Living As A Black Introvert

Chapter Five of 'Battlefront'...

2009-11-23T17:04:00.000-08:00

And now, Chapter Five. Again, please enjoy.
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GAMMA CHAPTER

Office Of The Supreme Chancellor Of The Galactic Republic, Coruscant.

Her Eminence The Supreme Chancellor Giran Lathan-Vec strode over to one of the three-meter-tall transparisteel viewports that lined the far wall of her immense office suite and overlooked the jewel-like splendor of Galactic City. She regarded the scene below with quiet reserve as she sipped from her steaming mug of chiff'a, a habit she undertook every morning since the beginning of her political career more than seventy Standard years earlier. For eighteen stuchla you have weathered the storms, she began her ritualistic invocation with an intake of pride, and yet you still remain in all your magnificence. Through it all, I am proud to serve as your regent, if that means at the very least continuing to uphold those sanctified traditions which have helped preserve the peace and the trust we have engendered for so long.

It came to her as a surprise a moment later when Giran noticed her reflection shift to a mask of subdued pensiveness. As she searched within herself as to its source, she was further mystified to find that it lacked even the slightest definition, like an ancient, obscured Acrinocynth sculpture. She also found that, in spite of its concealment, the anomaly possessed a great deal of substance and power and raw malevolence. It was because of this that its existence would eventually be revealed, and soon. How it would emerge was going to be the real spectacle, and Giran feared that its emergence would threaten the very infrastructure of the Republic.

Giran sharply arched an eyebrow a moment later when the annunciator-chime resounded with a quiet double-gong. Her present state of worry became even more attenuated as she reflected upon how much she hated that particular sound; on her native Firrere, such a rhythm was used only to announce the passing of a loved one, especially if the individual was somebody of note. The chime was one of the few existing holdovers from the previous administration, lead by the musically inclined and able-bodied Vennadi Alcoyt of Wukkar, whose death thirty-seven years before left Giran with this office, its duties and as well as its occasional intrigues. Despite her annoyance and, although she hated mentioning it, even to herself, fear of the sound, Giran considered it an honor to her predecessor's memory each time it did ring out. "Time is being wasted the longer you continue to loiter, gentlemen," the Supreme Chancellor addressed the door resolutely as she faced it, putting on a cocky half-smile for good measure.

Vice-Chancellor Aldus Valorum of Harchonnal grinned appreciatively as he preceded Senior Senator of the Republic Ibani'Rogath and Giran's personal aide Kymarin-Dal-Edor into the office suite. "Clear Skies to you, too, love," he began by way of greeting. He thumbed behind himself as he continued. "I still get a rise when I keep reminding these chaps about how much style you have with folks. Maybe some day they'll finally wise up and take heed."

Ibani'Rogath's translucent golden form shimmered beneath the lights as he faced Valorum in a gesture of pure dismissal. "Speak for yourself," he stated in a voice so atonal and flat as to be considered emotionless. Like most of his species, the Nan-Nel of Belogelius Pi, Ibani'Rogath possessed scant ability in the area of intuitive thinking and thus took everything said to him in a very literal sense.

"It's quite all right, Senator," Giran countered, raising a hand in supplication. "As you well know, our good friend Mister Valorum often enjoys the occasional jest, especially if it is to our disadvantage." Her brows knitted as she scrutinized the group. "Where's Councilor Lyto?"

The four-toned Kymarin-Dal-Edor of Xurchis promptly spoke up, his voice cool and even. "Councilor Lyto called ten minutes ago to remind you that she would be attending the Ceremony of Ascension at the Jedi Temple this morning."

Chancellor Lathan-Vec pinched the bridge of her nose in disgruntlement. "I knew that," she admitted, with no small amount of humility. She subsequently sighed as she returned her gaze to the view outside. "Blessed Goddess, how I wish for those days back when something someone told me or things I planned for stuck with me for at least a week before I forgot them." She dropped her head in a humorless laugh. "Maybe this job is getting the best of me," she muttered to no one in particular.

"It's called life, love," Aldus Valorum quipped easily. "It happens to all of us in some form or another, sooner or later."

"True," Giran breathed aloud, "but it's a damned risk in this profession." She extended a hand towards the nearby corner table used for intimate gatherings. The three men promptly assumed their respective places as Giran herself took her seat at its head. "All right, Plenicate Dal-Edor, let us in on where the hot spots in the Republic are today."

Kymarin activated his portable data-ledger and started in. "There's nothing major to report along the service flash-traffic or holo-net lines, which is the good news. The Callan Amendment to the V'E'Nigoth Bill and the Walonduli Repatriations Pact are scheduled to go before the Finance Commission at Zero Nine-Hundred Standard Time. However, several senators assigned to the Repatriations sub-committee remain unconvinced that they will be able to get the pact past the evaluation stage."

"Sounds like the rantings from the Konok Consolidation have got everyone over a barrel," Aldus Valorum nearly harrumphed as he poured himself a cup of chiff'a from the carafe at the center of the table. "They were the ones who benefitted most from the discord between the Walonduli and the Ikon'o, since it came to light that they were secretly supplying the Ikon'o with both non-transitioned funds and artillery in exchange for priority consideration in the exportation of beta-lytalyseine from Zapratec Prime, and thus gaining them control of the pharmaceutical firm controlled by both factions.".

"The Egrodath are hoping that by stalling they can cause the statute of limitations to expire," Giran exhaled, her breath rank with the bitterness she felt toward the aliens' underhandedness. "But I'm not willing to settle for that. Kymarin, have the Repatriations sub-committee delay until Noon tommorow. When they do reconvene, we'll have them throw the Unal Act at everyone and seal the matter right then-and-there." The Unal Act was one of those official sanctions requiring the signature of the Supreme Chancellor in order to authorize specific legalities; through this endeavor, Giran would throw her full weight behind the Repatriations Pact and give the arrogant Egrodath a much-needed lesson in humility. "Next situation."

Kymarin continued reading. "The Merchants' Guild is meeting with the Industrial Commission at Zero Eight-Four-Five to discuss the sudden rash of crop anomalies present in Antula Sector."

"What in Hell's the problem now--?" This was from Vice-Chancellor Valorum. It was apparent from the man's exasperation that this particular area was a very ancient and perpetuating source of misfortune.

"According to the preliminary reports, several major staple-producing regions are experiencing the effects of rapid cellular deterioration," Ibani'Rogath interjected prudently. "Based upon cursory evaluation of those reports, the source of this plague appears to be an exotic virogen spore that was originally exclusive to the world of Gethromeer. While undergoing the process of reverse-engineering in the attempt to re-adapt it as a botanical restorative agent, the virus somehow escaped its laboratory habitat and worked itself back into the biosphere, where it immediately proceeded to wreck havoc on the produce fields." The foremost congressional representative of the Nan-Nel inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment to Aldus Valorum's subsequent expression of curiosity. "I am chairing that particular session, if you are wondering why I know so much on the matter."

"How extensive is the damage thus far, Ibani?" asked Giran, intrigued.

"Potentially devastating, Madame Chancellor," Ibani'Rogath continued. "As of this gathering, the spore has since mutated itself to the point where it is now spaceborne. Bandomeer, Alydayne and fifteen other worlds throughout the Antula Sector are showing signs of infestation as well."

"Damned scary, if you ask me," mumbled Aldus Valorum following the obligatory silence. "The conglomerates running those fields are going to have one hell of a mess when the time comes to tally the annual profit margins."

"What will be even worse, Tate, is the calamity that will result if that blight isn't stopped in time," Giran said to Valorun, referring to him by his middle name. "Not only will the Republic have lost a key agricultural zone, but as that virus continues mutating it may eventually ease itself into the faunal population. And what then?" She shifted her gaze to Ibani'Rogath the instant full registration dawned on the vice-chair. "Ibani, I want full details on that meeting after it’s concluded. I also want you to pass along to the Merchants' Guild that whatever assistance they may require of the Industrial Commission, they will also have the support of the Primary Commission."

"Acknowledged, Madame Chancellor," Ibani stated with assurance as he gave Giran a curt bow of the head. "They will be most pleased to hear that."

With a gesture from Giran, Kymarin-Dal-Edor continued. "The Houpra Delegation from Karnas Minor is due to arrive downplanet within the hour. As was previously requested, Col-Venkamft, the leader of the delegation, has asked for a private audience with both you and Senator McKarthi Inouye of the Trade Federation at your earliest convenience, which you have already granted for Eleven-Two-Three Standard Time."

The businesslike mood was broken by the sound of dry chuckling as Giran and Valorum exchanged bemused looks. The Supreme Chancellor then flicked a finger at her senior aide as a wry grin stretched the corners of her mouth. "Check your list for items of interest."

Kymarin did just that, scrolling through the ledger until he found the one thing that did indeed stand out amongst the rest. "Here's something. According to their cargo manifest, the Houpra are carrying twenty-seven kilotons of diburnadium chrysalite and ganthracyte ore, which is apparently due to be delivered to the Trade Federation's Science-And-Technology Convocation sometime following the meeting." The young Lepolid's double eyebrows raised at that. "Most interesting."

"And all the more blatant when you realize the true meaning behind it, Kymarin," Giran exclaimed as she shook her head in disbelief. "Both the diburnadium and the ganthracyte are payment to the Trade Federation for concessions made by it on behalf of the Houpra, the bulk of which surrounds their involvement with several major construction projects which were underwritten by the Finance Commission and fielded by Federation bureaucrats. Both the Federation and Houpra hope that through this last action the Houpra can at last buy their way into the Galactic Republic, particularly in the role of influential benefactors."

Giran's already-venomous expression became even more piqued as a subversive gleam flashed briefly into her flame-colored eyes. "However, since the Houpra Conundrum operates on several planes that are ethically and morally divergent from the Republic's purview, this venture and whatever further requests they may make of us will be rejected… outright." She lightly but pointedly slapped the tabletop to drive her point home. "We profusely thank the Houpra for what assistance they have given, but we just don't play by that kind of underhandedness. No."

"The Nemoidians are not going to take kindly to that, Giran," Ibani'Rogath stated bluntly.

"As long as they keep to procedure, which they always do whenever the heat's on, I don't care if they file complaint after complaint in protest," Giran snapped. "As with the Egrodath, this office and its duties represent our peoples' highest ideals and the law will not be broached on this matter." Without looking at Kymarin she intoned, "Next."

Kymarin shifted in his seat, somewhat taken aback in discomfort to the Supreme Chancellor's sudden heat. "There is one final item, Your Eminence. This just came in on the general docket before we convened. It's a priority transcript from Ambassador Pyrett's office stating that he's being called away on a contingency mission to Roonibar, but it doesn't state a reason why or even a duration note."

The three gentlemen at the table noted with surprise as their leader underwent a startling and abrupt distancing, as if her entire awareness had been inexplicably drawn to another place and time. She remained like this for a long while, becoming more and more oblivious to the outside world as her focus continued to intensify.

Deep inside the Supreme Chancellor's mind, her psyche roiled like a blazing inferno. Like a videocassette of a motion picture that's been left on fast-forward, the scenes played themselves out with rapacious abandon-- war, mass hysteria, political unrest, violent sub-humanoid creatures, veiled, shadowy figures in dark cloaks, and blood-- lots of blood. She moaned low in response as the movie picked up at a manic pace, racing to the point where it threatened to overwhelm her senses.

After a brief exchange of terse glances with his fellow politicos, Aldus Valorum himself volunteered for the risky task of reviving his leader. With great care, he gently placed a hand on Giran's shoulder and shook it firmly but gently. "Giran."

At the exact moment where her emotional threshold was reached, the Supreme Chancellor calmly but firmly placed the tip of her finger to the bridge of her nose until the riot subsided to a manageable level. As she mustered the most lackluster of smiles, the diminished quality of her voice spoke volumes. "I'm all right, gentlemen." She forced more of an edge into her voice as she followed, "Just faded out there for a second. My apologies."

Ibani'Rogath and Kymarin-Dal-Edor inclined their heads uneasily as Valorum continued on. "It's fine, love. We were just wondering where you'd gone, that's all." He bit the tip of his tongue as he immediately regretted saying that-- humor was the last thing that should have been attempted after what had just happened.

"Farther than I should have ever gone," Giran followed pointedly, her acknowledgment of her vice-chair's foiled jibe revealing that her own sense of humor wasn't totally out of sync. Sipping from her chiff'a mug once again in the attempt to soothe out her nerves, Giran decided to chase down a tack. "Mister Dal-Edor, what do we know in particular about the Roonibar system?"

Kymarin cross-coded his ledger to the chamber's library access node, bringing up the required cursory information in an instant. "The system is composed of thirteen worlds, seven terrestrial, two gas and four ice giants orbiting a quartiary-Cepheid group in the Archon Sector of the Mid-Rim, where the Osander Belt joins with the Canantrel Ledge. Socio-economic level is Class Delta-One, governmental structure is Fafreluchal, classification Gamma-Three. Major exports are in inert lytalin and vendi fruit." Kymarin's brows arched sharply as he found a particular footnote. "There's a reference to some involvement with the Jedi Knights that dates back almost 350 years, but the specifics on the situation have been placed under privacy seal by order of the Council Of Masters."

Ibani'Rogath leaned back in his chair as he surmised the information at hand. "Whatever that was, it must have been calamitous for the Masters to enforce such an action." He subsequently stroked his nearly invisible flaxen beard in a great pronouncement of perplexion. "Given that, it makes me curious as to why Ambassador Pyrett would avail himself and thus the Republic with a world whose people are clearly of a barbaric nature."

"They musn't be all that bad, Ibani," Giran arched her own eyebrow in response, her voice returning to its normal pitch. "We do trade with them."

"Nevertheless," the Nan-Nel countermanded petulantly, "this sudden focus on a non-aligned world without previous appraisal or explanation merits our deepest attention, Madame Chancellor."

Giran nodded. "I'm forced to agree with you, Senator. However, before we commit ourselves to any rash actions, I want as much background as possible. Kymarin, I'm authorizing you to request the Council Of Masters to release us their information on Roonibar. Likewise, I want you to make researching the matter top-priority once the information's in-hand." Her voice rose a few octaves as she followed with everyone in closing, "In the meanwhile, gentlemen, our Republic needs our guidance, and we must now attend our duties. Dismissed."

As the table cleared, Giran Lathan-Vec returned to the spot where she stood in front of the transparisteel viewport that overlooked Galactic City. She nearly grinned a moment later when she noticed Valorum's reflection as he alone remained, the lean mask of concern very clear on his face. "Just can't stand to see someone suffer, can you, Tate?"

Aldus Taton Valorum moved to join Giran at the observation port as his worry eased into a warm smile. "Again, your powers of review are most acute, Madame Chancellor." A mild hardness came into the man's eyes as some of his discomfort returned. "Tell me the truth, Giran. What's wrong? And don't lie-- you look as if a million bradyhawks are about to flay you to the bone at the slightest instant."

Giran chuckled at the reference as she proceeded to reveal part of what she was truly feeling to Valorum, an individual whom she considered both a good friend and a close confidante. "It's this damned Roonibar thing, Tate. For the past two weeks, I've been having the attacks of the 'fugues' over it. It's been a great amorphousness that’s kept after me day after day, sometimes keeping me up part of the night some nights. It wasn't until Kymarin put a name to it just now that it became more definite, more tangible." She released another long, slow breath. "And, obviously, very terrifying."

Giran sighed heavily as she sipped some more chiff'a. "All of my senses are screaming out to me that this thing is some kind of trap, and it's one that might drag us all under a cesspool if we're not quick enough to stop it." Her mouth formed a tight grimace as she fully faced Valorum. "Again, I find myself forced to agree with Ibani-- the damndest peculiarity out of all this is Cyril Pyrett's involvement in it. It doesn't matter that I've never cared for the man or his remoteness or the shadowy way in which he has always done his business, but the son-of-a-bitch knows damned well about directly informing the Primary Commission before undertaking a crisis protocol, especially when dealing with free-ranging governments." She swallowed hard as a knot of tension swelled in her stomach. "Maybe I might be a little paranoid, but I've always sensed that there wasn't something quite right about him."

Aldus Valorum smirked as he turned his gaze towards Galactic City. "I'll grant you this, love-- Pyrett's always been sort of an odd duck, but he's always played by the rules and, even more important, he gets results most of the time." He paused a moment as he sighed in reflection. "Well, at least now there's a reason as to why I haven't heard from Skeet in the last few days."

Giran was taken aback by this. "You mean to tell me that Finn's working for that maniac?" This revelation particularly frightened Giran; in certain close circles amongst those politicians whom had worked for it in the past, the Arbiter-General's office was purported to be something of a madhouse. Macabre tales of tightly-structured, round-the-clock work schedules were common, with everything scrutinously micro-managed by Pyrett himself, who was known to sleep for only three hours every day and was said to be wantonly ruthless with those who did not match his level of absolute perfection. As was the wont, the office had one of the highest rates of attrition in all the known institutions of the Galactic Republic. Giran was so startled she forgot to smile when she recalled the first time she met Young Finis Valorum as a six-year-old youngster attending his very first Congressional Session in the company of his father, then the senatorial representative of Harchonnal. She particularly recalled the rapt fascination with which the child observed the member bodies arguing over and occasionally resolving their various points of contention. "It's a good thing to hear he's still alive."

Valorum laughed at that. "I understand your concern, love, but Skeet says he's as happy as a well-settled Hutt working there. You should know him by now, Giran-- the boy grooves under pressure, and the more there is of it, the more he can't get enough of it." There was a note of paternal pride in Aldus Valorum's voice as he continued, grinning softly. "When we spoke last, he had made the decision to finish his Articles tour as a landsman with the office. He's also mapping out his plan as to how many years it will take him to get into the Senate, if you can believe that."

"It probably won't be much longer after that before he makes Chancellor," Giran nodded, pleased with the boy's ambitious foresight. It was then that she then struck upon something. "Tate, there's something I'd like to ask of you. When he contacts you next, I want you to establish him as a go-between for us as long as he's with Pyrett. It would be a great benefit if we had a close source in this situation."

"You don't think I've already thought of that, Chancellor?" Aldus Valorum said with a bright smile that conveyed that he, too, considered the same action. "It'll be done if and only if on one condition, love-- you've got to promise me you are not going to void out again for at least the next sixteen hours." Although his voice carried in it a tone of mirth, his eyes flashed briefly in admonition; there would be no shilly-shallying accepted here.

Giran raised her mug in a salute as she bowed her head in mock submission. "Message received and understood, O Holy Majesty." She looked back up as she then added, "I just hope I can manage not to disappoint anybody… too badly."

Aldus Valorum grinned widely as he returned Giran's salute with a jaunty wave. "Then I shall leave you to your duties, Madame Chancellor, such as they are." With a quick pivot on his heel, Valorum quickly strode from the chamber.

Upon the very instant she was totally alone, Supreme Chancellor Giran Lathan-Vec surrendered herself fully to the terror that she kept physically hidden from Aldus Valorum, lest he continued to be a bother when she could ill-afford it, which happened to be right now. She rested her full weight against the viewport's pane as she closed her eyes against the raging torrent of images; she would have preferred speaking about this to her other good friend Bin'Ela Lyto, whose unique sensibilities and insights enhanced by the ever-present and mysterious Force made the most seemingly impossible obstacle or incongruity crystal-clear in an instant. It was that clearness-of-focus that Giran needed, and she needed it desperately.

( * * * )

The Council Chamber Of The Masters, The Jedi Temple.

Dressed in appropriate livery for the occasion, Colna Ardaugh entered the Great Hall as she moved through the crowd that had also come to see the formal coronation of Sirette Rivossa and Q'Mia Banocles. She noted with interest that several of those present were people of prominince within the Order; among these notables included the famed civil rights litigator Qu'O'Har Turvis of the Quarren Nation of Mon Calamari, Republicswoman Angar Mulumnb of Sullust, Rear Admiral Noljane Kesper of Corellia and the one individual Colna knew of best, personally as well as professionally-- Moderator Of The Congress Bin'Ela Lyto, a raven-and-silver haired matron from the world of Alsakan.

Colna’s senses instantly went on the alert as she felt a familiar presence approaching from behind. “Greetings, Colna.”

Colna put on an easy smile as she faced Q’Mia Banocles, who was now clad in the traditional clean sand-and-brown vestments of a full Ma’ardi Valkyrie. “Hello, Q’Mia,” the younger woman responded warmly enough; the friction from that peculiar evening visit a few days back still had its indelible mark upon her psyche. “Those robes look good on you,” she nodded, genuinely impressed. “Ready to prove yourself in the larger world, are we?”

Q’Mia inclined her head in gratefulness. “You humble me, Colna. However, the way I see it, it’s just another step up the ladder of success.” She flashed that bothersome smile again as she continued, “But, then again, there is always an equivalent amount of success to share with others.”

This made Colna fully turn about. “How do you mean, Q’Mia?”

Q’Mia’s smile widened. “I’m referring to dreams, pui’Dai.” She grinned as she called Colna by the pet name she used for her since childhood. She subsequently placed a hand on Colna’s bicep. “Aspirations that will at last be realized.”

Colna felt the first twinges of a real, unimpeded fear build inside her just as Sirette materialized at her side, resplendent in her own new woven raiment. “Hey, heart. Glad to see you finally make it to the party,” she said to her old friend as she flashed Colna a hearty grin. She immediately noted the hand on Colna’s arm as she promptly added, “Seems some folks are still hard at it trying to get their point across, ain’t they?”

Q’Mia’s hand dropped from Colna’s arm as the two rivals once again locked eyes and wits. “At least I’m honest with myself, Sirette.”

Sirette’s eyes flashed in acknowledgment to the challenge, and she took a step forward. “Time will tell, Q’Mia. Time will tell.”

Colna watched as both women glared at each other, their expressions growing sharper and colder as the other tried to face her opposite number down through their sheer force of will. The game did not last long, however, and it was Q’Mia who backed away from the other two women , her eyes remaining locked on Sirette’s until she switched on her heel and merged into the crowd.

Colna sidled next to Sirette as she now wore a pie-eyed face of intense disgust. “Let it go, Sirette. It’s too big a day for the both of you, and neither of you deserves the friction.” It took a moment for Sirette to let go of her anger , and when she was in control of herself again, Colna continued on safer ground. “This is quite some turnout for this particular little shindig, Colna confessed in undisguised amazement. "I hadn't realized it was going to be so important."

Sirette responded with her usual jocular candor. "Well, if you consider the fact that some of these folks haven't seen the light of day from this vantage point in at least the last sixty-odd years, it does make some sense." Her smile widened as she pointed to something not far off in the distance. "Take a look at that."

Three meters away, Young Qui-Gon Jinn stood in a clearing all his own away from the larger group, looking as proud and tall as mortally possible for one his age. Docent Edwinya Bayn, the prioress of the Jedi Academy, was positioned immediately behind Qui-Gon in her role as golan, or watcher of the young neowan for the padawan acclimation ceremony that would immediately take place following the coronation. The tyke appeared prudently regal in his own brown robes, his pet li'ifu, or baby ysalamiri, known lovingly by the name Mot-Mot draped prominently over one shoulder like a well-festooned mink. The stolid expression on his face left little doubt that he was at that moment envisioning himself as to how a true-born padawan apprentice should appear before joining with his master.

"Now that one's a keeper for posterity," Colna observed with a grin of her own. "Makes me wish I'd thought to bring the holoproj recorder from the suite."

It was then that Colna took notice of another group who, like Qui-Gon and Docent Bayn, stood in a clearing all their own. The initial reason she noticed them was due to the rich obsidian cloaks they wore about their shoulders, which were further decorated by military-style braid and other insignia. Colna instantly recognized this as the traditional dress uniform worn by the Gawain Defendership, a special-tasks organization made up of both Jedi Knights and Ma’ardi Valkyries who were entirely under the aegis of the Supreme Chancellor. Roving the galaxy for the most part as adventurers and scientists while working at times in tandem with various police and other militia groups as needed, it was said that the Gawains, as they were more commonly known, were superlative detectives and counter-operational specialists and, if mandated by the Supreme Chancellor herself with the blessing of the Council Of Masters, the Gawains could execute 'specific modalities', or covert tactics that were, at best, left undiscussed. This was the cause of much debate amongst many within the Order, since such activities, on occasion, skirted the very understructure upon which the Republic was founded and passed dangerously close to the edge of the Dark Side of the Force. The concern was so great that even some of the Masters themselves, the most vocal of them being Arch-Master Yoda, were considering a way of suggesting to the Supreme Chancellor a way of dissolving the group entirely at some point in the future, lest some, or, even more unfortunately, all the Gawains ended up being devoured by the Dark Side due to their own inscrutability. It impressed Colna that after 300 years in service to the Republic, not a single Gawain Defender had yet succumbed to the madness of the Great Dark thus far, a testament to both the high standards of the Defendership and the quality of people who served faithfully in it.

The second reason Colna noticed the Gawains was due to the attention she was receiving in turn by the sole female in the group, a youthful-looking woman in her early forties whose eyes were banded over by a thin strip of cloth in the style of one descended from the Miraluka, sightless humanoids who nevertheless 'saw' through the Force. The woman instantly flashed Colna a warm smile upon recognition, and Colna in response felt the thrill of anticipation shoot up her spine as the older woman visage struck a chord deep within her, one she was surprised to discover was full of a sense of vague familiarity.

Colna's train of thought was broken as the attendance chime trilled softly, capturing everyone's attention. The entire assembly promptly gathered itself as they formed ranks and bowed reverently as one person to the multi-national cadre of twelve elders who were entering the Great Hall.

Appearing very much like an immense praying mantis ensconced by an armor of ebony chitin, Great Mother T’Pahn Nirette-Shiraez of the world of Thyferra raised a foreclaw in acknowledgment as she and her brethren quickly assumed their respective places within the Great Circle. “To all that are present,” the elderly Aschern-Vratix leader of the Council of the Order addressed the assembly in her oddly-musical multi-faceted voice once everybody had straightened up, “this gathering is now in session.” The wizened Ma’ardi’s voice rose an octave as she continued. “Paladin Sirette Rivossa, Paladin Q’Mia Banocles, you may come before us.”

Sirette and Colna exchanged quick glances before Sirette hustled over to the appropriate spot. She was joined by Q’Mia en route, and the two rivals regarded each other with subdued wariness as they both knelt down upon the ceremonial blazon and directly before the two senior-most elders who sat at the apex of the Great Circle.

“Paladin Sirette, Paladin Q’Mia,” the High Matriarch went on, “this council has observed your progress in the execution of your individual benocque engagements, and it is only fitting that you should be apprised of our decision.” Great Mother T’Pahn paused momentarily as she regarded the equally-wizened impish jade figure who sat to her immediate left, who returned her look with a nod as he took up from where she had left off.

“With distinction it is,” the Jedi Master known as Yoda began, “that you are both elevated to the level of Ma’ardi Valkyrie, along with the duties entitled to your new station.” Although the old one said it with a straight-enough face, there was a faint but unmistakable edge of pensiveness in his voice, as if he wasn’t so sure about the decision.

T’Pahn raised a foreclaw to the younger women in admonition. “As you are now vanguards of the Galactic Republic, you must both always remember the importance of those whom we always serve, and the greater importance still to the path of the Great Light, of which we all must adhere. It is by knowing that and by trusting the power of the Force that we can prevent the onslaught of darkness.” T’Pahn leaned forward as her next words were spoken haltingly, with an edge. “This also means that the both of you will have to set aside your differences, whatever they may be, and learn to cooperate.” A short pause for effect. “Am I made perfectly clear?”

Sirette and Q’Mia briefly regarded each other pensively before mutually responding in the affirmative. “We hear, we comprehend and we obey, Great Mother.”

The Vratix’s triangular head bobbed in a nod of acknowledgment. As she gestured for them to rise and step aside, Yoda turned his attention to the larger crowd. “Neowan Qui-Gon Jinn, Paladin Colna Ardaugh, step forward you may.”

So amazed was Colna at hearing her own name that she initially only imagined it being mentioned; it was only when she felt herself moving in tandem with Little Qui-Gon that she realized that she had also been summoned. What in the name of Space was going here? she wondered to herself as she and Qui-Gon glided to a halt before the grand elders and bowed before them.

“Like your brethren before you,” Yoda continued, gesturing to the newly-elevated Ma’ardi Valkyries who were now in a clearing by themselves, “also have we watched your performance as well.” The old jade imp turned first to Qui-Gon. “Qui-Gon Jinn, only six hundred times has it been since the founding of the Order that one as young as yourself has been selected for padawan training.” He paused a moment, noting the surge of anticipation inside the youngster’s eyes. “However, aware must you be that rigorous is the life of a padawan learner and difficult at times it can also be, much like the life of a Jedi Knight. Willing to accept this challenge are you?”

Young Qui-Gon stood up a little straighter, met the diminutive Jedi Master eye-to-eye and did not pull any punches. “I do, my master.” Mot-Mot the Li’ifu chirped pointedly for good measure.

Yoda and the other elders nodded approvingly as the old Jedi turned to the small collective of Gawain Defenders. “De’Nim Windu, come forward and claim your padawan apprentice, now you may.”

Colna watched with mostly-internalized awe as the most attractive black human prince with his long tresses set in the penuchlian-hairstyle of his native world of Verodeen strode into view with great confidence and respectfully saluted the Elders in the crisp, military-style snap-bow of the Defendership. He subsequently afforded Qui-Gon a more temperate bow, which the boy staunchly returned. Although it had been quite some time since she had last seen his presence inside the gilded halls of the Academy, not to mention that he had also grown half a head taller and lost a few kilos as well, Colna thought the changes made De’Nim Windu look ravenously beautiful. This caused the smile she already had on her face to stretch into a brilliant grin.

De’Nim came down upon one knee before Qui-Gon Jinn as he placed his right hand upon the youngster’s chest and recited to Declaration of Attainment from memory. “I, Alyot De’Nim Windu, do solemnly and proudly accept the honor of consigning you, Qui-Gon Jinn, as my padawan apprentice. I will do all that is within my power to teach you all that I know, so that you will become that which you are destined to be.”

As he had been taught only days earlier by Docent Bayn, a now-bursting Qui-Gon Jinn placed his own hand upon De’Nim’s chest as he finished the ritual with as much panache as he could muster. “I, Qui-Gon Jinn, dutifully accept you, Alyot De'Nim Windu, as my padawan master. I will learn all that you bring before me, so that I will become worthy of your name.” The tyke was in for a surprise a moment later when De’Nim scooped him up into his arms in a warm embrace, revealing his absolute delight at having Qui-Gon as his student.

Great Mother T’Pahn’s mandibles twitched in a fashion that could only be referred to as a grin. “There are no doubts that you will succeed, young one,” she told Qui-Gon as she placed a foreclaw atop Yoda’s shoulder. “As time has proven, some of my former students have gone on to great heights and done particularly well for themselves.” Yoda’s head bobbed in a modestly humble laugh as the barest of smiles creased his lips.

T’Pahn subsequently regarded Colna as she resumed with the formalities. “Paladin Colna Ardaugh, it gives me pleasure to admit before this gathering that you are one of our most distinguished neowan teachers in the brief five seasons since you first graced that position. Having once been myself where you are now, I am sympathetic to the particular challenges brought about by working with our youngest brethren. They can be headstrong and impudent at times, but they nevertheless bring delight to our lives. Do you not agree?”

“It is of a certainty, Great Mother,” Colna nodded with sublime but unabashed pride as she briefly noted Qui-Gon Jinn’s presence. “I thank you in turn for the honor of recognizing my progress,” she followed in kind, inclining her head deferentially as the part of her that glimpsed into T’Pahn’s overt elusiveness waited for the other shoe to drop.

Fortunately, she did not have long to wait as the eldest of the Ma’ardi continued. “During the close of our last general session three days ago, Sirette Rivossa approached us with an appeal she mentioned she was making on your behalf.” Another short pause. “It was requested that upon your time of ascension we forego your right of benocque attainment in favor of something more communal—the choice of also allowing you to become a padawan learner.”

As T’Pahn said this, Q’Mia flashed a tight glare of derision at Sirette as the corners of the Corellian Valkyrie’s mouth curled into a grin, her eyes remaining fixed upon Colna.

Colna’s own gaze slid over to Sirette as well as she easily sensed her old friend’s joyful amusement, the slight arching of her eyebrow the only expression of her overwhelming excitement to this wholly sought-after change of events in her life. Some way, somehow, I am going to get you back for this little surprise, Sirette, the look clearly said. But for right now, I am going to relish this moment.

T’Pahn cocked her head as she herself gleaned from Colna’s pleasure. “It would appear you are receptive to this offer, Colna Ardaugh.”

Colna released some of her elation through a kindly smile. “Well, given the fact that it’s always been one of my passions, I’d have to be a complete imbecile to turn it down."

There was muted laughter throughout the chamber as T’Pahn nodded her assent. “That is a most prudent line of reckoning, Colna Ardaugh.” She faced the group of Gawains. “Lady je’Hanna Colvain, you may approach.”

Colna was internally struck dumb by the brief flash of pain that crossed Yoda’s eyes as she also noticed, now with fascination, the Miralukan female who had smiled at her earlier emerge from her group. She moved with a fluid grace, which, like De’Nim before her, spoke volumes about her personality and overall confidence, and this laid a deep impression upon the younger woman. The elder woman eased into the space adjacent Colna as she first rendered a Gawains’ salute to the elders and then bowed to Colna, who returned it.

As she came back erect, Colna’s eyes met with the Miralukan’s banded ones and she suddenly felt blood rushing through her ears with a terrible surge. The heavy, droning thump of her escalating heartbeat drowned out all other sound as an abrupt thought-flash seized her mind—

She had returned to her earliest childhood, at the time she was barely eleven months old. She was once again within the arms of her mother as she held her child with a great, tender desperateness. Although she had only just begun to feel those special ebbings within herself that she would later come to know as the Force, Colna noted the powerful sadness within her mother’s eyes that contradicted her warm smile and knew that at some point in the near-future her pain would consume her to the brink of suicide. Even then she had wished she could have done something to break through that wall of agony, to tell her that everything was going to turn out all right…

Colna saw her mother’s face turn away in silent alarm as she felt another pair of hands reach beneath her. With a tender yet firm tug, Colna felt herself being removed from her mother’s hold. She thought she heard her mother whimper as there was a brief period of weightlessness and, when gravity overtook again, Colna saw the face of another woman, somewhat younger than her mother and dressed entirely in robes. However, the most peculiar thing about this woman was the strip of dark cloth covering her eyes, and even stranger still was the sense that she would play a major part in Colna’s future. Another rushing wave filled Colna’s ears as the new woman smiled brilliantly and added in a kind voice, “The Force is very strong in you, little baby. I sense that your future will be a beautiful one.”

Colna instantly returned to the present as her face took on a mask of total apoplexy. “It’s you,” she said in a voice that was barely audible. “You were the one who took me away from my Mama when I was a baby.” She nodded absentmindedly. “I never thought I would ever see you again.”

The Ma’ardi called je’Hanna Colvain laughed softly as she placed a hand upon Colna’s shoulder. “And you have grown into a fine young woman yourself, Colna Ardaugh.” She quietly appraised Colna for a beat before continuing. “Besides, I knew it was eventually going to come to you about me. With insight as keen as yours appears to be, you certainly will do well enough in the field.”

It took a moment for this last statement to register inside Colna’s already-addled brain, and when it finally dawned on her that she had unintentionally engaged je’Hanna’s mind and subsequently admitted it in open court—a breach-of-privacy that was seen as a calamitous insult by the entirety of the Order—her naturally-russet skin tone turned an even fiercer shade of brown in outright humiliation. She quickly dropped her head in submission. “I beg forgiveness, milady. I meant no harm.” You stupid lummox, Colna berated herself in tandem, you just had to go off and pick into Old Girl’s head, didn’t you? Stupid, stupid, stupid…

je’Hanna lifted the young paladin’s head by her chin gently until her face met with hers again. The Miraluka’s grin softened into a warm smile as she continued with Colna, her voice more attenuated this time. “Child, if you’re so concerned about having offended me, you’re wasting your both our time. Instead of bashing yourself over the head, it would be simpler to consider this your first lesson in the larger world—always be mindful of your approach towards all living things.”

Colna’s vexation towards herself was still apparent as she tentatively regarded T’Pahn. “Great Mother T’Pahn has reminded me of that fact more times than I care to recall,” she responded sheepishly.

Remembering herself as she returned her attention to the ceremony whose traditions were born more than a thousand generations before, Colna Ardaugh straightened up to her full height and looked at je’Hanna Colvain with a resolve she did not yet truly feel. “I, Colna Ardaugh, humbly accept thee Lady je’Hanna Colvain as my padawan damsel.” She followed this with as graceful and dignified a formal bow as she could manage, partially in apology for the ass she had just made out of herself in front of je’Hanna, and partially to hide the tremors of nervous self-disgust that continued to pulse through her arms. If thee finds me worthy of being your student, remained the rest of the thought that was left unsaid.

“Be certain of this course you must, Colna Ardaugh,” Yoda exclaimed suddenly. His lined face now wore a hooded expression, his bright eyes ablaze with passion. It was an outburst completely out of context with his normally sanguine temperament, and its forthrightness caught everyone in the chamber off-guard. “Much pain and suffering will result if this course is taken. The same advice I offer to Sirette Rivossa and Q’Mia Banocles, if accepted it will be.”

He was stilled from any further exhortation by a firm touch from T’Pahn. “Enough, Padawan. Now is not the time for this discussion.” Yoda’s face hardened in one last surge of distress before he sighed and nodded in acquiescence, albeit reluctantly.

Colna watched as a dark mood came over je’Hanna’s proud features and lingered. It was clearly apparent to Colna that je’Hanna and Yoda were at a serious impasse about something, but it wasn’t clear as to exactly what the problem was. She wanted desperately to use the Force once more to penetrate the wall between them, but she though better of it when she realized that the action might only deepen their anger at each other and, worse yet, redirect it at her. No; the matter would reveal itself in its own time and of its own accord.

Quickly dismissing the contention between Yoda and herself and her own anger entirely, je’Hanna Colvain resumed with Colna. She inclined her head as she returned Colna’s salute. “Colna Ardaugh, I, je’Hanna Colvain, most proudly accept thee as my padawan learner.” The emphasis on the ‘my’-part bristled with conviction as she sealed the pact which brought the girl into her fold.

Colna matched je’Hanna’s gaze more firmly as she promised, “I will not fail you, Mistress.”

je’Hanna got even more to the point. “You most assuredly will not.”

Chapter Four of 'Battlefront'...

2009-11-23T16:40:00.000-08:00

Sorry, guys--been busy for a while. Here's the next two chapters of my old book, starting with Chapter Four. Enjoy

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BETA CHAPTER

Wayland, near the Unknown Regions.

Within the enormous stone antechamber that served as Darth Rasher's private sanctorum on this world, the ancient Sith Lord nodded approvingly as he held up the severed head of Ganji Alla Apso beneath the radiance from one of the torches that provided the chamber's overall illumination. He viewed the head at all angles and with great care, as if it were a prized ornament. "You have done well, Lord Sidious," the old one intoned as he showed his favor. "It is not every day that one succeeds in overcoming a Jedi Knight, much less a Jedi Master of considerable notoriety, as this one had been." This was said with an air of informality, as if such actions were mere happenstance for those trained in what they saw as the more potent aspects of the Force. Such was the way of the Sith, and none aware of their ways could dispute that they were not bold and forthright.

"The old one fought well, my master," came the conservative reply from the figure standing in the near-darkness a few meters beyond. There was a sizeable note of respect in his voice. "If it were not for my youth and superior tactical prowess, the advantage would have been his."

Darth Rasher's mouth tightened as he snapped towards his pupil. "And you would have been dead, ingrate--!" This was immediately followed by a paroxysm of spastic coughing that lasted for some moments.

Darth Sidious reacted with the appropriate surprise as he took a step forward. "Master--! Are you-- "

Rasher's hand came up quick. "I am well." The voice from which the statement issued was strained, indicating otherwise, and the authority it carried would brook no further attempts at sympathy. With a final clearing of his throat, the elder Sith Lord regulated his nerves before continuing with his pupil. "Be grateful that it was not you who perished instead," he admonished sternly. "Remember, student, a Sith Lord's true 'prowess', as you so call it, comes not only from his assessment of his opponent's skill in battle, but from how well he looks upon and believes in the greatness of his own abilities."

The younger Sith Lord acknowledged dutifully. "Excellently, my master." As he said this, he gently reached out with the Force to analyze Rasher's condition. What he found astonished him. It is an enigma that you are still alive if at all, old one, Sidious mused to himself. Given the extent of your condition, you will most definitely be dead the inside of a year.

"Learn all that you can, young one, for you will need the advantage when the time comes," Rasher followed, revealing his sensory acuteness. Satisfied that this latest lesson registered in his pupil's mind, the elder Dark Lord placed the head of the fallen Jedi Master upon its respective mount amidst a sea of atrophied heads that covered the entire wall. With the exception of Apso, these marked the victories of the elder Sith since the beginning of his prime. A terse grin replaced the scowl on his face as Rasher once again regarded his disciple. "I believe you have kept a souvenir for yourself?"

Without as much as a forethought, the younger man produced Ganji's lightsaber. "Would you care for this as well, Master?"

Rasher nodded through his voice. "I have more than enough trophies to fill a dozen lifetimes. Keep that as a reminder of your persistence towards your future conquests." The old one observed as the weapon was just as quickly replaced. He subsequently gestured toward the natural archway that led to the outside parapet. "Join me."

Darth Sidious flanked his master as both men strode onto the parapet. The heavily-forested landscape lay blanketed under a velvet indigo sky that was peppered with the brilliant pinpricks of distant stars, and the cawing and occasional growl from such indigenous creatures as clawbirds and garrals wafted up and merged with the cool evening wind.

The elder Dark Lord sighed as he regarded the wilderness. "I have had the satisfaction of observing your progress over the last twenty-seven years, my son. You have succeeded beyond my wildest expectations, and I am confident that you will perform most adequately when you come to power." Sidious gave a single nod at this; it would be the only expression of affection from one as restrained as Lord Darth Rasher. "If my visions of your future hold true to course," the elder continued, "you will be the one who will finally achieve the penultimate goal which has been sought since the time of Lord Bane-- the total obliteration of the Jedi Order and unequalled dominion over the entire galaxy." Rasher took notice as a twinkle of malign mirth flashed briefly into Sidious' eye. "However, there must be one final test before your status is absolute."

"What is thy bidding, My Master?" The younger Sith Lord's voice held anticipation to the upcoming challenge, eager for it.

"Arbiter-General Cyril Pyrett will be attending the world of Roonibar in continuation of the mediations between the combative factions on that world," Darth Rasher began. "It is his belief that these latest talks will come to yet another stalemate, which will continue to prove unbeneficial to certain groups, namely the Amiel Party."

"Ever since its inception by the feudal states who first colonized it, the Archon Sector has always been a cauldron of instability," Darth Sidious added. "Because of that hostility and its general disdain toward any outside political intercession, the Republic has always kept wary of involving itself too deeply with it, even on an interstitial basis."

"It is one of the few policies worthy of the Republic's name, given those circumstances," concurred Rasher. "And greater tribulations still have been undertaken to perpetuate the situation until after the exhumation of the Gai'Bu Xo'That artifact." The corners of Darth Rasher's mouth downturned keenly as the weight of his closing statement assailed him. "However, there have been some recent complications which may force a change."

It was Sidious' turn to show some attitude. "The Ardith."

"Our female brethren have been taking full advantage of the Rogites at our expense," Lord Rasher said through clenched teeth. "Since their arrival within the last standard month, they have accelerated plans without mutual consensus first. To begin with, they have set to disrupting the populace, made their presence known while doing so and killed a number of my operatives in the process. The remainder have gone into hiding or off-planet altogether, and without their confirmation of any further developments, there is no telling the extent those brazen hags will go." Rasher was forced to pause again as he stifled another cough. "I have need for you to accompany Ambassador Pyrett's entourage to Roonibar and see that things are restored to their proper equilibrium."

"All of them will want to challenge me on some level," Sidious almost smiled, seemingly to relish the thought.

"Indubitably," Darth Rasher agreed. "However, the women must be made aware of who their true superiors are."

( * * * )

The Court Of The Grand Vicar, Roonibar.

Alcalde Lorenc Roz raced through the palace halls in a dead heat, his long robes of office flailing behind him like a bridal train. His bronze face was suffused with blood as his thoughts churned with rage. I'm supposed to be the recognized authority of this world, not to mention the system itself, and I'm the one who's being most treated like some irascible mendicant. What's worse, I'm being treated that way by a group of insufferable hussies who aren't even from this part of space-! Damn them all--!

The twin sentries posted to either side of the elaborate arcatha-wood doors leading into the monarchial palais snapped to attention as Lorenc rounded the corner. Muted sounds of someone being tortured penetrated through the heavy doors. "Announce me!" he barked at one of the guardsmen as both men automatically opened the doors.

The guard to whom Lorenc ordered hurriedly preceded him into the palais as he declared in a bold voice "His Honorable The Lord Alcalde Lorenc Gantamuel Roz--!" When the sentry swiftly departed a moment later, the young nobleman reacted instantly at the sickening sight before him. Lords Emmanuel.

The haggard form of an Amiel freedom fighter writhed in agony as she tumbled through mid-air, suspended by a repulsorfield nullification grid whose reflector-plate occasionally threw off coruscating tendrils of polarized energy that bore into her body. Bloody rips and tears slashed flesh and fabric where the negative-current energy discharged; the trauma this caused was so extensive that death was a certainty in a short while. It particularly didn't help that the gigantic mutated dinko that stood at the base of the Grand Vicar's throne took the occasional chomp out of the poor vagabond whenever she hovered nearest it. A three-meter-tall creature the color of suet and built along the dimensions of a classical denizen of the Netherworld complete with long fangs and bloodshot eyes laughed heartily at this carnage, its enormous girth laden with heavy-energy weaponry. The laughter possessed an odd, unnaturally deep sub-alto quality and it reverberated, echo-like.

More laughter, shriller and more inside the moderate ranges of humanoid pitch, peeled in the air behind the dinko as it noticed Lorenc a moment later. It acknowledged him with a low, sonorous growl that penetrated through the walls and floors of the palais itself. It quickly arched onto its powerful hind legs as every muscle along its taut flank flexed and relaxed, with mucus and saliva mixed with the blood from its victim streaming from its snout as the creature's threat-response cycle went into full-overdrive.

The chartreuse-robed female who sat curled upon the throne itself unfolded her slender limbs like a chrysalis and languished back, a queen in her rightful place. The startlingly vivid, lemon-painted face underneath the frilly crown of platinum-blonde hair regarded Lorenc with a lazy air. "Always prudent with our time, aren't we, Lore' ?" Olvina Guyver crooned with pure deign. Her eyelids formed narrow slits as she continued. "And it would also appear that we're getting tired of being my footman already." On that, the High Maiden of the Ardith demurely extended an equally-painted bare foot and gently caressed the dinko's crown and back with her toes. "There, M'jo," she soothed. "At least you still enjoy that privilege, my sweet." She giggled as the dinko flicked its long, forked tongue across her sole. "I take it you have a progress report for me?"

Lorenc's eyes remained riveted to the free-spinning form of the freedom fighter as she suddenly collapsed to the floor atop the nullification grid, her skin chalky-white from shock and extreme loss of blood. He felt his jaw clench as he considered the fact that these dark-side women were quite sadistic when it came to doling out what they saw as appropriate punishment.

He was instantly startled out of his reverie a moment later by the Xim'Ich'lu-malon who had sidled close to him. "You needn't waste any disgust over that one," the beast intoned almost coquettishly. "She wasn't worth the effort in the first place."

Juvenile harridan and ersatz pet brute multiplied by two, Lorenc fumed inwardly as he schooled his repulsion into a mask of neutrality as he got on with the business at hand. "I figured you would be interested in hearing that the exhumation teams in the La'Viq Ranges have discovered something which may be of importance." He said this with an edge of detachment, a weak attempt at revealing his irritation at Guyver's callousness as well as trying to return some of the condescension the dark-side maiden had just sent his way.

The effect, however, was not lost upon the keenly-sensitive Guyver. "Juvenile harridan." She followed this with a dry laugh as she nodded in disappointment. "It's amazing how thin-of-mind some people can be." As she said this, Guyver made a casual gesture with her hand.

Lorenc Roz felt his vocal cords suddenly constrict as he felt himself being pushed backwards as if by something unseen. He staggered as he tried to keep his balance but failed, stumbling instead against a nearby stanchion. He used it for support until his head cleared. When he chanced opening his eyes a few moments later, Lorenc was surprised to discover Guyver's foot bearing down hard against his right shoulder.

"You look soo delicious from that position," Guyver sneered down at him. "Just remember, Lore', that if it wasn't for my help, you would still be stuck playing second-fiddle to your big brother." She nodded, sighing in absolute pity. "I can imagine how difficult it must be for you to be the only non-sensate born into a family of Force-wielders." Upon his pained reaction, Guyver shoved Lorenc hard onto his back. Snorting derisively, she subsequently strode over to the terrace to regard the view outside. "If we can reasonably try this again," Guyver breathed aloud as she continued with Lorenc, "what is it you have to share with us?"

M'jo the dinko slithered toward Lorenc's position as the young nobleman carefully scrambled to his feet. He had to force himself to speak, and there was a noticeable rasp to his voice. "As I was saying before," he began more cautiously this time, "the exhumation teams have found what appears to be part of a tabula near the base of Mount Me'Cohp in Tiannen Province. They're in the process of xenon-dating the object now, but the chief scientists believe it to be a navigational map segment which may somehow be connected with the Gai'Bu Xo'That artifact."

Guyver whirled back about as her eyes blazed with delight. "So," she breathlessly exhaled, "the articles of Xaniva may be correct as to their speculation on the probable division and subsequent widespread distribution of the artifact itself." She shrugged her mouth in a grudging expression, crossing her arms behind her back. "This is progress, but it also means that we have a lot more work ahead of us. A lot more." She gave Lorenc a sharp nod. "That's very expedient news, Lore'. I would appreciate you seeing to it that your people are commended."

Before Lorenc could respond, the static of an incoming transmission caught everyone's attention as the hologram of a broad-shouldered amazon two full meters in height materialized in the open space to Lorenc's immediate left. This new Ardith maiden was cloaked in a long ebon cape that was laced with bright, heavy silver chains.

"Lady Guyver," the Ardith swordsmaiden Andina Romnya bowed low in respect, her stringy mop of coal-black hair bobbing with the gesture. Her voice was possessed of an intense low-alto tone that sounded as if it came from a bottomless chasm. "Galial Province has been successfully overtaken and reoriented. There was some trivial resistance from the Amiel supporters, but it was easily dissipated."

Guyver's smile widened appreciatively. "Excellent. That should take care of any further outbursts in the region." She slid her gaze over to Lorenc to gauge his reaction. "Speaking of which, have you heard any word about the primary insurgents?"

Romnya's expression modified slightly as she related her displeasure. "Thanks to a confession from one of the local constabulary prior to his death, we found the leaders themselves bivouaced in the nearby Llandia Valley. They immediately opened up with turbolaser fire, which resulted in thirty-eight-percent casualties amongst our operational forces before Selene, Volita and myself were able to gain the upper hand and turn the tide."

Lorenc, already tensed up by the revelation of the events, blurted in Romnya's direction as his voice went shrill. "Were you able to bring them down--?"

Romnya gave Lorenc the very briefest look of unbridled disgust before continuing with Guyver. "We were able to bring down several dozen more Amiel supporters, and Selene managed to mortally wound Grand Vicar Roz himself before their untimely departure."

"Well," Guyver begrudged, not entirely unhappy with the outcome, "at least we've finally managed to make them smart. Did you pay attention to what direction they were heading when they evacuated?"

"North," Romnya promptly confirmed. "I dispatched Selene to follow them. At last report, she mentioned that she felt strong permutations in the Force near the region where the Galadorn Hinterlands are located, which makes it the most probable place they are now hiding."

Lorenc reacted with total incredulity upon hearing this. "They've gone to the Ice Wastes--? It's so frigid up there nothing exists--!"

"That just goes to show you how truly short you've been in the world, Lore'," Guyver said in a tight voice that made Lorenc shut up. "What assets are there that they may make use of?"

It took Lorenc a moment to ponder this. "Wykastya Depot. It's an automated service outpost which attends the bulk carriers that deliver the monthly import consignments." He sighed uneasily as he was overcome by an unpleasant flash of insight. "The next shuttle's due in the next few days. If that's the case, then, it's more than likely they'll get off-planet."

Guyver responded with a flat expression. "With you, it is always a lost cause." She switched back to Romnya. "Have your detachment assembled by twilight and join Selene. I want these putrid bastards mowed down before the end of the second trinary phase, understood?"

"It shall be as you wish, Eminence," Romnya intoned, bowing once again as the Ardith swordsmaiden's holo-form dissolved into nothingness.

Guyver cocked an eyebrow at Lorenc as she eased another step toward him, coyly fingering one of the buttons on his dress tunic. "If you can manage not to completely obliterate the cosmos within the next few hours, I have other more pressing matters to attend." She turned to the Xim'Ich'lu-malon who stood nearby. "Valachin, will you and M'jo keep Lore' company while I'm gone?" The raised eyebrow this time said that she particularly wanted Lorenc carefully watched, so that he wouldn't make a mess of things. "This suitable enough for you?" she followed with Lorenc as her eyes quickly shifted back just in time for her to catch the young alcalde's Adam's Apple bob in a nervous gulp.

Valachin's steady bow of his horned head revealed his tacit understanding of Guyver's request. "I will make certain of it, Your Ladyship."

"Excellent, gentlemen," the Ardith High Maiden nodded as she hustled from the monarchial palais at a rapid clip. Valachin immediately filled the space left by Guyver as he gazed at Lorenc in the fashion one studies an insect just before killing it.

Lorenc Gantamuel Roz barely had time to react as M'jo the dinko lumbered to his opposite side and forced the young nobleman to beat a hasty retreat toward the relative safety of the throne. When the creature finally settled back into a semi-alert pattern, Lorenc allowed himself to fully experience the one thought that had burned constantly inside his mind since the start of his 'ascension'-- this was one hell of a way to begin a rulership.

( * * * )

The Galadorn Hinterlands, Roonibar.

The three-legged Skerosein whinnied balefully in protest as she was forced to a halt near the edge of one of the multitude of crevasses that were strewn throughout the icy region. With a deft ease that contrasted greatly with the surrounding snowstorm that practically blinded the view and threatened to knock down the creature in the instant, the Skerosein's mount leapt off her back and quickly proceeded to execute an electro-monocular search.

When the device failed to turn up anything significant, the electro-monocular was promptly replaced as the rider's hood was removed to reveal a mop of long auburn hair that blew in the gale. The stark face that was partially shown pursed its lips together in grim line as the rider used her connection with the Force to seek out that which she knew existed out in these wastes.

The Ardith bladesmaiden Selene barely smiled as she felt the slightest fluctuation that she knew would be there, calling out like a beacon to itself in the dim haze it tried to concealed itself beneath. Its general location was marked at around 400 klicks, which was respectable but too damnably far in this storm to chance going it alone, not to mention the resistance that would surely be waiting if she managed to survive getting that far. No, it was best to wait for help and share in the bloodletting; it would be so much more enjoyable that way.

A sharp, keening wail brought Selene up short as she snapped her head back to the Skerosein. It continued braying in agony as the elements began their final claim on her, forcing her legs to give out under the strain. With a last howl of resistance, the Skerosein toppled onto its side and went straight over the edge, vanishing into the ever-present drift.

Selene simply marked its passing with an arching of her eyebrow. It was the third such mount she had used since the beginning of her trek, and its use had already been accomplished. She could already sense another pod not far away from here, and it would only be a simple act to claim yet another mindless brute to continue the task ahead.

( * * * )

Skalavar Peak.

The sentry posted near the concealed access of the basolith cave base braced herself against the biting, frigid wind as she brought up her own electro-binoculars to carry out the latest perimeter check. As she made a steady sweep of the area, a genteel sub-alto penetrated her ever-analytical thought patterns. "Anything out there of interest, Lieutenant Restc?" This was said with an undertone, as if the individual who asked the question already knew the answer to it.

The sentry lowered the 'binoculars to reveal beautifully cherubic features that were already succumbing to exposure. "Negative, milord." She regarded her companion with a dry laugh. "There isn't enough of anything out here worth squabbling about, and this storm's making sure we'll have even less than that."

The lanky form of Boyar Lemuel Roz broke into a hearty grin as he gave Restc's shoulder a hearty clasp. "You've echoed my sentiments to the letter, Miss Restc." He sighed heavily as his focus shifted and he regarded the ferocious blizzard. "Unfortunately, due to our recent past, we must continue to be ever-vigilant." His young companion nodded with whole-hearted understanding.

Far behind them, another figure clad in all-white cold-weather gear raced from the accessway and plodded through the thick snowdrifts until he came to Lemuel's opposite side. "Excellency," Lord Chamberlain Dambolla Vincrisse began, "we've just received the signal from the transport. She's in-system now on parabolic approach, just out of range of the periphery seeker drones."

"Which means she won't be downplanet for at least another day-and-a-half," Lemuel added pensively, searching the sky for some glimmer of hope. He quickly returned his gaze to Vincrisse. "Is there any word--?"

Dambolla Vincrisse's face pinched tightly in a painful wince. "Forgive me, Excellency." A short pause. "The doctor says his time is urgent."

A flash of shock passed through Lemuel Roz as he started for the cave. "You have the watch, Lieutenant." With that, Lemuel and Vincrisse raced through the snow.

Inside the darkened and much cozier space a few moments later, the two men quickly sidestepped personnel and equipment crates as they made their way to the makeshift infirmary bay, where the House doctor and his two droid nurses continued their ministrations on the immense body that lay prostrate on one of the cots that were strewn throughout the cramped space. The exposed areas were covered with the
familiar greasy black bubbly patchwork of plasma burns, and several lacerations went deep enough to reveal the ivory sheen of bone. What could be made out of the bloodied pizza pie of the man's face was unusually sunken and gaunt, the face of someone already more than half-dead. This was what remained of Lord Vichos Roz, the recently-deposed Grand Vicar of the world of Roonibar.

Stricken by the sight of his father in such a horrific condition, Lemuel stood motionless for a moment as both he and Vincrisse stopped just outside of eyeshot. The younger man's face tightened as his paternal connection to Vichos though the Force confirmed that which he most feared; it would not be much longer before he would be dead. Damn you all to the nine million hells, Lore'-Gan, Lemuel seethed with rage as he struggled to control his focus. For every instance of agony our father endures I will make you and those witches who have you possessed pay, and I will particularly relish the opportunity of slowly wrestling the last sinew and cartilage in your neck until it is completely and utterly broken.

"Lemuel." The torment-filled voice's request was transmitted both vocally and telepathically in the style of well-experienced Force users with close bonds to the ones they have summoned. Lemuel's eyes instantly filled with tears as he responded in kind. "I'm coming, Pappan."

As he started, Vincrisse tenderly restrained his master by the shoulder. "Excellency, would you--"

Lemuel returned the man's gesture with a gentle clasp over Vincrisse's hand as his eyes continued to remain focused on his father. "I'll be fine, Dambolla, as he soon will," he nodded, his voice strangled with pain as he forced himself to press onward.

Doctor Thaddeus Acaba slowly came to his feet and bowed in grave respect as he met Lemuel partway. "Thank you for coming so promptly, Your Eminence." He had to swallow in order to keep his composure. "My staff and I have done everything we can, but the hemorrhaging's too extensive." He glanced back as his voice suddenly broke. "I'm sorry, milord."

Lemuel took both the man's shoulder with great empathy. "You should not blame yourself, Doctor Acaba. Sometimes just being there is help enough." Despite his own considerable pain, the young aristocrat managed a small smile full of compassion. "If anything, I am extremely grateful for what you have done."

Completely overcome, the surgeon could only nod in appreciation as he beckoned his nurse-droids to join him and all three hurriedly departed. Strengthening his own resolve, Lemuel continued on as he knelt down alongside his father. "I'm here, Pappan."

Old Vichos Roz smiled warmly as he regarded his eldest child. "You really should work on that edge of yours and try to mend things with Lore'-Gan. Despite the present circumstances, he is still your brother and I want what is best for both of you."

Lemuel pursed his lips as he looked away, scolding himself for being so open with his previous thought. "I will try my best, Father." He said this with a tone of half-dismissal.

Vichos grinned softly. "I've always joked with Thaddeus that you and he were so much alike in your personalities-- the pair of you always wear your emotions in plain view, totally unfettered." He sighed as he drew in a deep breath, which was in itself an effort. "Such traits make for honest men, and I am particularly proud that I can count you amongst them." His eyes squinted hard against a surge of pain as the old man suddenly exploded into a paroxysm of coughing, spitting up bloody phlegm in the process.

Fighting down his revulsion at the sight of this and the old man's wounds, Lemuel dabbed his father's mouth clean with a sterile cloth. "Rest easy, elder," he smiled through the sadness that shone through his amber eyes. "You've had a lousy week."

Vichos' smile widened. "At least I won't have to worry about you losing your sense of humor." He attempted to laugh as he fell into another violent fit that brought up more fresh blood. "Lemuel," the old one forced through a stark rasp, breathless. "Listen to me. My time at this stage of the Great Light is at an end. You must see to it that our people are freed and our world's dignity restored." He stole another painful breath. "Part of the way has already been prepared for you."

Lemuel leaned in closer to hear, more out of desperation to keep his father around a little bit longer than anything else. "Yes, Pappan. What am I to do?"

Vichos fought for every word as he was beginning to fade rapidly. "When the transport lands to clear all of you away, its lead pilot has been instructed to keep you on after the drop-off point at Vladet." He swallowed hard, his Adam's Apple bobbing prominently. "You will continue on to its final destination at Coruscant and petition the Congress of the Republic for assistance. If that fails, go to the Jedi Temple and address the Masters' Council itself. They will understand."

"You want me to appeal directly to the Republic itself--?" Lemuel exclaimed in disbelief. "What about Ambassador Pyrett? Surely he can help--"

"No--!" Vichos exhaled sharply as this brought on yet another round of hacking. Those parts of him still untouched by the burns went pale and clammy as he fell into shock. When he spoke again, the death-rattle was present in his voice. "No more time, child," he barely managed to whisper. "Please… don't… fail… me…" With a last, agonizing sigh, Lord Vichos Roz passed into the Force.

Wracked with pain, Lemuel Terrocheta Roz fiercely embraced his father's corpse. "I promise you that I won't, Pappan." He went so far as to mentally vow himself to carry out Vichos' request to attempt to heal the rift between himself and Lore'-Gan, but there was no way in hell he was going to show such mercy to the dark-side loquitas. They were to be obliterated at all costs, and Lemuel would not rest until that and his home world's complete liberation was accomplished.

Chapter Three of 'Battlefront'...

2009-11-04T18:49:00.001-08:00

Lambs and Gents, here's the third chapter of my book, which is the first actual chapter (the previous two were prologues). Please enjoy.

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ALPHA CHAPTER

Gorinda Outpost, Bel-Kor'Ivar.

Endez-W'Hot'Mas Jandovar-P'Laez fluttered in mid-air as he gestured toward the hologram with a small, pudgy hand. The young Toydarian easily broke into a grin. "So, Gentles," he began in Huttese in perfect showmanship fashion, "what will be the starting price for this exquisite piece of T'Shanda hardware?"

His first response came as a disinterested spit from an especially lethargic Trandoshan who looked far more eager for his sleep-cycle, which he had passed more than two hours before. "Watto," the saurioid grumbled, using the pet name he knew the Toydarian most detested being called, "what guarantees do you have that the damned thing will continue to work after firing the first ten shots?" Muted guttural laughs of approval filled the dark, musky chamber as the Trandoshan's speculation was well-received.

Endez-W'Hot'Mas let the jibe on his name pass as he took on a hurt expression. "My dear Galurdi, you strike me foul with that statement. I have maintained close, almost familial relationships with each of the manufacturers I deal with. As such, I have not only their fullest assurances as to the proper operation of their respective products but the extent as to how excellently they will work." He effected a smirk, as if to concrete his point.
PAGE 18

"Like that plasma driver you sold to Pinder Station that exploded two days after it was first brought on-line?"

Endez-W'Hot'Mas almost blanched at that statement. Gods, they found out about that fool Janil Kurrise. He regarded the one who had said it, and instantly regretted having done so. It was none other than Sebulba, a particularly wily young Dug whose skill at counterfeit operations and assassination paled only to his deadliness at podracing. "You know, Watto, they're still picking up the pieces all the way out past Myrkr," Sebulba continued. "You've got to be wondering what kind of hell poor Tynda Reevo's catching over this." More muted laughter follwed as the Dug caressed the bare nape of his Vermullian consort, who purred demurely.

"It was an unfortunate mishap for everyone involved," Watto said nonchalantly by way of cover. His tympanic membranes still rang from the brutal, nine-hour-long tongue-thrashing he received from Reevo, who was now facing several indictments brought about by the Gendarme Court of the Galactic Republic for the now-infamous destruction of the waystation/outpost Pinder Station. The action clearly spelled ruination of both Reevo's corporation and of Reevo himself, who was inarguably terrified by all of this. The chances were excellent that if the Court decided to push the matter and Reevo plea-bargained in turn, Watto's name would most definitely be dragged through the hoosegow along with everyone else associated with Reevo.

The Toydarian's easy smile came back as he returned to more pleasant pastures. "Besides, gentles, I have not travelled all this way to the Far Rim to trade mere banter." With deft ease, he hovered down to where a burnished metal crate lay. "We came to look at merchandise." Using a coder-remote, Watto popped the lock on the crate's lid. He subsequently accessed a command-input panel and watched along with everyone else as the weapon itself was brought forth on pneumatic jacks. He particularly relished the thrill of anticipation as it rose through several of his audience members immediately soon afterward. The Toydarian's grin widened in approval. "Who would like the honor of testing the weapon first?"

"We wouldn't." The voice from which the statement came sounded acutely disembodied, as if from a near-corpse. Everybody faced about, completely startled.

The obsidian-robed Gawain Defender De'Nim Windu stood flanked by two powerfully-looking sector rangers in red duty armor. He broke into an easygoing smile that accentuated the dashing wholesomeness of his ebony features. "Gentles," he said in a broad voice that was surprisingly lively for one descended from the Jedi, "I would advise you to stand down expeditiously before someone gets hurt." As he said this, De'Nim casually waved a hand before his already-captive listeners.

A portion of the gathered seemed to instantaneously go mentally limp, as if in a trance. However, on the other hand, those who weren't held under sway promptly went into defensive mode as hands, tentacles and other appendages bound forth loaded with every conceivable type of energy weapon. "Fat chance--!" someone screamed in the language of the Gand as the outlaws opened fired. With strength born of desperation, Endez-W'Hot'Mas Jandovar-P'Laez pulsed his tiny wings madly, making a mad dash for the nearest available exit, an ill-tendered ventilation chute.

What energy wasn't absorbed easily in the ensuing firefight easily deflected off the sector rangers' armor as they returned the gunplay with equal vengeance. De'Nim swiftly parted his cloak as he brought forth his service dramsaber, igniting one end of it with a brilliant silver blade through which he deflected further bombardment. "I'm going after Jandovar," De'Nim called out to Sector Ranger Third Grade Dyyz Nataz, who only nodded in acknowledgment as the young Gawain raced from view.

Outside, near the transference spire network that expunged the waste-exhaust produced by the whole of Gorinda Outpost, Watto huffed stertorously as he pumped his fragile wings for all they were worth. Through stinking alleyways, steaming pipelines and rickety metal latticework, the Toydarian's only thought was of escaping aboard his Alderaanian corvette and getting the living hell off-planet as hurriedly as possible. Before long, he crested above the transference plant and noticed with sizeable delight that the spaceport was only a few hundred meters away. Putting on a burst of adrenaline, he made for it…

…and was immediately brought to a halt by a wildly-furling ball of black fabric that somersaulted over his head, landing less than two meters away. The ball unfolded itself to reveal De'Nim Windu, who looked more authoritative this time; more succinctly, he looked as if he were about to strike at the slightest instant.

The Toydarian nearly defecated his trousers as cold fear shot through him. "Wh-What do you want--?" He said this in a sharp, keening tone of voice. Backing away from the Jedi as steadily as possible, Watto kept his body in a partial profile as his three-fingered hand stealthily moved toward the hold-out blaster he kept hidden beneath his jacket.

De'Nim Windu casually strode towards Watto as he continued. "I'm not looking for anything specific from you, per se. However, the Gendarme Court of the Republic would like to make a request of you."

"What kind of request, Jedi?" Watto sneered malevolently. The intrusion by the Jedi had Reevo's claw-marks all over it, and it sent him into such a rage that it was difficult for the Toydarian to keep himself in check. "I've done nothing wrong."

"Apparently the Court sees that a little differently, Squin Jandovar," De'Nim countered, using the proper honorific used to distinguish Toydarians of the business trade. "According to their investigation of Master Reevo, it was discovered that you had an almost-exclusive contract with his corporation to sell goods, all of which were known to be significantly defective in varying degrees." He went on to cite examples. "Besides the Pinder Station incident, I believe there was a fusion compiler you sold to Gengas-Ki Industries' Range Division? It caused a network meltdown six days after being initialized, thus forcing that particular section into a 786% loss of total revenue, which in turn forced part of the Gantiir Sector into economic dependency. Or how about the mason diffractor that was delivered to Solanas Prime whose ignition core was so unstable it deprived three continents of power for more than a week?" Seeing that this was having an effect on Watto, De'Nim carefully changed tactics. "The Court has charged me to suggest to you a way in which you may… ameliorate yourself. To begin with, it would appreciate your sharing everything about your dealings with Master Reevo in exchange for--"

Watto's ire was instant. "You want me to rat, is that it, Jedi--?" He swallowed hard against the bile that rose from his foregut. "As your fine sense of all-knowing should tell you, I am a man with a reputation to protect. A very serious reputation. If I decided to tell what I know to the authorities, my livelihood and my life wouldn't stand much of a chance past a week. Reevo's a powerful individual with many friends in positions of influence, people who do not like having their business streamed everywhere and would welcome the soonest opportunity to silence anyone willing to even breath a word against them." His eyes took on a particularly devilish cast as his hand found and twisted around the short handle of the hold-out blaster. "Allow me to ask this-- what will the Republic do to me if I choose to hold my tongue?"

De'Nim sighed introspectively as he crossed his arms before him. "There's nothing that mandates me or my superiors in forcing you into this action. However, you should consider that in rejecting this offer, the Court may order several punitive actions against you, with the very least being the revocation of your tradesman's license and the execution of a forty-year-sentence for the violations I've already stated." He paused a moment, gauging the Toydarian's demeanor. "What will it be?"

"Bok'Ra Ta'Vangi S'Hut--!" Watto screamed in his native Tyese as he whipped out the hold-out blaster and fired several shots in rapid succession--

--which were all deflected by the struck end of De'Nim's dramsaber with ridiculous ease. With his free hand, the young Gawain reached out with the Power of the Force and called Watto's weapon from the Toydarian's hand.

De'Nim closed the gap between himself and the now-terrified Toydarian merchant in several quick paces. "Are we ready to listen now, Squin Jandovar?" he said with near-sympathy as Watto's face collapsed in resignation, his imagination seeing only the worst. De'Nim retrieved and subsequently activated his personal comlink. "Windu to Calamarain. Subject Jandovar-P'Laez has been acquired."

"Well done," came the pleasant female response. "There's more good news on this end also. The Masters' Council on Coruscant just signalled." A short grin followed. "It's a given, kiddo."

De'Nim's eyes actually flashed at that. "Perfect."

( * * * )

The Jedi Temple, Coruscant.

Colna Ardaugh raced through the hallowed halls of the Jedi Temple as she made her way back to the dormitory suite she shared with Sirette Rivossa, her closest friend of nearly twenty years and fellow paladin trainer. Sirette, who was undergoing the benocque trials of ascension, was due back any time now and Colna was most eager to about how the day's sessions went. Her thoughts matched her present speed as she considered for what seemed the millionth time the honor that would befall Sirette once the trials were successfully completed-- she would be elevated to the level of Ma'ardi Valkyrie and join the esteemed ranks of those female brethren strong with the Force who were charged with the caring and protection of the worlds and citizenry of the Galactic Republic, as were their Jedi brothers.

The young Nubian beauty solemnly sighed as she tossed the end-part of that thought inside her mind. Caring for and protecting the Republic. It shamed her somewhat that she felt no small measure of envy towards her best friend. For as long as she could remember, Colna Ardaugh desperately wanted to be part of that larger group. In her dreams, she had visited more than once the thousand-thousand worlds of the Republic, imagining herself as a Ma'ardi Sister bringing justice and order to those worlds and finding new life which had yet to be discovered; her baccalaureate major was in zoological anthropology, and one of her earliest influences towards that decision was the articles published by the great Jedi xenologist Ganji Alla Apso.

Yes, she had often mused with herself, the life of laws and sciences was the only way to proceed, because at the very least they provided a blueprint for successful achievement, and that appealed to the high-minded Colna. On the opposite hand, Sirette, who was far more gregarious and outgoing than Colna was or would probably ever be, often argued with Colna that life was best lived randomly, with as much fun and gusto as mortally possible.

This made Colna smile as she considered how she and Sirette often laughed at the differences that made them so close. Sirette was bold and circumspect where Colna was modest and introspective to the point where she sometimes took herself a little too seriously. Besides being a full ten years older than Colna, Sirette was also the more impulsive of the two, sometimes going as far as speaking her mind with the elders when a closed mouth and a more subtle approach would have been a better recourse. Sirette was also more physically lithe than Colna, and their sparring exercises together often forced the younger woman to improvise almost instantaneously without thought, or else risk getting cleaved by Sirette's deft skill with the lightsaber.

Colna was so deep in thought that she failed to sense another presence coming through the cross-corridor until after she'd bumped into it. "Ohh--!" When she noticed who it was a moment later, she practically turned ashen as she knelt to succor him. "Qui-Gon--! Are you all right?"

Little three-year-old Jedi neowan trainee Qui-Gon Jinn tried his best to smile as he popped to his feet. "I'm all right, Ma'am Colna." Although he spoke evenly enough, was such a look of intensity in the child's eyes that it made Colna pause. Something was going on that was laying heavy on his little heart.

Colna sensed it well as she took Qui-Gon into her arms. "Is there something you would like to talk about, little one?"

"About what, Ma'am Colna?" Qui-Gon said as if a bolt of naked fear had shot through him. It was highly apparent that he did not want to cross into this particular land.

Colna smiled easily, hoping that it would at least halfway ease the baby's present discontent. "About whatever it is that's got you so worried." She leaned in closer. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Qui-Gon Jinn sighed resignedly as he regarded the floor for a long beat. When he looked back up, tears shone in his eyes. "I was just told that I was going to be leaving the Temple."

This caught Colna completely off-guard. She quickly found the safety of a nearby bench and eased onto it. "Leaving the Temple--? How do you mean, Qui-Gon?"

It took a moment for Qui-Gon to find his voice. "Mother Doyenne and Docent Bayn came during the evening recess. After they asked to speak with me in private, Docent Bayn told me that she had wonderful news, that something quite special was going to happen to me." The boy's voice quavered as the tears began to spill. "When she told me what it was, I didn't know what to say, so I kept shut." He crumbled at this point, burying his face in his hands as he began sobbing uncontrollably. "I don't want it to happen--!"

"You don't want what to happen, Qui-Gon?"

The child's response could barely be made out. "Docent Bayn said I was going to become a padawan apprentice." This was followed by another fierce round of sobbing.

Colna had to struggle to suppress her amazement. The revelation floored her; normally, it wasn't until about the age of thirteen when was one was evaluated to be strong enough in the Force to be considered for padawan training. That Little Qui-Gon Jinn himself even made it told Colna that the Masters' Council saw something of great importance and potential in the child's future.

Unfortunately, it proved little consolation to Colna. She was nineteen years old already and, at such a late date, it was doubtfully slim that she would ever be selected for such an honor. But, dreams were dreams, and life wasn't worth living without them. And right now, this poor baby needed more serious attention, for all he saw was that he was going to be taken away from everything and everyone he'd ever known in his short life.

Colna held Qui-Gon even tighter, tenderly stroking his back. "Qui-Gon, do you remember when we spoke in group of what it was to be a Jedi Knight? About how they traveled throughout the galaxy helping people and preserving the laws of the Republic?"

Qui-Gon's pain and ire eased with the careful swiftness of early childhood. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, you've just taken a big step towards being that, little baby," Colna beamed. "You have been selected for what is to many people throughout this temple one of the greatest distinctions any of us can be granted. For one, to be a padawan apprentice means that you'll be traveling the galaxy--"

"Traveling the galaxy…?" Qui-Gon jumped in, bubbling. His pain was practically forgotten now.

"Yes," Colna continued, stroking his ego. "And you'll be seeing new worlds, new lives and more ways of existence than many people will ever see or know in their own lifetimes." She paused a moment as she reflected upon the now-brilliant glow coming over the boy's face. "I envy you, Qui-Gon Jinn. It's not every day that someone with the Force, particularly one so young as yourself, is selected for apprenticeship. I have no doubts whatsoever that when you are called upon to be a Jedi Knight, you will do your Order proud." Colna noted the oncoming twilight as a solemn expression came into her own eyes. "Yes, we all should be so fortunate," she mumbled dispassionately, as if to no one in particular.

Qui-Gon took on an introspective look as he noted Colna's emotional shift. He waited a moment before adding. "You want to be where I'm at, don't you, Ma'am Colna?" He sounded guilty, as if terrified to how she would respond.

Colna schooled her features into a mask of neutrality as a bolt of surprise shot through her, as well as irritation at herself for allowing her guard to be down in such a fashion. Qui-Gon's sense of perception was extraordinary for his youth, and it was the first concrete proof of the boy's early selection for apprenticeship. Because of this, she decided to take the straightforward approach with the child. "Your insight serves you well, little one," she commended. "You have a gift, Qui-Gon, a gift for looking inside people and seeing what's truly in them. It's a most precious thing, and you will be wise to guard it well." She gently caressed the child's face. "I have faith that the one who will teach you will see this also, and that he or she will help further that and all your aims for life." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Now it's high past time you got yourself to bed. Promise me you'll remember what I said?"

"I promise, Ma'am Colna," Qui-Gon agreed eagerly as he returned her kiss. "Good night," he said as he raced off. "And thanks again."

"You're very welcome, baby," Colna waved, watching the boy's retreat until he was gone from sight. Yes, she thought to herself, it was good that the little one was getting such a lucky break. She also made an immediate promise to herself to give an extra fifteen minutes to her sensate-focus exercises she did prior to retiring every night. This would be an act of discipline for allowing herself to get caught as badly awry as she had with Qui-Gon, and she wasn't ever going to allow another child to read her subsurface impressions that closely again. With that, Colna Ardaugh collected her wares, came to her feet and turned the corner into her dormitory suite.

As was expected, the chamber was dark and unoccupied. Using her ability to sense through the Force, Colna easily sidestepped all significant obstacles as she made her way to the dining table.

"You should appeal your case before the Council, Colna."

The voice startled Colna so badly it made her gasp. She quickly turned in the direction from which it came. "Q'Mia--?"

Standing in the doorframe leading onto the balustrade was the slender from of a female clad in the hewn lavender robes of a Ma'ardi paladin. Illumined from behind by the brilliant light radiating from Coruscant's nightscape, Q'Mia Banocles was striking-- fair features inset by aqua-blue eyes and topped by an unkempt mound of burnished amber hair. However, there was a certain malign taint to her beauty and to Q'Mia herself that said to most everyone that saw her: 'Don't play the fool with me. You will regret it.'

"Sorry I startled you," the young Chandrilan cooed as she gingerly glided down from the balustrade. Even in the diminished light, she was smirking in a fashion that said just the opposite. "I was on my way back from evening session when I heard you and Qui-Gon talking." She paused a moment for effect. "Would you like to talk about your problem with me, one adult to another?"

Colna drew back a bit, sensing a bit more from Q'Mia than the desire for a simple chat between associates. She released some of that tension through a tight expression. "With all due respect, Q'Mia, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm a big girl. I can handle my own affairs without having to lean on somebody for support." Especially you, in particular, she wouldn't add and hoped that Q'Mia hadn't perceive this.

Q'Mia smile deepened. "Oh, I'm fully aware of that, Colna." With a delicate touch, she reached out and tenderly took one of Colna's elegant corn-rowed braids between her fingers. "But I also know that I can't think of anyone more deserving of becoming a full Sister than you." She said this as she intently studied the jewel that sat on the end of the braid. "As you're probably already aware, I'm almost completed with my benocque trials. If you'd like, I could request that you become my padawan apprentice." Her smile broadened as she said this; she was practically all too eager for this to happen.

On the other hand, Colna was not thrilled in the least. As a fellow paladin herself, Colna had sat in on many of Q'Mia's training sessions and was rather intimate with her teaching style. With the older children, Q'Mia tended to be coarse and totally myopic in her approach, sometimes being brusque to the point of abrasiveness. She often refused to listen to reason from her pupils and even other paladins as how to modify her program so that life would be much simpler on everyone. As a result, a certain number of her students complained to Mother Doyenne, the rectoress of the neowan school. Fortunately, none of these charges were serious enough to warrant Q'Mia nothing more than a rebuke, and her overall success record in fine-tuning combat perceptibility in her pupils was outstanding and made her practically indispensable. Despite this, however, several of Q'Mia's peers, not excluding Colna and Sirette, saw this and her as a serious risk factor.

"Lights," Colna's voice rasped sharply as the chamber's all-purpose interface network responded. The dimness decreased by several orders of magnitude as Colna's eyes locked hard onto Q'Mia's. "Let go of my hair, Q'Mia," she ordered. It came out more shrilly than she'd intended, which irritated her. "Please."

Q'Mia's smile softened slightly as she slowly lowered her hand. "I'm sorry, Colna," she said, and she was truly apologetic. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just want what's best for you, that's all." The expression in her eyes, although hurt, revealed that there was more left out than what was being mentioned. A lot more.

Colna tried to shove that perception aside in her mind as she quickly sidestepped Q'Mia and hustled over into the small kitchenette she and Sirette maintained. Undaunted, Q'Mia followed her there. "So, am I to take it that you're rejecting my offer?"

Colna fought to keep her breathing moderate as she removed a nutmeat package from the refrigeration unit. "I'm not saying anything definite right now, Q'Mia. I'm honored that you want to instruct me in the finer details, but--"

Q'Mia didn't mince words as she eased a step forward. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?"

Colna stood silently for a few seconds before responding. "Yes. I am, a little." On that, she dropped the nutmeat into a hot-pot, where it sizzled automatically as it began heating up.

Q'Mia eased alongside Colna as she once again tried to appeal to her. "I'm glad that you're honest with me, Colna." She sighed in resignation. "Grant it, I may be a little difficult to get along with and I can also be a bit of a taskmaster with the cubs, but that's no sound reason to turn me away."

Colna decided to confront Q'Mia on that one. "For the sake of conversation I'll concede you that point, Q'Mia. In my opinion, however, on the other hand, you're just a little too driven in your approach towards things. Everything you do must be taken past the Nth Degree, and if anything or anyone gets in your way or doesn't do things to your liking, the depths of Hell itself wouldn't be deep enough to scare them after you got done with them." She nodded sharply. "I don't ever want to be beholding to someone like that, not ever."

Q'Mia placed a hand on Colna's shoulder. "Oh, no, no, Colna. Please don't misunderstand me. I wouldn't be like that at all, not with you. It would be as if we were partners, learning from each other--"

Colna exhaled sharply, still not buying it. "If that's the case, then, I think I should just wait until Sirette attains full status and then I'll ask her."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Baby Sister."

Colna and Q'Mia turned as one person to regard the tall human female leaning against the doorframe of the kitchenette. Slightly smaller than Q'Mia and a few centimeters taller than Colna, Sirette Rivossa would have been considered on many worlds throughout the Republic the epitome of humanoid beauty-- she was heartbreakingly beautiful, with aquiline features offset by large blue eyes. Her platinum-blonde hair was parted in three large braids, two in the front and a queue down the back in the fashion of a Ma'ardi Sister of Corellian descent. Her sandy-hued fighting robes were stained with dirt, grime and even some dried blood. Her face, which was usually bright and ebullient, was tempered with extraordinarily reserved disgust as her gaze fixed itself on Q'Mia. "I see we have company," she addressed to Colna.

Q'Mia's own features sallowed as she in turn acknowledged her rival. "It is not inappropriate to receive guests, even at this supposedly late hour, Sirette. Besides, I was speaking to Colna about a personal matter." She said this in a detached tone, as if Sirette couldn't or wouldn't ever know about such intricacies. The enmity between the pair was almost as old as they were themselves, and the grit rubbed hard.

Sirette wasn't bothered in the least by this as she propped herself away from the doorway and made her way over to the hot-pot to steal a taste of the now-molten nutmeat paste. "I'm not so sure about that, Q'Mia. Given the way you just show up out of the blue into other peoples' quarters and start pushing them into things before they're ready, it makes one wonder." She regarded Q'Mia with a pointed look as she licked her fingertip in a semi-lascivious manner.

Q'Mia's eyes darkened. She turned to Colna. "I will be leaving now, Colna. At some point in the near-future, I would appreciate us continuing our conversation." Her gaze slid back to Sirette as she went on. "Hopefully it will be at a time when we're least likely to be disturbed." With that said, Q'Mia Banocles turned on her heel and strode from the kitchenette. A few seconds later, the subdued swoosh of the suite's main entrance activating marked her departure altogether.

Colna smirked at Sirette as the older woman harrumphed. "Why did you do that, Sirette? She was only talking to me."

Sirette reached for an empty bowl, scooping out a handful of paste. "Aren't I the brute when I have to be?" She said with mock-vicious intent, smacking her lips loudly in approval. "Bitch always does get on that last nerve whenever I see her. Where's the looja sauce?"

Colna nodded in utter bewilderment as she passed the requested condiment. "You are cold, girlfriend."

After grabbing some nutmeat paste herself, Colna followed Sirette back into the guest room as Sirette continued. "I was just doing my job, Colna. Besides, somebody's got to keep that nasty old squillor at bay before she has a chance to do the one thing you'll end up regretting for the rest of your life."

Colna sighed warily as she and Sirette crashed onto the sofa. "You know, I would really be happy if everybody would just stay the hell out of my business. Like I just told her," she gestured with her thumb at the now-closed main entry, "I can take care of myself when I have to."

Sirette's face broke into a breathtaking smile. "For as long as we've known each other, I've never doubted you for an instant, chum. We've sparred too many times together for me not to be convinced of that a long time ago." Sirette's smile became impish. "However, most folks in the situation you were just in usually are grateful when a little help comes along to help clear the sewage from the drift."

"I'm aware of that, Sirette, and it's not that I'm thankful, but--" she fell short as she made a disgusted clucking sound. "Dammit."

Sirette was all-concern in an instant. "What's wrong, Colna?"

Colna paused at first, then finally relented. "I'm frightened, Sirette. I'm scared that I'll never escape this life of… stable purgatory. I mean, I enjoy my classwork and working with the runtlings, but I'd like something more before I get too old."

Sirette responded with an easy, all-knowing smile. "Heard about Qui-Gon Jinn's good fortune and took it to heart, didn't we?"

Colna's head snapped sharply toward Sirette. The elder Ma'ardi's insight bothered her so much that she bit her bottom lip to keep from openly trembling. It took her a moment to find her voice, which was unsteady as she spoke. "For all the years we've known each other, Sirette, you've been one of the few people that knows that the only thing I've ever wanted outside of a successful life was to learn the greater joys of the Force under someone else's wing." She paused then, overcome by emotion. "I know that being a paladin instructor qualifies me for the trials in a few years' time, but I'm not interested in that. I want… I want…" the rest died in her throat as Colna's body instantly crumpled.

It was Sirette's turn to react as she rushed to succor her closest friend, using the Touch of the Force to soothe Colna's tortured psyche. "There, there," she crooned softly as she winced at what her mind's eye saw. It surprised her that after all the years of knowing Colna, she hadn't realized her friend's desire for a mother-figure in her life would be this overpowering. This was affirmed as Colna squeezed Sirette tightly, as if holding on for dearest life.

As Sirette cradled Colna's head against her breast, she was determined to do something-- anything-- to alleviate her friend's pain. And, no matter how much she detested the individual from which the idea came, Sirette was determined to plead Colna's case before the Council of the Jedi Masters. And she was for certain that they would listen.

Part Two of 'Battlefront'...

2009-11-03T19:42:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, here's the second part of my story.
I'll continue with the rest tomorrow night.

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SECONDARY PROLOGUE

The old one was still running, his triplicate heart beating furiously to supply power to a body so ancient that if it weren't for his skill in the Force, he would have collapsed in an instant. Through a cloying miasma of forest vines, sulfuric bogs, clotted streams and biting insects, he continuously reached out to find the appropriate path away from the danger that was pursuing him.

He had been hard at it for several hours now, ever since his one-man explorational cruiser had been shot down over the moon that was now his prison. The twin suns had passed their noonday zenith; the already-oppressive humidity spiked to its maximum and made breathing a living nightmare, not to mention that his robes were laden with perspiration which made running difficult. He tried to push the sensations away as he focused his attention elsewhere, namely recalling the reason why he had come to this hellish world.

Even though the old man was a Jedi Knight, one of that esteemed and noble breed strong in the ways of the Force who were the vanguards of the Republic, he was also by profession a planetologist, albeit a noted one as well. His sole mission in life was to uncover as much as he could about the evolution of various worlds, and particularly those that lay outside the Republic's purview. Almost upon the very moment he attained full Knighthood, he purchased a small craft in battered condition, restored it and took to the stars in pursuit of his childhood dream-- to explore Wild Space and the Unknown Regions, making his name in the cause of bringing new knowledge of hidden worlds to a desiring population back home.

As fortune would have it, he had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. In more than a century-and-a-half, he had made his name over numerous times, bringing tales and proof of planets so distant and mysterious as to be previously only speculated about, of creatures and flora that defied all natural description of what life should be, and yet had survived and thrived. Much to his occasional chagrin, his celebratory status had spread far beyond the holographed page and lecture halls; on more than one happenstance, he had been invited into the garish residences of the Republic's aristocracy at the parties and receptions those peoples always seemed to have, giving his insights to the many politicians and captains-of-industry who were interested in exploiting these worlds' vast natural resources. On the other coin, he did see the bright side to these interruptions as well, as several of these influential people became sponsors of later forays and he could count on their further assistance if he ever got into a bind.

Two weeks before his current unfortunate debacle, the old Jedi was in the process of beginning a concentrated search for midi-chlorian percentiles in the sector where this world had been located. Upon his initial arrival from hyperspace, he was startled to discover when upon using the Force to sense out lifeform variables, there was an extraordinary dearth of midi-chlorian interaction on as well as between the native worlds, each of which had forms of life no greater than base-level primates. Yet, when he followed up these cursory glances with directed-probe searches, many of the habitable worlds revealed ruins that were indicative of previous life on a significant technological plane, such as the former Jedi stronghold of Ossus. Undaunted, the old one took his ship in towards the one world with the greatest level of ancient development, a forest moon in a binary system whose orbit lay well inside the stars' temperate zone.

On the instant he entered orbit, however, The Problem came on with blinding speed.

His ship's sensors barely had enough time to register another vessel in collision range as twin packets of coherent plasma streaked from out of nowhere and slammed into the explorer's hyperdrive generator. The impact corrupted the delicate matter/antimatter mix so extensively that the Jedi was forced to eject in his ship's salon pod mere seconds before the remains of the generator collapsed, resulting in a monumental explosion. He screamed in indignation as he watched his former home vaporize, scores and countless scores of valuable and irreplaceable research devoured in the fireball that followed the blast. Once originally never the sort to begrudge anything or anyone, the old one swore vehemently to every deity in his descendant race's religions that whomever did this would live to regret it.

If only he could have seen ahead in the few hours that were left to him, he would have gladly held his peace.

Following the rough landing, he managed to struggle out of the salon pod and take a quick mental bearing of his surroundings. In support of the probe reports, this moon was a rugged world, and the particular area where the salon pod crash-landed was covered by a thick, deciduous forest comprised mostly of pelifer trees so compacted that the forest floor was relatively clear of animal life and other foliage. The one striking aspect was that, even in the pre-dawn darkness, the air was so thick with moisture that it was bound to become uncomfortably humid as the day wore on. After he sent out a thought-pulse that he desperately wished would reach the mind of any other fellow Jedi in nearby space, the old one gathered his survival gear and whatever equipment he could salvage to begin what research he could on this world; despite his predicament, he was still a scientist and he would faster be damned before passing up the opportunity to study something new.

About an hour into his trek, the old Jedi began to detect subtle ebbings in the natural flow of the Force which was produced by the lifeforms on this particular moon. Initially, the ebbings were so slight that it barely disturbed him. But within time the twinges became more distinct, and it wasn't before long that the old Jedi perceived the unmistakable edge that danger was lurking not too far behind him. He continued registering his finds as he brought his senses up a few stages on the alert level, allowing whatever was out there to get a little closer before giving it a good whack with the Force to let it know firsthand that this old son wasn't quite so helpless.

That moment came several seconds later when he felt the strongest tug yet against his mind. It was a powerful, vise-like grip that seized the old Jedi's brain so suddenly and with such violence it caused him to stumble to his knees, gasping. He clenched his head as he fought to regain clarity; he was not going down like this, not without a fight. When most of his focus returned moments later, he chanced opening his eyes. What he discovered standing before him put such a shock into him that the old one feared he would lose what sanity he had left inside him.

Standing less than ten meters away was a mysterious figure, much younger than the old Jedi with a powerful build that was easily discernible beneath the deep obsidian cloak it wore about the shoulders. However, the most startling aspect about the creature was its face, which was fully exposed when the creature removed the deep cowl from its head. The skin was a painted mask of livid tangerine that was touched off by a set of cold platinum-steel eyes that seemed to glow of their own volition. As it slowly approached the Jedi, it didn't take much to discern from its expression that this creature considered his elderly counterpart as something much less than prey but as an insignificant nuisance that needed to be blotted out of existence. It also didn't take much figuring out that this apparition was one of the enigmatic Dark Lords of the Sith, the ancient enemies of the Jedi Order whose influence in the galaxy was believed to have been eradicated nearly a millenium before.

A deep, malevolent grin escaped the Sith Lord as he slowly parted his cloak to reveal a brilliant gray fighting outfit whose close fit and flared cuffs accentuated his Machiavellian appearance. A bright chrome dramsaber, the dual-ended lightsaber that was the traditional weapon of the Sith Order, hung from his waist. With a calm steadiness, the younger Force-wielder removed the dramsaber and ignited it, both ends extruding with deep vermilion blades of light. Overcoming his astonishment through brute force of will, the old one came slowly to his feet. With deftness-of-hand he brought forth his own lightsaber, igniting it just as the Sith Lord swung his weapon in a wide arc that the old Jedi met with his own lavender blade; it surprised him that it took almost every bit of strength he had inside him just to counter the blow.

His opponent was aware of it as well as the younger man started slashing in a series of precise, powerful strokes designed to subdue the old Jedi as quickly as possible. However, the elder man's long experience and skill with his own weapon proved him more than an equal to the Sith's raw strength, if though just barely. The thrill of the battled energized the old man as he allowed the Force to guide him, directing his focus completely upon his adversary.

The Sith's brow furrowed in anger as he continued pressing the attack. For one nearly as ancient as these damnable ruins, the old bastard was putting up one hell of a struggle. This also impressed him; the chi'ruu was not going to take his end lying down. Reaching out so subtly with his own command of the Force so that his opponent wouldn't be able to detect his maneuver, the Sith sought a suitable object by which to strike him…

The old one jerked as the fist-sized stone that streaked from the forest floor struck his temple with such savagery that he momentarily lost consciousness. He felt his footing give way as his body propelled itself toward the ground.

He regained his senses at the last second just before the Sith Lord's blade followed down to finish him off. Using the Power of the Force, the old one hurled himself away from the blade upon the instant it struck the bare ground where he would have been, allowing it to cast him up into a pelifer branch twelve meters above. He collapsed against the tree once he secured his footing; it had been decades since he had exerted himself with such intensity, and the effort was punishing. He reflexively touched the side of his head where he had been struck, drawing away blood as that entire side of his head seared with pain. It was only then that he realized he no longer had his lightsaber.

The Sith Lord looked up at him as he deactivated his dramsaber. In his opposite hand was the Jedi's lightsaber, which he proffered to the old man with an expression of mock pity. In the space of a single heartbeat the look turned to cold stone as the Sith brought up his free arm in a full summation of his own Force powers.

The old Jedi planetologist held on to the pelifer tree for dear life as a vicious gale tore around him, forcing him to shield his eyes as bits of flotsam from the forest floor peppered his face. Once more invoking his own ability in the Force, the old man leapt from his perch, somersaulted over the Sith Lord and reclaimed his lightsaber in nearly less time than it took for a living being to have a thought. Not giving himself time to relax, the old Jedi employed the Push of the Force to hurl his startled opponent away from him as far as he could. Realizing that seconds spared from sparring were moments added to his life, the Jedi charged into the deeper recesses of the forest.

Five hours later, the exhaustion that drove through his innards threatened to burst them as his arms and legs throbbed with the exertion, and it was proving beyond measure to breath the now-scorching, moisture-laden air. The one asset was that the agony throughout his body continued to maintain his desperate focus, but his extended exposure to this steambath-of-a-moon was starting to cloud over his better judgment. His resistance finally piqued as he crashed through a stinking, low-water bog, managing to trip over a partially-exposed root in the process. Completely spent, he slogged into the muck.

Several seconds later, his heat-addled mind barely registered the scream that came from above him.

The Sith Lord bellowed a war-cry as he streamed down from on high, his features alight with brilliant rage as he swung down with his re-ignited dramsaber.

With a desperate surge of Force-induced adrenaline, the old Jedi leapt from the bog and lit his own lightsaber in a flowing gesture that terminated as his blade rasped against one of the Sith Lord's own as he landed before him adjacent to the steaming bog. This sparked off another furious sortie as each man parried and thrusted with almost demoniacal fury, pushing each other deeper into the darkness created by the over-arcing foliage, the thunder of their clashing blades resonating throughout the forest.

Moments later the pair crashed into an opening, the intensity of their battle frightened many of the smaller lifeforms into scurrying for safe haven. The old Jedi, truly taxed beyond the limits of his endurance, was now faltering as the Sith graciously plowed at him, forcing the old one to give everything he had left inside him to avoid the bite of his opponent's blades. His focus, or what was left of it, was almost totally gone, and the stress of trying to keep this madman from overpowering him were taking its toll. What was even worse was that the Sith son-of-a-bitch also knew it as well, acknowledging his adversary with a deliciously cool smile.

Taking advantage of the old man's wavering abilities, the young Sith Lord performed a rapid, reverse-spin kick that caught the old Jedi high in the chest, sending him off his feet and into another pelifer tree more than ten meters away. The old man screamed as his back broke under the impact. Hoisting his dramsaber as if it were a javelin, the eternal enemy of the Jedi Order hurled his weapon at the old man, where it buried itself to the hilt through the Jedi's solar plexus. Another, more potent scream issued from the old one as a gout of blood followed behind it. As Ganji Alla Apso felt himself merge with the Great Light that was the Bright Side of the Force, his final thought before leaving this plane of existence forever was something not even his attacker would fathom, not even in a million lifetimes-- everything would be made right in the universe very, very soon.

The triumphant Sith Apprentice crossed the short distance to the fallen Jedi as a resplendently smug expression creased his lips. Despite his great age, the old Jedi had held his ground extraordinarily well. His noble order would have been proud of him, and they would have doubtlessly rewarded him if time hadn't proved the better victor. Without as much as a forethought, he drew the dramsaber from the Jedi's torso as he recovered Apso's own saber, giving the weapon a cursory glance. It was of good make and sturdy construction, most worthy of the one who had wielded it. He now had proof to show that he had bested his first Jedi Knight in combat, something that would make his master proud enough to award him the title of Sith Lord as well as his clan name, the one name that would forever link him to the glorious allegiance of the Sith.

He would be called… Darth Sidious.

I've decided to share of myself...

2009-11-03T19:14:00.000-08:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, once again I am part of the unemployed world again after working for a whole solid week. I have no shame or regret about it, because I know with all the friction going on presently in my life (credit cards, no steady incomes, a busted vehicle, etc.), I know there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and I'm just "holding out 'til my change comes", as the old church-folk used to put it, and things WILL get better, given time and focus. Well, I actually have no complaints, as I've just finished a week-long gig at an old entertainment firm I'm still rather fond of--they're a good crew, and I wish them all the best.

However, the reason I'm writing tonight is that I just looked at another friend's blog where she's published some of her own reviews and insights, and I must say that she has quite a talent for it (I'd make mention of the sight, but I don't have her permission, and I believe in protecting people's anonymity -- however, I will say to this person that she's doing a good job in pursuing her writing skills, and I commend anyone with that kind of focus).

On that, and given the fact that my sister's emailed me some information for the National Novel-Writing Month (a.k.a. NOW, November), I've decided to pull up some old stuff that I fiddled with more than ten years ago, and have decided to share with you. As many people who know me know, I am NOT someone who shares lightly of himself; it sometimes literally takes years before I open myself to anyone, but sometimes it's necessary to risk if one is to grow. You can literally drive yourself nuts with fear of the unknown to the point that you end up literally lobotomizing yourself, and I'm too close to 40 now to endure that kind of foolishness much longer. So, without further ado, allow me to express the first few chapters of a 'Star Wars' book that started when I took my then six-year-old niece to see 'The Phantom Menace', and I ended up watching her the entire time with the same amazement when I first saw 'A New Hope' when I was her exact age.

I hope you will enjoy.
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STAR WARS: HEROINE'S SOJOURN

BOOK TWO: BATTLEFRONT

By

David Leon Sullivan, Jr.

(Based upon original characters and situations created by George Lucas)

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SIXTY-ONE YEARS BEFORE
THE BATTLE OF NABOO…

PRIMARY PROLOGUE

It was a cold night on Mount Aetnyr, typical of most here on this barren desert satellite known as Crodon. The flaming lemon-yellow hub of its gas giant motherworld, ke'Vodas, loomed like an omniscient eye, its sheer bulk consuming more than three-quarters of the viewable sky, revealing turbulent splendor amidst occasional staccato flashes of light from the electrical storms that constantly ravaged its surface.

The mouth that could be seen beneath Olvina Imitross' pale woven cloak curled into an introspective smile as she considered the bloated apparition before her. Though it was not as widely regarded as the mere existence of the planet itself, it was known that ke'Vodas' unusual radiance was caused by stellar excitation of the liquid nurturium that comprised the planet's exosphere. In its raw state, nurturium was a violently unstable element with a low-range ignition temperature, which barely made it useful as a plasma catalyst for starship sublight drives and artillery-grade weaponry. However, this world had so much of it that if conditions were only minutely altered, it could easily be converted into a low-output sun. It was this fact alone that drove Imitross and her brethren to exist here, so that they could perform their greatest experiment yet-- through their control of the Force, they would push ke'Vodas along the evolutionary track and make the present climate significantly more tolerable.

"Ladyship." The voice that addressed Imitross had the stern cadence of military bearing, along with an edge of arrogance that was a distinctive quality of that training. "There is a transmission awaiting you from Lord Rasher."

Imitross sighed quietly at ke'Vodas, wishing solemnly that tonight would be the night for the great experiment to be carried out. Slowly she turned to regard the one who summoned her, noting automatically that the younger woman remained respectfully bowed. "Route the broadcast here," she responded in a deep brogue rich with the imposing presence her station allowed.

The younger woman stood erect. She was no more than a girl in her late teens, dressed in a dark crimson fighting outfit that emphasized her muscular physique. She was beautiful in a way that was strikingly intense, particularly in the heavily-mascaraed eyelashes that marked her position as an intermediate-level adept and which accentuated the bristling ferocity within her sea-green eyes. "It shall be as you wish." A curt nod, a quick switch of the heel and she was gone.

Imitross studied the girl's retreat until she was gone from eyesight. Ethelyn was a promising child whose talent in the Force was exceptional for one still in the process of learning her craft, but her occasional impetuousness sometimes caused consternation amongst the older sisters. The Grand Arch-Maiden of the Ardith Heirline decided in that instant that she would take Ethelyn on as a kind of pet project for herself, giving the girl only as much guidance as she dared until some of her more base instincts could be honed.

Imitross turned at the familiar shimmering sound of the incoming transmission. She came face-to-face with the commanding presence of Darth Rasher, one of the mysterious Dark Lords of the Sith. Like his counterpart, the Sith Lord was also clad in a woven cloak, but it was of a dark crimson hue fringed with ebony highlights. A silver ornamental clasp bound the cloak at the throat, and what features could be seen beneath the deep cowl was a neatly-trimmed salt-and-pepper beard whose mouth was pursed in the grim line of one who was constant in his wariness of all things.

The voice that thundered forth had a low, gravelly quality to it, and it was thoroughly imbued with vicious intent. "Lady Imitross, my spies on Roonibar have reported increased activity along the Vindu headlands." The timbre of his voice intensified as his anger coarsened. "They also report that outland interlopers who have only recently arrived are inciting the populace at various municipal centers to riot against their local governments. Before their immediate loss-of-contact, several were able to tell that these interlopers were all humanoid females clad in strange raiment and possessed lightsabers." A pause for effect. "Would you mind explaining to me why certain events are being accelerated?"

Imitross folded her arms before her as she gave the slightest tilt of her head. "Well, Lord Rasher," she began, and there was the gentlest hint of condescension in her tone. "I am sorry that your loyal servants particularly failed to inform you that the distaff Amiel party was arranging to make concessions with the Congress of the Republic in order to secure aid against their struggle with the Xim'Ich'lu, the matter of which you were already supposed to have settled." Imitross felt a bubble of cruel amusement rise inside her as the line of Darth Rasher's mouth became even tighter. It was such a pleasure to see the old krik upstaged when he least expected it to happen. "If those concessions had passed vote in the Senate, the resulting military action would have constricted inter-system travel, not to mention that the Xim'Ich'lu would have been thoroughly chastised. And since Roonibar is a restrictive exporter of vendi fruit and lytalin, the Republic would have been forced to sanction a trade embargo as payment for said support, thus bringing planetary commerce to a near-halt. Our covert exhumation of the Gai'Bu Xo'That artifact would have been disrupted as well."

She paused momentarily, taking the conversation in a new direction. "Besides, it had been so long since your last communicae that steps had to be taken to ensure the success of the project." Imitross' voice became sibilant as she eased one step forward. "If you would pardon the request, could you please humor me as to the cause of your delay?"

Darth Rasher remained motionless for what seemed a small eternity before responding. "I have been detained by a personal affair that is now nearing completion," he intoned with a stern yet oddly tired indifference. It was apparent from the Sith Lord's countenance that this contact was being taken with great trepidation, and that he considered his opposite number as someone whom he would have easily disdained if not for her importance to the current plan-in-motion. "I will be monitoring your progress. Etrat," he concluded with the Sith gesture of success and the apparition of Darth Rasher dissolved into nothingness.

Imitross sighed quietly at the welcoming silence that followed. The man can be such an overbearing fool. But even overbearing fools have their uses, and there are even times when reminding them of their shortcomings can be so delicious.

She reflected upon what she knew of the entity of Darth Rasher, which was extensive given his intricate machinations into the political affairs of the Republic. It was to his credit that so much array and disarray could be controlled for as long as he had done so, but Imitross' perceptions into the Force told her that after ninety-three years of service in both the Sith Order and his public life, Darth Rasher's health was finally beginning to break. And, at the rate of his breakdown, she suspected that the personal affair he had hinted of involved the hastened grooming of his replacement.

The Grand-Archmaiden of the Ardith Heirline crossed her arms behind her as she resumed her observation of ke'Vodas. It was quite a pity the old fool was suffering, but it paled next to the glory that was certain to come with the production of the Gai'Bu Xo'That. And once its infinite power was tapped, nothing, not even Darth Rasher and the pitiful Jedi Knighthood combined, could stop the Ardith in their takeover of the Galactic Republic.

A smirk of naked pride slashed a wicked curve of Imitross' mouth and she purred delectably in acknowledgment. "Success, indeed."

Living alone... it sometimes sucks, but you learn to live with it...

2009-10-15T17:21:00.001-07:00

Hey, again. It's about time to add some more spice to the mix, and I'm writing again from the solitary place that is my home office (which I also proudly call my 'ready room'). The title above sums up a lot of how I've felt, lately--when you're in 'job limbo' and you've got a lot of spare time on your hands, you realize just how much of it you can waste, which is sometimes very, very frightening. When I wrapped up my last full-time gig this past June, I had no idea that I was going to have THIS much time off. Thank God for the occasional family help and the pop-up gig here and there. You begin to appreciate how much this works off critical things when it comes time to pay bills and the rent.

Okay, enough of that balderdash. The real reason I'm writing today is that I want to share something I normally don't, and that is learning to live alone. I am 39 years old (which doesn't scare me one bit, as I'm looking forward to the big 4-0 next year), and at this point I've been living solo ever since I got here in sunny ol' Nutville (a.k.a. Los Angeles, California), which has been about eight-and-a-half years, now. Since then, I've managed to pull down three apartments--from a studio-efficiency in Venice to a one-bedroom to, now, a two-bedroom pad here in Crenshaw--and I've managed to do a bit of growing along the way. All-in-all, it's been a pretty good existence, but as I've heard a few friends say, more than once, "It's hard to shake the loneliness, living in this town." Unfortunately, that is a true statement. And if you happen to be involved in the Entertainment industry, like this poor soul writing you, that experience becomes amplified.

I guess it's part of the mystique of the town, along with any other city or place in the U.S., but it seems like so many people project so often, they've come to accept their facades as their true selves. And as someone who tends to be VERY sensitive to such things, it makes trust look like a sick joke. Folks get caught up in their parts, find relationships and other connections via the same, and when the rare bit happens when their facades drop and they discover each other's true selves, it's worse than a cold slap in the face. We've come to depend on our acts as archers depend on their shields to defend them in combat, and the battlegrounds tend to be not only our workplaces and schoolhouses, but in our everyday gatherings and even, sadly, our homes and even loved ones.

It's no wonder the divorce rate and social instability flourish.

I guess I'm being too harsh, and if I've offended anyone, I sincerely apologize. I guess what I'm trying to get at is that one of the reasons I've chosen to be alone is because of growing up through such instances and seeing the mental havoc they wreak upon people, especially over a long period of time. I know too many bipolar folks, especially ladies, I've personally known that have tried too strongly to live up to labels only to have been consumed by them. And because of those experiences, many of which were and sometimes still are hell for me, I've chosen to take the lonely road.

Yes, there are days I still long to have a personal relationship and warm friends--and having a puppy does take away the immediate emotional hurt (props to you, Micah-man)--but it's best to be oneself at times, too. If you live alone, your life is your own. A lot of decisions, both long and short, fall upon you to execute them, and sometimes it'd be nice to have some help (try moving three times almost entirely BY yourself--it's no fun, believe me), to the proper mind, it teaches resourcefulness and responsibility, and there's even a chance to develop common sense along the way if you're receptive. You have no choice BUT to be quiet and 'feel the flow of the events to come', as Obi-Wan Kenobi would say.

Well, my stomach's grumbling at the moment, and I've yet to eat supper. I'm gonna wrap off here, and write you back a little later.

Respects,
DLS JR

Why I'm doing this NOW...

2009-09-27T20:13:00.000-07:00

Sunday, 27 September 2009
8:59PM

First of all, Hello, everyone. My name is David, and this is my very first blog. I've always read these musings online, and have discovered many things that some folks, those who are mainly and happily self-contained as myself, would only mention while in the company of close confidantes. And now, I finally get the opportunity to add my own voice to the ether.

Why am I doing this, first of all. The biggest reason I'm doing this is to motivate myself from brooding inside my shell too much. For as long as I can remember, I've always been happiest when I wasn't dealing too much with people, when folks leave you be and still respect you for who you are. Being that I'm a "black male" (suave choice of words, here), there's a lot of impositions on you when folks meet you. I am also NOT a small fellow, and when the concepts of 'big' and 'black' are combined (besides the obvious sexual contexts), many people assume that you're from somewhere unsavory, seething with naked rage, ready on the instant with attack. I know many folks like this, big and small of all creeds and sexes, who suffer from just this predicament, but I am not one of them (but I do understand where most of their anger comes from, and all it takes is being denied enough times on any level, and the course is set). I am also quiet, which also tends to startle people -- "Why doesn't he speak out...? What's his problem...? Why he ain't like the rest of us...?", not to mention the funny stares. (Oh, the stares. You can take the words most times, but it's the expressions that kill with silent lightning.)

For the most part, I've learned to make peace with those situations, as much as it sometimes hurts, and badly. People who know no better and let the media direct their thinking end up ignorant cannon fodder, and you still believe enough within them that they will eventually take the correct path. I freely say this, because I'm just as guilty of the process, but isn't this world a school where people learn to better themselves...?

Another reason I decided to take this particular journey is that I've just celebrated my 39th birthday over a month ago. Most people have a hangup with aging past 30, because it signifies that time's encroaching, and then they start to panic because they fear loss of vitality and other nonsense. Truth be told, I feel some of the essence of that, but I want to at least have some sort of chronicle to my life before I'm 40 years old (and I will say that I am VERY thrilled to be approaching that particular age). I want the world to know that I exist, and as long as I exist, I have the opportunity to share. I want people to know that I'm alive, and that I'm worthy of this world's best. Anyone in their right mind would be.

Forgive me if this particular entry comes across as skewed and haphazard; it's my first blog. However, there will be more coming, and I'm looking forward to putting my own light into the world.

Peace unto the World, and Peace unto Ourselves.

DLS JR