Siluria III


Colonel Kaiya Adrimetrum was bored. She didn't have much other choice. Suppressing a yawn, she glanced back at the giant viewscreen displaying planetary traffic, half a dozen lights turning from yellow to green as Planetary Defense cleared them for approach.

But one did not turn green. It flashed momentarily, a signal that it had been inspected, but its color identifier did not change. Something was out of the ordinary.

Her heart raced. It was probably nothing. Probably some cargo hauler with an unlicensed cargo pod or some would-be smuggler with an improperly secured weapons' turret. But the unexpected, the out-of-the-ordinary: it always brought back thoughts of the good old days. Of real danger; of real meaning.

She tapped a few keys and pulled up the traffic control data . . .

And her jaw dropped.

Kaiya Adrimetrum was going crazy. That was the only possible explanation.

Because according to her eyes, the CR90 Corvette FarStar had set itself in firm orbit over her homeworld.

“Alert Condition 3,” She said firmly, rising from her seat and pointing at the screen. “I want that vessel, FarStar, flagged red; deploy escorts and do not allow it to depart.”

She tapped one of her lieutenants on the shoulder, waiving him to follow as she approached the exit. “Assemble a boarding party in launch bay one.”

“Ma'am?” Her second in command asked, obviously puzzled. Protocol was to dispatch boarding teams from an orbital station, not ground control.

“I'm going up.”

Fifteen minutes later the air seal cycled, the hatch slid open, and a dozen Siluria Security troops flooded into the narrow hallway of the ship which bore an impossible name. Adrimetrum was next through the hatch, followed closely by her companion, the young Lieutenant Valek.

For the space of half a second Kaiya was frozen. Staring into the eyes of the woman just beyond the boarding party, a world buried by years of monotony came suddenly back to life. “Are you the captain of this ship?” She demanded coldly, betraying no hint of her recognition.

“That's what the name tag says,” The other woman remarked, her off-balance stance one of detached annoyance.

Kaiya moved forward, beyond the protective envelopment of her guards, pointing back down the corridor. “You and I need to speak with one another.”

“Couldn't agree more,” The ship's captain offered in that same disrespectful manner, but the slightest twitch of an eye belied her true feeling; the insolent captain had winked at her old friend.

Four of the guards followed them, encountering no crew members on the short trek. The ship's captain led Kaiya to a small room, permitting one of the guards to check it over before the pair entered.

The door closed silently behind them and Kaiya smiled broadly, the first time in a long time. “Syla Tors. Last time I saw you was . . .”

“The bridge of this ship, in your last ten minutes with Page's Commandos,” Syla offered.

“Not this ship,” She corrected, her tone almost harsh.

Syla shrugged. “Why not?”

“I crashed FarStar into Kathol. She's gone.”

Syla smiled knowingly. “Well she's back, and we've got a new mission for you, captain.”

“It's colonel now,” Kaiya corrected.

“Not to the Alliance, it isn't.”

“The Alliance is dead, Syla. The New Republic is dead. It's all gone. All of it . . .” Kaiya trailed off, turning away as if to leave.

“Page and us, we ran in, blew some stuff up, and left. You stayed, Kaiya. You and FarStar changed the Kathol Sector. It needs you again.”

“The Alliance is dead!” She shouted, demanded. “Gone!”

“Then why are people still dying for it?”

Kaiya turned slowly around, studied that face from her past, looked beyond those cocky features and saw the same unbridled passion she remembered from her days with Page's Commandos. This new Alliance, whatever it was, had recaptured the heart of Syla. If it could do that, then it was truly something to be feared . . . and something to be loved.

She turned and left, waiving as she did so. “Let's go.” Back at the airlock she slapped the squad commander on the shoulder and pointed at the exit. “Get out, now. Not you,” She added, looking to the lieutenant she had dragged along.

Kaiya sealed the hatch behind them, finally taking a moment to marvel at what was happening all around her. “You rebuilt the FarStar.”

“Ma'am?” Lieutenant Valek asked, just now hearing the ship's name. Kaiya had told him about her days with the Rebel Alliance, about her service to the New Republic, about Moff Sarne and the crew of the FarStar. To realize like this that he was standing on her deck, that he had become a part of living history . . .

“Why?” Kaiya asked, ignoring Valek and leaving him to his personal reflections.

Syla smiled again. “We've got old friends to remake.”




Before, Rendili StarDrive Deepdock Wanderer's Home, Kathol Rift

Spark. Nothing. Spark. Nothing. Spark . . .

Jarvis watched the intermittent flashes in total contentment. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this ship would be used to kill Imperials; somewhere else he knew it would be used to make allies. At the moment, neither of those things mattered. At the moment, it was just beautiful.

In the Rift, the starscape was a ruinous mess; watching these sparks flash and fade was like watching the universe in miniature; stars flaring to life, fading away. Flaring and fading. Flaring and fading.

To live and die, and be replaced. All you can hope is that―after generations of life and death―your efforts might leave behind something . . . beautiful. And she was beautiful. Most of the equipment Jarvis got from the Alliance was Rendili hardware; but this corvette was special. She had been shipped here in pieces, which made the substantial refit a little easier. These pocket carriers were showing up more and more in the Alliance fleet, but this one―again―was special, and her name said it all.

FarStar. Jarvis even liked the name; it seemed fitting. Out here, at the ass end of the galaxy. You might just save the sector, Beautiful.

But it was time to go: Imperials to kill, rebellions to plan, friends to make. Despite what the droids will tell you, the machine doesn't run itself.





After


“Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.” It was not the introduction Jarvis had envisioned.

Kaiya Adrimetrum kept her blaster trained firmly on Jarvis Ragnar's chest, glancing at the other people in the room out of the corner of her eye. “A trap! Syla, you led me into a trap!?”

“Oh, no; you misunderstand,” Jarvis began.

“I know who you are, Jarvis Ragnar!”

He nodded his head slightly, making sure to keep his hands at shoulder height, where they had been when Kaiya had shouted “That's enough!” He cleared his throat, eyes squinting. “I admit, the starport was too far, but those were legitimate military targets, for the most part.”

“You're on the Empire's most wanted list,” She said coldly.

“Now suddenly everybody the Empire hates is a bad guy?” Jarvis asked, perhaps a little to cynically.

“Everybody they put on the public lists,” She said, backing away a few steps.

Jarvis puzzled it over in his head for a few seconds, eventually finding himself with no choice but to nod and agree. “Okay, you've probably got a point there, BUT, BUT,” He pressed, not liking the way Kaiya was adjusting her shooting stance, “I'm a legitimate do-gooder outlaw now, and I need your help.”

“Kaiya,” Syla said softly, moving toward her old friend. Kaiya switched targets momentarily, stopping the other woman from approaching and then returning her focus to who she considered the more dangerous target.

“So here's the deal,” Jarvis continued, lowering his hands. “I left my explosive vest at home today, so killing me won't immediately kill you. But I promise someone will shoot you dead if I don't leave this room today, so how about we exert the smallest bit of self control and not kill each other, eh?” He had taken a few cautious steps forward, showing the palms of his hands but not lifting them again. “What? You think I constructed this elaborate ruse to get you off of your homeworld so I could work my evil craft in the skies above it without your interference? Look, lady: one, I don't have that kind of spare time. And two: you're only that important in the Kathol Sector, which is―I remind you―where we're going.”

“But you worked for Inferno Fleet,” She countered, still not quite buying his explanation.

Jarvis raised a hand, holding one finger up in protest. “That . . . that is not true. Inferno Fleet and I sort of agreed not to kill each other. And yes, I may have painted a few of my ships red―just for shits and giggles―but we never actually worked together . . .” He waited a moment, finally collapsing under her stare. “Okay, so maybe we passed notes, shared a little intel; but it was always about killing Imps and Hutts for me . . . And those damned awesome escape-pod-transmitters I left strewn about to mark my territory . . .

“But I swear that was it! And I'm here now, and I'm trying to help, and . . . FOR GODS' SAKES, WOMAN, DON'T POINT THAT THING AT ME!”

Syla tried again. “Kaiya, you aren't dead yet; now there's got to be a reason for that. Look at me: trust me.”

Slowly, the woman lowered her blaster. Jarvis let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Next time just shoot me, willya? That took entirely too long.”

“So how does this work?” Kaiya asked matter-of-fact, as if nothing had happened.

Serious, down to business. Unapologetic. This could go either way . . . “The first rule,” Jarvis began, “is: if you can't handle the toys, I'll take them away from you.” He pointed to her holstered blaster.

“Am I to report to you or not?” She asked coldly.

“My official designation is 'Boss.' If you don't like it . . . well that's too bad, because you don't get to know anybody higher up on the food chain then me. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” She answered stiffly.

Jarvis continued, wandering about a little on the deck of the modified Corellian Corvette, the torrent of hyperspace visible behind him, beyond the magcon field. “You are being 'reinstated' in the Alliance Navy as a captain; your command is the CR90 Corvette FarStar, in case you hadn't figured that part out yet.” Kaiya remained impassive, apparently waiting for Jarvis to finish. “And I lied a little bit; I'm going back to Kathol, but you've got some stops to make first.”

“Sir?”

“You've got to go pick up the rest of your crew,” Jarvis explained. “You're running at about half strength right now, and most of those guys are borrowed from other ships.”

“Where am I supposed to get a crew, sir?”

Jarvis smiled, walking toward the small shuttle that had brought him here. “I'm sure you'll manage.”





Jessa Dajus had been the least liked and least trusted member of the original FarStar crew. And with good reason. Kaiya didn't trust her then, and didn't trust her now. She had undoubtedly been on-ship for longer than Kaiya, scurrying through the nearly-abandoned craft to keep hidden until now. The only question was: had Jessa been hiding because Ragnar had told her to, or had she been hiding for her own reasons.

It didn't really matter; the options were mutually unfavorable. Either way, Jessa had the list, and that made her very valuable. “It's amazing how many of the old crew are still active in the Alliance,” Kaiya said, glancing over the list. “Those that are still alive, anyway . . .”

“Amazing,” Jessa agreed, “what conviction will do to a person.”

There was no missing the bile in her voice. Does she hate me for returning home? “Where have you been these past years?” Kaiya asked, ignoring her subordinate's efforts to shame her.

“Classified,” Jessa answered.

Kaiya didn't believe her. She hoped it was true, she just didn't believe it. “We'll pick up everyone we have orders for first,” Kaiya said, handing the list back to Jessa. “Maybe with enough of the old team together, we can convince more of the ones who have gone civilian to come back to us.”

“Is all of this really necessary?”

“You never know which face might be the one we need to sway a world. We can't afford to take that chance.” And if I'm going to fight the Empire again, I'm going to do it with the best.

New Republic Pocket Carrier FarStar, Kathol Rift

Captain Adrimetrum had called her senior staff to a meeting. She did not say why. She stood apart from them, allowing the dozen or so individuals to speculate amongst themselves.

Then he entered, the alien that didn't belong here. There were no Ryn within the crew of FarStar, and everyone present knew that they were operating independent of the Alliance's standard supply and command structure. And of course, many of them recognized the face of one of the galaxy's most wanted terrorists. The general chatter dropped to a whisper as those in the know informed their comrades. The room grew quieter still. They split their attention between Jarvis Ragnar and Kaiya Adrimetrum, trying to figure out what was going on here.

Kaiya bounced off the wall she had been leaning against, the simple motion instantly gaining her the attention of the whole room, which fell silent in anticipation. Gesturing with her right hand at the Ryn, she gave them her explanation: “This is Jarvis Ragnar, Sector Commander of the Alliance to Restore The Republic's Kathol Resistance.” Only one or two of them didn't share in the outbursts of shock and disbelief, perhaps having known from their previous posts within the Alliance, perhaps having deduced as much from available information, perhaps just not surprised that men like Jarvis Ragnar had found a place in this new Alliance.

All the attention shifted to the Ryn in his worn nerf hide jacket and scruffy attire. “For the record: I am wanted by the New Order of the Galactic Empire and the League of Nations for the crimes of piracy, mass murder, and terrorism. I have public bounties―dead or alive―from at least three dozen different Hutt criminal organizations.

“And let me make it clear: I have killed innocents, and I expect that I will do so again. While this gives me no great pleasure, it is a price that I am very much willing to pay, to see my ends met. I do not answer to Alliance High Command, or Zozridor Slayke and his Sons and Daughters of Freedom; I certainly do not answer to the command and crew of FarStar. I am here, doing what I do, because alone I was fated to die in failure, but in you I may yet find the power to topple Empires. There is in me no power to create; I am now only a tool of destruction. My only promise to you is that I will devote my every breath to the downfall of the Galactic Empire.

“If you wish for anything more, you must make it yourself.”





Ragnar made her nervous. He was her superior―the sector commander―but he wasn't really a Rebel. It was dangerous, having a man like that with so much power. That's not what the Alliance is about . . . what the Republic is about. It was true: Kaiya was a soldier, and a good soldier follows orders. But Kaiya wasn't just a soldier, she was a Rebel, and a good Rebel doesn't let the guise of authority blind one to the the basic truth of power: it corrupts.

In a man like Jarvis Ragnar, she wasn't even sure what that meant. But there was hope yet; even as she despaired in the face of Ragnar's charge, she held hope that it might ring true. For Jarvis Ragnar had charged the men and women of FarStar with the great task of being the Alliance to Restore the Republic. We are the light in the darkness; we are the city set high upon a hill.

“Sound general alert,” Kaiya Adrimetrum ordered, standing from her captain's chair. “Prepare for reversion.”

For the truth of the matter was: the strength of Republic is not found in figureheads and persons of power, but in the faith and resolve of its countless masses. Empires fall with the death of one man, but Republics survive through even the most atrocious of purges.

And then there it was, in a flash.

The nebulous forces of the Kathol Rift still stretched out in all directions, concealing distant starlight and distorting sensor readings. But the ball of yellow, blue, and green that hung before Captain Kaiya Adrimetrum was undeniable: she had found it again.

Or, more precisely, Darryn Thyte had found it again. “Woah, that's a lot of ships,” He mused, eyes fixed on the dozens of silvery specks converging on their position. “Captain, you want to do something about that?” Thyte still hadn't quite transitioned to his old position as FarStar's operations officer; sometimes his tone took on an air of command that it no longer warranted.

But Captain Adrimetrum gave no thought to it. They all knew who was in command here. “Open a channel,” She ordered, framing herself in front of the holoprojector. A vaguely familiar form materialized on the small projector, its height of only a few centimeters doing much to conceal any substantial detail. Still, she almost felt like she recognized this being . . .

“Identify yourself,” The figure demanded, its Basic dull as though rarely used.

“This is Captain Kaiya Adrimetrum of the New Republic carrier-corvette FarStar,” She obliged. “We come to renew old friendships.”

And immediately Kaiya understood: even through the low-resolution of the holoprojector and the unusual features of this being, Kaiya could see realization break over the alien, and it resonated a familiarity within her that finally she could identify.

“I am the FarStar Warrior Rujja,” He said at length, the harshness gone from his voice. “You are friend of the Majjvara; we stand aside.” And as he spoke, the assembling screen of starships moved apart, opening a clear path between FarStar and the planet ahead.


Kaiya's shuttle touched down on the surface of Yvara only minutes later. Stepping onto the world from her past, she saw a figure which brought all of the connected memories firmly into focus. The hulking Sludir made her way through the small group of Yvarema natives, her six trunk-like legs landing heavily as her reptilian face studied the lone human. Kaiya smiled, almost unable to believe what she saw. “Qesya,” She said gently, moving closer to the Sludir. “I promised I would return.”

Qesya Vth'narr's head moved from from side to side, studying Kaiya from different angles. “After all this time, still only a captain?” The reptile mused, flashing pointed teeth in a broad smile that was supposed to be friendly.

Kaiya's eyes wandered to the group of Yvarema, unable to ignore the resemblance so many of them shared with the Sludir female. “FarStar Warriors,” She said quietly, looking back to Qesya.

“Named in your honor,” Qesya explained.

“Created from your genes,” Kaiya surmised.

Qesya began moving away, bobbing her head to indicate that Kaiya and her small party should follow. “Come, you must meet with the Majjvara.”

As they walked, Kaiya noted the manner of the FarStar Warriors, how even in this friendly place they took up guard positions around the party, their posture and movement clear indications that they were guarding the group within their ranks, not detaining them. “They're so diligent,” Kaiya noted aloud, keeping pace beside Qesya.

“We think and talk of our own accord,” One of the warriors said grimly, without diverting his attention inward.

“My apologies,” Kaiya said, “I did not mean to imply that you were . . .”

“Drones?” The warrior finished for her. “I am a FarStar Warrior; I have the strength of ten men, the training of five soldiers, the reflexes of a vaapad, and the mind of a Yvarema.”

“That's enough, Juvik,” Qesya snapped, and the warrior fell silent. “The warriors tend to be touchy about their intellect,” She explained, returning her attention to Kaiya. “I don't know why; they're as smart as any other Yvarema, and deal better with the limitations of micro-hives than most other classes.”

Kaiya quickly added this information to what she remembered of her previous contact with the Yvarema. While their intelligence depended on a sort of hive-consciousness, each Yvarema had a unique personality. Only separation by vast distances could reduce a Yvarema's intelligence. But Yvarema always traveled in groups large enough to preserve their higher-order reasoning; the only probable way a group of Yvarema could be reduced to such low numbers that their intelligence would begin to fail was . . . “Qesya, who have you been fighting?”

As the Sludir entered some sort of public transportation system, she offered only this: “The Majjvara will tell you all that you need to know.”

They spent the next several minutes in silence, soon reaching a massive domed structure at the city's center. Out from it stretched several spokes, each ending in a large tower. Qesya led them into the building, moving deeper and deeper into the complex, past guards and blast doors, but never into a turbolift or up any stairs or inclines. Finally they entered a large circular room, at the center of which hung a massive creature vaguely resembling a Yvarema. It had eight arms and legs, a long neck, and a body that sloped seamlessly into a stunted tail.

This was the Majjvara, monarch and progenitor of the Yvarema species. Kaiya could tell that she was not the same Majjvara the crew of the FarStar had met all those years ago. “Welcome, Captain,” The Majjvara spoke gently, her head drifting on that long neck to peer curiously at the female captain. “I remember you well; my mother looked on you in a time before my life, learned from you much that has made us what we are.” Kaiya moved further into the room, drawn by those piercing eyes, that gentle voice. “We call you the FarStar, the distant light that came and brought us strength, then returned into the heavens to which you belong.”

Kaiya didn't know what to say, the shock of this moment too much for her. They call me the FarStar . . . She froze in place, still transfixed by those giant, alien eyes. “It was from Gunthar and Qesya that my mother conceived the FarStar Warriors,” The Majjvara continued, “But it was with you in mind that she created me.” Kaiya began to see where this was going and didn't like the heavy weight it seemed to drop on her shoulders. “It was not enough that she should buy us strength with the surrender of her life, for it is true that the exertions of creating the FarStar Warriors led to her death; but she demanded also that we be left with strong will, tempered wisdom, reserved intent. So I was made, Kaiya Adrimetrum, not as a testament to the Crew of the New Republic starship FarStar, but to that one whom we call the FarStar, she who could not remain among us, but was compelled to return from whence she came.

“For truly I am the leader of all these souls, and it is from my mind, my will, and my purpose that they receive guidance. It was in your image, Captain Kaiya Adrimetrum of the FarStar, that I was crafted. I am heir and offspring of my mother, but I am purposed after you. I am the pale reflection of all that is good that my mother saw in you, and I have sought these years to guide my people as you would in my place. It is my sincerest hope that I have not done you a dishonor.”

Kaiya moved closer, feeling a strange connection with this being but knowing nothing genetic connected them, not like the FarStar warriors who had been crafted partly from Qesya's own genetic template. She reached her hand out, grasping the Majjvara's lowest arm, squeezing the alien fingers firmly. “Tell me what happened.”

And the Majjvara told her. The Qektoth Confederation, a fanatical organization based deep in the Kathol Outback and pioneering bioweapons of devastating potency, had been delayed from the creation of their most powerful weapon by the intervention of the FarStar during her first campaign through the Kathol Sector. But as Captain Adrimetrum listened to the recounting of the last several years, it became clear that a single defeat was far from sufficient to dissuade the Confederation from their goals.

“We dispatched scouting parties to the Qu'mock system,” The Majjvara explained, “to survey the remains of the Qektoth research station there and ensure nothing could be salvaged from it. The Confederation had already re-established a presence in the system, and our scout ships were forced to flee before enemy fire. We had no choice but to return in force; the Confederation possessed the potential to create a bioweapon so powerful as to make the Krytos Virus appear inconsequential. The threat to the Kathol Sector and the entire galaxy beyond demanded immediate action.”

“The FarStar Warriors,” Kaiya said, having backed away a comfortable distance.

The Majjvara seemed to nod her head. “We had adopted substantial droid workers by this time, so the need to produce large worker populations had been eliminated. We abandoned all other pursuits, producing thousands of FarStar warriors and hundreds of ships, using all resources at our disposal to ensure the Qektoth Confederation did not succeed in their aims. Our losses were grievous; the Qektoth vessels were larger and more powerful than our own, their experience in warfare was substantial, the potency of their weapons unparalleled.

“We held them at bay by sheer numbers, slowly gathering the experience needed to overcome them; such was the urgency of our plight that we had no time to ply the depths of warfare tactics, and our history has been blessedly absent of such horrors as those of war. At length we uncovered the location of their new research station, dispatched all that remained of our fleet to see it destroyed.” The Majjvara fell silent, her voice having grown increasingly distressed as she neared the end of the tale.

Here Qesya spoke, recounting the battle from personal experience. “I commanded our forces on that day. We suffered great losses in destroying the Confederation's warships, but at the battle's end we stood victorious. But . . . our victory was to be a hollow one. Seeing their defeat and unwilling to surrender, the virus was unleashed upon the planet itself.” Qesya's voice grew bitter and harsh, her hatred for those who had caused such senseless death not lessened by the years.

“There was no cure, no immunity. Its spread was rapid, unpredictable. We were forced to quarantine the whole planet, turn back what vessels we could and destroy those that would not comply. The ground . . . we scorched the earth where outbreak was detected.” Qesya looked briefly to Kaiya, shame evident on her alien features. “It took days for our depleted numbers to burn the contaminated areas―our weapons were not meant for such . . . atrocity. We could hear them, over the comm channels, calling for help, swearing their city or their street or their home wasn't infected . . .”

“Half the world had been razed before the virus was eradicated,” The Majjvara said solemnly. “More than eighty percent of its population dead. The Qektoth Confederation's navy was gone, its leadership destroyed, and its greatest minds lost. It splintered and dissolved, though we keep watch over its former worlds, and offered refuge to those who survived the outbreak. You may see many non Yvarema on this world; they are almost all survivors of that terrible evil.”

“We created the FarStar Warriors to protect Yvara,” Qesya said, though her voice sounded hollow, “not kill millions of innocent people. Not burn a world to ash! By the Force . . . the things we did . . .”

Kaiya grasped the Majjvara's hand once again, squeezing it gently. “What I hear is the tale of a people who risked all that they were to save the galaxy from an evil that was not their doing, and even at battle's end, in the midst of incomprehensible loss, still you struggled to save all who you could, paying with your own anguish a price that your enemy could not.

"I wish only that I might have been there, to share in your terrible choice, that you would not have had to stand alone in your suffering all these years. What is right is always more painful than what is acceptable; I see in you the pain of your self-sacrifice.”

“I have killed so many . . .” The Majjvara sobbed, her tone showing that she took sole responsibility for every action of her people.

“And saved so many more. You chose the most difficult of available paths: you suffered, so others wouldn't have to." She backed away again, her own sense of shame evident. "I am not your FarStar, I did not depart by the will of fate or the call of my homeland. I left because I lost the vision, because I refused to walk the path that you chose―even through great pain. I have returned to right my wrongs, to stand now as the ally the Kathol Sector deserves. It would be my greatest honor to be counted among your friends.”

The Majjvara nodded, reaching a hand out in a symbolic gesture. “Kaiya Adrimetrum, captain of the FarStar, in your capacity as an emissary of the Alliance to Restore the Republic I extend to you the offer of friendship and unity, in the name of all the peoples of Yvara.”

“On behalf of the Alliance to Restore the Republic, I accept with the deepest gratitude and firmest commitment. Majjvara, will you and yours assist us in the restoration of the Kathol Republic?”

“Your cause is ours; our fate is yours,” The Majjvara replied.

Kaiya nodded solemnly, turning to look at Qesya. “My crew remains one short. I am in dire need of a security chief.”

“Qesya, would you travel with the FarStar again?” The Majjvara asked.

“I would,” Qesya answered, “were not my oaths pledged elsewhere.”

“I free you of your oaths to me, Qesya Vth'naar, and pledge that your children shall remain safe so long as they remain within my sight.”

Qesya did a slight bow, turning to face Kaiya and her party fully. “Then the FarStar shall have her security chief.” And Qesya moved immediately to the front of the party, taking the traditional position of greatest danger as she led her new captain and charge back to the starship that had so completely transformed this world once before, and would so transform it again.

Throughout this exchange Kaiya did not ask of Gunthar, the Yvarema Royal Explorer who had led them to this world years ago aboard the original FarStar; she could sense that there resided a story yet too painful to tell.

Kathol Rift, Rendili StarDrive Deepdock Wanderer's Home

FarStar was out there somewhere, beyond the swirling gasses and spatial distortions . . . out . . . out . . . out there.

Jarvis felt almost cheated: why did they get to go roaming about the Kathol Sector, gathering allies and preparing the way for revolution while he had to sit here―in this damnable Rift―twiddling his thumbs and waiting for some scrap of news about the glorious FarStar Campaign?

And the Rift was wearing on him; that much was certain. It was wearing on all of them. The phantom sensor reading, the tidal nebular forces, the deep isolation, the halucinations; though the sighting of creepy crawly things had lessened substantially since their encounter with the Aing-Tii . . . I wonder if they're protecting us somehow? It was not inconceivable. Perhaps even those “phantom” sensor readings were very much real, those lurking Aing-Tii using their mystic powers to muddle Jarvis' systems and keep their shadowy presence concealed.

Whatever the case, Jarvis might just go mad without a change of scenery soon. And that was something Captain Kaiya Adrimetrum―fresh off of a transport― had promised to deliver. But first, he had business to attend to. Turning from the viewport that offered him an unobstructed―yet unwelcome―view of that ever-present Rift, he crossed his arms at his back and did a quick face-check of the people present.

Jarvis couldn't help but notice the others had gathered away from Captain Adrimetrum, making a point of not even looking in her direction. They're like children, He thought idly. Killer children. “Alright,” He said aloud, “let's get this thing moving.”

“I'm here! I'm here!” Slippy, the group's sole Squib and head of logistics for the entire operation, shouted, scurrying into the room with a stack of datapads. “Sorry! I was waiting at the turbolift and realized―Woah! Hi there . . .” Slippy trialed off, noting the sense of disapproval from her counterparts at the casual manner with which she regarded the newcomer.

“Right, then,” Jarvis pressed on, doing his best to ignore Slippy. “As I was saying: this is Captain Kaiya Adrimetrum,” He gestured with his left hand, a disapproving glare fixed on the group of unfriendly subordinates. “Captain,” he continued, pointing to the first of his team, “This is Zyras Lunewell, captain of The Wandering One and head of operations within Hutt Space,” He pointed to the only human, a man of about thirty five years with jet black hair dressed in an outfit that looked like it might have been stolen from Han Solo himself. Lunewell offered a curt nod and then looked away again, staring at a blank wall.

“Next we have Kaana Eronos,” He gestured to a thick Duros, “Captain of the Light Corvette Anathema; he's got a mind for tactics that would put a grand admiral to shame.” The Duros stood and offered a universal sign of peace, promptly taking his seat again.

“That's Lejo,” Jarvis regarded the yellow-skinned Twi'lek with exotic tattoos running along the left side of his face and his left lekku. “captain's the Shattered Soul and claims responsibility for our least legitimate and most effective suppliers and contacts, both in and out of Hutt Space.”

He paused for a moment on the next person, a Barabel of fairly small size, for her species. “This is Sheish, and without her we wouldn't have an operation. She handles training and command of our boarding parties and close-quarters combat units.

“You can call that one 'Gand',” He continued absently, gesturing at the Gand to the back of the small group, who gave no indication he was aware of his own introduction. “Call him a 'he', because we do, but don't be too sure about it. Captain of Downfall and jack-of-all-trades; just don't bother him unless you need something from him.”

Finally, Jarvis turned to the blue-furred late-comer. “And that's Slippy. She'll talk enough for the both of you, but if you need anything from power converters to a new ship, she's the one to see. Our resident Squib handles logistics for the whole operation, and not one glowstick has been misplaced to date.

“. . . . Did you get that?” He asked after a moment, returning his attention to the female human and the only person in the room who had been a part of the original Alliance to Restore the Republic.

“Yes,” Was her simple reply.

“I don't like her,” Lunewell spoke up immediately.

“Neither do I,” Sheish hissed.

Jarvis sighed, wheeling on his team. “Well it's a good thing you don't have to like her to kill Imperials with her then, huh? Now back on topic―”

“Seriously, boss. I don't―”

“You see?” Jarvis countered, raising his voice to cut off the other. “You see, this is exactly why I need somebody like her around here. All of you whiny-ass pirates can't even manage to conduct a reasonable team meeting!”

“I haven't said anything yet, boss.”

“Oh, shut up, Slippy!”

“Yeah, Slip,” Lunewell piped up, “you don't count, anyway.”

“Gods, people!” Was all Jarvis could manage.

“Seriously Boss, what do we need her for?” Lejo spoke up, stabbing at Kaiya's direction with a pointed finger.

“Well, aren't you just the terrifying band of pirate-terrorists . . .” Kaiya began dryly, letting her comment trail off as if it weren't worth finishing.

“Hey! We do alright, woman!” Lejo barked, showing his pointed teeth.

Jarvis held up his hand for silence, and got it immediately. “I'm making Kaiya second in command of the Kathol Sector Resistance, which makes her second in command of The Wandering Ones.”

Kaiya's own eyes widened in shock at this, but now no one was paying attention to her, at least not anyone who would try to make trouble of it. Jarvis kept his hand up, half of his people on the verge of jumping to their feet and dragging the woman from the room. “This is a New Republic operation. Our goal is the restoration of the Kathol Republic. Zyras, your service as my second has been flawless, but you care nothing for governments or plans. If I die, or am captured, or stranded . . . or gods, if I lose the vision; Kaiya will carry it on. With or without you, she will see the Kathol Republic reborn.

“If that's a problem . . . well, I trust every one of you enough to let you go in peace. You know where the door is.”

“Boss,” Zyras spoke up immediately, “where else could we go? We're the Wandering Ones.” He paused, looking to the newcomer. “And now, so is she.” And for the first time Zyras Lunewell looked to Kaiya Adimetrium without the shadow of malice or the slightest thought of betrayal. He stood and offered his new commander a decent New Republic salute, remaining at attention until she returned the gesture.





Jarvis didn't like this. Not even a little bit. The creature reminded him of some monster from a video game, half expected it to start spawning little brain-eating peons that he would have to fend off with a blaster and a personal shield. The way it moved in its suspended harness, it might just be reading his mind.

“What am I doing here?” Jarvis whispered, moving his lips as little as possible so the thing wouldn't know what he was saying.

“Auditioning,” Kaiya said wryly.

“I am aware of you,” The giant creature said, it's voice terrifyingly gentle.

Gods, it's gunna eat me. It's gunna seduce me and it's gunna eat me. I better not like it. He could feel the weight of her presence, like a black hole pulling at his consciousness. He could feel himself spinning around the room, caught in the accretion disc, dragged ever-closer to her singularity-consciousness.

“You are not the evil man you would have me believe,” She said. “You are not the evil man you would have yourself believe. You wear this . . . personage, this heartless killer, this being that is not you. It is a suit of armor, a mask of deception, a thing you love and hate. And you fear that you might forget how to take it off and cast it aside.”

“I've made peace with what I am,” Jarvis managed, his sight blurring as he perceived himself stretching out to infinity, caught in that inescapable grasp.

“You wish it were as simple as that,” She said, and he felt himself returning from the void. That was just a statement, there was nothing penetrating within it. “Peace is a thing beyond the grasp of beings such as ourselves.”

Jarvis' head was still spinning, but now it was of its own accord, an after-effect of the Majjvara's incursion . . . if that's what it was. Beings such as ourselves? “What could you have done to match my crimes?” He managed, trying to spy on Kaiya out of the corner of his eye, though she noticed and set her face into an indecipherable mask.

“It is I who should be asking you that question, little terrorist.”

“What am I doing here?” He asked again, this time aloud.

“I'm weighing your soul,” She said, and didn't seem to be joking.

“Well . . . do I pass?” He asked nervously.

“You pass well enough, for now,” The Majjvara said, bobbing her head slightly. “There is a gas giant in the outer system.”

“I saw it.”

“Beyond it there is a ball of ice with a pair of asteroid moons. There you may relocate your people. I suspect a planet in their viewport will do much for their tattered psychies. I understand too long in the Rift tends to drive one mad.”

“I wouldn't know; we've all been mad for years.” He smiled, nodding his head. “Thank you.”

“Take that mask off from time to time, Mr. Ragnar, so at least you won't forget how.”

“Thank you,” He said again, but there was a formality in it now, a lack of sincerity.



Kaiya waited until Jarvis was gone, then looked up at the Majjvara and waited for the answer to the question she knew the matriarch must be expecting.

“You want to hear of Gunthar's fate." It was a statement. "He became a commander, serving just under Qesya. After the final battle's end, while the world was still under quarantine, he was in command of a full quarter of our remaining forces. Qesya ordered all Yvarema vessels to fire on any ship seeking to leave the planet's surface. He refused.

Gunthar and his force detained over a hundred vessels in low orbit. They did what they could to ensure there was no infection onboard before performing a manual search, but there was no way to be sure without boarding a ship and searching it thoroughly. He asked for volunteers, and lead them in the searches.

Some thirty thousand people were cleared and loaded onto Yvarema ships before a boarding party became infected. Gunthar ordered all of the others to return to their ships, but he continued, alone, searching what ships he could.”

Tears had formed in the Majjvara's eyes, dropped to the ground in great splashes. “In his final report, his voice broken in the manner symptomatic of the virus, he said he would rather die a whole person than live a fragment. He said that he had killed so many, and the least he could do was die giving others a chance at life.

“Before the virus was eradicated, we lost three hundred seven Yvarema who followed his example, manually searching enemy ships, alone. Only a hundred and fifteen were from virus exposure; the others were killed in the docking bays.

“We Yvarema call it the Day of Revelation, when we saw both how pure and how vile our people could become . . .”

Kaiya waited, knowing there was one more piece to this story. “Those ships which killed Yvarema searchers were destroyed outright, under Qesya's orders. Gunthar gave his life for a people who would rather kill him than be saved by him . . . and Qesya avenged him―full measure―upon those he would have died to save. I do not know what is right anymore.”

Kaiya waited as long as she could, her own dark thoughts finally stirring her to speak. “If only the blind could lead the blind, I could show you some better way.”

“At the least, then, we shall stumble through the darkness together.”