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Disclaimer: This is a private work of fiction, not indet to infringe any copyrights. All rights to the characters and the concepts of Star Wars rest with their respective owners. I receive no money or other compensation.
Telos – Junctions of the past
I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail,
yes, I would, if I only could, I’m sure you would
I’d rather be a hammer be nail,
Yes, I would, if I only I’m sure you would.
Jyarél, the Exile:
It still feels very strange to be fighting again. Somehow, some part of me had forgotten what it entailed. The shots echoing hollow in the doorway of the Ithorian quarters, are like a grave echo of all the souls I have sent to death. While I am racing across the room, dodging some shots, some other part of me wishes for a lightsaber to block these shots, but all I have is a battered vibrosword, that needs some repair soon. But it does not matter, nothing matters, the moment I see my enemies. They are four of them, scattered across a large room; some injured Ithorians are running around like mad, but I don’t even take them into count. My mind works like a computer now, and a fast one at that; within seconds I have calculated the angles of the shots, the positions of the four mercenaries, and am racing across the room. Pieces of the calculations fall into place within seconds, the first mercenary aims and shoots at me, as does number three, while Number two is changing to his own blade, and the fourth is effectively blocked by some strange kind of Ithorian furniture. Ad primum the shots miss me by a hair and hit their unintended targets; mercenary one has killed number four and number three kills the first one. Ad secundum I reach number two only one breath later, or blades meet, a spin around and deliver a snap kick that throws him into the next shot of mercenary number three, whose second shot gets his own comrade down. Ad finitum I throw one of the grenades I still have from Peragus station at number three, and take him down too. It hasn’t taken more than three minutes, but I have killed four men. Atton just storms in, coming from the greenhouse. “Anything under control there, are you alright?” he sees the dead mercenaries but says nothing, we just turn and race to the rescue of Chodo.
While we are boarding the shuttle, eventually, I can contemplate the events that transpired merely an hour ago. I turned back, from the calm traveller to the soldier I once was. I killed, and did so without thinking, - or with many thinking and little feeling – but now, when it is over, I want to weep. Even knowing that we were fighting for the good cause does not help. I killed more than a dozen men and women today, and their screams still echo in my mind. I’ll never forget them.
She came to me one morning,
one lonely Sunday morning,
her long hair flowing
in the midwinter wind.
I know not how she found me,
For in darkness I was walking,
And destruction lay around me,
From a fight I could not win.
Bao – Dur
I have been in this cage for nearly two days by now. Not that I know exactly how long I am here, but I know which day today is. They can’t take this from me, try as they might. I always know this day, one of the darkest to me. Even that dread day on Malachor V is nothing in comparison. It’s been more than five years now, and still, when I recall it, I feel like not believing it. To others I seem mad, and most of my former friends shook their heads, that I could recall this day, from all days in the world. It is the day I stood outside Cardooine fleet base and heard the announcement, that General Jyarél Denorian was being send to Exile, by the Jedi council, and the republic senate as well as republic high command had approved this sentence. To me it was like the perfect madness had just broke out. In all that dark times, in this madness of war and destruction she had been the only part that made perfect sense. I just need to close my eyes to recall the first time we met, right there, on Dxun.
“There just has been another transmission, General. It’s highly encrypted and scrambled. Without the VPI we’ll never decipher it.” The report was not intended for me to hear, but I did so, anyway. Kneeling on the muddy ground of what was called ‘the provisional command centre’ and trying to connect some consoles with the main receiver. The word told me that the General, our Jedi General Jyarél Denorian, had come up here.
“Well then – the techs have been working on this command centre for the last week, so there should be a chance to decipher the message.” I heard her voice and the next moment, I saw Colonel Brendan, gesturing for me to come up and probably answer some questions. So I rose. I had never seen our General before, but heard of her. She had a rep that grew with every new mission. She was a Jedi who had disobeyed the Council to help us, and even the Mandalorians deeply respected her, or so the story went. Her command troop, that went by the name ‘Jyaréls Vigilantes’ a team of twenty or so men that did the most dangerous assignments, was a legend too. She was said to accompany them on any grave mission. I don’t know what I expected, but certainly not this. A petite woman, fragile and slender, wearing an old, battered Echani armor, and now, lifting her chin and gazing right at me.
I snapped to attention and managed a correct reporting sentence. She waved it off. “At ease, Tech. What about the VPI receiver unit? It’s needed.”
I nodded, and somehow realised that her eyes were the most beautiful shade in between blue and violet. “It can be made ready in half an hour, General.” I replied, knowing that I could manage to connect the damned decrypting device in no time, before turning to my original work. She just nodded in consent and I set out to work at once.
It took me twenty minutes to get the VPI unit ready. It seemed as if all my work was driven by a surge of energy that day. After I reported my work complete, the Colonel ordered me to get on with the work, that had been interrupted before they arrived. He forgot, that it had been right here, and so I heard what they spoke.
“Sithspawn! They can’t have been failing three times in a row.” The General's voice betrayed a strictly controlled annoyance, of which I later learned, that she kept it for especially huge disappointments.
“At least it explains why this Mandalorian base is still active,” replied the Colonel. “They did not manage to bomb it. Damn! Three runs and no success.”
The General took a deep breath. “We have to clear out that base, nevertheless. Revan's troops will arrive in five days, and if the heavy defenses of this base are still active then… it’ll end in slaughter. I think we have to invade the base and finish it the old fashioned way.” She looked towards Colonel Brendan. “What about the team?”
“No good news there either, General. They managed to sneak past the Mandalorian lines and reach us... but they lost Ensign Mar’harv. I was told she was your tech expert.”
“So she was. The Force be with her.” For a moment the general's voice betrayed genuine concern. Then she braced herself. “We have to find someone to replace Mar’harv. It has to be a Tech expert again, with high expertise on shield systems. But Colonel – make sure that it is a volunteer. I won’t have anyone assigned to my team by force or order. They follow me into too many Rancor’s dens.”
While the colonel agreed and they both discussed the situation at length, I knew suddenly that I was to volunteer for this assignment. Even if I was signing up with death.
I am still in this cage. Out there, in what looks like some half abandoned cellar, that now serves as a prison, changes the guard. The Czerka thugs are standing out there, near the entrance and chat over some steaming mugs of Hoi soup. I could have been out of this cage hours ago, a day ago. I didn’t even try to run. There are at least three, now six, who keep a close guard on me. I didn’t wish to risk the fight. But everything has changed now. They are just six run down mercenaries, unaware and uncaring. I’ve encountered far worse in days past, Mandalorians, Mandalorian commandos and everything else they had. I’ve learned not to fear being outnumbered, I know the strength in it. And suddenly I feel the surge again, a warm wave from afar, washing over me. I know they don’t have a chance, I just have to fight them.
***
I’m running across the fields of Telos. My feet pounding the soft ground, my breath seems to inhale new strenght from the clear autumn air arround here. My hand, my good hand, the one that’s of flesh and blood is clutching the hilt of a vibro blade. It belonged to one of the mercenaries. I’ve been running since the moment I left the base, it is more then five clicks behind me, and I am not exhausted, not in the least. When I think back, to the moment when I broke through the shields of the cage, everything blurrs into rushed images. I know I have killed at least three of the mercenaries and injured two more, but it gives me neither satisfaction nor remorse. Some part of my mind, a calm and cool one, comments that I did a sloppy job back there and were it not Czerka thugs but Mandalorians they’d make me pay dearly for my mistakes. I know all this. The sixth mercenary ran and I left him to escape, even as could have shot him. My time with the Vigilantes should have taught me better, did teach me better. This is perhaps why I let the thug escape. I knew I could kill him, and all the training I got back then told me to eliminate the thread but the I did not, because it wouldn’t have been right. Not for Bao Dur, the Iridonian tech who is just in a crazy one man war against Czerka cooperation. Bao – Dur the tech of Jyaréls Vigilantes would have done so, and rightly so, because he fought for a real cause, for something greater than himself.
A loud bang interupts my thoughts, for the first time I interrupt my speedy run across what turns out to be a wide Telosian valley. Up in the skys I see I fiery ball, falling rapidly, smoke and flames add an aura of death around the falling object. A shuttle from Citadel station, obviously hit by the ground based defense lasers of Czerka cooperation. An Ithorian shuttle most likely, and it is headed right towards this valley. Even before the broken craft crashes on the ground, I know that all Sith- chewed Czerka mercenaries will be swarming around this place in no time. A normal engeneer would run and hide, a normal Iridonian too, but I am neither. If my escape is going to ever make sense, than it is now, and so I run across the fields, towards the crashed craft, that’s likely to explode or to burn out.
The shuttles ramp is half broken, when it eventually opens, it breaks right down. The metal gives in to the forces which pulls it with a screetching sound. Smoke errupts from the opening, inviting me to cough. There is not time for hesitation or fear. I enter the broken shuttle, only to nearly stumble over a body. An elderly lady is lying right by the entrances side. Someone must have dragged her here. Bending down, I lift her aged body and drag her out of the shuttle. Whoever brought her to the entrance tried to safe her life, so I rescue her at first, before reeintering the burning ship. It seems nearly impossible to make my way to the cockpit. Smoke, gas and small fires rage along the narrow corridor. The bulkhead of the cockpit is open. In the mists of smoke and burning sparks I perceive a figure, collapsed over the helm. Making my way towards the unconcious figure of another human, I stumble over wrrecked parts of the shuttle, and hear a deep howling from the main engine. The ship is going to explode any time soon. The pilot os considerably heavier then the old lady has been, but I manage do drag him out of the ship and over where the old lady rests in a safe distance from the ship. I want to collapse right beside them, to seek cover from the explosion that is to come all too soon. But then I realise that the pilot has not left his place, since the crash, he can’t have brought the old lady to the bulkhead. So someone else had still to be inside this ship.
It was a stupid idea to enter the wrecked shuttle a third time, but if there is someone else in here, it is up to me to safe him. Upon entering the smoking bulkhead, I hesitate. Where could the third person be? Noone had been in the cockpit except the pilot. And the elderly lady had been laid down near the bulk, so… The thought nearly hit me. The main engines! That’s where I’d gone, if I’d been among the shuttles crew. I hurry down towards the engine section. Rubble clutters the corridor, smoke bruns in my throat and my eyes. A fire rages, where the main shield generator has been and slowly eats away the cables towards the main engine. And between all this debris, fire and the sparks that fall like a deadly rain from the broken Hyperdrive, I see a nother figure, collapsed right beside the main energy core. This is why the shuttle has not exploded by now, I muse. That one has turned off the energy core, before it could overload. Between that collapsed spacer and me is a pile of broken metal from the ceiling and another smoldering fire. There’s hell, and there is hell. I remember the words of a fellow Vigilantes. But we walk through hell untouched. Without further hesitation I jump over the pile, never touched by the flames, landing beside the collapsed figure. The human is petite and fragile, I can lift it without problems. It is even easier than the old lady.
I know the shuttle wont hold out any longer. Racing back to the bulk, I don’t think about the danger for my life, or the unconcious human. I know, I feel the energy in the shuttle, flowing back to the broken drive, I know the cycle of detornation, and what time is left to me. I can’t say how I manage to find my way out in time. But when I race uphill, and hear the explosion behind me, I know I have made it in time. Still a little shaky I stop uphill and look down on the person I saved from the shuttle. A long haired human, her dark hair stands high up, where it touches my artifical arm, but the face, that leans against my shoulder is not the face of stranger. Like a bolt it runs through me as I realise who it is, I hold in my arms. It is know one else, then Jyarél Denorian.
When darkness falls,
leaving shadows to the night,
don’t be afraid,
wipe that fear from your eyes,
there is a little hope,
we just need to go on,
don’t be afraid,
you’re not alone.
Jyarél, the Exile
The shock from disengaging the main power generator had wiped out my concioussnes, leaving me stunned on the ground, throwing my mind into a black, dreamless pit. By right, this should have doomed us. And I knew this. On my ability to absorb the dangerous energies I had rested the slim hopes for escaping the burning shuttle. So awakening alive and relatively unharmed outside the shuttle comes as a great surprise. Surely it is too cold for any kind of mythological hell, and still too painful for the force so this has to be Telos. The pain in my left foot stopped, and was replaced by a rather odd sensation. A cold, sparkish feeling, that send a little tickling up to my knee.
Raising my head just enough to see more, I realise that I am lying outside on a green hillside. Someone was kneeling right beside me, taking care of my injured foot. Not someone, I correct myself, but an Iridonian male, a quite muscular character, whose left upper arm ends in a stump. A blue light, like some kind of energy wire erupts from that stump and connects to an artificial hand, that’s just now resting on my lower leg and attaching some Kolto to some cut there. I study the arm a moment longer. He must have lost his arm in a fashion that there was no chance to patch him up in a good hospital with enough Kolto. The conclusion is simple enough: it’s a wound received on a battlefield. Now he turns to me and grins broadly. “Good to see you’re awake again, General.”
Several things happen all at once, as he speaks. The moment he calls me by my former rank, my mind reaches towards my recollection of all Iridonian I met back then. My colleagues always mocked my habit to read personal files thrice and marvelled at my nearly photographic memory afterwards. A dozen or so pictures of fair skinned Zabrak start to flash through my mind. But the same time I think I know him. He looks remarkably like the Zabrak who served so faithfully with the [I]Vigilants[/I], but the face is changed. New tattoos make it hard to tell if he is the same. The last conversation with Chodo Habat on Citadel station comes to my mind. The Ithorian mentioned a Zabrak who fought a one man war against Czerka cooperation down here and went by the name of Bao Dur. The pieces fall together, leaving a clear picture. This Zabrak is Bao Dur, born in 79/1493/6300 according to Iridonian time, in Bael – Car- Zeyth, Iridonia. He joined the Vigilantes on Dxun and stuck with us until Malachor V. The tattoos on his face have changed greatly since then. All these thoughts flash by in the blink of an eye. By now I have also realised that the cold sparkish feeling in my lower leg has been caused by his artificial arm, where it touched my skin. I relax a little and exercise some light Jedi muscular control, to suppress any instinctive reaction to twitch where the energy of his arm brushes my skin. It’s no big deal to make it appear that I don’t feel anything strange. “Bao –Dur.” I manage a half-smile. “Where am I?”
“Easy, General. You have been through a rough grounding when your shuttle crashed on Telos.” He says in his soft, warm voice.
The voice ignites a flood of memories from the past. I manage to sit up and so I see what is left from the shuttle. A wreck, eaten away by flames. “You saved us from burning.” I observe, relieved. It seems strange, that after all those years he was there, right in time, to get me out there. I could trust him with my life, knowing it in good hands. In his embarrassed reaction I find the comrade of times past again. He has not really changed even as the tattoos of his face have and… is it possible that he has grown since then?
“No, General. I owe you more than this.” He replies.
His words nearly make me blush and still cause me to swallow hard. After all he’s been through, after the nightmare of a war, after losing his arm in the hell of Malachor V, he can look at me and tell me that he owes me his life. And he is honest about it. I marshal my feelings to a smile. “Thank you, Bao Dur. What about my companions?”
He nods, raises to his impressive nearly seven feet height, stretches out his hand, and helps me up too. “The pilot is fine, and the old Lady is tough, more than meets the eye.” He summarises.
Atton and Kreia start their new day with bickering at each other. I should be used to this by now. None of them really likes the idea of another companion. Kreia nods shortly in the end. “The Iridonian might prove useful.” She points out. “And be it to pilot the ship, next time.”
Atton gives a snort. “Is this the league of the one handed madmen?”
I should not get angry, but I do. Kreia lost her hand protecting me and Bao… Bao lost his arm right under my command and still had the strenth to save me that dark day. “Stop it, Atton.” I bark at him. “Bao Dur is an old, very loyal, friend and you’ll keep your venom to yourself!”
“He, I won’t fret if you take the Iridonian along.” Atton gives in, casting a disappointed glance at Bao Dur.
On our way towards the Czerka base camp I try to catch up with what happened to Bao since Malachor V. Not that I get much more than some superficial facts and a deep analysis of Telos calamities. Bao does not speak much about himself, but the scarce words tell me about the loners life he has led since the war ended. Our conversation ends and he points forward. “A guard-droid! Damn! They must have spotted us.” He is speaking of the Czerka mercenaries he escaped earlier. He has not said much about his flight, but it wasn’t really necessary, I know what an amazing fighter he is. But still, he is unarmed. He lost his vibroblade when he rescued me from the shuttle. I hand him my doubleblade I worked and upgraded on Citadel station. “There, you are going to need it.” I feel a little awkward saying this. For he is so good in constructing and upgrading arms of all kind, that my work is crude in comparison.
He nearly pushes the blade back into my hands. “No, General. You’ll need it yourself.”
I hand it to him a second time. “I still have my two single ones. I prefer the one handed versions, you know.”
Them who ask no questions, isn’t told a lie,
and watch the walls my darling,
while the gentlemen go by.
Atton ‘Jacq’ Rand
I hate surprises, I always did. Well, my life has turned out to be a surprise, more or less. But I hate kind of seven feet tall, horned surprises, that take the most slimy, deferential stance towards Jyarél. But that’s what the Zabrak does. I’d like to feet him back to the merc’s he escaped from.
And all the “General” stuff, it gives me the creeps. If I think back, honestly, I seem to remember. There was someone like her. No, not exactly like her, but a ten years younger more lively version of her. General Denorian. Shit. Goddamn, Sithcursed shit. I’ve heard of her, loads of stories. Everyone spoke of her at some times back. She was some kind of legend, that kind that makes your skin crawl. And this was even before Malachor V. Still, this Iridonian keeps “Generaling” her all over the place. Looking for an order every second turn.
Jyarél seems to be changed just by meeting him. The two of them hit of right the moment they met again. While we run across the valley she ignores us, completely concentrated in this Iridonians stupid history. Who cares what he thinks of Telos current situation? Who ever said that Iridonians have something like brains? When they both swoop down to fight I can see another change. Up till know Jyarél was careful when fighting, a little unsure, and out of practice. Now she is bold and decisive. She does not care to protect her back, she does not need to any more, because there is a seven feet tall Iridonian to guard her. The way the slay their way through the Czerka thugs reminds me of other times, of days past. I don’t know if I like the thought.
