Site hosted by Angelfire.com: Build your free website today!

Star Wars 0027 - Part VI - Corruption of the Force

Randall J. Morrison

A long time ago, in a galaxy far,
far away . . .

Star Wars 0027
Part VI
Corruption of the Force

The age-old struggle for control and justice in the galaxy is once again under way. Rebel Dominion starfighter fleets have already attempted another strike at the ISA’s House of Lords. Unsuccessful in its destruction, Grand Admiral Sienar has set forth a new expansion project to build on the significantly smaller Rebel fleet.

Meanwhile, Phadrax Monovial, having acquired stable control of the galaxy, moves on to scout the surrounding systems of the Corporate Sector for potential Sith learners. On a nearby planet, one of those candidates awaits, possessing all the characteristics that Monovial has been looking for, and more.

Since the ISA has taken control, galactic citizens have begun to support the Rebel Dominion in their quest to abolish universal despotism. With billions of supporters, Sienar’s expansion mission shan’t be difficult, for many willing applicants are already preparing to join the Rebels, in numbers that could easily triple their current army. . . .

        A sunset grazed over the forests of Ivinsnale and met the eyes of Grand Admiral Leonardo Sienar, staring over the Rebel Dominion complex. It expanded a great deal since the revelation to the ISA three years ago. And as much as their best scouts sought them out, Imperial forces never did discover this compound on Ivinsnale. It was very wise of Admiral Torgon to choose this as a hiding place. But the day of Torgon was long gone, it still remained a mystery as to where he disappeared so many years ago.
        Sienar stood on a rocky ledge that was just outside the shielded complex. He often came to this ledge to calm himself down from the pressures of running this alliance. Staring at the clouds and the planets that lied beyond them was something of an escape for him. An escape that was always interrupted by an officer. Such as was the case now, however it was unconventional to what usually occurred, for the interruption was caused by a Jedi Knight.
        He heard Dominic Artemius call his name from the bottom of the rocky ledge and he turned to face him. The Jedi stood at the bottom, his cloak dragging dust from the forest floor, just outside the shield boundaries of the Rebel complex. “What can I do for you, Dominic,” he addressed him with a professional courtesy that was seemingly disappearing from the Rebel Dominion in recent years.
        “Sir, I believe that you should be assembling a crew to dispatch if you wish to start hiring more hands. As soon as possible,” he said. “I would like permission to coordinate a new part to your expedition, however.” Sienar raised an eyebrow.
        “And what might that be?” he asked. Before Dominic could reply, he cut him off, “you do realize that if it’s not a worthwhile idea, I wish not to spend money on it.” Artemius smiled.
        “Actually, I wish to expand the Jedi Knights further. The Jedi Academy needs some more life. Luke Skywalker’s operation of running it is not nearly as successful as it was ten years ago. The ISA has approached them directly, asking with a considerable amount of force if they knew where we were located,” Artemius explained. “We’re fortunate that nobody was told of the move of the New Republic, or else we would probably be tracked down by n“
        “What are you getting at, Dominic?” Sienar replied abruptly, descending down the ledge and tossing a rock into the nearby trees.
        Artemius sighed. “With your expedition for the seeking of Rebel officers to be trained, I wish to send a separate convoy to search in the Adega system for Jedi potentials. I’m trying to bring life back to the New Jedi Order. Do you understand my goal, Grand Admiral?”
        Sienar chuckled. “Of course I do, Dominic. I have always had great respect for the Jedi Knights, and they would be a great ally to the Rebel Dominion if we could again work in conjunction.”
        “Are you saying that you will finance this expedition then?”
        “Can you provide a crew to seek them out?”
        “Of course. Is there a minimum number allowed?”
        “All I want is a crew that will get the job done efficiently. No matter how many people there are. Who did you have in mind?” Artemius was smiling at their question to question conversation.
        “Only Antioch Fi and myself,” replied Artemius. “We are the only ones qualified to even spot potential Jedi. I will try to contact the Jedi Academy and see if we can work something out to train these Jedi, and possibly ally with the Rebel Dominion.”
        “I’ll prepare it now, Dominic. I think you for your persuasion,” Sienar replied, shaking the Jedi’s hand and dismissing him, watching as the last of his cloak emerged on the other side of the shielded complex.

        *       *       *       *

        Phadrax Monovial didn’t understand. Eleven people, some looking old and wise, some looking young and juvenile, were sitting cross-legged, circling a young man of about fifteen, who was strongly built for his youth and emitted a strange sense of power. That power must’ve been something that created an amount inspiration to these eleven people, because all of them were intent listening to the speech of the young man.
        After much research and listening in on the conversation, Monovial’s predictions had been proven. This young man was indeed training these eleven protégés in the dark side of the Force. A perfect opportunity, Monovial thought. With Reeo Kcranuvelle, it hadn’t worked to give new life to the Sith race. But this young man had experience and knew how to deal with people. So what would Monovial do?attack them!
        He appeared instantly from the bushes he had been hiding under during the duration of the conversation, igniting his double-bladed lightsabre at both sides. Moving quickly, he couldn’t see them, but he heard the ignitions of twelve more energy weapons, all of which would be undoubtedly swinging at him in short time, and that they were. Red blades were everywhere and Monovial had a great deal of difficulty blocking each of the strikes, but managed to find room in the small forested area to use the Force against them.
        He executed a side aerial out of combat and all of the twelve warriors were lined up, ready to continue fighting. Monovial smiled and held his weapon behind him, using his other hand to guide the Force violently into the twelve individuals. Eleven of them went sailing backwards, hitting the ground hard. The young leader remained, still holding his weapon in an attack position, threatening Monovial with the blade.
        For a young warrior, this leader was very courageous, and to Monovial, unwise when he charged forwards stabbing and swinging his lightsabre quickly at the dark foe. Seeing a lightsabre duel between two skilled warriors was a rarity, but even moreso to see it done between opposing red blades, both representing the dark side. Monovial was impressed, but knew that this young warrior could not defeat him.
        Monovial delivered a downstroke, swiping at his opponent’s feet, who jumped the attack, but before he landed Monovial physically pushed him backwards, causing the opponent to land on his back. Instantly he was back on his feet, however, and ready to fight again. But Monovial moved too quickly, turning his body around with both blades of his lightsabre stabbing with incredible precision. Those hard jabs didn’t kill his opponent, but did just barely scorch his chest, causing him to be unable to fight back, but to deactivate his weapon and fall to his knees in pain.
        After a moment of clutching his burnt stomach, the young man returned to his feet and placed his hands at his side. Monovial knew that he wouldn’t fight back, so he turned off his weapon as well, replacing it at the strap on his back. The young man looked up at Monovial, who was considerably taller, and made an honourable bow, safe with the knowledge that Phadrax Monovial was not here to kill him.
        “My name is Sabreeth,” the young man said, “and this fine clan of individuals are the Eleven. They are my friends, and they, like myself, wish to know why you are here.”
        Monovial smiled. “Sabreeth, you seem worthy of whom I seek. I seek a man of your talent who wishes to train further in the ways of the dark side, and become the first in a new generation of the Sith race.”
        “You propose to revive the Sith,” Sabreeth said, nor a question or a statement.
        “Not to revive, but to re-create,” Monovial replied. “The way I see it, young Sabreeth, if the Jedi could be re-created as they were, why not the Sith.”
        “I understand. Forever will the two be locked in an everlasting combat. Mere extinction doesn’t even end this conflict. What do you want me to do?” Sabreeth asked, glancing back at the Eleven, who were intently listening to the conversation.
        “Why are you here, Sabreeth?” Monovial said. “Tell me your story.”

        *       *       *       *

The stands affixed to the bottom of a large freighter, normally used for carrying surface soldiers, retracted and the repulsorlift engines kicked in. Admiral Cygnus10 and his son, Billy Cygnus, stood watching as the ship left the shielded Rebel Dominion complex, carrying the expedition crew for expansion of the Rebel Dominion, and the two Jedi, in search for potentials to expand the culture.
Cygnus turned to his father, exhibiting a standard look of a standard sixteen year-old in a standard agitation that he immediately acknowledged. “Something wrong?” Cygnus10 asked. His teenage son looked away, but responded accordingly.
        “I am old enough now, Father,” he said, “to be officially signed into the Rebel Dominion’s soldier regiment.” Cygnus10 wasn’t thrilled to know that his son had finally brought it up. He truly didn't want to see him killed dishonourably amongst his fellow officers. He had faith in his abilities, but not enough to ever have the courage to sign him up. However, it was no longer his decision, and Cygnus10 respected the fact that his son would even ask permission, because he truly didn’t need it.
        “It’s up to you now, Billy,” he said. “Don’t you understand that?”
        “Well, I don’t want to disappoint you, Father,” his son replied, smiling. “I’d hate to keep too many secrets from you. . .” He was trailing off, indicating that he had obviously been doing something behind Cygnus10’s back. He didn’t even ask.
        Cygnus10 sighed. He reached to his side and pulled the blaster he carried on his hip from its holster. His son was surely surprised, as he had never even seen it drawn up before. “I want you to have this, Billy,” he told him. “It’s never even been fired. I’m a terrible shot anyway“
        “I’m not!” he interrupted, hinting again that he had been secretly training with a weapon behind his back.
        Cygnus10 smiled and handed the blaster over to his son. For a good while, he stared at it in awe, more closely attuned to the thought that he would have the chance to own his very own blaster. It was a nice size handgun and comfortable resting in his palm. “Thank you,” he said slowly, and quietly.
        A voice shouted from a short distance away, “I think that’s just convenient!” Both father and son turned to face Corporal Timothy Altto. At 28, he did seem a little young to be operating the Rebel Dominion soldier regiment enrollment program, but Sienar had handpicked him for the job and Sienar knew people well. “I can sign you up right now, Billy,” he said, walking towards them. “I just happened to have the computer in my hands.” He held up a small transmitter which most definitely connected to the central board at the control room in the centre of the complex.
        “Do it now, Corporal,” Cygnus10 said. Billy smiled at the fact that his father was so quick to answer. It assured him that their was indeed faith that Cygnus10 believed in him. Either that or he is being bribed, he thought.

        *       *       *       *

        Dominic Artemius and his companion, Antioch Fi, had broken off from the main scout group on the planet Ossus, seeking Jedi hopefuls. This was Dominic’s planet of choice when it came to searching for potential Jedi. It was located in the Adega star system, and it is speculated that the entire Jedi knighthood began on this planet many generations ago.
        The canyon walls they were exploring revealed nothing more to them than the vast murals plastered onto the rocky surface. According to the map, there was supposed to be a village at the end of the canyon, extending upwards and into the mountains. From the way it sounded, Antioch thought it would have to be bigger than a village, but when it came into his focus, he understood why.
        At the very end of the canyon there was indeed a little entrance to a village that was very narrowly built. It was only one street in width and its length did seemingly extend back into the mountains. Both Jedi moved slowly into the deserted streets of the ostensibly primitive village. Most of the cities in the planet ranked high in the technological advances around the galaxy, but this village seemed to be more rudimentary.
        This was only evident on the outside, however, and nobody was in the streets to even show them around. Antioch glanced to his left and to his right, catching the sight of a child, peeking through the window of a small residence with a strong stone wall. “There!” he said to Artemius, who was still scanning the other side of the street.
        “Careful, Antioch,” Dominic said. “You do not want to come off as threatening, because something is undoubtedly wrong here, and frantically pointing at people in windows isn’t going to benefit our first impression.” At that very instant, the child came running out the front door of the house straight towards the two Jedi. A woman appeared at the front door as well, calling the name of her child as he clutched Artemius’ leg as if in despair, searching for a vent of sadness.
        “I am sorry so,” the woman said in a broken Basic dialect, obviously not her primary language. The woman came running out, grabbed her son and ran back into the house. Antioch was going to knock on her door, but Dominic held him back at the sound of melody, sung by a choir from some distance away.
        On the cue of a small hand signal, the two Jedi Knights ran from their present location to the far side of the village where the residences and commercial areas had passed, leading to the edge of the town. The edge was clearly marked by the end of a precipice which came into a seventy-metre drop, falling into a clearing surrounded by mountains, and a distinct coliseum of grand proportion filling out the entire area. It was marked by pillars and the stadium appeared to be full with every citizen of the village. None were talking and none were moving, but a well-defined series of coffins embellished the centre of the arena.
        It was a funeral, and that much was clear. It was a funeral that everyone in the town mourned, and the number of caskets that were in the centre of the open-air theater implied that the mourning was being done for more than one person. Artemius made a quick count of the caskets and made the conclusion that something had been through this town, perhaps an epidemical plague, that had killed nearly sixty people. It wasn’t a huge town as it is, so sixty was a large death toll for whatever it may have been.
        Neither of the two spoke to each other, in fear that it would interrupt the ceremony. The look on the faces of the crowd were not of sadness, but of fear that this same vexation would happen to them.
        “It was an awful tragedy,” a voice said from behind them. Antioch and Artemius both turned to face the woman they had seen from the outset of the village. Her son followed close behind.
        “What happened?” Antioch asked abruptly. The woman did seemingly have difficulty understanding the Basic language around the galaxy and Dominic speculated that according to her planetary origin, she spoke Aurilian, a common jargon from this sector.
        “A bloodthirsty, heartless man killed many people,” she said, and Artemius’s eyes widened at his thoughts. “He may still be here!” The woman had almost begun to cry and Artemius was pondering everything he knew about Phadrax Monovial. Right then and there, he began to feel the presence of that dark warrior, and he didn’t like it. Antioch didn’t ask, for he knew what the problem was already.
        The little boy disregarding comforting his mother and instead turned and looked up at the two Jedi. “Can you help us?” he asked, tears welling up in his eyes. “Please help us.”

        *       *       *       *

        Sabreeth tore through a series of timber, wildly chopping at any branches or animals that happened to get in his way. Phadrax Monovial certainly had the strangest methods of training. Should I have really left the Eleven behind for this?, he thought to himself. Because of Sabreeth’s placidity and hidden emotions, Monovial did not believe him to be a true manipulator of the dark side. However, what Monovial failed to understand was that Sabreeth was fully capable of using the dark side to his full advantage, but managed to control his anger and keep his emotions hidden.
        At fifteen, Sabreeth was quite young to be leading a group of eleven people in training in the ways of the Force, but it was his nature and what he believed to be his destiny in life. Monovial was impressed by him and had been looking for someone matching all of those qualities and characteristics ever since he took power over the ISA. He had gone through many people like Reeo, who ultimately ended up to be just another victim of his uncontrollable anger.
        Sabreeth reached the end of the forest where Monovial stood and they both turned to watch as trees tumbled down from their stubs. “I am quite impressed, young Sabreeth. Both at your physical capabilities and your skill with the dark side of the Force. I wish to make a reading to you. A reading of what I have written that will hereby make official your place as the first among the new ranks of the Sith.”

        *       *       *       *

        Billy Cygnus had joined a fleet regiment late on Ossus, but ultimately made it there, carrying his father’s heirloom blaster, not expecting to use it. He had missed out on signing up new officers for the Rebel Dominion, but managed to make it there just in time to leave. Dominic Artemius approached the regiment transport, still looking around to see if Antioch had made his way to the ship. He had disappeared from Artemius some time ago, and had since been clandestine.
        He was nowhere to be found, but the Jedi still managed to offer a pleasant greeting and a congratulatory handshake to Cygnus, who stood proud as being officially an officer under the Rebel Dominion. A dozen new recruits had been picked up from Ossus and were all sitting in the back of the transport, waiting to take off. Artemius voted to stay behind, waiting for Antioch, but no one else was in favour and they took off, promising to return shortly to pick up Fi.
        Billy Cygnus sat in the back with the twelve recruits from Ossus, trying to make conversation. It was hardly of any use, because they were either exceptionally silent, or didn’t speak Basic. Cygnus suspected both. He turned to protocol droid K-3TU who sat in the corner and thought of asking it to translate, but didn’t bother. He turned his vision back to the draftees and found that the one sitting at the extreme end of the bench across from Cygnus was looking at him, and seemingly understanding what he was saying.
        Cygnus stood up and moved to the other bench, sliding on to the end beside the recruit, who appeared the same age, perhaps younger, than himself. “Who are you, might I ask?” Cygnus politely implored.
        “Kenneth Harlo,” he replied. “I was shooed into this ship because my parents wanted me to do something with my life. How about you?” Cygnus smiled at the fact that a civil conversation was beginning.
        “Billy Cygnus,” he held out his hand and Harlo abruptly shook it. “I was recruited earlier today on a mission to recruit more recruits like yourself.”
        “Seems kind of sudden, doesn’t it?”
        “Not at all. I’ve been with the Rebel Dominion since pretty well the day I was born. I was born on Mon Calamari during the Second Battle of Calamari. When the Empire decided to drop in and invade the floating cities, they happened to find my house, three days after I was born. They killed my mother and the New Republic did manage to get me out of there before I was captured or killed as well. Couple years down the road came the ISA, then came the Rebel Dominion. My father has worked under the New Republic since very early days.”
        “I do keep up on my history so your name did ring a bell. Your father ranks very high, does he not?” Harlo asked.
        “Oh, yes. Admiral, I believe. If there was more than the one rank higher than that, he would be there. He sort of serves as an aide to Grand Admiral Sienar.” Cygnus thought about what he said and then came up with a good question for his newfound friend. “Exactly how did you acquire this information, Harlo? Very few even know of the Rebel Dominion’s existence.”
        Harlo smiled. “Commonwealth of Rebel Dominion 0027, founded by Mon Mothma and Admiral Ackbar twenty-three years after the end of the Galactic Civil War. Now in control by Grand Admiral Leonardo Sienar, it’s locale lies on the rainforest moon of Ivinsnale in the Ottega system.” Cygnus’s eyes widened.
        “That’s more than I know!”
        “I do my research, like I say. That’s about all I do. A friend of mine and I used to take a ship out to all kinds of places in the Corporate Sector and learn about what’s going on in the galaxy.”
        Cygnus looked around the interior of the transport, gazing over the collection of people. “Which one’s your friend?” he said, passing his hand over the flock of people, all who still hadn’t looked up from their bowed heads.
        “He was killed earlier today by a self-proclaimed Sith Lord,” Harlo said. Cygnus found it obscure at how casually he had said it, as if it were a joke, but he knew otherwise. “He killed seventy-five people from the village I live in. I’m quite certain that it was Phadrax Monovial.”
        “Phadrax Monovial? Like, leader of the ISA, Phadrax Monovial?”
        “Do you know any other Phadrax Monovials?”
“Several.”
        “Really?”
        “No.”
        They stopped talking for some time, not even noticing the sound of the humming engines, and not even realizing that they were already in hyperspace, heading to Nar Shaddaa, in search of more recruits for the Rebel Dominion to take in.

        *       *       *       *

        Antioch had seen them in the woods and followed them to this canyon. A canyon with many rocky protrusions and miniature caverns engraved into its side. Now he stood in one of those caverns, elevated three metres above them. One was the assassin of Artemius’ apprentice, and the other Antioch had never seen or heard anything about before.
        He didn’t like the look of the procession that was taking place. Two people alone in this canyon, nobody else around. The younger of the two, had bent down to one knee before Monovial and had his chin to his neck. For a moment, Antioch thought that Monovial was punishing his counterpart. Punishment in the ISA usually meant death, but upon focusing on what was happening, he discovered that the affair was like nothing of the sort.
        “Under the affidavit and testimony upon which you are being dictated, you will solemnly avow that under this decree, you alter your way of life to that of the Sith,” Monovial stated to his companion, Sabreeth. “And under this way of life, you will learn to train with a belief in no limits, along with the cunning to be able to train others. You will train others. You will expand the Sith race once again. We will be magisterial once again. Do you, Sabreeth, agree to be taken on as the very first of the neoteric, expanding Sith?”
        Antioch couldn’t believe what he was watching for a moment. The idea of reconstructing the Sith was just a rumour about Phadrax Monovial for a long time, but no one expected him to go through with it. The idea was ludicrous and could hardly be pulled off with ease. But that ease was now right before his eyes, as Monovial swore in the first of a new line of Sith Lords. Antioch Fi, a well-respected young Jedi Knight was standing here watching this, and didn’t do anything about it.
        “I do,” Sabreeth replied. Antioch acted quickly, leaping out from the deep canyon rock, igniting his lightsabre as he fell. He landed behind Sabreeth, but was amazed at the reflexes his new foe possessed. Before he even landed, the newly proclaimed Sith was already on him, fighting with utmost vigor. Antioch knew that Sabreeth was younger than he, but not at all weaker, nor smaller. The dark warrior was very strong indeed, and the broadness of his shoulders seemingly doubled his size, making it a distraction to Antioch.
        Sabreeth was drawing Antioch back further into the deep canyon, which had plenty of room, but no place to hide. The Jedi leapt from combat and on to one of the rocky ledges that formed near the murals on the inside of the canyon walls, catching a glimpse of a smiling Monovial as he landed. It had dawned on him that they both knew that Antioch had been there the whole time. It was a trap that he fell for, and now he was locked in combat once more with Sabreeth, an opponent well worthy of being called a Sith Lord.

        *       *       *       *

        Nar Shaddaa had no government at all. It was different in the days of the old Republic, but now not even a static police force remained. Harlo stared up at the small viewscreens perched above the benches on the interior of the transport. They displayed the surface of Nar Shaddaa, that they were now hovering over, searching for a sufficient landing site. The plain was covered entirely by interlocking spaceport facilities and docking towers that extended so far up that they could be seen from orbit.
        He could hear the repulsorlifts changing power levels in the engines of the transport and it signified that the craft was making landing preparations. He wasn’t certain as to how he knew what was happening in the ship’s mechanical interior, but his many studies in that department had seemingly come with sound recognition.
        Hydraulics came into effect and the small room that the twelve enlistees opened at the back, lowering a wide exit incline. It opened on to a landing platform, barely large enough to house the bulky starship. Harlo stood up first, the rest soon followed when Cygnus stepped in from the cockpit area at the front.
        It was dark both inside and outside of the ship, containing the same musty stench as well. Cygnus seemed to be leading the operation when everyone was lined up outside, and the exit ramp closed up. “Everyone here is now officially on their first assignment,” Cygnus told them. “That assignment lies in your ability to recognize things. It’s not a training exercise, but you will be making a contribution to the Rebel Dominion either way.” Everyone seemed to be intent, but probably weren’t used to receiving orders from a teenager.
        Cygnus eventually probed deeper into the details of their assignment; that being to locate more hopefuls to join the Rebel Dominion. The twelve broke off in pairs, Cygnus partnering up with Harlo and Corporal Timothy Altto, a venerable Rebel officer paired with the remaining draftee. Cygnus voluntarily picked the most difficult of Nar Shaddaa’s municipal areas to navigate. It could’ve been some strange ego trip, or it could’ve been just a desire to see the slums of Nar Shaddaa, of which he had heard so much about.
        In any case, the two of them were trekking down the alleyways and homeless Sakiyans and the occasional Saurin street walker. They were carrying on a strange conversation about Imperial code cylinders when they heard a scream and then a riot crowd shouting and hollering. Harlo ran first, but Cygnus was quick to follow. They whipped around the corners of more alleyways and upon turning into a dead end they could see nothing but cluttered street dwellers, all hollering, whistling and raising their hands in the air.
        Harlo guessed that there were about eighty of them, all circling around what could only be seen as a bulbous shield, or semitransparent energy gate, blocking their access to whatever was the focus of their attention. Cygnus let curiosity take over and shoved his way into the crowd. Harlo soon followed after him, continually pushing through the throng of beings. They were all cheering at something, and they didn’t find out what it was until the both of them could see what was inside of the hemispherical shield.
        A Devaronian carrying a large club that matched his large size was standing triumphantly on the corpse of what appeared to be his murder victim. The barbaric Devaronian held the club high and everyone around the shield was cheering him on for what he had just done to an innocent human. Or at least Harlo assumed he was innocent. The answers all came seconds later as a humanoid droid walked to the centre of the shielded area and spoke to the crowd. Everyone reduced volume to half what it had been for the carnage. “Clean up the mess,” the droid told a couple of maintenance robots.
        “Yes, sir,” they both replied simultaneously.
        “Ladies and gentlemen,” the droid continued, “the next bout will be between our previous winner, Gill’a F’rauza the Devaronian, and a Stamina Contest veteran, Zethro Molt the Barabel!” The crowd roared to the point that it hurt Harlo’s ears, but he was more shocked at what was going on. He and Cygnus exchanged glances and were both thinking the same thing. The event that was taking place in this back alley in the slums of Nar Shaddaa was essentially a contest for two combatants to stay inside this shielded ring with one another, and fight to the death.
        The Barabel, whom the crowd was still cheering for, entered the ring through a gate on the other side. Harlo looked around and saw that a metal pot was being passed around the crowd, placing bets on the winner. When it came to Cygnus, he noticed that there was approximately a thousand credits piled inside. He offered it to Harlo, giving a chuckle. He shook his head in reply and waved his hand, indicating to give the pot to someone else.
        Cygnus went to return the pot to a group behind him, but not before slipping in forty credits on the Barabel. Harlo rolled his eyes, but laughed at how utterly pathetic it was that Cygnus was joining in on this.
        The Barabel, Zethro Molt, stood at one side of the ring, and his Devaronian opponent, Gill’a F’rauza stood wielding the club. The reptilian Barabel smiled and turned right, leaving the left side of his scaly body completely open to any attacks F’rauza may wish to deliver. The Devaronian charged at him with the club, swinging wild, hard strikes. When finally in range of Molt, the weapon came down hard on one of his knees, but missed completely. Molt had hopped the attack, throwing F’rauza off guard and landing a kick to his face.
        F’rauza was definitely angry now, but Zethro Molt stayed focused and in control as the vengeful Devaronian rose to his feet, white-knuckled as he gripped the club hard. It was an unusual predicament for a Barabel to be in such a calm mood, as they were prone to flipping out over even the smallest of things. F’rauza swung high at Zethro’s head, who ducked the blow from the heavy club and pulled something from his utility belt.
        In an instant a green glow appeared from out of nowhere, sailing through the body of the Devaronian opponent, then disappearing again. Gill’a F’rauza’s body fell to the floor inside the shielded ring, severed cleanly in two from the blade of Zethro’s lightsabre. Then the crowd roared once more.
        None of this made sense to Harlo. A Barabel with a lightsabre was strange enough, but a fighting contest that permitted such a weapon was beyond his capacity. Cygnus was off collecting his money in the crowd while Harlo kept a close watch on the Barabel. The droid announcer came out once more, stating that the Stamina Contest was over for this evening. All the more reason to find out who Zethro Molt is, Harlo thought, before he ends up getting killed in one of these massacres.

        *       *       *       *

        Monovial was far out of sight by now, and Antioch was scared out of his mind at the combat skills of Sabreeth. Antioch Fi was marked as an exceptional swordsman, meaning that anyone younger than he who could match his proficiency was dangerous.
        It must’ve been twenty minutes since their duel began, a collaboration of hide and seek with lightsabres and large rocks. The battle had moved a great distance away from where it first started, but not out of the canyon. Presently, Antioch had buried himself in the shadows of an uneven section in the canyon walls, keeping hidden for as long as possible from Sabreeth. Several times he had seen the dark warrior walk by without even noticing, and for the time being, he seemed to be safe.
        Antioch’s heart was beating fast and his mind was racing with thoughts of combat tactics that may be effective, but he had run out of ideas. Everything from quick jabs, to Force-guided lightsabre throwing and even the projectile giant shale from the canyon floor had not phased Sabreeth. Every single technique he knew, he employed; and every single technique he employed was counterattacked.
        He had just about caught his breath when Sabreeth appeared from above, leaping into sight and Antioch ignited his lightsabre again, thrusting it forward at his opponent. As many times as he could, Antioch kept stabbing, pushing Sabreeth back to the other end of the canyon. As the wall came nearer, Sabreeth made a quick extemporization, jumping backwards right at the wall and pressing off of its rocky surface, flipping and twisting over Antioch and landing back in lightsabre combat.
        Sabreeth was a daring warrior and took many risks, but certainly wasn’t stupid. If he was, Antioch would’ve won this bout long ago. Sabreeth struck hard at Antioch’s legs, almost knocking him over even with the life saving block. It did throw him off guard, but only for a second. That second was long enough for Sabreeth to bring his free hand up and bash the Jedi across the face.
        It was then that Antioch fell and knew the fight was over, and in all likelihood he would be killed in a matter of seconds. He looked up at Sabreeth, the look he intended to be his last, but found that his opponent had disappeared. Realizing that he still had the chance at living longer, Antioch got right on to his feet, activating his lightsabre again. He looked around in every direction, but Sabreeth was nowhere to be found.
        A blur interrupted his vision, and the Jedi Knight knew that someone had just ran by him at lightning speed. His reflexes caused him to turn his head to the left, and standing near the canyon wall was Phadrax Monovial, his arms crossed neatly beneath his cloak. According to recent ISA records, Monovial was thirty-seven years of age, five years younger than Dominic Artemius, and neither of them looked the part. Both were in substantial physical condition, and although Antioch had never witnessed it, he presumed that their battles would be even more evenly matched than the one he had participated in today.
        “I do say that I am impressed with you, Antioch Fi,” Monovial said, smiling devilishly. “But I am moreso impressed with my new Sith apprentice at being able to defeat you in this“
        “I’m still alive aren’t I?” Antioch shouted, interrupting Monovial.
        “Oh, but you wouldn’t be if I hadn’t wished to see the both of you in combat further.” Antioch was feeling that same fear he felt when hiding from Sabreeth before. Sweat dripped from his brow and he was still worn out and breathing hard from his last strife.
        “What do you mean?” he said, turning off his weapon and hooking it back to his belt. During the bout, he hadn’t even paid attention to his cloak, which he was still wearing. He pondered whether or not the cape’s restrictions could’ve been why he nearly lost his life, but avoided the thought.
        “Ah, do not put your weapon away, Jedi,” he said. “After all, there is plenty more surviving for you to do.” Monovial took one step aside, and as if he had left his cape behind, another black figure remained where he had stepped from. Sabreeth looked up at Antioch from the opposite side of the canyon, lunged back on one foot and ignited the red blade of his lightsabre.

Here we go again, Antioch thought to himself, monotonously shaking his head as he pulled the hilt back from his belt and into his hands. The sound of its ignition echoed off the walls of the canyon, and the two warriors advanced into combat once again.

        *       *       *       *

        Harlo had lost track of where Cygnus was and decided to set out on his own, following Zethro Molt through the jumbled streets of Nar Shaddaa. The shallow street lights only allowed Molt’s silhouette to be visible at this late an hour, but it was enough late to pursue him on. Harlo stayed hidden as he pursued the Barabel, sliding into the shadows casted by buildings and parked speeders.
        He made his way through a narrow alley where not even the shouting from the crowds at the Stamina Contest could be heard. Zethro Molt stopped in his tracks and Harlo noted that he had followed the Barabel to a dead end in this narrow back street. A dumpster floated on cheap repulsorlifts in the corner of the dead end and Molt had crouched on to his stomach and was reaching underneath. From it, the Barabel pulled a mirror, a sheet of glass that exceeded the height of Molt himself. He placed the mirror up against one side of the alley.
        One of the lights from above reflected off the mirror and bounced into the path of Harlo, who was now visible in the shadows. Instinctively, he dropped to his stomach, praying that Zethro didn’t notice him. He didn’t. When that was confirmed, Harlo watched intently as to what Molt planned to do with the mirror he had leaning against the wall of the building.
        Zethro was pacing back and forth and Harlo was too far away to notice the expression of concentration on his face. The Barabel put his hands on the wall opposite that of the mirror and bowed his head downwards. He took one deep breath, then spun around hurling his left arm out in front of him with great speed. Instantaneously, the mirror split in two and the sound of breaking glass was heard only once.
        The two smaller remaining pieces of glass were split into perfect rectangles and Molt began to set them up against the wall as well. Both of them were now set up right next to each other. Zethro began pacing once more and Harlo was already certain that this Barabel was adept with the Force. According to popular factual statements, the Barabels are not a Force-sensitive species. However, there are always exceptions.
        Zethro put his two hands against the wall again, taking several deep breaths and loosening his muscles. He flexed and pointed his toes a number of times before taking an action, that Harlo believed would split both mirror halves in two. However, what occurred was quite different than that of his hypothesis.
        The Barabel bent his knees slightly then jumped straight up, turning in the air and transforming what would’ve been a back flip into a forward aerial. He landed in the same spot he started in, bent one knee and thrusting both arms out in front of him, pointing at the mirrors with great ferocity. Instead of splitting as the larger mirror did, the sheets of glass both shattered into thousands of pieces.
        At the sound of the broken glass, Molt returned to a standing position and the tiny shards of glass rained down on him and the narrow alleyway. When the last piece fell, Harlo noticed that Molt was staring in his direction. He didn’t know what to do. Should he run from this Barabel? Or should he make a civil conversation with him?
        It took only a few seconds later for Harlo to realize that Molt wasn’t looking at him anyway. Dominic Artemius came walking past the area where Harlo was hidden, his Jedi cloak flowing immaculately behind him. “Zethro Molt,” Artemius said strongly.
        Molt looked at the Jedi with a strange ferocity. “Who are you?” he asked. “How do you know my name?” Harlo didn’t move an inch, continuously fearing that one of the two discussants would notice him.
        “My name is Dominic Artemius,” he replied, “and I know your name because you are uncertain of your fame outside this planet amongst the historically educated Jedi Knights.” Molt started to walk towards Artemius, and they both met in 0the centre of the narrow alley, stepping on the shards of glass as they treaded the hard floor. Molt still looked confused, so Dominic went into greater detail. “I know your history, Zethro Molt. No vital statistics, but I know your history in Jedi knighthood. I am hear to expand upon what I know, and then grant you permission to come back to the Ottega system with me and my companion and there complete your training under the registration of the Commonwealth of Rebel Dominion 0027.”
        “I’ve been wanting to get out of this place for forty years. I don’t care what your credentials are, Jedi. I like your offers no matter what the conditions may be. You want to know more about me? Then tell me, what do you know?” The Barabel’s large eyes blinked slowly and his sharp, robust teeth disappeared behind his scaly lips.
        “You were discovered at a young age here by a member of the old Jedi Council and brought to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, where it was discovered that you were the only documented member of your species with potential Force ability,” Artemius said. “You stayed and trained on Coruscant for a number of years, but were dismissed shortly after your discoverer officially became a member of the Council due to your recklessness and inability to control your anger. Which, as I understand, is another characteristic of your species. Because the Barabel race has great respect for the Jedi, I can only predict that you returned here, to Nar Shaddaa, and turned to the dark side, but still fighting for what is right.” Molt let out a heavy breath.
        “My discoverer was Master Koth, whose first name my memory fails me on. He discovered me here and after much hecticity involving police and street gangs, we managed to leave for Coruscant. There I did train under Master Koth’s instruction for some time, but was dismissed because of the reasons you stated. However, it is not in my power to control my anger, it’s in my blood.” Artemius acknowledged this and gestured for Zethro to continue his story. “Then I only heard that Master Koth had become a Council member shortly after I arrived back home. Being that I had no place to exploit or practice my Jedi skills, I didn’t have the opportunity to even experience the dark side. After the Jedi Order had been wiped out, I realized that I was one of the very few remaining Jedi in the entire galaxy. Therefore, I sought any opportunity I could to find a way to utilize my skill. I liked the thought of being original. When I heard that the Stamina Contest was being started up by some woman named Mystra, I found it the ample option to spread my abilities. The money I earned has been making my living ever since.” Artemius nodded, saying nothing in reply.
        Harlo finally stood up from the shadows. “We should definitely bring him with us,” he said, not realizing how foolish he might’ve looked.
        “Who are you?” Molt said firmly.
        “You’re one of the recruits, aren’t you?” Dominic said, looking confused.
        “Yes. I was paired with Billy Cygnus.”
        “And where is he?”
        “Collecting money from Stamina Contest,” Harlo replied, smiling. Artemius rolled his eyes at Cygnus’ unique personality. No more debate continued on from the narrow alley, but instead Zethro Molt, Dominic Artemius and Kenneth Harlo all left to find Cygnus, and the rest of the crew to re-group back at the transport.

        *       *       *       *

        Antioch Fi ducked a high strike to his head and brought his sabre low at Sabreeth’s knees, forcing his opponent to hop the energy beam. On the way down, Sabreeth chopped down at Antioch’s head, narrowly missing as the Jedi rolled to his left and eluded the attack. The two foes stood metres away on the canyon floor, and both could hear the sounds of crowds cheering from far away. Sabreeth faked left, but jumped far to his right, spinning his sabre to bring it down hard at Antioch’s side. It was a quick pull upwards that kept Antioch in one piece, and his return strikes were controlled swings that all would’ve been deadly had Sabreeth not been so skilled.
        They were in close now, barely the length of their lightsabres fit between them, but they continued on and with great difficulty, managed to defend each other’s strokes. Eventually, Sabreeth backed off, jumping high up onto a ledge attached to the canyon wall. He jumped once again to a higher mantle and then climbed his way to the very top of the rocky ravine.
        Antioch was almost thankful that this fight was moving out of the canyon. He was so sick of seeing the same scenery over and over again, which shouldn’t have been the concerns of a Jedi Knight, but in this case they were. The difficulty now would be reaching his opponent without getting killed. Antioch deactivated his lightsabre and hooked it to his belt, and began scaling the canyon wall.
        Stones tumbled from areas that his boots put pressure on as each of his steps moved into one another. Sabreeth was not in sight, probably waiting not far from the edge to surprise Antioch. As he approached the top, the Jedi thought of a diversion and put it into action. Reaching out with the Force, he broke a chunk of rock from a nearby ledge on the wall he was dangling from and hurled it up above and on to the surface overhead. Immediately thereafter, he pushed off the balls of his feet and jumped to the surface in the opposite direction.
        He thought the diversion worked, but Sabreeth was already swinging at his feet before Antioch was even given the opportunity to unhook his lightsabre. He jumped high at the strike, pulling his weapon from his belt and igniting it just before he landed and was forced to duck another fatal blow. He brought his sabre up to meet at Sabreeth’s neck, but the combatant defended the strike and spun around leading Antioch further backwards along the canyon’s edge. The red blade whipped through the air faster than it had yet during the course of the conflict, and Antioch was having an increasingly difficult time defending himself.
        Sabreeth kept moving faster and faster, spinning and twirling with more ferocity than any opponent Antioch Fi had ever encountered. The sounds of the cheering crowds they had heard before were now becoming clearer and louder. Antioch lunged sideways and struck at Sabreeth’s side, nicking his chest.
        He gripped his sabre tightly and turned to Antioch, gritting his teeth and an angry look plastered across his face. He came down hard, but wildly, making his powerful strikes easier to defend, but harder in the physical sense. Antioch’s wrists hurt simply from the vibration caused in the savagery of the swipes.
        Both of the combatants moved back away from each other for one brief moment to survey their location. The sounds of the cheering crowds was coming from a distanced set of bleachers, about a kilometre away. If they tried hard enough, they could hear the sounds of engines ripping through the air.
        Antioch had seen this before when entering the atmosphere of the planet just hours ago. It was a landspeeder race that took place in the canyon. Speeders that traveled at 210 kilometres an hour raced one another around a circular track that was cut into the canyon. It seemed so that Sabreeth’s goal was to lead the Jedi Knight into that track. Into the public, where everyone would witness this horrible conflict, and may very well witness the death of a respectable gladiator.

        *       *       *       *

        “Ghoush retoorra!!,” an angry H’drachi shouted. Billy Cygnus had to cover his face because of the creature’s awful breath and loud voice. It seemed that the H’drachi wasn’t the only one mad at him.
        “You must have miscounted!!” yelled a nearby Chiss. The human-like figure bore a frightening look with his glowing red eyes and putrid blue skin. “This should be fair!!” From what he gathered, Cygnus had taken more than his share of the winnings from the Stamina Contest and now people were angry about it. He could understand their complaints because they seemed to be a group of people who needed their money.
        “Look, if you will all calm down, I can see what the problem is,” Cygnus said.
        “Yaut chivaée jerrossi!!” the H’drachi said, shoving Cygnus backwards.
        “Just give me a second to sort things“ He was interrupted by another hard shove to his chest from the H’drachi and one similar followed from the Chiss. Cygnus almost fell over, but stopped himself when he saw both the Chiss and the H’drachi reach for the blasters they had dangling from holsters against their hips.
        Immediately, he reached for his own and was evidently a quicker draw than the other two. He had the gun that he had just received from his father pointed directly in the face of the H’drachi, while the Chiss was pointing his own at the side of Cygnus’ head. It wasn’t a pleasant predicament. “Put down your gun,” Cygnus said to the Chiss.
        “Why don’t you put down yours?” the Chiss replied. “You’re in a more dangerous situation than I.” Cygnus had ideas coming to him, but none of them he wished to attempt until he had given the Chiss a false impression. He began to lower his blaster, slowly retracting it from the H’dachi’s head. Then he swiftly turned his back to the Chiss, firing a blind shot backwards and then returning to a standing position, holding his blaster at the H’drachi’s head. Both were now standing with each other’s guns at each other’s foreheads, the Chiss laying dead on the ground.
        Fortunately for Cygnus, nobody else was around. The H’drachi smiled and dove into a speech that Cygnus truly didn’t want to hear. “Tyisn Iogrsivvo et chiwla a Basiquer. Translated that means ‘I can speak Basic if I want to,” the H’drachi said. They circled each other, still pointing each other’s guns at each other’s heads. “Before I get dizzy, I hope you understand that killing me would not be wise. I have many connections, you see and“
        Cygnus shot him.

        *       *       *       *

        Antioch Fi and Sabreeth were already attracting attention as they continued to duel behind the bleachers. Those who were stuck in the back row could see the battlers going at each other in an artful contest. The bleachers were elevated and led right down to the surface of the race track, meaning that there was probably plenty of room underneath the bleachers, and Antioch felt he could utilize that.
        Their sabres met in close and Antioch gathered all his strength, pushing Sabreeth backwards with a substantial amount of force. He used the time he had to jump underneath the bleachers. Sabreeth had lunged after him and the amount of light that disappeared under the grandstand was astonishing. Very little could be seen outside of the two flashing lightsabres. Antioch improvised upon the darkness as well, deactivating his lightsabre and keeping hidden in the darkest of the shadows he was given to work with.
        It took Sabreeth little time to figure out what Antioch was doing, and he decided to play along. The red blade disappeared into its hilt and Sabreeth cautiously crept into the shadows. Antioch was thinking fast about what to do next. His only idea involved igniting his lightsabre for only a brief moment. He figured he could accomplish the task pretty fast and still manage to stay hidden.
        Quickly he turned the switch of his lightsabre on with the Force and chopped sideways at one of the many surprisingly thin support poles that held the bleachers up. His sabre was off again in a second and a creak was heard from above, indicating that one of the support poles had been removed. The piece he cut from it was the thickness of his lightsabre hilt and a little over a metre in length.
        Moments later, Antioch caught a glimpse of Sabreeth’s lightsabre igniting, chopping at another support pole and then disappearing again. So far, Sabreeth had mimicked everything Antioch had done under this grandstand, the sound of the cheering crowds still loud from above.
        Both Sabreeth and Antioch Fi were attentively swarming the dark area underneath the bleachers, each holding their rods cut from the support poles. Antioch thought he saw his opponent moving two metres in front of him, but found his eyesight betray him when Sabreeth’s metal rod slammed hard into the Jedi’s back.
        Antioch fell forward, but rolled on to his feet, striking at Sabreeth, who blocked every jab and swipe. It seemed that neither of them could escape the fact that this bout would end in a duel one way or another. The durasteel rods clashed together, causing sparks as Sabreeth led the Jedi down to the canyon floor under the grandstand.
        It seemed that the roof above was closing in and Antioch looked for the first opening he could see to escape. He hit Sabreeth’s rod upwards and brought his own back down, swinging at his torso. The durasteel hit him directly in the stomach, causing Sabreeth to be winded. It bought Antioch more time than he had been able to gather before. The Jedi dropped his rod and unhooked the lightsabre from his belt, lunging sideways and away from Sabreeth.
        He ignited the Jedi weapon and held the switch with the Force, hurling the sabre at the very end of the low bleachers, guiding it as it chopped a path through the cheap grandstand. There wasn’t much room to crawl through, but Antioch had no time to make it bigger; Sabreeth had resumed fighting ability and had ignited his weapon, charging for the Jedi. Antioch dove left and then found his way through the opening he created. He retrieved his lightsabre and moved away from the opening, the energy beam ready for more.
        Antioch was parked between two of the sets of bleachers and had little space to maneuver. The landspeeder race was whipping closer than he realized, before it dawned on him that he and Sabreeth were now on the canyon floor. He made a quick survey and found that these were the only two sets of bleachers. The track itself was circular, but not small at all. Its path along the canyon floor wasn’t easy either. Several land bridges crossed over the track and large rocks were always in the way. From how it appeared, Antioch assumed that the speeders were being controlled by specially programmed droids.
        When Sabreeth didn’t come out of the path under the bleachers, he was beginning to get worried. He deactivated his weapon and hooked it to his belt, hoping that no one would recognize him as a Jedi when he emerged from between the grandstands.
        The bleachers ended only a few metres from the track, and Antioch was standing even closer. One pit stop crew member was the only other being to stand this close. The speeders whipped by while the crew member approached Antioch. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but spectators aren’t allowed to be this close.” The Jedi wasn’t totally focused on the maintenance worker at the time, more commonly set on finding Sabreeth.
        Before Antioch had a chance to answer, Sabreeth emerged from the front row’s crowd of spectators, flipping in the air and landing behind the crew member. With one quick backstroke, Sabreeth struck at the man’s neck, sending the energy blade all the way through. People in the front row screamed and Antioch was already defending himself. Sabreeth drew him back closer and closer to the race track.
        With the crowds in a panic as to what was happening before them, Antioch did his best to find a way to move the duel away from the public, but was ultimately unsuccessful. Sabreeth flipped backwards out of combat for a brief second as one of the racing speeders separated them. Antioch then realized that he was now on the track. Getting hit by one of these speeders would be instantaneous death.
        As Sabreeth moved in, the Jedi Knight glanced to his side and saw the incoming speeder. Timing it perfectly, Antioch jumped high, evading a low strike from his opponent, and at the same time, landing in a simple enough motion on the hood of the racing speeder. It took him some time to gain complete balance, and the droid was, in all likelihood, not programmed to notice things like this.
        The action had been effective. Sabreeth had caught on to Antioch’s plan and was standing on the rear of a speeder about twenty metres away. The Jedi, however, had successfully accomplished his goal of moving the sight of this duel away from the spectators. The speeders turned their first corner and Antioch deactivated his lightsabre at precisely the same time as Sabreeth. They were thinking the same thing. Their capes, which fluttered wildly, seemed to be pulling the two figures back on the fast-moving speeders. It wasn’t normally a restriction, but in this case, Antioch removed his cloak and let it fly far behind the speeder he stood on.
        Both of the rivals were surprised that they could even stand on a speeder moving this fast, but the aid from the Force kept their balance controlled. Antioch pulled the lightsabre from his belt again and held it tightly in his palm, not yet activating it. Sabreeth followed this action and let his cloak fly behind him as well.
        Four speeders separated Antioch and Sabreeth, two of which were in range for the Jedi Knight to jump on. It was risky, but he managed to gather the gall to attempt it. Antioch leap off of both of his feet and counted on his timing to save him. He was very lucky. In fact, he completely missed the speeder he was jumping for, but instead landed on another one. Very lucky, indeed.
        Sabreeth was taking short counting steps on the end of the speeder he was still on. He seemed to be counting in his head, and Antioch pulled back in a fighting stance with his lightsabre and waited.

        *       *       *       *

        It turns out that Cygnus did, in fact, miscount and did take more than he should have of his winnings from the Stamina Contest. Now that the other recipients were no longer among the living, it seemed only natural to take what they had won as well. However, Cygnus, as much as he often seemed like it, was not a bad guy and he left the shares of the Chiss and the H’drachi beside their bodies.
        He heard a whistle echo off the walls in one of the many mazes of alleyways that made up the slums of Nar Shaddaa. He turned to face down the corridor, meeting eyes with Harlo, standing beside the Jedi Knight, Dominic Artemius and waving for him to come quickly. Cygnus hadn’t had a good run in awhile so he jogged over. The Barabel from the fight came into his vision very suddenly and it scared him for a moment as he met up with Harlo at the corner.
        “Hey, Cyggie boy,” Harlo said, smiling, “this is Zethro Molt. He’s coming back to Ivinsnale with us to formally train as a Jedi.” Cygnus’s eyebrows lifted.
        “The fight guy?” Cygnus said. “A Jedi?” He was going start bursting into professedly uncontrollable laughter when he realized everyone was completely serious. And insulting the Barabel wouldn’t be wise.
        Zethro Molt didn’t look as tough as he was from such a close distance. Cygnus often saw Barabels and Molt was not unlike the others he had seen. His large head and threatening eyes rigged an incline from his brow to his nose that broke into wide lips with an immense amount of sharp teeth. His scaly skin wasn’t as rough as many reptilians, but still capable of being used as a washboard. Like most traveling Barabels, Molt wore a metal cuirass that emitted shoulder pads at each arm ends and drew several more down the length of the limb. A belt crossed his torso, attached at the centre of the armour by a small circular emblem. As all Jedi had, a lightsabre hilt slung from the belt around his waist.
        “We do have to be leaving shortly so I’m assuming that you are coming with us,” Harlo said. “The crews have picked up several more recruits for the Rebel Dominion so it wasn’t a complete failure.” Of course not, Cygnus thought to himself, I won something here! “Hurry up now, Cyggie boy,” Harlo said, “the ship is waiting for us.”
        “What the hell is Cyggie boy supposed to mean, Harlie boy?!” Cygnus commanded angrily.
        “Hey!” Harlo replied. “Harlie boy just doesn’t have the same ring to it. Now come on.” The four figures departed through the web of intricacy built up by Nar Shaddaa’s obscure alleys and byways, eventually finding their way to the small landing platform, where the transport stood waiting, and the piloting crew lay dead on the tarmac.
        Stormtroopers began to emerge from all sides and Cygnus immediately had his blaster drawn up. About a dozen of the Imperial shock troops came out from behind the ship. The ISA certainly hadn’t changed stormtroopers much. Maybe the make of their weapon, but nothing else.
        Dominic Artemius stood silently behind his three companions and Zethro Molt didn’t move at all either. They both knew that they had to follow a certain code of operation that would make their defense successful. Harlo stood unarmed near Cygnus, watching in worry as the stormtroopers began to close in.
        “Cygnus,” Artemius whispered. Billy turned to face the Jedi. In response, Dominic held his index finger out in front of him, simply indicating the number “one.” But Cygnus understood the gesture and kept his blaster in hand.
        “Put down your weapon!” shouted one of the stormtroopers from behind their mask, approaching the quaternion of Rebel supporters. Cygnus put his left hand over his right, and pulled the trigger of his weapon watching as the shot exploded on the stormtrooper’s chest, sending him falling backwards. The other troops had already begun firing, causing a shower of laser fire to blanket the foursome. But both Zethro and Artemius had jumped over the top of Cygnus and Harlo, lightsabres ignited and were defending their newfound friends with everything they had.
        Whereas Zethro focused his mind on defending himself and Cygnus, Artemius precisely emphasized on each one of the shots, strategically aiming his deflection at the benefactor. In short time, all of the stormtroopers were down, but an alarm had sounded, probably indicating that there were more coming.
        The low scream of a TIE Fighter engine reverberated throughout the city and everyone knew that it wasn’t just a ground forces attack run. “Into the ship!” Artemius shouted to the trine of beings. “Does anyone pilot well?”
        Cygnus, Harlo and Zethro all raised their hands in a haste as they ran to the ship. “I’ll take it, “ Harlo said. “You be my co-pilot,” he said, pointing at Cygnus, “and you’re navigator.” He pointed at Zethro. “After all this ship requires all three to pilot successfully.”
        Artemius was the last to board as the exit ramp closed up and the repulsorlifts increased power and its engines boosted to a higher speed. The TIE was in close enough now to be seen both on scanners and through the rear viewscreen set up in the cockpit. Harlo sat on the left, Cygnus seated to the right and the Barabel put on a headset behind them, seated in front of a switchboard of controls and electronic surveillance machinery.
        Two more TIE Bombers pulled in from around the skyline in the slums of Nar Shaddaa and whipped over the platform, showering it with a heavy rain of ion bombs. The dais exploded behind them and in all likelihood, so did the surrounding few structures. The inside of the craft shook at the cannonade exploding along the hull.
        Artemius sat behind the cockpit, able to see through the tinted pane that separated the two regions of the cruiser. He was staring blankly at what was going on as Zethro, Cygnus and Harlo took care of the situation. The Barabel said something dubious to Dominic’s hearing and Harlo struck a lever, causing starlines to shoot over the viewscreen in front and the ship was out of danger and safely into hyperspace.
        Dominic Artemius vacantly bore his eyes on Harlo for a great deal of time, watching as he celebrated their elusion with his new friends. A thought came at once to the Jedi, but he dismissed it shortly after it clouded his mind and joined the three in their jubilation.

        *       *       *       *

        The hard wind from the high speed of the landspeeders ripped at the clothes of the two warriors as Sabreeth continued counting and analyzing the pattern of vehicles whipping by. Antioch had anticipated it for some time, and it did happen as his opponent dove high into the air, calculating his landing as his body turned towards the ground. It was the most perfect of jumps that could’ve been done on the high-speed racers.
        They were nearly through this circuit of the race and Antioch thought he’d better start timing his move and focusing more deeply on the Force as they passed the crowd. In case things got ugly once again, he didn’t want it to be in front of hundreds of spectators. He took a deep breath and Sabreeth smiled at him, his short hair rippling on either side as the speeder turned.
        The speeders were droid-controlled and obviously not programmed to notice anything but the course. Antioch assumed that the droids were being controlled by those who gambled their racers, operating off of only a small viewscreen palette that gave them only an aerial radar view of the competition. Otherwise, they would’ve likely stopped racing by now.
        A roar from the crowd spread across the course as the speeders passed by and many of them were in great awe as to how these two warriors were even still standing up on the racers. The instant that the crowd disappeared from the corner of Antioch’s eye, he put everything he had prepared for into the next action, leaping off of his feet and landing lightly on the hood of the speeder not even a metre to the left of the one which Sabreeth stood on.
        The action itself caught the dark warrior by surprise, but Antioch diverted his attention once more, kicking the back of the droid’s head forward. It knocked the robot’s photoreceptors straight down causing it to lose control. The speeder swerved to the left and the hood rammed into the side of the speeder Sabreeth stood on. Antioch leapt from the speeder as it crashed into the barren ground. He landed on a speeder hood directly in behind of Sabreeth’s standpoint, igniting his weapon in an instant.
        Finally, Antioch had the advantage in the confrontation and drilled into Sabreeth with total focus on all that was around him. They managed to commence a duel between the loud blades of energy with a distance varying in length separating the two from one another on the speeders. The speeder moved in closer until they were both far too close in on each other to be comfortable in any respect but they fought on. Antioch began to strike harder, and obviously catching Sabreeth by surprise once more. The Jedi, for the first time, felt that this fight was coming to an end.
        Antioch drove one heavy horizontal strike against Sabreeth’s chest and it would’ve been lethal had his opponent’s reflexes not kicked in. Sabreeth was seemingly struggling and the Jedi capitalized on that, pressing the rebounded strike forward with all the might he could bring forth from his arms. Sabreeth defended the block with some difficulty, but the sheer force knocked him over backwards. Antioch made a quick hop forward on to the speeder that Sabreeth rolled backwards on.
This was a dangerous scenario for both of them now. They were on the same vehicle. Sabreeth was on the hood end while Antioch was perched at the back end. Both holding their weapons out in front of them, they stared at each other with an unmistakable hatred in their eyes. A narrow land bridge was coming up in the run of the course, and Antioch had remembered having to crouch to avoid it during the last circuit.
Antioch thought Sabreeth didn’t know about the bridge that extended over the course like a rainbow, but when that portion of the course came about, Antioch jumped upwards, latching on to a branch that broke out of its core. What he didn’t realize was that Sabreeth had grasped the back of the bridge and had already pulled him to the top. His red lightsabre came down on Antioch with such ferocity that he was unable to block it, but forced to dodge it instead. Antioch brought his own blade to his side and whipped it upwards against his opponent. Sabreeth pulled his blade opaque against Antioch’s and swung it upwards, forcing Antioch back down the land bridge.
The racers were some distance away now and the true vastness of the track could only be seen from this slightly elevated height. The extreme points must’ve been two kilometres across the dry lake that the track encircled. The speeders were but little blurs a great distance away from their standpoint. Maybe not the entire two kilometres, but very far from any chance of jumping back on to them.
        Antioch continued making quick leaps backwards, doing his best to avoid any contact between the blades of their lightsabres. He was killing time, waiting for the speeders to come back around again, presenting him with an escape. Sabreeth struck down at him, hoping for the killing blow that he did not receive. Antioch struck the hard chop that most certainly would’ve killed him had he not done so. He pulled his blade backwards, faced with an unintentional jab, which he again managed to parry. With a quick motion to the left, Antioch was able to tear his opponent’s weapon away from his hands, and Sabreeth’s lightsabre hilt could be seen tumbling over the cupola.
        This was what could be called the completion of the duel in both of their minds, but Sabreeth gave up not so easily. He sprang backwards flipping on to his hands and then back on his feet, evading the first of Antioch’s rapid spinning swipes. Sabreeth bound off his left foot and executed a side aerial right off the end of the archway, disappearing out of the Jedi’s vision.
        Antioch peered over the edge of the causeway, seeing nothing but Sabreeth’s lightsabre hilt, still laying in the parched land below. All of a sudden, Antioch felt a pressure against his back that wasn’t entirely physical. It still managed to knock him over however, sending his body tumbling to the surface below. It was evidently a blast from the Force coming from behind on the land bridge that Sabreeth now stood upon, looking down at his contender.
        He was laid flat on his back in the middle of the track, and he sensed movement to his right. Just as Sabreeth was attempting to retrieve his lightsabre by calling it back with the Force, Antioch reached over to his right and snatched the weapon as it was being pulled. Antioch smiled, but so did his opponent unexpectedly. It was only then that Antioch noticed the sound of the landspeeder engines coming toward him.
        The Jedi crouched down to his lowest possible point as the chromed bottom of a speeder flew just over his head. When it passed Antioch was alert on his feet as more and more racers flew at his sides. He glanced up at the land bridge, but instantly noticed that Sabreeth wasn’t there. His eyes moved all around the setting, spotting the dark warrior on the hood of another speeder.
        Antioch was angry that he hadn’t been able to win this fight yet, but he kept his mind on where he was, spotting the nearest speeder that came towards him. With an accurately timed jump, Antioch found himself on the back of a speeder, barely making it. The engine was weaker than that of the speeder Sabreeth was perched on, and Antioch felt it necessary to catch up.
        He bent down, leaning his stomach on the hood of the droid-controlled speeder. The faceless droid that was bolted into the seat had no personality whatsoever, seeming like a toy for greedy people to play with. He poked his head underneath, feeling the energy waves from the repulsorlift engines. The vehicle was already falling behind in the race and he had to bring upon concentration to fix that. Antioch’s lightsabre was still in his hand when he ignited it and cut a panel from underneath the speeder’s engines. This only slowed it down further, removing the full circulation of the repulsors.
        Antioch turned off his lightsabre and hooked one of the protruding coils to a wire underneath the hood. He reached in at a mauve colored filament and altered the path of the cablegram to the controller of the speeder. The change in the soldered connection caused the engines to go into an unnecessarily large overdrive. It wouldn’t be long before the contrivance burned out and sent the speeder plummeting into the ground, but long enough for Antioch to act on it.
        Sabreeth’s speeder became closer and closer as the shell of the landspeeder scraped alongside many of the others and its engines screamed as if they were actual creatures burning themselves. Antioch leapt to the vehicle nearest Sabreeth and engaged him with another quick jump to the hood on which they now both stood.
        Antioch swiped at his feet and Sabreeth jumped upwards, flipping over the Jedi and miraculously remaining on the speeder. They were both in too close for comfort once again and engaged in violent menacing combat. They came to the midway point in the track, as far as they could be from the crowd and Antioch put his plan into effect. He swiped his opponent’s blade to the side with such force that Sabreeth’s hand flew out to the side, nearly dropping the hilt. With that motion, Antioch’s left arm was also out to the side. He brought his right hand back upwards and swung it at Sabreeth with all the momentum he could conjure up out of his evidently weaker muscle.
        The Jedi’s fist struck him across the face and Antioch himself almost lost balance. But not nearly so much as Sabreeth, who both dropped his weapon and went sailing off the hood of the speeder. Antioch deactivated his lightsabre and looked back at Sabreeth who was back on his feet and staring at the Jedi, knowing that he couldn’t catch up now.
        They stared each other down until Antioch disappeared behind one of the land bridge overpasses and he left the hood of the speeder. Antioch stopped in the middle of the track pacing back and forth as the last of the racing speeders flew by. He knew that Sabreeth would still be staring at him, motionless, if his view of Antioch weren’t obstructed by the land bridge.
        He hooked his lightsabre back to his belt and walked out through an opening in the canyon wall, being sure not to look back at the challenge he had just inequitably left behind. The wind had slowed as he stepped outside the racing track and Antioch Fi kicked up the dust that slowly became reciprocated with grass, and ultimately back to the town he had come from initially that day.

        *       *       *       *

        “I haven’t been offworld in such a long time now,” said Zethro Molt from the navigator chair in the same cockpit where sat Cygnus and Harlo. “Not since maybe even the days of the Old Republic. I can’t even remember.”
        Harlo looked over at the Barabel intently and said, “What is your history, Zethro?” Cygnus smiled a sarcastic smirk.
        “Yeah, give us the lowdown, the scoop, the exclusive, the beat. Why are you green, for example?” Nobody laughed.
“What about that lightsabre?” Harlo asked, apparently very interested.
Zethro sighed and said something inaudible under his breath. “Well, the entire story of my life, or at least the interesting fraction of it revolves around why I carry this weapon,” he told them, leaning back in the chair. Dominic Artemius leaned against the doorway to the cockpit, unnoticed by anyone but Harlo, who acknowledged his presence with a quick nod.
“Well continue then,” Harlo said, turning his attention back to Zethro.
“I was about nineteen years of age when this awkward line of events made a living hell out of my life. It was very complicating“
“Wait a second,” Cygnus interrupted, “how old are you, exactly?”
“I am eighty-two. The Barabel species does have the characteristic of living to about one hundred seventy-five, alongside being green,” he said with a chuckle. “Anyway, when I was nineteen a good samaritan of the Zabrak race helped me with something that I can’t quite recall. We eventually got into a mix-up with the Nar Shaddaa police and the violent street gangs that I have had to live with since I was born. Illicitly, we did escape the planet and my new friend took me to Coruscant. He had earlier indicated to me that he was actually a Jedi and was seeking a padawan“
“Sorry to interrupt you again,” Harlo said, “but what is a padawan exactly?” Zethro looked rather surprised. Harlo, as of yet, appeared to be historically knowledgeable about such things, but then realized that the term had died with the old Jedi Order.
“Padawan was a term adopted into the old Jedi Code and used furthermore in the Jedi Temple where Master Koth took me,” he said. Zethro noticed right away that Harlo was going to ask another question, but knew what the answer was already: “Master Koth was the Zabrak whom saw hope for me.”
“Wait a minuteso are you saying that you became a Jedi?” Cygnus barged in.
“It comes to that, yes.”
“I was under the impression that Barabels were not fluent with a Force ability,” Harlo said as he shifted in his chair and set his chin upon his palm.
“So was Master Koth,” Molt replied. “I am obviously unique to the species. My training was never completed, however. I had already returned to Nar Shaddaa and established myself back in the streets when the Jedi were hunted down.”
“And this is why you weren’t found?” Cygnus said. “The Empire looked upon you as just another local?”
“And a Barabel, for that matter,” Zethro said. “They didn’t normally scout out Barabels as their potential prey.” The three of them sat in silence for some time before Dominic Artemius made his presence known to everyone in the cockpit.
“How long did you study, Zethro?” he asked, gliding lightly into the room.
Zethro looked up at him, perhaps the only time that he would appear shorter than the Jedi. “Not long,” Molt replied. “I don’t remember most of it actually. It’s these Stamina Contests that have allowed me to retain the fact that I can even manipulate the Force. Yarael Poof of the old Jedi Council thought that a Barabel with Force ability would be an awful thing to waist, so therefore, I have kept it up in one form.”
No one else had anything to say as the ship approached the planet of Ossus where Antioch still waited. Artemius turned out of the cockpit, appearing to be thinking of something that Harlo couldn’t quite put his finger on. He stared out of the cockpit to where Dominic had sat down in a chair and pulled his lightsabre from his belt. Harlo was curious as to what he would be doing with a weapon on the interior of a ship. And while he expected something violent, the Jedi simply sat down and held the hilt of the weapon above his fingertips with the Force and it spun mystically in the air.
Dominic was very intent on the spinning lightsabre and so was Harlo. When the hilt began to slow down, the ship began to enter the atmosphere of Ossus and everyone prepared to depart the starship and arrange for the landing.

* * * *

Antioch Fi was running when the hatch in the back of the transport that touched down to the grassy surface of Ossus. What he was running from, he wasn’t sure, but expected it had something to do with his encounter with Sabreeth. Red laser fire plummeted into the ground behind him, narrowly missing each of his footsteps.
Dominic Artemius emerged from the exit ramp and saw the laser fire, and looked up at its source. Phadrax Monovial’s Titan craft was firing down on Antioch, seemingly doing no more than taunting the young Jedi, otherwise it isn’t likely he would’ve survived this long. Antioch sped up and Artemius ran out to meet up with him. “Get into the ship,” Dominic told him. Antioch didn’t slow down but simply dove into the open hatch.
Artemius ignited his lightsabre attempting to hurl himself into combat with turbolaser fire. He bravely held his weapon out in front of him as the Titan whirled around and began to bear down on him. A cannon held at the centre of the ship fired a single bolt at Artemius, who tried with all his strength to stop it. He hopped to the side, and held the blade of his Jedi weapon out behind him, and with all the force he could conjure up, he swung at the blast like a bat to a ball.
The action effectively deflected the laser blast, but knocked him over in the process. “Close it!” he yelled into the hatch. The ramp began to seal up and Artemius grasped his lightsabre from its fallen position on the ground. He jumped inside through the remaining space and shortly thereafter, the ramp closed.
Cygnus and Zethro Molt had all come to the back of the ship, leaving Harlo left to pilot. He wasn’t injured as much as everyone had expected; still standing tall. “Where do we go now?” Cygnus asked him.
“Well for starters, Antioch Fi, this is Zethro Molt, another being we’ve acquired on Nar Shaddaa while you were gone,” Artemius said, pointing to the corresponding two. “And, Billy, it is not important where we go, but what we get away from. Go help him elude this craft that is undoubtedly following us.”
Zethro went with him and they resumed their positions. Laser blasts rocked the hull of the transport at separate intervals. A sense of disparity flickered in Artemius’ mind and he turned to Antioch, who was sitting down, holding his face in his hands.
“What happened down there, Antioch?” he asked, sitting down beside him. They ignored the unstable ship, hoping that Harlo would be able to steer their way out of it.
“It’s bad, it’s very bad. I didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t think anyone would have the audacity to do this.” Artemius said nothing but focused intently on Antioch’s expression. “The Sith race hasn’t showed up for a long time, Dominic, and we will not likely see them again. But Monovial actually went through with expanding a whole new Sith way of life.”
“That can’t be true, Antioch,” Dominic told him. “It was a stupid goal that he has had for years on end now, and it is impossible to attain. Even then, he couldn’t have“
“I fought one of them.” Antioch had cut him off sharply. “There will be more, I know it. His name was Sabreeth and he was much younger than I, perhaps four or five years. His power is surprisingly substantial, Dominic.” They sat in silence for a long time until Artemius looked up at him from his endless glaring at the wall behind them.
“If you’re right,” he told him, “we have to do something about it, or they can only get bigger.”

* * * *

Not Sabreeth, nor Monovial were exceptional pilots in any kind of craft. It was so proven by the evasion that the Jedi had made from them. Nonetheless, everything that could’ve gone remotely wrong angered Monovial, who now stood in the back of the Titan warship, using his lightsabre to hack at the plasma poles he had set up for training.
Sabreeth sat alone beside the control data processor for the plasma poles, in complete silence. When Monovial emerged back at the beginning of the path, he was sweating and breathing hard, his double-bladed lightsabre pulsating with a tedious hum. “I have decided,” he said, deactivating his weapon, “that you will learn this, Sabreeth.” He held the long hilt of his sabre out to Sabreeth. He didn’t move, barely looking at it. “You being the first Sith Apprentice through my new order, you shall also be the most unique, prestigious and successful.”
“Must I learn this?” Sabreeth asked, standing to his feet. “Or is it simply an option?”
“An option, of course,” Monovial replied. “Why don’t you want to learn it? Two blades are far more dangerous than one. I don’t see why you would refuse this training.”
“Did I say that?”
Monovial smiled. “You demonstrate exceptional skill with a single-bladed lightsabre, I see not why you wouldn’t do well with this.” Sabreeth took the hilt and examined it for some time. Its bulbous emitter was intricately marked and welded together smoothly into a series of many rings for improved grip. The rings met at the centre with what appeared to be a vent of some sort.
“What are these?” Sabreeth asked, referring to the centre of the hilt.
Monovial took the haft back and wrapped his fingers around the centre. With a quick twisting motion between his wrists, a magnetic binding in the centre of the hilt deactivated and the weapon broke in two. He now held two lightsabres, one in each hand, of sufficient length to house a single blade.
Sabreeth counted on the fact that he, himself, would have a great deal of difficulty fighting two-handed, as Monovial obviously had experience in. “I assume you are ambidextrous, Master?”
“Only because I trained myself to be,” Monovial told him. “That is not what you should be concerned with however. I wish to begin training you with this.” He connected the two butt ends of the lightsabre hilt once again. “How skilled are you in building a weapon such as this, Sabreeth?”
“I was considered a technological marvel amongst the Eleven. I made all of their lightsabres myself,” he replied, not seeming too proud of his work.
“You have acquired a lot of incredible titles for a person of fifteen, Sabreeth,” Monovial said, evidently impressed. “Now you will have but another to add to your prestige.”

* * * *

Corporal Kenneth Harlo and Corporal Billy Cygnus did not stay at that rank for long after officially registering under the terms and conditions of the New Republic’s fleet regiment. Cygnus became a Lieutenant in five short days and Harlo was promoted to a Second Lieutenant after honourably passing a test coordinated by Grand Admiral Sienar.
The Rebel Dominion complex on Ivinsnale expanded to more than three times its original size after their expansion missions were completed. The entire autonomous area was now confident that the Dominion was large enough to successfully defeat the ISA in a majority percentage of battles.
Admiral Cygnus10 and Grand Admiral Sienar began to coordinate a plan that would devour Imperial power and return to peaceful galactic rule. ColoPlants, ugly, black structures that were symbolically built on planets under the ISA’s rule, was the first target of that plan. The ColoPlants were designed to produce vital resources for different systems under Imperial control, and Sienar figured that attacking their resources is the way to getting on their inside, and ultimately taking control.
Thereby, the Rebel Dominion stepped up and out of hiding, ready to finally carry out their goal of restoring contentment and repose to the galactic system of government. With the support they received when scouting recruits, it was no doubt that the ISA at least new that their existence was blooming to one extent. They couldn’t hide any longer.

Story Menu