Coruscant. After the Battle of Xa Fel, around the time of the Onyxian Campaign.

Who ever knew truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?
-Milton

A prisoner in the Inquisition is never allowed to see the face of his accuser, or of the witnesses against him, but every method is taken by threats and tortures, to oblige him to accuse himself, and by that means corroborate their evidence.
-John Foxe

The Inquisitorius, the Imperial Inquisition, is an independent branch of the government shrouded in mystery. Their mandate is unknown to many; they are seen by most Imperial citizens as a dark force patrolling in their midst, keeping them safe from threats from within. In fact, the Red Terror, as they have come to be known, are responsible for the seeking out, registration, control, and neutralisation of all force users who present a threat to the Empire. This now puts it at the flashpoint of the fight against the Crusade.

Which is right where I want to be, thought Ithron, as he paced down the deserted corridors of the Citadel.

Established by Emperor Palpatine, the Inquisitorius enjoyed its greatest successes during the years of the Rebellion, hunting down and exterminating the remains of the old Jedi Order. Since then, it had survived in one form or another, ignored by the reforms of the changing Imperial administrations. Technically falling under the command of the Imperial General Staff, but despised or feared by regular soldiers, the Inquisition has almost a free hand in dealing with suspected Force agents - and its Grand Inquisitor enjoys almost unrivalled autonomy and authority.

The lower corridors were surgical and bland. They had a function to perform and didn't care how much comfort it was performed in. Ithron could also sense an unusual Force signature in the building. The very walls seemed to absorb the essence of the Force, dulling Ithron's senses. How this had been acheived, he had no idea, but the effect was strange.

Ithron was in walking inwards from one of the five sides of the massive Pentagonal structure. Each of these sides supported its own spire. Towering over them all, however, was the central spire - the nerve centre of the Inquisition building. As he went further into the Citadel and into the nerve centre and more secure areas, the decoration became more elaborate. Bare concrete wallls and flooring gave way to dark wood panelling and carpets. Clinical electrical lights faded out in favour of hanging lighting. The effect wasn't dissimilar to the Jedi Academy or the Sith Temple.

Here there were soldiers and guards all along the corridors. They stood aside as he passed. Most clenched their weapons - they had years of training on how to combat Force users and they were being asked to let one pass into the most secure areas of their lair. They were clearly expecting him though - the name of Lupercus Darksword carried weight here as much as anywhere, apparently.

Finally, he reached the door he was looking for - the Office of the Grand Inquisitor. Having barely stopped, a voice announced "Enter." and a red-clad guard opened the door from the inside.

The first thing Ithron noticed, despite himself, was the lavish and ornate decoration of the room, putting the rest of the building to shame. The opulence said a lot of the personality of the Grand Inquisitor.

Odd how the heads of any Order related to the Force can't help but surround themselves with luxury. The Jedi do it, Lupercus does it and I'll be damned if the Grand Inquisitor isn't doing it. Ithron thought.

There was a table in front of him with five figures seated on the opposite side. The central one was clearly Grand Inquisitor Viscount Ierin del Forza, identifiable by his red tunic and black hair. There were two lower ranking Inquisitors on his left. On his immediate right was a man wearing an Imperial military uniform. He was clearly of at least Vice-Admiral rank. The final man, dressed in black, was someone Ithron didn't recognise. They stood as he entered.

"Welcome to the Inquisition, my young Sith friend. Please, take a seat. I must say, I'm intrigued as to what brings you here. Members of your Order....while being, of course, Imperial citizens like us, aren't always keen to visit these halls. Perhaps they fear we'll treat them like the Jedi." The Viscount's smile wasn't entirely friendly. Ithron could read the veiled threat, and chose to ignore it.

"Thank you." he began, sitting down. The others sat and the guard left the room, closing the door as he did so. "Gentlemen. I'm here to discuss the situation relating to the recent attack on the Empire, at Xa Fel. Clearly, that attack concerned the Sith Order greatly. We see no reason to believe that the incursion into Imperial space will stop there, however.

"I assume you're all, by now, familiar with what little we know of the enemy forces. Clearly, they were fielding Force Adepts. This, I propose, concerns you greatly. Is not your remit to defend the Empire against such people?

"Let us be honest, my Lord. Do you not want to see these attackers destroyed, driven off, beaten to the ground? For the good of the Inquisition and the Empire? The Sith Order shares your goals. I share your goals.

"I believe we have much to offer one another. The Sith have Force techniques that far surpass your own." Ithron held up a hand to stifle the coming protest. "Please, let me finish. Our techniques have been refined over centuries with the purpose of crushing our enemies. However, we lack numbers. On Xa Fel, that proved crucial. You, gentlemen, have numbers and resources, but I would suggest that you lack the specialist abilities of the Sith."

The Grand Inquisitor sat back rubbing his chin with his hand. "Continue..." Ithron could sense that the Viscount knew where this conversation was headed, but that he wasn't prepared to pre-empt the Sith.

"Grand Inquisitor, I propose that an emissary of The Sith Order works with the Inquisition on any upcoming campaigns."

"I assume you mean yourself?" The Inquisitioner to the Viscount's left spoke for the first time.

"You are correct, of course. You are now organised, I believe, as a military organisation - befitting the Empire. If my knowledge is up-to-date then you field a competent Army, a modest Navy and a substantial Intelligence Corps. I suggest that your Intelligence departments cannot benefit from any outside interference. The Sith couldn't care less for your arrests of Imperial citizens. Your Naval forces, I assume, are up to the usual high standards of Imperial training. Your ground forces, however. The ones who will come face to face with these invaders, these.....crusaders, if you will. That's where we can help you - and where you can help us.

"I promise you, your men will be cut down like puppets if you send them into battle as they are now. You have numbers, but they have greater numbers. With our help, your men could take the fight to the enemy."

The Viscount spoke again, interrupting - clearly his patience was running out, and he was keen to get to the point that he had seen coming. "Yes, yes. I'm sure we all have a lot of expertise to share. Our time is limited. What specifically are you proposing?"

"I'm proposing to complete your training, such as it is. I'm proposing to gain one of your coveted Imperial Commissions, and lead your men into battle. Playing by your rules, gentlemen.

"Of course, you could treat me like any other applicant."

Ithron paused to allow the absurdity of this idea to sink in.

"But by the time we've done the screening, the briefings, the Force training, who knows how many men you will have lost? That's why I've come to you. To the top.

"Time is of the essence. What do you say?"

The Citadel - South Slope of the Minaari Mountains

Imperial Center




The Citadel would have been a massive structure on any world; any world save Coruscant. There, at the heart of the Galactic Empire it was of average size, unique only in its design and function. From its base on a slope of the largest mountain chain, the Citadel sat higher than the Palace and overlooked a great deal more. From a huge pentagonal base a hundred levels in height stood six towers, one at each corner containing the offices of functionaries and bureaucrats, and one larger and slightly taller one jutting up from the center, covered entirely of mirrored transparisteel. Here sat the higher order of functionaries and bureaucrats, right up the top where their overlord sat in an ornate office that showed off not only the riches of the conquered cosmos but also Coruscant's most treasured luxury: space. It was no wonder then, given the red-uniformed guards who walked about, and the sinister nature of the business transacted there, that all but those on official matters stayed well clear.


That a man had strode up into one of a hundred lobby entrances and requested an audience with none other than the Grand Inquisitor himself was downright unheard of. Of course, even before his entrance, cameras of every kind had tracked his arrival, alarms chiming away in klaxons in squad rooms and armories in concert with flashing warning lights. Sure enough one man, one interloper into the lair of the Inquisition was not worth such trouble, but then this guest was not a regular man, he was a Sith. Ysalmir cages were rushed forward and hidden in corridors that could see out but were disguised from the eye as wood panelling or artwork. On the heels of an Inquisitor, the robed figure was escorted in and up.


So impressed by the boldness was he who the Sith came to see that he halted a meeting of aides and sat in silence as the Force-user entered and presented himself.


The highest ranking of the audience listened thoughtfully and deigned not to point out the glaring omissions of the speaker's synopsis, for they were minor details: the Inquisition had only a small naval contingent, intelligence was handled by Intelligence, and the army of which the Sith spoke was actually seven divisions-worth of infantry for all Inquisition duties. No, he listened attentively and cataloged every remark for later use. When he was done, he dismissed all but one of the assemblage and gestured to some black leather chairs arranged around a small wooden table, their backs to the tall corner windows beyond which Coruscant bustled, oblivious.


Three mean seated themselves in the chairs: the arrived Sith, Ithron; the Grand Inquisitor of the Empire, Ierin del Forza; Agent Y'brix, Imperial Intelligence. For a moment nothing passed between them; the Grand Inquisitor replayed the final statement from the Sith. "Time is of the essence. What do you say?"


Breathing deeply, the Corellian removed the black gloves from his hands. " No."


Rage flashed over the Sith's face. Rejection, out of hand! A generous offer of trust and cooperation rebuffed like the dismissal of an appetizer at a dance. Then the blond haired man held up a hand.


" As you say, it would take entirely too long, for you to attain a commission in the service, even with your talents. No, a military command is out of the question. However, if you are quite serious, there is another capacity for which you would be ideally suited."


The Sith Ithron took his turn to listen.


" About one in ten members of the Inquisition has Force talent of some kind, on the whole that being the ability to levitate a stylus or rifle for a minute at best. You have full mastery of that, and that puts you in a unique position to understand the Force, and how to fight against it. To be sure, we have been trained by the best by Sith such as yourself to resist control techniques and the like, so we know how to fight Force users. We do not know what it is to be Force users and thus you have the advantage."


" You want me to train them? Your men?" The Sith sounded incredulous.


The Viscount del Forza let arrogance build his reply. " No, I doubt our training could be improved. You could be directly appointed an Inquisitor answering to the High Inquisitors over you at a marginal level and more importantly, directly to me. You will receive constant training on all Imperial matters so you are up to par when a military matter crosses your desk but I think you are smart enough to leave that to professionals. I will empower you to do what you want: fight this...Crusade. I will assign my men to you as you need them and you will report to me But be warned this comes at a price. You will swear an Oath to the Emperor and to the Inquisition. Your Sith loyalties will be seconded to the needs of the Empire without exception. Do you understand?

You will swear an Oath to the Emperor and to the Inquisition. Your Sith loyalties will be seconded to the needs of the Empire without exception. Do you understand?

Ithron listened in silence; he had expected this, and was ready for it.

Everything comes down to honour and loyalty with you people. He spoke only in the privacy of his own head. You, who get at the truth with downright dishonourable means. You, who have no doubt got men ready to rush in and drag me away for torture and interrogation, if you deemed it necessary - you dare to speak of loyalty...?

Putting these thoughts aside, he smiled and allowed a hint of astonishment to enter his voice.

"My Lord, my loyalty is already to the Empire! Are not the various Sith Orders part of His Imperial Majesty's domain? Did you not come to our aid at Xa Fel? Am I not, even now, offering to fight alongside you?

My Master, Lupercus Darksword, who also commands my loyalty, is himself the Diktator of Corellia! There is no conflict between my 'Sith loyalties' and my Imperial ones.

Nevertheless, I will swear your Oath, as you wish. Since I am working for the Inquisition now, am I not?"

Any thoughts Ithron had about the truth or consequences of this last statement remained sealed in his own mind. At that moment, there was a knock at the door and an aide walked in. The Grand Inquisitor turned in his chair, his irritation evident. Clearly, he had wanted to say more.

"Yes?"

The newcomer leaned so that his mouth was close to the Viscount's right ear and began to whisper his news. Ithron couldn't hear what was being said, but a few words were discernible; "Onyxian", "urgent" and "overwhelming". Ierin del Forza's expression paled and he began to toy with his gloves. Seemingly arriving at a decision, he stood up. The Intelligence Agent and Ithron stood also.

"It appears that events are now moving faster than we would, perhaps, like them to. I'm needed elsewhere. Is there anything further?" He began to put his gloves back on as the aide hurried out of the room.

"Nothing further, my Lord. I shall go to Corellia now, to make some final arrangements. When I return, I request a Battalion strength of your men - that's three infantry companies and a support company - containing at least one Company of Force talented individuals. The details of this I leave to you. With your approval, I will start exercises and training with them immediately upon my return.

"Mark my words, Grand Inquisitor; Give me a month, and I will give you a unit to stop these barbarians in their tracks."

* * *

Within hours, Ithron was on his shuttle, and heading for Corellia. Mere minutes of meditation were providing the benefits of a full night's rest.

The young Sith knew that to defeat the attackers of Xa Fel in open battle, he would need more than crack inquisition troops - he would need to use all the methods of the Force at his disposal. One such method was the technique known to some as "Battle Meditation", one long perfected by and associated with Lupercus Darksword. Ithron hoped to learn the secrets of binding mens' wills to his own.

It was almost a day later that Ithron walked off his shuttle. Lupercus was waiting in the otherwise deserted landing bay of the Palace. Whatever greeting passed from one to the other was a silent one. Ithron could feel the Master effortlessly penetrating his mental defences, reading the details of what took place on Coruscant straight from his Apprentice's own memory.

You know why I've come, Master. The words remained unspoken.

The reply was a mere echo in the fabric of the Force as Lupercus turned to leave.

Yes... Follow me.

Ithron had only ever been into the private meditation chambers of Master Lupercus Darksword on a handful of occasions. Anyone who knew the man by reputation only might have been surprised by the sparseness of the room - there were no decorations, just a black room filled with black pillars holding up the ceiling. The entire room looked to be made of some sort of marble that seemed to be reflecting Force energy. The effect was strange for a Force user - like walking into a hall of mirrors.

"Battle Meditation." Lupercus began. "You have come to learn this technique. It has been used since time immemorial by Jedi and Sith alike to increase the fighting power of a group of men."

Ithron knew this, and indeed, the Master seemed to be talking to himself, remembering old times and past battles. Any Sith alive would name Lupercus Darksword of Corellia as the greatest living practitioner of the art of Battle Meditation and it was for this reason that Ithron had come back to him to learn.

When the Master next spoke, it was in a low tone of voice full of menace. "Ithron. You don't have very long to learn this. You promised the Grand Inquisitor a fighting force within a month and it is imperative that you deliver this. The Crusade won't wait."

Ithron nodded.

"In principle, Battle Meditation is easy," Lupercus went on. "Simply focus on the Force signatures of those around you and join them to you and each other, much as you can tease out a strand from a ball of wool and hold onto it.

In practice, however, keeping track of potentially hundreds of force signatures and carefully balancing the level of control is one of the most challenging things that a Force user can try."

"Balancing, Master? What balance is this?"

The Master's frown deepened as if Ithron had asked a particularly obtuse question. "Control them too much and they won't be able to act or think without specific instruction from you - and no Sith, no matter how advanced, can exercise absolute personal control of that many men.

Control them too little, on the other hand, and it won't be worthwhile doing it - you would make more difference to the battle by fighting on the front lines personally.

It's a balance, Ithron. A balance which one learns from experience, from battles, from time. Of course, time is one thing that you don't have."

The Master turned to face Ithron and he felt tendrils of the Force reach out and hold him in place and then lift him off the ground. He felt his mental defences being stripped away and his mind being laid bare for Lupercus.

"Master....? What are you doin-" Ithron's plea was cut off by a wince of pain as the Sith Master accessed his mind, shuffled through his memories as he wanted and added new thoughts and feelings.

"I would imagine this is intensely uncomfortable for you. That can't be helped." Lupercus explained, in the same low voice. "I'm putting into your mind some of my experience of this Force technique. It won't make you as proficient as me." A laugh. "Nowhere near, in fact. But it will give you an edge and sharpen your natural instincts."

The pain was becoming more intense now, and Ithron began to writhe under the force of Lupercus' energy directed at his mind. Within minutes, he had lost conciousness with Lupercus' face the last thing he saw.

Imperial Training Facility, Tiberius

The Imperial Training Facility wasn't just situated on the rocky planetoid Tiberius, it was the planetoid. Many years ago, before the galaxy had ever dreamed of sentient life, much less the Galactic Empire or even the Old Republic, some terrible act of nature had torn the lump of rock later to be named Tiberius away from whatever stellar nursery it had been formed in and sent it hurtling through space on a collision course that would one day lead it into the black hole at the centre of the galaxy.

Lucky for us, that day won't come any time soon. Major Zachary Granger thought to himself as he surveyed his troops. Although a black hole would liven the place up.

As Acting CO of the Third Battalion of the Second Regiment of Imperial Inquisition Light Infantry (falling under the banner of the First Division), the task of addressing the men on their arrival fell to him. Taking a pace forwards, Granger raised his voice so that all the men could hear him. Some, newer recruits mostly, turned to look at him as he spoke. Behind his men, he could see harsh, unforgiving terrain and the faint blue of the thin atmosphere held tenuously by the weak gravity of the planetoid.

He knew that it was many years ago, probably even under the Old Republic that the rock had been requisitioned for use as a training area. The entire surface was covered with different kinds of terrain, weather simulators and advanced technologies to make simulated warfare as real as possible. He had even heard rumours that new holographic drones - hoverbots projecting the 3D image of an enemy soldier around them - were in use to add to realism. Granger hoped so. His men were well trained, but many lacked experience shooting at a human form.

"Gentlemen. Welcome to Tiberius. This will be our home for the duration of these exercises." His Coruscanti accent, mostly picked up in the Officers' Mess, belied his rank but his clipped words and volume hinted at his past in the Regular Imperial Army. A good commander, he knew exactly what it was that his men wanted to know about and he got to the point. "I am sure that many of you have heard of the systematic attacks on Imperial systems."

Granger could see a ripple of movement spread through the ranks as men stirred and sergeants murmured threats to quieten them. The Inquisition troops clearly hadn't expected him to address what was on their minds at the start of his speech.

"Our performance on these exercises will most likely decide exactly what role the Third will play in any possible reprisals. The situation is that simple. If we make the grade then we will play our part in defending the Empire as I'm sure we all want to. If we fail at the test then the nearest we will get to the fight will be images on INS."

Silence.

"Make no mistake, Gentlemen. You are being judged. We, as a unit, are being judged. We will commence operations at 0600 tomorrow. Company Commanders, take over and dismiss your men. Gloria Imperium."

As he and his headquarters staff stalked away from the parade area and the sound of shouting commenced at the Company level, Granger looked up at the dark sky of Tiberius where he knew there orbited several reconnaissance satellites ready to record the every move of his men for later analysis. He reached up to fiddle with his moustache, something he only did when he was apprehensive.

"More bloody exercises, eh Jim?" he muttered.

"No problem, Sir." It was Major Anders, Battalion Intelligence Officer and Granger's nominated second-in-command, who had spoken. The two men were good friends. "Though I wouldn't mind knowing why we've been ordered here and not to one of the front line worlds. We're as trained and ready as we're going to get - I thought the Inquisition was leading the fight on this one? With the enemy being who they are and all."

The rest of the headquarters staff nodded and spoke their agreement. In the short time he had been in command of the unit, they had learned that Granger appreciated their openness more than blind obedience. Their commander sighed. He had been trying to figure the same thing out for a while and could think of only one thing. Anders beat him to it, however, as he continued.

"Reckon we got a new CO on the way?"

"Could be, Jim. Could be."

Sith Vessel Razor

Ithron opened his eyes and groaned. He hadn't felt this bad since long before he became an adept of the Force. Having a Sith Master rout through one's head, though, seemed to have a similar effect to drinking several bottles of the strongest Corellian wines. Sitting up, he felt his head swim and became aware of random thought floating across his ordinarily disciplined mind. Some were memories from his own life, but others didn't seem familiar.

"Who the fuck is Gash Jiren, anyway?" he muttered to the interior of the cabin as he tried to work out where he was. It didn't take him long to work it out. The Razor was a one of the nicer small vessels from Lupercus' hanger. Originally built as a prototype shuttle to his personal specifications, Lupercus had since gone up in the world and the ship had all but passed to Ithron. Fast for its size, but built as a transport rather than a warship, the Razor favoured black decoration and sleek lines both inside and out.

As he got to his feet, Ithron spotted a flashing light on the control panel of the shuttle. Touching it, he heard his Master's voice fill the cabin.

"Welcome back to the realm of the conscious, my Apprentice, assuming that your small mind wasn't blown apart by the knowledge you've gained. The number of times a Sith Master has shared his skill with an Apprentice in the way that I did can be counted on a Hutt's fingers."

So why did you do it then? Ithron thought to himself, trying to work out where Lupercus was going with this.

"I bet even now, you're trying to work out the whys and hows." Ithron could sense the smugness in the voice. "Let me spell it out - you represent me. It is well known that you are my Apprentice and so if you fail, I fail. If you succeed, I succeed. It is in my interests to help you. Pray that it remains so. You had no time to learn this skill on your own and so I taught you it, but I shall expect payment in the form of perfect service. Remember this.

Another memory rose unbidden to the front of Ithron's mind, even as it was beginning to clear. It was of Master Cole Donovin, back at the Academy during Ithron's days there.

For we are Jedi, Ithron. That means that we share knowledge for the betterment of us all. All I know, I will give to you freely, in the fullness of time.

Ithron remembered asking why he couldn't be shown everything immediately and how his then-Master had frowned.

Patience, Ithron. Impatience will lead to jealousy. That road leads to the dark side. I've seen that train of thought claim too many good Jedi. If we were Sith, young padawan, I would tell you only what you needed to extend my own influence by fighting in my name. I would expect payment and allegiance. As a Jedi, I expect nothing...

For a brief moment, Ithron wondered again what had become of Donovin but Lupercus' hard voice tore him from his moment's daydream.

"I believe you will find a transmission from the Inquisition stored on your shuttle. I took the liberty of boxing you up in the Razor and sending you off while you were taking a rest."

His mental discipline taking over and clearing his mind, Ithron looked the orders, covered by a note from the Citadel.

[FONT=Courier New]Inquisitor Ithron,

Proceed to the Tiberius Imperial Training Facility. A Battalion is waiting for you to begin training. You will find the details of the detachment attached to this message, but in short: You are hereby provisionally granted the rank of Inquisitor and instructed to commence operations with the Third. In one month, the situation regarding your future in the Inquisition will be re-evaluated depending on the outcome of the training. Officially, you will be in operational command. Military command will fall to Major Granger.

You are granted an almost free hand in your methods, subject to abiding by Imperial Military Law. This is non-negotiable.

Finally, you should know that there was considerable opposition to your appointment from within the Inquisition, as you might imagine.

Office of the Grand Inquisitor.[/FONT]

Ithron raised his eyebrows. "As I might imagine indeed."

Images had already begun to form in his mind of the sort of soldiers he expected the Inquisition to field: Row after row of docile, bear-like men moving in unison, their minds broken to the cause. He saw them led by loud, unintelligent officers making up for their inability to improvise by a willingness to fight to the last man. He didn't yet realise how wrong he was, and settled down to meditate, setting the shuttle to notify him an hour before arrival.

Tiberius

Laser bolts flew through the air as the various platoons and companies making up the Third Battalion advanced on the temple-like structure being defended by several hundred humanoid holograms. Using the cover exactly as they had been trained and carefully laying down covering fire, the advance continued until the objective was in friendly hands and the exercise was officially declared over.

On hearing the cry of "ENDEX", the men broke cover to congratulate each other, discuss what they had just done and catch their breath. In minutes, there were cups of hot drink being brewed after the manner of every army in history.

Major Granger had watched and commanded the textbook assault from his Field Command Vehicle - really nothing more than a modified troop transport. He knew that as a commander he should demand that his troops work harder and perform better next time but with a sigh, he knew that any such demand would be meaningless. His officers and men were performing at the highest efficiency that could be reasonably expected.

When he first heard of his transfer to the Military arm of the Inquisition, Granger had expected to be grouped with sinister men in hooded capes dragging innocent people away and torturing them in the name of security. Indeed, there did exist that side of things. In that vein, every Battalion still had a Commissary - an Officer whose job it was to ensure that the Inquisition stayed true to its roots as an anti-Force organisation. It had come as something of a surprise for him to find that most of the units presently in existence were trained to be used as urban light infantry against an enemy using the Force in any significant way. To achieve this, men were trained in resisting hostile Force control and basic Force skills, like tracking Force signatures as well as urban combat techniques.

Granger sat back and rubbed his eyes. He knew it was going to be a late night, running over the battle records and working out if there were any weak links left in his chain of command. Suddenly though, he heard the sound of the door to his vehicle sliding open behind him and turned around to see a young Corporal saluting.

"What's up, Corporal?" Granger said after acknowledging the salute. He wondering what could warrant a personal messenger rather than a comm signal.

"Sir. There's a gentleman waiting to see you at your earliest convenience." said the messenger, looking uncomfortable. "Er... Sir? He's a Sith Knight."

Granger sighed. And so it begins.

"Yes, that's right Corporal." His eyes dared the young man to question any more. The challenge was refused. "As you were, young man. Please make him welcome and ask him to await my return."

"I'm afraid it's a little late for that." The speaker was another figure who had entered the vehicle. In this company, he didn't need the hood and cloak to be identified as a Sith Knight. His Force signature was clearly visible at this range - no wonder the Corporal had been nervous. Despite himself, his hand clenched on his service pistol.

"Inquisitor Ithron, I presume?" Granger stood and offered his hand, which the Sith shook amiably. "I wasn't expecting you for another day. Indeed, my orders are to not mention your arrival to anyone."

"That's not an order I was happy with, by the way." He added, somewhat gruffly. "However, I apologise if any of my staff have been.... rude. I'm sure it was unintentional, but we're not used to welcoming the Sith."

"I can imagine not, Major. I finished my other business early and decided to join you a little early. I hope that doesn't present any difficulties?" Ithron said. Granger could hear the dangerous tone of voice in which he said it but he supposed all Sith spoke like that and knew better than to rise to the bait.

"Of course not, no. You've caught us after an exercise, you know." He said as he dismissed the corporal with a wave of his hand. The young man saluted and then all but fled the vehicle.

"Yes, I noticed. I look forward to reviewing the logs, but it seems that you have a well trained unit, Major." The compliment took Granger by surprise so Ithron continued. "With your permission, I should like to address your senior officers this evening. Since they haven't been informed of my presence, that seems only proper. Tomorrow morning, we can inform the men, and begin proceedings."

"Very well, Inquisitor. Perhaps you would join us in what passes for the Officers' Mess this evening?" said Granger. And then perhaps you can explain what you mean by 'proceedings', he added mentally.

After leaving the command vehicle, Ithron had spent the remainder of the afternoon watching the men he would be training. Though he hadn't said so to Major Granger, he had been deeply surprised by what he had briefly seen of the Inquisition troops. Men showing initiative and working under a clear command structure capped by efficient, eager officers was not what he had expected of the 'Red Terror'. He supposed that the reforms of the Imperial armed forces training under people like Grand Admiral Desaria had caused changes even here.

With a smile though, he realised that if he played his cards right, the results could be better than even he had imagined.

* * *

That evening, Ithron arrived at the building that had been taken over for use as the Officers' Mess to find Major Granger waiting outside.

"Inquisitor." The Major's gruff greeting was growled but meant amiably enough. "I trust you found something to do this afternoon. Please, come with me."

"Thank you, Major. Yes, indeed. I took the time to observe your men." On seeing the look on the soldier's face, he went on brightly. "Of course, I took care to stay unnoticed. I wouldn't want anything to happen to me before we even began."

"Yes, quite." said Granger, leading the way into a bland room that would have passed unnoticed in any office block on any Imperial world. An effort had been made, however, including a white cloth tablecloth set with places and candlesticks. A steward stood by the table, eyeing Ithron cautiously but not moving from his disciplined stance. The other Officers were already seated and Ithron suspected that Granger had warned them what was to come because none of them seemed surprised to see him, a cloaked figure.

"Gentlemen." Ithron smiled at the assembled Officers and silence fell over the table. "Thank you for your hospitality. I'm sure it must be difficult to accept a Sith into your unit when you know so little of why I'm here. Major Granger knows some of what I'm about to tell you..."

"...well, that's good because we sure as hell don't." A young Captain muttered from halfway down the table. The dropping of the name 'Sith' had clearly stirred him. Before anyone could say anything more though, Ithron had spoken again, his voice hard and his eyes focussed on the young Officer.

"I suppose this is the part where I pick you up from your seat using the Force and strangle you until you apologise for interrupting me." Absolute silence and not a few hostile looks, until Ithron softened his voice and continued. "And I could do that, you know. I don't see the point though. I'm here as a friend, as you'll see soon enough. You're absolutely right though - you haven't heard anything about me. The Major's orders were very clear that he wasn't to say a word. Please, allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Ithron and I am a member of the Sith Order. My patron and master is Lupercus Darksword, Diktator of Corellia, and by the grace of our Grand Inquisitor, I hold the temporary rank of Inquisitor."

There was silence around the makeshift Mess as the assembled soldiers struggled to grasp what was being explained to them.

"And Ithron of the Sith Order, Apprentice to Lupercus Darksword, what brings you to the Third?" said a tall Lieutenant from the foot of the table.

"The war." Ithron answered simply. "As I'm sure you know, the recent attacks on Imperial star systems are being controlled by a force user or a group of Force users."

Major Anders spoke up at that. "That last I heard, it was meant to be a group of breakaway Sith."

The assembled Officers sat up at that, perhaps finding in it the reason for Ithron's arrival.

"That's correct, Major Anders. At least broadly." Ithron had learned the most important names that afternoon. "As for what brings me to the Third... Your training is excellent - far better than I expected - but I have permission from your superiors to take over your training for this one month before you go into battle. Before we go into battle.

"Gentlemen, I will extend the training of your men using Sith techniques so that this Battalion can lead the fight and counter-attack against these heathens."

There was silence until the young Lieutenant from the end of the table spoke again, this time looking at his CO. "What the hell? Sir, is this true?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. It is quite true. I will remain in military command of the unit, but Inquisitor Ithron will be taking over training from 0600 tomorrow." There was an uneasy shuffling around the table and several voices started to speak. "Please. Gentlemen. We want to be at the forefront of the fight, right? And it's hardly like there's no precedent of Sith working with the Inquisition."

"Quite so, Major." said Ithron. "I have brought with me that latest intelligence on the attacks, most of it classified far above your level. The training will involve me working with platoon-size groups to improve their dealing with a hostile Force user. I also intend to bring techniques such as Battle Meditation into the fray."

There was another silence as several men entered with the first course and the assembled Officers, hungry from a day's training, started eating.

"I must say...." began Anders after a while, staring intently at the contents of his soup spoon. "If this is a Sith takeover of Imperial Military resources, then it's a very polite one. And apparently, one that's been sanctioned by del Forza himself.

"Anyhow, It seems we have no choice in the matter, so I say, Inquisitor, welcome to the team."

The other officers echoed the sentiment, some more keen than others, but all recognising their lack of choice in the matter.

"I would like to know one thing though..." said the newest member of the Officer Corps of the Third. "Your men, I know, are taken from the regulars if they show Force sensitivity or if there's another good reason. I thought that was true of the Officers too?"

There was a general murmuring around the table at this show of Sith ignorance. It fell to Major Anders to answer.

"No, Inquisitor. I'm afraid not. We ragtag bunch of misfits-"

"-speak for yourself-" interrupted a Captain with a smirk.

"-bunch of misfits," continued Anders. "have been taken from all corners of the military. I was Navy. Captain Tolsa there was regular Infantry." He indicated the smirking junior officer. "Some of us volunteered. Some of us hate the Jedi and some of us were sent here."

There was a silence, this time from each man being busy with his own thoughts. Ithron looked around the room trying to see why each man was there. During the silence, the doors opened and the stewards came in to take away the remains of the first course. Ithron knew that his presence would be common knowledge by the end of the day by the power of gossip that could be stronger even than the Force at times.

"All that matters is that we're here, anyway." Anders continued.

"Quite so, Major. Quite so."

It was several weeks later. Ithron had been spending as many hours as he could every day training the men of the Third in Force techniques. A lot of them had been selected for the Inquisition because of their Force potential, so the starting point was good. However, it wasn't like working with a Sith Apprentice - these men were set in their ways and naturally distrustful of the Force.

Ithron eventually found that he was able to teach them how to protect themselves from mind control. He also taught them how to shield their own thoughts so as to be harder to predict in combat. This, he felt, would go the greatest way to making them effective against the forces of the Crusade. He spent hours with some of the more promising 'students', teaching them techniques for allowing the Force to aid their shooting and movement. All very small effects, but all would help.

The Officers, however, received a different set of lessons. Since they were chosen for their leadership and combat effectiveness, their ability with the Force varied. For instance, Granger was a fine field officer but had almost no Force potential. Anders on the other hand, took to the lessons well. Ithron did his best to teach them how to shield their intentions so as to make their tactics less transparent to the enemy. He also did his best to show them how to 'read' the Force to sense the readiness of an enemy in any given quarter. In return, he had them tell him of their experiences in battle and teach him Infantry tactics.

For practical lessons, he set up mock battles between the various companies. He had them armed with live weapons, with the strength turned down to a far below lethal setting. That way, the men quickly learned that getting hit was not a good thing. Ithron smiled as they learned that lesson. "Pain is the best teacher of combat." He said.

It was in the evening after one of these simulations that Major Granger and his second-in-command could be heard talking to teach other in a command vehicle.

"Bloody hell, Zac. It's actually starting to make sense." Anders grinned and sat back.

"For you, perhaps. Give me a blaster or a hovertank ahead of a lightsabre any day." Granger replied. "Well, Jim, what do you make of him?"

"The Sith?" Anders frowned. "He's not like I expected. Gods help me, I think he's quite reasonable - and he certainly wants to see these invaders beaten, I'll give him that. That said, I don't want to cross him. There's something dangerous about that man...."

Anders' voice trailed off, but then he continued. "Why, what do you think?"

"Despite the fact that he turned up and all but took my command off me... I'm not sure. Jury's still out, my friend. He certainly seems amiable enough - and he's done wonders for the lads. I guess we'll see what happens when the shit hits the fan, as they say."

Ithron himself was deep in meditation in his quarters. He could sense that things were moving well, but there was no knowing when the Crusade would strike again, and he wanted the Third to be ready. For the final week of his allotted month with the Third, he planned to recreate the Void Knights he had encountered using the holographic technology on the planet. That way, their appearance wouldn't be a shock. He could also program in their synchronised movement by making use of the planet's computer system, and maybe add several hundred barbarian crusaders for the look of the thing.

One thing worried him: The Crusaders were good and they knew how to use the Force. These men had heard about the Force but until this month, most had never used it or fought it. There were only a handful of veterans who had actually fought a Jedi. Ithron knew that if things went wrong, the Crusade would tear them to shreds.