There is no better sight then the inside of one’s own eyelids.

No stress.

No frustration.

No aggression can be gleamed from a sight so unwavering dark, unceasingly calm.

The silence.

The silence of one’s own eyelids.

Through them came sheltered shadings of aggression and misbehavings, but nothing truly registered. It was all a shade of grey; flickering lighter or darker, but always darker, never burning, never any strain, never any pain.

It was the brain.

The problem… was the brain.

The brain did not understand silence.

Calm.

All it understand was frantic.

Irrational.

The brain was programmed to calculate millions of possibilities, millions of stimuli, millions upon billions of elements over a lifetime, hundreds every second, and did it all mostly unthanked and unnoticed. But the brain could not comprehend silence. Could never stop. If the brain ever stopped, even for a second, it would stop forever.

So one was never given silence. A moment’s interlude of peace… and then back to the ocean of war.





“It’s not that easy anymore, is it?”

Ahnk shook his head. It certainly was not. “They’ve tried to eliminate physical evidence entirely. If you can hold it in your hand, you exist. It’s far easier for them if they can load up a database and erase you from existence.”

“How much do you have left, anyway?”

Bill looked at Ahnk. Ahnk looked at Bill.

He dumped the bag onto the table, unceremoniously. Bill offered a small whistle.

“Si?” Ahnk asked, and waited a moment.

“Two million five hundred forty seven thousand eight hundred and sixty three imperial credits.”

Bill nodded, relaxing in his chair. “Just some walking around money.”

“I have more, of course,” Ahnk said, beginning to take handfuls and scoop them back into the bad.

“Of course,” Bill said, accepting it as fact. Hell, it probably was fact, given what he knew about the former galactic dictator.

“A lot of my assets right now are frozen. I did well, hiding things in secret accounts all this time, but once that money was transferred over to Vinda Corp for holdings, it became public record. And there are plenty of people who are none too happy with Ahnk Rashanagok these days.”

“I imagine,” Bill said. That he knew was a fact. “Lawsuits?”

“You haven’t been sued until you’ve been sued by a representative alliance of an entire quadrant of space. I have Kuat suing me for defrauding them of construction contracts for which they accepted percentage payments from me up to and beyond my death, and then completed the vessels and sold them to the Empire. I have widows and mistresses and children and people who were once friends with Dxun Isstal suing me, and then there’s the Tion Sector’s lawsuit for unlawful conquest and illegal usurpation of funds.”

“There is a legal way to conquer an entire sector of space and steal it’s resources for your own benefit?”

“The Black Dragon Empire did me a big favor taking them over, they could have put me in the poorhouse,” Ahnk half stated and half joked before uttering a sigh. “And while Kuat dropped their lawsuit… no doubt the Empire doesn’t want them to waste time suing a ghost, I still have enough private citizens wanting a piece of my pie that Vinda Corp, in a gesture of impartiality, agreed to put a hold on all transferred assets, even the ones directly turned over to the Corporation as payment for services rendered.”

“So you can’t get at that money?”

“I could,” Ahnk stated, himself leaning back. “But not enough. Any transaction involving those funds would be scrutinized publicly and taking any amount of consequence, at this time, would do serious political damage to the Corporation within their commonwealth of allies.”

Bill said nothing, merely nodding. Ahnk sighed again. “It’s unfortunate, that probably the closest thing you have to a friend can’t acknowledge that you were ever close. Vinda doesn’t ever want it to become public that we were partners and that he had numerous contracts within my space and projects of his own funded by my illegal and egregious actions. The fact that he is a legitimate multibillionaire above and beyond any possible small percentage of profit I helped him to create would be destroyed if it was known that for years he privately financed a murderous galactic despot.”

“I can see how that could be a public relations issue.”

“I can’t hold it against him. He’s doing what he has to do. And he’d do more, probably giving me credits from his reserves, but not for me. I won’t put him out. He’s done enough.”

“Then… at the…”

Ahnk lowered his head.

Only silence.





“I’m sorry, I’ve interrupted you both. Excuse me, I’ll…”

“There was very little to interrupt. Just small talk.”

That hurt, truthfully. To consider even talking to this woman had taken an hour of conversation with someone who may or may not have ever have even been there, and to formulate answers neutral to her emotions to hide the truth…

“I should be going anyway…” she added, standing to walk away, and Ahnk had to close his eyes.

“No.”

Was all he said.

But it carried more.

Said in such a way, a forceful and rigid response offered to stop both with promises of consequences if he was defied.

Not what he had intended.

But what he had offered.

A panicked response. Fight or flight. Spur of the moment. All he had.

For a second, everyone had stopped. Ahnk did not look at either. Could not. Dared not. He stood, slowly, but quickly, moving with no haste but in a hurry.

“I have made… a mistake.”

He opened his eyes. The world was spinning. He didn’t know why. He was sure he wasn’t turning his head but air whipped around as if his body were furiously rotating. His head began to pound, the blood inside his brain angry at him for a reason he couldn’t understand. He felt on the verge of death.

Slowly, he took her hand… Vega, the sad girl, in the Jedi robes. Offered her a bow of his head. “I hope that… in time, we will have time to… coexist… and understand…”

Ahnk was struggling with his words. Not sure why. Something something something familiar but foreign had attacked him, something something something had confused him. He felt wounded, somehow. Uncertain.

He turned. As he did he felt the strain as if he turned through hardening carbonite, to her.

It was her.

To her, he offered a short nod. “I believe that it would be best, if we did not ever see each other again.”

And, leaving no doubt both utterly confused and unlikely to ever want to speak to him again, he strode away, getting lighter with every step.





“Where are we going, anyway?”

Ahnk held up his hand, dropping a finger with each second. Bill held on to the armrests of his chair, and as Ahnk’s baby finger began to curl the starlines faded from the cockpit, the ship momentarily shuddering before whipping into a high orbit of a dusty, urban looking planet. Bill stepped up, slipping beside Ahnk into the copilot’s chair, getting a better view.

“It looks… well, like every other planet. I reiterate my question.”

“Sinsang. It’s in the Raioballo sector, an industrious world of little galactic consequence and a recent addition to the Galactic Coalition.”

“What are we doing here?”

“Money,” Ahnk told him.

“It’s a crime.”

“This place seems like a good place to start. New to democracy, a quiet little world, easy to make money on if you know how to do it. I’m here to do a little investing.”

Bill cocked an eyebrow. “Investing?”

Ahnk just smiled. “Sihoyguwa, drop the cloak.”

“Are you sure?” the ship asked him, changing the schematic on the heads up display from one of ships systems and operating status to one of the planetary sensor net and detection grid. “This close to the planetary atmosphere, you might wake up some trigger happy commanders.”

“Maybe if we’re lucky, we can rouse an admiral,” Ahnk said, grinning. “Drop the cloak, raise the shields and cut our speed in half.”

“As you wish,” the computer mused, almost playfully, waiting for the imminent angry, distressed messages from the planet’s port.

It didn’t need to wait long.

“Unidentified Sith Infiltrator, be advised we are scrambling fighters! Please identify yourself immediately and state your intentions!”

The voice on the other end sounded frantic, even panicked. As he spoke, even as quickly as he did, the sound of klaxons from the port authority were audible in the background. Ahnk allowed his grin to widen as he envisioned a commander scrambling out of bed to see what all the fuss is about, and when he looked over he saw Bill was smiling too. Ahnk opened his hands, bowing his head, and Bill laughed and waved him away.

“This is your show, Andrew. You do the honors.”

Ahnk thought for a moment. “Sihoyguwa, the registry please.”

“Transmitting. Shall I handle the communiqué as well?”

“No, open the channel for me.”

“Done.”

Ahnk leaned back, folding his hands over his lap, the image of the port commander appearing on the console’s monitor. He was young, and clearly upset, sweat beading down his face, a crimson mask of surprise. “Sinsang Port Control, this is the vessel Sihoyguwa, a Commonwealth Registered Civilian transport vessel. You should be receiving our registry right now.”

The commander turned, reading the registry as it came up on another monitor, sighing. “Sihoyguwa, most civilian vessels do not decloak inside planetary orbits.”

“Imagine how surprised you would be if we decloaked inside your atmosphere?”

The commander furrowed his brow. “Given the outfit and power registry of your vessel, am I to take it yours is a diplomatic visit?”

“Absolutely not, Port Control. I request to be cleared as a civilian and allowed to land with normal escort; anything else would jeopardize the secrecy and security of my visit.”

“If you wish, Sihoyguwa, we may allow you to land unregistered and devoid of escort?”

“Thank you, Port Control, but we would prefer civilian clearance.”

“Very well. Then, as a formality, how shall I list the nature of your visit?”

“Business.”

“And the duration of your stay?”

“Five days.”

The commander sighed, spinning around in his chair. Knew they were wasting time now. “Sihoyguwa, please be advised that as a Coalition member world the traffic of contraband or illegal arms sales on the surface of the planet is illegal and can be prosecuted to the full extent of Coalition law.”

“Understood.”

Spinning. “And that your vessel will be required to undergo search.”

“Acknowledged.”

Spinning. “And that any detected contraband or unregistered arms will result in the seizure of your vessel and the imprisonment of your crew.”

That caused Ahnk’s grin to widen. He almost found himself wishing he had contraband so he could watch the poor fools who would attempt to seize his ship. “Could we hurry this along, Port Control?”

“Only one more question, Sihoyguwa. Where would you like to land?”

“Somewhere near the capital, if it can be arranged. As close as can be managed on civilian clearance.”

“Very well, Sihoyguwa,” the commander said, stopping his spin. He tapped a few keys on his control board. “Please await your escort, and if you would be so kind, lower the power to your defensive measures.”

Ahnk pressed a button on his keyboard, muting the audio output. “Cycling over to passive defense matrix,” Sihoyguwa informed him, and the cockpit was filled with the auditory hum to prove it. “They shouldn’t be able to detect it, unless, of course, they open fire.”

Ahnk turned the audio feed back on. “Pardon me, Port Control. Defensive systems have been powered down.”

“Acknowledged. Your escort should be along shortly. Welcome to Sinsang, Mr. D’rag. Port Control out.”

Bill allowed himself a smile, eyebrow perpetually glued halfway to his hairline. “Mr. Daniels, Mr. D’rag… you are a man of many names, Andrew.”

Ahnk was still grinning when he turned back to Bill. “You have no idea, believe me. Sihoyguwa.”

“Yes dear?”

“You know what to do with the money and the sensitive documents.”

“Of course.”

“And if they try to access your systems, play nice, unless they poke where they shouldn’t.”

“Regular firewalls?”

“More, if need be. Non-lethal force. We’re among friends here, but I don’t want to change that because of a couple over assertive dock rent a cops.”

“I understand.” A small pause, accompanied by a short series of beeps. “Sensors detect our escort off the port, arriving at speed.”

Bill eyed the display, gasping slightly. “They aren’t kidding around.”

Ahnk did not reply. Smile fading. Hands ready to hit the controls, raise the full shields, return fire…

…and the first of the fighters passed by.

“Commonwealth vessel Sihoyguwa, this is Commodore Moran of the Singsang fighter wing Alpha Blue. We will be your escort to the planet’s surface.”

Ahnk squinted. The two ships ahead were standard issue A-Wings, painted blue to match the callsign, no doubt. “Acknowledged, Commodore Moran. We will follow your lead.”

“We are transmitting to you descent vector information, landing zone coordinates, and your clearance number. Please confirm package receipt.”

It began to filter in. The pair of fighters amidship were B-Wing fighters, or bombers, he couldn’t tell which. But they were more serious and no doubt were watching him very, very closely for signs of deviation. “Package receipt confirmed, Blue leader.”

“Please follow the course as detailed. Have a safe trip, Sihoyguwa. Moran out.”

Ahnk flinched as he read the readout. “Sihoyguwa, give me a view aft.”

The cockpit viewscreen was overlaid with a view from aft sensors, picking up a visual and feeding it onto the screen. Both Ahnk and Bill allowed their eyes to open slightly in surprise and then looked at each other for confirmation before seating themselves back down.

“Sihoyguwa, identify craft aft.”

“Working… vessel doesn’t appear in known vessels database. Probably a new design.”

“It says…” Bill began, reading the package the Coalition commander had sent over, “it says that they are Cypher Class Starfighters. Pride of the second wave or some other jibberish.”

“Si, can you confirm armament?”

“Not immediately. They seem to be scrambling incoming scans. Some sort of stealth suite, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” Ahnk replied, hand on his chin. Considering. “Break it. Get me a full report and readout on the fighter, I want it ready before we leave.”

“Confirmed.”

Bill leaned forward. “Planning for the worst?”

Ahnk, for his part, leaned backward. “I never plan for the worst and it manages to happen anyway. Maybe if I plan for misfortune I might finally get some good?”

“For you?” Bill said.

“Unlikely,” they both concluded at the same time as the infiltrator entered the upper atmosphere.





“Well,” Ahnk said, impressed.

The buildings were not as advanced as many he had seen… the architecture not as outrageous, but regardless, there remained a certain simplistic flow to the sloping ceramic roves and imposing stone dragons. Everything was color, but simple, muted color. Reds. Whites. And much of it looked prefabricated, especially in the marketplaces. As if it had been hastily built to house a population it knew it could not support.

But the hillsides. Oh, the palaces. Ancient houses poking from above the trees, with angry black gargoyles watching every single bird.

Where the planet was urban, it was dirty, with neon lights, and grime, and the stench of a people living themselves to death. But there were glimmers of hope, in the hills. The old ways, before the revolution, before the ambition, to make it all brighter, shinier, louder…

The secret… not science… the silence.

The chirping of the birds.

Of ceramic tiles and baked clay walls.

Still, as it were, the grungy grey undertones of the port proper were entirely too familiar to Ahnk. He even recognized the smell, a mix of carbon burning and urine soaking and blood drying and food simmering, of pot stickers and malt liquor, of crime and corruption, of modest income and moral conviction. A melting pot of all kinds of all means of all races and all creeds. Everyone there for their own reasons, but everyone’s reasons the same.

Ahnk began to slowly walk towards the silence.

”Sinsang. What drove you here, anyway?”

“A man I met once. His name is Irtar Mal’gro.”

Bill shrugged as they walked. “Never heard of him.”

“You wouldn’t have, would you,” Ahnk stated as he nodded, continuing to walk. “He was a former pupil of Organa Solo at the Jedi Order. Ended up taking up apprenticeship with another master before the world began to fall apart. Someone killed his mother, and he was blamed for it. When I met him, that day, at the funeral, kid was a coil of hatred. Hating the Sith, hating the Jedi, hating everyone who was available. He was definitely a project.”

“And since then?” Bill inquired. Ahnk opened his hands, gesturing to the world around. “He’s an architect?”

“Ambassador, actually. Coalition ambassador to Sinsang.”

“Oh,” Bill said, nodding himself. “Might see if he can do anything about the smell.”

“Anyway, I need to make sure he’s still angry. I have work to do, and hopefully, he’s willing to lend a boot.”

“Right. So… where are we going?”

“Parliament. He has an office there.”

“And you expect to just walk up there and into his office, then? On civilian clearance?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what…”

“Halt!” came the stern voice of a Coalition patrol officer guarding the parliament. Behind him stood an ominous onyxian obelisk, shimmering darkly in the noonday sun. In his hands a blaster carbine, and across the steps, another guard, another monster, and another weapon. Bill stopped. Ahnk didn’t.

“…what are you…”

Ahnk turned back to Bill.

Smiled.

And then kicked the closest guard directly in the groin.

The blow was powerful enough to momentarily lift him from the ground, clutching at the boot between his legs and groaning a sigh of revulsion and agony. Ahnk turned before the man even hit the ground, hand reaching out between him and the second guard and seizing his weapon. It slipped from the guard’s hand before he could pull the trigger, flying through the air for a second before being seized among the barrel by Ahnk’s tight black glove. The handle found his other hand and the weapon found itself swung into the face of the second guard, striking him directly on the bridge of the nose.

Bill shook his head as the second guard collapsed. His face was a cloud of blood, nose shattered from the weapon’s hard edge. Ahnk, for his part, kicked the first guard in the shoulder, knocking him backwards into the marble gargoyle behind, flesh of his face shuddering with the skull on stone impact, understanding of the world around disappearing as he slipped from consciousness and slid down to the stone tiled floor. Ahnk grabbed the gun, clearing the chamber to shake off some of the blood, and then raised the weapon in the air, firing several shots into the empty sky.

“I am here to kill Irtar Mal’Gro! And none can stop me!”

He stood, not moving.

Silence.

Broken apart by the angry footfalls of a platoon of Coalition soldiers and the raising and cocking of their weapons. Ahnk grinned, lowering his own weapon.

“Except, perhaps, a large number of angry soldiers with laser based weaponry.”

They immediately knocked the would-be assassin to the ground, handcuffing his arms behind his back. As Bill shook his head, and Ahnk was dragged away, they all turned their weapons on him. He sighed.

“You have got to be fu…”





Not much to do in jail.

Talk.

Though Bill had finished attacking Ahnk with obscenities. He just sat there in his Jedi trance, grinning once in a while. Nothing Bill said was getting through to him. So, Bill stopped talking. Working for the Imperials had taught him when to shut up, and from his experiences with the former Sith, he knew when he was wasting his breath.

For Ahnk, he was nowhere near as aggravated. He was, in fact, completely comfortable.

There was no better sight then the inside of his eyelids.

No stress.

No frustration.

The calm. The silence.

The chirping birds beyond metal bars.

Cool grey concrete walls.

Enjoying the silence.

“You’ve got to be kidding me….” Irtar said as he looked at the holo-lieutenant before him. Apparently earlier today, some lunatic attacked a patrol of guards and threatened to come and wipe him out. Well, until he realized that his screams and gunshots had attracted another patrol of troops.

“He’s currently being held in detention block A-1. We’re going to proceed with interrogations tonight to find out what we may about this man.”

“Belay that lieutenant; I wouldn’t mind meeting this man BEFORE you get to him.” Irtar said with a slight scowl. Thoughts of that Sith wretch laughing played as his mind. And the thought that the Empire, despite his best efforts, were still naming him the prime suspect in his own mother’s murder. “I’ll be down shortly.”

The lieutenant saluted and his image wavered and vanished, the lights of the room returning to normal illumination as Irtar marched out of his office. He made his way past all the various art-pieces of the Sinsang culture put on display. He normally spent some time while going about but right now his mind was elsewhere. On those thoughts of this past year….

“-me Mal’Gro?” Irtar heard a deep voice say from beyond the haze.

“Hrm?” Irtar mumbled as he turned his head to the source. It was Huang Chao, the current head of the Sinsangese Senate thanks to the deal drawn up with the Coalition. The large man sighed slightly and shook his head.

“I was asking how you were doing.” Stated Chao as he joined in file with Irtar, and handed a folder to him. “Here’s the full report. I was on my way to discuss this mad man with you when I caught you storming down the hall. What is wrong?”

“I’m just going to have a word with the ‘mad man’. Something about this whole thing just seems… off….” Irtar said as he opened up the folder and began to look at the information there-in.

“How so?”’

“I don’t know. Just a gut instinct you could say. And let’s say ever since my time on Naboo I’ve learned to put a bit more faith in those gut instincts.”

“Hrm... Well wha-”

Chao stopped as he realized Irtar had just stopped. The Sinsangese man turned about, and raised a brow as he saw the pure look of bewilderment on Irtar’s face. Chao walked back and looked at the file. It was only a picture of the suspect and a description of his person.

“Do you know this man?” Chao asked, as Irtar continued working on trying to get a grasp of the situation. This man wasn’t just some mad man, he was a Jedi. Well, last he checked anyways. Maybe he’d gone crazy and fallen to the dark side? But he’d never known Sith who did actions that… stupid. That had to be more behind this.

“I met him once… And I will meet and speak with him again. There has to be more to this than that assault.” Irtar said as he continued his way down the hall at an even quicker pace. Chao huffed and worked on trying to pick up his pace to rejoin with Irtar.

“You can’t do anything too crazy! People will find out!” Chao called out as Irtar outpaced the Sinsangese man. At the time, Irtar’s mind was elsewhere and he didn’t notice that he was nearly running down the halls, dodging politicians and burecrats.

---------------------

The prison was one of the oldest on Sinsang. It had indeed been retrofitted numerous times over the years, but due to it’s age it was enveloped into the core of the Sinsangese capitol. As such, it was mainly used for the criminals that mattered more to the government. Corrupt politicans, tax dodgers, would be assassins.

Irtar made his way easily into the compound, past the security shields and guards. He merely kept showing the ID he gotten for his position. Within about half-an-hour of leaving the parliament, Irtar was about to come before the cell of the man Irtar had thought of having as a master a couple of months ago.

Irtar straightened the robes he was wearing, making sure that his lightsaber was secured (after all, if he really DID want to kill him, he couldn’t risk him using the force to pull it from him easily). He motioned to the guards to leave, because he didn’t want their presence to discourage the truth. Irtar took a breath as he prepared himself and he stepped into the small holding block they had put the ‘assassin’ and his friend in.

Irtar came before the cell and looked at the pair. “So… answers?”

OOC: I'd like to apologize in advance if it sounds rushed, or does not make sense - and for the delay!

IC:
"Wrong. Again?"

Adhee nodded without looking up at the one before her. The ancient crone's scratchy voice was enough, anyway. The younger former Sith's mind was tumultuous; a heavy storm - seething with thought and trepidation.

There was only darkness. Her eyes, soundly preventing what little light there was left, were straining ... for something. It was the opposite of what the young woman wanted. She craved peace, a tranquil state of mind, a way to recollect herself in the wake of a thousand words.

"It was him," the young one murmured, "I thought it was him."

The old one snorted in displeasure, giving the one seated on the floor a narrow gaze. "You always believe it is him... always. Your dedication is beginning to bore me, apprentice; I would like to see it directed elsewhere, to a more productive target. Normally I would praise such loyalty, but this... this is troubling."

Adhee's expression did not change; her eyes did not open. "I am loyal to you as any apprentice is expected to be toward his or her master," she murmured.

The old one sighed. "Why do you cling on to things of the past?" she pressed. "Let it be! Let me be! There are other things that you should be doing, rather than searching for someone that you have some sort of grudge against. You are wasting time, energy - you are being foolish!"

"There is no grudge," replied Adhee softly, "only necessity."

The other was silent, her eyes as hard as agates as they bore straight through the former Sith. A thought - a million thoughts - all rushing through both minds at once, and then... nothing. There was no point, no need.

"Very well," said the old woman finally, her hand dropping from her previous gesticulation, "have what momentary satisfaction you can, but I will see no more of it in my presence after this. Throw away your useless need for revenge and simply learn from these experiences.... You must control this, not the other way around."

"Of course, Master."

The quiet, careless tone seemed to irritate the old woman, and with another snort of utter disgust, she turned on her heel and left in a flutter of robes. "This is why I left the Sith in the first place," faded her voice as she moved off into the distance, "never willing to accept that..."

Adhee took in a deep breath, slowly, and then let it out through her mouth. Silence. It was nice, without the old woman. There was a way to get in touch with herself, a way to clear her head. Her previous state of anxiety and impatience was wearing thin. Instead, it was being replaced by a tranquil, serene way of presence in which she could think upon what had happened most recently.

The truth? She was not sure.... She wished very much to get a hold of the one man that had given her impossible answers, answers to things that she had never even sought. She wanted more, and she hated the need to go to him, to feel bound to his words of reason. But everywhere she went, she always sought for him... through the Force, through anything. She would never find him.

And who else? There were many that she would like to see and to recognize, but she had never felt any sense of familiarity ever since she had entered apprenticeship beneath the old crone. The woman gave her answers, and taught her a way to continue, but there was always more, and Adhee sought it voraciously.

But what was left? She was not sure. She did not know anymore.

"Ahem."

The girl looked up for the first time, her unnatural eyes searching for the source of her disturbance. A lanky droid, dark in color, was eyeing her from the entrance to the bare and spacious room. "Master," it said, "it would seem that we have a problem."

"Oh?" she said darkly.

"Port authorities," it began in a mocking tone of voice, "declare that we are not authorized to dock here. Oh, Master, I did not wish to disturb you, but you did say that I was not to take matters into my own hands, and -"

She stood, brushing herself off, though the action was unnecessary. "Not authorized?" she remarked almost to herself. "We'll see."

"Oh, can I bring the blaster rifle this time?" The over-eager voice almost made Adhee uncomfortable. Usually, droids didn't display as much emotion as this one did. In fact, it did tend to impress her, and had done so ever since she had first entered her most recent master's company. Taking her silence as some sort of reply, he continued as she brushed past him, "Of course, I promise not to open fire unless you deem it necessary.... You know that I'm not one to cause unneeded trouble, don't you, Master?"

Adhee did not reply as she moved through the narrow corridors, her mind seemingly empty of anything that had to do with the current situation. She was busy with thought - but thought about what? She did wish that she knew.

"You must be Mrs. Spiel," remarked one of the rather seedy men that awaited her at the bottom of the ramp. "Welcome to Nar Shadaa. I'm afraid that I must point out that you have no authority whatsoever to be docking here."

"If it's money you want, then take it," she said calmly. "I have business here, and it will not be interrupted. How much?" She eyed them all darkly as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"No money," he remarked with a smile and a dismissive wave of the hand. "This space is reserved for someone else. Could you not just find another?"

"I will ask you again," continued the youth, "how much?"

The group exchanged glances and began to laugh. The leader turned back to her, his smile even brighter than before. "Please, Mrs. Spiel, do not make us take matters into our own hands. This is your last warning. Leave now, or we will be forced to -"

A sly grin broke out across Adhee's face as her hands dropped from over her chest and at her sides. "I was hoping that you would be stubborn," she said in a manner that expressed her new mood - which was, in fact, a rather good one. The droid, which seemed to understand what was imminent, lifted its weapon enough to imply what it was about to do. The group, their expressions befuddled, began to bring their own weapons at the ready.

"Go ahead," she said to the droid at her side as her double-bladed lighsaber emerged from its long hilt. She crouched into a combative position, her smirk as mischievous as the flicker in her eyes. "let's wipe this place clean."

And then, she awoke.

The first thought that went through her mind was, Should I go look for Taja? But why? She looked up the ceiling, her mind astir with thoughts and recollections. She sighed. It did no good to brood apon things now. She was accepting whatever was thrown at her, letting things sweep her along as they would.... Was it the best course of action?

She was rather content with her life at the moment - as Taja's apprentice, as a former Sith, as anything but what she was before. Content enough, in fact, that in the darkness of the silent room she closed her eyes again, and drifted off into a sleep no longer wrought with memories, or nostalgia, or both.

Whispers are secret, whispers are infinite. They are the tools using which the sentient convey their furtive beliefs amongst one another, the carriers of surreptitious views and rumors. The messengers which invariably overlook and are universally indifferent to the genuine foundations of all such feigned or half-truths, yet which are nevertheless accepted as legitimate proofs due to their all-pervading and infectious nature. They also never remain obscure for too long; no, the very concept of a whisper is, ironically, based around the fact that it may easily be discovered at any given moment, that it is always voiced while in the presence or close midst of the ones it targets, that it envelops and enshrouds its prey whilst depicting an outward facade of camaraderie and affection. It taunts and mocks and relentlessly parodies its victims, constantly willing them to uncover the reality behind the plastic friendliness, to expose the ugly forgery behind the perfection. Always nearby, yet forever lurking a decibel too far out of reach.

In this way, the whispers on Illum commonly surrounded Taja.

The children at school whispered, their parents whispered, everybody who lived in their small village whispered. They whispered because she was different, they whispered because she never smiled, they whispered because she herself never uttered a word. But most of all, they whispered because they believed she could not hear them.

But Taja could hear them. She sometimes chose not to listen, but she could always hear their words of derogation and concern, of scorn and worry, of disdain and unease. She could hear their whispers, their thoughts, their emotions, their innermost troubles and trepidation and desires and wants, the needs which they often preferred to deny the existence of for fear of being labeled a heretic or pariah, for fear of crossing that fine line between fantasy and actualization, for fear of realizing what they themselves truly were. She could hear everything, all at once and all too deafeningly, so that her days were mostly spent struggling incessantly to isolate one idea from the next, to internally decide whether to acknowledge or disregard the endless barrage of alien notions deluging her mind without fail at every minute, to master the delicate art of learning to differentiate between the masses.

They whispered because she never uttered a word. She never uttered a word because of their whispers.

Every evening, usually during the last few hours preceding midnight, the whispers would gradually quieten down and then cease altogether as the town’s denizens drifted routinely to sleep, to accommodate for the rigorous and demanding lifestyle that most residents of the small mining village of Desauloris had grown habituated to. Their incomes were meager, their joys and entertainments sparse, and frequently Taja would be involuntarily privy to their dreams of better days, of better lives and a better kind of contentment.

Taja herself, however, rarely slept, because for her, the whispers never stopped. The nocturne gave birth to an entirely independent range of sounds and thoughts and emotions, ones that were omnipresent and permanently resonating but which were typically drowned out and muted by the human bustle and frenzy that occurred during the day. They were the whispers of the leaves, of the foliage and its roots and its many miniscule inhabitants, of the earth and the winds and the multitude of life that lurked in between and beyond the myriad of all worldly planes, existing in a mutual balance between the ethereal and the substantial. The very multiverse itself pulsated with an invisible yet potent energy, unseen to the desensitized and disinterested consciousness’ of most humanoids but which was nonetheless exceedingly real. It streamed through every fiber and capillary of Taja’s being, yet at the same time provided her with the only form of solace her young psyche was hitherto accustomed to. She had no control over what she could and could not hear, but sometimes, if they were merciful, the calling and mocking and screaming would be reduced to a dull rhythmic thud, to a lulling drone that lightly draped over all the other, higher frequencies of subliminal noise and allowed her a momentary respite, a fleeting yet thoroughly coveted release from her mind’s otherwise lasting state of frenzy.

But not tonight.

Tonight … tonight was different. Tonight, the whispers were restless, and gravely agitated. Something was amiss.

Just then, as if it had somehow mysteriously been prompted, there came a gentle knock on the door to Taja’s bedroom, followed by an enduring pause. It was customary, that pause, as though the tentative guest continued to believe that if they waited long enough, there might arrive some sort of reply. In an equally usual manner, however, their hopes were shattered, and soon the wood creaked aside to allow a thin sliver of yellow light to illuminate the gravelly earthen floor, widening consistently until the face of a woman peered through. Her countenance appeared outwardly old and tired, but beneath the countless layers of fatigue and resigned misery were the delicate features of a petite and pretty youth who had been forced into a harsh lifestyle and all its accompanying injustices far before her allotted time, to meet the demands of a world that was cruel, pitiless and unsympathetic towards all such characteristics.

“Taja ?” she inquired softly into the darkness. The woman had only attained a very basic education, and although her knowledge of her daughter’s ailment was close to nonexistent, she knew the girl was a light sleeper. She waited a further few seconds, and once she heard the faint sound of blankets and sheets being ruffled in the far corner, she carried on. “Taja, honey, there’s someone here to see you. Get dressed quickly and come say hello, okay ?” She again waited for a verbal acknowledgement, her hopes straining to their utmost … but of course, there was no such response. Heaving a sigh, she stepped outside the entryway and leaned her head back against the wall, willing her eyes not to act in accordance with her heart, for once. No matter what they said, no matter how the doctors tried to persuade her otherwise, she knew she had failed. There was no greater pain for a mother than to realize she could not reach through to her own child, her own flesh and blood, and learning to accept the fact that the source of all her internal strife was one that had been beyond her control since the moment of her daughter’s conception did not help alleviate her grief in the slightest, either; if anything, it had the opposite effect. A single tear trickled down her cheek and she choked back on a shuddering breath, and in that same instant, she felt a small hand tugging on her skirt.

Wiping her eyes hurriedly with the edge of her dirty sleeve, the woman forced a semblance of a smile to appear on her lips. She clasped Taja’s hand in her own and knelt down, brushing aside several stray locks of pale hair from the girl’s forehead as fresh tears trailed over her face and neck as if possessing a resolve all of their own. Taja canted her to the side, and with a motion as close to child-like curiosity as she could foster, pressed her finger against her mother’s cheek. The liquid was hot and moist, but beyond that, it represented such an acute form of dejection and loss that she had to draw back her hand almost immediately. She had never before experienced such an intense surge of deep and unparalleled sorrow in any of her town’s kinsmen, and had she been capable of the emotion, Taja would’ve likely felt frightened.

The woman rose to her feet and noiselessly directed her daughter through the short corridor and into the main living room of their overly confined house, where Taja’s awareness was once again assaulted by an overpowering torrent of sadness, this time originating from her father. He was sitting opposite an unfamiliar visitor with his head in his hands and his mind a tumult of doubts and confusion, of despair and hopelessness and vulnerability. Taja had never seen him in such a state, as the man, quite unlike her passive, timid mother, was the very model of courage and strength, of perseverance and determination in the face of conflict. Watching him falter on the verge of a breakdown was more than slightly unnerving, but served to adequately explain why the whispers had been so fanatical earlier. The entire atmosphere of the room emanated distress, a sense of helpless mourning and melancholy which all seemed to center on Taja as their quiet and wordless focal point.

And then, there was the man, the stranger. He was beautiful and polished, with his auburn hair and faultless skin and shimmering blue-grey eyes, and as he stood there in his spotless beige garb, he radiated an aura of regality and magnificence that was altogether alien in their small town, in innumerable aspects and on a vast many levels. While his clothes were peculiar and certainly not what could be considered traditional, the various instruments he carried were clearly indicative of his profession as a doctor, and in particular a doctor of a breed that Taja had encountered far too many times during her short life to bother recollecting. But no, that was not right; there was something palpably different about him, something other than his charming exterior and the way in which he physically manifested himself … something very final. As he slowly approached her, it seemed as though the world itself closed in around him, contracting inwards at an alarming rate until all that remained were the two of them and the quickly vanishing distance in between, until the living room, Desauloris and even Illum had disappeared, until the hysterical shrieks and sobs of her mother as her husband tried to restrain her had muted away into the distant backdrop.

The man in the brown coat directed his gaze towards Taja’s own hollow stare, his hands resting on his knees in order to lower his height and thus appear less intimidating to the child. His cerulean irises were warm and welcoming, as was the kind smile etched comfortably over his mouth. He spoke a few words and outstretched his arm to her in invitation, but the girl’s focus was elsewhere; she was staring intently at his face, although her attention was lured there by something far more otherworldly than his visage alone. It was common practice for her to look beyond the voiced affectations and deliberate gestures of any potential new “friend,” because more often than not the dialogue her doctors spouted was obviously rehearsed and rehashed, and devoid of any genuine sentiment. People’s words and actions seldom ever reflected their underlying intents, and so Taja had learned to hunt elsewhere for that truth. Generally, a brief foray into their surface thoughts would reveal all that she sought …

… But not with him. This man’s mind was dark, although not in the sense that it was malicious or vile or even the least bit threatening, but rather, it was completely and utterly unreadable, and blank. She could find nothing within his psyche but the most wholesome variety of silence, of a stillness and peace so absolute that it was flawless. It was an overwhelming sensation for Taja, who had never before known or experienced the definitions of any of those everyday terms, and she had to close her eyes to fully absorb it all, all of the emptiness, all of the nothing. She never wanted it to end, never wanted to leave the sweeping grandeur existing in a condition so simple and yet so mistakenly expected and dismissed by the majority, never wanted to go back to the whispers.

She slipped her hand into his.





The ease with which the apprentice recovered from her dream-induced lapse and fell back into slumber was a cause of great bother for Taja. Although her constant training in the Dark Arts had ensured her a considerable degree of control over her abilities as a telepath, it was not rare for the unguarded thoughts of those within close proximity to inadvertently filter in amongst her own. Often, these vagrant and passing notions proved to be very useful in gleaning insight into those memories of a promising new student that they themselves opted to keep hidden away from their own mentors, but in Adhee’s case, those emotions appeared to provoke relatively little reaction, or even trauma … and this irked Taja to no end. If she was going to play the role of an unwitting eavesdropper anyway, the show ought to be good.

While Adhee’s mind grew accustomed to the calmness inherent in dreamless sleep, its outer coils momentarily unwound to permit the entry of a foreign yet assumedly harmless thought. As it did so, fleeting images began flooding the young woman’s psyche, rapidly gaining in frequency and fervor until they depicted a strange and alien world, one atypical of her own subconscious. It looked surreal and fantastic, with various shades of scarlet, brown and burgundy swathed across everything and anything in sight, and even the air was of a viscous and dreamlike consistency. As though dragged violently and reluctantly from her otherwise tranquil frame of mind, Adhee found herself standing in the very middle of this macabre land, with nothing to occupy her senses save the surrounding plains of red desolation … and what appeared to be an abandoned children’s amusement park in the distance.

Answers.

A man lives his entire life in devotion to his god.

He lives well. He eats well. He prays well.

Once weekly he confesses his sins and once weekly offer penance for his crimes.

Nothing does he do in a selfish manner.

Nothing does he do in a thoughtless anger.

Nothing does he do without a spiritual planner.

Nothing.

He does nothing.

Nothing to deserve what happens to him.

When his four year old son is infected with the phage.

And the father watches as his son is eaten alive.

Destroyed.

His flesh decompiled and consumed by bacteria he can’t even see; hidden behind a force field, never to hold him again.

Never to comprehend.

Never to understand.

No final hold of hands.

Nothing.

He wants answers.

A woman lives her entire life in devotion to her family.

Works hard. Travels long. Sleeps little.

Once a month she tries to get back to the family. See the kids. Pay the bills. Family stuff.

Always honest.

Always true.

Always completely committed to what she needs to do.

Never.

Never prepared.

Never prepared for what she finds.

As criminals invade her home before she arrives.

And she is forced to step over the corpses of her children.

Mutilated.

Their heads severed and flesh torn asunder; blood coating the floor, never to watch them again.

Watching as they hold her husband of twenty years.

Watching as they slit his throat and he gargles out a last goodbye.

And then they turn to her.

Why?

She wants answers.

An immigrant family lives their entire lives struggling to get by.

Pull their weight. Pay their dues. Love their neighbors.

But never are they accepted as the planet’s own.

Still untrusted.

Still suspected.

Still watched whenever they walk amongst the crowd.

Nobody.

Nobody believed them.

Nobody believed them until they left their world in disgust.

And real terrorists destroyed it.

And they are forced to run for their rest of their lives.

Persecuted.

Chased throughout the galaxy for nothing more then being from a different world.

A different culture.

A different color.

Forced forever to hide their difference.

They want answers.

They all want answers.

The father. The mother. The family. The government. All of them.

Everyone wants answers.

But does anyone ever get them?






He just sat there.

No eyes. Just that stupid grin.

Bill eyed him intently, every few seconds looking up to appraise the newcomer. He dressed like a Jedi but walked like a politician… that was the impression that Bill got, anyway. Ahnk didn’t even seem to know he was there.

“Ahnk man, he’s talking to you…”

Ahnk said nothing. For a few more moments, Bill’s gaze shifted between the two, watching the patience of Irtar begin to lapse…

And then Ahnk was up.

Bill had hung around Ahnk enough to know that when he floated through the air, bad things happened. His hand shot out, one blacked glove cutting the space between him and Irtar and then Irtar was floating too. Something told Bill, though, it wasn’t his idea.

The two met as close as they could, prevented from anything more then Ahnk seizing the front of Irtar’s clothes with a gloved fist by the iron bars between. Bill rose from his seat, laying a hand on Ahnk to try and calm him down…

…and as he hit the concrete wall and the air was driven from his body, he let out a sigh as loud as he could muster, frown forming around a contorted furrow of pain.

Ahnk had opened his eyes now, and fixated two blue spheres directly on the younger Jedi, reading him and taking him in. When he spoke, he did so softly. Slowly.

“Answers.”

The two struggled for a moment; Ahnk had a physical grip on him and as a Master held the advantage in any force jostling. Ultimately, nothing came of it, and Irtar resigned to the situation for the moment, and Ahnk continued to speak.

“You want answers.”

Bill sat up, using his hands to push himself up against the wall, shaking his head and drawing in breaths of air, forgetting he’d ever been shoved. He wasn’t sure why Irtar wasn’t calling for help, but he looked up to the door curiously, wondering why no one had come.

“What kind of answers is it that you want, exactly? Why you don’t fit in? That your myriad frustrations filtered through a multitude of layered magnification amount to little? That your contemplation of societies’ mannequinization and how they marvel at their miniscule mechanizations has all been done before? That with them you share a mutual emotional mortification? Are those the answers you were looking for? Something less substantial, perhaps? What is it you want, Irtar? Can you tell me? Do you even know?”

With that, Ahnk released him. Irtar fell the ground, landing with a loud groan and a shaking of the iron bars as his feet dropped by them. The guards, noticing the combination of sounds, charged into the room, and Ahnk slowly lowered to the ground, Bill stepping in beside.

“Irtar, do you even know the questions?”

The guards, four strong, formed a rough semi-circle, one dropping and making sure Irtar was, in fact, alive before raising his weapon to the man in the cell. As Bill stepped away, Ahnk raised his hands, in a gesture somewhere between ‘don’t shoot me, I’m unarmed’ and ‘take your best shot’, grinning all the while. Bill, for his part, went purely towards the don’t shoot me camp of gesture.

“We’re just talking…”

Bill managed, knowing they wouldn’t believe him, and that it didn’t matter too much what he said. Irtar was the only thing between them both dying and the discussion continuing, and since Ahnk had slammed him into prison bars, grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, and then dropped him unceremoniously to the ground, Bill didn’t have very high hopes for the latter.

The guards acted how they were trained to in these situations. One guard retrieved the hapless victim while the other three locked unto the trouble makers and stunned them. The blue electrical rings cut past the cell and two connected with the bald man and the last connected with poor Bill.

Irtar in the mean-time had his hand to his head, still slightly stunned by all that had unfolded. After a moment he had his mind back fully and was coming to his feet. His face was sore from where it came into contact with the bars but it was more the surprise that got him than anything else.

"What... the Hell?" Irtar said as he looked about, but before any of the guards could say anything he pointed towards Ahnk. "Get him to an anti-force cell or whatever the frell it's called."

"Uhm, yes sir." One of the guards said as brought up a datacard and placed it into the lock of the cell. Though most of the jail wasn't as technical as the newer facilities, they at least kept locks up to standard thanks to how easy it was to slip in things to unlock physical locks.

The other three guards helped Irtar away from the scene. One of them flashed a light in Irtar's eyes.

"He doesn't have a concusion." The guard that shined the lights said as he put the little light away and Irtar blinked his eyes slightly to get those little lights when you blink away.

"Ow..." Irtar said as he finished slaying the annoying little light.

"Sorry sir, it's protocol." The same guard informed Irtar as they continued away. Irtar shrugged them off and grumbled slightly. His mind was currently trying to grasp if Ahnk really WAS insane. After that little rant in the cell about answers (and not giving any to boot), Irtar was slightly confused. But next time he spoke to him he wouldn't make the same mistake as last time.

"How long until they come concious again?" Irtar asked the guards.

"Roughly between an hour and an hour and a half."

"Then I'll be back then...."

"What of the other one sir?"

"Uhm... put him in a force cell just to be safe. I didn't see him do anything but I really don't feel like putting myself at any unnecessary risk again."

"Yes sir."

And with that, Irtar made his way back to his office. It wasn't a rush like last time because Irtar's mind was full of thought. Thoughts of when Irtar first met Ahnk at the funeral of Gash Jiren. Amongst the mourners he had come looking for a man to train him. A man whom would teach him to kill Sith for vengance. Irtar found when he had snapped so easily when his mother was murdered, that he couldn't control himself well enough to be a Jedi.

He had never came back though. Until now. Irtar scratched his chin as he wondered why. So many unanswered questions in that last meeting.Irtar made his way past the large doors of the ambassadors complex and came past the secretary and to the turbolift. To the hall his office was on. To the door. Irtar's reverie was interrupted by a familiar deep voice.

"So how did it go?" Chao spoke from behind. For a man so large he had the extrodinary ability to sneak up on Irtar.

"Not too bad. Just got smacked against iron bars, no answers, and got the other guy stunned until later." Irtar said with a slight laugh afterwards. "Teaches me to not be more cautious eh?"

"Hrm... So why did you go and meet this man then? The guards could easily have gotten some answers from this man." Chao said sternly, looking at Irtar with a cold gaze.

"Let's just say it's personal." Irtar replied, shrugging off the gaze of Chao. Irtar brought out his datakey to get into the office.

"Enemy?"

"I don't know...." Irtar said, stopping midway through opening the door. His mind quickly flashed back to what just happened in the cell. He shook his head and proceeded.

"Hrm... well, next time take more caution. You being killed by some mad man will do nothing for things here." Chao commented on.

"Your concern is heart warming." Irtar said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he shut the door behind him. Chao stood there for a moment before sighing and walking away.

"I merely am looking out for Sinsang's interests." Chao said as he made his way back to his office, to continue his work with getting the scientists needed for another of Irtar's promises to the people.

-----------------------------

Irtar sat within his darkened office, eyes closed in focus and concentration. A single pebble floated before him. The pebble he was given by Leia what seemed like ages ago. Understand the peeble and you understand it all was what she told him. He still didn't quite understand what she meant, but he had a rough idea.

He felt the Force running through the pebble as he focused on it. He felt it flowing from him, and into it, causing it move about in a circle around him. The pebble was just like everything else. Except, that it didn't have a living feeling like him. It was dead like the objects in the room that surrounded him.

Did he finally understand the Force or was this just a stab in the dark? Only Leia could tell him and he probably wasn't going to see her for a long time....

And he doubted that Ahnk would know the same answer the Jedi did. He wasn't Jedi. He knew little about the man, but just the way he acted and moved showed that he wasn't Jedi. But the meer fact he hadn't simple crushed Irtar and cut his way out proves he isn't Sith.

But what exactly was he?

Irtar's thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a buzzer. The pebble clattered to the carpetted floor. Irtar blinked slightly and picked the thing up. Ahnk would be reviving soon.

----------------------

Irtar arrived infront of the cell just as Ahnk was returning to conciousness. It was a far more complex cell than the last. It was a cell that had deflector shields errected for containment instead of bars. It barraged the area with energy waves that was found to disrupt a Jedi's ability, no matter how strong, to wield the Force. It was a highly uncommon thing to find anymore after the Imperial Purge, but the Sinsangese found no reason to discard the thing. After all, it was effective at holding higher risk criminals if they were to be questioned by members of the State.

Irtar waited for Ahnk to acknowledge his existance with a strong glare before finally speaking. After all, there was no use in questioning a man when he was completely befuddled.

"Sorry about the whole 'stunning' thing but when you hit me against the bars you kinda got me cautious. But anywho, back to where we were. I should've been more specific last time I guess. I want to know the answers of why you're here now of all times. And... why did you attack the guards. Oh, and why you threatened me and pulled me against the bars!" Irtar nearly shouted. The bars hurt.

It was expected that Adhee's sleep was not as she had initially believed. It was not a sleep, a relaxed dream, or a soothing state of mind. She was in a stupor - one that would pull her in, a thing that she could feel wrapped and coiled around her mind and yet something she could not think of at all. She did not see it; it was not material. It was there... and at the same time, she wasn't aware. Somewhere in the depths of her mind she had an answer, but her current form, her current state of being, saw no matter in it. She did not care.

"Charming."

She scanned the scene before her with a tolerant eye, her face giving way to little expression as she did so. There was no room for emotion, at least not at the moment. There was nothing to really feel about the situation for now - nothing but great care of where she was stepping. She had no wish to throw herself into the arms of a waiting beast.

She looked at the ground before her, scuffing the toe of her boot in the ground in order to begin her careful survey. She then looked up, back at the abandoned ... carnival before her. Interesting. It was familiar, somehow. Strangely, it reminded her of Taja. She wasn't exactly sure why, but some fleeting notion told her that she should be careful.

And then, she was not thinking of her new master very much longer - for she was moving forward, toward the place that beckoned her. What else was she to do, when it so obviously called for her to be there? If she did not go, then perhaps things would never end. She would move forward, for that was the only way out, as it always was.

Quietly observant, she took in every piece of useful information about her new - and quite strange - setting. Her gait was deliberate and did not take her too far very quickly, but she was satisfied with this and made sure to remain aware of everything, every little detail. She would need it.

As she drew nearer she instincitively - though slowly - brought her hand to her waist, where she would feel for her lightsaber. This simple reassurance, this tool and guide, was something that she would miss, but if it was not there, then she would know the next step: to adapt to her current situation, and to make best within the circumstances. She did not need her saber to survive, and if she had to enter this theme park... this fair... without it, then so be it.

She took a breath and let it out indifferently, despite her inner fortress of mind and being. She would be ready, and this was what she told herself. A trick? A test? It did not matter. The only thing that did was that she was back in reality with no regrets, no shame in how she had done so. That was her promise to herself, both subconsciously and in the "real" world. Things were no different to her now than they were when she had woken to find herself in her bed, thoughtful of a dream of the past that was almost gone and forgotten.

"And what now?" she said to the empty air as much as to herself. Somewhere, the familiarity of those words rang bare.

The energy arched across his body and the sensation was nothing short of spectacular. Nerve endings across his entire body were activated by the ionized pulse of electricity, spurring reactionary jerks and involuntarily immobility as short term overload was reached and, unable, or unwilling, to channel the energy to a palatable format, Ahnk opened his hands, and his mouth, and his eyes, sighing as he slipped away.

Those unprepared for death fight it with every ounce of their remaining strength.

As one dies they fill with fear. See devils tearing their life away.

But if you’ve made your peace, then the devils are really angels. Freeing you from the earth.

Ahnk lived every moment as if it was his last.

Took every breath as if he would taste no other.

Took every step the final turning of his heel.

Ready for the end.

Welcoming it.

Awaiting death the casual demeanor a long last friend. A longing may he return…

But so far, it was not to be.

And this time would be no different.

As the life faded from his eyes and they became nothing more then blank, glossy spheres containing and telling nothing, the image of Irtar Mal’Gro disintegrated and reformed a thousand times inside his head, every single reformation, each subsequent reiteration, uglier then the last…





It was hard, even, to listen to him without some measure of disgust.

Externally, Andrew Micheal Rashanagok remained a statuesque sculpture of neutrality, containing and telling nothing. But inside…

But inside doesn’t matter.

“I want to know the answers…” he was droning on now, doing his best to engage the former Sith Lord, activate within him the trigger for normal conversation. But Irtar did not understand Ahnk as Ahnk apparently had misunderstood Irtar. Perhaps this had been a fool’s gambit. Wasted time…

“That is the thing about time…” Ahnk replied. The boy was finished, apparently, or had momentarily ceased his stammering, which meant he was as finished as Ahnk was going to let him be. “For years, nothing will happen. Everything will fit into its hole… every gear a cog, every cog a wheel, every wheel an axel, and the function of life. And then, like that… it’s gone. Everything you’ve fought for has changed. Everyone you ever loved is a fucking memory, left little more then a stain beneath a despot’s heel. And for what, exactly? What was it that caused time to progress as such? Cause and effect? The quarks? The bends? What creates the catastrophe through which we atrophy? My apathy, your lethargy. What exists the commonality?”

Ahnk sat forward. He showed Irtar his eyes, tapping gloved hand on gloved hand. “I know. I don’t know. Nobody knows. It’s a secret. It’s written on your face.” Ahnk raised a hand, passing it as if moving something with the force… which was, of course, not presently possible, but so the gesture was made and so it held through the air. “You want an answer, Irtar, but to get an answer you have to explore the question. And it’s the question, Irtar, it’s the question that is what drives us.

The question that binds us. That tides us.

There are questions that create us. Questions that elate us.

Questions that deflate us, demoralize, and empty our soul.

Questions that destroy us.

There are questions that frighten us.

And those that enlighten us.

Questions that clarify. Questions that terrify.

There are questions for all seasons.

Questions of reason.

Questions bordering on treason.

Questions can stimulate and questions can stifle.

Questions are what drive human interaction. Even in answering a question there are invariably raised ever more questions. Never can there be enough communication to end the fascination with the consideration of the question; always will it persist, leaving some unanswered and some unsatisfied but continuing to be the primary archetype of interpersonal relations.” Ahnk stopped, resting his hand back on his knee. “So, you want answers. You are not going to like it. The answer to your question is itself a question, and the question a self-evident answer I have to discern before progression can be made today, but the question, Irtar, the answer and the question, are you.”

Irtar just kinda looked at him, a look of confussion on his face at the words that Ahnk was rambling on about. Why was he rambling on about the types of questions instead of JUST ANSWERING HIS DAMN QUESTIONS!?! He didn't need to explore them. They were straight forward and simple. There were questions of what he's done while on Sinsang.

Maybe he was just trying to use this to make himself sound more intelligent? Irtar was trying to find some way to communicate with Ahnk to get the answers he needed. He wasn't going to do ANYTHING until he got straight answers to his questions. After all, though Irtar may think he understands does he really understand these words that could be lined with double meanings and all that other crap?

He was more engineer than Jedi! These word games weren't what he was skilled in.

“So, you want answers. You are not going to like it. The answer to your question is itself a question, and the question a self-evident answer I have to discern before progression can be made today, but the question, Irtar, the answer and the question, are you.”

Irtar thought over those words. Did it mean that he was asking Irtar he was ready to do something? Well, he needed to get answers before he could do anything crazy. But he might as well try something.

"Alrighty, so you're asking me if I'm ready to move on then?" Irtar asked more to himself than to Ahnk. "Move unto what? That training you were talking about last time we met? More word games?"

Irtar sighed slightly and cocked his head. "Though personally, I'm a fan for more answers to those 'questions that clarify'. Because I'm still slightly confussed of why you've done what you've done."

"And whether you'll throw me into anything again if I should open the cell."

Irtar walked about a bit, keeping his eyes on Ahnk. He made a slight bit of pacing back and forth. Heck, he still needs to get out of him the information for that report. Though he may speak in riddles, the Coalition speaks in triplicate.

"Y'know, now that I think of it, I don't even know your name. I guess since you've come here looking for me and threatened me in the way you did you know mine. I'm sure you'd probably prefer something other than 'you' to reference to you as."

There exists in every human being two facets that which create them, and govern their change. All change is tethered and created from and to the same end, but is altered by that around, like a polar magnetism on the body, bending and shaping it without changing that which it is, was, and always will be. Inside the machine are cellular gears, each a floating entity of it’s own and each a life alone, and yet, together, only together, are they ever truly whole. And though these gears may swivel and rotate, bending and flexing, creating and destroying… they exist as they are. They can move, but they will not break. They can break, but they will not be destroyed. They can be destroyed, but they will be replaced. Such is the ebb and flow of the body. Such is the tides of change.

A man is created what a man is created. He will always be that, and yet, he can turn himself into something more. But a man can never be something that he is not. He is created of a range, and in that range he can manipulate that which he is, but never outside, to neither extreme. You either are or you are not. No amount of polish can change the fact that some people are not designed to do some things. That cannot be disputed. Belief in self goes a long way but a belief in a false self will not create that self. No amount of effort can turn the unique into the ordinary, and no amount of effort turn the disinteresting into the worthy. People are born into failure; they can change their paradigm to an acceptable degree, but they will never be anything more then the limits imposed upon them at creation.

Irtar Mal’gro was a testament to that.

There spun inside Irtar Mal’Gro a wheel. Inside that wheel spun a wheel and inside that wheel a wheel which contained inside it a wheel. Each moved independently but the move of one was the move of all. Perpetually kept them spinning but friction ground them to a halt. There existed somewhere a balance between the extremes to spin each wheel at optimum efficiency, so that each wheel could stimulate the wheel around without the friction there between causing the mechanism to fail.

Ahnk was impressed by what he saw in Mal’Gro. He was carbon… simple coal, for now. Raw fuel that existed as energy to be expended. But that he had the energy at all was something that Ahnk could not say of most. He had the potential to be something more then ashen stone and bitter taste, something more then formulaic life as human waste. With polish, Irtar could become a diamond. He would always be Irtar Mal’Gro, but with focus, commitment, and a little bit of guidance, he could be a better Irtar Mal’Gro.

If he was willing… he was able.

If he was willing.

“One more question, then. You see a family walking down a street,” Ahnk said, crossing his hands behind his back, stepping away from the door, as well as the man behind. “They seem to be a happy bunch. A woman, a man, humans… two children, a dog. The children are eating ice cream, happily skipping along. You feel a rippling across your skin in the cold night air. From across the road, you see a shuttle hovering above the permacrete. It’s running late, and running too fast. You do the deductive reasoning that the family is going to being killed if you don’t intervene.”

Ahnk turned, looking at Irtar again. “This is the part where the Jedi Master asks you what you do. Do you move the family? Do you try and stop the shuttle? What options do you have to save the people? These are important questions, but they are not the most important questions. I am not going to ask you those questions because I am not your Jedi Master and I do not think you need to be asked them.” Ahnk began to pace back to Mal’Gro… moving slowly, but with definable intent. “You see a man pointing a gun at you, you take it. You see debris falling on a crowd, you deflect it. You see a hovercar barreling down on a family, you stop it. You don’t ask yourself questions, you just do it. It comes instinctively, and reflexively. It’s as simple as walking for you; you put one foot in front of the other, and before you know it, it’s done.”

Ahnk’s hand found itself pressed against the door, as he leaned in to address Irtar in a softer voice. “The important question of that hypothetical situation is to ask yourself how you noticed that the car was coming. Of where that gust of wind came from that raised the hair on your neck, the rippling of goose bumps breaking across your flesh, and why, of all times, it should happen then. Your hesitation… your preconception. Your trepidation, the agitation of your senses before a crisis situation. That’s your gift. That’s what separates you from the people on that street. It’s what makes you better then them… it’s what makes you more then just a normal man. That is why we are here. That is why we are having this discussion.”

Ahnk opened his hand, turning it from the door to the open air, palm exposed. “For millennia have existed those who felt a racial, genetic or otherwise hierarchical attribute of their person or persons allowed them to proclaim their superiority over others. They believed that that entitled them the right to control, and…” Ahnk trailed off, slowly drawing his fingers together, closing them in a fist, “displace, as they felt necessary. There were others that felt their unique strengths and abilities allowed them the right to lord over those who were not similarly endowed…” Ahnk said, turning his open palm, but slowly folding it, bending it into a semi-circle, somewhat like an umbrella, “to control what they could do, to govern and regulate, to hold power, and ensure that they kept it, in the name of the greater good…”

Ahnk scowled, lips curling into an inaudible snarl. “Being better then someone else entitles you to nothing. Entitlement is not something upon which one can depend nor is power something that should be inherited. We are built on a stronger foundation but our genes do not create who we are. Only we do that. Our genes merely serve to limit us, or in the case of those with our gift, to free us from limits. What we become, and what we do, is not predetermined beyond that. Our ability to expand knows not a boundary but the boundary of our dedication, determination, and willingness to improve.”

Ahnk turned his hand again, cupping it forward, as if holding something in it like water, or sand. “Greatness is not important. Power over others, superiority over others, and the acceptance of others have always been, and will always be, overrated. Like a handful of sand is power over others…” Ahnk said, and slowly allowed his fingers to part, “it will always, simply, slip away. It is not our aim, those with our gift, to be great. To aspire towards greatness, celebrity, and fame, is a waste of what we are. Greatness is not something we can do or something we can be. Greatness… idiots write of greatness. Greatness exists in words only… it’s in the times, and in history, and looked at in the past. Greatness is in books.”

Ahnk stopped scowling, raising his other hand, pointing at his heart. “Goodness… is in our hearts.” Moving his hand. “In our mind.” Moving his hand. “In our fists. In our feet. In our ribs. It is in our lungs and it is in our stomachs. Goodness permeates us and flows like blood within us… it drives us, and as it inspires, it so conspires. Goodness is it’s own reward and it’s own justification… it merely is. We don’t go good things because of rewards. That family, in front of the shuttle, they might not deserve it. They may have done nothing to earn it. But you save them anyway. You save them because something told you to save them, and when you save them, you feel good, for reasons you don’t understand. That feeling is knowing that you did the right thing. You didn’t know why you noticed them, or why you rushed to save them, but that feeling… the knowledge that you made a difference, for the better… that, that is the reason why.”

Ahnk took two steps backwards from the door, sighing. “You asked me why. Now you know. Open that door, Irtar Mal’Gro, and I will show you where.”

He crossed his legs, dropping into a sitting position. “My name is Andrew Micheal Rashanagok. I am from Naboo. I’m bald. For age, I recommend you simply put indeterminate. I am six feet and six inches tall and my approximate we…”