Atelia Reth had been right: Luxum could have Orax fix itself. As a Jedi, it was his duty to do so. Before he left his homeworld behind and forsook his life's work, he would ensure its fate was secured.

Orax, where an Iron Order all but ruled over the multitude of disharmonious flesh. Orax, where the promises of the past were buried under the stink and rot of a less-distant corruption.

Orax, where the cries of anguish echo despite the shouts of joy. Luxum would not save Orax; Luxum could not save Orax. All he could do was Light the way.

“I can't believe you're leaving.”

The sun was getting low, the line where the multi-storied city stopped and wilderness began marked by long shadows cast on sandy earth. Beyond them sat the awaiting shuttle, engines humming and its ramp extended.

Luxum nodded at Atelia Reth, staring at her for a long moment, his environment a nonfactor. “I'll be back.”

“But not for long,” She added, sadness evident in her eyes. A moment of silence passed, and then she exclaimed: “But look at you!,” smiling and making a show of eying Luxum's droid body up and down. “An Iron Knight! I'm glad,” She added, calm yet sincere.

“When I leave Orax again, it will be because I am no longer required by it.” His tone was matter-of-fact, and he showed no interest in speaking on the Iron Knights or the Juggernaut war droid he had appropriated from his dead Master.

But Atelia shook her head, taking a mechanical hand in both of hers. “I'll never forget what you've done for Orax.”

“I just hope someone can fix it before I'm gone for good.” With that, Luxum pulled away from Atelia and ascended the access ramp, the transport taking off almost immediately.

The weight of his past failures and successes were fully upon Luxum, and once more he prayed the Force that some good might come from any of it. The small shuttle ascended from Orax with singular purpose, disappearing into hyperspace as soon as the gravity of the world below permitted.

Smarts was a very busy . . . thing. This was the moment of apparent calm before the impending storm, but Smarts was at the center of the Cooperative's quiet preparations for that storm. In only hours, the Overseer would speak to the whole of the Cooperative; he would present to those he was sworn to protect a declaration of war against the Black Dragon Imperium, and he would shatter the hopes of continued peace and prosperity for those under his charge.

This was the burden of leadership; this was the duty imparted to him by those who had so recently chanted his name, who had demanded he take up this position of such power. No longer was he simply a servant of the Combined Council: he had become the executor of the people's will.

Thousands of strands of consciousness wove their way through the Cooperative, converging at the Lucrehulk-class Core Ship Smarts. Everything had to be in place; everything had to be ready for when the time came. Regent Minn of Cestus was prepared to declare a state of emergency and assume control of Cestus Cybernetics; Lady Farool was prepared to suspend Coalition civilian and corporate contracts and begin construction of another line of warships; Kerrick Arkanus had assured him that the Cooperative Workers' Party would fall in line without protest (after seeing the holofootage brought out of Reaver Space from Maridun by the elements of the Ryn fleet that had managed to escape, that was to be expected); the list went on and on.

But there was something else; something that didn't belong . . .

Who are you? What are you doing in my head?

There was a spike in the signal, a sort of momentary, incoherent jumble in an otherwise static transmission, and then the intruding signal was back to . . . normal?

”I am Luxum, Iron Knight and defender of the Jedi Code.” The signal began oscillating strangely, and then the clarity of that unfamiliar voice returned: ”I am Shard.”

Somewhere within Smarts' mind, and information index opened itself, supplying him with a condensed summary of the Shard species.

But what are you doing in my head?

There was no response for a moment, then finally the constant tone ringing through Smarts' mind resolved itself into thought: ”I know what you do, and I need your help.”

Varn was an interesting planet, filled with a whole lot of newness. Everywhere he looked, there seemed to be one or two structures in view that could barely be more than one year old. As little more than an assortment of minerals encased in a metal mannequin, Luxum had an eye for that sort of thing. But he wasn't here for the sightseeing; he had a job to do. He had a machine to contact.

Luxum pondered briefly his knowledge of the Jedi; wondering if they, too, would find it acceptable to break the letter of the law in order to preserve its intent. Then he pried the protective covering off of the communications substation and leaned forward, his protective armor plating opening to reveal his crystalline body, and touched the edge of his body to the exposed circuitry.

It took him a moment to adjust to the flood of input, blocking out the irrelevant data and searching for the proper access. Though he hadn't done this sort of thing in over twenty years, he found what he was looking for with relative ease, and began initializing the connections that would bridge his mind with that of the droid consciousness known as Smarts . . .

[/b]Who are you? What are you doing in my head?[/b]

The intrusion startled Luxum, whose focus broke momentarily at the unexpectedly quick response of the artificial mind. But he centered himself quickly, putting aside his questions for the time being and concentrating on the task at hand.

”I am Luxum, Iron Knight and defender of the Jedi Code.” He paused for a moment, considering if the answer was sufficient, recalling a similar declaration made by his master, Durindfire, over thirty years ago: ”I am Shard.”

But what are you doing in my head?

He considered the question for a moment, vaguely aware that even seconds of delay might be of some discomfort to the machine while communicating in this fashion. Finally, he answered: ”I know what you do, and I need your help.

"I need you to save Orax.”

“Hey! What are you doing over there?”

Luxum jerked back suddenly, the Juggernaut's droid brain―which he had taken to calling “Boo”―closing the protective armor automatically. It's been too long; I've gotten soft. He turned slowly, trying to decide if he should hide his lightsaber within the folds of his brown robe, or leave it exposed in an attempt to reinforce his claim.

The security guard brought a blaster to bear, training it firmly on Luxum's chest. “That's enough! Turn around!”

“Sir, if you would just give me a moment to―”

“Now!” He shouted, shifting into an odd stance.

“I am Luxum, Iron Knight and Jedi―”

“I'm Emperor Palpatine! And I said turn around!” The man's commlink beeped, and his moment of confusion was all Luxum required . . . if he had chosen to go that path. Instead he turned slowly around, complying with the guard and giving the man a sufficient sense of control to answer the commlink. “Unit B-3, go ahead.”

“This is the Overseer,” The commlink spoke.

“Oh? Palpatine, speaking!” He shouted, disbelieving. But the commlink beeped again, and when the guard flipped a switch and his supervisor confirmed the identity of the man on the first channel, he turned decidedly less confrontational.

“Give that droid your commlink and let him go,” The voice of the Overseer ordered, and the security guard―somewhat dazed―holstered his weapon and handed the commlink over.

“Luxum, was it? Next time try calling.”

Luxum nodded to the dumbfounded guard, passing by and taking to the street, the commlink firmly in hand. “You seemed busy, and I had to ensure I got your attention. You're not like other droids, you know?”

“I'm a space ship,” The voice answered sarcastically.

Luxum stopped at the side of the street, surveying the bustle of the city around him. “Where to?”

“Until you start making sense, I couldn't care less.”

Luxum nodded, sure that the strange being was watching him in some form or fashion, and then picked a direction to start walking in. “You brought peace to this world. And to Ord Cestus. You welcomed the Onyxians, and then found some way to make something more, something better than the outcast refugees of a nation that had gotten itself destroyed. You brought peace to the Squibs and Ugor . . . brought the Drackmarians out of hiding.

“And you made it all stick. You made it all work.

"My homeworld needs you, just like they did; and they need it to stick, too. Do whatever it is that you do . . . please.”

Smarts was a very busy space ship. But this Luxum was intent on seeing this through, and the information he had provided on Orax made it sound like a world worth checking in on, at least. But there was another problem: Smarts was running out of people to send on errands.

“You have this under control?”

The large head bobbed once. “I go in the name of the Cooperative.” And so he had called upon the Drackmarians, and they had answered with Mologg.

“I'm sorry to send you alone, and on such short notice, but there is too much work to be done, and not enough to people to make it all happen.”

Mologg nodded again, standing to her feet. “I will leave immediately.”

The hologram returned the nod, and the Overseer blinked out of existence.

Mologg turned to the room's only other inhabitant, taking a moment to size up the new arrival. “So you're a Jedi? That's not so bad,” She turned, walking toward the door, “I thought we were missing out on something, but we used to build you for war . . .”

“Jedi?” Luxum asked.

“Droids,” She responded in her best attempt at a dry tone.

“I used to have one of you in a jar,” He countered. Mologg paused in the doorway, turning to look over her shoulder at the Shard. “Lizards.”

She let out a horrible hiss, shaking her head and continuing out of the room. “Well done, Jedi. Well done. I take it you have a transport waiting?”

“Courtesy of the Iron Order,” Luxum confirmed.

Mologg's head bobbed slightly. “At least this Reaver invasion has given us one favorable piece of circumstance . . .” She heard the Shard's metallic footfalls stop, and turned to see what was wrong, just barely reading the disbelief in his artificial body language. “We'll have plenty of time in transit for you to brief me on Orax,” She continued, hissing loudly.

Hyperspace

The shuttle flew through hyperspace in solitude, a “pure” droid piloting the craft. Luxum the Shard and Mologg the Drackmarian were alone. And he had to prepare her for Orax.

“Following the Battle of Orax, none of us really knew what to do,” Luxum began, starting with the day Orax was freed and all of its real troubles began. “The Empire used slave labor to mine the world's mineral deposits. We found ourselves with millions of slaves with no real ties to the world and no way to get off of it. All that remained of the government were local elements of the human cities, but it had been the Shards of the Orax Exiles who were responsible for the planet's liberation.

“Obviously the organics all stuck together, the humans taking in the vast slave population, but the Shards had other plans. They had dreams of an Iron Order, of forming an impervious barrier by which Orax would never again fall prey to outside forces. They ignored the needs of the organics in favor of the first step in the creation of that Iron Order; they built a massive communications network―mostly of physical hardwires―that stretched the world and linked all of the surviving Shard colonies into one communications hive. It wasn't . . . pure, not like being in an actual colony, but that's what the Iron Order wanted.

“You see, in a colony, a single decision could take centuries to reach consensus. There's no real sense of time, there's no input beyond the thoughts of others. There is no sense-experience for an undisturbed Shard. The network allowed an imperfect merging of consciousnesses, forcing even those Shards who had never left a colony to adapt, to accelerate their decision-making, to learn of limited time and to receive sensory input.

"And as soon as the masses of untainted Shard colonies learned of the concept of weapons and the name of the people who had brought so much death, they wanted to build armies . . . vast armies to defend their home and ensure it never happened again. Vast armies to serve the Iron Order and defend the colonies that remained.

“And so then they turned to the organics whom had been all but ignored, falling back on an old tradition of selling mining rights to colonists in exchange for technology. The humans accepted, because they didn't have any other choice. They were on the verge of starvation, barely able to keep the slave population alive.

“So while the humans were trying to find a way to turn unmined rocks and metal into food to keep themselves alive, the Iron Order began working on their great army. It started with a droid foundry, a means for the Shards to produce bodies for themselves. But it didn't stop there; driven by the collective will of the Shard colonies―almost all of which had never really experienced individualized life―the Iron Order began producing “pure” droids, those governed by traditional AIs and unable to accommodate Shards, to serve as extra muscle.

“The humans sold their mining rights to offworld concerns for food, medicine . . . basic necessities of life. And still the Order soldiered on, building starship factories and weapon manufacturing plants. Speeders and skiffs, hovertanks and plasma artillery.

“But the organics were still barely hanging on, so they returned to past agreements, using mining rights traded for long before the Clone Wars began, rights that had been superseded by the Empire's operations, and then disregarded when the Iron Order arrived.

“The Shards didn't agree with their interpretation of rights. Orax belonged to the Order now, these humans and slaves were just . . . tag-alongs. The Order didn't give them permission to reopen those mines, and so they had no right to. It grew worse over time; the offworld mining concerns wanted to expand their business, so the natives―who had organized themselves into the Freeman's Alliance―backed the offworlders in exchange for what amounted to lease payments, which the Alliance used to import those commodities necessary for some measure of civilized life.

“But the Iron Order wasn't going to sit by and allow this to happen; if the Freemen couldn't mine Orax, then Offworlders definitely couldn't. So the Order drove the miners off-world, took over their mines, and continued their industrialization, their militarization. The Alliance tried to get back the mines that had been ceded to them in the first days of the Iron Order, but the Order said they could 'no longer be trusted'. The Order keeps the 'Freemen' supplied with enough food to keep them alive . . . and that's about it.

“The Shards control ground-based shipyards capable of producing full-scale capital ships at this point; the Freemen's Alliance has three dozen cities that are no longer allowed to expand―as they would intrude upon the rightful territory of the Shards―and a mineral spring. I've spent my life since the Battle of Orax trying to fix this; the Iron Knights helped to some small degree, but they had more pressing matters in the form of a Dark Jedi. There is just enough trade between the Iron Order and the organic population to keep the Alliance from falling into total poverty . . . all of that trade is handled by a handful of independent Shards that still have an intact conscience.

“I have to fix this. Orax does not just belong to the Shard, and what the Empire did to it is not the fault of those who still live there.”

Mologg had sat in silence through Luxum's entire overview, totally impassive. “What do you intend us to do, Jedi?”

“In some crazed quest to ensure that history never repeats itself, the Iron Order has repeated it, only this time they're the bad guys, and they don't know because they're not the ones on the brink of death. Their quest to obtain power has blinded them to the wisdom required to wield it. We have to show them the error of their ways.”

“And that is supposed to fix it?” Mologg asked, doubtful.

Luxum considered the amassed resources of the Iron Order, collected over twenty years, assembled specifically for the purpose of maintaining control of their world. His response came at length, quiet and low: “By the Force, it must.”

Mologg had chosen to keep her thoughts to herself. If she had come in the name of Emperor Draconis, this would all be happening differently; but she was here as an official of the United Cooperative of Peoples, so she would proceed according to the Cooperative's methods.

Mologg of Drackmar descended the short ramp and stepped onto the sandy wasteland at the edge of the human settlement, her breath mask secured around her mouth and nose, her tail waving fluidly from side to side. Before her stood an assorted group of humans, interspersed here and there with solitary aliens.

An elderly woman stepped forth, smiling kindly as she offered a universal sign of greeting and peace. “Honored representative of the United Cooperative of Peoples, on behalf of the Orax Freemen's Alliance, I welcome you to our humble world. I am Atelia Reth, emissary of the Freemen's Conclave. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?”

“It was adequate,” Mologg responded offhand, though Atelia cringed at the perceived hostility the alien's Drackmarian tone imparted to the words.

“I have briefed Mologg on the situation at hand,” Luxum announced. “She stands ready to negotiate on behalf of the Cooperative.”

Atelia smiled, nodding to Luxum and then returning her attention to the Drackmarian. “Very well then. I will take you to the Conclave, so you can speak with our leaders directly.”





These Freemen were driving Mologg mad. They were cowards; that was the only word she could find to adequately define them. They cried of mistreatment and cruelty, then hid in dark corners and unlit basements, bickering to one another about the crimes of the Iron Order, an organization dedicated to the survival of this world and the protection of all its citizens.

Yet she was not here as a Drackmarian, but as an envoy of the Cooperative. She could not stand and shout “Cowards, all!” for such would be a betrayal of her promise to the Overseer. She was forced to endure, to sit and listen to their whimpering nonsense, watch their mounting tears and bury her disgust.

Finally, when she could stomach no more, she called for a recess and fled the darkened Conclave meeting.

“Mologg.” The voice was firm and commanding, and she turned to set her gaze on Luxum the Iron Knight. “Do not give up on them. Please, they need you.”

Mologg snarled, approaching Luxum and casting a glance behind him to ensure the two were alone in the long hallway. “They need spines, nothing more.”

Luxum shook his head, standing his ground against the imposing Drackmarian. “Too much blood has been spilled on this world. The Iron Order understands nothing short of brute force, and the Freemen refuse to embroil this world in civil war.”

“Then why do I not speak to this Order, instead of hiding in some basement?” Mologg bared her teeth, her tail lashing furiously.

“You must see, Mologg, their suffering.”

“I have seen!” She shouted, shaking her head furiously.

“No, you must see what has been done.” Luxum grabbed the Drackmarian by the hand, leading her down the long hallway, into a side corridor, and finally through one unassuming door.

“What is this?” She asked, her anger subsiding enough for curiosity to intrude.

Luxum waved his hand, and the room came alight as a theatrical-scale holoprojector powered up, bathing the room in a rainbow of colors as it aligned in preparation. Finally the room exploded in warfare, and Luxum stood silently as Mologg watched the unfolding Battle of Orax.

The fate of this world had not been decided in the skies above, or on some empty plain stretching across the world; Orax had been liberated in the streets of cities, on the rooftops of homes, along the shores of city-side rivers. It was not some clean, military engagement; rather it was a brawl between an army of leaderless yet loyal clones, and passionate yet untrained citizen-soldiers.

This was not war; this was not battle. This was death on an unholy scale, perpetrated not by some weapons of mass destruction, but rather the conflicting wills of two opposing forces. So many had died, and in the aftermath all that remained was blood and ruin.

“These people are not warriors, Mologg,” Luxum interjected, the holo dimming slightly and the audio subsiding to a whisper as he spoke. “They will not fight again. They will not kill, they will not maim, they will not brand themselves with the mark of death. They are not cowards, Mologg, but they will not fight the Iron Order; they will not defy a people whose only crime is found in the desire to defend themselves and protect their world. They are committed to another path, and I cannot fault them for their diligence in keeping it. Please, will you help us? Will you look beyond this conflict to its source, and find a path of peace and freedom for my world? We can heal Orax, Mologg; we can find a way.”

The Iron Citadel, fortress-capital of the Iron Order

Mologg made a show of hammering her fist against the massive steal door, pounding relentlessly until it swung open. “I am Mologg of Drackmar,” She proclaimed, stepping boldly into the iron and stone structure, “servant of the United Cooperative of Peoples; I stand before you in the name of the Freemen of this world. I have come here to be heard! Someone will listen!”

A single droid approached Mologg, something in its gait informing her that it was host to a Shard. “We all hear you, Mologg of Drackmar,” The Shard waved his hand at the air, and Mologg's eyes followed the line cast by the droid's finger to the holocamera it pointed at. “None of us find your words worthy of response.”

“I come before you in peace―” Mologg began, a warning tone in her words.

“Peace is a lie, there is only passion,” He whispered.

Mologg turned and retreated without another word, pounding her fist on the still-open door as she left. She was met only a moment later by Luxum. “Something is not right here, Iron Knight. Some unseen evil festers within your Order.”

“What do you mean?” The would-be Jedi asked, his concern evident.

“'Peace is a lie, there is only passion,'” Mologg recited.

Luxum stopped immediately, and a few paces later Mologg followed suit, turning an inquisitive eye on the Shard and trying to discern what had brought about Luxum's sudden stop. The lines from the Code of the Sith had been burned into him since that fateful encounter with his predecessor, and Luxum recognized the first line well. “We must act, Mologg,” He finally responded, resuming his pace once more. “We must act now.”

“I have no answers for you, Jedi.”

Luxum shook his head, moving through the Shard city with single minded purpose. “I will not run from this threat, Mologg. The highest ranks of the Iron Order are against us, their members either ignorant or complicit in what grows within them. But now I see, Mologg; now I understand. I have to act. Darkness has seized the fate of the Iron Order, and there is only one way to purge it.”

Mologg stopped, some terrible conflict arising within her. “I am here in the name of the Cooperative, Jedi. My mission is of peace; I do not believe I can follow you in this quest.”

Luxum stepped just in front of the Drackmarian, staring into her conflicted eyes. “I am asking you to do what is right, Mologg. I am asking you to help me save my world from an evil I do not fully understand, an evil I have until only moments ago been blind to. Help me. Help me. As a servant of the Cooperative; as a daughter of Drackmar; as a flying bantha, I don't care! Just help me save Orax! Help me challenge the Darkness!”

Iron Order Relay Station AG-14


Mologg's grip tightened on the solid metal rod she held in her hands, and she hissed threateningly as she prepared herself for combat. “This will work, Knight?” She asked, casting a glance into the dark corner where the lone Shard worked.

Luxum nodded, crossing circuits inside the communications relay. “Remember: no permanent harm.”

Mologg hissed again, this one considerably less sinister. Mologg stretched her arms out to either side, the two meter metal pole still clenched in her right hand. “Work fast, Jedi.”

“Okay, here we go.” Luxum leaned in toward the exposed circuitry, bridging his own crystalline body with the metallic components of the device, and for some unknown period of time, Luxum the Iron Knight was of absolutely no combat value to Mologg.

The lone Drackmarian waited at the entrance to the dead-end alley for several minutes, recalling the brief report the Overseer had given her about how Luxum had first made contact with him. But soon a pair of Shards appeared, brandishing force pikes: Luxum's presence in the Shard network had been detected.

Mologg followed the Jedi's instructions to the letter, leaping forward without warning, engaging the pair of Shard security officers before they had a chance to realize what was happening. The Drackmarian batted the first Shard's pike away with the tip of her own weapon, driving its other end into the Shard's head, decapitating the droid and rendering it useless to its inhabitant.

Then Mologg turned on the other, exchanging blows between their melee weapons while the Drackmarian stalled for time and sought an opportunity to exploit. Finally she gave up, delivering a powerful blow to knock the force pike out of her way, and then seizing the droid's right arm in her left hand, just below the shoulder. She let out a terrifying roar, twisting and pulling the arm, breaking crucial linkages and then tearing the metallic appendage free altogether. She struck at the Shard's good arm again, ensuring the force pike it held remained out of the way, and then drove her armor-plated elbow spike into the Shard's chest, tearing into the protective covering that housed its crystalline body.

Mologg pounced on her prey, driving the damaged droid to the ground, then tore at the machine torso and pulled the Shard from its insides, setting the crystal creature down with some measure of care. Breathing heavily, the Drackmarian warrior stood to her feet, once more taking up a position that would bar the path and keep Luxum safe.

Mologg roared at the pair of humans who appeared next, enraged at the fact that she couldn't crush their bodies and still preserve their essence. Then the pair drew blasters and leveled them at Mologg, and she roared again, smashing the tip of her weapon against the ground repeatedly. “I am Mologg, heir of Drackmar, servant of the Great Throne, defender of the Way! Fire upon me and see what fate befalls you!”

She hoped her empty threats would stall the pair of fleshlings long enough . . .