The latest news from her Core contacts made her realize this was a last respite until events came to a climax.  For more than twenty five years, she had planned every detail carefully, so meticulously; now, when she had begun to believe she had been mistaken, a single, unforeseen event had made everything fall neatly into place.

The Force had worked this in her favor, she was sure; the timing was too perfect for this to be coincidence.  Though, she couldn’t understand why, this thought didn’t make her feel any differently than before.  Instead of the expected elation, she felt a sense of sadness, and a slight tinge of fear.

Licking her teeth absent-mindedly, she considered her species’ recent contact with the rest of the galaxy.  Her unique predatory canines punctured her tongue, causing her to consider this most salient Mythlorian characteristic, apart from  marble-white skin and gold-tinged hair.  Many times they had caused members of less predatory species to cower, and even flee from her presence.

Laughing a low, salty laugh, she tugged at her tight Krayt-skin corset.  Though it was something she usually did not notice, having grown accustomed to the garb from an early age.  This provocative mode of dress tended to be an advantage when dealing with lesser species, especially humans.   Cumbersome as it was, she loved how the corset forced her breasts out, accentuating her seductive appearance.  She noticed it made the males, and not a few females of many species take notice, their unbearable lust or envy a mere tickle in the Force for her.

“Report?” she ordered the woman who had come up behind her.

“The seventy-fifth annual celebration ceremony of the Republic is starting in a few hours, and we...” Lady Feral began excitedly, accepting a drink from the tray that the glittering droid was serving, after having served the Lady of the House first.

Lady Nemesis replied, “The Force is with us, Lady Feral; we shall be victorious.

********************************

Legend has it that all roads on Kiria Major lead to the Crystal Palace.  The capital city lay on a sparsely vegetated plain, surrounded by steep, forbidding mountains on three of four sides.  The fourth side, the south side, wherein the roads led to the Crystal Palace, opened outward onto a great lea, bordered in turn by a deep forest.  Immense buildings featuring great marble pillars and archways and floors inlaid with precious gems and stones sprouted from the base of the mountains, as if from the bedrock itself, structures alive with the spirit of Kirian traditions and culture.  Smaller avenues featuring an assortment of small shops and family industries, branched off from the squares fronting the tall buildings, creating an impression of a great radiation of power from within the Palace itself.

Usually the Crystal Palace was busy, people going to and fro, doing business, or touring the royal city.  The past few days had been more frenetic than usual; more people crowded the busy squares, shopping for special clothes, celebratory gifts or foods, waiting excitedly for an announcement of the arrival of the newest member of the Royal Family.

Abruptly a single bell of the Domunata broke the silence of the jet Kirian night.  Sounding at an odd moment of the hour, it created a melancholy, out-of-place resonance throughout the city.  Hearing the ominous droning in the wee hours, people filled the streets; stunned, bewildered people, seeking information.  The tickers carried a single headline, devastating news: Her Royal Majesty Queen Arlyss had died in childbirth; the newborn Prince was struggling for his life.

A sense of disbelief and shock stirred the crowds, as they attempted to make sense of what had happened.  Many sobbed openly, others prayed quietly for the future of the child, and of their people.   The rest stood silently, waiting for more word from the bedside of the fallen queen, and her ailing child.

“Father, what is wrong with mommy?” Prince Lukas, the youngest of the children, whispered as he tugged at his father’s shirt.

”Lukas, Mommy is... she is...” Adrian began, his hand patting the child's flaxen hair absently, but his voice broke and he went silent.

Princess Margret, the older of Adrian's two girls, whisked away Lukas.   Tugging him back to a small couch placed several feet away from the viewing window, Princess Margret hoisted Prince Lukas onto her lap, and held him closely, trying to protect him from the reality her father had to face.

Crown Prince Alexi, leaning absentmindedly against a thick wooden pillar across the room from the rest of his family, regarded his siblings with curiosity as they sat huddled together on the couch, eyes red and swollen with tears, looks of sheer bewilderment on their faces.  He had trouble grasping this himself, this nightmare from which he so desperately wished to wake.  Shifting his lanky form awkwardly, he threaded his fingers through his wavy blonde hair, and wandered over to the window of the care unit, and peered in, his amber eyes intense, his handsome face somber, troubled.  Unlike the others, who had been asleep in their waiting room at the hospital  when the nurse had awakened them  to bring the news, Alexi had lain awake, his body tense, as if being pricked by a thousand tiny pins.  He had been unable to speak, the ensuing paralysis squeezing his throat like a vise, making it difficult to breathe or even think.  The others had broken down, crying, but Alexi had just stood motionless, glued to the spot with shock.

Most frightening to the Crown Prince had been the look on his father’s face when he had finally come out of the operating room.  His face was ashen, drawn, cheeks sunken in, skull-like, eyes blank and expressionless; Alexi thought of Mettan Toog, the ghastly Death figure of Kirian mythology.  Adrian had been a gaunt figure bent over the bed, looking down at Arlyss, stroking her hand with a gentleness and care that belied over eighteen years of marriage, the onslaught of years.  As he watched his father leave the bedside, Alexi’s throat constricted more, causing him to cough and sputter.  Resisting the urge to cry, he stood there, aghast, motionless, his face a younger mirror of his father’s.

The faint beeping and wheezing of medical machinery drew Alexi’s attention to his newborn brother, encased in a plastic bubble with tubes and instruments sticking out of him.  Walking through the door Adrian had just come out of, Alexi went over to the incubator and peered at the helpless infant through the glass.  Placing a hand on the cold glass caringly, he whispered softly so only Domu could hear: “You hang in there, little guy, you hang in there!”

But moments later, the child’s struggle failed, leaving Alexi empty with double loss. 

********************************

New Republic Premier Aard Fey’lya, grandson of Borsk Fey’lya, had his grandsire’s penchant for political maneuvering, but not his talent for speechmaking.  “...whole of the Republic will be celebrating the Seventy-Fifth Jubilee of our liberation from the clutches of tyranny.  The Pan-Galactic Planning Committee...” he droned on, ignoring the low buzzing sound indicating he had less than the Senate’s complete attention. 

Senator Berche Stryan of Naboo brusquely interrupted the Premiere.  “News has reached our ears of the untimely passing of Her Royal Majesty, Queen Arlyss of Kiria and her newborn son.  On behalf of the people of Naboo, our deepest and most heartfelt condolences are conveyed to His Royal Majesty King Adrian Melberg, and the Kirian people and the Royal Family of Irundashii and it’s people as well.” Nodding respectfully towards the Kirian delegation and next the Irundashiian delegation, Senator Stryan sat down smartly.

Following suit, several thousand senators rose from their seats in silent tribute to the two affected delegations.  Visibly moved, Senator Zoran S’davan of Kiria stood and nodded his acceptance, as well as the newly appointed senator of Irundashii.

Banging his chromo-gavel for order, Fey’lya shouted, “The Senators are out of order, and committing a breach of Republic protocol.  No official word has been received from the Kirian or Irundashiian government,” the Premiere concluded; his thick tan and white fur rippling in anger.  Never a particularly close ally of Kiria, Fey'lya felt this particular announcement would give the Kirians the very attention they wanted, in order to further their own agenda.

The balance of power in the galaxy had shifted greatly in the years since Adrian Melberg had become king of Kiria.  Fey’lya smirked to himself.  It was doubtful the Kirian king was even aware of the political power plays taking place about himself.

From the time he had been a teenager, up until his coronation eighteen years ago, Adrian Melberg had been surrounded by the ascetic trappings of the Jedi Order.  Eschewing the customary ostentation and regal displays of wealth of most monarchies, Melberg had delegated most of the public formalities of the Kirian monarchy to Kiria’s senior diplomat, Senator Zoran S'davan, and had spent the great majority of his reign and the resources of the Kirian people building Kiria's defensive and military infrastructure. 

This behavior, coupled with his recent censure of the Kirian legislature disturbed Fey'lya and others.  Melberg had become the most powerful individual in his sector, if not the galaxy; perhaps too powerful.  Fey'lya had also heard rumors Melberg believed his system so vulnerable to attack that he planned some sort of pre-emptive military action, though, against whom, it could not be ascertained. 

It was this last possibility that prompted Fey'lya to attempt consultation with S'davan as often as possible.  Fey'lya had managed to corner the senator many times, but S'davan, always a smooth operator, continually managed to divert the Bothan premiere's attention to some other “more pressing matter”.  To call S’davan a braying lombai within the Senate was to ignore his instincts for self-preservation; outside the Senate, S’davan was as elusive as a nexu.

Slowly, the Senate was seated once more, the rustling of garments and appendages the only noises to be heard in the normally boisterous Senate arena.  Continuing with business, Fey’lya intoned, “Another vote is required on the admittance of …”

Senator Lotoran of Tatooine interrupted Fey’lya with a harsh cry.  “We have still not discussed the strange events occurring in the Outer Rim!  Galactic Alliance defense forces and the Imperial Navy have received reports of green flashes in the skies and subsequent blackouts on several worlds, yet there is still no action!”

“Senator Lotoran, you are out of order,” Fey’lya snapped.

“We of the Corporate Sector disagree.  Every discussion in chambers has either digressed, or been ignored completely,” another representative shrilled.

The senior secretary to the premiere stood, whispering something into his fur-covered ears.  Fey’lya shook his furry head, banging his podium with the chromo-gavel once more.  “The floor is open for discussion of the Outer Rim situation.  Restrict your comments to five standard minutes.”

Senator Rysska of Corellia spoke plainly.  “I propose we send an investigatory commission to check out these phenomena.  Perhaps the Jedi…”

Lotoran shot to his feet, shouting, “Another useless commission!  We need action, and now!  We can’t wait until we end up with another invasion!  Remember the Yuuzhan Vong!”

Shouting erupted in the Senate, threatening to become a free-for-all.  A security guard bent to whisper something to Fey’lya.  Fey’lya shook his head, whispering, “Wait; they will be still.”

As Fey’lya had predicted, the shouting only lasted a few moments, then died to a murmur.  He stood, intoning, “The Jedi Order has already sent an independent mission to the Kal-Sar system to investigate.  We await their report before deciding upon a course of action.”

Murmurs of surprise greeted the premiere, who sat down gracefully, his fur now rippling in synchronistic patterns, indicating satisfaction.  As he waited for the Senate chromometer to re-adjust the time, he happened to glance at the Kirian pod.  It had been docked, its sides draped in pearlescent bunting, a sign of Kirian mourning.  However, Senator S’davan and his entourage were conspicuously absent.  ‘S’davan had no reason to delay his return home.  On the other hand, his departure is expected,’ Fey’lya thought.  It was none of his affair why the Kirians had left.  What was one system in the galactic scheme of things?

********************************

Alarms and a small flashing light told Patrice and Jain they had arrived at the third planet of the Kal-Sar system.  Jain quickly flipped a switch on the control console, shutting down the sub-light engines; the white streaks that had formed the familiar sub-space wormhole receded back into the familiar appearance of normal space and stars.

“Kal-Sar III,” Patrice stated, as they stared out of the cockpit window at a planet that was eerily absent the bustling space-traffic and sparkling lights that lit up the surface of the planet for all to see a few days earlier.

“What the…” Jain exclaimed, as he stared at a now-dead control panel, mystified.  “Blast!”

“Let the Force guide us down,” Patrice murmured, quietly bracing for the rocky descent to the surface.

Gritting his teeth, breathing in, Jain released the ships’s joystick, and closed his eyes.  The ship felt more as if it were underwater than in atmosphere. 

“Relax, Jain.  We’re on the surface now,” Patrice chided.

Muttering, “I am relaxed,” Jain opened the hatch, and squinted at the distant Kal-Sar sun.

“The planet is warmed by a core and mantel of magma,” Patrice answered his unspoken question.  “It supports life by such a thin thread, considering surface light and heat would otherwise be very little.”

“Well, all I want to do is figure out this problem, get back to Coruscant, make our report, and conclude this business,” Jain stated bluntly. “Just looking at this makes me ill,” he added, indicating the eerily dark city that lay before them.

“This is most unusual.  The buildings are still standing, everything appears unharmed... yet, all life seems stolen away – where are all the people, where are all the animals that should be here, where is everyone?  The droids lay, toppled over in the streets as the only indication of life having lived here.  It is as if the very Force itself has taken them into itself.” Patrice answered somberly. 

“How?” Jain murmured somberly.

“Never heard of any weapon or any natural phenomenon that could cause or explain this type of anomaly,” Patrice continued to think aloud.   “It is as if someone deliberately sucked all life from this place.  And, no Jain, it’s nothing like what I saw, or felt the Yuuzhan Vong do,” the wry Jedi master answered her companion’s thoughts once more.  “The Vong changed biological life-forms; these were simply wiped out of existence.”

“D’you suppose it was some kind of selective ray or something, master?” Jain speculated, shrugging.

Patrice’s brows knitted.  “I don’t think so.  There are no unusual radiation readings.  There’s simply... nothing.”

Jain grimaced, kicking a stone down the deserted road in front of the former sector governance center.  “It’s so senseless, so random,” he added.

“Or we are meant to believe it is.  Actually, I think it’s very deliberate, but don’t ask me why,” Patrice countered.  “Contact the Council.  Tell them...”

“Sorry, I can’t; our communications are dead, Master,” Jain replied, indicating his dead comm-link.

Patrice shrugged.  “Let’s try a few kilometers outside the city.  Perhaps this attack destroyed technology and life inside the city, but ignored the countryside.  We can trek to the known coordinates of the investigatory teams; see if they are alive.”

Nodding his assent, Jain turned away from the empty buildings, and joined Patrice, as she began walking towards what they assumed was the outskirts of town.

The scenery just outside the city was eerily silent, with no echo of animal life, the landscape devoid of the multicoloured plants Kal-Sar III had once boasted.

“Looks like it isn’t just a selective ray,” Jain remarked.

“Or if it was, it has a rather wide range,” Patrice said quietly.

The pair came across the research vessel that had gone to investigate, but it had crashed.  All the occupants lay dead and decaying in the dusky evening light.

“We can do no more here, Jain.  I see no change in the status of this planet.  The council will have to send a research team.  There is a limit to our scientific capabilities,” Patrice stated flatly.  “We’ll launch warning buoys outside the system once we’ve reached the outer limits of the system.”

The duo silently made their way back to the modified X-wing that had seen better days.  Opening the hatch, and flipping several switches, Jain looked at Patrice in consternation.  “Why am I surprised? No power,” he muttered.  “Too much electromagnetic disturbance; power couplings won’t reverse.  Probably why equipment and communications are out.  Now what?”

Patrice slowly climbed into the passenger’s seat, leaned back and strapped herself in snugly, saying, “Let’s test that theory of yours.  Nothing is keeping me on this rock, odd phenomenon or not.  I have a feeling this is just the beginning.”

********************************

“I don’t understand,” Findi T’blasi said, puzzled, “What’s the point of learning this stuff when I got a lightsaber?”

“My young Padawan, “Wil began, “A lightsaber is a mere piece of technology.  Your ability to direct the Force through it is what makes it the formidable weapon it was designed to be.”

”But, why no saber?” Findi protested, his remonstrations having become an obstinate whine in Wil’s ears.

“I have told you many times Findi; the Force is a powerful ally,” Wil continued .  “It can aid you if you are willing to listen to it, feel it inside you and learn its teachings.  The Jedi of old became arrogant, aggressive; they forgot that the Force should be used for knowledge and defense, never aggression!  The Jedi of old were over-dependent on technology, they lost the ability to sense and move within the Living Force around them.  They became too dependent upon the brute force of weapons, especially during the Clone Wars.  This was their downfall.”

His eyes glittering, Findi positioned himself in front of his Master, his left leg behind his right, both arms raised in a defensive posture.

“Being a Jedi is not a role you play; you are a Jedi, or you are not,” Wil continued detachedly, watching Findi land roughly on the matted floor.  “Never let your guard down; expect the unexpected.  Always be vigilant, for an enemy may attack in many ways, exploiting your weaknesses.”

“Yes Master,” Findi whispered, getting up from the floor, whisking his shaggy hair out of his face with one hand, steadying himself with the other. He quickly suppressed a slight tingle of a very familiar feeling, before once again getting into position, ready to continue the exercise.

“Better,” Wil smiled.  “You are controlling your anger; very good!”

Master and Padawan once more faced each other, eying each other beadily.  Findi sensed the intensity behind Master Wil’s words hinted at more than just study; they told of knowledge from life’s experience, knowledge that would keep Findi and his peers from falling to the snares of some darkness, some evil he could only guess at.  Though he still felt some sense of confusion at his master’s insistence on not utilizing the lightsaber, he also felt grateful for his master’s care and guidance.

Stretching his arms out to his side, he closed his eyes, releasing once more the tension that was his conscious thought, to touch the Force.  Findi pushed where he sensed Wil was weakest, then stopped, at hearing spoken words instead of feeling a Force push back from his master.

“That’s enough training for one day, Findi.  We have guests,” Wil said, indicating two hooded newcomers.  Findi T’blasi hooked his lightsaber to his belt, and stood behind his master, as the pair approached.

The taller of the two pulled his hood back to reveal a brown leathery face and head, covered at the top and sides with black pointed protrusions.  His face featured sparkling black eyes, thick nasal apertures, and a heavy, horned brow, above an intimidating mouth full of pointy white teeth that formed a blazing white grin to greet the shocked Wil Hedegaard.

“GANTOR!” Wil Hedegaard cried out in shock, his arms outstretched in greeting.

“BRO!” the Zabrak replied, hugging his best friend hard and fast.

“Man, I wasn’t sure I’d live to see you again this time,” Gantor averred.

“Nor was I,” Wil’s relief crashed in repeated waves, as he whispered, ‘Welcome home, old friend, welcome home!’

Gantor squeezed Wil, lifting him off the floor.  Findi gaped open-mouthed at his master’s uncharacteristic show of intense emotion toward the stranger.

Sauntering over to Findi, Gantor’s Padawan removed his hood, commenting tartly, “You don’t say much these days, T’blasi.  Nexu got your tongue?”

Still gaping at Gantor, Findi whispered, “Verahn!”

“Doesn’t know his own strength, does he?” Verahn grinned at Findi’s reaction to Gantor.

“I’d make sure I didn’t make him angry in practice,” Findi whispered warily.

 “Too right you wouldn’t, kid,” Verahn chuckled mildly.  “But, he’s a great master, and I’ve learned so much.  We’ve been everywhere; it’s been a blast!”

So, what’s been happening?” Findi asked casually, watching the two Jedi Masters stroll towards the canteen.

“Well, it was eerie, you know.  We were in the Mid Rim, Yvi Des, in the Harrat system, working on decontamination when we got called to check out a distress signal way out in the Rishi Maze.  Large areas of an entire planet had simply been demolished!  Not one thing was left alive, but other places on the planet looked like nothing had happened!  Creepy, I tell you,” Verahn whispered, glancing occasionally at Gantor, then whispering, “downright supernatural.”

“I don’t believe in any of that supernatural crap,” Findi snorted.  “The Force is real; it’s a living being we communicate with, because we have enough midichlorians that help it communicate with us!  But, that hocus-pocus stuff you’re always telling me?  Sounds like some sort of hokey religion!”

“Blast you and your agnosticism, Findi T’blasi!  The Force isn’t just midichlorians, man!  What about Master Corran Horn, he was a great Jedi, and there were rumors he didn’t have a high midi count.  He couldn’t even levitate!  Maybe it’s just your Rabaanite warrior ancestry; you’re too quick to rely on your strength alone.  Oh...” Verahn’s voice trailed off.  “I didn’t come here to argue with you about whether it’s science or religion.  Before that mess out on Yvi Des, Master Gantor and I got stranded in the Deep Core.  Our ship wouldn’t turn over, and it took several re-installations of hyperdrive coils to start it up.”

Only half listening to Verahn, Findi  continued to stare at the two Jedi masters, who had seated themselves on a small bench near the canteen window.  “Hey, let’s go sit with Master Wil, and Master Gantor.  I want to know what they’re talking about.”

“Well, I think Master Gantor had to talk to Master Wil about something personal,” Verahn replied.  “I don’t think...”

“You’d better believe whatever it is will involve us,” Findi muttered, already on his way to Wil and Gantor’s table.  Frowning, Verahn followed.

“Look, bro, there’s some really bad news I have to tell you,” Gantor said softly, not really sure how he should tell what he had to tell.

“I could sense that,” Wil answered quietly, “Even with your stone face.  What has happened?”

“Master Bress has ordered the two of us to Kiria on official duty,” Gantor paused.  His eyes narrowing to slits, he continued slowly, “Wil, Arlyss is dead.”

“What?  How?  When?” Wil asked quickly, grabbing Gantor’s shoulders, as he began to feel dizzy.

Continuing, Gantor explained, “She died in childbirth; they lost the baby too,” Gantor said flatly, the slits becoming tinier.  “I’m sorry, bro.”

Wil lowered his head, still holding on to Gantor for support.  Saying nothing, Gantor simply placed his hands on Wil’s shoulders, as if to brace him against the emotions of the loss.

Findi and Verahn, who had stood silently as Gantor related the news to Wil, nodded respectfully.  Wil slowly composed himself, smiling sadly.  “I have lost a dear friend,” he said in response to his Padawan’s concern, “Queen Arlyss of Kiria.  She died in childbirth.”

“I am grieved for your loss, master,” Findi said, bowing to Wil slightly.  Verahn did the same, his eyes clouding over.  Both of them had heard of Adrian of Kiria, and how he and Arlyss had left the Jedi Order to become King and Queen of the wealthy Kirian system.

Dismissing Findi to their quarters to retrieve their duffel bags, Wil turned back to Gantor.  Blinking back a stray tear, he said, “How... it seems just yesterday she was sitting there, in my room at the Temple, telling me she and Adrian were to be married,” Wil pushed down the knot in his throat.  “I wonder how Master Patrice will take this news.”

“For some reason, she and Jain were sent on a mission out beyond the Outer Rim.  The Council told us to attempt to contact her while we were waiting on you two,” Gantor answered.  “Still no reply.”

“We’ll keep trying all the way to Kiria,” Wil stated.  “Patrice and Jain will want to be there.”

“We’ll be traveling with the Kirian Senatorial delegation, bro,” Gantor added, as an afterthought.

Wil grimaced, remembering his stay on Kiria during the Royal wedding, and the Kirian reception of the Jedi.  Had it not been Adrian and Arlyss’s express wish that he attend, he would have found some way to avoid all the pomp and circumstance required by Kirian custom, as well as the fanatical security martinets associated with the Kirian Royal family.

“Very well, we’re ready,” Wil nodded, taking up his duffel bag from Findi.

“That was fast,” Gantor commented, as the Jedi made their way to the landing platform.  The Kirian delegation was waiting for them, or, as Findi observed to himself, pacing frantically about, as if they were all about to explode.

“Senator S’davan,” Wil, bowed to the Kirian senator politely, as Gantor introduced the Jedi to the Kirian delegation.  “We are all at your service, Senator.”

“Thank you, Master Jedi,” the senator nodded smartly, as the Jedi, familiar with Republic honor protocol, lined up, two per side, permitting the Kirian delegation to board the ship first.  Then, Gantor and Wil boarded, followed by the Padawans and the crew.  Silently, Wil indicated the Padawans take their places on the jump seats near the opening for the boarding ramp, as it was brought up.

Gantor stood beside Wil, regarding the Senatorial delegation with some somberness, hand on the hilt of his lightsaber, facing Senator S’davan of Kiria.  “Senator S’davan, do you require anything of us before we depart?” he asked the Senator.

“No,” the Senator replied abruptly.  “I expect everyone to take a seat, and remain silent during the flight.  I have a great deal to do, and, frankly, I am still very upset by the death of the queen and her son, as are the others on board.  I am sure you understand, Master Jedi.”

Wil replied crisply, “We will see you when we debark.” Turning around, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he and Gantor headed towards the seats at the rear of the craft, in the section where the Padawans were already seated.  Gantor sat down, indicating the seat next to him for Wil.  Turning to his own seat, Wil hesitated, then looked over towards Findi and Verahn, who appeared to be intensely focused on a small holo-pad.  Findi looked up, somewhat reddish in the face.

“Findi..” Wil began.

“Yes, Master, I understand.  Padawans especially should be seen and not heard,” Findi said grumpily.

“I suppose that is one way of putting it,” Wil said mildly.  He looked back at Gantor, who was staring at the two Padawans, his eyes narrowed.  With one swift motion, Wil confiscated the holo-pad.

Saying nothing, Wil looked at Findi, his eyebrows arched.

“I’m deeply sorry, Master,” Findi answered, feigning contrition, “Someone must have left it here…” Verahn merely hung his head with shame.

Before Wil could reprimand Findi for his fresh attitude, Gantor took the holo-pad from Wil, saying, “I’ll take that!  Gotta keep that away from innocent Padawan eyes!”

Wil gave Findi a brief reproachful glare, before taking his seat beside Gantor again.

Stowing the holo-pad in his tunic pocket, Gantor commented, “I’ve seen much worse stuff than ‘Twi’lek Girls Revealed’ over the years.” Grinning conspiratorially at Wil, he spoke just loud enough for the Padawans to hear.  “How do you think those ‘freshers in the Temple stay so clean?  You really don’t think the Council cleans their own, do you?”

 “Not a chance,” Wil shook his head, allowing himself a sheepish grin.

A droid passed them in the isle, offering each of them something to drink, but they all declined.  It moved on to the front of the ship where the senatorial delegation was seated.

Wil remembered the time when droids first began to appear again.  They were still a rarity only the super rich could afford.  Such flaunting of wealth with detailed and decorated exterior casings, bordering on the obscene at times had caught the attention of the Senate, which had voted to ban owners from taking their droids into the Senate Hall, deeming it a grievous offense taunting the poorer systems with their opulence.

“It’ll be a long trip, we should all get some sleep,” Gantor suggested, pulling Wil out of his musings, his horns scraping the bulkhead beside him as he settled in.

Wil nodded to Findi and Verahn to follow their example, not knowing when they would get such a chance again.  Soon, they were all sound asleep, Gantor snoring ever so lightly.

********************************

The one-man transport landed smoothly on the platform, its cockpit opening to spit out a tall gray haired man of sixty-five, give or take a few years.  Leaving his ship to several Padawans working on the landing platform, not bothering to enter his sign-in code into the security data pad, Jedi Master Rhyss slipped effortlessly between the closing hangar doors, and hurried to his cell.

He found his few belongings in order, as he had left them; his bed tidily made, his clothing neatly stowed.  He lit a candle, placed it in its sconce, then lowered himself to the floor slowly, his eyes closed, to meditate.

In a flash, he saw an image of his past, a vivid, intense feeling of loss sweeping through him as he opened his eyes slowly.  It had been many years since he had looked at the holocron resting securely in his drawer in the desk, but he remembered every line, every shape, every scent, as if it had been taken only yesterday.

She had been lively, intelligent, so very beautiful; he had fallen in love hard and fast.  But she had loved him, even though he was married.  The anguish of witnessing their love, with her knowing and accepting his infidelity, knowing his obligations lay elsewhere, that he would leave her eventually...

‘For her’, Rhyss thought, ‘I would have given up everything.’

They had been stranded for six whole years.  At the time Galactic Forces needed them most, as the Yuuzhan Vong had swept a terrible path to the very heart of the Core worlds, they had become stranded in what, at first, had appeared to be the remotest backwater of the galaxy.  Their fighter crippled, tools and materials for repair unavailable on board, they had had to crash land on Ja’rel, a world sheltered from the outer Galaxy's conflict, yet struggling with its own problems.

The image of her had become etched, no, seared into his mind's eye.  He remembered her simple blue dress, a mere linen shroud, that draped over her fragile shoulders, making him think of the legendary angels on the moons of Diego.  He remembered also, how she had appeared to look right through him.  His fascination had been caught, his breath halted, then love became despair, as he realized she was looking that way at him.

And so it had gone.  Six years of seeing him live his lie with her, witnessing the birth of three children Rhyss had loved and adored as his own, despite his own fears and misgivings about their parents.  Then had come that inevitable day: someone from outside had ventured into the Ja'relian System, and he found their departure pained him in ways he couldn’t even fathom.

Rhyss had watched as he kissed her goodbye, the children begging “Uncle Rhyss” to give them one last piggyback ride.  How the oldest boy had peered at him, eyes full of confusion and regret that seemed to already know what he had consequently learned in the ensuing years.  And how he had said: “I trust you will not reveal my secret when we return; what happened on Ja'rel stays on Ja'rel.  Otherwise, the consequences for my people could be dire.”

For his people, indeed.  Rhyss had burned with an anger he had never lost.  He had managed to return to Ja'rel a few years later only to discover the village in ruins, scattered corpses and charred bones lying everywhere.  Cursing at the skies, at fate and the Force, he knew in his heart she was dead, he had felt it so strongly that he feared he would burst.  He could sense the lingering tingle of the children pulling, however, but he couldn't pinpoint their location; they were scattered to the winds, it seemed.  Kneeling in respect at the makeshift monument to his beloved and her people, he had resolved to find the children and bring them with him to Coruscant.

He had found the two boys in a slave camp on Dantooine; the trail of the girl had grown cold.  His arrival back on Coruscant had come on the heels of the death of Master Skywalker.  Finding the Council enmeshed in arguments over Skywalker’s successor, Rhyss realized he could not bring the issue of the boys up to the Council.  Instead, he had pleaded with his former master, Windmere and other senior Jedi Masters, to allow him to keep the boys and train them himself.  Windmere's reaction to the elder of the boys had puzzled him; Windmere had insisted both boys leave the Temple, maintaining there was no one available to train the both of them, and that the elder would bring nothing but destruction to the Jedi.

Refusing to wait for a Council hearing, Rhyss had decided to take on the training of the younger of the two, Wil.  It was Wil who held some promise according to Windmere.   On the matter of the elder, he feared Windmere’s power and position on the Council too much to defy him.

He remembered the knock on the old woman's door, the promises and money exchanged, the boy's open mouthed terror as he had turned away.  Later, there had been Wil.  How he'd longed to gather Wil up in his arms, and tell him his story, how he was the son of kings, and, perhaps more.  Yet, as little Wil had looked so longingly at him, he'd merely turned away, saying, “Not Uncle Rhyss; it's Master Rhyss.  You are now a Jedi Apprentice, and your family is everyone here at the Temple.”

Every time he'd had a choice, he'd turned away.

‘... Kill Carsten Hedegaard if you ever run into him again...’ His own words echoed in his mind: had he really wanted her to destroy the boy?  Was it merely a test of her commitment to the Jedi Order, or, perhaps, something else?

‘What have I done?  Was I so wrong, to separate him from the Jedi order?  What would Windmere say if he were still alive?  What of Master Skywalker’s last admonishment to all of us as he had slipped into the Force: 'Pass on what you have learned'?’

Rhyss pondered his last encounter with Carsten Hedegaard: ‘Was I wrong to tell him the truth after all these years?  Is Adrian safe?  That meddling woman taught him well; I could not have done better.  He has ruled Kiria well; we have had peace in the galaxy.  Was I wrong to keep my word, to protect a people, a way of life?  Damn you, Alain, you selfish bastard!’

He had found her. He had had to tell him, her condition demanded it. How his heart had felt heavy when he had looked upon her scarred face and broken body, damage that vile bounty hunter had inflicted upon her.  Rhyss had felt an unfamiliar feeling creep up on him, a desire for revenge, a horrible revenge.  Knowing such a possibility would remain unfulfilled, he could only offer one path to recovery: the truth. Rhyss’ precious meditation was abruptly interrupted by a chime; rising slowly, he waved his hand, causing his intra-Temple relay to answer.  A metallic voice somewhere in the central offices of the Temple responded, “Master Rhyss, you are to report to the main Council chamber at once.  Masters Patrice and Jain are expected to arrive in one hour.”

 “I’ll be there,” Rhyss answered curtly. 

********************************

‘So tranquil, so calm,' she thought to herself, as she gazed at the hologram of the Galaxy before her.  “Bring up Coruscant.”

Swirling on its axis, the map zoomed in on the Core, centering finally on a bright spot near the center, growing larger until it filled the whole room: the great city planet, Coruscant.

“Current status?” she demanded.

Immediately, several smaller holos displayed live action sequences and images of preparations of parades and parties for the celebration.  It was all over the news, almost blocking out all else happening in that world.  En route to Coruscant, some had changed course to attend a more sombre event: one of the Republics richest and strongest supporters, Kiria Major, was holding a state funeral for Queen Arlyss Melberg and her newborn child.

Other news dealt with the mysterious black-outs of entire planets, but it was mostly overshadowed by the celebration.  No one wanted to be reminded of the hardships of the Universe or anything that could take away from their chance to make merry and celebrate.

Cursing, she walked away from the hologram console.  Her devoted followers had lined up in full battle armor in front of a giant dais.  Inspecting the women standing at attention before her, she had little doubt in their loyalty and their will to sacrifice their lives for her.  Rounding their ranks, she mounted the dais to speak.

“You have worked ceaselessly and waited patiently for this day,” she announced to a round of cheers.  “You have all trained and suffered for this opportunity to seize what is rightfully ours. The day has come to show the Galaxy we are a force to be reckoned with.  Power and control through fear and strength; no one will dare oppose us!”  The cheering women filled the hall with a deafening cacaphony; Lady Nemesis smiled with satisfaction.  “Now is the time!  Launch the offensive!”

********************************

“The annihilation of all sentient life and the shut-down of all electronics was complete; there was nothing operational left on the planet, but buildings, roads, even trees remained, as if nothing had happened at all,” Jain related.  “Master Patrice lifted our ship off the planet and once we were out of the range of the EMP disturbance, I fired up our engines, set the warning buoys around the outer reaches of the system, and we came back here.”

“She still sleeps,” Master Bress commented quietly, then continued.  “Other delegations have found planets whose infrastructure remained intact: only partial areas were left completely lifeless, in the same manner as you described, but not in a world-wide phenomenon.  Most odd.”

“These reports of black-outs are most troubling,” Yan Ulli, another Jedi Council member spoke up.  “We have heard rumors in the Senate that perhaps the Empire or the Kirians are responsible for these things.”

Striding into the Council chambers, Patrice asserted, “I seriously doubt my former apprentice would be capable of such things; it isn’t in his character.  Regarding the Empire, we can never be sure of their activities, or motives.”

“Welcome home, Master Patrice,” Bress greeted the wild-haired Jedi Master, stopping her short.  “I apologize for the short notice, but we have no time for speculation or theories; you and Jain will begin your investigation with an interview of our Imperial neighbors.  Speak with their representative in the Senate, learn all you can.”

“With respect, Master Bress, couldn’t someone else be sent?  I have just been informed of the tragic death of Her Majesty Queen Arlyss of Kiria and her child.  I respectfully request to lead the Jedi delegation to her state funeral,” Patrice asserted, barely able to hide her emotions.

“I am sorry Patrice; you are the one who has the most experience with the Imperial government, as well as these strange occurrences in the Outer Rim.  Perhaps some provision may be made for you to visit Kiria once we have learned more, and have decided upon a course of action,” Bress answered, concluding, “A delegation, led by Masters Wil and Gantor, has already been sent to Kiria.”

Without answering, Patrice bowed curtly to the Council members, and, with Jain on her heels, left the Council hall.  They walked briskly, in silence, until they reached the catwalk to the South tower.

“This is absurd.  We are needed on Kiria,” Jain hissed caustically.

“Agreed.  Yet, to make point of it will only make matters worse,” Patrice replied in a tight whisper.

As they made their way into the labyrinthine passages that branched off from the main circle of the South Tower, Patrice spoke again.

“Did you notice how Rhyss said nothing at all?  He usually has something snide to add at times like this,” she whispered.  “He was downright somber.”

“Perhaps it was out of respect for the queen.  She did have many friends,” Jain speculated, changing the subject.  “Do you think we’ll make it to Kiria in time for the funeral?” Jain asked.

Patricia shook her head, answering him, “I don’t plan to spend the entire week in Cryton’s office, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Entering the spartan office of the Imperial delegation, Patrice and Jain bowed smartly to Senator Cryton.  The Senator, a young man in his mid-thirties, greeted them affably.  An older man in his late fifties stood silently erect behind the young Senator, who was seated at his desk.

“Your Graces.  I understand you wish to ask me some questions,” Cryton smiled.

Quelling an urge to address the older man, rather than the Senator, Patrice stated bluntly, “As you have no doubt been informed, we have just returned from the Outer Rim.  We discovered several devastated systems.  A number of concerns have been expressed in several quarters, as to possible Imperial involvement.”

“Concern is understandable, under the circumstances,” Senator Cryton replied evenly.  “We have been working with several weapons experts, developing some new defensive armaments for our systems bordering the Unknown Regions, in response to recent terrorist activity by a number of extremist factions among the Chiss,” he explained.

Patrice did not sense anything other than a reasonable system representative, quietly doing his duty.  She nodded, saying, “And there has been no weapons testing by the Empire elsewhere?”

Ignoring Patrice’s question, Cryton continued, “Imperial operatives in the Outer Rim have discovered evidence of the use of weaponry banned by the Old Republic long before the Clone Wars, after the revelation that the Dooku family had been testing advanced weaponry on populated worlds.”

“The Dookus?  Weren’t they…” Patrice began.

“A wealthy dynasty that ruled Serenno system for centuries.  The last of them died in the Clone Wars.  But the know-how to produce those weapons has somehow survived.  We have the evidence,” Cryton spoke.

“The evidence?” Patrice asked tersely, eager to get to the purpose of her visit.

The older man leaned forward, whispering something into Cryton’s ear; he nodded.  “Unfortunately, our senior operative from that mission is currently assigned elsewhere; any contact made at this time could seriously jeopardize his mission.  We shall, however, share whatever findings he has made concerning these phenomena, when he makes them available to us.

Patrice sensed the Senator’s sudden unease, but she thought better of provoking him with questions she knew he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer anyway, so she didn’t press the matter further, but instead accepted whatever little help they were willing to offer: “I appreciate your offer, Senator Cryton.  A Senate Intelligence representative will contact you,” Patrice nodded gravely as she and Jain nodded politely, and made their exit.

In response to Jain’s unspoken question, Patrice turned to him sharply, saying, “They are definitely hiding something.”

“I sensed their fear as well,” Jain commented and shook his head, confused, but Patrice would say nothing further; the pair walked in silence back to the Jedi Temple.

********************************

“I must speak to the King immediately!” Zoran S’davan insisted to the burly Royal Kirian guard blocking his path.

“I’m sorry, Senator S’davan.  The King specifically ordered me to admit no one ,” stated the guard matter-of-factly.

“I represent the people of Kiria!” the Senator burst out.  “I will NOT violate galactic speed laws to make it here in under 15 parsecs just to be prevented from doing my duty,” the Senator asserted imposingly.

“And I will not be prevented from doing mine,” the guard replied quietly.

Reconsidering his tactics, S’davan paused, then murmured silkily, “Do you truly believe His Majesty would think highly of you for denying the senior Senator entrance to report back to him on a matter of utmost urgency, hmm?”

The guard, puzzled, considered his options, then moved aside, motioning S’davan to pass.  Senator Zoran S’davan strode smartly into the Royal Bedchamber.  Bowing ceremoniously, he paused a moment, then addressed the king.

“Your majesty, I have just arrived home from Coruscant,” he announced, watching the king.

Adrian Melberg continued to stare vacantly at his dead wife and child lying in front of him on the bier.  After several minutes elapsed without a response, S’davan strode deliberately to the king’s side, and addressed him familiarly.  “Adrian.  We must talk.”

Adrian rose, a bewildered expression mixed with something unrecognizable on his usually placid face.  “Senator.  I told my guards to admit no one.  I see you managed to get in anyway.”

“Your majesty, Premiere Fey’lya and the Republic Senate have asked me to convey their deepest regrets.  The Jedi Council has sent four representatives, close friends of yours, I understand,” Zoran stated.

“Senator.  My wife is dead,” Adrian said, his face still unreadable.  “She’s dead.”

“Your Majesty, there is this matter of our government to be considered; the people need to see you in charge,” S’davan countered.

“You do not know what the people need, Senator!” Adrian hissed at the retreating S’davan, who had moved to the window. 

The senator looked out over the Domunata, grimaced, then continued, “Your Majesty, the loss of your wife has been a terrible blow for you.  I can barely imagine such a loss.”

“She was everything to me, Zoran.  She was the reason I gave it all up.  And now, she’s gone,” Adrian whispered.

“The people grieve with you over the loss of our beloved Queen.  She was symbol of our people’s strength and spirit,” S’davan added.  “Her generosity among the people will be sorely missed, as will her grace and beauty.  The people wish to pay their respects to her.”

Adrian did not respond.  S’davan waited a moment, then continued, “We need strong leadership during these stressful times.  Perhaps, in light of this tragedy, the Kirian Senate should deal with all government affairs, until you feel yourself ready to continue.” S’davan moved closer to the king, as if to reach out to him, then backed away as if he suddenly did not know him at all.

Adrian spoke softly, emotionlessly.  “What you suggest would allow subversives to take over the legislature and overthrow our government.  The danger of that is real, even if you do not see it.”  Adrian gestured towards S'davan slightly, “You are dismissed, Senator.”

S’davan grabbed at his throat, feeling a sudden, intense choking sensation and difficulty breathing; his heart pounding in sudden terror.  Not saying another word, he turned on his heel, and left the king’s chamber.  Running headlong into the four Jedi patiently waiting to offer their condolences to Adrian, the senator quickly caught his breath.  “The King is not accepting visitors at this time.”

Turning to catch up with the senator, Wil answered tactfully, “As we are unable to bring condolences from the Jedi Order directly to the King, perhaps we could at least convey these sentiments to his family.”  Gantor nodded his assent.

“That should not be a problem; this droid will escort you to see them when they return from the Domunata in a few hours,” S’davan said, indicating a steel-plated protocol droid, which remained at its post without comment.  “Now, if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to.”

“We understand,” Wil replied quietly, bowing with his companions as S’davan hurried away.

Turning to Wil, Gantor rolled his eyes and whispered, “What a crock of poodoo.”

“You sensed it as well?” Wil eyed Gantor.

“Aye!” Gantor affirmed.

”And there is nothing we can do about it,” Wil whispered to Gantor, as they headed towards a rendezvous with the rest of the royal family.

Senator S’davan slammed his office door, and collapsed into the chair behind his desk. 

“Is anything the matter?” a woman’s deep contralto purred into his ear.

“Oh, it’s just me, I think,” he responded, relaxing at her firm touch.

“You’re so tense!” she said, as she caressed his shoulders, rubbing and kneading his biceps and upper back.

“Mmm, that feels so good,” he murmured, exhaling slowly, relaxing beneath her firm fingers.

“Now tell me, what is bothering you?” she pressed her lips to his ear, as she continued massaging his shoulders.

“To be honest,” he began, “It’s Adrian.  He promised he would work with the Senate to create a democracy and end this... this dictatorship.  So far, he has done nothing of the kind.  He has used huge amounts of the budget on strengthening the military and the defense systems, and if anything, he has become more powerful than any Kirian king before him has ever dreamed of being.  In fact, he has threatened to dismiss the legislature entirely!”

“What do you mean?” the woman whispered, her voice rising ever so slightly in pitch, her fingers squeezing Zoran’s biceps a bit more tightly.

“Keep quiet!” Zoran said, turning around eyeing her sternly.  “He claims he has had a vision,” Zoran continued, “A Jedi vision… that a war would destroy our world.  He’s been saying that for the past eighteen years.  I believe that he is using it as an excuse to take complete control of the system!  I fear he will betray us all!  I fear for the safety of our world… for our people.  I fear for my own life…  “Especially now, especially with these Jedi here,” He grabbed her hands and pulled her down towards him.  “Kerose, do not breathe a word of this outside this office!  Promise me!”

“I’ll protect you,” she cooed teasingly, kissing him on the mouth.

A deep rumble of laughter mixed with a sob emitted from Zoran’s throat as he pulled her down to himself.

********************************

“Welcome, Master Jedi.  It is most gracious of you to pay your respects to us,” Crown Prince Alexi bowed formally.  Indicating the entrance to a small anteroom, he added, “As you know, we are not formally receiving anyone other than personal friends and family.” Verahn and Findi took positions on either side of the room’s entrance as the door closed, allowing Wil and Gantor to visit with the Crown Prince privately.

Bowing, Wil addressed the Crown Prince formally, “We have been unable to convey our respects to His Majesty King Adrian in person; it is most kind of you to receive us during this difficult time for you and your family.”

Gantor added, “We appreciate you receiving us, so that we could convey the respects of the Jedi Council and the entire Jedi Order.”

“One still has a responsibility to welcome visitors.  My mother would have wanted us to give you the warmest welcome possible, Master Jedi,” Alexi replied, adding as an afterthought, “I am Crown Prince Alexi Melberg.  Mother told us a great deal about you both.” Indicating chairs for the two Jedi, Alexi sat down in a small armchair across from them.

“Nothing too prejudicial, I hope,” Gantor said quietly.

“I do recall something along the lines of you and Master Wil having to clean all the ‘freshers in the temple,” Alexi said, blushing.

“No doubt Her Majesty had a number of memories that were, err... most colorful,” Wil added, also blushing slightly.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Alexi smiled.  “Mother used to enjoy telling us about her adventures as a Jedi, as well as all the friends she had at the Temple.” Surprised at tears welling up suddenly at the mere mention of Arlyss, he dabbed his eyes with a small handkerchief, and continued.  “I’m sorry,” he added, bowing his head.

“That’s quite all right,” Wil smiled warmly at Alexi.  “I remember when your mother told us she and your father were engaged to be married.  We were happy for them, but sorry to see them leave the Jedi Order.”

Narrowing his eyes in warning to Wil, Gantor added, “She was a good friend to many Jedi.”

“Indeed she was, Wil added.  “We are sorry for your loss.  We had hoped, of course, to convey our sentiments to your father in person.  He too was a close friend of ours.”

Composing himself, Alexi explained, “As you know, Father isn’t seeing anyone.  He retired to his bedchamber, and has been in some sort of ... well, Jedi trance, I think.  He rarely emerges, barely speaks to us, and he has not eaten since mother passed.”

Wil and Gantor glanced at each other, then back at Alexi.  “Go on,” Gantor nodded.

“Is there anything you can do?” Alexi asked, adding “He won’t listen to anyone.”

“It appears even your Kirian Senator was unsuccessful in talking to him.  We... ah... came upon Senator S’davan being thrown out by your father.  I doubt we would have had any more success,” Wil said ruefully.

“I understand,” Alexi said, his voice heavy with disappointment.  “I had hoped that someone father had once been close to...” Alexi’s voice dropped in mid-thought.

“Perhaps, in time, your father will be able to emerge from his solitude; for now, perhaps it is best we do not disturb him,” Gantor suggested gently.

“I understand, Master Jedi,” Alexi bowed his head in acceptance, then slowly continued.  “Please, make yourselves comfortable.  Do not hesitate to ask the palace staff for anything you may need.  Though father cannot at present see you, please know that all of us appreciate your presence here with us, and extend every courtesy to you as honored visitors to our world.”

Wil and Gantor both bowed to the Crown Prince.  Wil added, “Thank you, Your Highness, for your hospitality; you have been most gracious and kind.”

Alexi bowed in return, then said, “If you will excuse me, I must return to the public salon; a media briefing is to take place in a few minutes.”

Nodding their understanding, the two Jedi stood aside, allowing Alexi to leave the chamber.

Wil  and Gantor said nothing as they slowly walked the corridors back to their quarters.

********************************

“Attention shuttle: we have you on our screens.  You are entering the sovereign system of Kiria Major,” a voice came across the intercom.  “Please identify yourself.”

“This is Ja’relian shuttle Radah commencing transmission of Corporate Sector permit number TE2-3263827.”

After a few moments of silence, the voice responded, “You are cleared for landing on Kiria Major.  Please enjoy your stay.”

Hedegaard shrugged, and entered the landing sequence.  Leaning back in his captain’s chair, he snorted, ‘Here we go again...’ he though to himself, “I wonder how my old friend is doing?”

A series of coughs jolted him from his thoughts.  Anxious, he jumped up and hurried into the cabin nearest the cockpit where a slender woman lay, ensconced in tubes and bandages, breathing through a respirator.

He placed a hand on her forehead and stroked his thumb gently across her brow.  Wordlessly, she acknowledged his presence, grasping his hand tightly.

“It won’t be long now,” Carsten said, looking down at Aramina’s scarred, yet oddly peaceful face.  They shared a moment together before Carsten returned to the cockpit to finish landing the ship.

********************************

“He’s a fine young man; spitting image of Adrian!” Wil said to Gantor, as he closed the door to their room.

“That he is.  I sensed what would be normal distress.  Yet, something else is there also,” Gantor said, his eyes narrowing.

“Gantor, this is all so unlike anything I can conceive of: Adrian, locking himself up in his bedchamber, with his wife’s and child’s corpses; his son taking on the formal duties of greeting official visitors; the Kirian Senator being refused admittance to the king’s presence. This situation could be dangerous,” Wil said intently. 

“I fear Adrian is no longer the man we once knew” Gantor assented.  “I sense a great deal of confusion and anger from him.”

“Confusion?  Anger?  No. It’s much deeper than that,” Wil wondered.  “It’s beyond mourning; it’s... it’s bordering on obsession.  And he’s got control of an entire system; if and when he comes out of this state, he may not be mentally stable.  What do we do?”

“There’s not much we can do right now.  Any attempt to see him would alienate him even further,” Gantor answered.

Will turned from Gantor, and began to unpack his rucksack.  Unrolling a rumpled sketch of a young woman, he placed it on the small table in the front of the room, and peered at it intently.

“You still carrying that thing around, bro?” Gantor indicated the sketch.  “You’re not...”

“No.  It’s just that, well, there’s something that has puzzled me ever since we discovered Yeri’s true identity,” Wil answered.  “But I can’t seem to put my finger on it.”

“Do you suppose there were others like her?  More of them?” Gantor asked.

“That’s one question.  If so, she wasn’t well-trained enough to be a master of the Dark Side.  I’ve studied the old holocrons that Master Skywalker dug up years ago, hoping to find a clue to this.  There’s some really interesting stuff there,” Will said.  “Guidelines to seven major forms of lightsaber combat, among other things.”

“We all learn the seven forms when we go through the Academy; nothing new there,” Gantor replied.

“But most Jedi concentrate on Forms II through VI,” Wil continued.

“So?” Gantor asked.

“Not many Jedi concern themselves with Form VII.  That one basically allowed the practitioner to feed off his own emotions,” Wil explained.

“Which could bring a Jedi dangerously close to the Dark Side,” Gantor observed mildly.

“Exactly.  And the more I have studied the holocrons, the more I think about Adrian, and how he used to fight,” Wil said, finally.

“Meaning Adrian has always been just a few steps away from becoming Darth Nightmare?” Gantor grinned toothily.

“Come on, Gantor, I’m serious.  Adrian channeled a lot of his emotions into combat.  He was the one who...” Wil didn’t finish the sentence.

“Nearly killed your brother.  I’d say there was something almost personal there, bro.  I don’t know Adrian as well as you do, but I’d bet he would have finished Hedegaard off if he’d had the chance,” Gantor mused.

“And that, was nothing short of Vaapad” Wil stated finally.

“Vaapad?” Gantor regarded Wil quizzically. “What the Sith is that?”

“A long time ago, during the Clone wars, lived a powerful Jedi Master by the name of Mace Windu.  He was a master of his own variation of Form VII called Vaapad.  I’ve watched several holocrons of him in action.  It was like seeing Adrian all over again,” Wil said somberly.  “And considering the state of mind Adrian is in now...”

“Bro, you’ve been spending too much time in the ‘crons,” Gantor rubbed his horns, his teeth bared in a slight grimace, indicating fatigue.  “Look, the funeral is tomorrow, so I say we get some rest and see what happens.”

“I guess you’re right.  There’s nothing much we can do now anyway,” Wil shook his head, turning away from the drawing on the table.  Pulling his nightshirt out of his rucksack, he took a long look at Gantor.  “I still have a very bad feeling about this.”

“Don’t center on your anxieties, bro.  Tomorrow will bring what it will, and the Force will be with us.  G’night, Wil,” Gantor shrugged, as he lay down on the bed.

“I sure hope you’re right, “ Wil whispered, getting in bed, and pulling the covers snugly around his neck.

In a short time, they both had nodded off, their various slumbering sounds echoing about the sparsely furnished room.  Gantor had entered the Zabrak fifth stage of sleep when he heard Wil so clearly that he was fully awake in less than five seconds.

”Did you hear that?” Wil exclaimed.

”What?” Gantor replied, a remnant of sleep in his voice.

Wil went silent, his expression blank.  Gantor glanced nervously at Wil, waiting for him to say something.  Wil then began coughing violently, his whole body shaking.  Gantor jumped to his feet, and rushed to Wil’s side, supporting his friend’s body with his powerful hands.

Frowning, Wil explained, “A tremor... I felt a tremor in the Force... and blackness, utter blackness and cold.  I fell into myself and I tried to call you, but the blackness filled my mouth and soul.  I have never felt anything like this before.  So bone chillingly cold.  There was screaming... and pain... and I felt the presence of my brother... and something else... but also familiar...”

Gantor scraped his teeth in amazement.  “The last I heard, bro, Carsten Hedegaard was dead.”

“No, he is here.”

“Wil, I trust your feelings, but think about it for a second: If Carsten is still alive, why in blazes would he come here?

********************************

“I knew I’d find you down here, brother,” Margret said, “Zoe and Lukas were wondering where you’d run off to.”

“I didn’t run off, Marj,” Alexi said, as he turned and looked at her, from his place sitting in the middle of the large room, “I just needed some time to think.  This place always seems to calm me down some, when I need it.  I don’t know why, but I feel completely safe here.”

“This smelly old ruin?”  Margret looked around at the bare walls of the last remaining remnants of the original Kirian Royal Palace.

“There’s so much history here; when you just sit and be a part of the world, you can feel it.  The walls speak of bravery and nobility and everything that is good, everything that is Kira,” Alexi looked at her, tears welling up in his eyes, whispering, “It feels like mom!”

Margret went over to him and hugged him.  “Lex, I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

“I just miss mom,” he said, holding her tighter. “I miss her so much.”

“So do I, Lex.” Her voice quivering, Margret sniffed and looked her brother in the eyes.  “What are we going to do?  The little ones are confused and crying and dad’s a mess.   Lex... he scares me.  He’s still not coming out of his room.”

“I know,” Alexi answered.

“We need him and he needs us, but he’s like a ghost. I don’t recognize him anymore...” her voice broke.  It was too painful to talk about these things; it turned her stomach, twisting it so she could hardly breathe.

Alexi couldn’t speak either.  There was so much he wanted to say.  How he wanted to say that all was going to be well, that dad would come out and be with them, that their mother was with them in spirit and wanting them to be strong and without worries, but he couldn’t.  All he could do was hold Margret and let the tears roll down his cheeks.

********************************

Adrian remained at Arlyss’s side, his outward gaze focused on her lifeless form, his mind lost in trance.  The stifling stillness of the closed bedchamber surrounded him, yet he didn’t rise to open a window or door.  ‘Control; I lost control with S’davan.  It must not happen again.  She would never forgive me,’ the thought came, as he centered his mind’s eye on the thought of her voice.  Taking a deep breath, Adrian closed his eyes once more, and watched himself breathe.

His breathing had stilled to near-nothingness when he sensed a familiar pain at his temples.  He reached out to grab hold of the bed, as the world around him grew dark;  white specks of light shot through his vision, blinding him until the pain ceased.  His awareness opened up to a blinding array of flashes and sounds.  Gagging from the stench of burnt flesh, he jolted to his feet.  Fire all around him, ashes, bones and blood; he heard screaming and the horrible cries of people being silenced forever, the ghastly sounds of war and mayhem.

His gaze was averted from the scene in front of him by a twinkling light in the sky.  He slowly turned towards it and all sounds and smells seized.  In a flash, a beam of white light shot down towards him and engulfed him completely.

“You will be tested!” a voice said, a female voice, smooth and comforting and cruel.

And as soon as the vision had started, his mind pulled back into itself.  The blackness evaporated before his eyes, morphing back into his familiar world, his bed chamber with his dead wife and child in front of him.

Finding himself still sitting on the chair, Adrian thought he should probably try to make some sense out of what he had just seen.  Then, he sighed deeply, and thought, ‘Why bother? I did not listen to Master Patrice’s warnings, and now Arlyss is gone forever,’ and set himself to the emptiness this meant.  That emptiness was broken up by a presence, a presence he had not felt in eighteen years.

“Aren't you supposed to be dead?” he whispered tonelessly to the shadow emerging into his awareness.

”The rumors of my death have been, I fear, rather clumsily exaggerated, Your Majesticness,” came the languorous reply from the roguish figure leaning casually against an ornately carved door.  “And this coming from the man who started them!” he said, smiling wryly.

“Get out,” Adrian muttered, not bothering to look at the lanky figure who had now moved to block the window nearest him.

“I’m not here to stir up old resentments,” Carsten Hedegaard stated flatly, looking directly at Adrian.  “Hell, if I had known your wife had just died I would have thought twice about showing up here.  Her name was Arlyss, right?”

“Don’t you dare defile her name, you murderous bastard!” Adrian rose, fuming, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Easy, Adrian, I’m not here to fight you,” Carsten shifted himself against the door.  Adopting a more serious tone, he added, “And for what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

Adrian glared at Hedegaard.  “I don’t need your pity.  I should call my guards and have you arrested.”

“Look, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.  Hear me out; then, call your guards if you like.”

Carsten moved tentatively away from the door, towards Adrian, who had returned to his position kneeling next to Arlyss’ lifeless form.  As he approached the kneeling Adrian, he realized Adrian’s complete lack of attention for him in the Force confused him a great deal.  He had expected at least some kind of reaction: hate, perhaps fear, maybe even a physical attack.  He had never considered it possible he would be ignored.

 “Just listen...” Carsten asked, confusion mixed with a slight hint of hurt pride.  “Please.”

‘Please!?’ Adrian looked mournfully up at Carsten, shocked once more into full awareness of another living person in the room with him.  ‘Please’ was certainly not a word he thought he should ever hear from Carsten Hedegaard’s lips.

“May I?” Hedegaard asked, as he prepared to take the chair closest to the king.

“Oh, for Domu’s sake, drop the formalities!” Adrian grimaced, “What do you want?”

Taking a seat, Hedegaard insisted, “It is crucial that you hear me out, Adrian.  I came to you as a last resort; I need your help.”

“Well, get on with it then,” Adrian whispered tonelessly, turning once more to his wife and child lying neatly on the bed, as if they were sleeping.  He reached out and straightened the linens which had become rumpled, then rose perfunctorily and sat down in the chair nearest Hedegaard.

This emotional display was not lost on Carsten.  He looked at Adrian, his face twisted in confusion, as if something elsewhere, elusive, struggled to surface in his mind, but remained vague images and thoughts below his awareness.  He hesitated, then spoke again.

“I need you to promise me you won’t tell Wil about this!” Carsten stated squarely.

Adrian finally turned and looked at him, his face puzzled.  “Wil?  Why would I allow you to involve him in your nefarious schemes?”

Glad finally for some attention from Adrian,  Hedegaard ignored the reproach and pressed on.  “It is imperative that he does not know the identity of the woman I am asking you to care for.”

“Why should I care for anyone associated with you?” Adrian asked.  ‘Perhaps if I make him angry enough, maybe he will simply end my wretched life, right here and now, and I will be with my beautiful Arlyss once more.  ’ the king thought miserably, beyond caring if his thoughts betrayed him or not.

“Keeping her with me will only put her in danger; I don’t want that for her,” Hedegaard continued.  “She has suffered enough in her life that, for me to allow anything else to happen to her because of me... I couldn’t bear it.  And she’s not just any woman, no…” He paused, his unease now palpable to Adrian.

Adrian’s pale eyes flickered with a slight hint of interest.  “Who is she, then?”

“Her name is Aramina; she is mine and Wil’s sister, and she needs... medical assistance.  That is all I ask of you, Adrian,” Carsten finished, making no move to leave.

“What?” Adrian stared up at Hedegaard.  “Your and Wil’s sister?  And you refuse to tell Wil about her?”

“I just told you, I can’t tell Wil; Wil cannot help her.  You can,” Carsten answered, matter-of-factly.

“Why me?  What can I do to help which no one else can?  Surely there are better options for treatment elsewhere!  Why here?” Adrian demanded tautly.

“I am the reason why that is not possible,” Carsten explained, “As I said before: I cannot risk her getting harmed because of me and who I am.  Wil is a Jedi and can do nothing for her.  And I only considered you, because you have befriended my brother and basically…” Carsten paused for a moment, looking straight into Adrian’s eyes, “You are the only other one who can possibly help her.”

“I thought you hated me,” Adrian said with a perplexed shrug.

“I know,” Carsten said, “But, I didn't fully understand why until recently.” Carsten's eyes flashed momentarily with resentment, then held some emotion Adrian couldn't quite determine.

”I don't understand,” Adrian asked, still puzzled, yet fascinated, the anticipation of discovery creeping around his Force sense.

“When I searched for my sister, I also discovered the true identity of my father,” Carsten started, “For years I thought it was Rhyss.  But it wasn’t.  You can’t imagine my amazement when I discovered the truth.”

“And Rhyss revealed that truth to you?” Adrian asked doubtfully, his Force sense now a sharp prickling about his face, neck and shoulders, reaching down filling his entire body with a chilling shudder.

“I had to use some persuasion to get him to talk, but he eventually caved and told me everything.  He had been sworn to secrecy, because of the implications such information could have on a certain system,” Carsten responded cagily.

“I think you’ve avoided it long enough, Hedegaard!” Adrian’s natural assertiveness began to reappear.  “Let’s have it.”

“Rhyss told me that he served with your father in the Yuuzhan Vong wars… Adrian… your father met a woman on Ja’rel…” Carsten began.

“Enough!” Adrian shouted, interrupting Carsten, as he stood quickly, knocking over the chair in which he had been sitting.  “Shut up!” he screamed, grabbing Carsten by the collar and pushing him back, slamming him up against the wall.  “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

Carsten looked up at him, feeling the hate welling up inside Adrian.  “She needs your help, Adrian... she’s dying...”

“She’s dead, you hear, dead!” Adrian yelled, his voice breaking, his fists slamming Carsten into the wall again and again, “You killed her!”

Surprised by Adrian’s outburst, Carsten instinctually grabbed hold of Adrian’s hands, twisting them around, forcing him to let go, then pushing him down on the floor, forcing him to his knees.

“Your Majesty, is everything all right in there?” came a muffled voice through the comm.

“Come to your senses!” Carsten hissed admonishment, keeping the bristling Adrian kneeling in front of him.

“Murderer!” Adrian shrieked at him, struggling to free his hands.

”Perhaps,” replied Carsten flatly, rolling his eyes.  “But you are behaving like a madman.”

“Sire!  Is everything all right?” the royal guard asked once more through the heavy door of the bedchamber.

“You’re the madman!” Adrian yelled, his eyes glinting wildly, “I hate you!”

“Adrian,” Carsten said sternly, his eyes hard, “You can hate me, hell, you can kill me … all I ask is for you to take care of my... no, our sister.” He let go of his iron grip on Adrian, who knocked away the hand reaching out to help him up.  “I got money... I can pay you... I’ll pay you everything I have...” Carsten almost pleaded, his voice breaking, as he looked down on Adrian.

“I don’t want your blood-money; bring her in!!” Adrian snapped in a whisper, gingerly standing, walking back to his position next to the bodies, dropping into a chair, exhausted.  “Oh Domu!  What bad omens have I brought upon my house by agreeing to this?  What good could possibly come from dealing with Carsten Hedegaard?” 

Snorting at Adrian’s invocation of the Kirian deity, Hedegaard turned towards the door.  “I would thank you but I suspect my gratitude...”

“...would be less than worthless to me,” Adrian snarled.  “I suppose you’ll be staying, as well.  I will have my steward prepare rooms for you and your sister,” he added, rising to follow Hedegaard.

Saying nothing in response, Hedegaard strode out through the bedchamber doors, meeting the quizzical stares of the two royal guards standing just outside.  He didn’t flinch or raise an eyebrow when they aimed their deadly Ginar spikes at him; he merely shot  an annoyed glare over his shoulder at Adrian, and continued on his way as the king, with a flick of a hand, motioned the guards away.

********************************

Alerted by commotion out in the hall, Alexi dropped his writing pad, ran to his door, opened it a crack and peeked out.  He saw four figures: a man he had never seen before, escorting what appeared to be a woman of medium build, with a cloak wrapped tightly around her, one delicate bandaged hand holding the hood up to cover her face.  The two of them were followed closely by his father’s personal guards.  Alexi knew them well and respected them both.  He also knew that they would never leave his father’s side unless absolutely necessary.  So, whoever these two strangers were, they had to be of great importance to his father.

His interest piqued, he quietly slid out into the hall and began following the group.  He spotted Lukas popping his head out, but ordered him to go back to bed.  Though unwilling at first, when he saw Alexi’s expression, he turned around, muttered something incomprehensible about older brothers and stomped back into his room.

Having spent his childhood navigating the ancient, complex maze of passageways through the palace, Alexi knew how to sneak in and get a decent peek at the strangers without being caught.  He glanced down the hall, afraid that the group had been alerted to his presence, but they didn’t appear to have noticed him at all.  He quietly skirted his father’s outer chamber, the Guards once again having taken up position outside the double doors, then scuttled into a corner closet that had several openings to his father’s inner chamber.

As he made his way through the cobwebs in the passageway he could hear muffled voices.  Drawing nearer to the vantage point, behind a fake wall decoration in the front room of the main bed chamber, where Arlyss lay in state, the voices became somewhat clearer.

By the time Alexi had found his way there, peeking in, a stooped white-haired man, Kiria’s Royal physician, Dr.  Aman Lurey had joined the group.  Amidst the hubbub, Dr.  Lurey was now examining his new patient.  She had pulled her hood down, but much to Alexi’s disdain, she faced away from him.  Alexi cursed inaudibly to himself, but this was the only place he would have a decent view of the room without risking being spotted, so he would have to wait until she moved to see who she was.

The tall, muscular man paced nervously back and forth while Adrian stood, observing quietly, as Dr.  Lurey carefully examined the woman’s face.  From the doctor’s expression, Alexi gathered that the woman had suffered serious injuries.

Alexi studied the woman, intrigued by the parts of her that were now visible from behind the heavy cloak.  She had long, blond hair, singed in places, untidy, but otherwise thick and curly, similar to that of his father’s.

“Well?” he then heard his father speak – the first word he had heard from him in days.

“The damage is quite severe,” came Dr.  Lurey’s reply.  “But from what I can determine, there doesn’t appear to be any permanent damage to the optic nerves.  With a concentrated treatment of laser and bacta therapy, along with genetic therapy, she may very well regain her sight completely.   I will know more in a couple of days, once the first treatments have begun, and more tests are done.  Just to be clear, her injuries are serious, critical, even, so don’t get your hopes up just yet.  These procedures are delicate and take time...”

“And what of her face?” the lanky stranger interrupted, genuine concern in his voice.

He didn’t recognize the man: at first he had mistaken him for the head of the Jedi delegation that had been by briefly earlier that day, when his father had refused to see them.  He was unsure of the Jedi’s name, it had all happened so fast and much of these past few days was a dazed blur, but he quickly realized that this man was very different indeed, both in posture and overall sensations he got from looking at him – even though he was clearly distressed, there was a certain air around him, an arrogance and a coldness creeping down his spine that was hard to shake.  Clearly this was a dangerous man, of that Alexi was certain, but why would his father ever associate himself with such a person?

“As I was saying: it takes time, but I am certain that it will be possible to remove the scars, yes,” the doctor answered.

“Will she look as she once did?  Will she… be… beautiful again?” the man hesitated, his voice a whisper.

The woman lowered her head and it looked to Alexi as if she was sobbing, but he was unsure whether it was because of the pain that she was feeling or the emotional strain and weight of waiting for the doctor’s answer.

“I should think so.  As there is a template for a donor,” Dr.  Lurey nodded at Adrian, “The damaged nerve endings can likely be regenerated.  I will, of course, know more in a few days time.”

“You may go ahead with the necessary surgery once the funeral has taken place.  My...my wife is being buried tomorrow, “Adrian bowed his head, then continued.  “There will be quite a few diplomats visiting from other systems,” he explained, his face pallid and drawn.  “They usually bring their own staff with them; the children are healthy, I do not need attention.  Please do what you must to help this woman,” he finished with some strain.

Relieved, the man slumped down into a chair and buried his head in his hands.  Composing himself, he wiped his face, as he looked at the woman affectionately.  He then took a deep breath and leaned forward in the chair and reached out for her hand.

‘Who are these two?  Why are they here, now of all times? What do they want?’ Alexi pondered, ‘And what happened to that poor woman?’

Suddenly, the stranger locked eyes with him.  ‘IMPOSSIBLE!’ Alexi thought.  ‘There’s no way he could know I’m here!’ The Crown Prince bolted from his hiding place, rushed back through the secret passageway and out into the corridor to his room.

********************************

Peaceful sunlight dappled the verdant forest, as a warm breeze drifted through the vast forest of vanni and aroks, birdsong filling the treetops.  A lone, black-furred howler was slowly climbing a mirru tree, digging its long claws on its short sturdy hind legs into the stem, as it was reaching with its long, dangly forelimbs for the objective of its hunger; a violet colored fruit, only tasty to a few species, hanging in the out-most branches of the tree.

While munching on the juicy fruit, its hind-eyes, each one set back near its long ears, scanned the surrounding forest for predators, at the same time utilizing olfactory organs located, oddly enough on the very tips of those same long ears to locate any additional food nearby.  The howler was named thus because of the slow, deep resonating roars it made when calling for others of its kind.  Though mainly solitary creatures, howlers are most comfortable when other howlers are nearby.

Here and there in the forest a fierce storm had caused extensive damage a few years back.  There were bare spots where trees had toppled, broken at the base, and had been harvested for timber.  New seeds had been sown, but it would take years before their stems would be as solid and massive as the rest of the forest.  Occasionally, tiny wannys scudded out of the way of the larger animals that had just begun to reclaim the partially denuded land.

At the very edge of the forest, in the largest clearing, near the road leading to the mile-wide capital stood a lonely Kingswood, an ancient tree planted by the first Melberg king of Kiria more than a millennium ago.  It still stood, strong and proud, still producing the sweet tasting fruits which were reserved for the Royal Family.  There it would stand for many more generations, as this type of tree has an incredibly long lifespan.  Near the Kingswood, was the Aurum Lake, the bottomless lake, in which the ashes of the kings and queens who had passed before were spread, to rise at the end of days.  This would be the final resting place of Queen Arlyss and her son.

Bells rang, drowning out the song of the birds; first the large wrought-iron bells of the vast Domunata, with their deep melodic timbre; they were joined by more and more, until the melancholic elegy overcame city and countryside for miles around.  For a short while, all was still, save the sound of the bells, but even they, eventually silenced.

The large gates of The Crystal Palace opened slowly, slid aside revealing the procession who slowly began to move forward, when the doors had opened up completely.  A low sigh traveled through the crowds of the many people who had gathered in the streets to pay homage to the queen and the infant: a sigh of expectation of the inevitable and a heartfelt gesture of disbelief and grief.

In the front, forming a straight line were the drummers drumming the beat as they walked.  People crowded on both sides of the streets for a glimpse of the Royal funeral carriage, pulled by stately verraleks.  The open casket appeared to float silently a meter above the ground with the glass coffin covering their beloved Queen, and her infant lying to her left.

The funeral entourage was guarded by stately Royal Guards in full ceremonial armor.  The tradition of the guards had been observed by the Kirian people since the Great Unrest and it was an incredible honor to join their ranks.  Their stern faces betrayed no emotions, as was required of such professionals, but their eyes were filled with sorrow and pain.  The two newest guards, stationed at the outmost positions in the procession accepted the flowers offered by the grieving populace and placed them on top of the hearse, near the glass-topped coffin.

Adrian Melberg and his children walked directly behind the carriage, followed by their relatives from Kiria Major, and the outlying planets of the Kirian system.  Riding in a carriage behind the Royal Family were the Queen’s relatives, their faces hidden from view, as was the custom on their homeworld.  Joining the rest of the formal funeral party were thousands of diplomats hailing from myriad systems from as close as Ja’rel, and as distant as Endor.  A handful of Wookiees, representing Kashyyk, brought up the rear of the diplomatic representatives carrying their bowcasters proudly, if somewhat menacingly, in front of them.

Hundreds of thousands of people from across the Kirian system had crowded the streets, clothed in silken opal mourning garments that glistened in sunlight.  The color was believed to be that of the midworld, the world between the physical, and the spiritual world afterwards, the one that Domu had taught all rose to at the end of days.  Many youths sobbed openly, tears running down their cheeks, afraid to wipe them away.  Older people, having been brought up with a greater sense of formality, simply wore an expression of dignified bereavement, as they walked in the procession, their robes glinting opalescent in the Kirian midday sun.

Though Wil and Gantor had hoped to be able to pay respects to Adrian in private, it had continually proven impossible to get an audience with the king in order to do so.  They and the Padawans had taken places at the end of the procession route, near the entrance to the great Domunata, with its enormous pillars where the main ceremony was to take place and the funeral pyre had been erected.  They knew they were in for a long wait before they would get a glimpse of the Royal entourage, as the Royal Road was two miles long.

Findi and Verahn kept silent, more out of bewilderment than respect, the nervous twitching of Findi’s arm muscles the only indication of emotion.  Gantor, having taken an outer position, had forced his inner eye irises to close, commenting quietly, “Man, that pearly stuff makes it hard to see.”

“I know,” Wil whispered from behind him.  “Everyone is wearing it.  It’s as if even the trees and the sky are covered in it.”

The two Jedi fell silent, alert to their surroundings.  Waves of emotion roiled into deep and earnest grief pouring down over them though the Force.  Seeing a signal from ahead of them, Wil returned to his position on the other side of Findi.

The procession began moving forward, slowly at first, then more determined.  People laid flowers, all shimmering, of varied colors, on the path of the carriage, as it passed.  Silence ensued, as the cortege wound its way through the streets.

An uneventful hour passed, mourners paying their respects, the Jedi watching the procession advance down the Royal Road towards them.  Wil had figured it for a quiet ceremony, and he was amazed by the sensation of love and earnest respect and admiration that surrounded everyone through the Force.  He looked up at the sky, pearlescent blue and shining bright, almost belying the somber event taking place below.

‘What a time for a ruckus,’ Wil thought as sounds of tumult to his left and raised voices of people arguing stirred him from his reverie.  Nodding briefly at Gantor, he turned towards Findi T’blasi and Verahn, waving them both towards the source of the disturbance.  “Check it out and report back to us,” he quickly said with urgency in his voice to the Padawans, who simply nodded and hurried off.

“Coming through,” Findi gesticulated, waving his hands urging the crowds to move aside.

“Jedi business,” Verahn echoed, his sweaty hand grasping the hilt of his lightsaber, “break it up.”

As the pair pressed through the crowd, Verahn felt a hand on his shoulder.  Turning around to explain his haste, he felt a lightning pain ripping through his shoulder as metallic claws viciously dug into his flesh, accompanied by the familiar hum of a lightsaber, its blade hissing and spitting with the sounds and smells of burnt flesh and cloth.  Though he tried to pull free of his assailant, the blade was shoved through his torso, and he fell to the pavement.

Alerted by frightened screams and the tumult of nearby onlookers trying to flee from the scene, Findi reached for his lightsaber, but barely managed to ignite it before feeling an odd, suffocating pain around his neck, as he was lifted from up the ground by an unseen force.  Looking straight down at his assailant he got a brief glimpse of gleaming eyes and a sanguinary grin, before he was flung to the side, his world gone dark.

“Force!” Wil exclaimed, hastening to assist his Padawan.  “Gantor, that way,” he waved the Zabrak to his left.   An explosion rocked the street; Wil and Gantor lost their footing, with beings being sent every which way.

“Protect the King!” Captain Patar yelled above the noise of the panicky crowds that were scrambling to get away from the mayhem.  Royal Guards surrounded King Adrian and his children, when suddenly, the verraleks reared and charged forward uncontrollably.

The children watched, horrified, as several people were trampled by the escaped funeral carriage.  As Captain Patar and his guards shoved Adrian into the hovercraft behind his children, an explosion rocked the carriage, sending its burning shards everywhere in a thunderous roar that shook the boulevard.

“Arlyss!” Adrian cried out, struggling to free himself from the protection of his guards.

“Your Majesty, you can do nothing here; we must get you to safety,” Captain Patar hissed in the king’s ear, as he strong-armed Adrian towards an emergency hovercraft awaiting the royal family.

As the royal family scrambled into the hovercraft, more explosions peppered the streets of Kiria City, creating mayhem and panic among the already panicking crowds of onlookers.  The shock waves tossed beings about like rag dolls; the smoke billowing high above even the tallest buildings.

“Gantor!?” Wil called out from the middle of a heap of rubble, rousing himself from the daze of the explosion.   “The King is being escorted back to the palace!” Wil shouted, pointing to the retreating hovercraft.

“Aye,” Gantor confirmed, as he got up, pushing the remains of a young woman off of himself carefully, placing her body gently on the ground.

Having dusted himself off, Gantor spotted a hooded stranger emerging from the black smoke and bright flames billowing about the wreckage of the carriage, as a specter emerging from the netherworld.  Sensing evil afoot, Gantor straightened himself and opened his senses, preparing mentally for what was to come.

Hefting a crimson lightsaber blade above its head, the shrouded figure emitted an unholy shriek that made everyone stop in their tracks and turn to watch this unholy creature in dread silence, before scrambling in absolute terror.  Two more figures emerged from behind the first, igniting sabers as well, as Wil emerged from the smoke just a few feet from Gantor, lightsaber at the ready.

“Wil!  We must protect the civilians first!” Gantor shouted, catching Wil by his arm.

“Why didn’t we sense them?” Wil shouted, his face puzzled.

“Maybe you did!” Gantor raced to engage the enemy, Wil on his heels.

“Sons and daughters of Kiria,” the hooded figure boomed over the mayhem, “We are the Witches of your nightmares!  By the authority given to me by my Master, Lady Nemesis, we demand you surrender or die!”

Several guards stormed forward, showering the mysterious assailants with blaster fire; their barrages were merely reflected back into the screaming crowds.  Engaging the Kirian guards, two Sith Witches sliced them down relentlessly, their vermilion lightsabers a frenzied blur.

“So, you have chosen: death!” the Sith Witch boomed and beheaded a civilian who had gotten too close.

“Leave them to us!” Wil shouted to the Kirian guards, who were only too glad to retreat behind the fleeing Royal Family into the hovercraft.  The Wookiees, charging ahead from the rear of the procession, raised their bowcasters as one, aiming in the general direction of the explosions.  Hastily avoiding their salvo, another Sith Witch raced out of the smoke crushed the throats of two of them with the Force.

The other diplomats in the funeral coterie fled every which way, seeking safety.  The hooded women appeared to ignore them, concentrating their efforts on the Wookiees.

Unrelenting, merciless crimson blades sizzled through the air, cutting down all in their path.  The last of the Wookies howled piercingly, as a crimson blade eviscerated him.

Turning to a handful of Kirian soldiers still attempting to fight the attackers, Gantor yelled, “Stop firing...” but they couldn’t hear him over their weapons.  Stepping over the dead Wookiees, Gantor ordered the soldiers, “The king needs you; let us handle this.”

Realizing they were no match for such unholy beasts, the last of the Kirian regulars allowed the Jedi to battle the interlopers.  Leaping over a pile of twisted rails and concrete, Gantor and Wil ran towards the trio of assailants.  Crimson blades sizzling, their wails a harsh battle cry, the Sith Witches attacked the pair in unison.

“This cannot be happening!” Gantor hissed through clenched teeth, meeting the intended coupé of the leader by leaping over her then flipping around to meet her, catching her off guard, with the intent of outmaneuvering her.  Before he managed to land, however, he was shoved hard to the side by a vicious Force push from one of the others.

From above the melee, another thunderous explosion sent a giant slab of duracrete across the thoroughfare, crushing Gantor’s attacker, along with dozens of fleeing bystanders, into the side of the opposite building, crumbling the edifice into rubble.

Ignoring the loss of her comrade, the first rushed towards Wil, stopping few yards in front of him.  Reaching a metallic hand up in one sweeping movement, it pulled its hood back and threw off its cloak, revealing a strikingly beautiful young woman.  “Lady Nemesis of the Sith Witches sends her regards, Jedi,” she growled, while smiling deviously.  Taking advantage of Wil’s stunned pause, the Sith Witch lunged forward, her once-lovely features a twisted grimace of contempt, scarlet saber swinging a large arc.  Whirling about to avoid the blade, Wil barely missed a swipe by her claws, lost his balance and fell headlong into a panicked pack of fleeing civilians.

Gantor charged a third with renewed vigor, blocking her saber attack, then ramming his head into her stomach, forcing it upward into her jaw.  The sheer force of his counterattack left her reeling, with stabs and cuts inflicted by the Zabrak’s horns bleeding profusely from her throat and chest.

Some feet away, Wil and his assailant circled each other,.  The Sith Witch leaned back on her bent left leg, torso turned sideways towards Wil, saber above her head.  Meeting her crimson blade with his ice blue, Wil pushed her off-balance, yet found himself teetering once more.

Roaring with another rush of power, Gantor leaped over bodies and debris, coming to the aid of Wil.  Joining forces, the pair of Jedi were revitalized, their responses quickly throwing the third Sith Witch headlong into a marble wall.

Wheeling around simultaneously, Gantor and Wil averted a sneak attack from the remaining Sith Witch Gantor had outsmarted moments before.  The joint efforts of the two Jedi soon left her without a right hand and a lightsaber.  Gantor seized the Sith Witch’s left hand, twisting her arm around to her back, meaning to take her prisoner, when she suddenly back flipped over him, taking Wil with her in a fall that impaled her on a jagged metal pipe.

Gantor jumped forward to assist Wil, disengaging him from the death throes of the Sith Witch.  “You all right, mate?” he asked as he helped him to his feet.

“I’m all right,” Wil stated slowly, giving his blood-soaked robes the once-over, finally noticing a long gash in his arm.  “Wasn’t there another one?” he mused.

“I believe so; I think it got away,” Gantor answered,  as he pulled out a small flask from within his tunic.  He shook it a little before opening it, the vile odor from inside not lost on either of them.  “Bro, you’re losing blood pretty fast there; we need to get you to a medic,” the Zabrak observed.

“This brings back some memories,” Wil managed to quip weakly, as he pulled off his blood-soaked tunic.

“Hold still, bro,” Gantor hissed, flushing his companion’s wound with sterile fluid, then ripping off some of the cleaner pieces off Wil’s tunic to fashion a makeshift bandage for the wound.  Quickly, he stuffed the cleaner rags into the gash, then wrapped the longer ones around Wil, placing his belt about Wil’s arm to hold the bandage snugly in place.

Moaning a little, Wil grinned.  “I hate pain… it hurts too much,” he managed with a small grimace.

“All done,” Gantor said, tossing away the unneeded shreds of fabric.  “That should do until we get to the medic station.  Let’s go.”

“Agreed,” Wil answered, still gritting his teeth against the pain.  “Which way...”

“Uh, this can’t be good,” Gantor interrupted, pointing to the sky.

“Green flashes?” Wil said in amazement, as they peered up at the sky, watching the streaks of green light shoot across the sky in all directions.

“We are all in big trouble now,” Gantor observed.  “This involves more than just the Kirian system...” The Zabrak stopped, regarding Wil for a moment, a strange expression on his face.

Wil stared back at his friend, “Can you sense the Padawans?  We have to find them.”

Gantor interjected, “Wil, we have to get you treated and then get to the palace.  The Royal family and the ambassadors have to be defended.  Our duty comes first.”

“The Sith have made their move.  Looks like we have our answer,” Wil whispered mutely.

“You couldn’t have known, Wil; no one could have,” Gantor insisted.

“But now, what do we do?” Wil asked in the same toneless murmur.

“We fight them, that’s what,” Gantor replied evenly, as he helped his companion up and onto the nearby sidewalk.

“It’s going to take more than just us, Gantor,” Wil said weakly.

“But we’re a start, Wil,” Gantor answered grimly.

********************************

Wave after wave of fighters swooped from the sky at breakneck speed, dangerously close to the treetops and open fields, thundering across the countryside towards the capital several hundred kilometers ahead.  Streamlined in design, with large forward aimed wings, curved in large arcs from the main body, almost like claws or spikes, they resembled nothing remotely familiar to anyone spotting them, let alone the Kirian Defense Ministry, who had extensive archives documenting all current and in-development fighter designs in the Galaxy.

The recently acquired and multi-million Kirian credits anti-air cannon system ringing Kiria Major lay silent and unmanned as chaos filled the streets of the city.  There was no order or direction to the movements of the local military and defense forces.  No one really knew what to do or what was going on and the fighters had free passage all the way to the city and above it, wreaking their deadly havoc undeterred.

The thundering blasts and the following explosions of the anti-air batteries sent echoes rolling back and forth over the land, terrifying what few citizens remaining above ground into the shelters.

Before swooping up and about for another run, one fighter had its wing cut clean off by flying debris and dove directly into the Kirian Legislature Building, demolishing it completely in a huge firestorm.  The explosion rumbled throughout the city, echoing from street to street, but was soon drowned out by other explosions as more of the craven fighters swooped in over the city dropping their loads of carnage and mayhem. 

Adrian Melberg and his entourage burst into the command center which was already a hum of activity.  View-screens flickered on, off, on again, military personnel talked busily back and forth as the warcraft technology in which Adrian Melberg had invested his system’s wealth proved its worth.

“By Domu,” Zoran S’davan wailed, arms raised in despair over his head.  “Your Majesty!  We’re doomed!  We’ll be destroyed for sure!!”

“Calm yourself Senator!” Captain Patar barked at the ashen-faced Senator, before turning his attention towards Adrian, who stood regarding the main viewscreen with a blank expression on his face.  “Your Majesty, what are your orders?” the captain asked the king.  “We cannot find information on these craft in any of the archives we have amassed.”

But before the king could open his mouth to answer, he and Captain Patar were distracted by loud cracks of static and hissing from the holo-display unit on the command console.

A blinding white flash engulfed the command center, disappearing as abruptly as it had come.

“What the…” Captain Patar gasped in surprise as holo-images of two of the officials from the Regional Defense Posts flickered for a second, flashed, then, with a loud pop, disappeared.  “Check the transmission generators at all outposts…” Patar barked at the nearest officer, as several more holo-image displays followed suit.

Adrian felt sick to his stomach, as the cries of millions of his people were silenced in an instant.  The deed sent tremors through the Force, pain and horror that was like a blinding flash, ceasing as quickly as it had come.

“We’re doomed!” S’davan cried out.

Moments later, an earthquake-like rumble shook the palace.

“I fear these tremors are being generated by something further away than localized explosions,” Captain Patar stated flatly, “I fear we may have fallen victim to…”

“Fallen victim to what” S’davan whined.  “What are you rambling on about, Captain?”

Turning to Adrian, Patar reported, “Your Majesty, our Regional Outposts have been destroyed.”

“I know,” the king said tonelessly.  “But how?”

“We need to send word to Coruscant and the Senate…” Captain Patar began.

“Sir,” an officer seated at a communications port called out.

“Yes?” Captain Patar acknowledged.

“All communications are down.  We are completely blind.”

“Get them back on line, Varkal,” Patar barked, turning once more to Adrian.  “My suspicions are confirmed:  what happened to the Outer Rim worlds is happening here.  We must send word to Coruscant!”

“But how, Captain?  We have no communications!” S’davan exclaimed.

Ignoring S’davan, Captain Patar continued to address Adrian.  “Your Majesty, what are your orders?”

********************************

“Will there be anything else, Mr.  Shearing?” the droid asked courteously, oblivious of the chaos outside the Palace walls.

“You need something, some fruit or something?” Carsten asked Aramina, but she shook her head.  “Uh, no thank you,” Carsten Hedegaard replied, waving the droid away.  He couldn’t help but smirk slightly over the fact that Adrian had a droid he had designed on staff.

“Brother, I heard... explosions... artillery... What’s happening, please tell me?” Aramina said carefully.

“You will be safe, I promise,” Hedegaard whispered quietly.  “You are safe here.”

“I’m not worried about me; I’m worried about you!” she said quietly, reaching out towards him.  He quickly came over to her from the window, where he had been standing, watching the procession when the first explosions rocked the city.  Taking her hand he sat down beside her, looking at her, confused and bewildered.

“You saved me...” she whispered, “I don’t know what I would have done without you.  You saved me from...” Aramina whispered, then stopped, the pain catching up with her thoughts.

“But I fear I’ve brought this upon us by bringing you here...” Carsten said slowly, glancing out the window at the black, billowing smoke rising high in the sky.

“I will be safe with you,” Aramina continued, “Nothing will happen to me.  But, there is something you are not telling me.... I can sense it.  Something you’ve done... connected with this.  Carsten, you must tell me!”

Carsten looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.  He was never that much for conversations.  Changing the subject entirely he rose from her side.  “Adrian has returned to the Palace, I must go to him to get an update on the situation, will you be okay by yourself?”

She nodded.

Kissing her forehead tenderly, Carsten answered, “We’ll talk later; for now, you must rest!”

“Carsten,” Aramina began, as she lay down to sleep, “Close the windows please, before you go.”

Closing the window, Hedegaard settled against the windowsill for a few moments.  He waited until he sensed Aramina was asleep, then slipped quietly out into the hallway.

********************************

“There’s a medic station!” Gantor called out over the distant rumble.  Burdened by the cumbersome weight of their Padawans on their backs, Gantor and Wil summoned the Force to aid their struggle over shattered bodies and rubble to the medic station.

Rushing out to meet the disheveled Jedi, several white-clad nurses grappled with the two Jedi Knights to relieve them of the burden of the injured Padawans.  “This one’s dead!” a burly bearded male nurse shouted, as he shouldered Verahn’s body from Gantor.

Seizing the man, Gantor rose to his full height, allowing his hood to slip off, revealing a snarling Zabrak glare.  “Show some respect and go help my friend,” he ordered the trembling Kirian.

“Please!” Wil cried, falling to his knees, letting Findi slip off his back into the hands of two nurses, who quickly placed him on a stretcher and carried him into a crowded operating theater.

Panting with exhaustion, Wil crawled over to Gantor and placed an arm around his friend’s shaking shoulders.  He reached out with his other hand, touching the cloak of Verahn, as he lowered his head in grief.

Gantor stared at his slain Padawan in disbelief.  In the tradition of his people, he closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and became as a statue.  Will pulled himself up as best he could, in imitation of his friend’s posture.  For a few brief seconds, silence blessed their shared sorrow.

One of the nurses returned, tugging at Wil’s sleeve.  “The young man will live.  He is resting right now, but should be awake soon.  We should tend to your wounds as well, Master Jedi.”

“Thank you,” Wil responded, wincing.  “I... I am coming.”

A loud crackling, like distant thunder, rolled through the city, the sky lit up with red streaks of mortar fire from the few remaining anti-aircraft stations positioned just outside the city limits.  Another wave of fighters swooped over the city, the bombardment ripping jagged paths of destruction through the streets and buildings, demolishing everything in its path, sending debris in all directions.

A few stones trickled past the window of the waiting room.  Wil turned to Gantor, who had come out of his trance.  “It continues, Gantor.  We really should...”

Wil barely managed to push Gantor aside as an entire building came crashing down before them, crushing the medic center and everyone in it.

It had been a little less than an hour since the Royal family had been escorted by guards out of the line of fire and rushed back to the palace.  Crown Prince Alexi had slipped away from the rest of his siblings, and headed to the ‘fresher.  While inside, he had overheard voices, whispers really, muttering that the king was not himself, and couldn’t command a howler, much less the military might of Kiria.  Surely, new leadership was called for?

Aghast, Alexi had held his breath, waiting for the men to leave, then hurried back to his suite, where he had a makeshift communications station he had improvised to spy on the Royal Guards a few years earlier.  The jerry-rigged comm-link could pick up army command channels, as well as the sit-room; it was now that Alexi realized that the battle, if it could be called one, wasn’t going well.  It wasn’t going at all.  Someone needed to do something before the Kirian System was completely destroyed.

Determinedly, Alexi began to rise from his chair, then sat back down, trying to catch his breath.  Unbidden images rose before his mind’s eye, images he had never seen before, of a woman with palest skin, wrapped in a type of material he had never seen, her eyes afire with something akin to pleasure.  Another face appeared, again unbidden; gasping, Alexi recognized the man as his own father.

His fists clenched in anger, he rose again, took a deep breath, banished the images to wherever they came from, and headed for the command center.

Lights flashed everywhere, men and women rushed about, and several passed him without the normally obligatory nod “Your Highness.” Ignoring their rudeness, he immediately took control.  “Status, Captain?”

“Prince Alexi, what are you doing here?” Captain Patar snorted, “This is no place for children!”

“I am no child!” Alexi retorted with quiet fury.  “I am the Crown Prince of Kiria.  Per my birthright and station, I am taking command of the Armed Forces.  I asked you a question, Captain; I require a reply!”

Swallowing hard, not at all pleased that it was Alexi, not Adrian, who was taking charge of the situation, Patar answered, “We have lost all communications, Your Highness.” Intentionally avoiding looking at the king, but regaining his composure, he added, “Someone is jamming all outgoing frequencies.  Our regional outposts have been destroyed.  All that’s left....”

“Then, we must send as many defenders as can be spared, and have each one bounce a priority distress call off the outer relay.” the prince ordered.  “And contact all systems within reach who may be able to send assistance.”

“Yes, your Highness!” the captain responded.  Still avoiding looking at Adrian, he turned to his console, punched in some message codes. 

“And Captain?” Alexi added.

“Yes your Highness?” Patar responded.

“See to it personally,” the Crown Prince continued.

“Aye, your Highness,” Patar responded, as he left the room.

“This can only mean one thing,” Alexi addressed the others in the room, his face taut.  “This attack is too well organized and expertly deployed to simply be a spontaneous attack – it has to have been planned for months, perhaps longer.  An insider…” The prince could not finish.  Could someone in the palace, perhaps someone his father trusted, have killed his mother?  Was that same person now assisting their attackers?  A stray thought tickled his mind, but was quickly pushed aside by shrieking sirens.

Alexi turned to the tall man who had appeared seemingly from nowhere to lounge at his father’s side.  “Do you know anything about this, Mr.  Hedegaard?”

A unanimous gasp of shock arose among all the people in the room, as all heads turned towards first the Crown Prince, then to the lanky fellow who had moments before leaned somewhat carelessly up against the far wall, but was now standing attentive, eyes blazing.

“Can’t say that I do,” Carsten Hedegaard shrugged coldly, his eyes boring into Alexi’s, shaken that this youngster had seen through his cover.

“I think you do!” Alexi queried accusingly, staring back at him.  “Let’s have it!”

“Think kid, think.  Why would I want to come here with my sister, if I knew about this?” Carsten answered.  “I may be unpredictable, but I’m not stupid.”

“I don’t see where bringing her here has helped her in the least.  First, you barge in here while the entire system is in mourning for my mother.  Now with this siege going on, we are unable to provide our own people with medical care, food, or water.  Homes and fields are being destroyed; even the Domunata is taking a beating!” Alexi’s face blazed with frustration.

“Perhaps your father had this coming to him?  He has built up a sizeable war machine over the years,” Carsten stated evenly.  “Maybe someone just got a little more scared of him than the rest of us!”

“You must have been living under a rock somewhere, Mr.  Hedegaard.  My father’s penchant for visions is well-known.  He had a vision of a galactic war that would begin here on Kiria, one that would destroy Kiria and a good part of the galaxy, if it was not prevented.  He believed this build-up of the military was the best way to prevent the war.”

“Visions!  He’s no more seen the future than I have,” Hedegaard mocked the prince.  “Prevention is useless.  Visions cannot be altered; they show the future.  There’s no changing what is meant to be.  Period!”

“Don’t tell me you really believe that,” Alexi argued, “What would be the point of visions then, if not to show you the future so that you can do something about it?”

“Are you omniscient?” Carsten asked, moving to Alexi’s side.  “Do you know what the future will bring?  Do you have the right to change something just because it doesn’t fit into your world-view?  Your defenses won’t hold.”

“Up until now, I would say that it has worked rather well,” Alexi answered smugly.

 “Up until now,” Carsten snorted.  “And now?”

“Now?  I don’t know.  Who are these attackers?  Do you know anything about them?  Tell me the truth!” Alexi insisted once more.

“The truth?” Carsten looked at him sharply, “Can you handle the truth?”

“Try me…” Alexi dared.

“Sithspawn, will you two just shut up?!” Adrian interrupted the argument, knocking over the chair violently as he got up.  Scowling at Alexi and Carsten, he lunged towards the pair; then, apparently thinking better of the notion, he stormed out of the control room, the large double doors slamming shut with a loud bang!  behind him.

Carsten and Alexi stared at each other for a moment in amazement.

Shrugging, Hedegaard stepped over to the window next to the command console, leaned out, and, bracing himself on the sill, looked silently out over the city.

“Lex!  Is anyone coming to our aid?” Princess Margret, who had arrived in time to witness her father’s outburst, whispered to the Crown Prince hoarsely.

“Margret, I told you to take Zoé and Lukas to the shelters.  It’s NOT safe here!  Now, get out of here!” Alexi ordered.

“But I want to...” Princess Margret began.

“Help, I know.  Caring for Lukas and Zoé is the best way you can help,” Prince Alexi reprimanded his sister.  Sixteen was a difficult age.  He was only a year beyond it himself.  “Now, go! And contact me when you get down there.”

“Okay, Lex,” Margret answered, hurrying through the door.

“You’re just a kid yourself.  You shouldn’t even be here.” Carsten Hedegaard observed sanguinely, as the princess left.

“Someone has to take charge of this mess,” Alexi shot back.

“Right,” Carsten leaned back against the windowsill, crossing his arms across his chest, regarding the youth in front of him.

“I just can’t sit around doing nothing.  I don’t want to see this world, my world, destroyed… simply because…” Alexi muttered, not finishing his sentence.

“Because your father didn’t do squat about it!” Carsten finished Alexi’s sentence.  “You’ve got a lot of nerve, kid. “  Not many would have undertaken the defense of an entire system, with everyone looking for answers… answers probably no one had.  It was a heavy burden to be placed on someone so young, someone who, up until now, had lived the life of the sheltered and privileged.

“Damn you,” Alexi murmured under his breath at Hedegaard.  It was no wonder his father had hated the man so.  Hedegaard had this damnable nerve-wracking habit of making observations that were dead to rights in front of all the wrong people.  ‘Yes, I resent my father.  Not only has he allowed these attackers to sneak in and catch us off guard; he has given up any semblance of ruling!  He has abdicated his responsibilities to his people and his family!’ Out loud, Alexi answered Hedegaard, “Well, Mr. Hedegaard, if you don’t plan on helping, you should leave.”

“Okay, I’ve not been much help,” Hedegaard conceded.  “But, you won’t be able to hold them off much longer.  You’ve lost sixty percent of your fighters.  The ground forces are severely in need of reinforcement and your outer planetary defenses have been reduced to rubble...”

“How do you know this?  It’s not you out there fighting and bleeding and dying!  You could be a spy for all I know, you no-good, double-crossing swindler!” Alexi answered, steely-voiced.  “Guards!”

“Yes, Your Highness!” answered Lieutenant Corr.

“Please be so kind as to escort this ‘gentleman’ to his chamber, and make sure he stays there,” Alexi ordered, “I don’t want him running around wreaking havoc.”

Shrugging, Carsten Hedegaard allowed himself to be escorted from the room.  Alexi sat down once more at the command console, and turned to Zoran S’davan, who had not said anything during the exchange.

“Well, Senator?” Alexi snapped.  “If you’ve no more business here, get yourself down to a shelter!  NOW!”

Mumbling, the Senator rose hastily and hurried out of the command center.  Rounding a corner, he slammed head first into his secretary, knocking her to the floor.  Not bothering to help her up from the floor, he shrieked, “What are you doing here?  Why aren’t you in a shelter?”

“Idiot!” Kerose Natory hissed, “This is our time!  Don’t back out of your promises now, old man!”

“What promises?  What are you babbling about?” Zoran asked her, bewildered.

“Don’t play innocent with me; you know very well what I’m talking about ,” Kerose Natory snapped.  “You swore to help us remove the King of Kiria by force.  He will be finished before the end of the day!”

“I never swore to that!” Zoran began shouting again.  “This invasion was not what I agreed to.”

“Open your eyes, fool,” the ersatz secretary snorted, stalking away from him.  “We keep our bargains; you are the one who has failed!”

“It was supposed to be a peaceful and painless transition,” Zoran pleaded, grabbing Natory by the arm.  “Your Master promised me a bloodless coup to replace the King with a double, who would bring democracy to Kiria by turning the government over to the people.  I never agreed to an attack on civilians.  I will have no part in this.”

Turning on S’davan, Kerose Natory grabbed him in a headlock, and slammed his forehead into the permaglass wall behind him. 

“Be still, my love.  It will all be over soon,” she whispered hoarsely, leaving the senator sprawled awkwardly on the marble floor.

********************************

“Report!” snapped over the inter-comm.

“All is going according to plan,” Auur Ryn Sorebrek replied, running a large clawed paw through his ochre mane.  “The outer perimeter of the Capital City has been secured and any reinforcements are being annihilated as we speak.  I must admit, their defenses were very cleverly placed and executed; however, they won’t hold out much longer.”

“Excellent!” the voice said, “And the Senate will not intervene.”

“We are simply waiting for your signal; then we will pound them to dust,” the Admiral answered.

“You have done well, Admiral Sorebrek.  Commence landing the first troops on the outer perimeter.”

“As you wish,” answered the Admiral, snapping the comm-link closed.

********************************

Slamming the door of his bedchamber behind him, Adrian Melberg stormed to the far window, looked out over the inner courtyard of the palace, then sunk gracelessly onto the floor.  His face drained of color, his fists clenched, he focused his gaze, an piercing stare, onto the far wall of the bedchamber. 

‘She is part of the Force,’ he thought to himself.  ‘If I bring myself into harmony with the Force once more, I shall be with Arlyss again.’

Closing his eyes, Adrian began to slow his breathing, sensing the Force all around.

‘If Patrice were here...’ the thought came and went, replaced by silence.  ‘I have to concentrate,’ he mumbled, fumbling the words, fixing his halting inner vision on the empty place within.

********************************

Patrice lay on her small bed, her eyes closed, her breathing relaxed and regular.  It had been, after all, a long trip.  Jain was, after all, a good pilot.  But, he wasn’t Adrian.

How would Adrian cope with Arlyss’ death?  After all, they had been closer than most married couples; four children would do that to you.  Alexi had become a young man in the intervening years.  A face framed with sandy curls, the same glinting hazel eyes as his father.  She could almost see the young Adrian, talking to someone familiar.  Adrian, at the controls of the x-wing, laughing, then shuddering as the craft entered atmosphere. 

But now, Adrian was alone, without Arlyss.  She sensed deep grief, bewilderment, a sense of betrayal, and of failure.   A deep midnight curtain enveloping him, Adrian laughing maniacally, frenziedly, then suddenly sinking down to the floor – his hazel eyes glaring at her accusingly; clouded by madness and grief... and something altogether more devastating: hate.

Abruptly sitting upright, Patrice shook her head,  and pulled her tunic on.  Where had this come from?  Grief was one thing, but the other emotions she had sensed were alien to the Adrian she knew.  Could he have changed that much in the ensuing years?  Why had she stayed away so long? Had her absence affected him that much?

She remembered their last parting.  Adrian had been  harried, upset.  She had been matter-of-fact.  ‘Adrian, it’s your choice.  I cannot tell you what to do; I only know what I feel.  And something does not feel right.  Think about it, please.  Don’t be so hasty to rush into something you may not be prepared for.’ He had not wanted to hear this; it was his family she was talking about, his wife.  ‘No!  Patrice, you cannot know this.  I have a people to keep secure, a family to raise.  You know nothing of these things.’

Had she been wrong to leave things where they were?  She trusted Adrian to make the right decisions.  But now, what had come of that?  Adrian’s wife and newborn were dead, and he was beyond grief; he was unreachable.  Patrice’s sense of him in the Force was both bewildering and frightening. 

‘I must insist the Council send me to Kiria.  Else, things will be worse,’ she thought as she hurried to the council chambers.

********************************

“I’m glad you didn’t succeed!”

“With what?”

“Killing yourself when you were younger.”

“It’s not like I didn’t try!” Carsten said, rubbing his scarred wrists, shocked at her keen insight into things she couldn’t possibly have known.

“Well, I’m glad.  Otherwise you wouldn’t have found me and save me from... from that creep... and I would never have met you... I would have been alone, all alone...”

“I’m really not so great to know,” Carsten demurred.

“Oh, but you’re wrong,” Aramina said, reassuringly, “You are a good man, I can feel it: you have just lost your way.”

“And you think you can change me, bring me back to the good side?” he chuckled humourlessly.

“No!” Aramina said, “I have no illusions – only you can do that.  And I know you will.  Though we have been reunited only a short time, I know that the boy you once were, innocent and sweet, is still in there and wants to be set free from the mental and emotional prison you made for yourself.

“I think you rate me too highly, dear sister,” Hedegaard smiled slightly.

“Carsten, you are a better man than you think... and you have brought something back into my life, which I had been sorely missing for all these hellish years.  You brought hope and love back into my life.  I know you don’t like to show it, but you are a sucker for romance and doing right, as wrongdoings never really sit well with your code of honor,” Aramina smiled, the gesture lighting up her face in spite of her bandaged eyes.

“I have a code?”  Carsten looked at her for a moment, struggling with thoughts he had hoped to rid himself of; he cursed silently.  It had been long ago, before he had given up hope, in a time when he still believed in love and in good winning over evil.  He had been on the search for his past when he'd met her, a beauty beyond belief who had taken his breath away. 

”I believed in love once,” he said, “I met someone on my travels to Ja'rel.  I was searching for you and Wil, my past.  I found her. I would have given everything to be with her, as she was everything I wanted: kind, beautiful, full of love.  She loved me!  Can you believe it?  She loved me!”

“Not so unbelievable brother.  You loved her?” Aramina asked innocently.

“I still do; I would have died for her.” Carsten fell silent and lowered his head, fighting the tears that threatened to come, “I would...” his voice broke, unable to continue.  He got up and kicked a chair into the wall in frustration, before turning back to Aramina, sitting there patiently on the bed, her head turned towards where he was standing, face all bandaged up, but he could feel her confusion and distress.  “She's dead.”

“No.” Aramina gasped - having almost expected it, it still felt like a blow to her stomach, hearing him say the words.  Feeling the pain she could sense in his voice, his whole being; in that instance she felt his longing more powerful than anything she had ever felt in him before and she wanted to take him in her arms, comfort him and tell him that everything would be all right, but she couldn't.  He wasn't ready to let go. 

“Everything out there...this seige... I built that army...” he finally muttered as he looked at Aramina with tears running down his cheeks.  He felt his world crumble and he was alone in the black.  “I brought this upon them all; I am to blame.”  He knelt down next to the bed and lowered his head in shame.  “I am to blame,” he repeated morosely.

Aramina placed a gentle hand on his head.  “Carsten, just because you are trained to kill, and have killed before, does not mean you don’t have a choice now.  I was trained to kill.  But I do not kill now.”

“Krygge made you a killer,” Carsten echoed.  “He misused you in every way possible.  Then he destroyed your face when you refused him.”

”You must understand.  I wasn’t just a mindless slave.  He was my whole world, my mentor and my lover.  I didn’t just do what he said because he owned me, my body and soul, no; I did it because I enjoyed pleasing him.  He enjoyed me and favoured me and had me trained by the best in the arts of seduction, combat and assassination.  I was his private assassin who killed without mercy, yet never left a mark or bruise.  It was you who opened my eyes, made me defiant; that made him decide to close my eyes again...” Aramina explained.  “I may not see now, but my mind has been opened.  You made me realize that there was more for me in life than Krygge, that I had family.  It is because I have a family now that I can come here, to this beautiful world, and meet its King, who is also our brother.”  

“I’m just happy I saved you from that creep Krygge.  I would have killed him for you,” Carsten stated vehemently.  “And as for this wonderworld, well, it’s being smashed into ruins as we speak.  Hmph!  Adrian’s so damned perfect   As a Jedi, he could do no wrong, and then, he becomes king of this happy hellhole.  These people love him, and look what’s happening to them,” Carsten snarled.  “Brother or no, I hate the strutting peacock.”

Aramina responded mildly, “Carsten, I know you dislike him, but look at things from another perspective:  He took us in, during his grief, when he could have thrown us out.  He is not as bad as you think and your view of him will change.  I know it.”

“Yeah... he’s my hero!” Carsten snorted sarcastically.

 “He’s not flawless; he’s more like you than you think.  Believe it or not, he is in pain,” Aramina put her hand on Carsten’s arm.

“I know,” Carsten nodded pensively, “A kind of grief a man should never have to endure.”

Aramina whispered.  “The thing is, brother, neither of us has to hate.  I choose not to hate, and not to kill today,” she continued.  “What is your choice?”

 Carsten shook his head, and sat there for what seemed like an eternity, before he realized what he had to do. 

********************************

Alarms within the Palace suddenly began to ring out and everyone in the War Room looked at each other for a second before realizing what it was.

A young officer burst through the doors, panting and perspiring from exhaustion.  Composing himself, he spoke to Captain Patar, his news inaudible, muffled by his continuous panting.

“Battle stations!” Captain Patar snapped. “The palace itself is under siege!” Crown Prince Alexi, taking his cue from the experienced captain of the palace guard and High Commander of the Kirian Military, left off his thought, and took charge once more.

“What has happened?” Alexi asked.

Captain Patar shook his head, but said nothing. 

Standing up, seizing Patar by the shoulders, Alexi demanded, “Answer me, Captain.”  

Patar stared at Alexi with bewilderment mixed with hurt pride.  “Your Highness…” he began, “The recent report indicates that the Palace has been breached.  The officer who was just here reported of several people within the walls found dead.  It is with regret that I must inform you that Senator Zoran S’davan is among them.”

“By Domu...” Alexi swore.

“He appears to have been assassinated, Your Highness.  Many of the dead have wounds indicating they were slain with Jedi lightsabers!” Captain Patar said, “I gave the order to round up the Jedi and bring them here.  They have a lot to answer for.”

“You did what?” Alexi remonstrated; an uncomfortable silence fell over the room, as all awaited what would happen next.  “Captain, the Jedi delegation is outside, right now, fighting for our safety.  And lightsabers, though traditionally the weapon of Jedi, are used by others as well.  Your conclusions as to who committed these acts are premature.  You will immediately order your men to stop their search for  the Jedi and, should they encounter them,  not impede them in any way.  Alert Security to proceed with caution in order to discover the real culprit.”

“Understood!” Captain Patar answered contritely, “And I do apologize, Your Highness.

Curtly acknowledging the Captain, the Crown Prince continued his reasoning: “It is clear that we are dealing with the Sith or some form thereof.  My father has told me about them; they have tried to abduct and kill him in the past!”

Captain Patar stared at Alexi, nonplussed.  Despite a few mumblings, the room became stiflingly still.

Alexi turned to Captain Patar, and paused, pursing his lips thoughtfully.  “Perhaps these crimes were committed by Mr.  Hedegaard.  He has had some training in Sith tactics, I understand.  Tell me Captain, is he still in his room?”

Realizing he had not thought of that connection, Captain Patar gestured for one of his men to see to Hedegaard’s room.

Alexi eyed Patar angrily, then turned to the communications console.

“Any word from the outside?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” the officer there replied, his face drawn and tired, his eyes still intent on the lit-up panels.

“Continue trying to send messages off the outer relay.  Has anyone gotten through?” Alexi asked.

“Nova Squadron was the last group sent; none have been heard from since.  I don’t know...” the officer replied.

“It is possible one of them got through.  We will not give up,” Alexi asserted.  “Send out...”

The doors banged open once more, admitting the man who had left, along with one of the guards assigned to Carsten Hedegaard’s quarters.  Heavily bruised, leaning on the other man for support, he nodded to the Crown Prince.

“I knew it!” Crown Prince Alexi burst out in anger, “I knew Hedegaard was up to something.  What happened, Jerrik?” he addressed the injured man by name.

“Your Highness, ,” the man began, his voice a whisper, “He came upon us, like... a shadow!  We never had a chance.  I’ve never seen anyone move like that.  By Domu, I don’t remember... everything went black.”

“It was Carsten Hedegaard!” Alexi turned around, his calm demeanor belying the anger fuming within him.  “Captain Patar, would you be so kind as to take a contingent, find Hedegaard, arrest him and throw him in our dungeon?”

“We don’t have a dungeon, Your Highness,” the captain protested.

“I know!” Alexi hissed in irritation.  “Arrest him and lock him up!”

Yes Your Highness,” Captain Patar answered, motioning the commander of Palace Security to leave the room.

As the door slammed shut behind the pair, Alexi stalked back to lean over the communications officer.  “How many fighters are left now?”

“None, your Highness,” Patar answered from behind him.  “I fear we are alone in this battle.  Likely, we’ll suffer the same fate as the Outer Rim worlds.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,“ Alexi responded, “After all, everything my father built was for the express purpose to prevent a situation such as this one.  There should be enough to keep the fight going until aid can come,” Alexi paused, appearing to lose himself for a moment, then ordering the communications officer, “Keep those distress signals going out; we will not stop until we get someone!”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the officer responded quietly, quickly carrying out Alexi’s orders.

The walls of the War Room shook as heavy artillery pounded the outside compound.  Screams could be heard, as people poured into the inner courtyard, a dusty cloud of refugees.

“How are the shelters holding up, Captain?” Alexi queried Patar further.

Before the captain could respond, the giant doors to the War Room slid open to admit Captain Ral, Commander of the First Shock Trooper Regiment.  Looking about for Adrian, he was taken aback to find Alexi in charge.

“Captain Ral, report?” the Crown Prince asked tersely.

“All outposts report of heavy losses.  Many are not responding at all!” Ral responded, “Your Highness, we can’t hold out much longer.”

“Numbers, Captain?” Alexi continued.

Before the officer could give the rest of his report, a heavy rumble shook the entire palace to its foundations.  Alexi quickly snapped up his electro-binoculars, focusing them on the distant horizon.  Bracing himself against the stone windowsill at his waist, he peered through the intense billowing smoke at a vague moving outline.  Out of the impenetrable cloud several beams of blue light speared through the surrounding farms, forests, and leas; everything for miles was immediately incinerated.

Alexi watched with rapt fascination as the lunging shadow grew larger behind the curtain of smoke.  Cold shivers ran down his back as another shadowy creation joined the first, then a third.  Four massive machines emerged from the dense haze, dwarfing everything around them.  Their large search-lights panned across the battlefield in front of them, fixing on targets, immediately vaporizing them and their surroundings.

Alexi gasped in horror and he felt an uneasy stir in all the people around him.  Even the leviathan walkers of the old Galactic Empire could not match these behemoths in sheer size and firepower.  Watching the mayhem unfold below, Alexi began to consider the unsettling notion of surrender.  ‘I would rather die!  I cannot betray my people!  There are several hundred diplomats as well; what would happen to them?  Father, I need you!’

********************************

Patrice lifted her lifestaff, and entered the Jedi Council chamber.  The members of the Council were seated in their customary manner, with Master Bress in the central position, flanked by Orcu Qen and Rhyss, among others.  Ignoring their stares at what some took as a rude interruption, she stopped and stood amidst the Council members, forcing them to pay attention to her.

“Master Patrice, welcome home,” Bress’s greeting died as he spoke.

”Yes,” she replied.  “My investigations of the Imperial Senatorial delegation, and others, turned up nothing.  There is nothing more to be learned.  I sense my former apprentice, Adrian Melberg, is in great danger.  Please, I must go to Kiria now.”

“We cannot interfere in matters of Kirian sovereignty,” Bress replied evenly.  “Adrian Melberg chose his destiny, as have so many others before him.  Besides, Master Wil and Master Gantor are already on Kiria.  We are confident they would contact us if anything serious was going on.”

”Master Patrice,” Orcu Qen spoke, “You said yourself that the strange occurrences only befell Outer Rim worlds; surely you do not suspect the Kirian system to have been targeted?

“The Kirians need our help, Master Qen.  Kiria is being overrun by some power that has yet to be revealed.  No one seems to know who these people are, or where they came from.  The Senate voted against any aid to them.  I can help,” Patrice insisted.  “I must.”

“This is not your affair, Patrice,” Bress responded evenly.  “It does not involve the Jedi,” he stated flatly.

Patrice composed herself, pushing down the anger which she felt building within herself.  “It is not a matter of becoming ‘involved.’ It is a matter of recognizing when there is a danger, not only to one who was once one of us, but to that which we have struggled to rebuild after two long periods of darkness.”

“Patrice, you are overstepping your bounds,” Bress warned.

The golden rays streaming through the windows engulfed Patrice in a halo of brilliant sunlight.  She did not move.

 Rhyss, oddly enough, said nothing at all; his expression remained blank.

“You have been dismissed, Patrice,” Qen echoed Bress.

“And so, I have,” Patrice replied quietly.  “I will do what must be done.  Kiria cannot be allowed to fall!  Goodbye, old friends.” Patrice spun in the golden radiance, walked through the double doors of the Council Chamber and lay down her lightsaber on a small wooden table.  Then she was gone.

********************************

The door opened, admitting Alexi.  Adrian simply stared at his son, then fell back on the bed, his eyes focused inward.

“Father, what is it?” Alexi shouted, forgetting why he had come.  Opening the blinds to admit some light, he turned to face his father.

“I saw it eighteen years ago,” Adrian spoke to the empty room about him.  “And now... and now, she is gone... she is gone.  Her staff has been laid down, and the rest of us are left to darkness.  And I didn’t see it...”

Recalling his purpose Alexi exclaimed, “Things are not going well, Father... the people need you.  I need you!”

“Our city is lost…” Adrian rambled on, his grayish blond curls dripping sweat into his eyes.  “Our world is lost… the enemy is at the door… and we crumble in the dust.” Drawing his linen sleeve across his forehead, he wiped the sweat from his pallid face, then shut his eyes against the bright sunlight Alexi had let into the room when he had opened the window.

“Father...” Alexi attempted to focus his gaze into the eyes of the aging king.  “Mother taught us to do our duty, above all else, to the people of Kiria.  What would she do, were she in your place?  Would she leave her children to fight her battle?  Would she abandon her family to live in grief, to blame herself for your death?”

“Alexi, you forget yourself,” Adrian’s voice was cold. 

“It is you who forget your duty, father,” Alexi snorted. “Mother would be ashamed of you.”

“Do not...” Adrian began.  Alexi opened his mouth to continue, and found he could not speak.  “...try to stop me,” Adrian finished, his words chilling the boy to the bone, as pieces of the ceiling began to trickle down on Alexi’s head.

“Kiria will be destroyed by your obsession with the past,” Alexi whispered, his fear becoming a cold sweat under his arms. 

Not replying, Adrian turned his cold stare onto the blank wall behind the empty bed, his eyes focusing on the bare wall.  

Feeling the floor shake under him, his heart pounding, Alexi slipped quickly from the room.  As he headed back towards the War Room, the suffocating feeling that had overpowered him in the presence of his father began to subside; his small wrist comm began to blink.

“Crown Prince Alexi,” he answered tensely.

“Your Highness, Carsten Hedegaard’s starship has taken off!” Captain Patar responded.

“I knew it!” Alexi scowled, fuming at Hedegaard’s obviously selfish behavior.  “Taking off in his starship when the going gets tough!  He’s just a cowardly Nagituu, running away with its tails between its legs!  The bastard even left his injured sister behind to die with the rest of us!  Shoot him down!”

Racing into the War Room, the Crown Prince was greeted by a shocked Captain Patar, who nearly collided with him.

“Your Highness,” he yelled, panting for breath, “You won’t believe this!  We have located Hedegaard.”

“Yes?” the Crown Prince asked, looking about the room for Hedegaard.  “Where, Captain?  I don’t see the scoundrel!  Did you get him?”

“Out there!” Captain Patar responded and pointed out the vast windows overlooking the battlefield.

At first, straining to see what Patar was talking about, Alexi could see nothing but pillars of black smoke rising everywhere around the twisted metal and ruins of the once-beautiful city.  The harrowing sight made his spirits sink.  But then he saw it... a streak of light in the distance: thundering across the skies with nerve-wracking speed and maneuvers, pursuing and being pursued fiercely by enemy fighters was Carsten Hedegaard’s sleek fighter, alone and outnumbered, yet menacing, fighting a heroic battle against overwhelming odds.

Raising his fist, Alexi let out a loud cheer, joined by the rest of the personnel in the room.  How wrong I have been, he thought.  A second cheer erupted, when a large flash of light and a ball of flames and twisted metal went twirling to destruction, indicating that another enemy fighter had been pulverized by Hedegaard’s fighter.

“He’s unreal!” gasped an aide amid the whooping, as yet another enemy fighter fell to the ground from Hedegaard’s fire.

“He’s a maniac,” Patar whispered.  Thrusting his electro-binoculars into Alexi’s shocked hands, the captain grinned crookedly, “Good thing he’s on our side!”

The Crown Prince whistled in amazement.  “Domuarara ... he... he downed two of those walkers!  You can see the blazes from here!” For the first time, Alexi dared to hope, as the cheering and whooping grew louder.

“He’s coming around again,” Patar whispered.

The Crown Prince could only hold his breath as Hedegaard’s craft swooped in low for another kill.  The group’s rejoicing turned to stunned silence as a sleek, swift, ugly sliver of a fighter downed Hedegaard in a barrage of vicious red streaks, piercing his hull and setting it ablaze, sending him spiraling to the ground.

“Keep my sister safe,” he crackled over the inter-comm, cutoff by a loud hiss and static.

“May Domu be with your immortal soul,” Crown Prince Alexi whispered inaudibly, considering the heroic but ultimately tragic effort of Carsten Hedegaard to turn the tide with his wonder-ship.  Lowering his head, he felt a swift stab of regret at their last meeting.  They had parted in anger, and Alexi had been so eager to think the worst of Hedegaard that he hadn’t once imagined that the brigand would actually go out and risk his life in battle.

Now, the Crown Prince, shivering with frigid terror, could only watch as rows upon endless rows of white armored soldiers moved forward towards the citadel, led by three hooded figures and the remaining two tri-legged walkers, with a sickle winged escort hovering steadily in the sky, like a leader overseeing the battle. ‘‘How can we possibly survive this?’ Alexi thought with mounting horror.  ‘We are being destroyed.’

********************************

“Coming out of hyperspace in sector C-7.”

“All wings report in.”

“Emerald Leader standing by.”

“Red and Gold teams standing by.”

“By the Force!” Padawan Nara Veld exclaimed, “Have you seen this?”

Kiria Major lay silently and dark in front of them, illuminated within a small area of the planet by lights and huge fires stretching for miles and miles within and around the large Capital City of Kiria Major – the rest of the planet was shrouded in darkness.  It was a surreal sight to the Jedi approaching the system.

“I see it.  I see it,” Rhyss answered, “Steady, steady.  I have several M-Class Destroyers on my scope.  Make unknown.  Emerald 5, come in, this is Emerald Leader,”

“Go ahead Emerald Leader,” Jain responded.

“Stay with me, kid,” Rhyss said, “Master Patrice, I think you know where you’re needed.  We’ll bring you in safely.”

“I can’t just leave the field of battle!” Patrice asserted into the head-set, “I have the only fighter with any real firepower.

“Another battle is taking place that requires your presence!” Rhyss shot back, “Don’t argue with me woman, just do what you’re told for once.”

“Command station,” Patrice called.

“Go ahead, Emerald 2” the controller responded.

“Stay up here and coordinate our efforts,” Patrice said, her voice scratching into the comm., “You are our eyes and ears.  We count on you.”

“Aye, aye,” the controller said.  He turned his head looking at the rows of operators sitting at the consoles on both sides.  ‘This is it,’ he thought to himself, before focusing on the viewscreen in front of him once more.

Jain looked at the flashes ahead of him.  It looked almost like harmless fireworks this far out and it was easy to forget that every flash was a violent, all-consuming fire.  He let out a small gasp as he checked the controls in his fighter.

The comm hissed for a moment, then he heard Rhyss give the order: “Move into position and accelerate to attack speed.  Get ready to plough through the blockade.  Use your reflexes to avoid laser fire; we need to get on the ground quickly and without too many casualties.”

Reaching for a switch Jain flipped it, and maneuvered into position to the left and slightly behind Rhyss.  Exhaling slowly, he tried to still his racing heart, as he gripped the stick tightly, palms sweaty with anxiety.

“Destroyer-type dead ahead, “ Patrice said, “Should I hail?”

“Yes!” Rhyss ordered tersely.

“We are Jedi on a Republic peace-keeping mission to Kiria, over,” Patrice hailed on an open channel.”

No reply came from the large Destroyer looming in front of them, getting larger and larger in their cockpit windows for each passing moment.

“No response,” Patrice stated.

“What the… they have locked on… they mean to fire…” Patrice heard Jain exclaim over the comm.

“Calm yourself Jain, it’s a tractor beam, old Trayfon type,” Patrice said, as she tried again, “Stand down, we are on a peace keeping mission, over.”

“The Alliance has no authority here,” a metallic voice rang out over the comm, “Do not attempt to change your heading; we will bring you into the hangar bay of Adoy 5.  You are under arrest for interfering with sovereign affairs.  Surrender or be destroyed.”

********************************

Disoriented, his vision blurred, Wil clawed his way forward, digging his fingers deep into the crumbled rubble covering everything in a layer of fine powder and small fragments.  Groaning audibly from pain in his side and from a large gash across his temple, he slowly pulled himself up from the rubble, his face covered in dried blood.  He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

Something protruding from underneath a large concrete slab to his right caught his attention and he crawled over to check it out.  Dusting away the fine powder, he uncovered a dusty piece of light brown fabric.  As he continued to dust away the powder, it whirled into the air clogging his nostrils and eyes, making him cough violently, causing a sharp pain to rip through his body with every spasm of his congested lungs.

‘Findi; Verahn’ he muttered soundlessly as he recalled what had happened.  ‘GANTOR!’ Frantically searching the debris, ignoring the thundering pain in his head, Wil lifted and pushed away several huge slabs of permacrete.

“Those look alarmingly similar to the Ja’relian Walkers,” a familiar voice shouted over the clamor and clatter of anarchy.

Recognizing the voice Wil lit up in a smile and began digging his way out from under the rubble towards his friend.

“I wonder...” Gantor began, then stopped, seeing the crestfallen expression on Wil’s face.  He continued, “That’s definitely a huge design improvement from the ones we saw on Ja’rel,” indicating the walkers in the distance.

Wil gazed at the machines encroaching malevolently, irrevocably on the main city square: a forceful blue beam, reducing the great Domunata to rubble.  “I don’t understand... is Ja’rel behind this attack?” he whispered slowly, confused, then finally adding, “But why would they do that?  It makes no sense... unless...”

“Unless what?” Gantor asked.

“Carsten!” Wil exclaimed, cringing in pain from speaking.  Gantor just looked at him, his eyes narrowing in agreement, as he supported his friend.

“But what would he have to gain?” Gantor queried.

Hearing the monotone tramping growing loader, through the dense, billowing smoke, Wil could only imagine the size of the army marching towards them.  Movement was visible through the haze, but blurred and obscure – all that could be seen were the large walkers towering menacingly over the smoldering rubble of the once great Domunata, their bright searchlights sweeping the surround; cutting relentlessly through the smoke in their search for targets and giving them a foreboding, ominous feel.

Several pale-faced soldiers, of the elite Kirian Blue Guard, covered in ashes, dirt and blood, rushed by them, beating a hasty retreat towards the Crystal Palace.  Wil could sense the fear that lined their faces. 

‘Imperial Stormtroopers?’ Wil thought dizzily, staring open-mouthed at the white armored soldiers emerging into view.  “No, not right!” he whispered to himself.  The force before them certainly matched the once formidable Imperial Stormtrooper Army in numbers and the white color of their armor; however, it more closely resembled the ancient Mandalorian Army in appearance, its helmet-visor sporting the characteristic T-opening, and the body armor that joined several protective plates about the vitals.

A regiment of the famed Kirian Special Forces, affectionately known as ‘Browncoats’, formed a line to the far right of the oncoming force.  Judging from their youthful appearance, it appeared unlikely any of them had ever experienced battle until now.  They held their position ably, shaking off the smoke, the soot and the stench of burning bodies of the sweltering air that settled about them.

Before Wil and Gantor had a chance to ponder this further the twisted and debris-filled streets were flooded by the invading soldiers, running at break-neck speed, jumping over debris and torn bodies with in-human agility and balance, blasting everything in their path.  In a matter of seconds, the majority of the Browncoats were dead, the few remaining barely escaping the relentless and merciless enemy.  Not waiting for the invaders to get any closer, the two Jedi, overcoming pain and fatigue, rushed forward to meet this new enemy.

Plowing through the attacking troops, their sparking limbs flying dizzily before his lightsaber, Wil glanced briefly at the pathway of arms, legs, and other body parts his saber had pared from the attackers, and frowned.

Not far away a fresh wall of troops advanced through the rubble, armed with rapid firing blaster cannons.  Looking up for a brief second from the carnage, face and tunic covered in oil and spanner fluid, Wil paused, then gasped in amazement as the truth dawned on him. 

“DROIDS!” he screamed in terrified realization, scrabbling through the rubble, frantically swathing his lightsaber , racing towards Gantor, who was alone against the advancing vanguard.

Two or three Browncoats fell in the first hail of blaster fire, but a few seconds later several large cracks were heard echoing from deep within the ruins.  Reaching out with the Force, both Wil and Gantor sensed the threat targeting the troops, one by one.

“Snipers!” Wil screamed at the Browncoats, who all turned to him, the realization of what that meant painted on their faces.  Immediately they reached for the gauntlet wrapped around their arms and activated a shield of pure red energy, created by the craftsmen and with the ingenuity and skill of the Kirian High Command.  It was a device with several practical settings, depending on the situation with the option of either absorbing or deflecting energy bolts from blasters or rifles.  ‘A marvelous invention,’ Wil thought.

Too late to turn back.

The street glowed carmine with streaks of laser fire.

Gantor’s eyes narrowed in concentration, his lightsaber deflecting bolt after bolt.  Leaping to a lone wall remaining above the rubble, he used the Force, along with his lightsaber to rain loose rocks and debris down upon the droids.  But it wasn’t enough.

His cloak singed by multiple hits, Wil stumbled to his knees, flesh burning, looking around in bewilderment, watching the streaks of laser fire slow down around him; hitting the ground; hitting fleeing soldiers; hitting Gantor.  He tried to scream, but his mouth filled with blood and he gagged.  His vision blurred, turned black... and he fell to the ground.

********************************

“Throw down your weapons, and put your hands up!” a silken voice ordered over the inter-comm.

The Jedi slowly unhooked their lightsabers and placed them on the deck of the ship.

The white armored soldiers, silently went to work, fitting each of the Jedi with electro-binders and had them sit down in the center of the hangar, as they collected the lightsabers and placed them in a large containment box floating beside them.

Rhyss glanced at Patrice.  She said nothing, and simply stared at the hangar wall.  Both sensed a familiar presence approaching.

“I have no time for Jedi games,” a silken voice glided overhead.

“Show no resistance; do not speak to him or draw his attention to you,” Rhyss ordered the Padawans in a whisper.  Glancing at Patrice, he noticed she was still staring at the far side of the hangar, and not looking at the red-furred being that had come over to the area where they were held prisoner.

“Quite a change from the Master Rhyss I know.  I’m disappointed; I expected a great deal more from you,” the Admiral taunted.

Not replying, Rhyss simply continued facing forward, staring stonily ahead of him.  The Padawans stole pale glances at one another; was this the famed Admiral they had heard stories about?

“Not in a killing mood, are you?” the crimson-furred creature murmured.

Rhyss still did not respond.

Patrice glanced between the two of them, surprised there was no answer from her fellow Jedi.  “You realize it is only a matter of time before the Empire catches on to your betrayal, Admiral,” she stood, addressing Sorebrek by his former title.

“I’m afraid their retirement benefits left much to be desired,” he stated dryly.

“Traitor,” Rhyss grumbled, pulling himself to his feet.  The rest of the Jedi followed suit.

“You would know quite a bit about that,” Auur Ryyn Sorebrek commented, “Now, sit back down!” Turning swiftly, eyes glinting, the former Imperial Admiral slapped Rhyss hard across the face with the back of his furry hand, knocking the Jedi to the floor.

Rhyss simply pulled himself up from the floor, but made no move to defend himself against Sorebrek.  Taking a seat against the wall, he nodded at the gaping Padawans to do the same.

Grinning toothily at the shocked expressions of the Padawans, Sorebrek seized Patrice by the collar.  One of the Padawans jumped up to help her, but soon found himself next to Rhyss, pinned to the floor by the Ghyrrbyl.

“Should I break his neck, my dear?” Sorebrek hissed at Patrice, looking into her eyes.  She shook her head.  “Good,” he continued, his silken voice now a whisper.  “I prefer to save my energy for a more worthwhile adversary.”

Shoving the young Padawan into the corner with the others, Sorebrek ordered a nearby droid sentry, “Kill anyone who moves!” Dragging Patrice to her feet once more, he added, “This one goes to the surface as a Victory Token for the master.”

********************************

Adrian’s personal attendant stood at the window next to the king.  “Your Majesty, the attacking force appears to have halted just outside the outer courtyards of the Palace.  They have burned everything to the ground there: The Queen Mother’s house, the Royal Guardhouse... Now the historic Crystal Palace itself is threatened.  Shouldn’t you...”

“Yes, I know,” the King replied, no visible emotion on his face.  “My family will share in the suffering of the Kirian people; this is as it should be,” Adrian pushed aside the gray-blond curls pasted to his pale, sweaty forehead.

The attendant nodded mutely, gazing at the man he had served for so long, whom he would serve until the end.  He turned to go, when Lieutenant Corr of the palace guards entered, brushing him to one side.

“Your Majesty…” Lt.  Corr addressed Adrian breathlessly.

“Yes, what is it?” Adrian replied slowly, his mind intent on the horrific vision within.

“The children…” the young officer paused for a moment, trying to recover his bearing.  “Their Royal Highnesses, Princesses Margret and Zoé and Prince Lukas, are no longer in their shelter.  We could find no trace of them.  Their nanny was murdered, decapitated sire.”

“Wh.. what are you saying?” Adrian stared at him, his amber eyes wide, his face white.

“Your children have disappeared, possibly abducted, your Majesty” the young man answered, weary with fear and fatigue.

Soundlessly, Adrian collapsed, the only barrier between him and the floor being the quick movements of the two men, who saw the king to a divan.

Though his face remained pale, Adrian sat up momentarily, and swung his feet around to the floor.  “Lieutenant, where is the Crown Prince?”

“In the War Room, coordinating the defense, Your Majesty,” Lieutenant Corr answered.

“Come with me,” the king ordered, standing, staggering somewhat, then steadying himself.  “I have to put a stop to this.”

Reaching the Command Center of the War Room, the King was greeted with some bows, and a few murmurs, and the steady buzzing of activity.  Not bothering with any greeting for his father, Alexi continued to give orders, and work the command station, until Adrian took hold of his arm.

“Alexi.” Adrian spoke quietly as he took his son by the arm.  “Nanna Vrisi was found dead; your brother and sisters have been taken by the enemy.”

Alexi’s mouth formed a soundless ‘o’, his eyes angry slits.

“We found this next to the nanny’s body,” Lieutenant Corr slipped a small disc into the holo-projector station.  On the projection plate, a hologram flickered into an image of a lovely young woman holding Margret in front of her, a tiny blade at the princess’s throat.

“Senator S’davan’s secretary!” Alexi exclaimed, while the entire room gasped with surprise. 

“I am Lady Natas and I speak on behalf of my Master, Lady Nemesis of the Order of Sith Witches.  It is her will that you cease all resistance and surrender to our forces immediately, without hesitation.  Failure to comply means your children die.  Surrender, and their lives, and the lives of the rest of your people, will be spared.”

The holo-projection sputtered out, leaving a stunned sense of betrayal and despair in its wake.  Shocked by the realization that the enemy had managed to plant an agent so deeply in their midst, everyone stared wordlessly at the king, except Alexi.

“A thorough search of the entire Crystal Palace was already made.  No trace of the children, or their captors has been found,” Lieutenant Corr stated.  “We were unable to trace the original signal, and...”

Clearing his throat, interrupting Corr, Adrian addressed Captain Patar.  “Captain, make preparations for an unconditional surrender.” With a forlorn nod, he dismissed Patar and the rest of the soldiers, and looked out towards the courtyard.

Captain Patar’s eyes went blank for a moment, as the realization that they had been defeated from within dawned on him and there was nothing more anyone could do to salvage this situation. 

Bent over his command console, his straw colored curls strung wildly about his sweaty face, eyes red with fatigue, Alexi balled his fists in futile rage.

“Father, how could you?” Alexi looked up at Adrian, his jaw set stolidly.

Adrian turned away from the window, his face gaunt, his weary eyes peering out at the Crown Prince.

“Alexi...” he began.

“Father, we cannot give in to this!” Alexi countered.

“With all my planning, I never...”

“...Thought you could possibly fail, did you Father?” Alexi finished accusingly.

“Alexi.  It has been decided; you will not question my decision,” Adrian’s voice had become hard, cold.

“And you think surrender will accomplish this?” Alexi asked.  “It’s really your fault, Father.  While you sat, mourned, and did nothing, these... these... creatures overran Kiria.  Now you decide that you have to take charge.  And for what, Father, for what?  Just to throw away everything I’ve fought for, everything I’ve tried to save!  ” Alexi glared at Adrian with the closest thing to hatred he had ever felt in his entire life.  “If there’s an explanation for this, I’m willing to listen, Father.  I’d really like to know,” Alexi gritted his teeth in barely controlled rage.

“There is nothing to talk about,” Adrian said solemnly.  “These Sith Witches are holding the rest of our family hostage.  They will kill them all publicly, in the most heinous manner, if we do not do as they ask; they use fear as their primary ally.  I am not willing to lose the rest of my children, and our people, because of my own foolishness, pride and sorrow.  We must end this to save Kiria... nothing else matters.”

“Father...” Alexi began, then stopped, his face stone hard.

“There is no other alternative,” Adrian asserted.  “I should have known this a long time ago.  My blindness has destroyed us.”

Charred debris sent its lazy smoke skyward to an inky night above the droid encampment.  A small coterie of droid soldiers guarded the entrance to the outer courtyard of the Royal palace. 

Adjusting her tattered tunic, which was difficult because of the binders, Patrice struggled to keep up with Aurr Ryn Ruul who was forced to drag her along, as they slowly approached the hangar exit door leading to the palace.  Everything was a ruin, even so close to the palace.  The entrance was guarded by three armored soldiers, the same as Patrice had seen up on the Cruiser.

 “Each one operates independently, with no central control mechanism outside their bodies,” the Admiral explained.

“So they cannot be destroyed by destroying a central command center,” Patrice thought aloud.  “An enemy is forced to fight them, as they would any sentient army.”

“You catch on fast, Jedi,” Ruul commented.

‘Just more work,’ Patrice thought.  “Convenient, that.  This ‘master’ of yours has us by the short hairs.”

“And Adrian Melberg will join her,” Sorebrek said curtly.  “She won’t have to ‘Force’ him.”

The droids stepped aside as they approached.  Sorebrek snorted, shoving Patrice through the gates.

********************************

Silence settled, as fire and smoke covered the smoldering cityscape behind the droid army with a nightmarish quilt of destruction and death.

“When the city is secured, take up position on the perimeter of the city.  Destroy all Kirian military equipment.  Do not leave anything for possible use by resistance fighters,” Lady Feral ordered.  As the holocom vanished, she turned to Lady Nemesis.  “Kiria Major is ours, Master.  Our army has routed the last of the resistance at the rear of the city.”

“Well done, Lady Feral.  Our victory is nearly complete,” Lady Nemesis murmured, as she pulled on her cloak and the hood over her head.  “Now, to collect my prize.”

********************************

Adrian Melberg stood at attention in the middle of the Throne Room, anxiously awaiting the arrival of his foe.  In all the years he had lived under the threat from this malicious Sith Witch, he had no idea what she actually looked like.  He hadn’t even been sure of the entity’s gender.   After all, no one had believed his assertion that someone was out to destroy him and his people.  Perhaps no one would be shocked that the prophecy, his prophecy, was now coming true.  Perhaps, in truth, no one cared.

Several hundred diplomats milled about, their emotions filling Adrian with the one feelings he had fought to avoid the last eighteen years:  uncertainty and terror.

The doors of the throne room slid open with a loud hiss, admitting an entourage of hooded figures of various shapes and sizes, though clearly all women.  One of the hooded women led Adrian’s four children into the room to stand behind him; Margret hugged the sobbing Zoé and Lukas, while Alexi strode behind them, his face bold, defiant.   Fanned out across the room, the Sith Witches stood at attention, awaiting the arrival of their master.

A collective gasp escaped the lips of everyone present, echoing through the cavernous Throne Room, as she entered.  Adrian caught himself openly staring at this woman in front of him, mouth agape.  He was convinced that for a split second he had seen Arlyss step out before him, but the vision had soon been replaced by this otherworldly, but incredibly desirable woman of unspeakable beauty.  His heart was throbbing wildly in his chest and he felt out of breath, as she stood before him.

“You disappoint me, Adrian Melberg,” the woman with the pale iridescent skin said, her voice even, unemotional, as she pulled back her hood.  Before he could open his mouth to respond, she diffidently lifted a slender hand as if to slap his face, then, with a mere motion, forced him to his knees.

“What do you want from me?” he whispered in disbelief.

“Isn’t it obvious?” She backed away from him, held his gaze with hers, watched him for a few moments, but refused to allow him to rise to his feet.

He looked at her, probed her with the Force but could sense nothing.  Struggling to rise,  he felt a sharp snap in the back of his brain that left him gasping for air.

Crouching down in front of him, she reached out and cupped his face tenderly in her hands.  Gazing intently into his eyes, she murmured, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” She continued to look at him, her azure eyes locked with his amber ones.

He could sense nothing from her; when he had tried to probe her mind with the Force, his senses slammed back into his head, a sensation of an acute, painful stab into the center of his brain.

“Oh, and who do we have here?” Lady Nemesis turned and looked down at the children, who had been forced to kneel behind their father.  “Adrian, you have such beautiful children,” she hissed, her hand sweeping above their heads.  “It would be a shame for anything to happen to them,” she continued coldly, glancing around in time to see Adrian flinch.

Standing in front of Alexi, she turned and studied him intently.  “You were a worthy adversary.  Commendable, but futile.  You will have your uses, Alexi.  I do not discount those with abilities such as yours,” she addressed the Crown Prince, her thin lips the only etching on her translucent Mythlorian face.

“I’ll never join you!” Alexi hissed through his clenched teeth.

“The arrogance of youth!” she laughed softly, shifting her hand ever so softly, turning her body just enough so that, in one backward glance, Adrian could see his eldest son slump to the floor in agony.

“And if I accept?” Adrian asked, as, released from the hold, Alexi struggled to right himself.

“Your children, your choice,”  the Sith Witch Master answered glibly.

“You are insane,” Adrian observed quietly.

“That epithet is exceedingly amusing, considering your recent behavior,” the woman commented sanguinely. 

Adrian looked up at her, his face struggling to conceal his shock at what she had revealed.

“I know your pain, Adrian.  I know the secret you have struggled to keep,” Lady Nemesis purred, stroking his face and hair softly with her fingers.   “I can relieve that pain.  Just say the word.”

“Yes,” Adrian felt himself saying, his fear becoming an emotion he thought he would never feel again: relief.  “I will do whatever you ask.”

“Good.  Good,” Lady Nemesis answered.  “Lady Feral?” 

“Yes, master,” replied the Sith Witch closest to the doors of the great hall.

“See that nothing befall the children.  They shall be locked in their bedchambers; see that they do not leave, just in case their father should become...concerned for them,” Lady Nemesis ordered, her voice modulating slightly.  “Oh, and leave the oldest one.”

“As you wish,” Lady Feral answered, as she came forward.  Turning to the children, she said tonelessly, “Come with me,” and led all but Alexi out of the throne room. 

“Alexi, you are to do as she says, “ Adrian spoke for the first time to his son.

“Father, you are...” Alexi began, his eyes angry.

“Do not argue with me!” Adrian finished.

Alexi glared at Lady Nemesis, his whole being blazing with the desire to destroy this hideous creature who had so easily enthralled his father into obedience that it sickened him to his stomach.

As if she had read his mind she spoke: “I do believe you would if you could, Prince Alexi.  But what you do or do not do doesn’t concern me.  You will find obedience has its rewards,” Lady Nemesis cooed at the boy.  “As disobedience has its consequences.”  She indicated one of the trembling diplomats huddled in one of two far corners of the room.  “Bring that one to me, Lady Feral.”

“Yes, master,” answered Lady Isis, pushing a large, doughy being, known as a Dah-man, in front of her. 

“Alexi, for each time you disobey me, one of these people shall die.  Is that a concept that you can understand?”  Lady Nemesis hissed.

All the color drained from Alexi’s face.  Nodding wordlessly, he simply stood in place, waiting for her response.

“Kill it,” she said loudly to Lady Isis.

“But...” Alexi whirled around, his face ashen.  “He has done nothing to you!”

“He means nothing to me, but he will pay the price for your disobedience,” Lady Nemesis answered.

“NO!  MURDERER!”  Alexi cried out in disgust, as Lady Isis summarily cut the being’s throat, and kicked his corpse aside.

“Perhaps, you need some more convincing,” Lady Nemesis drawled, motioning  towards a shaking Twi’lek that had been standing behind the Dahman.

Alexi gasped, then looked at his father.

“Son,” Adrian murmured, quieting Alexi; returning his attention to Lady Nemesis, he asked quietly, “What will become of these people?  Will you let them go free?”

“They do not concern me,” Lady Nemesis answered.  “Obedience from your son shall determine their fate.”

“You shall have it,” Adrian glanced at Alexi.  The boy turned his head away, refusing to look at his father.

“Lady Natas, accompany him below.  I shall know if you try anything... rash,” Lady Nemesis purred, “And ready the largest chamber for me,” she added. 

Adrian looked after his son, who allowed himself to be led from the room.  He could sense the fear of the diplomats gathered there, the revulsion as another Sith Witch summarily lifted the leg-appendages of the slain Dah-man, and unceremoniously  dragged it from the room.  He looked up at Lady Nemesis, who smiled at him once more.  “May these people leave? You have my obedience.  You have what you wish.”

“Do I, Adrian Melberg?” Lady Nemesis whispered to him.   Turning to the waiting diplomats, she continued more loudly, “Lady Jurious and Lady Friga will make sure you all make it safely to your quarters.  There is also a large contingent of soldiers outside the compound to ensure your safety and security.” 

The diplomats filed out of the room slowly, most expressing with their bodies, if not with words, their sense of shock at what they had just seen and heard.  The heavy doors of the hall closed with a heavy clang, leaving Adrian Melberg alone with the Sith Witch Master.

Lady Nemesis looked down at the kneeling king, saying, “All I want is you.  I have craved you all these years.  I love you... I hate you... I want to be with you and I want to kill you.  You are driving me crazy.  I want you so bad it hurts... and I hate pain.”

Wordlessly, Adrian nodded his assent.

********************************

Carsten Hedegaard, face and body gashed and bruised, limped towards the rubble that had been the capital of Kiria Major.  Everything was as a blur to him, Adrian, Aramina, his ship, Alexi; all of it made his head hurt, making it difficult to focus, except for something within that made him keep going.  He was needed and he couldn’t stop now.

Plowing ahead, he had slipped on the smoking rubble and immediately pulled away, as he had nearly stepped on a man, his remains lying in the middle of the street, face contorted in agony, his body half covered by a thick layer of dust and concrete rubble.  Slowly, Carsten looked up and focused, seeing the entire street filled with slain people, their contours softened and nearly hidden by the thick grey dust that covered their lifeless bodies.

He gagged, nearly retching from the sight and smell, sensing the fear, the anger, the hopelessness, and the despair that had come with the bombing and destruction; he could feel the weight of the death throes of thousands of people, as well as the despair of those who, beyond all odds, had survived.

Stumbling momentarily, Carsten Hedegaard looked down at his feet.  A helmeted droid skull lay, completely severed from its body.  He reached down slowly, wincing from the pain, and gathered the helmeted skull up into his arms, dusting it off.  Trembling, he recognized his own design even before reading the inscription on its back: NHM-1342.

He had known from the start, hadn’t he?  He had endangered, no, nearly destroyed Wil, Aramina, the children... Adrian.  He had been the creator of the machinery that could have taken all he knew away from him... and for what?

The ‘shut-down’ override had not worked at all, even though he had made sure to install it in all his designs.  His wonderful ship had to be uncloaked when he executed the override, or the force-field would intercept and fragment the signal, and when he had realized that it didn’t work, it’d been too late to go into “hidden” mode again, as the droids and walkers’ sensors had already picked him up.  She had somehow disabled the override or removed it completely.  She hadn’t trusted him, just as he had never really trusted her.

Then he had felt another jab, a soothing call, the shimmering strands of someone familiar in the Force: Wil!  Creeping carefully through the rubble, shoving down the growing pain, following his instincts, he came to large body that nearly toppled him.  Definitely not human, the dead being still grasped a cold lightsaber in its remaining hand.

Gently prying the lightsaber from the hand, Carsten tucked it into his inside vest pocket, before continuing to climb through the broken permacrete.  The shimmering of the Force had become a shrill, insistent pulse. 

Shoving a lifeless droid out of his way, he looked down.  Ignoring the pain in his limbs and his scratched, bleeding fingers, he began to dig.  Crouching, he tossed aside the last shards of durasteel and carefully cradled Wil Hedegaard in his arms

********************************

Adrian Melberg sat silently, staring blankly out into the room, hardly noticing the silence, and the smoke rising from the broken world just outside his window.

He rose from the side of the bed and strode slowly over to the broad window that overlooked the inner courtyard, and displayed a panorama of sunset over the distant mountains.  ‘I have sold my soul to keep my family safe,’ he thought, allowing the darkness within to choke off his breath once more.  ‘... I should have died with Arlyss.’

Bowing his head, he felt the walls of the generous room begin to close in, becoming a sepulcher-like, suffocating sheath about him.

‘There is no love; there is no hate.  There is only... the Force,’ he thought, the idea foreign to him as Hutt spice.  ‘Where is it now?’

He felt a presence close by.  It felt familiar, but at the same time so alien.  Like a surge of energy, when he had none and it drew him towards it and he couldn’t stop himself.  He felt his spirit reach out to this being, this creature of unspeakable power and self control, so similar to his own, yet so very, very alarmingly different.  Her being was all-empowering, like a fine wine or the sweetest creamy chocolate.

She felt so a part of him that it was beyond logic.  She just stood there, looking at him and he felt her as if she was standing right next to him, touching him; touching his soul.  He couldn’t bear it, the power she had over him was more than he could handle.

Tears rushed down his cheeks.  The first tears he had shed since Arlyss and their newborn died.  All this while he couldn’t cry, not once; he had tried, by the Gods he had tried.  And now, in the presence of this being, he cried.  And she just watched.

But then the thought came... that horrible thought of realization that stops you dead in your tracks.  He had to know.  Wiping his eyes, he turned to face her and asked, “Did you kill my wife and my child?  Did you murder them to get to me?”

“No,” answered Lady Nemesis and walked over to him.  “Do you think I would have waited this long if I could simply have killed her outright?”

“They died of natural causes!?” Adrian whispered haltingly.

“It would have created undesirable ripples in the Force that could have been felt by anyone with even the slightest hint of Force capabilities.  You were too important to risk such a stunt.” Lady Nemesis whispered.

A wrenching, jagged pain rose in him, erupting from his gut, arcing out through his heart, making the air he breathed a searing flame.  He felt its darkness penetrate, soothe and comfort him, as he grasped this fiery siren with every piece of his body and mind.  The darkness held him tenderly in its velvet grasp, opening him up to every secret mystery and vile deed.  It caressed him tenderly as he caressed her; he could almost feel its sensuous breath on his skin.  Spreading through his entire body, it filled him with its scorching white fire. The only sound he made was a strident, wracking howl, visceral, instinctive, as he dug into her with unbridled rage.

She tore at him, clawing, biting, bringing surge upon surge of raw anger and hatred from deep within him.  He grasped her arms, pulling them about his neck, then his waist, struggling to stop himself, but failing, the pain a scorching vibrant flame engulfing them both.

********************************

 “C’mon Wil, you can do it.  Just a little further,” Carsten whispered.

“I... I knew you were... here,” Wil murmured, grasping onto his brother for support.  “I... told Gantor...” he trailed off, his mind focused on his lost friend.

“Shh, don’t speak, little brother,” Carsten stopped.  “We’re almost at the palace doors.”

“We’re... lost,” Wil hung his head, coughing, hanging limply on Carsten’s back, pulling him down, “It’s so very bright here... so bright. “

“I told you to shut up!” Hedegaard hissed, as he looked around, nervously, before continuing, “Hang on.”

Carrying him through a partly demolished building, its outer walls standing as ghostly reminders of their former splendor towering around them, Carsten saw a cascade of water bursting from a shattered water pipe.  Lowering Wil to the ground, Carsten did his best to make him comfortable.  Wil closed his eyes, his mind went black.

“Wil!  Little brother!”  Wil felt strong hands pulling him up, fresh water at his lips.  “You gotta drink this.”  Sputtering, he slowly got a few drops swallowed, but it burned at his chapped lips and sore, dust filled throat.  He coughed violently, with Carsten trying to comfort him and ease his pain and discomfort as much as possible, all the while trying to keep the noise to a whisper.

As they approached the palace, Hedegaard led Wil behind a crumbled wall, and scrutinized the droids.  Inching around the corner, supporting Wil’s near-dead weight, Carsten spied a lone droid soldier standing at attention at the perimeter of the outer courtyard through a fissure in the palace wall.  “Here we go, little brother.  C’mon, help me out here,” Hedegaard grunted, as he lifted Wil through the crevice into the outer courtyard.  “We’re in luck; no droids here.” he said as he crushed the head of the droid with a mere flick of his hand.

Getting a better hold on Wil, Carsten dragged him through the small doorway into the inner courtyard, to the kitchen entrance of the palace.  Feeling Wil hanging heavier on his back, Carsten tried his best to keep him awake, but not really by saying anything important or particular.  “Maybe we should grab a bite?” he quipped.  “Nah, I guess not.  We got to get you patched up.  I know just the guy to do it.”

“Carsten,” Wil gasped.  “If... if I... die...”

“You are not going to die,” Carsten snorted angrily.  “Too much ahead of you, kiddo and someone special you gotta meet.  So, shut up, and don’t talk nonsense.”

Adjusting Wil so his weight was more manageable, Carsten carried his brother a few more feet, then stopped once more to rest.  “I hope there’re no more droids out here. “

Wil moaned, trying to say something, but his voice failed him. 

“Save your energy, little brother: only a few more feet,” Carsten coughed from the strain, once more pulling his brother up to get a better hold, adjusting his weight, then carrying him though a small archway into the inner courtyard.  Several droid soldiers were kneeling in front of them.

“Damn!” Carsten exclaimed, halting, mouth agape, staring at the droids, as they lifted their heads, and, as one, rose from the ground forming a wall of resistance.  “I don’t have time for this shit...”

The ground shook, as the two sides faced off.  A large slab caved in from the side, smashing the droids underneath it with a loud thud.  Carsten stood there, steady as a rock, as the air-blast from the shock wave blew past him, blowing his tattered clothes about him.

Wil looked up in amazement, straining to keep his eyes open, then rested his head on his brother’s shoulder without saying anything.

Carsten lugged Wil the last few feet to kitchen entrance.  “This is the kitchen.  Good thing I had to have a midnight snack once or twice; my bad habits are finally gonna save your hide.” Opening the door, Carsten whispered loudly to the cook, who was busy chopping some vegetables, “Hey!  Is it safe?”

“Mr. Shearing?!” the cook’s voice quivered, both with surprise and fear.  “Holy... you two look like crap!  There are no guards in here.”  Several of the kitchen staff appeared, rushing to take Wil’s limp form from Carsten and held him between them, as others fetched some water for the pair.

“Milady,” Carsten greeted the cook appreciatively.  “My brother needs a doctor, quickly!”

“Your brother?” the cook asked, as she looked at the disheveled Jedi and back at Carsten, but didn’t really expect an answer,.  Choking some, she explained, “Kiria has surrendered; the foreign ruler is holding all prisoners in the lower halls, Dr.  Lurey included, so you can’t get to him without being spotted.  Hurry, Vance and Dines know a way to the pharmacy, where you can find medicines to treat your brother’s wounds. If you hurry you can take the service elevator to the upper levels and straight out and last door on the left to the clinic.”

“You’re a life saver, precious.”

Carsten smiled and kissed her hard on the mouth, while squeezing her tightly, wincing from the pain, which made her back away with a caring and nurturing smile and whispering, “You poor thing...” returning his kiss tenderly.

Enjoying the buzz, Hedegaard reluctantly turned to the staff, who had offered to help.  “Let’s go!” 

Bundling the men carrying Wil into the roomy service elevator, Carsten glanced at the cook one last time, then pressed the button for the fifth floor, where the palace doctor’s clinic lay.

********************************

Sitting silently on the floor, the group of Jedi was meditating, though, some of the Padawans had trouble keeping focused and stirred about some, grunting their disapproval at the situation they had wound up in.  Rhyss sighed and nudged them through the Force, to keep calm and relaxed and wait for the opening to present itself.

As silently, almost inhumanly still, the soldiers stood attentive and at the ready, in an eerily display of duty, as they watched over the Jedi.  None moved, no sounds or chatter or any signs of life – it felt almost like a ghost-ship, silent and dead – yet, the reason for this became obvious to Rhyss as he probed the soldiers for information about what was happening and possibilities of finding weaknesses he could exploit and finding none, as there were no sentient life forms on board the destroyer.

They were all droids.

Unlike any design he had ever experienced, not even among the new droids that had recently been flooding the black markets and the new line of licensed factory droids, these appeared specifically designed with a single purpose in mind: war.  But to have so many produced under the radar of the watchful eye of the Republic and the Jedi was troublesome and begged the questions of how many and what else was being produced that neither the Republic nor the Jedi was aware of that could potentially harm their peace and tranquility and harmony and plummet the whole Galaxy into another devastating war.

Then he felt a tremor in the Force.

The Padawans began to stir slightly, but he shushed them into silence, as the droids raised their blasters at the group.  He wanted them to be ready.

Alarms suddenly rang out across the ship and the droids not guarding the Jedi stirred into motion.  Sounds of the large laser cannons powering up and a lot of electric chatter echoing across the hangar indicated to the Jedi that something was up, but it wasn’t until the first explosion rocked the ship that the Jedi sprang into action, forcefully pummeling the droids with the Force, as blaster fire erupted.

With brute force, Rhyss headbutted one of the droids getting too close, after having blocked a laser blast with his binders and thus shorting the electronics holding them together.  Freeing himself, he jumped forward, as a wild Nexu and ploughed through a group of droids firing at the Padawans and getting to the box they had stored their lightsabers in, Rhyss ripped it apart with the Force and sent lightsabers flying through the air, hoping that the Padawans would be clever enough to guide them into their hands, as he was already fending off several droids and reflecting laser fire towards vital parts of the hangars infrastructure to prevent more droids from entering the hangar area.

As another explosion rocked the ship, Rhyss yelled out, “Get to your ships!  Hurry!” Most of the Padawans obeyed instantly, turned about and ran for the ships, as they dodged and deflected oncoming laser fire.  The recoil of the ships’ ion cannons sent them careening to the side.  The Jedi struggled against the listing, reaching their ships,  taking off as they jumped into their cockpits, Rhyss bringing up the rear with Nara Veld in tow.

As they formed up outside the range of the larger ships, the small group of Jedi fighters found themselves surrounded by a squadron of TIE-fighters and Imperial drop ships.

“This is Commander Raddok of the Imperial TIE Squadron Tarkin.  Identify yourselves,” a voice rang out over the comm.

“This is Jedi Master Rhyss, on a peace-keeping mission to Kiria,” Rhyss responded, adding, “Can you give us an update on the situation, Commander?”

“Jedi?  Here?” Raddock returned, quickly recovering from his surprise to continue, “It seems to be quiet on the surface now; only a few destroyers up here that need taking care of.  We've got our Cor-Dees pummeling them a new blow-hole, as we speak. “

“We felt some of the impact of that bombardment,” Rhyss answered.  “Anything else?”

“Our Intel tells us the enemy is well-organized and outnumbers us easily ten-to-one.”

“That much?” Rhyss queried.

“Maybe more than that,” Raddock continued, “What we’ve been trying to find out is how they could have amassed such a massive, well-organized force so quickly.”

“Is the Republic ready to come as well?” Rhyss asked.

“No, they voted against any intervention; the Empire and the Ja'relian High Command have allied together to aid Kiria.  Systems wanting to send forces were told by Fey’lya and his toadies in the Senate to cease any such deliberations or risk the most serious sanctions,” Raddock answered, before steering the conversation back towards the current situation.  “The enemy Destroyers are not of any type or make registered in any contemporary databases.  You were on board one of them; who is behind this?”

“The army consists of droid soldiers,” Rhyss answered, deliberately failing to mention their encounter with the former Imperial Admiral.  Even after so many years of working with Imperial operatives from time to time on the same side, Rhyss did not trust them. After all, perhaps, rethinking their chances, they had now come to help Kiria, forging a quick alliance with Ja'rel in order to hide previous involvement with the invaders. 

“Droid soldiers?  But how did they manufacture them without some sort of intelligence getting out?” Raddock seemed genuinely surprised.  Rhyss sensed no duplicity on his part. 

Rhyss continued, “We only saw a few organic beings on board; the entire ship appeared to be manned by droids.  One thing I can tell you: they have the ability to think creatively, and to make independent decisions.  Additionally, there appears to be no centralized power or intelligence source, so there is no way to shut the entire droid army down at one source; whoever created these ‘things’ had to have been a genius.”

“Thanks for the heads up, Master Jedi,” Raddock replied gratefully.  “We’ll get the Destroyers; we’ve gotten a good head start so far, and more help is coming from the Ja’relian High Command as we speak.”

“Good to know; can you cover us so we can land?  Any status on surface activity?” Rhyss said, figuring that, if it was a trap, he may as well open up his hand now, rather than continue the conversation.

“The invading army has taken up position just outside the Capital city.  Comm-scan has detected an energy field strong enough to deflect any bombardment from space.  We can get you in about 10 kilometers from the city limit,” Raddock answered.  “We won’t be able to give you ground cover for another ten minutes, though.”

“Cover us during our landing;, we’ll manage from there,” Rhyss replied, preparing himself for a long, rough approach.

“On your mark, Master Jedi, “Raddock ordered into his comm.

“Acknowledged, sir,” came the replies from the Imperial squadron.

“Form up tight,” Rhyss commanded, then fell silent.  The Jedi fighters came up, by twos behind him.  The surrounding Ties backed away, then spread out, forming a barrier between the Jedi ships and the concurrent space battle.

“On my mark!  Ten...nine... eight... Now, Commander!” Rhyss ordered, then switching channels to address the rest of the Jedi.  “The Imperials are covering us until we enter atmosphere; we land on a rocky stretch about 10 kilometers from the main entrance gate to Kiria Major.”

Varied replies of “Aye, sir,” came across the airwaves, as Rhyss led the formation through a bumpy atmosphere to the surface.  Taking his craft in low, Rhyss was at the tip of the arrow that made its way to the designated landing position, leading the formation to a clearing near where various fighters and machinery lay smoldering in splinters.

His ship bouncing heavily on the rocky terrain, his hands gripping his joystick tightly, Rhyss braced himself as his craft skidded to an unruly stop.  The others came in straight behind him, bouncing a bit too close for his comfort.

Debarking as one from their crafts, the group ran over to muster where Rhyss stood studying the smoking, twisted durasteel and plastic.  Nara Veld began to say something, only to receive the “shush” signal from another Padawan.  Rhyss bowed his head, murmuring something as he wordlessly waved his hand over the craft.  Though torn and broken by combat, the Padawans could only gasp at the still-magnificent piece of workmanship of one of the broken fighters, appearing to somehow bend light and appear utterly dark.

Rhyss looked up briefly at the Padawans, ordering, “Make your way towards the city and wait for me there, just out of reach of that droid army.  And for Force’s sake, be careful; don’t get separated!  Nara, you’re in charge.”

Nodding assent, Nara Veld led the group of Jedi off towards the fiery courtyards of the once-beautiful Crystal Palace.  Rhyss turned his attention back to the craft at his feet.

‘How could I have not known?  Carsten Hedegaard is in the middle of this, somehow.  Perhaps it was he who... no, not possible.  I sensed no duplicity in him...’ Rhyss was lost in thought, still awe-struck at the beauty of the craft’s simplicity, and the efficiency that had been designed into that simplicity.

Rhyss was jolted out of his thoughts, by a noise coming from the other side of the broken debris field.  Peering around the largest piece of the fuselage, he spotted a disheveled hooded figure clawing through the wreckage to stand before him near the wreckage.  With a jolt the figure looked up at him, revealing the face of a battered, sobbing, yet beautiful woman.

“Master Jedi, please...” the woman begged hysterically, “Don’t kill me.  I ... I beg of you...”

“Calm yourself, I will not kill you” Rhyss exclaimed, abandoning all his questioning to begin digging through the wreckage.

In a cry of rage, she had reached under her robes and ignited a lightsaber, but she was too slow for Rhyss, who leaped up through the wreckage.  With a flash, both her lower arm and her lightsaber flew through the air.

The Sith Witch screamed horribly in surprise and pain.  Waving the cauterized stump of her arm she fell to her knees before him, clutching her chest with her remaining arm.  The follow through from Rhyss’ saber parry had cut through her chest as well, leaving her gasping at his feet, blood seeping through her mouth.

Standing over her, he looked down at her.  “So this is one of the faces behind the droids!” he said, as he bent down over her and pulled back her hood in a quick move. 

Unable to speak, the Sith Witch could only glare in hatred at the Jedi Master, as she breathed her last.

“So fair... yet so twisted and evil.  Who were you working for?”  Rhyss whispered in horror, as her eyes grew dark and she became completely still.  Laying the body back on the ground, Rhyss got up, cursing  “Damn.  I’m better than overcompensation on follow-through.”  Scouting the area around him, he took in the scarred and cratered soil and splintered and burnt trees as well as the scorched carcasses of various animals and birds.  Heart heavy with his memories of the peace and beauty Kiria had been so many years ago, he sank once more to his knees.

He remained still, barely breathing for a few moments, then stood once more, and looked down at the slain Sith Witch.  Could this be one of the Sith Witches Adrian had reported to Bress so many years ago?

********************************

He found the clinic deserted as expected, but also trashed.  Frantically he cursed loudly, as this was the last thing he needed.  They didn’t have time for him to locate all the stuff that could assist Wil in his recovery, but at least the scanners seemed intact.  While putting him under the scanners’ exploring and penetrating white light he scoured the clinic for bandages and clean wrappings, finding most dirty, torn and utterly useless.  Fuming, he flung a laser cutter across the room, realizing his blunder as it bounced off the walls noisily, and landing in a pile of trashed medical equipment on the floor with a loud ‘bang!’  Cursing furiously, he realized he had probably alerted the enemy to their whereabouts.

He crouched down and grabbed hold of the cylindrical object hanging from his belt, then waited.  Listening intently, straining to hear any unusual sounds or the tromp of boots were approaching, he heard nothing.

Nothing.

He gave a sigh of relief and loosened his grip on the lightsaber, but a loud noise came from behind him, made him spin around to face whatever enemy had sneaked up on him.  Once again, there was nothing.  Realizing the noise was the dying breath of the now-defunct scanners, he breathed another sigh of relief, and picked up the bandages and liquids to clean and bandage Wil’s wounds.

“Light is shining down upon us...” Wil whispered, “And her face is kind...”

“Whose face?” Carsten murmured, “What?”

“A child in the light and she’s smiling...” Wil continued, as he stared up at the ceiling.

Carsten read the status rapport from the scanning, figuring he should concentrate the wrappings around Wil’s midsection and head.  First injecting pain killers and fluids to restore and sustain Wil’s hydration, he next concentrated on cleaning and sealing the smaller cuts.  He soon saw a change in Wil’s skin tone, indicated he was reacting favorably to the treatments; however, he was still in critical condition and needed more treatment than Carsten was capable of giving him.

“Is it a boy or girl?” Carsten asked, just to keep his brother talking. 

Wil whispered, “Both and neither.  She is light.”

Carsten looked up from his work to gaze at his brother’s face, and felt a shiver run down his spine.  “We gotta get outta here... quick!” he whispered to himself, as he hurried to get the last injuries wrapped up, his Force sense sheer dread of the apparitions  Wil was seeing from long ago.

Pulling Wil’s hover stretcher away from its stationary position, he hurriedly pushed it out of the room, Wil frantically trying to get up, reaching for something that was apparently still in the room.

Carsten didn’t feel at ease, as he was pushing the stretcher in front of him down the long, empty corridor, to Aramina’s room.  He didn’t like being out in the open like this, even though everything appeared abandoned.  If they were spotted, their flight would be over before it began.

He held his breath and it felt like forever.  Carsten felt less hopeful with every step.  ‘I can’t leave without her... I can’t leave her here.  If she isn’t there...’  Hedegaard did not want to consider the possibility she had been rounded up with the others and he might have to seek her on the lower levels, with ultimate surrender to the witches. 

The halls were empty: not a soul in sight, all noise died away as he stopped in front of her room.  He looked down both stretches of corridor, before pressing the button that allowed the door to silently slide open. 

Peeking inside, it looked pretty much exactly like he left it, except for an overturned chair near the door, but otherwise no other signs of a struggle or search of the room.

Sensing a familiar presence, he sighed a big sigh of relief, before whispering: “It’s just me, it is safe to come out now!”

“Brother!  You have returned!” Aramina whispered back, as she ducked out from behind the large dresser in the corner.

“We’ve got to get out of here.  Wil is injured badly, but now we’re all together,” Carsten whispered breathlessly.

“Can we get past them?” Aramina asked.  “And what about Adrian?”

“We can’t save him...” Carsten said, “We never could.  He’s the only one who can save himself at this point, I’m afraid.  Now, let’s move.  Hold on to the stretcher and trust me.”

********************************

“The shield surrounding the Capital City and the attackers are too strong for bombardment from the sky,” Commander Raddock spoke into the comm.  “Begin landing troops for a ground assault.  The enemy has massed in a single formation at the edge of the city.  Do not engage, I repeat: do not engage.  Let the Jedi lead.  Out.”

Acknowledgements came from various ships, as all began their descent into atmosphere.  ‘Here goes nothing,’ Raddock thought.  ‘I can’t believe the Republic are such cowards... and our Empress wants us to join their ranks. What a waste.’

The Imperial vanguard parted the sky, with ten fighters and four troop ships leading the assault landing roughly ten kilometers from the city walls and the enemy lines.  Observing from afar; the burnt-out hulks that had once been shops, homes, gathering places, the thought in the mind of all was, ‘Can it be they’re all dead?’

“Advance towards the city.  Five meters spread and make haste.  The rendezvous with the Jedi is just beyond the seven kilometer mark.  Do not engage, unless absolutely necessary.”

“Aye, sir,” came the acknowledgements from the various squad and command leaders over the inter-com.

It was a long trek on foot, with a few biker scouts sent ahead to reconnoiter through the scorched forest terrain that must have once been beautiful.  Here and there were trunks, bare and leaf-less and blackened, just sticking up from the ground, their hacked stumps reaching mournfully to the sky. They passed one or two trees that had been spared the flames, leafy verdance seeming utterly out of place in blistered remains.

At the entrance of the city, there was a small rise, behind which the Imperial and the Ja’relian forces came in from the south to meet the Jedi.  The shiny armored Ja’relian special forces unit had already arrived, when Commander Raddock and his platoon approached.  They greeted each other briefly, before the tall Jedi spoke.

“The droid army hasn’t moved an inch, since we arrived.  We sent scouts out to either side to check if there was an opening, a way into the city, but they are guarding it well and have closed off all entrances.  We have no option but to take them on in a direct frontal assault.  What do you say, Commander?” he looked at Raddock, then out over the soldiers behind him in their gleaming white armor.

“We are ready...” Commander Raddock began.

 “Master, look!  The droid army!” Nara Veld exclained to Rhyss.  “They’ve stopped, and they’re splitting down the middle.

“What in blazes!” Rhyss exclaimed, looking at Commander Raddock and General Renway of the Ja’relian forces for some sort of explanation.  Both shrugged in confusion as they watched the droid army create a broad passageway in its midst.  At the far end of the passageway, a tiny figure carrying a white flag of truce appeared and walked towards them.

“General Raddock, General Renway, Jedi Master Rhyss.  It pleases me to officially hand over the command of this fine army to you,” Auur Ryn Sorebrek addressed the coterie of commanders formally.

“I don’t understand?!?” Rhyss exclaimed, glancing between the Admiral and Commander Raddock.  Raddock shrugged, and nodded to Renway.

 “I believe the Admiral has given us victory without bloodshed,” Renway said quietly.  “Command assumed from Admiral Auur Ryn Sorebrek.”

“Well, don’t just stand there, Rhyss,” the Admiral tossed at the Jedi Master as he turned away.  “They’re not clones, but they’ll do the job.”

********************************

“Huh, what?” Crown Prince Alexi exclaimed, as he sat up straight.

“Young prince, you were brought here by one of those evil witches: she beat you up just for the fun of it and you’ve been unconscious ever since” explained a woman with purplish skin and four arms.  “I treated your bruises as best I could.”

Crown Prince Alexi rubbed his sore face, then he looked up at the woman, “How long was I out?”

“Difficult to keep track of time,” another said nearby, the Twi’lek he remembered from the Throne Room.  She looked frightened, as she huddled up on the floor, the same as everyone else.

“A few hours, I would think,” the woman holding him replied.

“Thank you... err... I am sorry, I don’t know your name,” Alexi answered.

“I am Drahmah, representative of Kyllor,” the woman answered, as she wrapped two of her four arms about her midsection in what appeared to be an effort to be more comfortable.

Looking around at the room he could see the fear in everyone’s faces.  He felt it more than anyone.  He felt the loss and the sensation of having been beaten into oppression.  “Have they killed any more?” Alexi whispered.

“No, they’ve left us alone, since they herded us down here.  Even your military captains are here.  They don’t seem to care much about us,” the Kyllorian answered.

“Captain Patar?” Alexi said.

“Over here, Your Highness,” Patar replied.  He was sitting with his family, who had all been fortunate to have made it inside the Palace at the time of the attack.  Thousands others had not been so fortunate and many lives had been lost and shattered.

It was almost unbearable.

Tears began rolling down Alexi’s cheeks.  He felt dizzy with the weight of responsibility that had been thrust upon him in this dreadful conflict, feeling he had failed miserably.

The Kyllorian woman took him into her four arms and comforted him as he caved in.  “Shhh... don’t cry, my young prince... you were brave... braver than most would have been in such a time.  Shh, my prince.  It’s all right.”

The witches looked on in bored absentmindedness, before deciding that enough was enough and they went into the crowd, knocked Drahmah out of the way, and dragged Alexi screaming across the floor.  They pulled him up and held him between them, as one stood in front of him and examined him intently.

“Our Master thinks that we were fighting you, that you were organizing the defense against us and not your father.  Is she correct: did we fight you?”

“Leave him alone!” Captain Patar screamed, but never got to say another word, before collapsing on the floor, gasping for air, his family screaming and crying around him.

“Silence!  Or the next one making a sound will surely never utter another, ever again!” Lady Feral called out to the whole assembly, “Do we make ourselves clear?”

A deep silence settled over the entire room.  Not a sound was heard, except strained and muted breathing caused by utter fear of being slain.

Lady Feral turned her attention towards Alexi again.  “Is it true, boy?  Did we fight you?”

“Yes...” he whispered inaudibly.

“I can’t hear you!  Speak up!”  The other witches snickered.

“Yes, I was the one...” Alexi said a little louder.

“Impressive!” Lady Feral said, “And look how successful you were.  You did well... your defense caused the deaths of thousands of people while you were sitting nice and comfy inside your shiny palace.  Look how brave you are, little man.  Your defense caused this massacre... if you had just been a good boy and surrendered... all those people would still be alive!”

“You LIE!” Alexi screamed, tears running down his cheeks, while the witches cackled.

“Do I!?” Lady Feral grinned and kissed him on the lips.

“You lie...” Alexi whispered, as the witches let go of him and let him slump to the floor.  Beaten and defeated.

********************************

Adrian rolled onto his side, allowing his arm to fall over the side of the bed.  Inhaling deeply, he felt the remnants of the inner fury he recalled from moments before.  Searching his mind for some explanation, he began to remember the agony, the pain, how it had built from a tiny spark of anger into rage.

He was a traitor.  He had taken her to his bed mere hours after his beloved Arlyss had been reduced to ashes before his very eyes; bewitched, he had allowed himself to be seduced by this craven creature.  ‘This should not have been; it should not have happened.  I have dishonored my family and destroyed my people.’

Pain rose from his groin in hard knots, wrenching his entire body, as he struggled to sit up.  ‘Why did she have to come?’ he thought absentmindedly.  ‘And with all the horrors she has heaped upon my world, why do I still crave her so?’

A sickly luminous pall settled about him; Adrian could feel the knot as it began to bloom into rage born anew.  He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out  White hot rage spread from his belly outward, upward into his chest, his neck tensing hard, his face become a taut purple.

Pulling on his tunic savagely, he ripped first one sleeve, then another.  Slowly, he pulled on his pants and boots, as he looked down upon her lying on the bed, looking up at him with a gentle smile on her lips.  How he wanted to kiss her again and lose himself in her embrace.  He remembered how good it had felt, how she had taken away his pain, if only for a few seconds, but enough to make him yearn for more.  He wanted her to take away his hurt, he wanted her.

“You like what you’re seeing, my sweet King?” Lady Nemesis said, as she looked at him steadily and got out of bed and slid into the skin tight sheath of Krayt dragon skin she had been wearing, when he had ripped at her clothes earlier.  She slowly came over to him, taking his arm, before kissing him on the lips.  “My body and soul is yours, my King, to use whenever you please, as you please.  Now come, Adrian.  Let us not keep everyone waiting,”

“Waiting?  Waiting for what?” Adrian asked.

“To see us off, of course,” Lady Nemesis answered.

Adrian pushed her arm off his, and turned her to face him.  “What do you mean?”

“You belong with me, not here among the rabble.  Come,” Lady Nemesis took his arm once more.  “Besides, I have a place all ready for you.  Everything you require is there.”

“What of my family?  What happens to my children?” Adrian asked, again feeling the budding anger within him.

“They shall be looked after.  You need not worry about them.  It seems to me that young Alexi can take quite good care of himself,” Lady Nemesis answered pithily.  “You won’t be needing that, by the way,” she indicated the lightsaber that Adrian had absentmindedly attached to his belt.  “I have a present for you.”

“Indeed?” Adrian answered.  “And what if I wish to bring it?”

“Oh, you won’t be needing it.  Not with what I have to give you,” Lady Nemesis continued, picking up a small box that had been sitting upon Adrian’s dressing table.  “Open this.”

Adrian stepped over to her and opened the lid of the box.  Inside lay a lightsaber, but one that was unlike any he had ever seen a Jedi make or carry.  Picking it up by the handle, he felt it fit into his palm, as if it had been created there.  Sensing its crystal’s latent energy within as a subdued hum, he studied its intricately carved hilt and caressed the cold metal with his fingers.   Ornate carvings ringed the blade emitter; when he ignited it, a deep scarlet blade sprang forth, casting blood shadows over the entire room, its wild, sputtering hum stinging his ears.

“For you, my love,” Lady Nemesis whispered, fingering the tawny curls on his forehead.

Aghast, Adrian deignited the saber, and placed it on the table.  “What do you want with me?  Why me?”

“Patience, my dear,” she smiled at him, “I gave you this gift for a very specific reason.” 

Lady Nemesis pulled a small comm-link up to her lips and whispered softly into it, then looked back at Adrian.  “Ask yourself, who was it that told you your visions were limited in scope?”

Opening his mouth to speak, Adrian hesitated, glancing at Lady Nemesis.  Loud  footsteps approached, then stopped outside the door.  The Sith Witch ordered, “Come.” The door slid open with a hiss, admitting the Admiral with Patrice in tow.

“Patrice!?” Adrian exclaimed, as she was dragged in front of him and forced to her knees.   “You beast!” he screamed at the furry creature in front of him, who merely grinned back.

“My sweet prince,” Lady Nemesis purred, “Sorebrek is not who you should be angry with.  My lord Sorebrek, you may take command of my army, as planned.”

Nodding silent assent, Sorebrek disappeared through the double doors.  Lady Nemesis continued, “You are not only King of Kiria, you are the visionary of the Force!  The entire galaxy refused to listen to your warnings!  They sat idly by for eighteen years while you were left alone with the burden of your foresight!

“They refused to believe you could foresee anything on such a grand scale.  How could they grasp the gravity of your vision, when all they had learned was that the Force is forever in motion?  They couldn’t possibly fathom your powers, powers I appreciate and will nurture and help you develop, free of Jedi intervention.  Was it not the Jedi who told you, perforce, to mind your own business, and go rule your system?  Was it not the Jedi who said you could not be king and Jedi both?”

Adrian slowly took the saber from her, as she held it out towards him, insistently.  He looked down onto its intricately carved hilt and caressed the cold metal with his fingers.

“The Jedi even had the audacity to insist that your children be trained in the use of the Force, by them alone and that you would have no influence at all on the matter!  They tried to force you to give them up, trying to take them away from you, claiming that it was their right to do so!  Was it not the Jedi who insisted theirs is the only true way of the Force, that any other means of training them is wrong, and will come to disaster?”

Adrian looked down at the saber and nodded to her words, his face set in a harsh grimace.   Everything this supposedly evil being was saying was true.  He felt a surge of anger, remembering the times when the Jedi had barged into their lives, how they had issued vague threats to the King and Queen, claiming they were obstructing their rights to any child with Force capabilities, especially one who could have the gift of foresight.

“They would have taken your children away from you, and when you stood up to them, they forbid you to train them in the ways of the Force,” Lady Nemesis’ voice was a low whisper

Continuing to fondle the hilt of the saber, he looked at Patrice: his eyes glowing slightly, betraying the turmoil that was raging within him, spurred by Lady Nemesis’ words.  “My wife would not allow them to take Alexi to be trained,” Adrian murmured.  “She did not want our son to lose his childhood the way others were lost,” he continued.  “They insisted they were the only ones who could properly train anyone.  They wanted to take our son away from us.”

“My sweet, you really didn’t have to leave the Jedi Order in order to marry Arlyss.  You were forced into becoming king of Kiria.  If it hadn’t been for this, sweet Arlyss would still be alive.  She never would have died the way she did, in childbirth, struggling to nurture your child, a child you should never have fathered.  She would have lived her life, you would have lived yours and you would never have had to deal with this pain, which unchecked, will eat you up from the inside until your grief becomes hate and you would scream to the heavens why, why was she born so you would suffer?

“If it hadn’t been for the Jedi, you would never have met her and your life would have been without grief and loss and you would have stayed innocent and pure and open to the worlds around you, not pulled down by the responsibilities of the few, who could never understand what a splendid and rare gift you possess.  A gift, that in the right hands and with the right guidance could have been developed beyond your wildest dreams, a gift that the Jedi ridiculed and demanded you develop and use in accordance with their wishes, then renounce, when you were forced to leave their ranks.  They feared you, they still fear you... and they mishandled your gift, because they didn’t know what they had... and when they no longer saw a need for it, they would rather squash it and deny you the right to use it out of fear of what you can do.  They want to destroy you from the inside.”

Adrian looked up at her, as she continued to speak passionately, yet with restraint and sweetness in her voice he had not expected.

“My love, you are so much more than them and their archaic rules and dogma, their self-centeredness and their self-importance.  I would never refuse you.  I would never tell you that you are not allowed to use your powers.  I would never dare to refuse your gift or your abilities or your right to use them as you see fit!  The Jedi have no concept of the reality of the Galaxy: they exist in a bubble of self-importance, keeping a monopoly on all things to do with the Force.  That is why they have always sought to annihilate the Sith or anyone else who tried to claim the birth-right of the Force outside their system and their rules.  They have utilized brute force to destroy all who think differently than they do, repudiating any who believe and live differently.  Every part of the Force is there for you to take advantage of; why have you been so afraid for so long? You are imprisoned by the teachings of the Jedi! Throw them off; you are no longer a Jedi and you no longer need them.

Certainly, the Sith had their flaws as well, but moreso the Jedi.  They dominate all other life forms with their ways.  Just look at how they spread across the Galaxy, meddling in affairs that are none of their business! When they have succeeded in obtaining obedience, they leave people to a worse fate than they suffered previously.  I will never force others to think as I do or force them to follow my ways.  They can decide for themselves what they want and how they want it.  If they want to be left alone to deal with their own problems, I see no reason to meddle in their affairs. 

“You are strong, my Adrian.  Strong, powerful; you have no need for their rules and strictures.  You should have trained all of your children in the ways of the Force, not allowed that decision to be usurped by the Jedi.

“Oh, these Jedi...” Lady Nemesis shook her head as she regarded Patrice, kneeling on the floor in front of them, never once flinching, never once revealing her emotions nor what she was thinking.  Turning to Adrian, she continued, “I am giving you the choice to let go of your pain and to let go of your past.  No more will you feel grief, disappointment or frustration.  I will take all that away and fill you with light and love and everything you may desire.  For I love you and want to be with you and want to give you everything that your heart desires.”

Adrian felt drawn again towards this beautiful being with her intoxicating scent, holding his head with her hands, her lips so close, her eyes twinkling and deep and full of love for him.

“But,” she whispered, as her lips almost touched his, “You must prove that you want my love and my guidance.  You must prove you are willing to give up your old life and all the pain that is associated with it.  Prove this and I will be your slave; you will have much more than Kiria at your feet, something far greater than you could possibly imagine. “

The hilt of Adrian’s new lightsaber felt almost as if were pulsating in his hand.  ‘I could do this,’ he thought.  ‘End it all now, end this misery, and be with her, forever.’

“I know what you are thinking, Adrian.  End everything, end all your misery, and suffering.  But your suffering, it has always been so noble.  It’s a pity that it serves nothing but to keep you from that which you truly deserve.  You have doubted your visions, you have doubted yourself, yet you haven’t ended that suffering.  Perhaps it’s not your own end you need to think about.

“What was your life like, these many years, Adrian?  Were you able to have what you wanted most?  You have always sacrificed your self for the good of others. You sacrificed your own life as a Jedi to go rule a kingdom, something you didn't really want to do.  I have no doubt you loved Arlyss, Adrian.  She was beautiful, kind, and loved you; the two of you created a family.  But, Adrian, though you married Arlyss partly out of love, you also married her out of duty; duty to your people, duty to the monarchy.  Otherwise, the Kirian system would have been plunged into political chaos.  Or so you believed.

“You were alone with your abilities, your power.  There was never anyone else who understood what it was like to see the future, and have that ability to command its secrets.  You always were alone with your power. 

“Adrian, break with the past.  Start anew.  All will be yours the minute you cut your ties to your past, and destroy the control the antiquated Jedi Order has forced upon you.  Kill this woman, your former Master and mentor.  Only then will you free yourself from their chains.  Kill this wretched Jedi, Adrian.  Destroy her, and you will destroy the past,” Lady Nemesis’ voice was a tiny hiss.

Cupping his fingers around the hilt of the lightsaber, Adrian closed his eyes, then looked at Lady Nemesis and quietly asked, “Why?”

“She symbolizes all that that is wrong with the Jedi.  She had control of your life for years, while you were her Padawan.  Remember how she put you in one recklessly dangerous situation after another, while she was frolicking around with that brute beast...”  Lady Nemesis allowed herself a little smile. 

“She allowed brigands and criminals to go free, many times.  Isn’t such a complete disregard for law and order in disparity with your principles, Adrian?  Should such a scofflaw go free? 

“Why?” Adrian murmured once more, his head shaking imperceptibly.

“If anyone goes racing in where angels fear to tread, it is this wild woman with a lightsaber.  Aggressive negotiations?  Just invite her to dinner!  Discussion won’t do, if a battle can be had,” Lady Nemesis spat.

Pursing his lips, Adrian whispered, “There have been times when fighting was the only way to solve a conflict.”

“But every conflict that has gone on the last forty years has involved the Jedi in some way or fashion.  And this one was at the vanguard of the attack!” Lady Nemesis explained.  “Someone so bold, so brash, is a danger to themselves and others.”

He lifted the saber above his head, igniting it.  Patrice made no sound and did not  move; her face peaceful, she closed her eyes.  He looked up at the saber, taking in the shimmering blade that flashed its bright blinding center hissing with carmine fire;  with awe, his caressing fingers sensed the intricacies of the hilt between his fingers.  His attention was pulled away from the marvel in his hands down to the woman on the floor, who looked at him with a calm expression; motionless, as a rock.

Without thinking, he gazed into those eyes – eyes he knew so well, whose love for him radiated with complete faith in who he was and who he would become –and lowered the saber, de-igniting it.  He broke eye contact with his former master and looked down at the saber hilt, which he stroked gently for a few seconds before turning towards Lady Nemesis and held it out towards her.  “I will not!”

“You fool,” Lady Nemesis whispered, “I offer you the ultimate power and you refuse!?”

“My past is a part of me, whether I like it or not: it has shaped me and made me the person I am; without it I would be nothing.  I would accomplish nothing by killing Master Patrice... it won’t eradicate my past or break my ties with the Jedi Order or my sense of duty.  Don’t you see, I am my past!” Adrian whispered.

Lady Nemesis just looked at him, with an expression of utter regret and disappointment.  She shook her head slightly, as she looked at him.  “But don’t you see, Adrian?  As long as she is alive, she has power over you, they all have.  Do you really want to continue living as their slave?  At their mercy and good-will?  Like a criminal, for having abandoned the faith; their faith, their rules and codes, their monopoly on the living Force?

“I have lived to see the Jedi Order destroyed and resurrected, from one monstrosity to another, with no real progress.  The days of the Skywalkers are over and what showed promise in the beginning, quickly turned into what it was before: a gang of power hungry overzealous creo-toads.

“I have lived to see the Jedi kill my family, my mentor, everything I loved.  Spiritually, and sometimes physically, they drained the life out of all who dared be slightly different, especially if they used the Force, their God given natural abilities.  My sisters were hunted down by the Jedi, driven from their home on Dathomir because they refused to ally themselves with the Jedi.  Adrian, my love, you must understand that however great and noble the Jedi Order appears to be, they are no better or worse than the Sith ever were.  

“Many Jedi have realized the error of their ways and left the Order, only to be hunted down and killed in the name of some mindless ‘code’, which they, in truth, adhere to more faithfully than the Jedi themselves.”

Adrian shook his head, and said nothing, still cradling the de-ignited saber in his hand.  Lady Nemesis closed her eyes, as if to meditate on her reply

 “You refuse me?” Lady Nemesis cringed, “After all that I’m offering you?  You see the truth in what I say, yet, you refuse!?  I’m granting you relief... an end to your pain.  What do you want from me that I haven’t already offered?  My sweet.  You must do it... if not for you, then for me, because I cannot bear to see you burdened so.  Your salvation depends upon this act.  It is the only way.”

“I cannot allow that,” Adrian said quietly, as he turned towards her.

“It is no longer your choice to make, my love.  If you will not do it, then I will have to do it for you!” Lady Nemesis grimaced, moving forward, but Adrian placed himself between the Sith Witch and Patrice.

“Move aside!” she hissed and slapped him hard across his face, but when he just looked at her and still refused to move, she sent him flying into the wall, taking Adrian’s new lightsaber, igniting it above her head with a vicious snarl.

The blood red blade sliced through the air in a fluent arch, but was halted only inches from the Jedi’s outstretched hands.  Lady Nemesis cringed in frustration and pressed forward, but the blade didn’t budge, nor did the Jedi move: she just looked up at Lady Nemesis, her expression devoid of hate or aggression.  Eventually, the aggressor backed away in bewildered surprise.

The Jedi stood up and nodded once, allowing her binders to fall to the floor, with ease.  Regarding her opponent, she reached out and taking Adrian’s saber from the floor, where it had skidded to when the fiend had flung him across the room.

Adrian pulled himself up from the floor.  He felt his whole body tinge with a strange sensation, while looking at the scene unfolding before him. 

In that moment, he saw within her deep obsidian orbs.  His vision of her devolved into a vision of himself: craven, perverted desire, decaying cadaverous flesh and bone, amorphous oblivion.  The darkness that filled his body, mind and soul, leaving him bereft of any sense of his own self, filling him with trembling terror, begging for more of her, despite the self he felt slipping away from him left him in horrified shock.  Unable to look away or resist her, the one who filled him up and ripped him apart, he felt lost inside her, unable to find any sense of right or wrong, just... nothing.

Sizing up her opponent, Lady Nemesis called for Adrian; completely mesmerized, he joined her at her side.  She held the saber out towards the Jedi, whispering coldly, “He is mine; don’t you dare take him away from me!”

Holding Adrian to her protectively, Lady Nemesis moved them both towards the doors, making a wide arc around Patrice, holding her at bay.  Switching on her comm-link, she called out to Lady Feral.

Lady Feral appeared at the call.  “Yes milady?”

“Bring my witches and deal with this Jedi!  Adrian and I are departing,” she ordered, as she led Adrian in front of her.  Reaching the entrance to the throne room, she pushed Adrian up against the doorframe and kissed him quickly, passionately, before pushing him ahead of her through the door.  Turning her attention back towards Patrice, she managed to see her duck the huge chandelier she had sent her way.  She continued pushing Adrian in front of her, as they hurried through the room to the far end, but as the doors opened, everyone stopped in their tracks.

“Watch where you’re going, you silly hag,” drawled a familiar voice.

Everyone except Adrian drew back instinctively in shock.  Grasping hold of the king’s arm tightly, pulling him to her sharply, Lady Nemesis exclaimed, “YOU!?!!  You’re dead!”

Carsten Hedegaard was looking for a clever excuse, with Aramina standing slightly behind him and Wil, still in a confused state, reclining on the hover stretcher.  “Nah, I feel pretty alive...” was all he could eventually mutter, before composing himself, and continuing, “But I can’t believe you let yourself go like this, risking everything for a two-time loser like this piece of crap king of this fairy tale world!  You waste yourself, milady!”

“Out of my way, Hedegaard!” she hissed at him, attempting to shove her way past him, a confused Adrian in tow.

Reflexively, Carsten pushed Aramina and Wil safely out of the way, before aiming himself head on at the furious witch, knocking her to her feet, pulling Adrian down with her.

The impact also sent Hedegaard crashing to the floor, gasping for air, pain shooting out to all corners of his body.  He regarded Lady Nemesis, who looked over at him, her eyes burning with irritation and a slight hint of hurt pride.

“You always knew how to hurt me,” she whispered, running the back of her hands across her bleeding lips.

“You won’t be taking him with you,” Carsten returned, as he pulled himself up from the floor.

In a flash, she was on her feet, thrusting Hedegaard away from her with the wave of a hand.  “You think you can stop me?  He’s mine! ” she said coldly, dragging Adrian up from the floor behind her.

“I’m not gonna tell you again!” Carsten said and slowly reached for his lightsaber and ignited it.  “Remember this?  Took it from one of your minions, long ago!”

Lady Nemesis just stood, legs slightly apart and clenched fists as she looked at him with fire in her eyes.  “Why do you even care about him, he isn’t anyone to you; in fact, you told me you hated him, so why?”

Having reached the group silently from behind, Patrice finally rushed her, only to be sent flying to the far wall.  Aramina stood next to Wil’s stretcher, her hand gently on his shoulder, as she tried to get a feel for what was happening and where everyone was in the room.

Climbing up gingerly from the floor, Patrice waited for an attack that did not come.

“I have my reasons...” Carsten said slowly, as he looked past her and right at Adrian, who glared back at him.

“You don’t want to fight me, boy,” Lady Nemesis growled, indicating Wil’s stretcher, “Innocent lives could be lost in the fray!”

Not answering her, Carsten rushed her once more, only to have Wil’s stretcher thrust between them, and Aramina shoved to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Adrian screamed at her.  “You have me.  I’m yours... don’t hurt them.”

Shaking her head violently, Lady Nemesis thrust Patrice once more to the floor, then took another stab for Hedegaard.  “I didn’t cause this!” she hissed back at him and turned around, before slapping him hard across the face.  “Be mindful of your surroundings and for heavens sake, see your so-called friends for what they truly are!”

“Your Highness,” a careful voice whispered to his left.

“Go away,” Alexi whispered back, his head still buried in his arms, resting on his knees, as he curled up against the wall.

“We can take them; we need to stop them...” the voice continued.

“No.  They are too strong. And they’re right: I am a failure.”

“We need a leader, someone who knows these halls, someone who knows their secrets.  Your Highness, you are the only one knowing these old wall’s secrets.   You must help us.  You must save us!” the whisper insisted.

“I can’t save anybody.  The dead are dead because of me,” Alexi’s whisper became a quiet sob, his entire body shaking from grief and fatigue.

“That’s not true.  Look around, my prince.  Everyone here is alive because of you and what you did.  I saw what you did.  I saw you, and I am proud to have served under you and honored that the Crown Prince of Kiria is a brave young man who cared more for the lives of his people than his own.”

Alexi looked up into the face of Captain Patar, and shook his head.  “Brave?” he managed to murmur, but was drowned out by the vile voice of a Sith Witch over the comm calling Lady Feral to the command center.

Knowing something was up and that the witches were preparing to leave the large hall, Alexi whispered to Captain Patar, “We’ve got to detain them.  We can’t let them leave.  I know a way to keep them trapped, but we need a diversion.  By the pillar to our right, there is a small button at the base that seals the whole room and one on the other side that sends up an inner shield... an old safety feature if the doors were breached.  We can save the hostages, but one of us has to keep the witches occupied in the outer parts of the room. I’ll do that and you have to activate the shield and seal the room!”

“That’s suicide!” Captain Patar said, “I can’t let you do that!”

“No time to argue!” Alexi said hurriedly and got up to set the plan in motion, but he was stopped and held back by Captain Patar, several Kirian representatives, and a few more diplomats, who had listened in on their conversation.  Angry, he tore at the hands holding him tight, as he watched a Wookiee, a Twi’lek and a Devaronian run towards the witches, preventing them from moving towards the exit to the lower halls.

The first witch was caught by surprise and tumbled to the floor, but rolled around and was on her feet in a second, her lightsaber at the ready, growling viciously, as the others turned to face their assailants.

“NOW!” the Twi’lek yelled, his yells becoming horrified screams of pain, as he was slowly hacked to pieces, along with the Devaronian and the Wookiee who had dared to defy the witches.

In a flash, Alexi had activated the seal and the force field, keeping the witches and their slain victims within the ancient remains of the original castle, destroyed thousands of years before, onto which remains the CrystalPalace had been grafted.  The witches screamed, as they realized that they were trapped.  They tried welding into the shields and the walls with their lightsabers, but to no avail.

The whole room exploded in cheers, but Alexi lowered his head over the loss of the three courageous diplomats, who had lain down their lives to save them all.  He felt Captain Patar’s hand on his shoulder.

“You must understand, Your Highness; I could not allow you to become a martyr,” Captain Patar explained, others about him nodding their agreement.

“Thank you, Captain,” Alexi said, whispering silent thanks to Domu for their deliverance.

“You cretin!” Lady Feral screamed on the other side of the shield.

Alexi, followed by all in the room, moved closer to the witches, who glared back at them, frustrated fury in their eyes.  They had grown tired of hacking away at the paramacrete and the impenetrable shield, and had de-ignited their sabers.

“There is no way out for any of you!” Alexi said, “This place is specifically designed to keep out evil things, with passageways for us to get to safety.  You might as well surrender to me now or you will meet a gruesome end later, as the air in your compartment will run out in a couple of hours.  You have nowhere to go.  You are finished.”

Lady Feral looked at the other witches, before once again looking straight into Alexi’s with such unrivalled resolve.  She knew they had lost, but she wasn’t going to surrender to anyone, least of all a seventeen year old brat.  In one sharp movement, she threw herself into the shield head first.  As the onlookers recoiled in horror, it hissed, and spat, slashing her face and body into lifeless pieces on the floor.  Seconds later, showing no signs of fear or regret, the other witches followed suit, flinging themselves into the shield with similar horrific results.

“By the Gods!” several senators whispered.  Others stood in ashen silence; some buried their faces in their hands, trying to block out what they had just witnessed.

Alexi had turned away from the carnage, but soon realized that he had to take control of the masses before panic erupted turning this into another dangerous situation.

“We are free,” Alexi shouted, “but we are not safe yet.”  He waited for the crowd to turn their attention towards him and listen, before he continued.  “We need to get out of here, but we have to pass through the carnage.  Everyone must calm down, compose themselves and focus on our goal.  These witches can no longer hurt us, we no longer have to fear them; just stay calm and help whoever is next to you, so we can all get out safe and sound.  Agreed?”

The crowds murmured at first, still frightened from all that had happened, but soon, they all agreed, nodding their acquiescence to Alexi’s plan.

“The soldiers will escort us out.  Let’s just do this nice and easy.  Captain Patar.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” he answered.

“Call your men,” Alexi said, “And lead these good folk out of here!”

“Yes, sir!” he said and saluted, before calling the troops together and giving them their orders.  Soon, they were all on the way out of the lower regions of the Palace Halls.

The soldiers formed a protective coterie about the diplomats, shuffling them down the passageway.

“Are there any enemy soldiers in the Palace,” Alexi whispered to Captain Patar.

“Not that I know of, sir,” he replied, “I didn’t personally see any when being escorted down here, but that doesn’t mean none are present.  We need to be very careful, when we enter the upper Hall.”

“Agreed,” Alexi said, as he continued to lead them down the end of the corridor, to the stairs, leading up.

“Maybe we should go first, Captain,” Alexi said.

“Your Highness...” Patar began.

“To make sure things are safe,” Alexi reasoned.

Patar and two other soldiers followed the Crown Prince up the stairs so that they could peek into the halls, prior to letting the rest of them come up.  “There are no soldiers here!” he paused, holding his breath, as he held out his hand, to indicate the others to not move.

“I don’t see anything,” he finally said, before opening the door completely, and walked quietly out into the hall.

“Where did you come from?” asked a velvet voice.

“Are you a friend or foe?” Alexi said slowly, fearing the worst.

“That depends completely upon your point of view, Crown Prince Alexi,” answered the Admiral.  “But you have nothing to fear from me!”

********************************

Patrice circled Lady Nemesis and Adrian warily.  Hedegaard rushed to where Wil lay on the floor, gently pulling him back onto the stretcher, from which he had been flung, when Lady Nemesis had used him as a shield,

Lady Nemesis kept eye contact with the Jedi, as she moved around, keeping Adrian securely behind her, but suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and a surge of rising determination and power she had not expected.

Adrian stepped forward, took the lightsaber she was still holding from her, “Let me deal with her.  I feel the truth of your words from before.”

“Adrian, what are you doing?” Patrice asked, bewilderment in her voice.

“You will never stop haunting me.  You will never allow me to be free!” Adrian said and ignited the saber.  Holding the handle and feeling its shape against his palm still sent a surge of joy and wonderment through his entire body.  “You will never allow me to love...”

“That is not true Adrian and you know it!” Patrice replied, as she lowered her saber, “I will not fight you.”

“That just makes killing you so much easier!” Adrian shouted, lunging towards her with the saber raised high above his head.  Lady Nemesis looked at her warrior lover in surprise and joy, while Carsten looked on horrified, as Adrian swung the blade at Patrice, who blocked his advance expertly.

“I thought you didn’t want to fight...” Adrian spat at her.

Looking at him with regret and compassion she replied, “Defense is the way of the Jedi, never attack or aggression.  I do not want to fight you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t defend myself!”

She saw the anger in his eyes, the fury mixed with grief and she knew that this was a dangerous time for him.  That he was still in a fragile place and caught in emotional turmoil that could pull him apart, if she wasn’t extremely careful in her effort to reach to him and aid him in his internal struggle, which this fiend had so masterfully manipulated to her own advantage.

He was unstoppable, as he hacked away at her, in a furious display of desperation and despair.  His frustration, his wrath, his uncontrollable rage were palpable to all in the room.

Carsten felt a pair of hands wrap around his collars and lift him up, but before Lady Nemesis could do anything, he had grabbed her hands and twisted them around and off his shirt, before pushing her away from him.

Aramina had moved along the wall towards Wil’s stretcher, using her hands to feel her way, while hearing the horrible sounds of battle, but not being able to see what was going on.  Opening her mind to her surroundings she could see the shape of the stretcher before reaching it and she grabbed Wil’s hand and held it tightly, as he lay there.  Looking up at her, he tried to speak, but the pain and the drugs made it difficult to form words, so it just came out as a garbled piece of nonsense.  They both felt the cold fury that had settled over the large Throne Room and threatened to take over Adrian’s mind completely.

Adrian continued his furious attacks, Patrice purely defending herself with her lightsaber, the Force her lone ally.  Carsten didn’t fare much better against the onslaught of Lady Nemesis, as she pummeled him, slowly, but surely, breaking him, until he eventually fell to the floor exhausted and defeated.

“Let us go, my love.  Our work here is done,” Lady Nemesis purred to Adrian, as he struck Patrice’s blade out of the way just long enough to drive his blade through her abdomen, sending her to her knees, gasping in pain.

Adrian looked down at Patrice in horror, dropping his de-ignited saber to the floor, paralyzed by the realization of what he had done and the power this witch had over him to make him turn against his former master in this fashion, with such rage.

He dropped to his knees in front of Patrice.  “Oh Domu!” he exclaimed reaching out towards her, even more horrorstricken when she recoiled from his touch with what appeared to be fear.  “What have I done?”

Lady Nemesis looked over at him, baffled that she no longer held any power over him.  “How did I fail?” she asked herself, looking at him with disbelief.  “Adrian, I