Thanks for placing all the links up here Andy! Saves me a lot of time actually. I do hope some of you give it a read. Please feel free to leave comments, questions, flames or what-have-you in this thread. Thanks to all of you who have read this story over the last 12 or so weeks. It's really you guys who made it worthwhile.

I had the inspiration for this story almost out of nowhere. I rarely do Force-User stories for those who might have read 36 Hours or Beyond Measure but I thought I might give it a whirl. Enjoy and feel free to comment, flame or throw grenades! Chapter 1 Wrast beat the boy to death. The vibro sticks he held in his hands were slick with blood and sweat. The sweat was his but most of the blood was not. His opponent lay on the ground, torso twisted away from him. His face was on the floor, the jaw smashed to pieces. Bones splintered out from both forearms and pieces of his knee caps mixed with blood and vomit on the dirt floor. The fight had been quick and brutal, the weapons in his hands having been warmed in a fire until they burned his hands. “Excellent,” Lady Erinya said, clapping quietly as she stepped away from the gathered nobility. She was a head taller than he was, graying but hardly frail, and very human. She regarded him as he stood there, his chest heaving with desire for air, her lips pressed thin and tight. She waited for him to bow his head. She waited too long. Someone coughed and she seemed to come alive once again, narrowing her eyes and squeezing her hands into fists. Frowning, she raised her hand in a gesture so casual that only Wrast could know it. He prepared himself, but it was no good. The lightning that sprang from her fingertips sent him to his knees with a groan of pain. He kept hold of the vibro sticks however, dropping them would mean harsher punishments afterward. The coursing electricity raced through him, from his feet to the points of his small ebony horns. It was enough to kill most humans, but Iridonians were hardier, used to pain and torment. I am Zabrak, he thought to himself. I welcome pain. The torture ended as quickly as it began. Sufficiently placated, Lady Erinya smiled at him as she might a child who had answered correctly in school. She half turned to the gathered audience and raised that thin, delicate hand sheathed in supple black leather. Wrast felt a surge of power well in him at the sight, such a breakable thing that had done such harm to so many. But no. This he had tried before and instead of harming him, they had burned his sister alive. “Red flames for such delightful red skin,” Lady Erinya had said, almost cheerfully as Saria’s screams echoed through the chamber. “A shame, I thought she might show promise.” Instead he glared at her, yellow eyes narrow with hatred and loathing. Lady Erinya seemed not to care. Instead, she smiled and turned to her guests. “You see? Even an alien can prove promising… if willfull. But all will can be broken, as you well know.” “You’ve had your pet destroy one of my trash heaps yes, but can such a creature prove loyal as well?” said a pale man with a pointed chin beard. He stepped forward, large, owl-like eyes taking in Wrast’s glare as well as his form. “A formidable combatant, no doubt, Lady Erinya.” He turned towards her now, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But ability with sticks will not let him survive Korriban.” “I’m aware of that Harkan,” Lady Erinya said, her tone and attitude suddenly short. “The boy is only sixteen years old by galactic standard and already he’s memorized the Sith texts in our library, mastered the Shii-Cho form in both execution and philosophy. More importantly,” she turned to regard Harkan. “Unlike the last apprentice Lord Barras took, he knows the Sith Code.” Harkan glared at Wrast, but then seemed to lose interest and shrugged. “It is your funeral Erinya.” Lord Jogren, Erinya’s consort, stepped into Wrast’s line of sight and motioned for him to stand. He was an older man, though younger than Erinya by a decade or more and had a face that ill-fitted a Sith Lord. It was a kindly face, one that wore a smile easily and eyes that seemed full of compassion. There were times when that look was nearly genuine, and Lord Jogren was the only the second human Wrast felt he might trust. “Come boy,” he said in that gentle voice and motioned for him to get up. “The exercise is over.” They left the audience chamber, large and circular and made for such displays as what happened that morning, and proceeded down a short passageway before turning toward a security door. Two guards inserted keycards into two separate slots and the door opened. Inside was a square room devoid of anything but black walls, black floors and black ceilings. Yellow lamps provided modest illumination for the space, and the only ornamentation in the room was six closed doors. “Rest up son,” Jogren said and held out a hand for the vibro sticks. Wrast gave them over without protest. He’d never seen Lord Jogren display any power with the Force, but the mere fact he walked alone with a dangerous, armed zabrak seemed to say enough. The older man put a hand on his shoulder and one side of his lips twitched upward. “Pay no attention to Harkan. That boy you beat today was his best student. You are going to be the finest Sith our House has produced.” He turned and left him there. The door shut quietly behind him and Wrast was left in near darkness. His room was easy to find, he’d lived there for twelve years. The audience chamber to his room was a path he could follow in his sleep. The door slid aside with a soft hiss and he lay down on his hard, durasteel cot and stared at the ceiling. The boy he killed was named Wolfigren and he’d come from the slave pits of Nal Hutta. He was seventeen, huge and ferocious, but he lacked discipline and technique. Wrast was not a large boy but wiry and quick. He struck with precision, even at the height of his emotions. He poured all of his fear and anger and frustration into honing his movements until they were as sharp as a blade. They struck fast and they struck hard. Wolfigren had died in under thirty seconds of combat and half of that had been spent using up his own energy trying to kill Wrast in a single blow. But he hadn’t and before long, he’d found his own death at Wrast’s hands. He’d been instructed to use only his vibro sticks, no Force powers, meager as they might be. He was to be a living weapon, capable of killing swiftly and without thought. He’d become that, at least in their eyes, but Wrast did think. He thought afterward, when he was alone with those thoughts. The dreams were terrible after a kill, after any battle and he knew that peace was not something he could ever afford. He closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. Soon, the nightmares came. * * * Linnay held the tray tightly as she stood before the guards. She kept her eyes downcast, her shoulders slumped. A servant did not look a Sith, even a mundane soldier, in the eye. She presented the tray and the first soldier opened the lid, confirmed its contents and slid his card into the access. The second checked her burden and then did the same. She entered the darkened living chambers of House Umbrus’ weapons with tentative steps. Linnay had come here half a hundred times before but the knowledge of what lay behind those doors frightened her. Most of them, anyway. She approached the one for which she was sent and, balancing the tray on her left forearm, touched the access plate. The door slid aside and she stepped into the darkness. The young zabrak was sleeping, or seemed to be and she watched him in silence even after the door hissed shut. What they did to him was wrong. She gripped the tray so tightly it shook and the covered plate rattled. Yellow eyes opened in the darkness and a heavily tattooed hand reached out and touched her own. “I’m awake,” he said and sat up. She settled herself and placed the tray next to him, lifting the lid off a small bowl of gruel. He looked from her to the bowl and nodded. “I have displeased them again.” She hissed and withdrew a warm roll of bread from within her uniform and handed it to him. He took it, giving her a small smile. She sat down next to him, glaring at the door. “You should not hate them,” he said to her after a moment of silence. She turned to look at him, and not for the first time, wished she could speak. Born mute, Linnay could utter only hisses, grunts and cries. Her first deformity was not being force sensitive, but this made the Lady Erinya just as unforgiving. “Your mother wanted to prove a point,” he said and bit into the bread, ignoring the gruel. She touched his forearm and felt the new scarring. Reaching into her uniform again she drew out a small kolto bandage and applied it. He didn’t stop her, not like he used to. She would find more bandages until he could not protest any longer. It was a battle she’d won. After, he touched her hand, then drew it into both of his. The affection between them grew over the years. Her mother wanted her killed for her deformities but her father could not part with his daughter and thus made her a servant instead. She fed the boys and girls her parents trained to die but only Wrast spoke to her, sat in comfortable silence with her and showed any interest in her. That comfort turned into something she couldn’t explain, but she feared for him and when he died, part of her would die too. “Soon I will be sent to Korriban,” Wrast said after a long moment of silence. “So they say.” She grasped his hand, twisting her thin, pale fingers until they found his and entwined. Squeezing, she lay her head on his shoulder and shook it from side to side. She wanted to scream, ‘No, not there! Oh not there! Better to die where I can ease you, be here with you…’ He lifted her chin with his free hand. Those yellow eyes caught her own and bore into them. There was sadness there, but also something akin to hope. Then behind it all sat the anger. It broiled inside him so thick that she almost felt it. “Do not despair.” His voice was so low she could hardly hear it. Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes and before she could turn her head away, he stole them with a caress of his thumb. “I will return.” Do not lie to me, she wanted to shout, but only that came out was a croaking moan. She hated herself in that moment, hated her infirmity, her uselessness. If only she could wield the Force! If only she could speak! She was thrashing suddenly, unable to contain her frustration and anger. He settled her, holding her arms tight in his hands. “This is no empty boast. If something comes between us, I will destroy it. Your parents have trained me well.” She closed her eyes and willed hope to burn but all she found was doubt. It could not be true, there will be no returning from Korriban and even if he managed to survive the Trials he would become a slave to another master. No, their time together was short and the words she wished to say were hot and angry on her useless vocal chords. I love you. The last word she thought before she pressed her lips and body to his made her want to weep again. Goodbye.

Beyond Measure takes place between the Treaty of Coruscant and the events of The Old Republic's MMO. It was first posted on RepublicTrooper.com. “Fifteen seconds,” the pilot said as the transport screamed its entry into Balmorra. Marik barely heard him, instead concentrating on keeping down his breakfast. He was an analyst, not a special forces commando like the rest of them and spewing his guts all over the co-pilots panel would only make that more apparent. He was a stranger among this group of brothers and though they treated him well enough since he'd been assigned to this mission, he’d never be one of them. When he'd arrived at the launch pad, huge duffel bag in hand, they had laughed and tossed most of his things. The only things they hadn’t dumped in the trash was his large supply of computer spikes, some clothes, and toiletries. The pilot had sat him up with him, and told him about Go Bags and how to construct one. “Don't worry,” he'd said, “You'll get used to it. I did.” Balmorra went from gray to black as the cloud cover gave way to torrents of rain. In the distance, Marik saw the twinkle of distant lights. Cadence, he thought, mentally scanning his mental map. As a child, he'd called this place home, but now it was as much a stranger to him as the men he served with. He knew the names but they were simply words on a datapad. The meanings behind those letters had faded to nothing. “Ten seconds,” the pilot said and reached across to where Marik sat and pulled a lever. Was I supposed to do that? he wondered as the transport slowed and a loud, metallic scream echoed throughout the ship. For a moment he was afraid the ship was tearing apart, but the pilot silenced those fears with a laugh. “Re-entry thrusters on this beast are loud eh?” “Won't they hear that?” I asked, thinking back to the briefing. “Just one gnat in the horde,” the pilot said and that quieted any more questions. Cadence looked almost peaceful by night. Through the rain and speeding vehicles, lights danced and flickered in the darkness. Marik could just make out the shapes of tall buildings and squat apartment buildings. From that distance, he almost thought he could remember it. He tried, closing his eyes and summoning what he could from that period of his life. His father smiled at him in the sunlit room of their study as he pieced together his first data deck computer. The pride his father's eyes showed him then had cemented his love for the holonet and computer system for life, and it had all begun here. Marik blinked as a sudden flare lit up the forward viewscreen. The pilot cursed and the transport dove. He felt a lurching in his stomach, bile rising almost to his ears. Curses from the back joined those upfront before the transport leveled out. Marik did not ask what happened, instead seeing Cadence for what it was. The city stretched out before them, hovels and lean-to shacks cuddled up next to decrepit high rises and block-sized squats. Where parks had been lay only burned out hulks of old ships and piles of refuse. The fading memory of his father crashed to pieces and joined the wasteland of his childhood. The transport gave a lurch and protesting bump as it set down. Marik had seen no landing pad, no central authority to welcome them. The rain obscured everything, even the shattered landscape of Cadence once the ship became still. The pilot turned to him and unbuckled himself. It was then that Marik realized he'd never asked the pilot his name. His armor only printed “Enzaro.” “C'mon,” the pilot told him. “Trip's over.” The rain was even worse than it looked. Once Marik had taken his much-reduced bag from one of the big commandos, he was rushed outside ahead of them. The water hit him like a sheet of plastoid, heavy and cold. His spikes remained sealed in the pouches on his vest but he still leaned over to cover them. The ground was muddy and there was no grass, only rocks as big as fists and boulders the size of transports dotting the small clearing they had landed in. “The hell is this?” one of the troopers said, his square, angular face shooting a look back toward the pilot. Marik knew him only as “Eram.” He wore ragged clothing with a small blaster pistol at his hip, like many of the others. Marik had only a hold-out in his pocket and wasn't even sure it was charged. “Crater,” the pilot said. “Quarter klick to the safehouse. Aria is waiting with dinner. Said she'd wait up.” Four more men followed Eram into the storm, all standing just a few feet from where Marik waited, shivering and miserable. They said this was a suicide mission and they're talking about dinner. Marik felt sick enough to retch, his nerves all telling his mind to run and hide. I joined Intelligence to avoid this kind of thing. Eram grumbled and shouldered his bag before stopping in front of Marik. “All right, kid? Marik right? You used to live here?” Marik managed a nod, not trusting to speak through the shivers. “We need to get to Forty-second street by the old theater, can you lead us there?” The man looked at Marik with eyes that seemed both dark and extremely bright. The pupils were large from the low light, but he thought the irises might be green or gold. Small horns showed from beneath matted, black hair. Ever that first meeting, the Zabrak had made him feel stripped and skinned, his fears laid bare. “Yeah,” Marik told him. He knew the way, he realized. The pattern of the lights ahead were familiar, even if the colors were not. He had a superb memory, like a holorecorder when it came to patterns. It had just taken a bit of time. “Yeah I can.” Eram signaled the others and they were walking before he realized it. Mud and drainage made the quarter kilometer take ages but they cleared the old crater and were soon passing dead trees and broken sidewalks. Balmorra had not even hailed them on the way in, and he wondered if the whole planet was dead and forgotten. Every street triggered a new recognition and soon they were threading between buildings and old alleyways. They took cover from the rain beneath balconies and shop overhangs. Several toughs eyed them as they walked but thought better of it when they spied Eram and the rest. All but one of them was large and muscular, the type of man that makes a potential thief think twice. Tordan was the only exception, being Marik's height and hid his wiry body beneath padded vests and loose trousers. Unlike most of the others though, Tordan did not have a beard. Marik thought that perhaps he couldn't grow one. “The theater was there,” Marik pointed once they reached their destination. It had taken them only two circles of the block before Marik realized the theater was gone. In its place stood a club with dark windows and barred doors. Eram and nodded and checked something on a datapad. The big man kept the device tucked close to his chest and glanced around for a moment before heading back the way they'd come. “Follow,” was all he said. The safe house was on the second floor of a long gone bakery. Flower and dust mingled on the steps as they pushed their way up, dodging mice and rats and discarded bags full of weevils. Marik narrowly avoided a fall when he slipped on the tail of a rat larger than his own hand. Tordan caught him and kept him upright long enough to regain his balance. After that, he walked only where the others did. A door greeted them at the top of the steps, its lock having seen much better days. It was ancient and worked with a latch and key system that Marik's slicing skills were useless for. Eram knocked once and a blaster greeted him as the door opened. The big man gave a smirk and shouldered his way inside. When Marik entered, he saw that the blaster was held by a young woman with hair cut shorter than any of the boys. She was shorter than he was but athletic where Marik was rail thin. “This the slicer?” she asked after they'd all joined her inside and shut the door. Eram nodded. “Yeah, arrived at brief yesterday. Name is Marik.” Marik hated feeling left out of a conversation where he was the subject, so he nodded. “Yeah, Marik.” The woman shrugged. “I'm Aria then.” Marik felt idiotic. This Aria was not cooking anything. She was likely an analyst here to brief them on the target. He should have known better. Eram told them all to gather around and so Marik found himself kneeling on old carpet and staring at a print out of what had been a bank security building. Aria circled several areas. “Target is likely in the old vault. I've scanned the power conduits and traced the lines. They feed something that could be our terminal in that area. Intel reports from our last action on Balmorra points to only a small garrison supporting it.” “Any Sith?” one of the commandos asked, who Marik remembered as Jacen. With his dark beard and light colored eyes, Marik tended to confuse him with Eram. Another voice joined in, this from a man with dark blonde hair, and scruff of a beard and dark eyes that reminded Marik of flints of coal. He wore a scarf around his neck with tribal sigils sewn into it. His name was Damian. “Doubtful, the bastards don't like getting wet.” “No,” Aria said once they'd both finished. “Any Sith activity is south, near Verdin Palace. You should be facing only some guards and engineers.” Eram scratched at his chin and then nodded. “Entry points?” “Here,” Aria said and pointed at the rear of the building. “The guard rotates every five hours and at midnight, one of them always props the door open and has a smoke. That will be our entry.” “Our?” Marik blurted out and instantly wished he hadn't said anything. “I mean, I'm going?” Damian chuckled and stood. “Yeah kid, we're all going. Did you think you were going to sit here? It's a closed system.” Marik looked to Eram, who he thought was the leader. The team wore no ranks, at least not since they had been made to strip back at base. That was his first taste of fear, folding his belongings with his dog tags to be placed in a box addressed to his next of kin. You should volunteer for these missions, not be ordered to do them. “Yeah,” he said. “You're right. Do you know what kind of system?” Aria shook her head and flipped through a datapad. “It's got some high power going into it, so it might be as complex as a G-Sixty-Eight or Nine even. That's why we brought you in, right?” She gave him something of a smile, but in the dim lighting of the room, it looked like a corpse grin. The rest was a blur for Marik. They talked about tactics and fire rates, defenses that all sounded extremely deadly to him. The others just seemed to take it in stride. Finally Aria had Eram help her drag out a locked container full of armor pieces. None of it matched and all of it seemed roughly used. Damian shoved a plastoid chestguard at him. “Put this on. We're not Republic for this mission and if you go around looking like some whimsical intel brat, we'll be in trouble. Try and look mean while you're at it.” He did as he was told, though affecting any kind of intimidating posture was beyond him. He'd known they would be disguising themselves as mercenaries, hired by a rival to cause disturbances and sew mayhem. He needed only to keep his head down and slice the system. Easy. In and out again. Aria checked her chronometer and picked a sniper rifle out from behind some crates. “Time to move. Stay close and don't step anywhere I don't.” She seemed to say the last to Marik and as he looked out of the window, lightning and rain making a strobe of the world, he didn't feel he had any other choice. They left the safe house the same way they'd come in, this time armed and armored. Even in their bulky plates and padded undersuits, Eram and his men barely made a sound. Damian carried nothing but a blaster rifle made for short ranged bursts and his vibrodagger. Eram and Jacen sported heavy rifles and lots of ammunition clips. Tordan made do with a light carbine and several grenades. Marik merely carried a heavy pistol that he was certain would never hit a thing. The area surrounding much of Cadence was forest and dense brush. The war a decade gone had still left its mark on the landscape however, with craters and dead trees cutting swathes through the old vegetation. Aria led them through the dense areas quickly, slowly only when they were exposed. Damian kept close to Marik, ensuring he would not fall far behind. “Don't get lost,” he kept growling. To get to the old banking building they had to cross out of the woods and cut back through a section of buildings. Aria had obviously scouted it beforehand and led them through burned out buildings and empty, vacant shops. When she finally held up a hand to stop, Marik could no longer tell where they were. The storm had raised a fog and obscured the lights from him. “Blast it,” Aria whispered. “I'll have to move closer, this fog is obscuring my target area.” She pointed above to a second story balcony overlooking the target building. “Torgan and Jacen, with me. I'll signal when its time.” There was no discussion, only nods from the team around him. Jacen and Torgan left with her, leaving him alone Eram and Damian, an arrangement he distinctly did not like. Damian frightened him, and the tribal tattoos on his sodden scarf only made him feel like the man might sacrifice him to some dark god. “Here,” Eram said and handed him an ear bud comm. “Should we get separated.” Marik took it, frowning at the device but shoving it into his ear nonetheless. Almost as soon as he did so, it crackled to life with Aria's hushed voice. “Two targets at the door. Two minutes until zero hundred. On my mark.” It all happened so fast that Marik was still in a confused daze when he heard Aria say, “mark.” There was a hushed bark from the area where Aria had run to, then a shout and a second bark. “Clear,” she said. “Good luck.” Eram was up and moving with Damien pulling Marik to his feet and rushing him along behind. They cleared the street in less than a heartbeat and were on the open door so quickly that Marik barely had time to register the two dead men laying at its opening. “Stay close,” Damian said and hefted his rifle. Eram made a signal that Marik did not understand and both men entered the building, Marik followed, stepping over a guard that was missing the better half of a head. Bile and breakfast threatened again but he clenched his teeth, ignoring both the sight and the nausea. The building was lit by glow panels every few meters, casting the corridor into a dull yellow glow. Their footfalls were soft but a metallic shutter echoed with each step, a sound that Marik thought was loud enough to wake the whole city. They moved on, Damian keeping a glancing gaze on him as they did so. Through his comm, Marik heard the subdued voices of the other three troopers outside. “Ghost One you are clear at entry, bodies removed.” “No sign of alarm.” “Moving in, four hundred meters to target,” said Eram, his voice almost inaudible to Marik's ear, but soft and clear over the comm. Here they stopped, nearing the end of the corridor. Ahead of them were low cubicle walls as far as Marik could see. To avoid being seen, they would have to crouch low. “Check for a signal,” Eram told him and tapped the computer on Marik's wrist. He did so and found several, all likely links to the building. None of them would be the one they wanted however. A secure system would have a physical connection, not a wireless one. He was about to tell him so when the commando spoke again. “Let me know if any new ones show.” Marik nodded and did as he asked, quickly informing the computer to alert him should a new wireless signal appear. His fingers shook as he padded the keys and he forced them to still themselves. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. No one was here, they would just walk in, steal some data, and get out. “Let's go.” Eram's voice shook him free of his thoughts and crouched low as they wove their way through the cubicle farm. The building was quiet, only the hum of machines breaking the silence. To Marik, it felt like one of those movies that was just waiting to turn into a horror film. They were halfway through the office area when Aria's voice crackled in Marik's ear. “Contacts. At least one platoon, make your extraction quick, One.” “Copy Four.” Eram waved them forward and began to move faster but the swift speed in a crouched position soon made Marik's legs nearly give out. Damian had a hand on his pack and nearly dragged him along. “We're compromised, One. We'll cover your exit.” The announcement was accented by the sudden chatter of blaster fire. Damian cursed quietly and Eram gave up all pretense of sneaking. The three of them began to run through the remaining cubicles just as red lights flashed and alarm klaxons wailed. “How--?” was all Marik had time to ask before he was pulled into another corridor and pushed up against a wall. Eram aimed behind them and let loose a barrage of blaster bolts just before Damian tossed a grenade in the same direction. Screams answered, and then return fire in its wake. “Get down!” Damian yelled and Marik was shoved backwards so forcefully that he fell onto his backside. Pain shot up his spine and for a moment he thought he'd broken something. His vision when white and he heard what could only have been the sky splitting wide open. His head rang like a thousand bells, his sight reduced to moving shadows that seemed to freeze in place only to appear somewhere else a heartbeat later. He rolled to his knees and covered his ears, shut his eyes. I'm going to die. I'm going to die! And then, like a cloud breaking before the sun, Damian stood over him. He reached a great hand down and shook him by the shirt. “Get--” he began but an explosion shook the world and Marik screamed as he felt something slam hard into his leg. More pain erupted and felt something warm and wet spray across his face. “Damn!” Marik couldn't tell whose voice that was but when he opened his eyes again he saw that Damian was backed up across from him, a hand extended with a blaster pistol in it. He fired continuously, screaming something Marik couldn't make out. Next to him lay his arm, severed just below the elbow. The fingers still clenched a piece of Marik's uniform where it had torn away. “Five is down, six is hit!” Aria's voice said over the comm. “Someone sold us out, One!” “Two is down,” Damian growled, his voice coming over the comm and from across the hallway. The duality of it made Marik want to cover his ears, but he couldn't say why. He also could not stop staring at the hand that lay just a meter away, still reaching for him. “Time to go slicer!” Eram said and suddenly he was lifted from the ground a moving. Damian still sat in the hallway, firing back with his pistol. On his last glance he saw the man pull another grenade and haul back his remaining arm. The base became a blur of hallways, closed doors and yawning entrances. He quickly lost sense of direction and knew finding his way back would be impossible. I'm going to die in here, he thought again. “Aria, report!” Eram's voice brought him crashing back to reality and the man's firm tones almost settled him. He let Marik go and held a hand to his ear. “Aria! I said report!” They had stopped before a massive security door that appeared to be locked via terminal. Eram's nod told him all he needed to know and set to work. Finally, he thought as he slid a computer spike into place and bypassed early security. Code scrolled over the holovid and he plucked two essential pieces out before his spike let him know to do so. He'd seen this security style a hundred times. He'd written the counter-crack to it that was now used in Intel training. My job. The thought gave him courage suddenly. They fight. I slice. The door slid open. “Let's go,” Eram said and spared one last glance down the hallway. “Two?” “Still here, One.” “Hold the door, we're coming back soon.” “Take your time, I'm enjoying this dance.” There was pain in Damian's voice, though Marik was sure he'd used a stim or two by now. How could he not? The thought of losing an arm... of being hit... Marik looked down and suddenly remembered the warm sensation he'd felt earlier. His pant leg was ripped to shreds and his flesh had hundreds of tiny scratches that all seeped small trickles of blood. The sight fascinated him more than it unnerved him. How could he not be in such pain? Is this what shock feels like​? “Marik, inside!” Eram's command stirred him and he limped in, almost as if the knowledge of the wounds was enough to make the limp needed. The room they had entered was a data bank and he felt the cool touch of temperature control breath on his exposed skin. This was what Aria's intelligence had discovered. A data bank like this one would explain the power spikes she'd seen. He didn't waste any time and crossed to a login terminal. There was another door in the room but Eram was already checking it for security feeds. That left him the time he needed to slice the system. “Sorry One, I went dark. Five is dead. Six and I are en route to you.” Marik felt a slight lurch in his stomach to hear Aria's voice again. He'd thought she was dead, that they were all dead, but now two more troopers were coming to help. We'll make it, he told himself as he slid another computer spike into the system. We will. “You're going to have a fun ride,” Damian growled. “It's a blasted warzone in here. Did you find out what tipped them?” “Sorry Two.” “Make it up to me later.” A blast rang down from where Damian had been. “Take that you red sons of---” “Sith!” Marik paused in the middle of typing out an extensive code crack. He felt cold all of a sudden, like he'd been dropped in ice water. Sith. The very thought made him afraid, made him want to run. The Jedi were fearsome enough but Sith murdered without regard, killed with a power he couldn't even see. We're lost. “Aw hell,” Damian's voice came. “Four just cut around. I'm going to say hello.” “Stay tight, Two, Six and I--” “Shut up Aria. Get to Eram and the kid. Sing a song about me in that pretty voice or something.” “Damian!” An explosion echoed down the hall, followed by a torrent of gunfire and screams. Marik found himself shaking when he thought he heard the sound of a lightsaber. He decided to concentrate on his code, to not think about it. If he was lucky, he'd be shot dead without ever seeing it coming. It took three spikes and two work arounds before the system yielded to him. By that time the blaster fire had increased and then lessened. The lights flickered outside the data bank but there hadn't been so much as a dip within. Controlled room. We're venting very important credits into the corridor beyond. “Marik,” Eram said, his voice floating across the room and not through his comm. “I think we've been misinformed.” Information flashed across the screen. Data schematics. Plans of purchase. Tests. Re-tests. Subjects and the deaths of those subjects. A list of names so long that Marik couldn't take the time to scan it. Some of those names had been familiar. He'd lived here. Cadence had been his home. And the Empire had done something to it. He opened a test file that was larger than the rest and felt sick. “Marik,” Eram said again. “Get this door open.” “The data's not in here,” Marik said, slumping against the terminal. “We... they...” “I said, get this door open.” Marik glanced over his shoulder as more blaster fire came again. This time it was closer, perhaps just at the end of the corridor. He'd heard nothing from Aria or Damian. They were probably dead. Just like Ma and Da. This place is a graveyard. Eram was standing there, just behind him. His grizzled face had a grim expression on it, those eyes cold as Hoth in a snowstorm. “Open the door. This needs doing.” “They are operating on people,” Marik said, pointing at the data feed. “Implanting them with--” “Open the door, Marik, now.” Marik turned and with just one last computer spike, opened the last door to the data bank. Eram touched his comm. “Four, report.” “Two is dead, One. Six is wounded. I'm holding the mouth. You have two minutes.” Dead. He'd only known Damian for a short time, but the man had seemed invincible. The image of him sitting there, pistol in hand, defying the incoming imperials burned into his memory. Marik thought that it might never fade. “That Sith will be on us soon, best get to this.” Eram aimed at the new entrance with his rifle and began to walk in. Marik clumsily pulled his pistol, clicked the safety off and followed him inside. The room was dark and smelled thickly of antiseptic, blood and human waste. Ther ewas the unmistakable hum of machinery and computers as well but Marik could not make out any. Eram clicked on his weapon's light and illuminated what he could. What greeted them made Marik retch. A chair sat in the middle of a round depression, a drain just below it. Blood had caked into every lip and orifice of the plasteel floor and though he smelled the cleaning agents, the sheer volume of blood had been too much. Around the rim of the room were cells that looked more like animal cages. All were empty except for one. Marik felt like someone had skinned him raw and began to shake. No. “She's still alive,” Eram said and blasted the locking mechanism. It had been mechanical, not technological so it could not be sliced. The girl inside could not have posed a threat however. She was bloody and had sores dotting her neck and ears and there was freshly seared skin implanted just over her temple. Her eyes were large and brown and the nose just below spotted with freckles. He would have known her anywhere. “You were dead,” Marik said. Eram backed off the girl and motioned to her. “This is your job kid. Get her up.” He couldn't have moved if the Sith Emperor himself had put a lightsaber to his neck. She stared at him, unblinking. Her eyes held no mirth, no laughter like they had growing up. Kira liked to laugh. This girl would never laugh again. “It's my sister,” Marik said. “I... I can't.” “I know, you think we picked you at random? Get her the hells up. She won't respond to an unfamiliar voice!” Some compunction set him in motion. Afterward, he could not recall what it had been, but he moved to her and knelt. A shaky hand smoothed back her matted hair, felt the uneven lines on her temple where the skull had been replaced. “They made her into a living data bank. A... a lockbox for information...” “We need what's in her head, Marik,” Eram said, his voice soft this time. “It will save more lives than hers.” She weighed nothing in his arms. Eram told him that her conditioning would keep her from responding to anyone unfamiliar, but she came to him easily. Her thin arms went around his neck and he lifted her as easily as a datapad. She's so thin. “Four, status?” Aria's voice came back pained and thin over the comm. “I've lost Six. That... Sith... I've given him something to think about but... I'm not coming with you, One. I'm sorry.” Eram paused at the doorway to the corridor. He glanced in the direction Aria would be for just a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, Aria.” “Did you... did you get her?” “Yes.” “Goodbye, One.” Eram waved to him and they hurried down the corridor in the opposite direction, moving away from the sudden increase in blaster fire. There came an explosion and the unmistakable hum of a lightsaber. “Move!” Eram shouted and then they were running, Marik holding onto Kira as tightly as he dared. Her eyes were simply fixed on his face. Their exit was a security door at the end of the hall. Even in the flashing lights of the alarms, Marik could see that it had sealed itself shut. Eram raised his rifle and without slowing a step, sent a timed grenade careening into the door, blowing it right off its hinges. Another moment later and they were out into the night. Marik felt tall grass brush against the exposed skin on his leg, a stiff breeze on his face. Kira's warmth was welcome, though her silence disturbed him. Even the blast of the grenade had not stirred her, made her cry out or even wince. He wondered in that moment if she was even alive. Truly alive. They had only made it a hundred yards when a shout ripped through the night air. Marik turned to see a man leaping through the air at them, a red blade extending from a silvery hilt. The Sith. Marik felt his legs freeze up and he fell, losing Kira in the process. Eram turned and launched a volley of bolts at the charging Sith. The dark jedi deflected them as he descended, crashing to earth with a crash so violent that it tossed Marik into the air again and landing in the brush. “Go!” Eram yelled to him. “Damn it, go!” Something metallic slid free of Eram's bracer and he saw a blade cut the Sith across the chest. The man screamed, but the sound turned from terror into laughter. He reached out a hand and clenched a fist and Eram began to choke. “No!” Marik had his pistol in his hand and was firing before he knew what he was doing. It caught the Sith momentarily by surprise and he was forced to drop Eram to deflect the bolts. One shot right back at Marik and blew the blaster right out of his hand. The Sith grinned and began to walk towards him. Marik began to pray to all the Gods of Balmorra. An explosion blossomed from the Sith's back and Eram came out of nowhere to tackle the man to the ground. “Get out of here, Marik! She's vital! Go!” Kira was not far. She crouched next to a tree and stared into the sky like she'd never seen it before. Marik took her hand and drew her back into his arms. “We're going away,” he whispered with one last look toward Eram. “Far from here.” * * * “Where's the rest?” the pilot asked as Marik boarded the transport with Kira. A medic was now aboard and took his sister from him almost immediately. They knew. All along. They kept me in the dark... but why? Will I ever know? “Not coming,” Marik said and the pilot stared for a moment before lifting the transport up off the ground. Rain pelted the windshield so fiercely that it didn't allow for further communication, even by radio. Marik left the pilot deck and went back to sit with his sister. He held her hand in his and stared out at the dark Balmorra night. Cadence drifted away and was soon obscured by cloud cover and storm rains. Still, he caught the occasional flicker of light from either the lights below or fires from the data bank. “Clean break,” the pilot's voice said over his comm. “We're clear.” Marik looked at Kira, saw her wide eyes still staring at him. He touched her cheek and they fluttered closed. The medic nodded to him, removing the sleep stim. He let his sister's head rest against his shoulder and gave his childhood home one last look and bid it goodbye. It had taken his parents and the brave men and woman who had taken him back. He never wanted to see it again. “Home?” Kira whispered in a voice so hoarse he could barely understand. “No,” he whispered to her. “Somewhere better.”