Star Wars Character Cafe - The Legend of Black Saber Chapter 3

THE LEGEND OF BLACK SABER

CHAPTER III

A week had passed, and Cloudia sat in front of Valenteen’s desk, her tautly linked hands rested upon her lap as she observed Grip, who was now sitting painfully erect in Valenteen’s high-backed chair. The new commander’s _expression was as black as her uniform, and she tried to find her voice, but for nearly a minute she remained speechless as she stared at Cloudia. Jake stood flanking Grip’s left. The boy was also clad in black, and he was just as tense as the women were.

The half-Churyen broke eye contact with Grip, even before the silence dared to falter. Her wandering gaze began to absorb the details of the conversation room, from the muted tan walls and the bleak art that covered them, to the jagged looking ceiling and the rows of cylindrical lights that hung from it.

Cloudia even chanced to look out the window to the landscape of Trangor L’sa. The verdant outdoors, with its lush fields and towering trees, was drinking in the mid-afternoon sun, and the nearby Y’ss river sparkled as it flowed. Even that usually relaxing sight did nothing to elevate the increasing blackness.

Grip forced herself to speak. "This organization has suffered a terrible tragedy, and I don’t know how you can be so selfish as to even think of leaving." Cloudia’s attention was snared, and she tried to respond, but the other woman continued. "Don’t feed me your excuses again. I don’t need them. I just want you to abandon this course of action."

"That’s something I can’t do," the half-Churyen stated, forcing herself to maintain eye contact.

"Why? Just because you want to go on some selfish, idealistic crusade? That’s something I can’t allow you to do. This organization needs to get back on its feet again, the sooner the better, and you should understand the daunting task ahead of us. Valenteen’s dead, so is Erik, and Rensor proved himself no less than a traitor. That leaves the elite a shadow of itself, and some of the most likely replacements were on the Death Ray and the Death Claw. We can’t lose you too, Cloudia."

The daughter of the former Jedi Master gazed at her hands and sighed. A brief silence followed those movements, then she shook her head. "I understand that, Grip, but I feel myself being called to do something about the Dark Jedi. I feel compelled by the Force." Cloudia looked up and locked stares with the commander. "I can’t deny that."

"Do you think you can actually do something about the Dark Jedi, by yourself? I think it’s time to let things rest, at least for awhile if not permanently. If he wants you as badly as you’ve said, it would be foolish to walk right back into his hands, wouldn’t it? And isn’t that what he said you’d do?"

The half-Churyen sighed and nodded slightly. "You’ve got a point, but I need to take care of this. Besides I won’t be going alone. I’m going to go to Coruscant first to warn the Jedi. Then-."

"I’m going to Coruscant as well, and you know it. Valenteen would have wanted me to seek out Count T’zarn and order that slime-ball to pay up, and that’s what I’m going to do. You can find the Jedi Temple and tell one of them what you know. Then you can come back to where you’re needed." Cloudia opened her mouth to protest. "Don’t tell me that the Jedi will need you more than I do because it’s not true."

Suddenly a torrent of melodic beeps filled the room, signaling that someone was at the door. "Who is it?" Grip asked.

"Del Gintshaft, Commander Tarlen," a tight masculine voice responded.

"Come in, Gintshaft."

The door hissed open, revealing a thin muscular man. Once the head of base security, he was now dressed in the blue uniform of the elite, looking even more efficient and professional than Erik had, and a stern, military expression was chiseled onto his face. He walked quickly toward his commander’s desk, his back as stiff as a protocol droid’s.

"Permission to speak, Commander?" Gintshaft asked, looking straight ahead.

"Of course. Go on."

"Command Center has just received a transmission from Count Melox T’zarn. He wishes to speak with you and has requested that you open your private channel to him." The former security chief gave Grip a quick, rigid glance, before turning his eyes forward again.

The commander smiled tightly. "I will speak with him now," she said, rising to her feet. "Thank you, Gintshaft. You may go."

The newest member of the elite gave a stiff, military nod, twisted around on his heels, and marched from the room. Grip almost gave her first true smile in well over a week. "Now I remember why Gintshaft was never made one of the elite before. He can add tension to any situation, no matter how close things are to snapping."

She sighed, the half smile utterly gone, as she gazed down at Cloudia. "You might as well stick around for this. If T’zarn says the right things you might very well get the break you’re looking for."

The half-Churyen nodded, almost feeling hopeful, as Grip and her protégé made their way to the holo-link transmitter. After a moment of making herself look as rigid and impenetrable as Gintshaft, the commander turned the system on. A hologram of the XUEdorian count rose before them.

T’zarn, who was manipulating the appendages of his flesh-goatee, smiled, the _expression almost arrogant and seductive. Yet it vanished quickly and was replaced with a melancholy frown. Both Cloudia and Grip felt there was something mock about the expression, but neither made so much as a whisper.

The count finally broke the silence. "Commander Tarlen, is it?" The addressee nodded. "Well, Commander, I’m calling because I’ve just received very saddening news. I have heard that Valenteen is dead. Are my sources correct? I pray they’re not."

Grip nodded again. "Unfortunately they are."

The XUEdorian caressed his cheek and ran his fingers down his neck as a gesture of sympathy. "A pity," he hissed, sounding meditative and reflecting.

"Yes, but as saddening as it is, I doubt you are as upset as you’re pretending to be."

"Commander Tarlen, please trust that I am sincere." He ran his fingers down the breast of his crimson tunic and bowed his head, a gesture of a noble XUEdorian’s honesty. Then he looked at Grip again. "Hearing the news of Valenteen’s death was like being stabbed in the heart."

The commander fought down a sarcastic laugh, and Cloudia had to do the same.

"I honestly doubt that, Count. I can hardly believe you have a heart." The first twinges of anger manifested themselves around T’zarn’s eyes and mouth. "Don’t take me as if I’m trying to be insulting, but you killed an entire vessel full of Valenteen’s best people and-."

"That was my bounty hunter’s doing, not mine. She is an over-zealous, violent miscreant, and I had her chastised for her rash deed, I assure you."

"And the fact that you use a bounty hunter at all says something about your character."

"Would you have rather that I let that scoundrel live to take advantage of another innocent girl? Or would you have wanted me to show that I didn’t care enough about my daughter to have her death avenged?"

Grip shook her head, her posture becoming even more rigid. "But that’s not all of what I’m talking about. You must have at least a dozen bounties out right now. Some only because a person dared to stand up to your authority."

T’zarn could not suppress a harsh, almost sinister smile. "Well then, Commander, if that’s the truth, I should be placing a rather large bounty on your head any minute now." The XUEdorian toned down his _expression. "But I have more courtesy than that, and I’ll be open with you. I do have a fondness for bounty hunters, especially Tasha Sumrac, the one whom took care of the Elian Riggs matter. I have been familiar with her, so you could say that she takes care of my needs, so I take care of hers." He gave the organization’s leader a slimy, toothy grin. "I’m sure I don’t have to give details. You’re a smart, beautiful woman, and I’m sure that you’re experienced in such matters."

"If you have nothing of further importance, then I will end this transmission."

"Ah, but I do." The count tugged at his flesh-goatee as he smirked. "I have a proposition for you. It involves what was done to the Corellian Death Ray and those aboard." T’zarn fell silent, continuing to grin vilely at Grip. Even Cloudia felt uncomfortable.

"Go on," the commander stated, her voice firm. "I’m listening."

"Of course, Commander Tarlen. The proposition involves me settling the debt that I owe your organization, because of my bounty hunter’s actions. I will do this, but I will give you more ships and crew than were wiped away." T’zarn knotted his right hand’s fingers together. "I say these words upon the XUEdorian Code of Honor, but I am applying one condition. Your organization will make an alliance with mine."

Grip winced.

"You don’t like that? Then the entire proposition will be nullified."

"I don’t understand why you’re adding this stipulation into the mix," the commander forced the words from her mouth, trying to sound as calm as she ought to.

"I have desired this alliance for a long time, and you will not deny me as your predecessor did. If you try to deny me, I will have to make things miserable for you. But I don’t think that will be necessary. I understand why you don’t like this idea. You don’t want your organization’s reputation soiled by linking forces with a criminal genius.

"I know that was how Valenteen felt, but don’t fear, Commander. The fact can be hidden, easily, and by telling you about my familiar and I, I revealed my excellence in getting what I want, while at the same time dealing out what others want. I am a master at such things, and no one ever need know that you are linked to me."

"We are not interested in illegal dealings, whether you can cover the truth or not."

"Honestly." The count smirked. "What about the goods Valenteen was smuggling to the Mersighdonian working class?… Yes, I know about that, and because of these actions the planet is engulfed in a full scale revolution… from what I have heard."

"I’ll have you understand, Valenteen had us delivering goods to them because he felt Mersigh’s king was unjust, and he wanted to help the people and to have them be treated fairly."

"And at the same instant he was helping the people, he was still delivering to the king and courting regal favor… Any cover story you can throw at me will not be good enough, Commander. You may broadcast your legit façade to others and they’ll swallow it, but I won’t. Yours is a smuggling operation pure and simple, the best the galaxy has to offer, and that’s why I desire this alliance. You’d be a fool not to accept this proposition. You have much to gain if you say yes to my proposal."

Grip nodded, although reluctantly. "I have business on Coruscant within a few days time. Why don’t we meet then and discuss the details, just to ensure that we’re both getting what we want?"

"I’ll take that as an affirmative, and I assure you, you won’t be sorry. As soon as you land I will have one of my aides escort you from your ship to an establishment of mine. I look forward to this rendezvous. Until then, Commander."

T’zarn had barely spoken his last word when his image disappeared.

Grip turned to Cloudia and walked slowly toward the half-Churyen, with Jake following.

"You weren’t expecting that, were you?" the blonde woman asked.

"Sort of, but I can’t believe it." Cloudia shook her head slightly as she stood. "I don’t think Valenteen would have wanted you to do that."

"I can do you one better. I know he wouldn’t have wanted me to do that and he sure as hell wouldn’t have done it himself. Still, from my personal point of view, it’s the best option we’ve got since we’re dealing with T’zarn, and you know with what he’s offering, you’re off the hook. I can free you from your contract without any guilt."

"But now you’ll have guilt elsewhere."

Grip nodded and sighed. "Yes. The count was wrong about us, but working as his allies we’re apt to become very immersed in underworld dealings. It’s probably a good thing you want out."

"Agreed."

"Then it’s settled. You’re history, after we’re on Coruscant that is… You’ll probably have to come and talk to T’zarn with me first, though."

Cloudia sniffed a weak laugh through her nostrils. "I knew you were going to say that, and as much as I don’t want any involvement here, I’ll cover you. I’ll use the Force to protect you as much as I can because I think you’re going to need it."

"Agreed," Grip said, echoing the half-Churyen’s prior statement, and she shook her head, a little disheartened as the three of them left the room.

***

Two mornings later they were off to the Republic’s capital. Grip, Jake, and Gintshaft made up the Death’s Vein’s depleted crew; Gintshaft obviously piloting, for the vessel moved taut and precise as if an extension of the former security chief’s body. Cloudia was trailing them in the Death’s Sneer, a small craft designed to seat three people. The vessel also had a minute sleeping cubicle, a cramped refresher, and a galley, under which was a dual set of turbo laser cannons.

The Death’s Sneer was where the organization’s founder had often sought refuge in times where he’d thought his life was in jeopardy, and it was where one of his ambitious underlings, a direct ancestor of Valenteen’s, had murdered him.

Though the centuries had been whittled away and the blood had long since been washed from existence, the daughter of the former Jedi Master could still feel the violent, emotional gore lingering inside. She wouldn’t ask Grip for another vessel though. This one perfectly fit her needs, and so she took it, flying it to brush up on her piloting.

It had been a good two years since she had flown anything. Still she was good, a length of ten Hutts better than Rensor, she thought as she recalled their escape from Mersigh. She closed her eyes and shuddered, remembering what Valenteen’s former aide had done in the Drakhsah cave, then she pushed the thoughts from the forefront of her brain, praying that they would not wake from their slumber while she traveled.

This segment of the piloting test was done as the Death’s Vein’s tractor beam latched onto the smaller counterpart—this linkage for convenience only since the Death’s Sneer had its own hyperdrive system—and the two vessels thrust into lightspeed.

From there the journey to Coruscant took two and a half days, standard, and upon jumping out of hyperspace, the tractor beam disengaged and Cloudia was again left to flying. It didn’t take long for a voice to break through on both ships’ comm systems.

"Ship ID, please. Both vessels if you will."

This man sounded official but was one of T’zarn’s people. He knew exactly who they were, but it was time for the lies to begin, to make things look good.

"The Risen Gauntlet and the Yin Szwavar," Gintshaft stated, his voice disapproving, but he obediently spewed off the false serial numbers.

"All checks well. Cargo?" the man on the comm said.

"Merely passengers," Gintshaft responded, his tone revealing that he was grateful to be honest.

"I see, and what is the Yin Szwavar doing with you, Risen Gauntlet?" the man asked, sounding a bit suspecting.

Suddenly Cloudia heard Grip. "I have a business meeting that is to take place rather soon. After that one of my associates has other concerns elsewhere, and I have to stay on Coruscant. Is that clear?" By the tone of her voice it was obvious that she was fitting nicely into the roll of commander.

"Yes. Understood," the man said, knowing well when to end the charade. "Proceed landing on one of the lower levels, pad six-oh-two. An escort will be waiting there to show you to your destination."

The half-Churyen remembered that number with pristine clarity. That very landing pad was where she had seen the Death’s Vein for the first time—ten years ago when Valenteen had rescued her—and Cloudia wondered if their ultimate destination would be Tell’s. If so T’zarn must have bought the place. Maybe things had changed there, but the XUEdorian count was scum himself, and the young woman wouldn’t hold her breath.

The landing went well, and when the two ships had been exited, a man who looked a bit like T’zarn appeared. Yet he didn’t look too much like the count. While his skin was the same putrid color, he lacked the male XUEdorian flesh-goatee and he had a red streak plummeting down his forehead to the bridge of his nose. Apparently he belonged to one of the four XUEdorian sub-species; Cloudia thought maybe the mystine or the tasym.

"Welcome, Commander Tarlen. Greetings to you and your followers from Count Melox T’zarn. I am rictuli f’lcron, the count’s aide, here to show you to my master/employer. First, though, I must ask who your followers are. The master/employer wishes their names and perhaps who they are."

As f’lcron finished, Grip responded, "This is Jake Elvne, my protégé." She gestured toward the boy, then glanced toward Gintshaft and Cloudia. "And those two are Del Gintshaft and Cloudia Wandry, members of my elite crew."

"Ah," the aide breathed. "We shall be off then."

As they walked from the landing pad, then into the crowded, dirty street before turning left, it was clear that they were on their way to Tell’s. Maybe it was one of the other establishments that T’zarn had taken a fancy for, but Tell’s seemed more his style.

Somebody bumped into Cloudia and grunted. "Hey! What did you do that for?" She turned to face the speaker. He was a teenage punk, wearing tattered street clothes; a greasy ragged cloth held back his equally greasy dark hair. He was holding a blaster on her by this time. "I don’t like when people get all pushy with me."

T’zarn’s aide quickly inserted himself between the punk and the half-Churyen, his own weapon drawn and aimed at the kid. It appeared that the teenager was going to be mouthy, even though the blaster’s barrel was pressed to his gut.

Then the aide spoke, his voice deadly. "This is a guest of Count T’zarn." He ground the metal into the punk’s flesh a little until pain was evident on the other’s features. "You will do nothing rash, and I suggest you send a warning to your hoodlum associates. These people are untouchable."

"Yeah," the punk bit out, holstering his own blaster, and glaring at Cloudia as he bottled his threats and walked away.

"This will not happen again," the aide assured them, and they pressed on.

It was obvious that this sliver of Coruscant hadn’t changed since the young woman had last been here, or if it had, it had only become worse. People were being thrashed and torn apart in plain view and nothing was being done. A loose Twi’lek woman and a few of her fellow street-prowlers immerged from the dimmer, more grungy areas, into evidence. They approached Gintshaft, and even Jake, searching for ‘work’. F’lcron frightened them off with his blaster and a brief mention of T’zarn’s name.

Cloudia made a mental note; it was definitely worse.

Then they arrived at Tell’s and the aide wordlessly led them inside. Welcome home, the bitter thought encompassed her mind, but oddly the establishment’s interior looked a lot better that it had when she had been employed here. It was cleaner, quieter, less crowded, but still full of scum. Most of it just happened to be upper echelon scum, although there were a few scraggly types.

An unshaven, sweaty looking bounty hunter was talking to his sharp dressed clients; they were all congregated in a well-lit booth nearby. And sitting in one of the more isolated, shadowy places was a solitary man—a smuggler or a spy of some sort, who was hunched close to the table, drinking heavily from a bottle of black liqueur.

Suddenly a Rodian narcotics pusher went over to the man. They talked for a moment, and the man paid before taking a great handful of merchandise. The Rodian walked away pleased. The smuggler/spy gulped down more liqueur, and began to harshly ingest one of his new acquisitions, as if he didn’t look brain-fried enough.

"Please sit here," T’zarn’s aide pointed to a round table near the center of the far wall. "My master/employer will be with you in a few minutes." And they did so as he disappeared.

It didn’t take Gintshaft long to reveal his disgust. "I hate this place. I can’t fathom why we’re doing this." Upon falling silent the former chief of security clipped his anger. "I apologize, Commander Tarlen. I don’t mean to speak like you’ve made an error in judgement."

"Yes, you do," Grip said with an unprofessional laugh. "But don’t worry, Gintshaft. I feel the same way, and it doesn’t seem like there’s a way out." Before she even finished speaking the narcotics pushing Rodian arrived. "We don’t want to buy from you," she stated sternly.

The pusher said something in his native language, smirking. "I said we don’t want to buy from you. Try your scum-bag tricks elsewhere."

The Rodian sneered, but the smile quickly returned to his lips. He spoke in his own tongue and pointed toward Jake. The boy looked semi-interested and Grip leaned her hand in front of him to get his attention.

"Jake, no. Maybe you’ve never been warned properly, but-."

The Rodian interrupted.

"Can it," Grip snapped as she sent the pusher a piercing glare. Then she turned to Jake again. "If your cousin was still with us he’d kill us both." The boy nodded, subduing whatever odd curiosity he felt.

The pusher was going to say something else when a hidden doorway near the table opened up. Cloudia knew that it was the entrance to a secret passage, which contained a set of stairs that had once led to Tell’s private office, and now T’zarn appeared, smiling at first until he saw what was going on.

"Rodian," the count growled. "Leave them to me." The pusher made a smart remark. "Do that again and you’ll be worse than dead." The Rodian nodded and was off to pick out another victim, leaving T’zarn free to sit at the table. The XUEdorian’s aide suddenly appeared from the stairwell; he shut the door and came over to flank his master’s left-hand side.

The count looked somewhat apologetic. "I’m dreadfully sorry that riffraff bothered you, but he will not attempt that again. None of them." Then his lips began to curve upward as he eyed everyone in the group, smiling especially at the women. "But we have business to discuss now, and I’m almost ready to give you my terms. But first… Tell!" the count called, and Cloudia’s former employer turned from the far side of the bar to face the speaker. There was more than a hint of recognition in his eyes as he spotted the half-Churyen.

The young woman’s discomfort was evident as T’zarn added, "Bring us some Corellian Ale." Then the count turned to Grip and took to his annoying habit of stroking his flesh-goatee. "A favorite of Valenteen’s, as I recall. I hope you all like it as well."

"That’s fine for me, and I don’t know about the others, but the boy won’t be drinking. His age."

"Of course," the count said, before reluctantly looking from Grip to Gintshaft. "And you?"

Although it seemed as if the former security chief’s spine could stand no more strain without snapping, his added tension became obvious. "I don’t drink," he replied, his military voice sounding even more curt than usual.

"I see, and you?"

Cloudia was also unnerved as T’zarn placed his gaze upon her. It was more than possible that she had never seen a man looking at her with so much lust before, even the lowlife vultures that used to haunt Tell’s had not dared seem that hungry.

"I don’t drink either," the half-Churyen forced her words to sound calm.

"A pity," the count said, flashing a very wanton, enticing smile at her.

Tell arrived then, apparently a barkeep and server now that T’zarn owned the place. He took the decanter of ale and placed it upon the table, along with a few glasses. Before he could be dismissed, he looked at the count and said, "I don’t know if you’d wish my advice, Sir, but I’d watch that one if I were you." Now the former owner was smiling and looking at Cloudia.

"Really? Why?" T’zarn’s voice was tight. He thought that Tell was being daring, but the statement had done quite well in piquing his interest.

"That one used to work for me when I owned the place, about ten years ago I think it was. She’s pretty skilled—no, Sir, not in the way you’re thinking—and she often proved herself very temperamental. One night a patron made a move on her, and she sent him flying right into the bar over there. Probably would have been working here half her lifetime to pay for the damage she caused, but turns out, Urius Valenteen saw her in action, paid off her debt, and took her with him."

"Really?" T’zarn said, smiling as he fiercely tugged at his goatee. "Interesting…"

Of course he wasn’t the only one just hearing the story. All of the other elite, including Grip, were hearing it for the first time. Valenteen had kept the whole incident a secret, and the blonde commander was looking over at Cloudia, her eyes full of shock.

"I’ll keep that in mind," the count said, eyeing the half-Churyen, noticing that she could indeed have all the power and aggression that his familiar did. That caused his smile to grow, but he decided to leave her be. He was fonder of full-blooded human, blonde women anyway.

"You may go," the XUEdorian ordered, and Tell retreated to the bar. "Now where were we?" the count mused, looking to his aide, instructing his lesser to fill two glasses. F’lcron obeyed and stepped back. "Ah, yes, business," T’zarn said, taking a large sip from his drink. Grip did the same.

"Here’s what I’m going to give you. Five ships in all; three battleships like the Corellian Death Ray, and two lesser ones, similar to the Death Claw, which I saw you unfortunately lose in the battle before the ‘incident’… Satisfactory, Commander?"

"So far," Grip said with a nod, before taking a few more sips of ale.

"Excellent… and as for crewmen, I will have each ship completely staffed. Some of the people I have in mind are here on Coruscant, but others are on different systems waiting for employment. You will have to pick them up in various locales, as well as some special items, but I will give you the coordinates for everything. Does all this sound appropriate?"

"Yes," the commander responded truthfully, but it was Gintshaft that spoke the other words she had been thinking.

"More than appropriate, but too good to be true, Count. There must be some type of catch." The former security head was positively glaring at T’zarn.

"There is no catch. I only desire that your organization make an alliance with mine, as I have clearly stated before. Bend your abilities to my solicitations once and awhile; that is all I am asking for, and I hardly think of that as being too much."

Grip looked at Cloudia as the count spoke, her eyes asking if he was speaking the truth. The half-Churyen felt he was, but she could only force herself to give a slight nod. When T’zarn fell silent the commander asked, "And when will you want my organization to start bending to your solicitations?"

"When you have every last piece of what I’m offering. And I will start by giving you a task that your organization does well at. Go to my home planet XUEdoria-mysta and find its present leaders, the G’lisher clan triumvirate. Offer your services and any goods that they desire for a fair price, and they will desire to sign a contract with you.

"Deliver to them on a regular basis, but also, secretly, deliver weapons and other heinous products and services to those of the T’zarn clan. My clan has forsaken me and has even tried to ban me from using my rightful title. If you help them revolt against the G’lisher reign and help them re-ascend to power, telling them, and only them, that I am behind your aid, surely I will no longer be an outcast amongst them."

"So basically you want us to pull another Mersigh, so your clan will rise and accept you again," Gintshaft said, sneering with utmost carelessness. "And may I ask why you’re an outcast? Is it because of this illegal empire of yours?"

"Quite right on all accounts," T’zarn stated, then looked at Grip. "But, Commander, I must have you know that this elite man of yours doesn’t wish to have me as an enemy. Let him know that if he speaks to me like that again, I will have my bounty hunter upon him before he even dares to rise from this table."

Grip looked at Gintshaft almost solemnly. "That means don’t say anything else, Gintshaft." She received a stiff nod from the crewmember, but she didn’t know if he’d be able to keep his word. Gintshaft’s blood was evidently at its boiling point.

"Good, now I also have another surprise in store. I am aware that Valenteen’s elite crew has waned from its previous glory and I’d like to present you with some capable replacements. One is in this establishment as we speak." T’zarn looked over to the solitary, drunken narcotic-sucker in the corner. "Esquire, come here!"

Cloudia felt like she had been slammed in the gut. Gintshaft wouldn’t be able to control his anger, not at this. The name Esquire sounded quite familiar to her, but with worrying about what the usually professional Gintshaft was going to say, she couldn’t pinpoint where she’d heard it before.

The smuggler/spy forced himself to his feet, quite a task as he tried to balance the decanter of liqueur and the narcotics. It was a miracle that he didn’t trip over anything as he staggered across the room. After a minute of this upsetting display, Esquire stood hovering and swaying next to T’zarn and f’lcron.

"Talbot Diagon Esquire, at your service," the intoxicated man slurred, his words shuddering through a smile that was as steady as he was.

"What in the blazes is this!" Gintshaft burst. "This better be a joke, Count!"

Esquire’s condition was all that mattered at the moment and T’zarn gave no mind to the enflamed words.

"What is the meaning of this, Esquire!" the count roared, thrusting himself to his feet.

"Don’ know what any of it’s for? You?"

"You mean to make a fool of me, don’t you? Well, you can easily pay for this error!"

"Nope… I’m the best you got." Esquire smirked.

"I don’t think so."

But the XUEdorian was only speaking out of his fury. Esquire was the best he had, of course that was only true when the man was sober, which was none too often as of late. If this blew the deal, the count would soon be ordering Tasha Sumrac to enact every ounce of her viciousness upon the foolish drunkard.

Then T’zarn snatched the decanter and sent glass and black liquid spewing all over the floor. Then he took the spindly narcotics and crushed them.

"That ain’t nice of you," Esquire grumbled.

"It’s not meant to be with what you’re pulling."

"Huh…" the man wheezed out, and with blurry eyes, he looked around at the others. Oddly enough, when he saw Cloudia, the two recognized each other at the same moment. "Wanderer? That you?" At the recognition Esquire almost sounded coherent, and the half-Churyen nodded. "Is you. Knew it hadda be. So how you been making out, kid? Not too damn good if you’re here."

Again T’zarn’s interest about Cloudia was piqued and he asked, "You’re aquatinted with Esquire?" The whole thing seemed rather hard to believe, but she had worked here before the count’s takeover.

As the young woman opened her mouth to speak, Esquire began gesticulating as he replied, "Sure she did, but it was only for a little while though. She stowed ‘way on the Eye Crusher back when it was making deliveries to… where was it? Vega Minor, sure. That was it. I was second-in-command on that vessel at the time. I found the Wanderer, she was jus’ a little thing then—nine? ten?—well I found her an’ protected her. Doubt anyone else would have been so courteous, ‘specially that nerf-beatting jerk of a captain, Shellbyrn. Kid was lucky no doubt."

"No doubt," T’zarn echoed thoughtfully, as his eyes shifted from Esquire to Cloudia, but turning back to the matter-at-hand, he looked at Grip, who was gazing at the half-Churyen; the commander was absorbed by the new revelation, but the count’s voice pierced through her awe.

"Commander Tarlen, I’m deeply sorry about Esquire’s condition. One trip through the detox chamber should clean him up, and then you’ll see why I thought he would do well as one of your elite… but if you wish for him to be left out of the deal completely, I understand."

"Hey," Esquire grumbled rather loudly. "That ain’t right."

"Silence. Your very condition forfeits your privilege to speak." The drunken man made a throaty noise of disgust but didn’t say another word. "So, Commander, what is your decision? I pray that you are going to take me up on my offer, with or without Esquire."

Grip cleared her throat and took a sip of ale. "I would like you to give me a moment to speak with my crewmembers before I decide."

"Oh, by all means," T’zarn said with a sly smile, and though the commander had expected some privacy, the count didn’t move, and she didn’t feel exactly free to ask him to do so.

It seemed that Grip was going to ignore Jake, but she gave him a slight glance, bidding him to watch and learn. Perhaps Valenteen might have asked for the boy’s opinion, being that he was going to be in command of the organization soon enough, but Grip, herself, felt that the boy was still too young to make a steady decision concerning the organization’s fate. So she looked at Gintshaft and addressed him first.

"What do you think?" the commander asked, but Cloudia could tell that Grip suddenly wished she wouldn’t have asked.

"Commander Tarlen, I think we should just forget about this whole deal." Gintshaft’s tone was biting. "We’ve made our way through the galaxy without his slimy notions, and we can continue to do so. I think our former commander would have agreed with me."

If there was anything that would have made Grip decide to forget the deal, Gintshaft’s last statement would have been the sabbac hand that would have pulled it off. And while the commander was thinking about whether or not to fold her own hand, Cloudia was receiving sharp stings of emotion from T’zarn. His hatred for Gintshaft was magnifying; it didn’t seem that the former security chief was going to have his head on his shoulders much longer.

The daughter of the former Jedi Master tried to rid herself of the count’s fury with a large exhale. Basically that worked, but she still felt awful, knowing quite well that he wanted Gintshaft dead. Yet she hadn’t time to dwell on that hideous thought as Grip looked at her.

"And what’s your opinion, Cloudia? Do you have any bad feelings?" The commander’s features were tight with concern. Whether she folded or revealed her hand was now banked on whatever the half-Churyen said.

"There’s no immediate danger to the organization itself, but…" Cloudia allowed her words to trail off. She knew it would be very unwise to say that T’zarn would have Gintshaft killed no matter what happened, but as she looked at Grip, she knew that the commander was aware of the count’s feelings. Nothing needed to be said concerning that matter, and the young woman sighed. "But I’m sure that everything will be fine."

"Good," the blonde woman said with a nod, her expression losing some of its tension. "And what about this Esquire? Anything in particular about him?"

The intoxicated man made a rather grotesque, gurgling noise. This was in order to get Cloudia’s attention, although it ended up getting everyone else’s too. His eyebrows bounced upward as he stared at the young woman. Hey, come on, kid, his look said. You owe me one. Teller I’m good.

"I think you should let him in. He’ll do a good job, provided he gets detoxed and isn’t allowed around alcohol and other things."

Esquire wheezed and groaned slightly. That wasn’t what the Wanderer had been supposed to say. Ah, well, he thought, as he nonchalantly shoved his hands in pockets. Still probably’ll get in. Then he smiled at Cloudia.

"All right then, Count," Grip said, a hardly audible grunt coming from Gintshaft. "I accept your offer, Esquire included. Of course I ask that I be able to check over all the ships and every single one of the crewmembers before we head out for XUEdoria-mysta. I want to make sure that I’m not getting gypped."

"I understand, perfectly. I don’t want any of the people or equipment to be below standard. Now may we engage in the XUEdorian contract seal?"

The commander slightly knew of the gesture, and she gave her hand over to T’zarn. He gripped it harshly, and fighting down quite a bit of repulsion, she squeezed back, their hands remained bonded for several seconds. Then the count began to disengage.

"I am quite pleased, and thank you for your generous compliance, Commander Tarlen." T’zarn paused for a minute, a rather hungry smile settled upon his lips as he continued to gaze at Grip. "So now that this meeting is adjourned, Commander, I was wondering if you would like to pay a visit to my apartment. I daresay you won’t leave disappointed."

Even the incoherent Esquire knew what that meant, and he smiled, nodding his head.

"Perhaps another time," Grip said, forcing her own sort of enticing smile to the forefront. It was an expression similar to the one she’d often tricked Joparan of Oxine with. Of course it probably had been much safer to toy with Mersigh’s sovereign than with the XUEdorian count, and she quickly wiped the expression away before draining the last of her ale. "But presently I have much to do."

"Ah, just as well," T’zarn stated, and Cloudia caught the count glaring at Gintshaft. "I have business of my own."

The XUEdorian gave a courteous farewell bow, before whispering something to rictuli f’lcron. Then the aide latched onto Esquire’s arm, and pulling the drunken man, he started for the secret passage. T’zarn headed for the rightward end of the establishment, to the stairs that had once led to the employees’ apartments. Then the three were gone.

Gintshaft was the first to rise. "Well, that was interesting," he growled.

Grip and Jake stood simultaneously, followed by Cloudia, and the commander could not remain silent.

"Interesting or not you should have kept your mouth shut. I think T’zarn is bent on seeing you dead."

"Really?" Gintshaft flared sarcastically. "Let him send his bounty hunter, or any other bounty hunter, after me. I’ll break their back in self-defense. I might even possibly ship the remains straight to T’zarn himself. I’m not afraid of his scum."

"You should be," Cloudia whispered, unable to hold her words back.

"Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence, Wandry, and by the way, might I say you did a splendid job helping out earlier. In my opinion you shouldn’t have been allowed to vote, being that you’re leaving us to wallow in this pile of rancor vomit. I-."

"Can it, Gintshaft. I was the one who made the decision. Not Cloudia, not you, or anyone else, and if you don’t like it you can leave. And maybe it would be better if you did." Grip sighed. "It’ll take longer for a bounty hunter to find you if you skip out."

"I’m not a coward, Commander Tarlen. If death is what awaits me for being honest, then so be it." The former security chief was stiffer than ever as he spoke.

"Fine then. Quit complaining," the blonde woman said, and without another second passing, she turned completely toward Cloudia. "Well, I guess it’s goodbye now. It’s been nice working with you for the past seven years, and thanks again for saving our necks back on Drakhsah." Grip forced herself to crack a smile. Though she felt a bit sad and figured that the daughter of the former Jedi Master could feel that, she sure wasn’t going to show it.

The half-Churyen gave a slight smile as well. "It was no problem, believe me. Well, goodbye Grip, Jake." The two echoed her sentiment, and she also bid Gintshaft farewell, but he only gave her a tense, superficial nod in response. Still she nodded courteously back at him. "May the Force be with you," she said to them all, quoting the old Jedi saying.

"And may the Force be with you, too," Grip said. "You’ll probably need it more than us." But the commander didn’t add anything about Gintshaft as she had thought to.

Cloudia nodded once more, and she turned away and walked from the three, realizing she was leaving her previous existence behind. And as she entered the filthy, dangerous street, she found herself on a new path, quite unaware of what obstacles would be placed before her.

***

Once she made sure that the entrance to T’zarn’s lavish apartment was impenetrable, Tasha Sumrac stood in the small cubicle that temporarily kept her shut off from the rest of the place. She sighed, wishing she were elsewhere, before allowing herself to prepare for the ritual. She set down her blaster, and with slow, yet mechanical efficiency she rid her body of all armor.

Only covered by a black jumpsuit, she felt extremely vulnerable, and she cringed, as she did every time she was without such protection. The bounty hunter started to reach for her blaster. Yet with as incapable as she felt without it, she knew that she was a skilled enough warrior to take down anyone that dared threaten her.

Jutlan would have been proud of her for that, Tasha knew, and she smiled sadly. While he’d been a very good instructor, he had been aware that it was her talent and receptiveness that made her as good as she was.

And now her smile vanished completely. For as much as she had loved her mentor and for as much as he had loved her in return, he was dead. His fire had been extinguished from the universe. Nothing could bring him back, and memories were useless. But despite having told herself that millions of times, those remembrances were forever locked within her soul.

She could do nothing to alleviate herself of them, not as if she had tried hard at it. She didn’t want to lose those memories, despite their futility. They were the only things she owned that really meant anything to her.

He had been her champion, having saved her from the clutches of the Dark Jedi (Tasha shuddered there, remembering the presence she’d felt before she’d destroyed the Corellian Death Ray), he had been her teacher, sharpening her abilities and survival tools, and later as she’d ripened into womanhood, he’d been her lover. Even if there had been nothing else, Jutlan Scar still would have been worthy to remain in the annals of her memory.

But now it was time to journey into the present, to bond with T’zarn again, and she hated that prospect as always. Every such experience made her repulsion for him grow, and maybe one day during the course of one of these incidents she’d kill him. Now that would be exciting, but it couldn’t be this time. After a few more bounties she could act, maybe next time if the price she heard tonight was right. She wondered what wretched person T’zarn wanted done away with now, what name he’d whisper in her ear, but that was a futile exercise. It could be anyone.

Before she moved to leave the cubicle, she wondered what Jutlan would think of all this, especially since she herself had no fondness for it. Most people that casually knew her thought of her as being no better than a common street-prowler, but she was more than that trash, and she swore by her former mentor’s name that once the count was dead she would never do this again.

Tasha sighed once more. She could put it off no longer. It was not as if she were someone who could inspire much patience in such an intolerant man. So she keyed in her clearance code, and the door opened, revealing the XUEdorian crime lord’s living area.

The room was an intriguing watery blue, the walls adorned with paintings that depicted oddly serene places on XUEdoria-mysta. The R’usd Hills, the Markian Falls, the R’l Oceanic, and amid those there was a devouring towered structure. This was the head clan’s palace.

The semi-expansive living area was sparse on furniture, except for in the center. The conversation area, it was called, and there was seating room for twelve humanoid beings on the cerulean-hued furniture.

Tasha had expected the count to be waiting for her in this room, smiling, desirous slime melting from the expression, as he beckoned her to him. Yet he wasn’t there. That made her somewhat hopeful, but it was disturbing. Still she fought the paranoia that was inching itself into her.

She had to be prepared if something happened, and though she felt that she should go back for her blaster, she didn’t think it prudent, especially if T’zarn was merely waiting in another room. The bounty hunter stealthily made her way toward the bedchamber, stalking inside.

The count was there, sitting in his swivel chair, apparently eyeing the network of computer control panels that was before him. Yet there was still something very wrong. Despite her quietness, he would have been cautious enough to detect her, but if he had been aware of her entrance, he didn’t show it.

And Tasha would have expected him to do so. He should have risen to greet her, or pivoted to face her, or at the very least he would have said something, probably of a very wanton nature. Yet there was no movement, no sound. Something was wrong, no doubting it now, as she went to where T’zarn was sitting.

She placed her hand upon his shoulder and spoke his name. Her heartbeat picked up speed and adrenaline coursed through her body. T’zarn was dead, she knew, but to be sure she spun the chair around. The count was lifeless, and though he’d only had his throat slit, his eyes were full of terror.

This was very unexpected, and briefly she wondered if the assailant was waiting for her as well. Yet she hadn’t time to do much more than that. The door to a secret passage, which was right behind the swivel chair, inched open. Tasha prepared to strike as a strange alien stepped into the room. The humanoid creature’s skin was very red, a grid of black veins snaked through the crimson, and he smiled weakly at the bounty hunter.

"It would be useless to strike at me," he said, though he appeared to be unarmed.

Tasha planned to ignore his words. She was going to take him down and pound his head into the floor until he was at the very least unconscious. Yet no matter how she tried she couldn’t move. Her sudden inability caused her anger to boil.

"Who are you?" she spoke her calm sounding query through a sneer.

"My name’s Marzan Rensor."

The bounty hunter’s glare intensified as the alien began to approach her. "Is that supposed to mean anything to me?" she asked as he made his way around the swivel chair. He gave her an increasingly odd smile. The expression made her want to attack him all the more, but she remained paralyzed. She didn’t understand.

"Probably not, Sumrac," Rensor said after a moment. "But we’ve got something in common regardless."

"What could we possibly have in common?" Tasha’s calm tone had finally vanished, her most recent words biting and crude. Still a logical answer came to her. Maybe he was a bounty hunter as well. That was quite possible. Someone in the galaxy should have had the guts to stand up to T’zarn, by stooping to count’s level, if by no other way. But suddenly she knew she was wrong, even before Rensor clarified.

"Xcelcior Melgrot."

All anger melted from the bounty hunter, that emotion quickly replaced by fear. She knew the Dark Jedi’s name well. For thirteen years she had heard it pour from her father’s lips, his tone always as reverent as the red-skinned alien’s had just been.

Tasha felt so cold, the unfamiliar fear an icy current, and she felt like no more than a disobedient child. Punishment seemed imminent, for she had fled home, family, and most importantly service. Perhaps she should have stayed and embraced fate, but she hadn’t wanted to, and so in utter defiance she had accepted Jutlan’s offer to become his apprentice.

At first she’d had nightmares concerning the Dark Jedi’s retribution, but it never came. After awhile the dreams had faded, and for over a dozen years she had thought herself free. But all this time he had been waiting for her to feel his presence, and she had done that not even two weeks ago. Her doom was imminent, and she was almost sure she was going to die.

Then the Dark Jedi appeared from another secret passage, this one near the rightmost corner of the room. Now Tasha was certain she was going to die, but despite her growing fear, she refused to die cowering and pleading futilely for her life.

Still there was going to be much difficulty in that. The Dark Jedi’s presence was a powerful one, and there was something about his visage that was equally frightening, something near impossible to pinpoint, especially since Tasha could only stomach looking at him for a second at a time.

The bounty hunter chastised herself. She had spent over fifteen years killing, maiming, and dealing roughly with many types from all over the galaxy. She had been vicious and ever vigilant, and she had never known fear until now.

"Bring her to me, Marzan. I will speak with her," Xcelcior said, the words chilling Tasha even more, and Rensor obeyed.

The woman was happy to be moving again, finally, and she thought maybe she could strike the alien down and get out of here while it was still possible.

You will not do that, the Dark Jedi’s voice filled her mind, and she was bogged down by even more terror as she heard his command. She would not strike out at Rensor; she no longer felt physically capable, and she blasted her own weakness.

Now the two were directly before Xcelcior, and the red-skinned alien knelt at the Dark Jedi’s feet. Tasha, though, would not. She had already proved herself weak as it was.

"My servant," the Dark Jedi hissed.

Then, within a moment, Xcelcior extended his hand and touched Tasha’s hair and neck almost gently. His dark malign energy began to flow through her—it was twisting her mind—and as if nothing worse could happen, the Dark Jedi used the Force and compelled her to look him the eye.

"You think I’m going to kill you for your past insolence… but you are wrong. I will forgive all now that you have returned to serve me."

A few moments of dead silence passed before the bounty hunter forced herself to speak. "I’m not going to serve you as my father and our ancestors did, so you’ll have to kill me."

Tasha expected to feel his wrath at that moment, but instead Xcelcior snickered out of complete amusement. "I refuse to kill you because you are going to serve me, whether you desire to or not. Your refusal to comply only changes things slightly. It makes your slavery more than just a privilege; it makes it a punishment as well. Out of all the beings that have been designed to serve me, you are the most brazen, so your running and your denial of my power is no longer overlooked."

"I said I will not serve you."

"You can say that again if it makes you feel better." Xcelcior smirked and released only the slightest of laughs. "But nothing changes. You are the servant and I am the Master; you will obey my commands. It is that simple."

The words themselves seemed potent enough to crush Tasha’s spirit as fear continued to course through her, but she clung tightly to her refusal. No matter what happened, she knew she could not let go.

"No, it’s not that simple. I’m not some weak-minded fool you can control with a mere hand movement."

The Dark Jedi nodded but smiled knowingly as he pressed his hands together. "True, I’ll grant you that." His words flowed with smooth quietness. Yet in his tone, lurking behind the easy admittance, was a shadowy menace. "But it was never my intention to use any mind tricks on you. The promises of your forefathers have bound you to me. You need not speak acceptance or show it through a physical exchange. Your very blood declares you as my servant, and you cannot deny what is already inside of you."

"You’re a liar," Tasha declared almost violently.

"Not as I speak to you now, my servant. If you continue this stubborn refusal, I will let pain be your instructor, but I will not allow you to die."

The bounty hunter had experienced much pain before this. In most recent years she had been the giver not the receiver, but she still wasn’t going to permit herself to recede because of a mere threat. Her flesh quivered, but she would continue to rebuke him.

Yet before she could speak the Dark Jedi extended his arms and a small blast of lightning exploded from his fingertips and ripped into Tasha’s chest. Though what he had dealt out had not been close to full force, the pain was awesome and terrible, and she shot across the room before colliding with the floor.

The bounty hunter expected another mysterious jolt of lightning as she writhed in pain, her face contorting with the rest of her. Instead Xcelcior used the Force and easily picked her up and pummeled her into a wall. It was as if she was no more than a puppet, and he did this a few more times.

Blood poured from her face, and aside from feeling as though daggers were pounding into every inch of her body, she thought a few of the bones in her right arm were broken, and maybe a rib or two. Though if this continued, she knew she was going to be a lot more damaged.

She lay there like she was dead, wishing all the more fervently that she were, as Xcelcior hovered over her.

"Have you had enough? If not I could always pick up where I left off, or I could have Marzan come and pound on you for awhile. But as much as I would enjoy either, my time is short, and I haven’t the luxury of indulging this game of yours any further. You will do as I say."

Tasha had wanted to say ‘no’ once more, she knew she had, but the word "yes" rasped from her throat. Why had she said that? She knew she hadn’t meant to.

"Good. As I alluded to before pain is a fine instructor. Now get to your feet."

Despite her lingering confusion and pain, she obeyed, then stood before the Dark Jedi, the broken bloody mess that she was. A nice soak in a bacta tank would have done wonders about now—she tried to shove her thoughts from the matter-at-hand—but with what she had done and this ‘short on time’ business she doubted that she would be afforded something like that.

"I will only explain a little of this to you now. Marzan will brief you on the rest when I have gone," Xcelcior stated, smiling hideously at Tasha. "But here is what I want. Your duty is to stalk a woman with Jedi powers named Cloudia Wandry. She will be leaving Coruscant soon in one of the late Urius Valenteen’s vessels. You will follow her and those with her, but you must not look as if you are after her because of me, and you must not inflict any physical harm upon her.

"Marzan will tell you the part you are to play, and what obstacles you must put before her. She has decided to return to me, but I want her to feel as if she must do so, no matter what you and my other servants throw at her. I want her to be ultimately driven to me by her own will, melded with the power of the Dark Side of the Force. Do you understand?"

Tasha nodded, feeling powerless. She didn’t quite understand, but she figured that she would all too soon.

Xcelcior smiled at her coldly, and in a flash the Dark Jedi had disappeared back into the secret passage. Rensor got to his feet just as quickly and he approached the bounty hunter.

"What’s the plan," she mumbled, not looking at her fellow servant. Still she knew that the red-skinned alien was smiling almost excitedly.

"Well, there’s two plans. One of my Master’s design and one of my own." Rensor told Tasha the whole of both. Basically the schemes were similar, but with one stunning, major difference concerning their target.

***

Cloudia wasn’t all too far from where the Death’s Sneer was parked when trouble decided to spring upon her. Had she not been so connected with the Force, she would have likely received no warning at all and within a second been dead, another victim of the streets. Yet since the Force was with her, a sense of impending danger prickled inside of her mind, and she instantly spun around.

The punk who had bumped into her on her way to Tell’s was very close behind her—his drawn blaster had been pointed at her back—and beyond him and to his right were several of his juvenile cohorts. All looked very dangerous, the stains of old kills and crimes smeared upon their faces.

"See you don’t have your friend around anymore," the main punk said, pushing away his surprise and giving Cloudia an evil smile. "So I’m gonna teach you a lesson… or do you want to be stupid and try to stop me?"

As the greasy teenager finished, the half-Churyen’s lightsaber jumped into her hand. Everyone in the gang was quite shocked by the time she ignited the blade, but the main punk tried to make light of his own feelings.

"Ooh, slick," he said, forcing himself to keep his smile for only a moment longer. "You’re not a Jedi; I can take you down in a heartbeat."

Yet before the punk could even squeeze the trigger, the daughter of the former Jedi Master sawed her blade through his wrist. The kid screamed with complete astonishment and anger as he lost his hand and his blaster, and he glared at Cloudia. His flickering brown eyes seemed to declare that he was ready to strangle her, one-handedly of course, but before he could even make a move, she sent him flying into a nearby barrier. His head made contact so harshly that he was knocked out.

A teenaged human male growled in anger, and he and another blasted toward Cloudia, both were pretty sure they could take her down in an instant. The one who’d made the wrathful sound wanted to avenge what had been done to their leader, and the other, though wanting retribution as well, desired the young woman’s lightsaber. A weapon as rare-looking as that could bring him enough money to leave him intoxicated for an entire year, if not more.

Yet in moving toward Cloudia the two forfeited their lives. She propelled her blade slightly to the left, impaling the growler and thrusting the blade upward, the weapon seared through his torso before she jerked it out and rammed it through the other’s throat. The two were now lifeless heaps at her feet, but there were still several left.

Another punk revealed a blaster and aimed. He had coarse, wrinkly brown flesh, and he was very bulky for his years. The half-Churyen was not sure what species he was, nor did she have time to learn. The young alien pulled the trigger with lightning speed, but Cloudia was quicker. She rose her lightsaber to block the searing projectile.

The bolt struck the blade and leapt back at the shooter, skewering his left eyeball, then his brain. He lifelessly plummeted to the street, but the others still seemed spurred on by anger and were ready to attack. The young woman wasn’t sure if her luck would hold out if they all battered toward her at once.

Then a strange sensation rushed into her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that unexpected help had arrived. She could not suppress a sigh as she realized that the two newcomers were Jedi.

One was a middle-aged man, his beard and short hair were graying and almost seemed like they would one day match his lightsaber’s silver blade. Cloudia quickly noted something strange about him, a second lightsaber dangled from his belt. What Jedi carried two?

The other man was much younger, no older than twenty-one or twenty-two, and his blond-brown hair was cut even shorter than the other’s, except for the traditional Padawan braid that was slung over his left shoulder. Also notable about this second Jedi was his shimmering yellow lightsaber.

Their appearance seemed to cause a diversion, and one of the youths flung himself at the older Jedi. The man shut down his blade and with an invisible blast of Force he sent the punk flying backward; then he turned to the nearest juvenile, a starved-looking, pallid female. He waved his hand before her face.

"None of you want to cause any more problems," the Jedi Knight said.

The girl turned to the others and emptily echoed, "We don’t want to cause any more problems."

Her remaining cohorts were caught in the web as well, and they nodded and grunted some affirmative responses.

Then the older Jedi added, "You ought to get some help for your wounded friends and go home."

"I think we ought to get some help for Grant and Klieg. Then we’d better get back to the Hideaway," the girl told the others.

Some of the strongest ones went about picking up the unconscious, though they left the dead to decay and be trampled. Once the entire gang had gone, Cloudia and the Padawan shut their blades down simultaneously. Then the young woman walked toward the Jedi.

"Thank you," she said to them both, though mainly to the elder.

"It is a Jedi’s duty to protect and serve, no thanks are required." As the Jedi Knight spoke, the half-Churyen thought he seemed familiar, though she was sure she’d never met him before. Then he introduced himself and the young man at his side. "I am Gorsedd Drudwyn, and this is my Padawan learner Torin Waylein. You, I must presume, are Corryn Wandry’s daughter, but come along with us. I must speak to you about a great many things as we make our way to the Jedi Temple."

The three of them began walking, and a violent, odd sensation ripped into Cloudia, demanding that she not go to the Temple. Even though she’d come to Coruscant to go there, she suddenly could not stomach the idea. She was going to have to find a way to leave these two if they continued on their present course. She would face Xcelcior Melgrot alone. She didn’t need the Temple Jedi’s help. In fact she didn’t need anyone’s help at all.

As these thoughts raged within Cloudia, the Padawan said, "We can’t go back to the Temple now, Master. What about our assignment?"

The Jedi Knight shook his head. "That is of little importance now. We must take her before the Council immediately."

"But, Master-."

"Quiet your mind and listen to the Force, my young Padawan. It will tell you that I am doing what is best." Then Drudwyn turned to Cloudia. "You must be wondering how I know who you are, and I will tell you, but first I want to know, why exactly did you come to Coruscant this time? Are you again looking for the Jedi’s aid?"

The young woman felt a stab of confusion. This man, her father’s former Padawan, had known of her being on Coruscant ten years before, but how? Well, he was a Jedi. Still…

The half-Churyen continued to ponder this as they became more blended with the flowing crowd, and she felt resentment tingling inside of her. For what or who exactly, she couldn’t tell, but she knew that she had to get as far from the Jedi Knight and his apprentice as she could.

When she thought she might be able to make a run for it, an even more powerful feeling, something twisting and elusive, made her respond to Drudwyn’s question. "I am in danger, Master Drudwyn, but so are the Jedi as a whole. There is a dark force threatening to destroy the entire Order." Cloudia’s words were nearly void of feelings, and the man looked at her, his eyes quite intense, as he gently probed her mind with the Force.

The Padawan looked at the young woman. "What is this dark force?" he questioned.

"I can’t say, not right now at least," Cloudia replied, her voice still odd. "We haven’t much time, and I think we should find my ship and get out of here without going to the Jedi Temple."

"Why?" Torin asked, his lips tight and nearly inflexible. He sounded sterner and more interrogative than his Master would have.

"I don’t think we have time for such questioning, Torin. We must not allow anything to stop our progress to the Temple."

The half-Churyen sneered at Drudwyn. Former Padawan of her father’s or not she didn’t like his forced authority. Perhaps he was used to dishing out orders to his own learner, but she wasn’t going to allow him to slam her like that.

Cloudia made her glare of disdain vanish. The Jedi Knight had felt it and was about to turn and face her. Within a second Drudwyn was looking at her, more concerned than anything else.

"I know who you are, but what’s your name?" the older man asked, his tone quiet. With the street’s raucous noise it would have been very difficult for the young woman to hear, but the Force made his query quite audible.

"Cloudia," the half-Churyen responded, almost feeling guilty about how she had felt toward Drudwyn no more than a minute before. It was because she didn’t want to go to the Temple; something was repelling her previous desire to enter.

"Cloudia…" the man echoed. "As I said earlier, I have much to tell you. I’m sure you know that when I was a young Jedi, I was your father’s Padawan learner. The two of us were very close, as close as father and son, and he was the best mentor that I could have possibly been given.

"Master Wandry was a most skilled warrior and a good man, and something happened to him. For the past thirty years I have been wondering what that something was, and I had been close to learning the secret when you were on Coruscant ten years ago. But now the mystery has been solved. At least most of it."

Drudwyn paused and he assessed Cloudia before continuing.

"I had recently become a Jedi Knight when your father returned from the mission that changed him. He had been the quintessential Master; calm, at peace, filled with the Force, that was before, and when he came back the calm had vanished and it had been replaced with anger, bitterness, resentment, impatience, and even utter hatred. He quickly gained a full-fledged abhorrence for the Jedi Order and nearly everyone in it, and that’s why he left.

"I, perhaps because of my years at his side, was able to fully pick up on the blackness inside of him, just as the Masters were able to, and I had never sensed such hideous… evil before. Prior to your father’s departure, he came to me, and he gave me his lightsaber. That is why I have always carried two. I kept his to remind me of the man that he had been, for I fully desired to forget the man that he had become.

"Though at the time I protested. I thought he should keep it. Yet for what reason I don’t know. The Council wanted him to rebuke his weapon as he had everything that the Jedi stood for, and I should have agreed. But no matter, your father gave it to me, saying he no longer needed it, and now witnessing your battle with the street gang I know why."

Cloudia mentally braced herself.

"On his final Jedi mission, your father found one of the legendary black-bladed lightsabers, and you are its inheritor. Many believe that all were destroyed a few centuries ago, but it is apparent that at least one remains. Your weapon is why Master Wandry changed; it is why the Dark Side of the Force found its way into his soul. Though that evil is not inside of you, it surrounds you utterly, and often it tries to penetrate your defenses. I felt it ten years ago, and the Council gave me permission to watch you, and now that you have returned and I have found the source of this darkness, it must be destroyed. If you must have a weapon, then here…"

The Jedi Knight took Corryn Wandry’s lightsaber from his belt and handed it to the half-Churyen. "Take this, Cloudia. I’m sure your father would have wanted you to have it."

The young woman thought to protest, but the man was right. Her father would have wanted her to have his Jedi saber, and so she took it and attached it next to her other weapon.

Then Drudwyn’s expression turned completely grave. "In return I’d like you to give me the black-bladed lightsaber, so if you decide you don’t need the Jedi, the weapon can be properly destroyed. Now that your father has become one with the Force, I’m sure he knows that it must be destroyed."

That comment sparked an angry fire, which engulfed her. No, she wouldn’t give the weapon to Drudwyn. He didn’t know what he was talking about, and how dare he claim to know what her late father would think of such an exercise.

Cloudia felt as if a thermal detonator was going to go off inside of her, then the heat dissipated and was replaced by an unfathomable cold. Her hand slipped onto the black-bladed lightsaber, and she suddenly knew that she must give the weapon to the Jedi Knight. So she did.

The young woman didn’t realize her mistake until Drudwyn tightened his fist around the weapon. The man’s features became dark and rigid, and he looked as if he were going to crush the life out of something. Xcelcior had been right, the half-Churyen realized. The object was completely of the Dark Side, and the effect that it had over its new possessor was frightening.

"There’s a slight change of plans," the tainted Jedi Knight said, nearly growling. "Our destination is no longer the Jedi Temple. We are going back to your ship, and we will search out this dark force ourselves. The Council doesn’t have the right to know what we’re doing."

"Master, we must go to the Temple. I think-."

"I don’t care what you think!" the older man blasted, his fist tightening around the weapon even more. "We are going back to her ship whether you like it or not!"

"Master Drudwyn, I agree with your apprentice. Perhaps we should go to the Jedi Temple instead."

Cloudia’s statement made the man more furious, and he aggressively flung the lightsaber at her face. Her nose would have been smashed to the brink of being irrevocably damaged had she not used the Force to slow the object, and she caught the weapon easily.

The Jedi Knight’s features lost some of their tense rage, but he was far from looking as if he were back to normal. He appeared rather sullen, like he could go back into a state of uncontrollable anger at any moment. He’d touched the Dark Side and been contaminated.

"We’re not going to the Temple," Drudwyn stated, his voice solemn and edgy. "We are going to the ship, and we will handle whatever comes our way."

Cloudia knew the Jedi Knight was talking sense, or did she only believe that because she was under the influence of the Dark Side? She couldn’t tell, but she knew they had to make their way back to the Death’s Sneer. The older man would have things go no other way now.

So without another word they turned back, the crowd steering clear of them for some reason, and within a few minutes the vessel was in view. Then as they stepped onto the landing pad, danger leapt at them from behind, but they all were prepared, their blades immediately intercepting the blaster fire that lanced at them.

Cloudia found herself operating both the green and black lightsabers, rather expertly, and she noticed that the attackers were nothing like the street gang she had encountered earlier. It seemed that a battalion of men was coming at them. All of the assailants appeared to be sub-species XUEdorians, which could only mean that they had been sent by T’zarn, and as the half-Churyen sent the projectiles zooming into the aggressors, she spotted a thirty year old female watching the fray. Cloudia had a feeling that this was the count’s bounty hunter.

The blonde, armor-clad woman, though already bruised and cut, seemed as if she would be ready to jump in at any moment, but she just stood there, an obscured cloaked person flanked her. She appeared to whisper something and then the two watched on.

Drudwyn fought aggressively. He sent every sinister bolt shattering back to its creator, making a bloody mess of the foes and enjoying it more than a Jedi should. Torin, on the other hand, maintained his calm. He deflected the fire to spare himself harm, but he didn’t feel it necessary to kill his opponents.

As Cloudia continued her own frenzied dance, the red bolts continuing to pound into both twirling blades, she knew that something seemed rather familiar about the cloaked figure at the bounty hunter’s side, but something was keeping her from the truth.

Yet she knew she could not lose focus. A pair of angry lasers simultaneously shot at her, one going for her gut, the other for her neck. Both blades appeared in position at the very last second, and glorious deflection occurred. The lower struck one man’s heart, and the higher splattered into another’s face.

After a few more minutes of battle all the adversaries were dead; the bounty hunter and her companion didn’t move in though. They just retained their positions, as if all this slaughter was a foretaste of something more. Cloudia stared at the woman, but suddenly the Jedi Knight grabbed onto the half-Churyen’s arm.

"We must get to the ship now," Drudwyn grumbled.

The three bolted to the Death’s Sneer. Cloudia looked over her shoulder almost the entire time, expecting something from the bounty hunter and her comrade, but then the vessel’s hatch began to open and her attention completely gravitated forward. The landing ramp spat out like a serpentine tongue, and suddenly rictuli f’lcron walked out onto it, his blaster pointed at the half-Churyen’s chest.

"What is all this?" she asked, revealing her surprise.

"My master/employer is dead," f’lcron responded gravely. "It is reputed that you killed him, and now I, and all of his people, are to enact vengeance."

Cloudia’s eyes bulged at the accusation. "I didn’t kill him. In fact I didn’t even know he was dead."

F’lcron glared at her spitefully as he said, "So you say, but you are not to be believed. All murderers lie about their crimes to avoid punishment, and that is why on XUEdoria-mysta executions occur without trial. Deceit is not taken lightly."

The young woman had no time to react as the aide wrapped his finger around the blaster’s trigger, but Drudwyn was already moving against f’lcron. He plunged his glittering silver blade into the vengeance-seeker’s groin, then he ripped it waist-high and slashed viciously. The aide’s torso became disconnected from the rest of him, and the Jedi Knight kicked the corpse from the ramp distastefully.

"Let’s go," the older man said as he shut down his lightsaber. "It would be wise to leave Coruscant now."

Then he stalked into the Death’s Sneer with Cloudia and his Padawan close behind.

***

Tasha and Rensor watched the escalating fray, and the bounty hunter was excited as she absorbed the details. Most people would have been crushed by the heavy advance of T’zarn’s battalion, but this Cloudia Wandry and her Jedi companions, though outnumbered, certainly were doing well enough.

Despite having been all around the galaxy since she was thirteen, she had never chanced to see this kind of action. She had heard of the Force, and had even been taught to respect it because of her father’s link to Xcelcior Melgrot. But except for the thrashing she had recently received at her Master’s hands, she had never seen the Force at work. It was a powerful ally to carry into battle and it thrilled Tasha to even think of fighting someone with that endowment.

Through the barrage of blaster fire and the waltzing grace of the lightsabers, she heard Rensor hiss, "I hate her." It didn’t take a Jedi to feel the envy and malice that was radiating from him.

The bounty hunter could understand Rensor’s feelings now. Wandry was excellent at combat. She was operating two weapons, both blades fiercely spinning, and none of the lasers were pelting through her defense, and the way she and tall, bearded Jedi deflected the bolts into the aggressors. It was breathtaking.

"I hate her," Rensor hissed again, hardly having allowed a moment to pass. "I can’t wait until she’s dead."

"You know, Rensor," Tasha whispered, "I think you should just let this obsession go. We’d better just stick to your Master’s original plan. I think he’ll do something to you if you try to harm her."

The Mersighdonian glared at the bounty hunter, his fury-soaked eyes shinning underneath his obscuring cowl. "He’s our Master, and you don’t know him like I do, so just shut up. He might want her as his servant now, but once she’s a heap of dead flesh and bones at his feet, he’ll be glad to have her out of the way."

The woman wanted to say more, but it didn’t seem wise. She turned her attention back to the confrontation. She looked at the young Jedi, who was wielding a yellow lightsaber. Now he was fighting in the way she’d heard that the Jedi were supposed to fight. He was blocking enemy fire, but not trying to scorch his opponents with it. His skills were good too, no protesting, but his style was far less interesting.

Soon Wandry and the tall, bearded Jedi had killed all of the foes and the trio started to make for the ship. Tasha was curious to see how this next part would play out, and then she saw the gold-skinned young woman looking back at her. So the Churyen (well, the bounty hunter knew that Wandry must at least be a half-breed) had spotted them watching. Good; that’s what the Dark Jedi had desired.

Then the landing ramp spewed from the vessel and rictuli f’lcron appeared, his blaster on Wandry. Tasha could only guess that he was saying what he was supposed to, and when it looked like T’zarn’s aide was going to fire his weapon, the older Jedi severed the man in half and callously kicked f’lcron’s remains from the ramp. The bounty hunter could scarce believe that a Jedi was acting in such a vicious manner, and she could hardly focus as the trio entered the vessel.

"Come on, Sumrac. Let’s get to your ship," the Mersighdonian ordered. "Our Master will be expecting a full report on the situation."

Tasha silently led the way, navigating through the crowded, dirty street. The inhabitants were even more excited and loud than usual. It was being declared that half a street gang had been murdered by Jedi, and now all of these soldiers had been slain by the same three.

As Wandry’s ship screeched into the air, many pointed and bellowed, more out of ecstatic enthrallment than disgust. The vessel was speeding, just barely missing the oncoming traffic. Some were cheering for a crash so they could be granted an awesome fireworks display, but as Tasha knew, the crash never came, and soon the ship had left Coruscant’s atmosphere.

Then the bounty hunter veered to the left, Rensor tailing her, a bit confused and suspecting, for it appeared they were walking onto a dead end street.

"If this is some sort of a trick to outwit me, I’ll make you even bloodier than you already are," the Mersighdonian said, forcing a sneer that his fellow servant didn’t even see.

Though his tone had been murderous the woman couldn’t suppress a laugh. There was no way he could take her without his Master around, but she didn’t speak that feeling. She merely answered, "I’m not trying to fool you. You’ll see in a minute."

When the duo reached the dead end, the bounty hunter immediately placed her splayed hand onto the wall. A black silicon tile spat from the grungy metallic bricks and it rested underneath her hand for a moment before malignantly engulfing it.

It would have been frightening for someone who didn’t understand, but the silicon was reading her palm lines and fingerprints, beeping, humming, and vibrating as it scanned the information through its computerized memory banks. Then the black tile released her, and then after a slight mechanical groan the other metallic bricks metamorphosed into a door, which opened without reluctance.

Tasha led Rensor into the massive room. It had been T’zarn’s private hangar bay, and the Blaze of Glory sat amid a few battleships and luxury cruisers. The vessel was ready for takeoff, and that was good for there was word buzzing about that company was coming, people from the late Urius Valenteen’s organization. So the bounty hunter rushed herself and the Mersighdonian aboard. The sooner they communicated with the Dark Jedi, the sooner they could leave.

They immediately went to a small alcove near the captive hold, where the ship’s holo-link system was. The last time Tasha had used it, she had been informing T’zarn that she had found Elian Riggs’ location and she had asked the count to call the other bounty hunters off. The XUEdorian had summoned her to him then and granted her request after she had bonded with him. Now that part of her life was over forever, and she was far from wistful. Still that didn’t mean she desired her present predicament.

As the two servants stepped onto the transmitting pad, the system automatically flashed on, Xcelcior’s image suddenly surveying them. Upon seeing his Master’s hologram Rensor collapsed to his knees, offering a quick, ardent whisper of supplication in his native tongue. Tasha stood there, something inside of her mind ordered her to crumple into a similar position, yet she fought off the harsh urge.

An electric ripple coursed through the image, then Xcelcior said, "Report what has happened, my servant."

Tasha described the entire fray, including what the elder Jedi had done to f’lcron and the Dark Master smiled, knowingly, as a jolt of excitement pierced his features. The bounty hunter could no longer look upon his vile countenance, and so she bowed her head and gazed at the pad below.

"Most excellent. Things are proceeding as planned. Drudwyn has touched the Dark Side and suffered contamination, and Wandry has seen you and knows that you will be pursuing her. So now, my servant, I will tell you where you must meet up with them. Your vessel is faster than theirs is, and so I know you will be waiting to rendezvous with them above Tenlaw."

Something leapt inside of the woman. Yet she wasn’t sure if the feeling was good or bad. Tenlaw was the planet where she had spent the first thirteen years of her life. It was a splendid place, with rich, fertile earth in the country, and spectacularly well kept ancient cities closer to the Heart of the eastern hemisphere. Technology was only kept to the barest minimum. It was a place of comfort and quiet rest.

Well, the part Tasha had called home had been like that, though she had been to the planet’s western hemisphere. It was a total contrast and hardly seemed like it was part of the same world. It was called the Grunge Quadrant by many. It was highly industrial and dirty, the land wasting away because of pollution. It would always be a place of grayness, and the bounty hunter blamed the off-world settlers that ruled there. The Rosk.

Suddenly the Dark Jedi’s voice shattered her thoughts. "Since the mystine did what he was told to do, the ship will be jolted from hyperspace above Tenlaw. You will pound the vessel and they will be forced to land in the western hemisphere. My servants there will take them in, and you will land and later ambush the group. Marzan knows where. Allow Wandry to see that you are the one behind it, let her feel that you want her to pay for the XUEdorian’s death, that you will stop at nothing until you have your vengeance."

Xcelcior’s image vanished, and Tasha knew it was time to head for Tenlaw. She had no fondness go there, especially to the Grunge Quadrant, but she was a servant now, snared in the Dark Jedi’s thickening web. There was no escape for her.