Man is not an aquatic animal, but from the time we stand in youthful wonder beside a spring brook till we sit in old age and watch the endless roll of the sea, we feel a strong kinship with the waters of this world.
-Hal Borland

Tropix Island, Dorumaa

“I’ll take a glass of Leena, thank you.”

“It’ll be with you shortly.”

Adrian nodded back at the waitress, who promptly wandered off to retrieve his drink. This is ridiculous. I’m sitting down in a frakking bar, and that’s half of my mission briefing. Maybe the CSIS director has gone nuts. His eyes glanced around the bar. Patrons, both native and offworld, all wearing tropical clothing, mingled with each other in a lively party atmosphere. A warm breeze swept in through the windows, mixing the scents of saltwater and a plethora of perfumes and colognes, and caressing Ravenna’s face. He smiled, his head slightly bobbing with the soft, seductive beats of the music which through the bar’s interior.

“Here you go, sir,” stated the waitress, handing him an amber-coloured drink.

“Thank you Miss.”

He grasped the cheap glass, and sipped the cinnamon flavored drink.

“Hey you.”

The Jensaarai glanced up, to see a young woman take the seat on the other side of his table. Her hazel eyes pierced his own. She twirled a strand of bleached blonde hair. Ravenna shoved his glass to his mouth. Who the hell is this? He mentally recalled his briefing. No, this shouldn’t be my contact, I think. He cautiously lowered his glance, and stared her back into her eyes.

“Hi there,” replied the Susevfian, “do I know you from somewhere?”

She flashed a smile. “No, but you should.”

He blinked.

“Let’s dance,” suggested the woman, leaning in closer to the man.

Adrian winced as he smelt her breath. She’s been drinking. Wonderful. This is always what I wanted to do; dance with a drunk girl. Kitty would probably kill me. Or will, if I dance with her. He mentally sighed and closed his eyes. He focused his mind and probed into the mind of the girl, feeling an unusual aura of euphoria and chaotic thoughts. He tugged at one of her emotions. She frowned. You don’t want to dance with me; I’m a loser.

“I don’t want to dance with you, you’re a loser,” commented the woman, rising from the table.

That was easy. Though I suppose if they aren’t really thinking, it isn’t hard to influence them...

The Resort’s Beach, Tropix Island, Dorumaa

Swenson dangled his feet off of the rocks into the cerulean waters, letting the cold liquid gently lap on the soles of his bare feet. The stout, blonde man stared at the ocean’s surface, wistfully admiring the sunset; colours suffusing the surface of the water in a brilliant amber-orange ambience. A gust of wind whipped up across the beach, propelling several sailing rec boats at phenomenal speeds, and nearly tearing the loose tropical clothing which the Metalorn native wore. The breeze died down, and the clothing once again clung tightly to his skin. He glanced at his chrono. Ravenna’s late. If he was any other guy, I’d guess he’d be getting drunk at the resort’s bar. But he’s Adrian. Meaning that he’s more sober than a 3PO. The Jensaarai picked up a gray rock from the beach, glanced at it, and threw it at the water with the flick of the wrist. With a series of minute splashes, the stone skipped across the water before sinking into the depths of Dorumaa. Quietly, the agent slipped his hand into pocket, and fingered his holdout blaster briefly, and withdrew his hand into the open. His eyes drifted to the tropical sky.

By the maker? What am I doing? Have I learned anything from the Academy? There is never a time when nothing useful can be done. Swenson’s eyes slowly slid shut, and his breathing deepened. Time and space seemed to slow down around him as he waded through the currents of the Force. His thoughts drifted into another realm, and his will eagerly slid into the air around him.

Air, the atoms of which could be found nearly anywhere.

Air, the substance that most life within the galaxy required daily.

Air, that element which could alleviate or inflict the extremes of temperatures.

Air, that necessary chaos incarnate.

Especially to those who felt it through the Force, such as the Jensaarai Elementalists. For even on the calmest of days, millions of air molecules moved randomly on their own accord or by objects moving past them. Only when the temperature changed did air move in mass with any modicum of regularity. Swenson reached into the air around him, and felt the steady pulse of a leste, which brought the cool of the seas to the island. The Jensaarai attuned himself and become one with the air, or rather, the Force which flowed through it, as the Sith Magicians and the Jensaarai Elementalists before him. Molecules seemed to slip and slide like millions of miniscule tectonic plates. Swenson focused on a set of the plates a meter away from him, and began to manipulate them with invisible digits. The air moved towards the heavens or whirled around in a miniature tornado. He fashioned several of the clusters of air molecules into a flattened vortex, and whipped it towards the ground, drawing grains of sand from the beach into the tiny twister. Swenson felt its pulse, its vibe, and relinquished control of the molecules; causing the air plates to jolt to freedom in all directions, and the sand to simply tumble back to the beach from whence it came.

Three hours later, Swenson found himself sitting on the beach, at the water’s edge. A cool, salty breeze pushed through the muggy air and brushed up against his profile. A smile rippled across the elementalist’s face. He lifted his eyes to the sky, picking out the stars which had begun to light the tropical sky. But these celestial pricks paled in comparison to the glowing orb that was Almas, which dominated the view of its satellite. And to think that the Force transcends and pours itself through all of those little stars, and through the blackness to things I cannot possibly see or even imagine. Truly a divine power. His face wrinkled into a frown. And yet it is one that slumbers; one that simply lets greatness, whether good or evil, take a hold of it and use to their own ends. What kind of power is this? One that simply does not care? Or one that is not self-aware…not even animalistic… Sand squeaking under the tread of boots jolted Swenson out of his reverie. The stout man slowly rose from the beach, and glanced at a dark-haired man wearing khaki trousers and a checkered blue and white shirt.

“I was wondering when you were going to show up,” said the elementalist.

Adrian threw up his hands, palms facing the starry sky. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Our contact didn’t show up.”

Swenson frowned. “Intelligence contacts don’t just disappear…”

“Yeah, I know…there wasn’t even a guy there who looked remotely like the contact.”

“Knocked off? It would fit in with the mission detail…start taking care of security before the delegates arrive,” suggested Robert.

Ravenna amiably nodded. “If they got the contact, they probably know about us.”

“The hotel won’t be safe then.”

“No, it won’t. Back to the ship, I suppose,” sighed Adrian.

The next day…

The two Jensaarai wandered out of the Rogue Shadow at the break of dawn. The system’s dual stars cracked through the morning mist as one with bright, yellow-white rays. As they passed out of their docking bay, Swenson felt the call of the Force via the mist; a vibrant, primal urge which desired the Elementalist to immerse himself in nature; to enjoy the power of Force for its sake. The rational, logic-addled half of him developed during his programming years struggled against the flow as exterminator droids against mynocks. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and found himself looking into Ravenna’s emerald eyes.

“Are you all right?” questioned the warrior.

“Ah yeah, I guess so,” stuttered Bob, “it was weird. I just felt as if I were being tempted to the darkside. Did you feel anything?”

Adrian blinked. Oh great. I sound like I’m crazy now. The worry on the warrior’s face dissolved into puzzlement.

“No, I can’t say that I have feel anything dark around here…but I felt a series of pulses from you.”

“What?”

“Like you were rapidly going in and out of Force trance. I’ve never felt anything like it,” explained Adrian.

“Odd.”

The two wandered through the island’s streets, staring at stores and hotels, and looking for anything suspicious. With the Confederation delegates arriving in three days to negotiate and sign the final draft of Dorumaa’s membership treaty, security had been tight on the island. Already, the two Jensaarai had seen two patrols of police officers on their morning stroll, and had seen patrols eight different times last night. With such security in place and a lack of action, the delegates seemed to have chosen a fairly safe, and enjoyable location, to conclude their negotiations. But their contact’s disappearance mystified the two men; who decided to wander about the city, and see if they could not find the reason for informer’s disappearance. Swenson found himself gazing at retail store specializing in swimwear. Ravenna raised an eyebrow.

“Checking out the ladies…wait…”

“Do you feel it too?” questioned Swenson, “the premonition?”

“The one of danger? Yes. It’s deafening.”

“Such an odd place for it to come from,” stammered the elementalist, “I get this odd image of being attacked by bikini-clad assassins…”

“That’s your imagination.”

The distinctive hum of an activated lightsaber caused the pair to spin about on their heels. In what was not the front of them stood a repitilian humanoid, whose head was framed by a fleshy fan of scales, and who wore a set of robes not unlike those of the Jedi Knights. In the alien’s hand, a lightsaber with an icy blue blade. Adrian whipped out his own saber, and activated its cobalt blade. After a brief flourish of the blade, the Jensaarai warrior pulled the blade close to his body in a classical Soresu guard. Swenson blinked, and was suddenly aware of a half-dozen bodies emerging from the mists behind the alien; all with drawn blasters. Not exactly what I had in mind….

The alien squinted at Adrian. “Must you bring your evil ways here too, Sith, and make your state Dorumaa’s overlord too?”

“I’m not a Sith,” replied Adrian, “and neither is my friend here.”

“You lie,” spat out the creature, “the very name of Jensaarai is in Sith. First you have desecrated our temple, and now you think that the Jedi will simply let you expand your puppet state at will…”

“Search your feelings, focus on us,” calmly coaxed Ravenna, “Do you feel the taint of the darkside on us?”

Apprehension seized control of Swenson; he felt his hands began to sweat. By the maker…there’s a Jedi and six gunmen...Adrian is good, but he’s not that good…I have a hold-out…but that won’t really help us out that much…As the Tarasin traded blows of logic with the Jensaarai, logic’s rule over Swenson’s mind was assaulted by sheer emotion; what good was logic when it told that everything was futile? When it had no answer to the problems encountered? In times like these, logic was useless. Robert almost immediately felt the primal urging which had seized him early this same morning. Its focused energy and emotion crashed against the crumbling wall of rationality. It was as if standing on the wall, and he plunged into the depths of those urges; the old Swenson was washed away, drowned, and reborn anew; a man who had no use for logic, nor for any of the obligations and knowledge which had both brought to the man to his highest and lowest points in his history. He was vaguely aware of them, but they seemed of no concern to him. His sweating stopped.

“…if you cannot admit your deceit and repent, you shall both die,” boomed the alien.

At that moment, everything seemed to move in slow motion. Several of the apparent Jedi’s companions snapped off shots from their blasters at the pair of Jensaarai. Ravenna hurriedly whipped his saber about in the tight arcs of Soresu to intercept the incoming bolts; the other gunmen began to raise their weapons, and the apparent Jedi leaned forward to sprint at the duo. Swenson felt his hands spring out to his sides, and not in his control; as if a marionette in some gothic holo-drama. He felt the minutely painful, and tingling, surge of energy drawn from the Force unknowingly flow through his body and suffuse into the air of the strip mall around him. The energy seemed to all flow back to him through tiny strands.

His palms slammed together in front of him.

The vaporous molecules rapidly compressed into a mist as if drawn in by a black hole; forming an impromptu visual barrier in front of the two Jensaarai. He felt a pulse of surprise from Adrian, who then freed his left hand from his saber’s hilt, and used it to channel a Force push at the Tarasin and his interlopers. Several muted grunts answered them, and Adrian began to run. With a glance from Ravenna, the possessive spirit fled Swenson, and the Elementalist began to run away too; not in an orderly retreat of the Jensaarai warrior’s, but that of a person fleeing an intimidating mugger in wild panic.

Simiyiar-class Light Freighter Rogue Shadow, Dorumaa

His hands were sweating again; albeit this time they were wrapped around the gunnery yoke for the freighter’s turreted dual laser cannons. The Jensaarai glanced at his chrono, and methodically rotated the turret to sweep its fire arc across the rest of the landing pad. A waft of fresh air poured down the access tunnel when Adrian opened its hatch.

“I’ve got some good news,” announced the Susevfian, “I’ve managed to get the diplomats to sign the treaty elsewhere.”

The first good news since we’ve been able to run from them and lock ourselves up in the ship. His apprehension gradually ebbed away like Bacta from a leaking tank. Sighing, the Metalornian native relaxed his fervent grip of the gun’s controls to a lax cradling.

“The bad news is that they’re still coming to Dorumaa, just a different island, and they want us to provide security there. But I imagine they’ll be bringing with a few more guards than they would have brought otherwise.”

Swenson’s hands gripped the gunnery yoke slightly tighter. “Great, I think.”

Adrian frowned. “Do you feel that?”

Swenson shook his head and frowned. Could it be…crap…He looked down back towards the landing pad. The Tarasin Jedi charged through the arched tunnel that led into the landing pad. Several dozen meters behind him, the roughly-clad soldiers, those that had accompanied the apparent Jedi previously, strained to jog behind the Tarasin. Panting, some of them halted and fired their blasters at the Mon Calamari-built freighter. Their shots ricocheted off of the freighter, incurring little more than paint scratches and burn marks on the hull. Almost immediately, Adrian rushed away from the gunnery hatch. Swenson swore, and tapped the triggers on the yoke. Fire-linked pulses of green lashed out at his approaching enemies with a shudder and sizzle. The first pair soared just over the Tarasin force-user’s head, forcing him to halt his charge and seek the ground for cover, and smacked into the spaceport walls. The succeeding blasts filled the hallway with a tremendous volume of laser fire. Several of the troopers fell down in a crimson pool of their blood; vast char marks obliterating parts of their bodies. He felt alien twinges of regret and anger sporadically fire through his body as he fired upon them. Satisfied that the grunts had been dealt with, Swenson swiveled the gun back down to deal with the Jedi. What? Where did he go?

The crackling of clashing lightsabers ripped his attention from the turret.

Oh crap…he’s onboard…

The elementalist froze in fear. It was one thing to fire on nearly harmless men with an oversized weapon; it was quite a different thing to attack a skilled opponent with inferior weaponry. He began to sweat profusely; his mind again clamored in the war of logic and emotion.

The blades crackled again, and they seemed to be getting closer...

Bob swore again.

Fear ripped a slice of logic’s wall from his mind. Images of Adrian barely holding off the Tarasin’s attack seemed to haunt and pervade his every thought. The wall cracked and tumbled; again, the mysterious force forced its essence into his mind and took control of his hostage body. His body obediently rose from the chair and methodically climbed the ladder to the deck, despite his want to do otherwise. His exiled government of logic screamed through his mind for his body to stop.

But it did not.

The elementalist pulled himself onto the deck and rose to stand. Several meters away from him, two blue lightsabers clashed in the tight arcs of Soresu. Neither Adrian nor the alien seemed to be in control of the situation; instead, the two made feints and basic stabs at their opponents while focusing their will onto their own survival. It was more of game of defensive dancing than a duel of the fates. Swenson felt his shirt lightly ripple and the cold metal of his holdout rub against his arm as the gun slid down from his sleeve into his hand. Almost mechanically, the elementalist pointed the blaster at the two opponents, and snapped off a trio of shots at the Tarasin.

The Jedi’s attention to Adrian sputtered with the sound of the blaster fire. He instinctively turned to face the blaster fire, and whipped his saber about in long flourishes to deflect the oncoming bolts. He succeeded, and the bolts bounced into the innards of the Rogue Shadow, leaving behind scorch marks and a light scent of burnt paint and ozone.

But in succeeding, he failed.

Adrian launched a force push from his free hand at the distracted Jedi, who promptly crashed into the durasteel bulwarks and bounced off with a sickly thud. The somewhat concussed and bleeding Jedi stumbled towards the Jensaarai warrior. Adrian made a quick thrust at the Jedi, who wildly parried in exaggerated arc. The alien wavered for a few moments and unleashed his own attack, a broad sweeping attack that completely missed the warrior, and succeeded in showering sparks across the Shadow’s deck. Ravenna struck again at the Jedi…

And Swenson’s body merely stood, just staring at the dueling pair; a smug grin plastered on his face. Bob’s captive mind felt a mixture of amusement and annoyance sweep through his brain from his mental overlord. His hand dropped the holdout blaster; its power pack had been completely drained. Indefatigably, his body lurched stiffly forward, despite its tiredness, towards the freighter’s two other occupants. Neither of who paid any attention to him, so consumed were they in their duel.

Swenson’s body halted, and thrust out his hands at the Jedi. He felt the primal urge force more Force energy to flow through his body; it trickled in like mountain streams feeding a valley reservoir. As its reserve grew, the Jensaarai felt a tingling sensation flow throughout his body and with it, minute pricks of pain. His overlord ushered forth a familiar procedure to his mind, albeit on a more grandiose scale. Through his body, the primal urge channeled the energy to suffuse into the air around the Tarasin. Air platelets, molecules, and atoms around began to shift around the being, gradually accelerating as Swenson unwillingly manipulated the air, and formed gentle currents about the alien. Swenson’s exiled mind noticed the energy begin to leave his body at an accelerated pace, and noticed his subconscious concentration on the molecules increase. The currents of gases bulged into roaring headwaters, whipping away gaseous molecules and vapors around and from the alien at a prodigious rate. Moisture was ripped away from the being’s skin, starting an accelerated process of evaporation, and rapidly cooled the alien.

The tropically-raised alien began to involuntarily cringe as the temperature around his body dropped. He lost his concentration, and dropped his saber with a clatter from the freezing pain. Letting out a tormented scream, the Jedi dropped to the floor in a huddled heap; he was not himself. And yet Swenson continued, forcing the air around him to leech away the being’s heat; his body’s own pain increased.

Adrian drew his own service pistol with his free hand, and promptly shot the apparent Jedi with a trio of stun bolts; not only for the Jensaarai’s protection, but also for the alien’s own comfort. Ravenna stared at Swenson warily.

“He is down,” pointed out the warrior.

Swenson’s body flashed a grin. “He is right now.”

Adrian frowned. “What has come over you? First you're terrified of him, and now you’re ruthlessly tormenting him? Stop, it just isn’t needed anymore.”

“Perhaps you Jensaarai think so,” replied Swenson’s body irritably.

Adrian tilted his battle stance to face the Metalorn native. “Stop it. I feel like you don’t even know me.”

The air currents stopped whirling about and disintegrated, forcing rapid temperature fluctuations around the alien. Swenson’s body merely shook his head.

“You don't even know me, apparently; claiming my aid in your times of trouble, and living with me on a daily basis. And yet none of you see who I really am. Maybe you will see sometime. But for now, I grant you and your friend peace.”

The spirit left Swenson’s body, and the Metalorn native collapsed unconscious onto the metal deck out of exhaustion.

“You all right?”

Swenson felt the cold metal of the Shadow’s deck pressed against his face, and muttered. The Metalornian man slowly pulled himself off of the floor and glanced upwards. Adrian stood there, staring down at him. Feeling a pulse of concern from the warrior, Bob weakly smiled and sat on the floor, his legs crossed. The elementalist glanced about, and noticed that the Jedi was nowhere to be found. He frowned.

“Where’s the Jedi?”

“Cuffed and stowed in a cramped escape pod,” answered Ravenna, “I figure that’s the best place to put him, for now. You gave me a bit of a scare near the end there...do you know who that was?”

Swenson shook his head. “No idea. What did I do? The last thing I remember is freezing that guy…and then waking up here.”

“Well, after nearly freezing him to death, someone talked through you, I think; your aura felt a bit…different too,” decided Adrian slowly, “I’m a bit concerned about these possessions. If you’re not in control of your body…”

Swenson nodded. “I am a potential threat to everyone; and it depends all on the thoughts of my possessor. But it’s weird; I’ve never used these techniques before until I was possessed; I had read and heard about them through the Saarai-kaar.”

“You think the Saarai-kaar is involved?” questioned Adrian curiously.

“Do you know of anyone else who knows about these abilities?”

Ravenna considered. “No, but we know there are other force-users out there that could, potentially. Maybe Callie or one of her associates…though possession of a body is a bit powerful.”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter who it is right now; how do we control it?”

“I don’t think we can,” answered the warrior, “Kitty may be able to teach you some stuff, but she’s on a long-term assignment right now; the Saarai-kaar could, I suppose. But I’m not so sure we can trust her, if you think she possessed you.”

“Then there is only one thing to do.”

“What is that?”

“Lock me up,” answered the Elementalist, “if my body can’t go anywhere, my possessor will not be able to do anything dangerous.”

Ravenna frowned. “You don’t know any tricks about breaking through bonds or cuffs, do you?”

Swenson shook his head.

“Well, we’d better do that, then…”

Melbourne Island, Dorumaa

“Sir yes sir!”

“Ah, at ease, I think,” replied Adrian sheepishly.

He walked over to next guard, briefly inspected her, and moved on. I wonder who has it worse; Bob locked up in an escape pod, or me leading a bunch of overzealous security guards. Side-stepping to inspect the next soldier, he immediately was drawn to several bulges in the man’s belt. He drew his lips into his mouth, and gestured at the belt.

“What are those, soldier?”

The man slightly blushed. “Ah, glop grenades sir. For use in capturing enemy personnel. I know they’re not standard sir, but well…I thought they could be useful, and the armorer had no problem giving them to me; said the mission was important enough.”

“I see,” noted the warrior, “just be careful with them. We don’t need our own security accidentally getting hit by them too.”

“Yes sir.”

“All right, the delegation will be arriving in a half hour; I want everyone in their positions at least fifteen minutes before their arrival, and even earlier if you can get there. Got it?”

A round of affirmatives answered the Jensaarai warrior, and the camouflaged security personnel scurried to their hidden monitoring stations set up around Hotel Melbourne; a private hotel which had been hastily rented for the occasion for federal use. With the Dorumaa Security Forces having secured the inside of the hotel, CSIS had taken on the role of securing the outside of the hotel, acting as a first alarm group and first line of defence. Most of this involved CSIS personnel hidden within the trees as snipers or hiding in bushes to monitor key pathways towards the secluded hotel. Only two of the Confederation guards were not hidden, and they guarded the front gate. Clad in his black battle armor, Ravenna strode over to do guard duty with them.

Simiyiar-class Freighter Rogue Shadow, Melbourne Island, Dorumaa

Well, this isn’t too bad…save for the boredom…should have had Adrian put in a holo-project with a film or something. A twinge of regret and shame fluttered through the Metalorn native. What am I thinking? He’s doing our mission while I sit it out; he could hurt, and at most, I’ll have to stretch. The hand-cuffed Jensaarai leaned back in the escape pod and sighed. Might as well be productive…Rob began to meditate. Fifteen minutes later, the hull of the Shadow sharply reverberated, and the thud of a collision sounded. Swenson frowned, and instinctively glanced out of the escape pod’s viewport.

A cloud of dirt and dust had been thrown up on their impromptu landing pad. As it settled to the ground, a lone humanoid figure staggered out of an escape pod. His reptilian skin had shards of glass impaled on it, and from them came several streams of red and purple. Swenson felt his heart sink into the depths of his body. Almost simultaneously Horror slightly pricked him, and then poured into his skull in a full-scale assault. Its reign of terror had barely settled in Swenson’s mind when a new force attacked it in turn. Its coming terrorized the elementalist more than the escape of the Tarasin Jedi. Its all too familiar presence rolled through his mind, replacing horror with a spirit not his own. The spirit commanded, and Swenson’s body obeyed.

Currents of air swirled about in the room, and consciously, Bob was aware that he was deftly of what he was doing: aerolevitation, the art of manipulating air currents to move and manipulate objects much like telekinesis. It really was a poor imitation of a Jedi’s telekinetic powers, but it had its uses for the elementalist. His blue eyes darted upwards, and Bob watched as a pack of survival rations whirled upwards on a vortex of air. Swenson’s captive mind reeled back in fear, and the metallic box smacked into a minute red button.

It clicked.

It released.

The escape shot forward into ground below in a near perfect replication of its sister craft which had jettisoned a minute ago. It hit with a resounding thud, jarring Swenson’s body against the cramped quarters of the single-man ship. And yet he felt nothing. The hatch automatically opened, and Swenson staggered out of the craft onto his ground, his hands still cuffed. A set of black eyes, clouded in confusion and hostility, stared at the elementalist. Bob’s body rose.