Blackmoon

[Jagaimee]

Author's note: As this story takes place after the Ilum storylines but before Makeb, there will be heavy spoilers for nearly all of the class stories (trooper, smuggler, and inquisitor seem to have escaped...for now), as well as Ilum in general.

 

 

Blackmoon

 

 

 

Chapter One: The Call, Part One

 

 

“What about Makashi?” Kira levitated her lightsaber in front of her, eyes narrowing as she inspected it. “I’ve always admired how elegant it is.”

 

Jorthat shifted position on the hard bench as he mentally ran over the movements of the Makashi form. He looked down at the floor – briefly studying the softly blinking lights on the comm station in the center of the room – before looking back up and shrugging. “It is elegant,” he admitted, finally coming to his conclusion. His mind’s eye still saw a mental simulation of the Makashi form: graceful, fluid, almost like a dance rather than a deadly swordfight. “But it’s based on flashy, fancy movements and wavers somewhere between fencing and purely psyching out your opponent with false moves. Going up against a Sith…”

 

“…and you’d be demolished,” Kira agreed ruefully. She sat up straighter against the bench, clasping her long-handled lightsaber out of the air, then turned to look at Jorthat. Her blue eyes smiled before the rest of her face followed suit. “How do you know so much about each and every fighting style, anyway?”

 

Another, slightly awkward, shrug. Jorthat reached back to rub at where a seam in his clothing grated against a recent scratch; he had to remember to tell Rusk that sparring with deactivated vibroswords was perfectly acceptable, too. “It’s just a subject that’s fascinating to me,” he said deferentially. “Training with them…it helps to be prepared.”

 

Kira laughed. “Yeah, never know when you might fight a Sith that switches to all seven lightsaber forms in four seconds flat.”

 

Jorthat tried to do the math in his head. Seven divided by four was…He gave up after a few seconds, smirking. “Ki—“

 

A shrill beep came from the ship’s intercom. Jorthat’s ears perked up, and he immediately straightened even further, looking over at the wall-mounted beacon.

 

“We’re getting some weird signal,” Doc’s voice came over the intercom. “If you and the Jedi Princess could condescend to mingle with us mortals…it might be important.”

 

Kira sighed. “Not. A princess.”

 

Jorthat didn’t reply, just got up from his seat and headed towards the entrance of the room. Well, if this was important, then any talk of training Kira had to – unfortunately – wait. With the Imperials retreating after the Ilum fiasco, he’d had precious little time to properly instruct her in lightsaber fighting. Not that she really needed it all that much…at least with a double-bladed saber. Single-bladed, however? That could use some work. And besides, it gave both of them a welcome retreat from Lord Scourge’s glowering, Rusk’s rattling off mission casualty rates, T7 wanting to play appropriately energizing music during any other training session, and Doc…being Doc.

 

Doc at his most Doc-iest was waiting for Jorthat as he headed down the stairs into the main hallway of the ship. “Hey, your head’s not literally in the clouds,” he greeted the cathar cheerfully. “Thought that’s what happened every time you and Kira did a séance.”

 

Jorthat suppressed a groan. “It’s not a séance,” he said flatly, moving past Doc. “I explained Jedi training to you before, didn’t I?” Here they went again.

 

“Sure,” Doc said, falling into pace beside Jorthat. “But I’m starting to wonder if the training is of the explicitly Jedi type. For instance, you and Kira spend a lot of time behind closed doors…”

 

“I can hear you, you know,” came Kira’s voice from behind them. Jorthat could feel the waves of embarrassment and disgust radiating from her, through the force, even halfway across the ship. He definitely couldn’t blame her: he was sure his skin was turning bright red under his fur by now.

 

Apparently, it literally was. “I actually got a blush out of you?” Doc raised his eyebrows. “Must be true, then.”

 

“DOC!” Jorthat and Kira yelled.

 

“Okay, right, proper Jedi don’t talk about that stuff!” Doc held up his hands in surrender. Jorthat resisted the urge to bonk the good doctor on the head. No, it was not true. But once Doc got some ammunition for teasing, there was no stopping him. Not even with a verbal sledgehammer to the face.

 

Rusk glanced out of the bridge as they neared it. “Sir!” He saluted Jorthat, and Jorthat returned the gesture out of habit. Habit, and he knew that Rusk would look extremely disapproving if he did not. He’d learned that the hard way. “We appear to be getting some sort of coded message, Master Jedi,” Rusk said, standing in the doorway.

 

“…okay.” Jorthat waited.

 

Rusk didn’t move.

 

“A-hem,” Doc coughed.

 

“Oh.” Rusk stepped to the side. “My apologies, Master Jedi.”

 

“Has he ever actually learned your name?” Doc stage-whispered to Jorthat as they finally stepped into the bridge. Kira snickered, apparently overhearing the comment. Then again, it was hard not to…as evidenced by the perpetual frown that was once again plastered on Rusk’s face. Even the chagrian’s horns seemed to turn downwards in a scowl.

 

This could be worse, Jorthat reminded himself to keep his cool, as he headed to the flashing bridge comm controls. Scourge could be here and berate me for not being on top of this sooner.

 

A wave of cool darkness flowed onto the bridge. “I would have thought you would be more punctual in answering this call,” came Scourge’s smooth voice.

 

I jinxed it.

 

“Even if I was,” Jorthat responded, struggling to keep his voice level, “it’s apparently in code.” He pressed the accept button. “And if even Rusk couldn’t—“

 

The comm spat out a burst of harsh static, then a blue fuzzy image sprang to life.

 

“Then again…” murmured Jorthat, bewildered. Any irritation he had with his dysfunctional crew vanished, replaced by curiosity.

 

“Master Jedi!” someone said over the comm. It was distorted from all the static, and the fuzz of an image wasn’t helping matters any. “Please – I had to be sure it was you – please, Master Jedi, if you can, help us! We’re in danger, the Imperials are attacking!”

 

“Calm down,” Jorthat said, frowning at the static-filled image. It coalesced briefly into a man – human, dark-haired, smudges of dirt or blood on his face, scruffy clothing that looked vaguely regulation of some sort – then dissolved again. “Who are you? What’s going on? Where are you located?” Imperials? Attacking? While they were actively retreating from most corners of the galaxy?

 

“O-our coordinates are 7717, cross C193R,” the man stammered. “We’re a mining outpost—we’re not affiliated with anyone, j-just some small company—but the Imperials are attacking because of this—this resource we found, it—“

 

“Okay, stop,” Jorthat said firmly. “We’re not too far away; we’ll be there in a few minutes.” By luck or the Force – or both – they’d managed to wander right into the broadcast range for this signal.

 

“Oh thank you, thank you thank you thankyou…” The miner was all but tripping over his words. “We’ll try to hold off until th—“ Something off-screen exploded. The fuzzy image of the miner ducked, then looked around in a panic. “I have to go! We’ll hold out – please, hurry!” The image faded into nothingness.

 

“Strange that the Empire should attack one isolated mining colony,” Scourge observed, his voice dripping with suspicion.

 

Jorthat shook his head. “Strange or not, we can’t ignore a call for help.” He was already putting the coordinates into the Defender’s computer. “We can be there in ten minutes.” 7...717…cross—The rest of the coordinates abruptly filled themselves in, along with a cheery whistle over the intercom.

 

“Thanks, Teeseven,” Jorthat murmured as the ship automatically started to readjust to its new course. “Everyone, gear up and prepare for battle.”

 

Here they go.

[Lunafox]

Hey Grand Admiral

 

Nice to see you here! A great start, I'm looking forward to seeing what happens on the mining colony. I think Scourge is right to be suspicious.

 

Also loved the way you described his entrance...cool darkness indeed. ^^

[Jagaimee]

My lord Lunafox! *bows* You grace my story with your presence, m'lady.

...okay in truth thank you thank you thankyou even for just posting here. Nooooo, I was definitely not skulking about the thread all day, hoping somebody would read the beginnings of the story and give a flip to post here...

 

Oh indeed, Scourge is right to be suspicious. The Empire's up to something...

Le' part two. Of chapter one. I write long chapters. e_e

 

 

Chapter One: The Call, Part Two

 

 

The Defender burst out of hyperspace, the starlines receding back into dots – and black blots against the velvet of space. The ship’s computers lit up with a warning, but Jorthat was already at the helm, guiding the ship through the maze of asteroids they had flown into. The mining base was in the thick of this field… and soon Jorthat could see it even without the use of the ship’s sensors.

 

Because a Star Destroyer was pumping laser fire in its direction.

 

Little dots swarmed among the storm of lasers, their own tiny engines looking like fireflies on Alderaan, chasing each other ‘round and ‘round. As the Defender flew towards the battle, Jorthat suddenly realized those little dots were starfighters. Some were painted black, in service to the Empire, while others were oddly-shaped and unmarked. Likely the station’s own defenses.

 

“We’re coming in hot,” he called to his crew. “Get ready to board the station!” The station itself was apparently built inside one of the largest asteroids. Jorthat mentally ran through all the specifications it would need to survive in such an environment: incredibly sturdy architecture, a force field around it to keep other asteroids from crashing into it… so if the Star Destroyer was able to bombard it, that force field was down. Which meant they had to get that field back up, as first priority.

 

Jorthat sent the Defender on a tight spiral path in towards the station. In seconds they were among the swarming starfighters. Teeseven gave a shrill whistle over the intercom, and the Defender’s cannons blazed to life. Jorthat didn’t need to worry about aiming said cannons: Teeseven, from his perch in the engine room, could more or less direct the ship all by himself. Jorthat just piloted. Teeseven did the rest.

 

It was always an eerie feeling: to see the ships and laser blasts flying past them…and hearing nothing save dull, muffled thuds. Jorthat almost felt detached entirely from the situation. The only things that kept him anchored were the Defender shaking slightly as the ship hurtled through the fight, and the Force around him – letting him feel every attacker and defender, even the vague mass of lives aboard the Star Destroyer.

 

And he could feel every death in the cold of space.

 

They were the enemy. But they were still people. And people could be redeemed, could be brought back to what was right. Jorthat gritted his teeth as he maneuvered the Defender around a tangled knot of starfighters and starfighter wreckage. Every battle, he had to deal with this…

 

The station’s hangar bay loomed out of the darkness, rimmed with neon blue lights. Jorthat sent the Defender straight for it. As they got closer, Jorthat could see needles of bright light flying back and forth across the hangar bay floor – a firefight. Wonderful. There were more ships inside, but plenty of room to land…right by the Imperial shuttle that was hovering by the entrance.

 

You’re not getting away that easily. Jorthat aimed the Defender’s nose – and the cannons – right for the thrusters of the shuttle…then realized that if he tried to shoot the engines, he’d blow up the entire shuttle. Not only would that kill everyone on board, it’d transform the hangar into a flaming mess and make it harder for everybody inside, allied or not.

 

Well, never mind, then. The Defender swept inside the hangar; Jorthat caught glimpses of Imperial troops scattering like mad to avoid the landing. With a soft thunk, the ship set down, and Jorthat was already leaping out of his chair and racing towards the stairwell. Everyone else was there ahead of time – Doc and Rusk priming their blasters, Kira and Scourge with lightsabers ignited… and Teeseven with a shock prod occasionally sparking. He beeped mournfully as Jorthat ran up. T7 = honorary part of the Jedi Order // T7 = wants lightsaber upgrade.

 

“Can we talk about that later?” Kira muttered.

 

Jorthat wished he had time to lob a friendly bit of snark back at Teeseven and Kira, but he didn’t. He vaulted over the top of the railing as the entryway door opened. Scourge and Kira were first into the fray of lasers blasting across the hangar, with Jorthat right behind. His long-handled lightsaber sprang to life in his hand with a familiar snap-hiss, the thin blade tracing up and around to instinctively block any stray shots his way.

 

Cacophony assaulted his ears. The shrill metallic ringing of blasters, the screams of those already wounded, the roaring battle cries of the defenders. The air smelled charred – little fires sprang up in all corners of the hangar. And beyond that, Jorthat could feel everything…time slowed. He felt…

 

The defiant pride of the miners defending their base.

 

Scourge, an emotionless blank as he carved through the attacking forces.

 

Kira, nervous, proud, strong – struggling not to let her own emotions overwhelm her as she fought.

 

Doc and Rusk…being Doc and Rusk. Teeseven was a little mechanical blank in the Force, as always, but Jorthat caught a glimpse of the droid screeching after fleeing Imperial troopers with his tiny shock prod blazing.

 

He felt the cold efficiency of the Imperial soldiers – and their flashes of concern as a squadmate fell, as a fellow warrior died.

 

Jorthat batted a blaster bolt away, hardly even aware that he did so, as he ran towards the Imperial shuttle and its vulnerable engines. They were still people, under all that training and ruthlessness. Still, they—

 

And then he felt the presence of their commander, and the battle seemed to halt around him as he stared.

 

A squad of Imperial troopers came pelting out of a side corridor, with someone in their midst, as though they were protecting him. Jorthat could only see glimpses of that someone, but whoever it was, he was very tall, dressed in black – befitting an Imperial commander of some kind – he was carrying something very carefully, and he wasn’t human. Not Sith, either; if he was, he would have been in Jorthat’s face with a lightsaber in two seconds flat. There was something about him, though…

 

Something shrieked past Jorthat’s ear and he spun around to see one very embarrassed miner. “Sorry, Master Jedi!” the woman yelled, scrambling to back up and aim a little better this time. “It just slipped!”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he called to her, and then he was spinning his saber in intricate flurries to deflect a barrage of blaster bolts that whizzed his way. Apparently the Imperials were now very well aware of his presence; a group of them was clustered together near the shuttle, twenty feet away from Jorthat, guns blazing in his direction.

 

Jorthat inwardly sighed. He didn’t want to fight them; he wanted to get to the shuttle. But they weren’t going to politely clear out of the way, so… He reached through the force and felt the air around his saber – a single wave of his hand excited the ions in the air to fiery brilliance. To onlookers, it would appear that his lightsaber had just burst into flames. He charged forwards, towards the now-panicking Imperials, and slashed the burning blade in the air just over their heads. As they ducked on instinct, he let his momentum turn him completely around and down… he stabbed his blade deep into the floor of the hangar.

 

A wave of burning plasma erupted outwards from the center of impact. Jorthat instinctively force-waved the explosion away from himself, but not from the troopers. They scattered completely, some with their leg armor on fire. The floor more-or-less melted.

 

Jorthat looked up from his crouch. The Imperial commander had nearly reached the shuttle – and suddenly Jorthat saw his face. Narrow, angular…burning red eyes set deep in dark blue skin. A chiss. Jorthat gritted his teeth, knowing full well the cunning and ruthlessness those allies of the Empire often displayed. The chiss appeared to be carrying a container – a glowing container. Judging by the way the miners were concentrating fire in his direction, whatever it was, was important.

 

“Kira, get to the station control room!” Jorthat yelled across the hangar, his voice rasping for a moment. “Get the shield back up!”

 

Kira whirled in a veil of green fire, then took off sprinting towards the hallway the Imperials had come out of. T7 charged after her with an excited squeal.

 

Scourge was chopping Imperials off of Rusk and Doc, who were pinned down by the Defender. They would be all right – now it was up to Jorthat to stop that chiss.

 

He shot forwards, extinguishing his lightsaber for a moment, pumping his arms to go faster at a dead run towards the commander. Most of the troopers guarding the shuttle were already on board, the commander bringing up the rear. He whirled towards Jorthat – somehow he’d seen him coming? – and immediately handed the case to a lieutenant, who scampered aboard the shuttle.

 

Jorthat leaped at him, lightsaber ignited – and the chiss gracefully sidestepped.

 

Jorthat went sprawling onto the ground just beyond the other man, but he was up again in a heartbeat. “Surrender,” he growled, levelling his lightsaber at the chiss.

 

The man just stood there, one eyebrow slightly lowered. “When I hold the upper hand?” he inquired mildly, his voice oddly high-pitched for such an imposing figure.

 

Something was off about him. Something wasn’t right. His sense in the force…it was just off. Jorthat couldn’t explain it even if he wanted to, but he had no time to think about it further: the chiss was edging towards the shuttle opening. Jorthat acted on instinct. He flung his lightsaber towards the ship’s engines, aiming it so it would cut through the—

 

The lightsaber halted in mid-air and then fell harmlessly to the floor, winking out with a soft hiss.

 

Jorthat blinked.

 

What!?

 

Then a stream of blaster bolts was ripping towards him. He ducked and flipped away, letting the Force guide his movements to a pocket of space that wasn’t occupied by burning plasma, then whirling away again when another bolt charred the air around him. The chiss had impeccable aim, and if Jorthat wasn’t moving so quickly with the force’s help, he realized he would be dead a dozen times over.

 

He spun low, then sent a blast through the Force towards the chiss. The other man staggered, his aim faltering, and Jorthat was already sprinting towards him. He tackled him full-on, dragging him off the ramp. He wasn’t going to kill the man, of course, but as a prisoner, the chiss could answer some important questions—

 

The chiss squirmed unnaturally fast out of Jorthat’s grip, and in an instant had their positions reversed – now he had his arm around Jorthat’s neck. Jorthat went limp for a second – the chiss, startled, relaxed his grip – and Jorthat’s elbow jolted backwards to slam into the man’s ribs. The chiss staggered back with a coughing wheeze, his grip slipping entirely, and Jorthat gripped the man’s arm to twist it and—

 

--found himself flat on the floor, staring up with wide eyes, as the chiss had somehow recovered instantaneously, used Jorthat’s own leverage against him, and was now standing with a gun pointed directly at Jorthat’s head. “I told you,” he said, his voice showing no signs of strain. “I have the upper hand.”

 

Jorthat just twitched his hand. The Force tugged at a nearby crate and sent it hurtling towards the chiss’s back. The man once again sidestepped, but the split-second of distraction was all Jorthat needed to kick out at the chiss’s legs and send him sprawling to the ground, black coat fluttering around him and gun clattering away. Jorthat rolled to his feet – and the chiss was back on his feet, coming at Jorthat like a freight train.

 

Who IS this guy!? Jorthat thought, rather angrily, as he found himself once again on the defensive. The chiss moved to punch Jorthat in the face; Jorthat caught the man’s fist, ignoring the pain in his palm from doing so, and, gripping the man’s arm, attempted to wrench it around.

 

And then the chiss moved too fast for Jorthat to even be aware of, even with the Force, and Jorthat found the man’s arm tightly around his neck, pinning his own arms to his chest. Jorthat coughed, struggling with all his might, but the chiss’s strength seemed near-supernatural. Someone that tall and thin should not be that freakishly strong, Jorthat managed to coherently think, as black spots pulsed in his vision and his lungs started to burn. Going limp again wouldn’t work. The man would be anticipating that. Trying to use the Force to throw the chiss away didn’t even work. It was like something was blocking him from his target.

 

The chiss commander brought his mouth very close to Jorthat’s ear. “You don’t know what you’re getting into. Stay out of this, Jedi,” he whispered.

 

An ocean of black closed over Jorthat’s vision, and he went limp.

Edited June 17, 2017 by Jagaimee

[Lunafox]

Wow, consider me intrigued. I'm curious about this Chiss, he's quite extraordinary. Keep it up. Jorthat and I demand answers!

[Jagaimee]

Yay, glad you like it so far! The chiss is...definitely something else. It was a challenge to write a fight scene like that, as I'm horrible at writing a) action, b) fight scenes, and c) ESPECIALLY a flat-out hand-to-hand brawl like that. Hope it wasn't too head-tiltingly weird or illogical. XD

Last part of chapter one (oi) incoming tomorrow morning...er, well, what's considered tomorrow morning over on the Northwest side of America, that is.

[Jagaimee]

Chapter One: The Call, Part Three (and last)

 

 

 

A pounding headache was the first thing Jorthat was aware of.

 

That, and a very shrill, very insistent beeping.

 

And someone talking. Loudly and obnoxiously.

 

He was lying down, on a very cold surface that felt like metal – it all came rushing back. The fight with the chiss, the bizarre whispered stay out of this, Jedi, you don’t know what you’re getting into…and how he’d been taken out so hilariously easy, as though the chiss were just toying with him. What was he, a kitten again? No, of course he hadn’t placed top in his combat training classes back at the Academy, of course he hadn’t fought the Emperor himself and won…he was a helpless kitten, mewling indignantly as his siblings playfully pushed him around. That brought a hot flush of shame to his face.

 

“If he’s blushing, he’s not dead. C’mon. Wake up.” Someone patted his cheek; Jorthat instinctively flinched away. “Wake up before you make me look like an idiot trying to revive a dead man.”

 

Jorthat squinted open his eyes. Someone blurry was bending over him – actually, several someones – and the gray ceiling was stretching high above him, crisscrossing with what looked like wires and pipes. So he must still be in the hangar bay of the mining station. His nose twitched. He could still smell the acridly charred scent of blasterfire-melted metal, but no shrieks of blasters came to his ears. “What happened,” he groaned. His head was pounding, but the cool floor felt good.

 

“We got the shield up,” came a woman’s voice. Kira. Jorthat blinked and tried to bring her in focus. There she was, kneeling beside him, bright red hair splashing against both cheeks as she looked down at him in concern. “And the Imps fled like mynocks on fire.”

 

A whistle. T7 = REALLY wants lightsaber upgrade // T7 = wants to chase down that chiss // Chiss commander = weird + scary + hurt Jorthat // Chiss commander = BAD GUY

 

“No kidding, buddy,” Jorthat muttered, closing his eyes again. “At least I can breathe again…how long was I out?” Couldn’t have been more than a few moments. Being dramatically unconscious for hours only happened in bad holovids and books.

 

Sure enough, a rough voice piped up with, “Only a few minutes, Master Jedi.” Maybe Rusk really didn’t know his name. “Once we saw you go down, we tried to chase down that chiss commander. We failed, sir. Mission casualties at 16.6%.”

 

“16.6%?” Jorthat asked.

 

“You, sir.”

 

…he should have known.

 

“I have not seen you lose a fight that easily in the two years I’ve been among your crew,” said Scourge. Jorthat blinked open his eyes again and saw the massive Pureblood folding his arms, looking down at Jorthat impassively. As per usual. “What happened?”

 

“I have no idea,” said Jorthat. He gritted his teeth and started to sit up. His brain threatened to climb out of his head and physically beat him up for all the injustice it had suffered with the recent lack of oxygen. Jorthat took several deep breaths, and felt Doc supporting his shoulders as he finally sat up straight. “It was like he was immune to the Force. But—no, he couldn’t have been,” he realized, frowning. “I did affect him with the Force a few times. But other times it was like it bounced right off of him – like a…a blaster bolt ricocheting off a force field.”

 

Doc snickered. “Force field, heh heh…”

 

Teeseven gave an angry beep. Then a softer one: Jorthat = okay? // T7 = worried for friend

 

“I’m okay, little guy.” Jorthat reached out to pat Teeseven on the head. Teeseven beeped appreciatively. Jorthat decided to put the business about the strange chiss behind him for right this moment – there were other, more vital, concerns to worry about. He’d come back to the lopsided brawl later. “What about the miners? The Empire’s gone completely?”

 

“The miners, cowardly though they may be, did in fact manage to help us drive off the Empire,” said Scourge flatly.

 

Kira glared at him. “By which the big angry strawberry means they fought really hard and won. So yeah, they’re okay. Terrified, but okay. As I’m slowly being terrified right now. Cut that out.” (The big angry strawberry in question was giving Kira a big angry glare.)

 

“Scourge, quit it,” Jorthat said, a bit wearily. He started to climb to his feet, and Teeseven immediately wheeled up close to him for support. “Thanks, Teeseven,” he said, getting his balance back with the droid’s help. “What did the Empire even want here, anyway?”

 

Doc nodded to something beyond Jorthat’s shoulder. “He’ll probably tell you. He’s been waiting for you to wake up. Like a good mysterious person.”

 

“Hey!” came a protest. “I thought it was just respectful not to hover around…”

 

Jorthat turned to see one of the miners slowly approaching the crew. The togruta man pressed his free hand against his newly-bandaged right arm, but he didn’t seem to be in pain. Jorthat caught a quick flare of pride from Doc, so he concluded that, in the short time he’d been unconscious, Doc had been busy patching up wounds. Well…good. At least he was being useful and not just flirting with everyone female and still breathing (not necessarily in that order.)

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Doc murmured in his ear, “there is a very frightened twi’lek over there that needs some comfort.” He was gone before Jorthat could protest.

 

Jorthat couldn’t quite suppress an exasperated groan. Never mind about being useful, then.

 

“Are you okay, Master Jedi?” the togruta asked as he edged closer. His patterned brow wrinkled in concern.

 

“I’m fine now,” Jorthat said, nodding. The motion made his head spin briefly, but the unpleasant sensation soon faded. “I…trust everyone’s all right, too?”

 

The togruta looked down at the floor. “A few died,” he admitted quietly. “And some of us who have never even picked up a blaster before – we had to fight, and kill, to defend our station here.” He shuddered, a quiver that carried down to the tips of his blue montrals. “I don’t ever want to go through that again.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Jorthat murmured. His claws briefly slipped from their sheaths at the thought of the Empire attacking completely innocent people…it was nothing he hadn’t encountered time and time again, but the fact that the Imperials had no qualms about it…it was just sickening.

 

The togruta nodded. “The Imperials…they gave us no warning, no chance to surrender. They just showed up and started firing. I’m—I’m not in charge – they killed our foreman, he’s the one who contacted you, I think – but I know they were after the astrarium.”

 

“The what now?” asked Kira.

 

“The—astrarium’s just a word we call it.” The togruta gave an awkward shrug, a half-smile jerking one corner of his mouth upwards. “My daughter thought of the word, playing a game with her friends. Its real name – it’s a mineral – is way too complicated to even try to pronounce.” He scoffed. “I think you need to have a degree just to say it.”

 

Jorthat smiled back at him, to make him feel a bit more comfortable. The other man seemed to lighten up just a bit that his mild joke was taken well. “The Imperials…I don’t know what’s going on with them,” the togruta said. “We’re so isolated out here, we don’t get much news of the war. We only know that the Imperials have ramped up attacks against our tiny outposts. We were always in their way, but…we had to be. Astrarium deposits are right at the edge of their territory.”

 

“The Imperials are retreating,” Jorthat confirmed. “They’re…not exactly losing the war – but they are reeling from massive recent losses. And—what is astrarium, anyway? You say it’s a mineral…?”

 

The togruta shrugged. He looked puzzled. “A mineral, yeah. We were only just starting to experiment with it, but we think it can be turned into a fuel source – or even weapons.”

 

“Imperials with improved weaponry?” Rusk scowled even deeper than usual. “That will put Republic casualties far over acceptable losses.”

 

Jorthat and Kira turned to stare at you. “You? Talking about acceptable losses?” Kira asked in amazement. “Did you hit your head?”

 

Rusk’s scowl went straight through the floor, it was so deep. “Even I have limits,” he said quietly.

 

The togruta coughed, bringing Jorthat’s attention back to him. “The Imps have a base nearby, I do know that. Before this, they’ve never bothered us…like I said…but now they are. We were planning to trade with them – and the Republic – to keep the peace, once we got this mining facility fully functional.”

 

“Where is the base—“ Jorthat started to say.

 

A furious shriek cut him off. He spun around, every sense on high alert, and saw Doc on the other side of the hangar, crawling away from one very angry twi’lek woman. “I’m married, you disgusting pervert!” she railed at him, aiming several kicks at his backside. Then one of those kicks went in just the right place and Doc outright collapsed with a very unmanly squeak of pain.

 

Jorthat cringed. “…would you mind giving us the coordinates to the base after we…um, take care of this?”

 

Kira was staring in what looked like open fascination. “Nah. We can let it go on for a while,” she said as the twi’lek continued to kick at Doc. “It’s long overdue. Only wish I had some popcorn, too—“

 

“Ki-ra,” Jorthat groaned.

 

- - - - -

 

A/N:

 

"Astrarium" - yeah, that's the name of...something I can't recall right now, some sort of puzzle?...from Dragon Age: Inquisition. That was intentional.

 

[Lunafox]

Your Scourge and Kira crack me up. Angry strawberry indeed. *giggles* Love it.

[Jagaimee]

Your Scourge and Kira crack me up. Angry strawberry indeed. *giggles* Love it.

 

Heheh, "strawberry" came from my sister and I levelling our respective chiss and Pureblood characters together...her chiss is nicknamed Blueberry, so we came up with my Pureblood (with the reddest of red skin possible) being named Strawberry. Then it seemed like such a Kira thing to say, so I just had to... XD

 

Chapter two incoming. Only two parts this time. Yay.

 

 

Chapter Two – The Jedi High Council, Part One

 

 

Tython felt more like home than anywhere else in the galaxy. The sheer tranquility and comfort radiating from the planet itself – or, more accurately, the hundreds of Jedi on the planet – always made Jorthat feel like he was…safe. Perhaps as though he was in his mother’s arms again, as he had been when he was a kitten. He didn’t remember much of that time, only vague memories of warmth and comfort, but from what little he did remember…it felt like home. It felt like Tython. Or Tython felt like the memories.

 

Either way, Tython and the Jedi Temple felt crowned in serenity.

 

Except for the weird looks and occasional outright hostility directed at Lord Scourge whenever Jorthat brought him along, Tython was really quite peaceful.

 

Some adolescent padawan had run off shrieking at the sight of Scourge.

 

…peaceful…

 

Scourge had glared at a poor girl’s pet gizka after it meeped at him one too many times, which caused it to promptly leap up onto a high bookshelf and refuse to come down.

 

This was supposed to be peaceful…

 

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Kira had murmured to Jorthat as the latter felt torn between attending the Council meeting and keeping Scourge from nonchalantly punching out a particularly obnoxious consular. “I’m not needed at the meeting, anyways.”

 

Which was how Jorthat found himself in front of the Jedi Council attempting to explain the Imperial attack on the miners, the strange chiss commander, and Scourge’s apparent free reign. No, really, Kira was keeping a leash on him, and that wasn’t the point of this meeting, anyway…

 

The Council itself was very small. In attendance today were only four members: Grandmaster Satele Shan was of course there. Seated across from her was Bela Kiwiiks, Kira’s old master. Jorthat still couldn’t look at the seat beside Master Kiwiiks without thinking of Orgus Din… On the other side of Master Kiwiiks was a nautolan, Oric Traless, the Council’s tactical advisor. And seated next to Satele Shan was a new member of the Council, recently elevated after the order’s losses in the past few months: a zabrak lady, named Plurissa Yuell. Jorthat had to admit the woman was incredibly striking – olive-dark skin and jet black hair, bright green eyes – but in all his dealings with her, she seemed rather…vacant. Detached. Obviously she had to be a paragon of virtue, or else the Council would never even consider her, but still.

 

Master Jaeric Kaedan was gone, killed on Ilum as Jorthat had gone against the false emperor, Darth Malgus. The Battlemaster of the Order – Jun Seros – was likewise dead, killed by a bounty hunter for…something Jorthat still wasn’t sure of. Master Orgus, of course, was deceased, and Master Tol Braga had been found dead from a blaster wound on Corellia, shortly after Jorthat’s encounter with him. It seemed the only member of the Council who should be here, but wasn’t, was Master Syo Bakarn, who had been quietly removed from the Council a while back – and Plurissa Yuell elevated in his place – for a reason that nobody was entirely sure of. Jorthat guessed he’d never find out. There were some things the Council just did not want anyone else to know.

 

Such as this chiss commander. Jorthat found himself being peppered with questions – mostly coming from Oric Traless – about this man’s abilities. So Jorthat just repeated what he’d told Kira: that it was like the chiss could somehow block the Force, or at least not be affected by it. Even his own abilities around the man seemed to suffer.

 

“Can chiss even use the Force?” asked Master Yuell. Her voice was slightly irritating to listen to – if Kira were here, she’d likely compare it to a dead fish (then say the fish would be livelier than Plurissa’s voice) – but Jorthat shrugged it off.

 

“There are no records of Chiss Jedi – or Sith,” Grandmaster Satele reminded the younger woman. “But, then again, the Chiss have not been seen in the galaxy for very long. As their society has been isolated for so long, it’s entirely possible their species has produced force-sensitives without the rest of the galaxy knowing.”

 

“Given how the chiss are closely intertwined with the Empire, however,” Oric Traless pointed out, “it’s likely any force-sensitive Chiss would be Sith.”

 

“There is one Jedi we can contact to find out if he knows anything about force-sensitive Chiss…” Grandmaster Satele looked troubled for a moment. Jorthat frowned, trying to read her expression and sense through the force. But apparently, she didn’t get to be Grandmaster of the Jedi Order by having her emotions read like an open book; Jorthat got nothing from her, only a vague sense of apprehension. “But we can return to that subject later,” she said finally, looking back up at Jorthat. “We know of this world – a small planetoid – that the Imperials have a base on. It doesn’t have an official name, but local scuttlebutt seems to refer to it as Blackmoon, likely due to the lack of oxygen in the atmosphere and the lack of light. There are no close suns to Blackmoon, so whatever light reaches the planet is incredibly filtered, distant, and provides almost no heat.”

 

Jorthat’s brow furrowed. “Seems awfully easy to infiltrate,” he said. “Sneak in under cover of darkness, use a space suit to disguise yourself…there has to be a catch somewhere.”

 

“I’m not aware of any such catch,” Master Traless said with a shrug, “but our SIS contact might be. He’s the Jedi you’ll get in touch with to tell him about this,” he informed Jorthat. His large black eyes slowly blinked once; a sign, in a nautolan, that he was feeling slightly uncomfortable about this whole thing. Odd.

 

Jorthat felt sure he must be mirroring Rusk’s perpetual frown by now, his brow was furrowing so deeply. “There’s a Jedi in the SIS?”

 

Master Kiwiiks cleared her throat. “It’s not common knowledge,” she said quietly. “And we would prefer it be kept that way, for his safety.”

 

Jorthat nodded slowly. “I understand, Masters.” That made sense. Still, a Jed directly involved in the SIS was a bit odd, knowing how closely the Council liked to keep an eye on their knights. Perhaps that was why Grandmaster Satele was so worried about this. “Should I contact him now?”

 

Grandmaster Satele nodded. “Yes. Master Yuell, I believe you know his frequency…?”

 

“Here.” Plurissa Yuell got up and walked towards Jorthat, producing a small datapad from a pouch on her belt. Her white robes swished on the floor as she moved. She seemed like she’d be more at home in the Senate than the Jedi Council. Jorthat took the datapad from her when she held it out to him. “He might not tell you his name,” she cautioned him as he looked at the frequency numbers. “In the interest of safety, of course.”

 

“Of course,” Jorthat murmured. He looked back at the Council and bowed his head. “I’ll contact him now, Masters. Thank you all.”

 

“Report back to us when you’ve done so,” said Grandmaster Satele. “We…need to know what he says.”

 

Jorthat was sure he had a permanent valley in his brow by now from all the frowning. “…of course,” he said again. He backed away and then headed towards the double doors of the Council room. Well…this kept getting weirder and weirder.

 

* * *

 

Jorthat had triple-checked the door of the small communications room, ensuring they were locked. He wouldn’t be disturbed here. And, since this was the Jedi Temple, nobody would be listening at the door (as if they could hear through durasteel, anyway), and there were no adjacent rooms to listen in on. Good, he was entirely alone.

 

He’d dealt with the SIS before – Agent Galen came to mind – but not quite like this. Whoever this Jedi was… Jorthat shook his head and keyed in the coordinates to the holocomm in the center of the room.

 

It only took a few minutes for the call to go through. Perhaps the Jedi was expecting this call? A burst of blue fuzz came over the comm, then the image coalesced into a tall human male. The man’s gray hair was trimmed short in a military cut, accentuating his angular face. His eyes narrowed slightly, deepening the careworn lines in his face, as he saw Jorthat. “I was told you have information on an Imperial base?” he asked. His voice was gruff, but his tone wasn’t rude or short. Just very business-like.

 

It took Jorthat a minute to find his own voice again. “I…yes, I do, but how did you know I’d be calling?”

 

The other man sighed. “Grandmaster Satele contacted me.”

 

“Then why am I even here?” Jorthat blinked.

 

“I have no idea,” the man admitted, a bit wearily. “Grandmaster Satele – she’s not paranoid, she’s not overly controlling, but she does like to know what’s going on at all times with the Jedi Order…even those people who aren’t officially a part of it anymore. My guess is, she contacted me to let me know you’d be calling, but she wants you to give a fuller report of what you encountered.”

 

“But I told her everything already…” Jorthat shook his head. “Well. Okay then.” He related, again, the miners’ story and the location of the base called Blackmoon. Then he came to the part about the chiss: “…it was like he could block the Force,” he said. “Or else just sidestep its power. Do you think he—what’s wrong?”

 

The Jedi spymaster had suddenly looked very concerned. “What does this chiss look like?” he demanded.

 

“Uh…” Jorthat blinked again. One ear twitched. “A…typical…chiss?” he offered, a bit lamely. “I didn’t pay much attention, honestly. He had…black hair – he was very tall – dark blue skin…?”

 

The spymaster looked troubled. “And the Council said that I might know who he is?” he finally asked.

 

“Yes. Do you?”

 

“I…believe I might, yes.” The spymaster was silent for a moment, then looked up at Jorthat again. His eyes were blazing with earnestness. “Do not tell anyone of this man’s existence,” he said sternly. Jorthat’s other ear twitched in surprise. “The SIS will handle him, but if this becomes common knowledge it could incite widespread panic among the Republic.”

 

“You…really think he’s Force-sensitive, then?” Jorthat shook his head. “That doesn’t seem right, Master…uh, sir,” he amended, realizing he still didn’t know the man’s name and probably wouldn’t ever find out. “I couldn’t sense the force within him. At all.” He hesitated. There had been something, though… “All I sensed was just something vaguely…off about him,” he hesitantly went on. “That makes no sense, I know, but I don’t know how else to describe it. It was just off. Like there was something missing, or dropped out, where it shouldn’t be.”

 

“No, that makes perfect sense, actually.” The spymaster sighed again. “I’ve had dealings with him before. He’s dangerous, to say the least.”

 

Jorthat definitely couldn’t argue with that.

 

“If you ever run into him again, contact me as soon as you can.”

 

“I’ll do that,” Jorthat promised. “So…what about Blackmoon? What do we do?”

 

“We don’t do anything,” the spymaster said firmly. This conversation was proving to be full of surprises, wasn’t it? “The SIS will handle things. I give you my word.”

 

“You don’t want the Jedi to do anything? At all?” That didn’t make sense, did it? “But we know where Blackmoon is. If the Jedi take out the base, that could help the miners. They said they were going to start trading the astrarium with either the Empire or Republic—“

 

“I’m aware of that,” the man bit out. “The SIS will handle it,” he said, more quietly. “I apologize for snapping at you. But I can assure you, the Jedi are not needed in this. Please – stay out of this.”

 

Well…okay then? Jorthat gave a small shrug. It wasn’t really his place to argue these things, although the man’s reasoning was…odd. Actually, there was no reasoning. Was this what Grandmaster Satele had been so worried about? “I…okay,” Jorthat finally said. “I’ll…inform the Council of this?”

 

The man massaged his forehead with one gloved hand. Jorthat saw, or really noticed for the first time, that while the man was dressed in nondescript clothing, he had a lightsaber at his side, concealed somewhat by a cloak. “If they don’t know already about this, then fine. Thank you for informing me of these events, Master Jorthat.” The holocomm blinked off before Jorthat could say goodbye.

 

That was…weird. But no more weird than anything else that had happened on this weird adventure. Jorthat turned off the holocomm console and headed back to the Council room.

 

He wasn’t sure if he should be surprised, a tad resentful, or just accepting of the fact that Satele merely nodded to what the Jedi spymaster had said. “I know,” she said simply.

 

…he finally chose to be surprised and just a bit confused. “Then why was I even the one contacting him? If you were listening in, what purpose did my report serve?”

 

“It was filtered through your thoughts and opinions and experiences,” Satele said calmly. Jorthat restrained himself from facepalming. “He needed to know of your thoughts on the matter.”

 

“Well, the Jedi are being kept out of this, so…I’m still not sure what the purpose of that was,” Jorthat muttered.

 

Grandmaster Satele shook her head. Two of her braids brushed her face with the motion. “The spymaster may want us to stay out of this, but the danger is too great. Especially with this chiss commander, whom I suspect the spymaster knows more about than he lets on. We’ve been…concerned…about the spymaster’s dealings in the SIS,” she went on, glancing at her fellow Council members. Plurissa Yuell looked blank as ever. Oric Traless looked vaguely annoyed, and Master Kiwiiks merely seemed attentive. “A few years ago, he was involved with some highly dangerous operations…”

 

He works with the SIS, Jorthat thought. Isn’t any operation they undertake “dangerous” by default?

 

“…and his ability to judge right from wrong in these situations may be compromised.”

 

Oh. Not dangerous as in physical danger. Dangerous as in, we’re afraid he’s falling to the dark side but we’re too discreet to say it openly.

 

“You know the location of Blackmoon, and you’ve fought this chiss commander before. We believe you’re equipped to go to Blackmoon, learn what the Imperials are doing, and, if possible, destroy their dealings on the world.”

 

Jorthat was silent for several heartbeats, because he’d forgotten how to breathe. When he finally coughed, kickstarting his lungs (and his brain) again, he stammered, “But—the spymaster said that—“

 

“We know what he said,” Plurissa said serenely. “And we believe he is in the wrong.”

 

Jorthat couldn’t do much more than stammer out an incoherent protest before Grandmaster Satele spoke up again: “We don’t make this decision lightly, Master Jorthat, but we have given it much thought—“

 

In the ten minutes since I was talking with the spymaster? Jorthat thought incredulously.

 

“—and we believe you are most suited to deal with this situation.”

 

“With…with all due respect, Masters,” Jorthat managed, “This isn’t right. Going behind the SIS’s backs like this – violating direct orders, even – I can’t do that.”

 

Satele’s tranquil expression became stern. “I understand your concerns, Jorthat,” she said, a touch of steel in her tone, “but in times like these, the High Council must make these calls. A direct order from a Jedi spymaster can be overturned – and is being overturned, right now. You will go to Blackmoon, and deal with the Imperials there. And in the interest of secrecy, it is vital that you tell no one about this. Not even your crew,” she added, as Jorthat tried and failed once more to protest, “save the droid. T7-01 can be a helpful asset in an Imperial base.”

 

And so, in another ten minutes after talking to the Council, Jorthat found himself being shooed out of the Council chambers, which closed behind him, and feeling rather like the ground had been shot out from underneath him. This…was an ocean of wrong, and he couldn’t seem to swim his way out.

 

Go behind the SIS’s backs? Defy direct orders from a Jedi spymaster? Lie to his crew?

 

They said in war, everything became muddled. Jorthat just hadn’t expected that muddled view to come straight from the Jedi Council itself.

[Jagaimee]

Chapter Two: The Jedi High Council, Part Two

 

 

Jorthat looked out over the forests of Tython. The trees had turned silver-green in the light of the moon. Here and there, a torch or a light flickered, a little sphere of orange in the darkness. Yet it wasn’t creepy or ominous – it felt peaceful, for the first time that entire visit. The murmurs of movement and quiet conversation drifted up to the balcony on the Temple wall where Jorthat stood: it might be night time, but many Jedi were still awake.

 

Jorthat glanced down and saw, far below on the ground, a speeder gliding up to the Temple steps. A team of people got in, and the speeder flew off in the direction of Kalikori Village. The twi’leks were still there, still struggling with the Flesh Raiders…some things never changed.

 

The pine-scented night breeze gently swept over him, and he was thankful for his thick fur. He gradually lost himself in his thoughts. Earlier that day, he’d told his crew that he was leaving for a while – Council business, he couldn’t tell them. Well…that, and Teeseven was coming with him. He’d tell the droid about it on the way. Teeseven’s immediate response was enthusiasm, naturally. Kira had seemed a bit skeptical, but after Jorthat had asked her not to press the issue (after she had done so repeatedly), she’d seemed to accept that she wasn’t included here and wished him luck. Doc had just shrugged it off; whatever the Jedi needed to do, the Jedi needed to do, fine by him. And Rusk had been stoic as ever, except for the part where he offered to personally write a condolence letter to Jorthat’s family if Jorthat didn’t return. Jorthat…had told him he’d think about that offer, um, thanks. Rusk fortunately hadn’t noticed Jorthat’s weirded-out expression.

 

Scourge, however… Scourge had been silent. Just watching Jorthat, watching his response and his reactions. He’d left in the middle of it, so quietly that no one had noticed his departure.

 

Jorthat sighed. He and Teeseven were to leave tomorrow, heading to Nar Shaddaa, where it was known that the Empire was recruiting former slaves and workers. From there, they’d figure out a way to get to Blackmoon, and—

 

“You truly are distracted if you didn’t even sense my presence,” came a smooth, cool voice.

 

Jorthat jumped in spite of himself, whirling to see the hulking figure of Scourge standing behind him in the adjoining room. “You startled me,” he said. Well, duh. That much was obvious.

 

Scourge walked out onto the balcony with only a whisper of movement, belying his frame. The pureblood’s dark red skin looked gray in the moonlight. “You seemed ill-at-ease when you told us about this secret mission of yours,” Scourge said. As per usual, he had no emotion in his voice. It never failed to give Jorthat unpleasant shivers down his spine. “Something you could not tell even your own crew about? The Jedi Council must have rattled your faith.”

 

“Hardly.” Jorthat turned away from Scourge. An odd thought popped into his head: Kira and Teeseven’s derisive nickname for the former Sith – Scrounge. Despite the situation, he fought to keep himself from smiling. He went on, “The Council asked me not to tell anyone what the mission is. They didn’t say I couldn’t tell my crew that I’m leaving for a while, though.” Thank the stars for loophole abuse. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary.” He couldn’t quite make his voice sound like he believed that, though.

 

Of course, the next few words out of Scourge’s mouth were, “You killed the Emperor. How is an ‘ordinary’ secret mission making you so uneasy? This mission you are going on – it is something against your conscience, is it not? Or else you would not be so reluctant to undertake it.”

 

Jorthat fought to keep his hackles from rising. Somehow, Scourge always knew just how to get under his skin. “I’d rather not discuss it, Scourge.”

 

“Of course you’d rather not. But should you?”

 

“Scourge, it’s a secret mission. Secret. Mission.” Jorthat looked back at the old pureblood. “In other words, can’t talk about it.”

 

Scourge’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Other than his eyes, his face was, as ever, almost perfectly expressionless. After a few moments, he said quietly, “The Jedi Council is not omniscient, and what they decide is not always the wisest choice.” He started to head back into the adjoining room. “Keep that in mind, Master Jedi.”

 

Jorthat watched him go, and thought back to his earlier misgivings about undertaking this mission, about going behind the SIS’s back despite explicit orders to the contrary. Who was right, and who was wrong in this? Was there a right or a wrong side?

 

He turned back to the nightscape in front of him, watching the distant torches lighting the paths flickering like fireflies. Maybe he would never know. For now, all he could do was concentrate on getting to Blackmoon, trying not to foul up anything the SIS already had going – if there was, indeed, anything happening on their end – and getting himself and Teeseven out alive.

[Jagaimee]

Chapter Three: Arrival on Blackmoon

 

 

“You’ve all been issued breath masks – put ‘em on, we’re getting into the atmosphere!” the team leader barked.

 

Jorthat dug under his seat for the mask he’d seen earlier, and a general rustle from the rest of the large shuttle’s hold let him know that the other conscripted workers were doing the same. His rough uniform scratched at his fur – especially on his head, where he’d had to shave his mane of hair to fit whatever passed for regulation in an Imperial base. After going most of his life with a bushy head of hair, the sudden change was…distracting.

 

He found the mask and tugged it on over his face. The tang of dusty plastic made him clear his throat – his sensitive nose twitched violently, and he tried very hard not to sneeze. He looked up as he was adjusting the strap around his head. Across the small walkway, a twi’lek was struggling to get the mask’s straps over his lekku. His neighbor, a rodian woman, tried to help. Jorthat was about to head across the way and offer his own help, but the team leader spoke up again: “Other teams coming in have their own jobs – yours is ferrying information back and forth. Obviously we need communication for a project this large—“

 

That didn’t sound good.

 

“—and you aliens can at least speak Basic.”

 

Jorthat made an effort to smooth his hackles rising. What was left of his hackles after shaving, anyway.

 

“You’ll get no special treatment!” the overseer snapped as the shuttle jostled a little. They must be coming into the atmosphere, or whatever counted for an atmosphere with a lack of oxygen. Jorthat noticed a Kel Dor woman looking fairly at ease…and then he realized he could actually see her eyes. She didn’t have the goggles any other Kel Dor normally wore. Jorthat’s ears twitched in surprise. A Kel Dor’s eyes – this woman, at least – were startlingly bright blue. In fact, they—

 

“Just because Darth Vithren might be partial to you animals, doesn’t mean the rest of the Empire will be!” the (human) overseer went on, jolting Jorthat out of his observation. It was rude to stare, anyway, so Jorthat stared at the dingy gray floor. Hello, floor. You wouldn’t happen to know who Darth Vithren was, would you? he thought.

 

“No, not even you, kitten,” growled the overseer; Jorthat glanced up to see he was glaring at him. “A few cathar clans might be rising in the Empire, but that don’t go for all of your species! Flea-bitten furballs,” Jorthat heard him mutter, and it was all Jorthat could do to not bare his teeth. His claws pushed at the edges of his gloves before he made an effort to retract them, not wanting to tear his gloves through carelessness.

 

“And one final warning,” said the overseer. He turned to face the gaggle of beings in the shuttle’s hold, and they all turned to blink up at him. “I know most of you don’t like the Empire. But you’re here now. And if anyone finds you attempting to sabotage this project or abandon your duties or get information outside the base – you will be killed.”

 

Kind of an obvious “warning”…at least, to Jorthat. He shifted position on the cold metal seat, gritting his teeth as the shuttle jostled again and slammed the seat right into his rear. Ow… Cold plastic, cold metal, and it was just a wild guess that Blackmoon itself would be freezing cold, too, with the lack of light.

 

The shuttle’s engines slowly wound down – and then came the largest bump yet, as the ship touched down on Blackmoon’s surface. Not for the first time, Jorthat wished there were windows in the shuttle so he could at least see what was going on before he stepped out into it… “All right, move!” yelled the overseer. He kicked at something – there came a resentful wheep! – and T7-01 wheeled out to the main hold. The droid had been painted over to disguise any Republic markings, and so far the little guy was doing quite well as just another Imperial droid.

 

Didn’t stop him from complaining, however.

 

Teeseven was beeping a steady stream of grumbling at an audio level that, likely, no one else could hear – save Jorthat. His ears twitched wildly as he fought to keep himself from asking Teeseven to please stop.

 

Thankfully, the shuttle door opened with a hiss just then, drowning out whatever Teeseven was mumbling about.

 

A rush of stunningly cold air came flooding into the shuttle, making Jorthat recoil instinctively – and thank the stars for his thick fur. The Kel Dor woman he’d seen earlier, on the other hand, leaned forward and closed her eyes blissfully. Jorthat could almost imagine she was smiling…if Kel Dors actually had mouths to smile with. The twi’lek and rodian, on the other hand, more or less clamped onto each other like lifelines. Most of the others in the shuttle did the same to their neighbors – including a tiny Bimm, a rodent-like being, to glomp onto Jorthat’s arm.

 

Jorthat squeezed his eyes shut at the sudden burst of light just outside. The Bimm strangling his arm squeaked in alarm. “What is that!?” the furball squealed.

 

“The lights of the camp,” came the overseer’s harsh, accented voice. “Get used to it. The moon here doesn’t have any natural light. Only heat comes from what the atmosphere traps.”

 

Forget the stars. Thank the Force for thick fur, thought Jorthat as he stood up…thankfully the Bimm let go of his arm as he did so. Jorthat finally dared to blink open his eyes and try to adjust to the harsh lighting. A blob came trundling up to him, which whistled cheerfully, and Jorthat finally recognized the blob as Teeseven – and translated the whistling. Make sure oxygen = attached // Atmosphere = lacking oxygen almost completely // Atmosphere = bad for most species.

 

There came a burble of mechanical-sounding laughter. Jorthat blinked against the light and saw the Kel Dor woman standing up, stretching her arms. “I don’t have to wear those infernal goggles while I’m here,” she said. “Works for me.”

 

Jorthat attached the oxygen mask’s air supply to his belt. “You seem oddly happy to be here,” he said to the woman.

 

She shrugged. “If I can help the Empire in some way, I’m grateful for the chance.”

 

Oh... Jorthat gave a non-committal nod and started to head out of the shuttle, careful not to jostle anyone else that was just getting up.

 

The stream of people exiting the shuttle slowly funneled Jorthat and Teeseven along like fish in a brook. Jorthat squinted a bit as he stepped out into the bright lights, but his eyes soon adjusted – right as he figured out that the gravity of Blackmoon was slightly above normal. He, and everyone else around him, apparently. Even the Kel Dor woman found herself going flat-footed and stumbling. Jorthat accidentally fell onto the person next to him, who gripped his arm. “Nobody told me about that,” the other man groused.

 

Jorthat slowly got his balance back, nodding his thanks to the man who’d kept him from literally biting the dust. So, walking was going to be difficult. He tested a few steps, and was pleased to find that he could walk, it was just a little more strenuous than he was used to. He was able to look around just then, as the crowd of workers who’d come with him on the shuttle began to thin out.

 

They were in a large, brightly-lit hangar, like the kind used for old-fashioned aircraft. There wasn’t much else in here, save more shuttles – some larger than the one that had brought Jorthat and Teeseven – and various armored guards wandering about.

 

Jorthat searched for Teeseven, and finally saw the little droid trundling out to the exterior of the hangar. He followed, as no one was corralling the workers to give them instructions. As a messenger, he guessed he’d just go find someone who needed a message delivered. That had been the gist of his job description that the overseer, recruiting beings on Nar Shaddaa, had given him, anyway. So it was okay if he just wandered around—

 

He stepped outside and his eyes went wide.

 

The facility at Blackmoon was massive. It extended nearly as far as Jorthat could see in either way – rows and rows of easily-constructed buildings lining what could almost pass for roads in a city. This clearly had been here for quite some time, but the buildings were designed to be easily put up, easily taken down. An odd thought came to Jorthat – an old children’s holovid, a quote, something about promises. He appropriated it to use for the construction here: piecrust buildings, easily made, easily broken.

 

The camp was lit by massive floodlights, shining bleakly through the otherwise pitch-darkness. The little puddles of blackness between the lights looked like yawning abysses. The contrast was so stark it felt like the entire world was nothing but dark shadows and blindingly bright lights. That, and the undulating mass of workers and guards already there that streamed from building to building. Black armor and the brown-and-grey worker’s uniforms mingled together in a dizzying sea of pulsing dull color.

 

And beyond the camp… Jorthat squinted. Beyond the camp, there were no floodlights, and the coldly shining stars provided no light, either. But there seemed to be something there. The stars were blacked out in an odd pattern, like there was another building jutting into the eternally night sky. Jorthat wondered if that was the mysterious ‘project’ the overseer had warned the workers about. Probably, he decided, if it was hidden like that. They didn’t want anyone seeing what it was. Naturally, that meant Jorthat had to find a way to get to that ‘project’ and find out what it—

 

“Hey you! Cathar!”

 

Jorthat whirled around to find whoever was shouting at him. He lost his footing, however – his feet felt like they were about ten sizes too large, and he stumbled before getting his balance back. A shower of coarse laughter greeted him when he finally looked up. Two Imperial soldiers, fully armored, were standing nearby. He couldn’t see their faces, but it was clear they were the ones laughing. “Should’ve joined a circus, fuzzball,” one of them snickered. Her voice was deep for a woman’s, but still clearly feminine.

 

“Sorry, sirs,” Jorthat said, slowly moving over to them. This was going to take a while to get used to the gravity, wasn’t it? “I’m new here,” he said for their benefit.

 

“Obviously,” the other trooper – a man – sneered. “Now listen. You’re a messenger boy, and we’ve got a message. You’ll take this to the project’s interior – tell the guards you’re looking for Lieutenant Classen, you hear?”

 

“Yes, sir.” The word sir tasted bitter on Jorthat’s tongue, and it wasn’t just from the dust still left inside his oxygen mask. Still, his ears twitched. Now he had a way to get into whatever this ‘project’ was.

 

“Take this,” the female soldier said, shoving a datapad at him. “And don’t read it,” she added as Jorthat instinctively glanced down at whatever was being pressed into his hand. He looked back up to reply that he wouldn’t, but the female soldier was already walking away.

 

The male soldier remained. “Take that to Lieutenant Classen. You got that, right?”

 

“Yes, sir.” Jorthat nodded, and the soldier, black armor gleaming in the light, headed after his female companion.

 

Lieutenant Classen… no idea who that was, nor did Jorthat particularly care, but if he was inside whatever this project was…fantastic. Jorthat took off towards the expanse of blackness beyond the lights. Or, rather, he tried to take off. Running was difficult, so he settled for walking as quickly as he could. It still took him upwards of ten minutes to get from just outside the hangar to the edge of the camp.

 

He heard a whistle from his right, and turned on instinct – to see Teeseven wheeling up to him from behind. Oh. He’d lost sight of the little droid when he was gawking at the camp…had Teeseven followed him all this way? Whoops. “Hello there,” he said in a neutral tone. He had to be careful not to give away that he knew who Teeseven was already.

 

Teeseven beeped cheerfully. Greetings! // Worker = doing well?

 

“No problems so far.” They were nearly to the black expanse. Jorthat strained his eyes to see beyond the glare of the floodlights, but no luck so far. Just a little farther, then.

Unit = assigned to accompany worker, Teeseven chirped. Unit = requested it specifically // Worker = find this acceptable?

 

“Sure.” Jorthat hid a grin. He wondered just how many layers of security Teeseven had had to hack past in order to get himself assigned to one errand boy in particular. “I have to deliver a message to a Lieutenant Classen. Do you know where he is? All I know is that he’s inside…er, the project, whatever the project is.”

 

Teeseven issued a mournful whistle. Unit = not sure what “project” is // Unit = does know a Lieutenant Classen + can lead worker to him.

 

“Great, tha…” Jorthat’s voice trailed off as they stepped beyond the floodlights. He blinked the last of the glare out of his eyes.

 

Then blinked some more, because there was no way he was seeing this.

 

The black shape in front of him, superimposed against the starflung sky, took on the dimensions and shape of a Star Destroyer…except the proportions were wrong. It was far too large. Jorthat felt the sharp pain of a crick in his neck as he tried unsuccessfully to see to either side of the massive blot of darkness. It seemed to stretch to the horizon.

 

And in the center was a rounded protrusion. Not the bridge – that was far back along the ship’s exterior, even though Jorthat couldn’t see it – but it had the outline of some sort of weapons emplacement. Or, it would have, had it been a bunker on the ground. Star Destroyers had cannons and turbolasers, of course, but none that massive.

 

Unless…

 

The miner’s words came back to him.

 

“…we were only just starting to experiment with the astrarium, but…we think it can be used for fuel, or even weaponry…”

 

Even weaponry.

 

Jorthat swallowed hard through a suddenly dry mouth.

 

Oh sithspawn.

 

“O-oh,” he said, trying to sound disinterested. “So that’s the project.” He looked down at Teeseven and forced a smile, even though he was fairly certain no one else could see his expression. “S-some ship, huh?” Blast it, his voice was shaking. He was shaking a little, as the implications of a Star Destroyer with a newfound superweapon attached began to sink in… What would they go after first? Carrick Station, the hub of the Republic fleet? Coruscant itself? Reenact the Uphrades disaster on another innocent world?

 

Teeseven wheeped in concern. This = very…big, he beeped out. Jorthat noticed the last-minute word swap. Probably the droid had been about to say bad instead of big. Either way, Jorthat agreed. Worker = needs to see inside?

 

Oh. Right. Classen and…and whatever unimportant message he had to deliver. He mentally kicked himself to get going. He had to explore as much of this as he could, figure out the timeline for its completion…

 

And make sure this monstrosity never got off the ground.