It’s been six years since I started roleplaying. I began at TGC, my first ever character being one of the longest surviving ones in this galaxy, Zark Ekan. When TRF was created, I made the exodus over here and ever since have been a semi-active member on the roleplaying scene. During my time in this neck of the internet, I’ve created quite a few characters. Some of them…heh, some of them more in depth than others.

I’ve always been more concerned with telling a story than I have been with advancing myself in this little community of ours. I suppose that’s why I’ve managed to stay under the radar so much. Granted, that’s also probably because the ‘gurus’ of TRF, people like Omnae or Seth or Ahnk, are ten times better at writing than I am. But I’d like to think its also because I’ve never been so much concerned with furthering the global storyline by cooperating with others than I have been with sitting in my little corner and furthering my own storyline.

I understand that, while its gotten me this far, the only way to really begin contributing to this community is to work with others. And so, having come to this realization, I present to you what will likely be my final solo storyline roleplay. It will also be, at least I hope, my most important. Let’s all hope I don’t fuck it up too badly.

This particular roleplay is very important to me. It crosses the paths of almost all of my surviving characters, and it does it in a way that I believe is twice as well done as my actual writing ability. I’m very proud of the storyline I’ve come up with here, and the only thing that stands in the way is actually writing it down in a way that doesn’t make me look like I’m retarded.

I’ve never been the best writer here. Not by a long shot. Trust me, I’ve read a bunch of Omnae’s roleplays, and they completely blow anything I could put down onto paper out of the water. But please, stay a while, read a little bit, and try to get past the so-so writing and appreciate the story struggling to break free.

Now, beginning a story is the hardest part for me. Where shall I begin?

Gasping for breath, he awoke.

It had been one month since the destruction of the Yuuzhan Vong remnant over the Atal’ai, and for the duration of that time, Michael had been having the dreams. Every night they came. Sometimes they were the same, and vague, but on certain nights there was new intermingled with the old, and everything seemed so clear. He was always there, and the chanting was too.

Slowly rising from the bed, he limped over to the wall opposing the hatch. He shook his left leg in an attempt to awake it from its slumber. As he reached the wall, he placed his left palm upon it to steady himself, and for a while stood there, braced by his arm. Everything in the past month had been so hectic and out of control; he was exhausted.

He stretched his right arm out sideways, and tapped a button on the wall to his side. He closed his eyes, and with a flash of bright light, the wall he braced himself upon lost its opacity and revealed the Atal’ai structure in front of him.

Michael was on board the Solarisian vessel VOW-1. It was his command ship, he supposed; the largest vessel in the Solarisian navy and the one directly under his control. He found it hard to picture himself as a naval officer. Michael had spent his entire life studying the art of war, but it was another thing entirely to be an artist himself.

He opened his eyes slowly, wincing slightly at the brightness of the system’s sun, a stark contrast to the darkness of his quarters. He could see the last of the shuttles rising slowly and steadily through the atmosphere of the Atal’ai, making their way toward the Avalanche which drifted in orbit not too far away. The shuttles were loaded with Andozian citizens, the last wave of people to be transported from the Atal’ai to New Andoz.

It had taken the Avalanche ten journeys back and forth, filled to maximum capacity on the way to and running on a skeleton crew on the way back each time. But it was almost over, and there could be some relief found in that. Well, to everyone except for Michael…

The end of the Andozian relocation meant that people would once more have time to think about things and wonder what exactly they were going to do with their government. As it stood at current, Michael was in essence their unofficial regent, commanding them himself and without aid. And while that was very effective for getting the people moved to New Andoz quickly and smoothly, it would not be so very effective as a permanent system of government.

Michael was scared. He was scared of the task ahead of him. It was up to him to provide these people with a new, stable system of government that they could all agree on. The only thing that scared him more than the responsibility to give up his newfound title of regent was the little voice in the back of his mind that didn’t want him to.

More and more he found himself reasoning that it might be better for the Andozians if he continued to rule for a while. He came up with all sorts of justifications and thought up thousands of different things he could accomplish in the name of bettering both these people’s society and the newly brewing society of the Solarisians.

And at the end of those long hours of justification and cultured reasoning, Michael would realize just what he was considering. It was scary to him to think that someone such as himself, raised by Solarisians his entire life, could be so susceptible to the good intentioned corruption of humanity.

He shook his head, as if shaking the unwanted thoughts from his mind. Ambling over to the small machine built into the wall facing his bed, he retrieved a glass from the cupboard built into the wall right next to the machine. He slid open the duraglass of the machine, placed the glass inside, and slid the duracrete shut again.

“Water,” he croaked, stretching his vocal cords which were hoarse from ordering.

Sliding open the duraglass once more, he pulled out the glass and took a small sip of the water, sliding the duraglass shut on his way back to stand and look out the newly formed window in his quarters. It had been a breathtaking sight the first time he had seen it, and if the thought of the Atal’ai didn’t carry so much anxiety with it over the Andozians, Michael would be free to enjoy the immaculate beauty of the structure before him.

But concerns and fears clouded his mind, and he could find no sanctuary at the sight of the Atal’ai. As he turned away from the view, his thoughts drifted from the Andozians and back to the dreams that plagued his sleep. More importantly, he pondered the most recent occurrence. Much new had been intermingled with the old, and for the first time since the words of the chanting had begun to play, clear memories of words were still emblazoned in his mind.

He took a seat upon the unmade bed, and retrieved a datapad from the nightstand beside it. He typed what he remembered into it, not exactly sure why he was bothering. He knew that he would be forgetting these words just as soon as he would be forgetting the chanting. And that would not be for a very long time. He scanned what he had inputted, making sure the words were correct. There were some hyperspace coordinates, and then the cryptic words…

[FONT=Lucida Console]In three days.[/FONT]

“It is an acceptable deviation,” Michael said aloud, something he had picked up from the Andozians, “It will get my thought process off of more disconcerting subjects.”

He smiled softly to himself.

I hope… he added silently.

His ears had been for a long time filled with nothing but ringing. Between the booming sounds of his revolvers firing and the laser blasts hammering into the ground and walls all around him, the noise had long become too unbearable for his ears to take without shutting down for a little while. It mattered not to him; he could hear much better than he heard with his ears with his sixth sense, the Force.

Zark Ekan deeply regretted his decision to follow the guidance of Aenix’s spirit and break into the Jedi Corps. temple on Coruscant. In fact, Zark resolved that if he didn’t make it out alive, which was seeming more and more likely as events continued, he would discuss with Aenix personally how terrible an idea it had been.

Despite all of his inner-bickering, he had been successful in his task. He had managed to take the Force artifact from the unsuspecting Jedi Corps., tripping every alarm the complex had in the process. Now if he could only make it off of Coruscant alive, he could call the entire operation a success. The only problem with that was the ten “Jedi” and likely twenty or more stormtroopers pursuing him.

It would be easy enough to blend in with the crowd and make it off of the planet if he gave his pursuers the slip, the Imperial Center was much too big a planet for the Empire to prevent one single person from escaping undetected. The only problem with giving his pursuers the slip was his rather large Force signature, and the ten Force adepts trailing him who had locked onto it.

They would have to be dealt with, he knew. The only thing keeping him from facing them were the blaster toting stormtroopers that accompanied them.

It wouldn’t be long until it was only the Jedi Corps., however (assuming he wasn’t blown away by a lucky stormtrooper’s shot). Leaping from rooftop to rooftop, he put more and more distance between his pursuers and only the “Jedi” had the ability to follow. As fast as the stormtroopers could move, they couldn’t match the speed of Force users.

Just a few more buildings, Zark knew, and the stormtroopers would be too far away to catch up in time…in time for what, exactly? Zark didn’t know, but it hoped it had something to do with walking out of there alive. As he made his final jump, he whirled in the air, revolver’s blazing once more. Four shots rang out, and one connected.

One of the “Jedi” pursuing him had been to focusing on amplifying his speed to raise the lightsaber he carried in a parry. The bullet struck, blowing a hole in his chest and blowing him backward and off of the rooftop. Nine members of the Jedi Corps. to deal with.

Stretching his arm out behind him, Zark fired another shot. This one hit its target as well, the glass of a skylight, shattering it seconds before Zark’s body plummeted through the newly created opening. Arching his back into a reverse flip, he managed to land, rockily, upon his feet. It had been some time since he had preformed such a maneuver, and he was getting rusty.

The building he had chosen to face his pursuers in was an abandoned warehouse, long left to rot as the ever growing city planet of Coruscant built upwards and beyond the lower sectors. Most of the lower city was abandoned, and those places that weren’t were not the types of places you wanted to be in. The Imperials cared little for crime in the lower areas as long as they left the upper sections alone.

He didn’t have much time to ponder the Empire’s policy regarding criminal activity, however, as the nine remaining Jedi Corps. acolytes plummeted through the same hole in the skylight he had made with his old guns. They landed, forming a circle around the lone Jedi, and one by one their lightsabers hummed to life.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Zark said as he cracked his neck.

Pushing in the hidden button on his right wrist, the mechanical hand receded into his arm and out shot the golden lightsaber.

“Lets have some fun, boys.”


“Arix? It’s about time! I was worried-” Ainam stopped short as the Jedi stumbled into the ship and collapsed upon the deck, “Frack, what happened?!”

“Jedi Corps…” he gasped, grinning to himself, “Little bastards…better than I…thought…”

“You’re in rough shape, Arix,” Ainam called back to his wounded master, “I’m plotting a course for Naboo and we’re getting you to a hospit-”

“NO!” Zark screamed, halting Ainam in his steps. It was an unnatural scream, and when Ainam looked back he saw the fiery embers of Zark’s eyes and knew that they would not be going to Naboo, “The coordinates…I gave you…Hapes Cluster…”

“Arix,” Ainam pleaded, but he knew it was useless, “If you don’t get medical attention soon you’re not going to…you’re going to…”

“The coordinates…I gave you.”

“Arix…”

“SET THE COURSE!”

“…yes, Arix.”

They were headed to the Transitory Mists. His hand trembling, Zark slowly reached into his robes, and from them he pulled the artifact. A small crystal, no larger than his fist.

“I’m coming…” he whispered to himself, “I’m coming…”

[FONT=Lucida Console]“Reversion complete.”[/FONT]

The melodic voice of VOW-1’s main computer was comforting upon Michael’s ears. Not just because the voice was designed to be comforting, but because over the past months he had developed a friendship with the computer. The Solarisian robots were programmed to act as humans would, which meant simulated personalities and emotions. The computers of their starships were no exception.

In essence, VOW-1 itself was alive, and the main computer was just its brain. Nearly the entire ship was controlled directly by the main computer, and only a small contingent of humanoid robots was stationed on board, in order to make repairs and process data that the main computer could not. But in the end, it was only Michael and the computer that ran the ship. Michael gave the orders, and the vessel carried them out.

“VOW-1, are we at the coordinates I gave you?” Michael asked, confirming what he already knew.

[font=Lucida Console]“We are, Michael.”[/font]

“Begin scanning immediately for any signs of a vessel,” Michael ordered.

[font=Lucida Console]“Affirmative.”[/font]

It had been three days since Michael had had the dream in which he had received the hyperspace coordinates. And now, here he was, at the coordinates given. They were on the outskirts of the Transitory Mists, on the side closest the Perlemian Trade Route but still quite a ways from Imperial space.

Michael didn’t know what exactly he was doing here, but he knew it was better than being back at New Andoz. Already the grumblings of the future of government had begun, staved off from serious talks only by the long process of getting the entire population proper lodgings and building up major population centers. The capital city, Caloran, had begun serious construction, and a new life was blossoming for the people of New Andoz.

Michael was glad, most definitely, to see the Andozians bouncing back so well from the terrible things they had undergone. But he could not help but be troubled by the questions of the future. Any distraction was a pleasant distraction if it got his mind off of those questions. And traveling out here, searching for he didn’t know what, did a good job of helping him think of other things.

[font=Lucida Console]“Michael?”[/font]

“Yes, VOW-1?” Michael asked, shaken from his reverie, “Have you discovered anything?”

[font=Lucida Console]“No, Michael. Sensors indicate this area of space is devoid of any ships, or even wreckage. This is dead space.”[/font]

“You are certain?”

[font=Lucida Console]“Within a .0068% margin of error, yes.”[/font]

“Well, run the scans once more. I want to be certain before I leave here.”

[font=Lucida Console]“As you wish, Michael.”[/font]

This disturbed him. If there were in fact no ships of any kind, then what had the dreams wanted him to find out here? Had he missed it? If he left, would he miss it? All too suddenly, the dissipating questions of the future were replaced with even more troubling questions of the present. He knew that the coordinates were correct, and he knew the message that came with them was correct as well. But if the computer was right…

His attention snapped out the viewport as a bright light came into view in the space in front of them. A ship appeared, massive in size. At least, Michael believed it was a ship. He had never seen anything so large! It dwarfed the pictures of the super star destroyers of this galaxy’s past that Michael had seen in the Capital’s library. It was almost…planet-sized.

[font=Lucida Console]”Warning! Warning! Proximity alert! Continuing on present course will cause collision in-”[/font]

“Full stop, VOW-1!” Michael ordered.

[font=Lucida Console]“Initiating full stop.”[/font]

The vessel came to a halt, floating dead in space before the massive ship in front of them.

[font=Lucida Console]”Michael, detecting-”[/font]

“I see it, VOW-1,” Michael interrupted it once more, assuring the computer.

And then, just as soon as it had appeared, the gargantuan vessel disappeared once more in a blinding flash of light. It was no jump to hyperspace. It had simply disappeared. Michael’s eyes widened. Had that been what the dream had wanted him to see? Had he done something wrong? The old questions left and new questions entered in his mind.

“VOW-1, scan for vessels once more, focusing on the area in which the unidentified vessel had been.”

[font=Lucida Console]“Scanning…scanning…Michael, there is a vessel of some kind approximately ten meters long where the unidentified vessel had once been. No identification tags of any kind. It has one life sign.”[/font]

“On screen.”

The computer was correct; a vessel about ten meters long appeared on the screen suddenly. It was…a pod. It looked to be an escape pod of some sort, only slightly larger than the norm. It floated dead in space, much like the VOW-1 was. There were no markings on it of any kind, merely a silver metallic sheen that betrayed its age. It was brand new.

“VOW-1, approach the vessel and pull it into the docking bay with the tractor beams. You have the bridge. I will greet whoever is on board that vessel personally.”

[font=Lucida Console]“Affirmative, Michael.”[/font]

With the blinding flash of light, his stay with his saviors was at an end. And his fate was put entirely in the hands of his faith…not only in his Gods, but in the Cor’ai’var as well. He had at most a day’s supply of oxygen, and no food or drink to sustain him for very long anyway. He could only hope that the Prophet arrived in time to save him.

Varex Tarien was a Cree’Ar, once a Priest Lord of the Dominion exiled by Kal Shora for reasons unknown to him. He had once borne a hatred and vendetta against Kal Shora so deep he would have been willing to sacrifice his own life to see the High Elder’s ruin. But none of that mattered to him now…not anymore. The Dominion mattered no longer.

Gone was the ruthless ambition, the deep-rooted emotions of anger and hatred. Gone was the self-destroying desire to become more and more powerful. Gone was the blind loyalty and fealty to his race, a people he now understood to be misled and straying far from the path of Borleas Queyvar. Gone was everything he had once been. Varex Tarien was free.

He could thank his saviors for that. They had shown him the path, made him understand. They had shown him these new humans, these Andozians. They had shown him their religion, and had shown him their Maker. Varex had realized the Maker for who he was. Borleas Queyvar had come to these humans in a guise. They were brothers in faith, he now knew.

And this Michael…he was a prophet of the Gods, even if he didn’t know it. Borleas Queyvar had chosen him to spread his word the right way. Not through force and destruction as the Dominion viewed it, but through peace and choice. The Solarisians were a miracle only the Gods could have given the galaxy.

He floated now, in the pod specially built for him. The saviors had been hesitant at first to set him free, but Varex had been adamant in his desire to aid these people of the Atal’ai. They had explained to him what he feared might come true, that he would never be accepted. But Varex knew that he had to try. And he also knew that Michael came to him in his dreams, his visions of the man a message from the Cor’ai’var, the extending arm of Borleas Queyvar that gave those with the gift guidance and understanding.

Varex knew that Michael would accept him, and he knew that if Michael accepted him the Atal’ai would have no choice but to accept him. They would come to understand in time that he only wished to aid them in their efforts. Yes, he would throw himself before the mercy of this Michael and atone for his past. And Michael would accept him.

He floated in space, inside the pod specially built for him, and he waited. He did not have to wait for long, for mere minutes after the saviors’ vessel had left him behind; there was a sudden jerk in the naturally serene floating of the pod. It was VOW-1’s tractor beam projectors pulling the pod into its docking bay.

He would throw himself before the mercy of the Prophet Michael, and Michael would accept him. He had to.

The Cor’ai’var willed it.

Ainam had considered for a full ten minutes whether or not to plot a course for Naboo instead of the coordinates that Zark had given him. He knew that Zark needed medical attention soon or he would die, and he knew that the proper attention he needed most likely would not but available to him at wherever the frizz in the Hapes Cluster they were headed. But Zark had been so adamant…so sure that where he belonged was at those coordinates…

He punched in the coordinates Zark had typed on the datapad, and as he inputted them he felt a sort of soothing feeling. It was all too familiar, the feeling one received whenever the Force was flowing more strongly within them. The force ebbed and flowed through every living and nonliving being. Sometimes it flowed strongly and sometimes weaker, and to most people, those less attuned, it seemed completely random. But Ainam knew, as Zark had taught him, that everything that had to do with the Force had importance.

He took the strength in the ebb of the Force as a good sign, and prayed silently to it that Zark would make it out of this one alive.

But a small part of him wondered, was Zark praying for the same thing? Ainam had not seen him so excited about anything since he had told him of his charge to wait on Naboo until his “prophet” of sorts arrived. He had been so excited that he had left Theed for the first time in half a year. Knowing how much Zark believed in the prophet to come and, at least rudimentarily, how much the Jedi had been through, Ainam had to wonder. Was Zark coming to Hapes to die?

Every rational thought in his mind screamed to him that that was not feasible. Zark still had to wait for the prophet, and if he just wanted to die then why go through all the trouble of stealing the artifact from the Jedi Corps.? But a feeling in the pit of his stomach denied all rationality and still wondered. Ainam had long ago learned to trust those feelings, those small messages he knew to be from the Force, but just this once he hoped he was wrong.

They were in hyperspace now, and they would be arriving at the coordinates Zark had given him in a few hours. Stirring in his seat, he tried to find a more comfortable position. He had helped Zark as much as he could before he had typed in the coordinates, despite the Jedi’s fierce protests to the contrary. Ainam had insisted on it. Halfway through, Zark had stopped protesting and had gone eerily calm. It had unnerved Ainam at the time, and now it unnerved him even more.

Closing his eyes, he knew sleep was out of the question. So instead he meditated, struggling to clear his mind of the unnecessary thoughts that plagued him. He sought the Force for guidance, but he knew before he had begun that there was no clear path to take.

In the direst of situations, there never were.

He lay there on the table Ainam had covered with sheets, slowly dying. His Noghri familiar had disinfected and bandaged and healed him with the Force as much as he could, but without medical attention he would not survive. Contrary to his apprentice’s belief, this was not exactly the outcome he had been anticipating, but if it was the outcome the Force wished then he was content to accept it.

Zark Ekan had been through much in his life. He had seen much, done much, and had had much done to him that he deeply regretted. Before he had been charged with tasks by spirits of the Force, he had been suicidal. And maybe he still was a little; Zark could not deny that all hints of a death wish hadn’t left him. But he would not take his own life, nor throw it away carelessly. He was still a servant of the Force, and it was his duty to live his life as he once had as a Jedi. But if the Force wanted him to die, well…

He was a servant of the Force.

Zark replayed the fight with the “Jedi” on Coruscant in his head once more. Were the Jedi Corps. acolytes stronger than he had believed or was he simply getting older? While he was just in shape physically as he had been before JED-1, his mentality…his mentality had aged so much. He felt so old…mentally, he felt as if he had endured long years of torment. And maybe he had, or at least the equivalent. Zark Ekan had been through much.

And although Zark Ekan had not realized it until he began to dream, he had also passed out.

His eyes snapped open, and he was not able to remember closing them. He was also not able to remember moving from the table in his stolen freighter to what appeared to be a luxurious suite, its walls windows with a view of a very beautiful lake, or maybe ocean. He scanned his surroundings. It was definitely a place he could not afford.

“I’m dreaming,” he decided aloud to himself.

“Yes,” came a voice in reply, causing Zark to whirl around and discover he was no longer mortally wounded, “I’m afraid the pain became too great for you, and you passed out.”

“Who are you?” Zark asked, narrowing his eyes.

The man who stood before him was the most unobtrusive person he had ever laid eyes upon. Nothing about him was out of the ordinary. In fact, everything about him seemed so ordinary that Zark had trouble remembering what he looked like exactly even while looking at him. Everything about him was so plain and unfamiliar that it was impossible to name a distinguishing thing about him.

“Don’t you know?” the man asked.

Zark reached out with the Force, and was nearly knocked off of his feet. What he had reached out and touched…there were no words to describe. It was the feeling he got when he called upon the Force to aid him amplified by an unimaginable amount. The Jedi sank to his knees, tears welling at the edges of his eyes.

“No…I don’t believe it…”

“Why not? If I can come to you as feelings in the pit of your stomach or reflexes, then why not like this?” the man gestured to himself, smiling.

“But…there has never been anyone who has experienced….anything like this before…” Zark gasped out, still recovering, “Why me?”

“Never been a documented occurance, no,” the man admitted, “Unfortunately, this usually happens only just before someone dies.”

“Then…is it true?” Zark asked, managing to look up at the man…the “man” he had devoted his entire life to, “I am going to Hapes to die?”

“Yes and no,” the man answered.

“What do you mean?”

“Now now, Zark. Beggars can’t be choosers,” the man laughed. It was such a bland laugh, and had no uniqueness to it, “I’m going to tell you much, much more than I’ve ever expressed to you before. And it is very important that you do as I say. Do you understand?”

“Of…of course,” Zark nodded, “What is it you ask?”

“Zark,” the man began, “I am coming to you now, in this form, because what I am about to tell you is quite possibly the most important thing you will ever do. Zark, this is the culmination of your life, but by no means the end of your contributions to this galaxy. I come to you now, and I guide you bluntly as I so rarely do because, well Zark, you can’t fuck this up.”

“I understand.”

“Arix…Arix!” Ainam was on the verge of tears when Zark’s eyes snapped open.

“Ainam?” he asked weakly.

“Oh frell, don’t do that to me!” Ainam sank to his knees, “I was afraid you’d…”

He trailed off weakly.

“Ainam, are we there?” Zark asked, his voice hoarse.

“We’ll be leaving hyperspace shortly, Zark,” Ainam said, the tears remaining, “Arix, you need to get to a hospital.”

“Ainam, be quiet and listen,” Zark whispered, “When we exit…hyperspace…I need you to hail the ship…”

“What ship, Arix?” Ainam asked, “Where are we going?”

“No time…to explain…” Zark gasped, “Just…trust me…you’ll know…the ship. Hail it…and ask for permission…to land…tell the man…tell the man…”

“Tell him what, Zark?” Ainam asked, almost in hysterics, “Tell him what?”

“Tell him…that his dying brother…must speak to him…”

The two robots fell in line behind him, flanking their commanding officer on either side. The humanoid robots were two of the thirty stationed aboard the Vessel of War. While their main function was by no means combat, they had received basic programming in the field. To put it succinctly, the two robots behind him could point and fire the blaster rifles they held in there hands, and they could do it with unerring accuracy.

Michael had thought deeply about whether or not to take the two droids along as bodyguards. Of course, everything about the situation suggested that the precautions were most definitely necessary, but something just…he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he wouldn’t need them. Michael’s cold rationality won out over the feelings that had been plaguing him more and more often, and he had ordered to robots to accompany him.

Their names were VCM-8 and VCM-9, and they were not very talkative. In fact, they spoke only when necessary. All military-designated Solarisian robots possessed such a personality. In fact, the only Solarisian robots who were talkative were the ones especially programmed to be, and those were entirely civilians. Still, Michael felt comfort in their silent presence.

With his constant duties to the people of Andoz, Michael had not had much time to spend in the company of his own “people”. While fellow humans were new and exciting and could teach him much about himself and the galaxy, the Solarisians would always be his true family. Michael knew he would always be more comfortable around robots than he would be around humans, and was resigned to that fate.

They were approaching the hangar bay, and in a few minutes Michael would be face to face with whoever was in the pod they had discovered. Emotion coursed through Michael strongly. It was one of two, he knew, either excitement or nervousness. In the past month, he had experienced both in vast amounts, but was still not quite able to distinguish between the two. He wondered if that was the same for all humans, or if it was just his unfamiliarity to the plethora of new emotions he had been introduced to so recently.

The hatch leading to the hangar bay was clear in the distance now. The hallway they were walking in lead straight from the turbolift to the hangar, not deviating from its path in the slightest. In a Solarisian Vessel of War, humanoid access to any of the other areas on this deck was unnecessary. Only the repair robots had access to those areas, as was the same for the majority of the capital ship.

As they reached it, the hatch opened automatically for Michael. No doubt it had been ordered to by the computer mainframe, which was no doubt monitoring his every move. Most humans likely wouldn’t have been comfortable to that, but Michael did not mind in the least. He stepped through the hatchway, and into the hangar bay on the other side.

Rows and rows of Dart Starfighters stretched as far as the eye could see. There were seventy two of them in total on VOW-1. And in the center of the hangar bay, surrounded by Darts, was the pod Michael had seen from the bridge. It looked as new as it had looked from his view on the bridge, and the metallic sheen was only brighter.

Wasting no time inspecting it, Michael strode toward it. The robotic bodyguards followed quickly on his heels, falling perfectly into step behind him. As Michael approached the pod, he wondered how he would even begin to go about opening it. He didn’t have to wonder for very long, for when Michael was only fifteen meters away there was a sudden hiss and steam seeped out from the pod. It was opening itself…or someone inside it was.

The bodyguards’ rifles instantly snapped up, aimed directly at the pod. Distantly, Michael considered holding up his hand to stay them, but realized it was unnecessary. They would not fire unless given the order by him or the computer. He really had been spending too much time with other humans. None of them said anything as the pod opened, Michael only stared at it intently. The robots stared as well, expressionlessly and constantly searching for any signs of hostile intent.

The pod finally finished its opening procedure, and the steam it had unleashed completely clouded what lie within. Finally, as the steam began to subside, Michael caught a glimpse of the shape of a head, only a silhouette within all of the steam. It moved slightly. So the scans had been correct, there was a living creature inside the pod.

“Identify yourself at once,” Michael ordered, his tone dripping with command, “Identify yourself or face destruction.”

“Do not fire! Do not fire!” a voice called in return. There was something odd about it, something Michael couldn’t quite place, “I mean you no harm!”

“Then identify yourself,” Michael restated.

“My name is Varex!” the voice called back, “Varex Tarien! Are you the one called Michael?”

“How do you know of my identity?” Michael demanded, his curiosity only amplified by the mention of his name, “Step forward and reveal yourself!”

“Very well…” the voice conceded, “Do not be alarmed by my appearance, I beg you.”

And any confusion Michael may have had about that last comment immediately disappeared when the creature known as Varex Tarien did step forward. He looked unlike anything Michael had ever laid eyes upon…which was not saying much, as Michael had only ever seen robots and humans. But Michael had never seen pictures of anything like the creature that stood before him in the Capital’s records.

Varex walked on four legs, and possessed two arms as well. He was completely tan, and also “naked”. But the most striking thing about Varex’s appearance was that the being possessed no mouth. There were only eyes and what appeared to be the slits of a nose or equivalent. But a mouth was nowhere to be found.

“I am Varex Tarien,” the alien repeated, and Michael realized the strangeness of his voice was that it was not audible, but in his mind, “I come seeking sanctuary…and penance.”

Ainam bit back the tears welling up in his eyelids and threatening to pour out onto the ship deck below him. He stood hunched over the consoles in the shuttle’s cockpit, hands gripping the edges of the durasteel tightly, struggling with the emotions welling up inside him. What he was feeling now went against everything Zark had ever taught him, and his mentor was only a few rooms over, too weak to move but perhaps not too weak to touch his apprentice’s mind.

A Jedi did not need emotions, did not depend upon them. Zark had long ago taught his apprentice that the Jedi proper had been mistaken, that it was not possible to disconnect completely from the emotions that all beings had. He had taught his apprentice that attempting to do so only unnecessarily risked temptation to partake the fruits the Council had deemed forbidden. But Zark had also taught Ainam that the true path meant controlling those emotions, using them as tools to aid Jedi in their lives.

And, hunched over the controls to the shuttle that floated in space not far from VOW-1, Ainam had anything but control over the tears that threatened to escape him, and the whirlwind of emotional anguish connected with them. The Noghri had seen the look in his master’s eyes. Peaceful resignation. Zark Ekan already knew his fate, Ainam understood, and more than likely than not he would come face to face with it soon enough.

Ainam knew he had to put his faith in his master. He had to trust in Zark that his fate would be for the best. But to willingly stand by and let his master die when he could have done something to save him was almost too much for Ainam to bear. Another spasm of emotion wracked him, and his grip on the durasteel tightened, his knuckles having long gone white by now.

Peace… the thought came so subtly that at first Ainam was not sure he had heard it.

But the radiating waves of calm and soothing that followed it were anything but subtle. Slowly, Ainam found the strength to regain control over his emotions, and the tears in the wells of his eyes receded. Zark Ekan was dying, but not quite dead after all. Ainam slumped into the pilot’s seat…the seat Zark had so often sat in, and keyed on the communications.

“This is…this is Ainam Yzarc,” the Noghri managed to maintain enough control over himself to guise the emotion in his voice, “Please respond.”

He slumped back in the seat, and waited broodingly for a response. And for almost a minute none came. The Noghri had begun to reach for the communications again when finally a response did come.

“Ainam Yzarc of unidentified vessel,” the response sounded. Whoever was on the other end was human, Ainam felt it, “Please indentify your affiliations and intentions in Hapan space or face imminent destruction.”

“My affiliations are to none one but myself and my Master,” Ainam said after he had keyed the communications again, “I seek the right to land aboard your vessel, and my Master seeks immediate counsel with the man in charge.”

“Who is this…Master of yours?” the voice asked, “And what business does he have with me?”

Was this the right person? Ainam thought so, but he was not sure. Another wave of soothing flowed over him, quelling those doubts.

“He is…he is your brother,” Ainam said at last, “And he wants to speak with you…before he dies.”

Michael stood there in the docking bay and listened to the story of Varex Tarien. He listened to the former servant of the Dominion’s damning past, taking in and processing every word the alien said. He listened even as the Priest Lord admitted to his involvement in the destruction of several of Michael’s vessels during the Solarisian battle against the Yuuzhan Vong warfleet.

Michael listened to all of this, knowing that he had every right to be filled with contempt and anger toward this being. But Michael also listened to Varex’s claims of regret and his story of rehabilitation and he was not filled with contempt, but pity. Pity overwhelmed him. The Cree’Ar struggled as he recalled the events following his “abduction” by the Gree as best he could. He explained to Michael that the Gree had blocked many of the memories off. Varex had seen more than the Gree were willing to reveal.

“And that, Lord Michael, is my story,” Varex said after his story was finished, “And I swear to you with all of the honor I have that it is the whole and true story…as much of it as I am capable of telling.”

“I would greatly enjoy believing you, Varex Tarien,” Michael conceded, sighing, “But I am unsure if I can take that chance. A being capable of such great destruction might also be capable of such great deception.”

“I understand,” Varex nodded his head, and Michael believed that he did, “I put my fate in your hands, to do with what you will. Even if your decision is…extermination.”

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as a voice resounded throughout the entire docking bay. It was the main computer of VOW-1.

[font=Lucida Console]“Attention: Incoming Vessel. Unknown Affiliation. Threat Level: Minimal. CPT unit to bridge.”[/font]

“VCM-8 and VCM-9,” Michael turned toward the two droid bodyguards, “Escort Varex Tarien to an empty quarters and seal him inside. Guard him.”

“Affirmative,” both units responded in unison.

“We will talk later, Varex Tarien,” Michael told the alien, “It is then your fate will be discussed.”

“I await your company, Lord Michael,” Varex nodded his farewell.

Michael walked with them to the turbolift leading to the other humanoid-habitable levels, and shared the ride with them up to their level. At the quarters deck, the bodyguards escorted Varex off the turbolift and Michael rode the turbolift up alone to the bridge. He had a few brief moments of speculation as to what the unidentified vessel could be.

Was it the Gree again? Michael didn’t think so. Varex had told him the Gree had been hesitant to let Varex go in the first place. Not because they didn’t trust the alien, but because they did not like making themselves known. They would not reveal themselves twice. Who else knew they were out here? Only other Solarisians. And the only reason they would send another vessel would be if…something had happened.

With this thought in mind, Michael was tense as he stepped onto the bridge.

[font=Lucida Console]“Michael, we are being hailed.”[/font]

“Put it through.”

“This is…this is Ainam Yzarc. Please respond.”

Ainam Yzarc? Michael had never heard of the name.

“Open a channel, VOW-1,” Michael ordered.

[font=Lucida Console]“Channel open.”[/font]

“Ainam Yzarc of unidentified vessel,” Michael announced, “Please indentify your affiliations and intentions in Hapan space or face imminent destruction.”

“My affiliations are to none one but myself and my Master,” came the reply, “I seek the right to land aboard your vessel, and my Master seeks immediate counsel with the man in charge.”

Michael furrowed his brow. His Master?

“Who is this…Master of yours?” he asked, “And what business does he have with me?”

“He is…he is your brother. And he wants to speak with you…before he dies.”

…my brother? Michael thought to himself. As far as he knew, he had no living relatives. He had been the only one alive on board the vessel that had crashed upon Solaris. Michael’s thoughts drifted to Varex. Were these people that had been sent to rescue him? The voice did not sound human…but then again, it didn’t sound Cree’Ar. But Varex had told him he had been estranged from the Dominion. Perhaps alien allies. Was the Cree’Ar only using him to escape?

“You have permission to board,” Michael said at last. He’d just have to find out, “Close the channel. VOW-1, have you scanned the ship?”

[font=Lucida Console]“Affirmative.”[/font]

“Life signs?”

[font=Lucida Console]“Two. One is faint.”[/font]

So someone on that ship really was dying. The alien on board had at least told the truth about that.

“VOW-1, have ten VCM units meet me at the docking bay entrance…armed.”