Exile .7 and .8

.7 Above the Swoop’s throttle-roar, Ikeeriot heard shooting, then screams. He felt the tremors through the Force—fear, agony, sudden anger and exasperation, loss of hope. It overwhelmed him at first, like being under a plugged up waterfall, receiving only a trickle, a distant memory of what had been, and then the violet sheets of the Force came cascading back over him, playing over him and spreading the conflict over him. He saw images of his Master, Alec Uban, then Anduil’s Master, Orsin Beserek . .then he saw himself, the electricity searing his fingertips with it’s raw, Dark Side power. All this in a few moments, riding the Swoop up the sand-crusted durrocrete hill. A shuttle-port rested a few feet from the hill’s top, just beyond the perimeter wall and the open gate. At the foot of the gate there was a dead man, wearing some kind of Chitin armor, blood leaking from his neck. Ikeeriot vaulted off the Swoop bike, throwing the ignition into a dead halt and landing right next to the body. He felt the man’s throat, still gushing uselessly and a gruesome wave of nausea-inducing Force clamor hit him. A metal pellet fell from the wound and slid into his reddened fingers. Ikeeriot heard a shrill cry and then the terrible cry of a warrior so changed by the desert’s vast wastelands that it was impossible to clearly make out whether it was man or animal. It was the call of a Tusken Raider. Valecka was busy fighting off four Raiders on her own when Ikeeriot came onto the other side of Anchorhead silently. Valecka, with her red lightsaber was being looked upon as a savior by the people of Anchorhead, however she hardly viewed herself as that. She continued to cut the masked, robed warriors down as they came on, each one fiercer, braver and perhaps more stupid then the last. Her heart was pumping so hard she felt like it might burst out of her chest at any moment. The wrong place at the wrong time, she grimaced. No damned Jedi here, she thought angrily, using the anger to power a Force aided beside a bewildered warrior, then halving him. "Taste the Dark Side you fools!" She rasped, flinging her lightsaber into the air, cutting a line of four warriors down in a red flashing blur. She laughed and started to call her lightsaber back to her with the Force. "Watch out!" A man cried behind her. She turned, looking past the small ditch that ran through the middle of the town, seeing a man hurry across the shabbily made durocrete bridge toward her. Looks familiar . . she thought for a moment, blank of any other thought. She was aware of his eyes connecting with his, aware of the electricity that was billowing inside the great clouds inside them, but then it became harder to think. She felt the pain of the Tusken Raider’s gaffi stick sink into and then slice off her hand at the wrist, but she didn’t know it had actually happened til her knees buckled and her legs fell out from under her, forcing her to the ground as she held her wrist, pressing it against her black cloak as hard as she could. She was going into shock, and no amount of Sith or Jedi preparedness could have ever helped her for it. Her face pale, she watched as the man hunkered down in front of her and tried to speak to her. Ikeeriot saw the young woman and all at once heard a cacophony of different Force alarms going off in his head. He felt more barbaric presences flowing into the small town from all sides, but at the same time, he was face to face with a Sith Warrior. Rushing across the poorly made bridge he could barely think whether to contain the anger and rage simmering inside him, he couldn’t wait to strike her down— No, a voice said. It calmed him, and he knew why. It was the voice of his Master, Alec Uban. The Force has not come back to you now for you to give into your basest emotions now Ikeeriot. Ikeeriot’s eyes widened as he saw recognition flash in Valecka’s eyes, but widened even more as he saw the Tusken Raider coming up, unhindered, behind the Sith warrior. "Watch out!" He screamed, Force energy already flashing in his eyes. It was too late though. Ikeeriot watched as the Tusken gracelessly severed Valecka’s hand from her wrist, blood sparkling from the wound in the violently bright moonlight. Ikeeriot rushed over, spread his fingers toward the Tusken and sent him flying through the air with the familiar aid of the Force and fell to her side. "Can you hear me? Can you use the Force to keep the wound from killing you?" Her face was pale and unknowing—she can’t hear me . .he thought hopelessly. What was he doing? Am I helping a Sith? Alec’s voice returned to him. You are helping a sentient being in need of help. It is no more then that. Require it to be something more, and I’ve failed in teaching you the ways of the Jedi. Shaking his head, numb from the sudden advice from his master and also the spurt of energy that the Force gave back to him, Ikeeriot held Valecka’s intact hand. "Hold on," he said through gritted teeth. The warriors closing in were yowling and howling in some kind of guttural language that Ikeeriot couldn’t hope to understand, but he knew it wasn’t invitations into the Cantina for drinks. Standing and turning to regard the warriors closing in, he saw their numbers in full. Fifteen of them coming from all directions, creating a circle with very little space to move in. The civilians of Anchorhead were now safely heading out of the town or hunkering down in their homes. This is the will of the Force, the voice said to him. You know what to do, and this time it is not out of anger. To fight for them, to fight for those without protection—it is our cause. Gaping, Ikeeriot felt realization flow through him. Show her your powers, and she will recruit you. Show her and you will be initiated into Darchind’s Sith Order. This is the will of the Force, Ikeeriot. Spreading his arms to his side, his body forming the letter ‘T’, Ikeeriot waited for them to close in a little more . . He bent his knees, felt the familiar surge of the Force spraying out of him in sporadic, electric bolts and lit the Anchorhead night with the glow of Force Lightning. Valecka was in literal, physical shock, but she could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the strange familiar man spit Force Lightning from his fingertips. Her mouth wide and gaping, it was the last thing she saw before succumbing to the pain. Ikeeriot piled the bodies in the small trench like formation that ran through the center of Anchorhead before he left, but he hurried while doing it. A wealthy but timid cantina owner offered him a bacta patch for his ‘fallen comrade’ as he put it and Ikeeriot nodded to the elderly human. "Make sure it’s on there tight," Ikeeriot said. "I’m not sure where I’m going next but I get the distinct feeling it will be a long trip." Distractedly the residents of the small settlements wandered out of their capsule-top durocrete homes one by one, watching the Jedi Wraith as he set to work in preparation for his voyage. Some thanked him, other cursed at him, and some just looked at him, wide eyed at the cylinder that was dangling at his side, which sparkled in the moonlight. When he finally brought the Swoop back in front of the cantina where Valecka was lying on the ground, someone asked who he was, what he was doing and where he was planning to go, and not in that specific order. Another asked him why he would leave them undefenseless after such an attack. That gave him a fresh pang in his chest but he ignored it. He threw Valecka unceremoniously over his shoulder and got onto the Swoop as cautiously as he could. Valecka groaned and craned her head toward Ikeeriot’s own face and mumbled something indecipherable. Or maybe Ikeeriot didn’t want to understand it. He swore it was jedi that she said. A moment later as he powered the throttle up she said something else but more clear, "ship . .few clicks out . .under . ." Then she passed out once more. Ikeeriot tucked her trembling body against his chest and leaned down, twisting the Swoop’s throttle as he gritted his teeth against the blast of sand it sent up in a huge wave behind him. Speeding out of town, he didn’t bother to take the streets, just pushed over a piece of the crumbling durocrete wall with the Force and used it as a ramp. "Give me some kind of sign . ." He said to her. "Come on." It didn’t take him long to come to her landing area, but he circled past it a few times, coming very close the first time to shooting what he thought was a Krayt dragon underneath a thin covering of sand. It finally dawned on him that this was her ship. He stopped the Swoop and hurrying toward the ship. It was covered with a huge curtain of synthetic cloth that used some kind of mirroring technology to give the illusion that this was just another small hill in the desert. Ikeeriot threw the sheet off with a Force shove and discovered the four-winged, silver oval shaped ship. It was already standing on it’s landing tilts although he had to immediately rethink his theory on the cloth’s properties because the four wings were jutting upwards on the sides and would likely fold downward while in flight. Ikeeriot jumped away from the ship as the loading ramp shot down onto the ground. He flicked his lightsaber instinctively up to the guard position and activated his master’s white blade and when he looked back to Valecka he could see her thumbing on some kind of loading remote, but there was a simply inexorable recgonition in her eyes—the same simply flash he’d seen in her eyes back at Anchorhead. Her eyes widened a bit and her arm fell back to the ground while she mumbled, "Jedi . .Jedi!" Frustration ebbed inside him but he ignored it. His own fault for being so jumpy. No one else here, he thought. He shut off the lightsaber and went to Valecka. He knelt beside her and lifted her to her knees, meeting her at eye level for the third time. The same recognition and anger was in her eyes but she couldn’t do anything—she was quickly fading again. "Look at me," he said calmly. Their eyes met and he found what he needed. The flash of recognition was so small this time that he only had a very thin, tense moment to utilize his special technique, but as soon as he saw the flash he squeezed his eyes shut and let the Force center on the little detail. The bright light in her eyes swelled against the black of his eyelids and he felt the Force flow into his head. With a deep breath he let the Force fling him behind the flash and see the recognition from the Sith’s point of a view. A scene flashed in his mind, lightsabers, blue, green, yellow, orange and red, the battle on Xolatis, suddenly Ikeeriot saw himself slashing and jabbing. He realized that this was Valecka’s memory of him, the recognition flash and squeezed his eyes tighter closed. He let the Force envelop the memory and dissolve it. Then—he was back in his own body, trembling slightly from exertion and lifting Valecka with the last vestiges of his physical strength. Another mumble came from the young woman and for a moment Ikeeriot thought he might have to wipe the memory again, but she mumbled, "tank in the Red Talon, bacta . ." Ikeeriot let out a thankful sigh and hauled the Sith into the ship. "Hopefully there’s two of the things . ." He muttered. Passing into the belly of the ship he noticed the stark white of everything in the place, either white or complete silver. Sure enough in the passenger compartment, between the entrance and the cockpit were four bubbling human sized bacta tanks. After checking the equipment carefully and putting the oxygen mask on Valecka, he submerged her into the tank. He had no idea that he didn’t really need to put her in the tank fully, and he’d never actually been in one. What are all these buttons? He thought, looking over another silver and white control panel. He flipped on one switch and felt a small rumbling beneath his feet and then watched as the lights in the bacta tank flickered on. Fine for now I guess, he thought. There was a small timer. Guessing it was for submersion time he set it for four hours. Sitting down in the chair beside the bacta tank he took one deep breath and felt exhaustion take him into sleep. Anduil Siron slept amazingly well for being outside on a desert planet. The dry heat never took it’s tole too hard on his body because he had the Force to supplement his physical strength and he took care of hydration before anything else. Now in sleep, no temperature touched him—only the neutral current of the Force running through him in waves, lapping up against him from the Force’s ocean. The sensation of awakening rolled over him and he stood, but he stood in the dream. It wasn’t so much a dream as it was a vision. He exited the hovel and walked for what seemed like forever before coming to a completely flat stretch of sand. Here he stood silent as the current of the Force turned into a torrent. Sand was still being whipped up in front of his eyes, obscuring almost all of his sight. Why is there sand in this place . .he wondered. He pressed his hand against his forehead and tried to shield the sand from his sight but to no avail. A gentle tug of the Force in this torrent guided his chin upwards so that he looked into the sky. There he saw thousands of ships attacking each other, a million more voices crying out in agony as their lives dissolved into horrible Force-enhanced screams. Then— Two lightsabers crossed against each other, both of them blue. Then—another two lightsabers crossed, one red, one white. Beyond all this, a single form, walking in the sky as though it was walking on physical ground. A great flash of Force energy billowed out from this form, and Anduil Siron awoke. With a heavy exhale Anduil jolted upward out of his sleep, ramming his head against the hovel’s ceiling, knocking him unconscious. He was like this for a quarter of another hour before Narsayl came into the hovel in an effort to alert the Jedi Wraith of the disturbance in the Force and Ikeeriot’s disappearance. "Anduil?" Narsayl whispered softly as he shook the young man’s shoulder. "Anduil, wake up." Anduil groaned and started to jolt back up but thought against it. With some unease Anduil raised himself up on his elbows and looked at Narsayl, blinking back the pain and dizziness in his head. "What is it?" "Anduil, are you alright?" Narsayl asked, sensing his fellow Wraith’s disorientation. "I hit my head . ." Anduil said, motioning to the ceiling. "I’m never sleeping here again . . there was something else though—I had a vision . . of the coming events." His face went pale at the thought of the thousands of ships attacking each other. Narsayl sensed the sudden anxiety. "What? What is it? Xolatis?" Anduil shook his head slowly, trying to discern all the information bombarding his senses. He could sense something amiss in the Force. "Why did you wake me, Narsayl?" Narsayl looked out through the exit of the hovel and shook his head. "Your friend took off in the middle of the night. Took the only land vehicle—if we want to conserve our fuel and keep our identities to ourselves we need to communicate better." "Ikeeriot must have left for a reason," Anduil said. He rose slowly and ducked out into the morning light. The heat was already sharp and oppressive as ever. Something else that Anduil hadn’t thought of hit him too—reassurance through the Force. Narrowing and then shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, Anduil felt a hand on his shoulder. When he opened his eyes only Narsayl was there, in front of him with his arms at his sides. "Can you sense that?" Anduil asked. Narsayl arched his eyebrows and shook his head. "I don’t sense anything, Anduil. Are you sure you didn’t bump your head too hard on the ceiling?" Another memory from his vision hit him fleetingly. A man walking in the sky . .as though he was walking atop the sky . . Anduil shook his head slowly and smiled as he saw the coming of four distant shadows on the horizon. "Ikeeriot went ahead with his plan. I’m afraid we’re going to have to take care of the Outcaste for a while," Anduil saw the confusion and fear on Narsayl’s face and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. "Don’t worry. He’ll be back," he pointed at the sky. "I think we have some company." Narsayl looked out, perplexed. "Prospective members?" Anduil nodded. "I sent out a few messages before going to bed. Non-encrypted. It’s time we don’t try and hide our attempts at recruitment. This war is going to be worse then the conflict with the Mandalorians. If we don’t stop it on Xolatis then it could very well destroy the Republic." The sloshing of the bacta tank’s occupant awoke Ikeeriot. He jumped from his chair, startled out of the heavy sleep. When he saw Valecka swaying irritably in the blue liquid his eyes widened. He went to work punching different buttons on the tank’s control panel trying desperately to open up the top hatch. The sloshing stopped and he could see Valecka pointing up toward the top of the tank. Her eyes were full of fear but mostly desperation. How long has she been thrashing around there while I was asleep? He thought fearfully. Ikeeriot saw the hatch clamps on top of the tank and broke them off with a flick of his hand with the Force. Valecka was out of the tank and on the floor, whipping off the breathing mask immediately, coughing and hacking up bacta fluid and waving her dilapidated handless arm around useless. Ikeeriot hurried to her side, throwing her black cloak around her naked body and trying not to look at her. "I’m sorry, I was so tired . . I just passed out." She tried to utter something but he didn’t hear it. After coughing and feeling her tender throat tentatively for a few minutes she finally replied thankfully, "I never saw it coming—in the town. Thank you." "Never mind that . ." Ikeeriot mumbled. "No—no, I need to thank you because I should have seen it coming. I saw you after that though, I saw you killing them, defending us . .how did you—?" Unblinking, Ikeeriot turned to her. This was the moment of truth he’d been waiting for. It was at this point that he’d either fail or start on the road to accomplish his goal. "Please, don’t tell anyone I did that. They frown on it where I came from to use my powers like that." "Where you came from?" Valecka questioned. "Where was that?" Ikeeriot let his eyes center on the ship’s deck in between his two worn boots. "I left the Jedi Order years ago. They were too . ." "Stop right there," Valecka interjected. "I’ve heard it all before. Tell me, where do you plan to go now?" Hiding a brief smile, Ikeeriot looked to Valecka as seriously as he could. "Wherever my legs will carry me." .8 Valecka strode gently up behind Lord Darchind and his Supreme Commander, Seknem. She wasn’t trying to conceal her presence—such an attempt would be idiotic at best. Now, well, now I am biding time, she thought as she stopped and knelt before the black cloaked Sith Lord. "My master," she said quietly. "Rise, apprentices. What news have you of the outer rim expedition?" Lord Darchind asked, just a little hint of alien emotion in his voice: eagerness. Nodding slowly but unsurely, Valecka continued. "When I arrived on Tatooine I went to the settlement of Anchorhead like you advised me to," "You encountered resistance." Lord Darchind said flatly. Arching her eyebrows and lifting the hood of her own cloak off of her head, she asked, "How did you know?" "The connection between Master and Apprentice is a very strong one, Valecka. Besides—my powers are nearly limitless with the aid of the Dark Side." "As are all ours," Valecka nodded, conceding to the Sith maxim. "I was attacked by natives," she held her wrist up and showed Darchind the wound, which was capped by a metal platform, waiting to have a mechanical hand put on it. "I was taken off-guard and I barely managed to limp back to my ship alive. When I arrived I went into the Bacta tank." "As I can see." Lord Darchind said approvingly. "In your search before the attack? Nothing? No one?" Valecka allowed for a minute pause but picked it up right away. "I found nothing, my master." Lord Darchind nodded and turned swiftly to the armored Supreme Commander at his left side. "Seknem, do your people have a suitable prosthetics division to equip my former apprentice with?" The detail of former was not lost on Valecka. "Master?" Lord Darchind waved her off. "Seknem?" Seknem nodded silently and appeared to be chatting inside his helmet over a short-range transceiver system. "I can have it here within the end of the cycle." "Excellent." Lord Darchind said. He directed his attention back on Valecka, who was cringing gently at Darchind’s gaze. "You are a Sith now—not an Apprentice or an Initiate—a Sith.Lord." Valecka bowed graciously. "Thank you, Lord Darchind. I will not let down the Brotherhood of the Sith." Lord Darchind nodded, mulling something silently from the darkness of his hooded face. "I believe the Mandalorian Techs will have your replacement for you very soon." Valecka nodded intently and turned to walk from the bridge. Lord Darchind held his hand out in the air and steadied her pace from walking just to one step with the grip of the Force. "Lord Valecka, there isn’t something else that is bothering you, is there? I sense there might be something more to our situation that you’ve been apprised of." Valecka turned and looked straight into the black hood of the cloaked figure and shook her head. "If I become apprised of anything more then I know now, I will make sure that you become aware of whatever it may be." Lord Darchind nodded and loosened the Force grip on Valecka and she strode from the bridge of Mandalore’s Hammer. Lord Darchind turned surely to his second-in-command and regarded the Mandalorian. "I am fairly sure that even you could see that she was hiding something." At first, Seknem responded only with a shrug of his armor covered shoulders. A few days ago, Lord Darchind would have regarded this as a sign of the warrior’s simple nature, but now that he knew Seknem better, he knew that there was more to this cue then just complacency. For the moment, he let it pass. "Have we new information on our incoming’s?" Seknem nodded silently and turned to regard the black outside of the viewport. "There are about five more ships coming in, including that big one," The Mandalorian warrior pointed out the transparisteel into space at the biggest ship. It was loosely formed in the image of a very thin egg shape with three long cylinder engines jutting out of it’s wider tail-end. The blue glowing engines formed an isosceles triangle formation on the ship’s hind end. This wasn’t a weapon-toting ship though—at least not yet. "It’s a passenger liner." The Mandalorian said. "I used the third Mandalorian battleship we had patrolling the outer rim territories to . .persuade it into coming back to Xolatis with us." "Crafty." Lord Darchind murmurred. "You’ve impounded it then?" The Mandalorian fell silent for a moment, then Darchind could hear him once again speaking quietly into his helmet. "Our Mounts are on their way out now." "The other ships, Commander? You’ve impounded them, correct?" Lord Darchind asked with a hint of apprehension. "No need to worry of that. Only one ship is giving us a little trouble, and we’re trying to talk the captain of it down as we speak." Seknem returned calmly. "What ship is this?" Lord Darchind asked. He forfeited then, "You think I am worried?" "The ship is called Incinerator. The captain’s got a pair made out of cortosis alright—but he’s got a grudge with the Jedi." Seknem paused. "You’re either worried about the girl or the ships." Lord Darchind sighed dramatically. "She is not telling me all of what happened, I fear." "Sith don’t fear." The Mandalorian ventured boldly. "Of that you are correct." Lord Darchind returned. "However I thought Mandalorians incapable of such thought processes." "Point taken." Seknem replied icily. "She seemed more embarrassed then anything, Darchind." Nodding, Lord Darchind chuckled. "I’m sure I would be too. Such a small skirmish but a great price she paid for her inattention in battle." "The young ones make mistakes sometimes." Seknem commented. "I was not aware," Darchind said sarcastically. "Is the berthing area almost complete?" Seknem asked, raising his voice over the communicator in his helmet. "Keep me posted." "Our project goes mostly unnoticed by the Republic I think." Lord Darchind said, smiling once more beneath the darkness of the hood. "Thanks to the Mandalorian efforts." Seknem prodded. "Still worried about them? I’ve assured you that their fates are sealed no matter what." Lord Darchind said. "I would like a leave." Seknem said abruptly. "As much as I would like to think otherwise, Seknem, you are not under my command. You can come and go as you please." Lord Darchind started. "However I would like to know where you’ll be going and for how long. To make the necessary adjustments." "I’ll be boarding the passenger liner with my troops. I’ll take a Mount out immediately. I won’t be but a few hours." Seknem said. Lord Darchind nodded. "Fine. The Berthing station and the shipyards though—?" "Lord Darchind, they will be ready. I should hardly think you would need them so soon. You haven’t the materials to begin production on your flagship yet." Seknem said. He started out of the bridge and heard Lord Darchind call from behind him: "Not just my ship, Mandalorian—the Sith Order’s flagship. The destruction of the Jedi and the Republic is at hand and you and yours will bear witness to it!" "She said I had two days until she told Lord Darchind about a prospective student." Ikeeriot said hurriedly to Anduil. The outspoken leaders of the Jedi Knight Outcaste were strolling through the hotel lobby for the fourth time and some people were starting to get suspicious of them. Ikeeriot wore a gray flight suit and the beard that was growing more defiantly brown against his untanned skin. Anduil’s face was stubble laden but nothing more then that—he would work behind the scenes for as long as possible with Jon Locke until he was sure that Darchind would not recognize him if he took a formal, more public seat by Locke’s side. "You’re sure this isn’t a trap?" Anduil asked quickly. "We haven’t much time, Iker." "Neither does the Outcaste. Two days isn’t necessarily enough for me to form a rock-hard leadership role." Ikeeriot said. "I’m worried about our members right now though, Anduil." They both took a seat in the lobby, facing toward the entrance and away from the receptionist’s prying eyes and ears. "What is it?" The Jedi Wraith, Anduil Siron asked. "I’m just afraid that the Diogna’s are swimming to much in the water. There should be some kind of a ..prepping stage." Ikeeriot said louder, drawing the receptionist’s clearly confused glare. Anduil smiled at this but drew his eyes toward his feet. What are you talking about . .he let it sink in and finally understood. Those who were still joining the Outcaste were depending wholeheartedly to much on the Force. Their physical bodies were weak. If they drew on the Force too much, it would become a crutch—like Lightning was for the Sith; traditionally. Lord Darchind had demonstrated his prowess with a lightsaber and it had proved fatal for many Jedi that day so seemingly long ago. "Perhaps the Gamorreans in charge could show them how," Ikeeriot suggested. "To better work with their physical side." "Maybe if the Gamorrean wasn’t off gallivanting under the guise of a Twi’Lek," Anduil started, drawing some more confused, anti-xenophobic looks. Just great . .he thought. Ikeeriot just chuckled and held his breath for a moment, closing his eyes half-way. "They have enough time," he commented loudly. "The season’s just begun, after all. However, they might need to bring in a second or third string." Anduil’s eyes went wide. "I was just at the game and I know there’s a lot of competition, but I was unaware that you thought that a second string might be needed." Ikeeriot smirked. "I grow weary of all this," he waved his hand in the air. "Bugs everywhere," he whispered. "Must be the climate for them." "Don’t I know it?" Anduil said. "When they need a new string, I’ll be sure to contact the Gamorrean. In the meantime, I think it’s time for the team to get practicing." Ikeeriot nodded. "Time to water the garden."