Star Wars: Vergence VI, Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

 Spaceport THX1138, Terra II

It was days like this that Jonn Durant seriously considered quitting.

He pretty much joked about quitting every day, but it was only on days like these that he truly meant it. When the spaceport was filled to the brim with so many people from all across the galaxy trying to get from one corner of the galaxy to the other, shoving each other in line and ignoring commands from security droids that were trying to get them to follow protocol. Some times, travelers didn’t even speak a word of Basic—or Bocce or any other trade language—meaning that he needed to call for a protocol droid or someone who happened to know whatever language that needed translating.

He was grateful that him having four arms meant that he was able to accomplish just a bit more at the same time than anyone with only two arms would be able to… but even he was starting to get stressed out from all he was being asked to do, and his heart went out to his two-armed coworkers. From having to direct a protocol droid to assist a traveler at one terminal, call in extra security for another, all while having to listen to the gripes of a belligerent Besalisk that was trying to lob a complaint at him… it took pretty much all of his willpower to not have a public meltdown right then and there.

He had to remind himself that this was all temporary; that the only reason things were as bad as they were was because of the state the galaxy was in right now. For the last six months, much of the Outer Rim had been terrorized by the insurgent pro-Imperial faction that called itself the First Order. So far, most of it had been concentrated in the eastern quadrants of the galaxy, far away from Terra II and the rest of the Fath sector, but it had still impacted enough worlds that people were trying to get away from it all. And given that Star Tours was one of the most accessible travel agencies for people living on the Rim, that meant a surge in travelers and a whole swath of flight delays. Meanwhile, the elites of the Galactic Alliance sat on their coffers, content with letting the newly formed Resistance handle things while they pretended that everything was fine, ignoring the cries of constituents that had been impacted by the situation.

But it was only a temporary situation. Just like the Galactic Civil War his father had lived through. Just like the Clone Wars his uncle Rio had lived through. Before long, this war would blow over and everything would be back to normal.

That was what he told himself. It was the only thing he could do to keep him sane.

After finally getting the Besalisk to calm down, giving her a routine answer that she seemed to find satisfactory, he hurried back to the front desk once she had walked away. Having finally gotten a brief lull in the chaos, he considered making a call home to Ardennia; tell his wife to start packing and find a safe place for them and the children. Maybe somewhere coreward, where the chaos was only something you heard on the HoloNet rather than something you saw with your own eyes. 

He was about to make the call when two humans approached the front desk. He tried not to sigh too loudly as he put on his best “customer service” face and smiled at them.

“How may I help you?”

One of the humans, a male in his late thirties, shifted his eyes before leaning in over the desk. “We have a flight scheduled for the Endor system at thirteen-o-four.”

“Endor system, huh?” Jonn took a glance at his monitor. “Terminal three, queue fourteen.”

“Thank you.” The man placed a bag of credits on the counter, which Jonn instantly pushed away with his right pair of arms.

“Oh no, we don’t do tips or bribes here. I know Terra ain’t the most, uh… non-backwater of worlds, but that doesn’t mean—”

“That’s for you and your family,” the man said. “Please, get as far away from here as you can.”

Jonn blinked as he stared at the human, trying to process what he had just said. “I… I’m sorry? How do you know I—”

“The First Order is about to be here any minute,” said the man’s companion, a woman about a decade younger. “When they get here, they’re not going to treat you kindly. Please leave. Now.”

Jonn could only gawk at them as they took their leave, quickly blending in with the rest of the bustling crowds. He looked back at the bag of credits, then at sea of people in which they had vanished.

Without a second thought, he snatched the bag, pocketed it away, before bringing up his profile on the monitor. Once he had clocked out, he rushed for his office to collect his belongings.

When life gives you a chance to get a break, he told himself, never turn it down.

*  *  *

“Is he still there?”

Rey looked over her shoulder at the front desk. The Ardennian worker was nowhere to be seen. “No.”

“Good,” Kalen Rusher said, looking straight ahead as he took long strides towards their designated queue.

“Who was he, exactly?”

“No idea. But I could tell he was stressed from the situation. You could sense it, yes?”

“Of course I did,” she said, a bit more snappish than she had intended. “But I don’t see why you would help a stranger like that out of the blue?”

“Why not? Is it not something a Jedi would do?”

“We’re not Jedi.”

“No. But helping others is not exclusive to the Jedi, is it? It is simply the humane thing to do.”

Rey furrowed her brow, ducking the wide shoulders of a passing alien. “But he didn’t do anything for us.”

“He told us where we needed to go.”

“Because that’s his job. He’s already getting paid. There was no need to give him extra credits; that was money we could be using.”

Kalen looked over at her but did not stop walking. “Why is this a difficult concept for you to grasp? Surely even on Jakku—”

“On Jakku, everything was an even trade.” She scowled to herself, remembering all the times Unkar Plutt had shorthanded her. “Or at least, it’s supposed to be. You do the work, you get recompensated. I traded in parts for food. I never got anything more than that unless I did more… and nobody did more unless they were guaranteed more.” She shrugged. “It was tough living, but straightforward. You pretty much knew what to expect every day. The only thing that threw surprises at you was nature itself… and Unkar Plutt if he was in a particularly bad mood.”

“Do you like surprises?”

Rey thought about it. “It depends on the type of surprise, I suppose.”

“Like your parents returning?”

She took in a deep breath, releasing it through her nose. “Something like that.”

Kalen looked back ahead. “I would have thought you’d be used to surprises by now. Or at least recognize that life in the galaxy is not quite like life on Jakku.”

She did recognize that. Spending close to a year training as a Jedi under Toah Jarsan and the last six months traveling the stars with Kalen had certainly thrown plenty of surprises her way. Not all of them had been good. There were some days where she wished she had never left Jakku; she didn’t miss her home world, but she did miss the relatively simpler life she had lived there. It had been a rough life, yes, but it had been one she had understood. One where she had understood her place.

But now? She wasn’t sure what she was. She knew she wasn’t a Jedi, but Kalen had not yet given a name to what they were, beyond simply “travelers.” She thought maybe after six months she would have understood what they were and what they were doing, but she still didn’t even know that.

She was lost. Just as she had been with the Jedi.

She was about to say as much aloud when Kalen suddenly stopped in his tracks. She did the same and immediately saw what had stopped him.

Up ahead, a squad of First Order stormtroopers had entered the spaceport, shoving their way through the crowds of people. One of them pushed over an elderly Mirialan woman that had been too slow to get of their path. Rey felt her heart swell with anger as she watched them walk over the old woman, ignoring her pained cries.

“They’re here,” she muttered.

“That they are.” Kalen glanced at her. “Stay calm and keep your head low. They won’t recognize my face, but they might recognize yours.”

Rey remained where she stood, staring straight ahead at the approaching stormtroopers. “There’s only five of them. We can handle them.”

“Yes, but we’re in a crowded area. If we started a firefight, then innocent people will get hurt.”

“If I move fast enough, they won’t be able to get a single shot out.”

Kalen gave her a warning look. “Rey, don’t do anything reckless. We have a mission—”

“The Force is telling me to do this, Kalen.” She brought a hand to her lightsaber hilt, hidden beneath her traveling cloak. “So I will do it.”

“Rey—”

She did not hear the rest of his words as she charged towards the stormtroopers. The lead soldier snapped his head to her and raised a finger in her direction. The others started to raise their blasters as she ignited the twin blue blades of her lightsaber, having modified her weapon into a dual blade in the months since she had joined Kalen. She leaped up into the air, they shifted to take aim at her, and then…

…she came down and her scarlet blade crashed against that of her opponent’s. The Cerean male staggered back and tripped, falling onto his rear. She twirled the weapon around her body as she glared down at the pathetic whelp.

“Get up,” she snarled. “Don’t you want to prove your worth?”

Lightning flashed in the blackened sky above as the people up in the auditorium seats chanted in her favor. The Cerean, his nose broken and bloodied, scrambled to get up, lamely lifting the lightsaber in his hand.

“Give in to your anger,” she told him. “You have no hope of winning otherwise.”

He blinked his eyes rapidly as he took in a few haggard breaths. Then, he charged at her, raising his blade high. As he was about to take a swing at her, she stepped to the side and brought her own saber upwards. The scarlet blade cut through the flesh of his arm and he released a cry of agony as both he and his severed hand fell to the floor.

“Pathetic.” She pointed the blade at his neck. “To think that the Iteration ever saw any potential in you.”

The Cerean simply squeezed his eyes in pain. Up above, the crowd cheered her name, chanting it to the sky.

“REY!”

She snapped back to reality and froze in the middle of raising her double-edged blade. She blinked and looked around her; laying on the floor, severed limbs scattered all about, were the five stormtroopers she had been charging at. Right in front of her, on his knees, was their commander, both of his hands missing as he trembled in fear. She slowly lowered the blade she had been about to decapitate him with and shut it off. Kalen then rushed over to her and grabbed her shoulder.

“We need to go. Now.”

“What… what happened?” She looked around at the carnage she had unwittingly created. “I don’t remember….” Her heart suddenly sank. “I didn’t hurt anyone else, did I?”

“No, mercifully. But we need to leave.”

He pulled her through the now-empty queue that led to their flight, the rest of the would-be passengers having apparently fled during the fight that Rey remembered no details from. Standing there pass the security barrier was a Zeltron attendant who appeared to be frozen in shock.

“Is our flight still prepared?” Kalen asked.

The Zeltron’s eyes went from the defeated stormtroopers to him. “S-sir, I’m not sure—”

“It’s okay. I know the pilot. He understands the urgency of the situation.”

The attendant continued to vocalized half-formed protests as Kalen and Rey continued past her. Rey could not help but sympathize with the woman; she felt as lost about the situation as she was.

They followed the pathways that led to the awaiting StarSpeeder 3000, a blocky transport that bore an assortment of dents and scorch marks, indicating it had been on its fair share of rocky trips. The attendants stationed outside did not say anything to the two of them as they allowed them onto the ship.

Inside the ship were several rows of seats, the latter two of which Kalen and Rey hastily occupied. As they fastened themselves in, an old RX-series pilot droid swiveled his head around, taking stock of the amount of passengers he had… of which there were only two.

“I thought there were supposed to be others to maintain your cover,” the droid said to Kalen.

“Consider our cover blown,” Kalen grunted back.

“That soon? And here I thought I had bad luck.”

“Just shut up and take off.”

As the pilot droid returned to the controls, Rey turned to Kalen, her body beginning to shake as the adrenaline wore off.

“What… what happened back there?”

“You tell me,” he replied without looking at her.

“I… I don’t even know. The last thing I remember, I was charging at them and then… I was somewhere else. It was dark and stormy… and I was fighting some Cerean man.”

Kalen took in a deep breath. “What else do you remember?”

“There… there were others. A crowd, like I was in an arena of some kind. They were chanting my name… except it wasn’t my name, even though it felt like it was.”

He frowned. “What was the name?”

Her mouth suddenly felt dry as she answered. “Kira.”

Kalen was silent for a moment before letting out a deep exhale. “We will talk about this later. Right now, we need to focus on our mission.”

“What even is our mission? You’ve barely told me anything about it.”

“Because it was need-to-know until we got to a secure location. A lot of people needed to pull the right strings to arrange for us to even do this.” He cursed quietly to himself. “I knew having the rendezvous being at a public spaceport of all things was incredibly risky… and it turns out I was right. But this was the only option at the Resistance’s disposal.”

Rey leaned forward in her seat. “But why go through all the risks? What’s so important about the Endor system?”

He glanced at her. “Because one of the Rebellion’s greatest generals is stranded on one of its moons and we need to rescue him.”

*  *  *

“Well, well. Someone certainly made a mess of things here.”

Ochi of Bestoon whistled to himself as he stepped over the bodies of dead stormtroopers. The spaceport had more or less been vacated by now, with only a few frightened attendants and confused security droids left behind. The sole surviving stormtrooper, the one missing his hands, was still on his knees as the assassin approached him.

“It… it was her, sir,” the stormtrooper said shakily. “It was the woman.”

Ochi rolled his eyes. “I know it was, moron. I was watching the whole thing.”

“Then… then why don’t you stop her? She’s getting away!”

“Yes, but she has a new Jedi freak hanging out with her and I haven’t studied his capabilities yet. And that idiot Hux doesn’t trust me with a Star Destroyer, so I don’t have a tractor beam to catch their ship in.” He then smiled. “But don’t worry. I’ve already placed a tracking beacon on their ship. Wherever they go, I’ll know.”

“If you call in backup now, I’m sure someone can intercept them. Besides…” The stormtrooper raised his stumps for arms. “I… I’m going to need a medic.”

“No, you won’t.” Moving swiftly, Ochi unsheathed a dagger, grabbed the stormtrooper by the helmet, and pulled his head back to slit his throat. He then let his body drop lifelessly to the floor as he wiped the blade clean. “But I will call in backup,” he continued to himself, eying the dagger with beady black eyes. “It just won’t be from Hux or any of his ilk. No, I will be calling in some old friends who might want to help me settle old scores. Because this one… this one is going to be personal.”

The dagger whispered its approval to him and he grinned down at it. He then returned it to its sheath before heading for the exit, still whistling to himself.

Star Wars: Vergence VI, Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

 Taris

If Trask Moran had a credichip for every auction of a Sith artifact, he would have had exactly two credichips. It wasn’t much, to be fair, but it was still strange that it had happened twice in the span of a year.

The Tarisian warehouse was a much more secretive and secluded place than the auction house on Ord Talavos had been, and there weren’t nearly as many people present trying to get a bid in. By his count, there were only about half a dozen criminal organizations being represented at the auction, most of them being holdouts from the Malvis Cabal that had collapsed six months ago. There were a few faces he recognized from back when he worked for the Cabal, but for the most part they were all new to him—thanks in no small part to Drakmos’s massacre of the leadership.

Unlike the last auction he and the Snatchers had been present for, this artifact wasn’t at the request of a client but rather the Boss of the Snatchers herself. Trask didn’t know much about this Sith artifact, but he figured it must have been worth quite a bit to get the Boss to emerge from the shadows. Not enough to get her to attend in person, of course, but enough to appear via hologram.

He had not yet activated the holoprojector, but it was ready at his feet, waiting for the auction to officially begin before he turned it on. Some of the other attending parties were doing the same, if their own holoprojectors were any indication. A part of him wished that the all-Rodian Kenu Clan, representing the interests of the Hutt Clans, had attended via hologram as their repugnant aroma was already beginning to fill the room.

As the gathered parties all waited in hushed silence, a pair of Gamorreans came out from one of the warehouse’s storage halls lugging a massive container of some kind, with a piece of cloth draped over it. Trask could not help but raise an eyebrow at that; he hadn’t been expecting this artifact to be so large. How had it escaped anyone’s notice in all this time?

As the Gamorreans set the container down on the floor, a grayish-green Khil stepped forward, rubbing his hands together as he regarded the assembled groups with greedy black eyes. The tendrils hanging from his face quivered as it creased in the rough equivalent of a smile.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming here. My name is Xedar, representative of Cravlov Enterprises.”

Trask knew a front name when he heard one; Cravlov he was pretty sure was a local Tarisian crime lord who lived in the Upper City. This Xedar fellow was likely nothing more than an errand boy who ran his more seedier operations so that he could keep up appearances among the Tarisian elite.

But, that really wasn’t either of his business; it was pretty typical as far as the criminal underworld was concerned. Instead, he took the Khil’s entrance as his cue to switch on the holoprojector at his feet. The life-sized image of the Boss materialized in front of him, projecting the slender form of a golden-skinned Halaisi woman, dressed in a stylish black dress that left her shoulders bare. Her appearance was a somewhat jarring juxtaposition to that of Trask and his fellow Snatchers, all who more or less had the typical roguish appearance of bounty hunters, mercenaries, and pirates. But no one in the room seemed to care about that fact.

“Out of respect for your time,” Xedar went on, “I will not get into too much preamble. Still, I don’t think it would hurt for you all to know the full story of this artifact just so that you fully understand its value.”

He dug into the pocket of his coat and brought out a holoprojector. He set it on top of the covered-up container and switched it on. The shimmering image of the Sith artifact was projected for all to see. It had an almost bug-like shape; its round “head” bore a circle of red orbs that looked almost like eyes, with a spiral-like disk laying within the center. At the top were two tiny pincers, while three tendrils curved on either side of the artifact. Its golden form tapered off at the bottom, creating the shape of a short, sharp tail.

“This,” Xedar began, “is the Muur Talisman. Created nearly seven thousand years ago for the Sith Lord Karness Muur, it is said to have the capability to turn any living being into rakghouls, horrendous creatures of the darkside.”

Trask resisted the urge to yawn. The sales pitches were always the most boring part of these auctions, especially since he never gave a damn about whatever they were selling. The only thing that interested him about this one was the size of the artifact; it didn’t look to be that large in the hologram, yet the box it was supposedly in was large enough to carry a human.

“For thousands of years, the Talisman was lost, until it was unearthed by the Empire sixty-two years ago. Still, the artifact evaded its grasp, as well as that of anyone who sought it. And trust me, there’s a very good reason for that—”

“E chuuta!” interjected one of the Rodians of the Kenu Clan. “We don’t care about any of this! Just give us your price!”

Xedar chuckled. “Ah, but I was just getting to that. You see, the Muur Talisman is not the only thing up for sale. It actually comes with a little bonus….”

With that, he shucked off the cloth that was covering up the container. A series of gasps rang out from the gathered parties and even Trask raised his eyebrows in surprise. The container, as it turned out, was not just any simple box; it was an oubliette stasis casket, with a large piece of glass that gave them all a glimpse of the young human woman laying within. 

“That bonus,” the Khil concluded, “being a living Jedi from the days of the Old Republic!”

*  *  *

“I have a visual of the quarry.”

“And?”

“Shadow was right.”

“Words no one ever wants to hear.”

Any context to her father’s words was lost on Cera Jarsan as she hid in the rafters high above where the auction was taking place. She did find it rather strange that this was about the second time in a year that she was witnessing an auction involving some ancient Sith artifact that a bunch of crime lords wanted for themselves. And to make matters even worse, one of those present was a man who just so happened to be her girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend.

The Force had a very strange way of testing her.

She forced herself to push such thoughts aside as she focused on the task at hand. The sight of the stasis casket and its contents did indeed confirm the intelligence that the Resistance agent Shadow had provided after he had investigated rumors of a Sith artifact being on Taris. Apparently, from what her father Toah had told her, it was an artifact that Shadow himself had had experience with.

Seven years ago, back when Shadow had been an agent for the Glorian Empire, he had come to Taris to locate the Muur Talisman for the purpose of eliminating Sith artifacts. By that point, it had somehow come into the possession of a Bothan Jedi named Dolar Ven’sol who had come to the planet to investigate similar rumors of such an artifact, and the Talisman had taken control of Ven’sol, driving him to unleash a horde of rakghouls. Ven’sol was eventually dealt with and was left for Shadow to deal with it. However, another Glorian agent—one who had gone rogue—interfered with his mission and he had been forced to kill her, but somehow had lost sight of the Talisman.

Cera didn’t think the ex-Glorian’s story fully added up, but it wasn’t her place to poke holes in his story. Not at the moment, anyway. Besides, the artifact that was around the mysterious woman’s neck did indeed match the description of the Muur Talisman… and the woman herself matched the description of the ancient Jedi who, according to recovered Imperial records, had been reawakened by Darth Vader on a desert moon some sixty years ago. That same Jedi had then been encountered by Vader’s son—and her father’s master—Luke Skywalker some twenty years after that. 

Beyond that, there had been no sightings of the woman, not even during Ven’sol’s brief uprising seven years ago. It had been generally assumed by the rest of the Jedi that Ven’sol had either been driven to kill her, or the Talisman itself had done so. Evidently, neither of those had turned out to be the case….

As the assembled crime bosses began shouting out numbers to bid on the artifact, Cera took a moment to assess each group, of which she counted six. For the Snatchers, there was only Trask and four others, none of whom had been there at Ord Talavos as she was pretty sure they had all killed each other. Besides the Kenu Clan, three of the other four organizations being represented were all holdouts from the collapse of the Malvis Cabal: the Tandoon Clan, now led by the Gaar Dranjat; the Open Eye Syndicate once led by Mikus; and the Void Pirates formerly led by Fehkla Gorr. 

The sixth and final group was one Cera had only heard of before but never encountered in her journeys. Comprised of marauders that always wore masks, they seemed to alternate between calling themselves Heralds of the Storm or Heirs of the Nihil; in any case, they seemed to be fashioned after a group of anarchists that had caused a few years of trouble for the Old Republic during the Golden Age, over two centuries before the Clone Wars. Their leader, present only in holographic form, didn’t even show themselves visually, instead being represented by four-sided insignia of the Nihil.

The fact that these guys had decided to attend this auction in particular was significant in Cera’s eyes; she remembered hearing about them being offered a place in the Malvis Cabal on more than one occasion and each time they had rejected it. Them being here now was a definite indicator that this artifact was likely the real deal; if it wasn’t, she imagined there was going to be a lot of bloodshed….

“Sold!” The Khil auctioneer’s voice rang out as his finger pointed directly at the leader of the Open Eye Syndicate, a member of a one-eyed species with pointed ears that Cera did not know the name of. The alien pumped his fist in celebration as the other members of his entourage cheered. The rest of the groups shared disgruntled expressions, while the Nihil wannabees simply stayed perfectly still, holding their weapons aloft.

As the Open Eye leader began to step forward, one of the masked marauders—a Devaronian judging by the horns jutting out from his head—suddenly raised his blaster and fired it at the one-eyed alien. The blaster bolt went straight through the leader’s eyestalk and he crumpled into a lifeless heap on the floor.

“The artifact belongs to us!” the marauder cried out. “Death to all who evade the shadow!”

Before Cera knew it, blaster fire began to ring out from all of the assorted parties and she had to duck to avoid a stray bolt that zipped towards the ceilings. As chaos unfolded below, she heard the comm-piece in her ear intone and she raised a hand to it.

“I hear blasterfire,” her father’s voice came through. “What’s going on?”

“Someone won the auction and nobody’s happy about it,” she replied.

“What do you intend to do?”

She let out her breath in a huff. “What a Jedi is supposed to do, I suppose.” She unclipped her lightsaber hilt from her belt and ignited its emerald blade. “Bring a peaceful resolution to the situation.”

*  *  *

Trask heard the tell-tale sound of a lightsaber turning on, but before he could deduce where it came from, he was knocked to the ground by a Gamorrean falling on top of him. The smell of singed flesh quickly filled his nose and with a grunt he tried to shove the dead porcine’s body off of him but to no avail.

“Mulb!” he cried out. “Get this thing off me!”

A burly Lasat Snatcher leaped towards his position, firing over his shoulder at one of the Rodians. He landed at Trask’s side and pushed the Gamorrean’s corpse off of him before helping him to his feet.

Over the sound of constant blaster fire, Mulb said, “The Boss ain’t gonna be happy about this.”

“She never is,” Trask grunted. “Now let’s get the hell out of here. Can you lift the casket?”

“I might be able to with Zakta’s help.”

“Good. Go get her and haul this thing out of here.”

As Mulb went to go find his Dowutin comrade, Trask caught movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see a young woman—a few years his junior—jump down from the rafters, wielding a green lightsaber in her hand. Her dark eyes locked into his and he felt his heart sink into his stomach as recognition of her face registered in his mind.

He had of course seen the holos and the wanted posters. He knew the bounties that were posted on her head.

But more than that, he knew who she was currently dating.

“Oh, karabast,” was all he could get out before an invisible force sent him flying off his feet. He felt his head collide with one of the storage containers and then everything went out like a light.

*  *  *

The lightsaber hadn’t gotten their attention, but her pushing Trask aside with the Force certainly had. The surviving fighters stopped and all eyes fell on Cera as she stood before them.

“Here is a brilliant idea,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and steady. “How about we all put away our weapons and discuss this like adults?”

“You first,” growled a Dowutin Snatcher. “Switch off your light stick thingy.”

“Wait a minute,” said a three-eyed Gran from the Tandoon Gang. “I recognize her. She’s the Dowager’s daughter!”

“Which one?” asked one of the Void Pirates.

“The one she disowned. The one she posted a huge bounty on.”

Cera rolled her eyes. “The one who isn’t even biologically related to her. Look, can we please just—”

“Is it even possible to cash in the bounty on her?” asked another Tandoon thug. “I’m pretty sure the Dowager’s dead.”

“I hear the Chief of State’s the one who’s offering a payout for her,” chuckled a Rattataki pirate. “Imagine that: even the President of the galaxy wants her out of the picture.”

Cera took in a deep breath, her grip on her lightsaber tightening. Don’t let them get to you, she told herself. They’re trying to make you mad.

They do deserve a good beating though, don’t they?

She closed her eyes in annoyance. There was that damn voice again; the one that had been taunting her since the auction on Ord Talavos. It had been a while since she had last heard it, yet still it persisted. She tried to ignore it—no, she had to ignore it. Remember your training, remember your training.

“Say,” the voice of the Gran thug cut back into her thoughts. “Are you still with that Pantoran lady? Pretty sure she’s an outcast, too.”

“Oh, yeah!” The Rattataki pirate laughed. “That’s the whole reason her momma disowned her—’cos she’s a schutta-lover!” He then gave a leery grin at Cera. “Tell me, is it true what they say about Pantorans? That they taste like—”

Her eyes snapped open and she could watched as the Rattataki’s body went flying straight into the stasis casket. He crashed into it with a loud snap coming from his back. The force of the impact was enough to topple the casket over and there was the sound of glass shattering.

It was only then that Cera realized that her other arm was outstretched. She slowly lowered it as the realization of what she had just done dawned at her.

No. No, no, no….

No longer paying her any mind, the various pirates, thugs, and marauders scurried to get their hands on the casket’s contents, whether it be the Sith artifact or the woman who wore it. The Devaronian marauder was the first to reach it, after shooting the Gran thug between the eyes, and climbed over the toppled container.

“For the eye of the storm, I claim—” The Devaronian suddenly choked on his words as he staggered away from the casket. The others stopped and watched him as he desperately clawed at his neck and face. He grabbed onto the edges of his mask and wrenched it off, revealing a crimson face that was quickly draining of color. Blood leaked from his eyes and mouth as his body started to bend and twist in ways it was not supposed to. His skin bubbled as he ripped off his clothing to expose it, his entire form growing larger with every passing second. His horns broke off as his head morphed into something completely unrecognizable, his mouth now a hideous maw of razor-sharp teeth. Spikes jutted out from his back as the newly formed creature dropped down into a crouch, its small black eyes now searching for prey.

Its gaze fell on the Khil auctioneer and it lunged at him, scratching at his face. Cera could only watch in horror as the Khil went through the same transformation, just as the first creature went after one of the Rodians.

As the other pirates and marauders started to open fire on the emerging mutations, a figure emerged from behind the casket. A tall human woman clad in ancient Jedi armor that exposed some of her pale skin, black hair flowed from her head as her eyes blazed red. Her mouth twisted up into a grin that was as horrifying and inhuman as those of the rakghouls taking shape around her. When she spoke, her voice was intermixed with that of a spirit pulled straight from the depths of Chaos.

“And now, young Jedi, you shall taste the wrath of Karness Muur!”

As one, the rakghouls turned on Cera and, ignoring the ones shooting at them, began to charge at her as she raised her green blade in defense.

Star Wars Destinies Retold: This Evil Reborn, Prologue

    This is a continuation of my extensive rewrite of Destiny I: The New Republic, which began with From the Ashes.

PROLOGUE

 Jakku, thirty years ago

“Wait up, Galli! Wait up!”

The boy did not listen to his friend as he trudged through the sands, keeping the cloths wrapped around his face tight as he marched across the desert. The heat of the sun bore down on him and he was already becoming fatigued by the time he was halfway towards the Plaintive Hand plateau. But still he marched on, determined to reach his destination.

Atop the outcropping of flat rock was a spacecraft unlike any he had seen before on Jakku. There were plenty of vessels that came in and out of Niima Outpost, but they were typically freighters; worn down ships occupied by shady smugglers or dangerous bounty hunters. But this ship was different. It had an elegant look to it, almost regal. Its hull was sleek and silver, its sheen reflecting the blazing sun back into Galli’s eyes. Its color scheme was broken up by red accents and highlights, the most prominent being the nearly-opaque canopy of the cockpit. Its wings were angled and swept back, making it look like a vast predatory bird ready to take off at any moment.

He had no idea what kind of ship it was or where it had came from. But it called to him. It spoke his name.

He wasn’t sure how he had managed it, or how long it had taken, but he had eventually made it to the top of the plateau and was now standing in the shadow of the ship. Several hours must have passed, he realized, as the sun was already beginning to set, heralding the cold of night. He slumped against one of the landing gears, suddenly tired and weak from his deadly trek.

The sound of voices jolted him back to his senses and his dark eyes searched for a hiding spot. He realized that the landing ramp of the ship was lowered, providing him with an opening into the vessel. He looked around for anyone nearby; the voices were drawing nearer but he could not see anyone. Deciding to take the risk, he made a dash for the ramp, his long legs carrying him up the lowered platform. He quickly scoured for a place to hide himself and soon found a compartment that was just barely large enough to fit him.

As he closed himself up into the small compartment, he idly wondered about his friend, whether he had gone back to Niima Outpost to get help. It had never crossed his mind to go back for him and bring him along in his daring escape from this dustball of a planet. He was only concerned for himself and his own wellbeing.

He was going to get off Jakku, no matter what, with or without his friend. He was never going to come back to this planet again.

Within just three minutes of him stowing himself away, he heard the voices grow nearer and nearer, until soon they were just outside his hiding spot. He heard someone raise the landing ramp and he pressed his ear to the wall in order to discern the words they were speaking.

“…begin work immediately,” one voice was saying, belonging to a man. “My only concern is how we will be able to procure the funds without raising suspicion from the Senate.”

“That is no concern,” said a second voice, another man who sounded older and wiser. “I still have frozen assets belonging to my old master that should be able to suffice. The Senate will oblivious to anything happening.”

“Excellent. Is there anything else that needs to be done here?”

“Oh, there is one thing. I don’t suppose it will hurt to leave some of the excavation droids behind to begin work ahead of schedule? Just to ensure that this site is indeed viable for our needs.”

“Of course, my lord. I shall see to it at once.”

Galli heard the sound of movement and his heart caught in his throat as he heard the sound of compartments opening. He then heard the landing ramp lowered again as one of the two men disembarked from the ship. The ramp then raised back up and there was silence for a time.

Then, the second man spoke. “You can come out now.”

Without warning, the hatch to the compartment he was hiding in flew open and he fell out, landing hard onto the deck of the ship. He turned over on his back and stared up at the old man standing over him. Dressed in black robes, with a hood raised over his head, yellow eyes bore down at him as harshly as the sun. Yet when the man spoke, his voice was as cold as ice.

“Did your parents never teach you not to stowaway on strangers’ ships?”

Galli drew himself up, getting up onto his feet, although he was still only a head shorter than the old man. “I don’t have any parents,” he said lamely. “I’m an orphan.”

“Ah. So no one would miss you if you were to die?”

The boy swallowed, his throat feeling parched and it wasn’t just because of thirst. “Are you going to kill me?”

“That depends. How adamant are you on staying aboard this ship?”

Galli squared his shoulders, his dark eyes meeting the old man’s yellow irises. “I don’t want to stay here. I hate it here. I want to leave Jakku and never come back.”

“You’re hardly the only one to carry that sentiment.” The man inclined his head forward and Galli resisted the urge to shrink away in fear. “Tell me, boy; why should I care about your desires? What gives them priority over that of anyone else’s?”

To that, Galli had no answer. His jaw worked for a response but none came. The old man continued to stare at him as he slowly extended a pale hand towards him. The boy braced himself for the worse, only to be surprised when the hand landed softly on his shoulder.

“You have two choices here, my friend,” the old man said, his voice quieter yet still just as harsh. “You can either stay on this ship, in which case you will die… or you can leave, and live.”

Galli felt himself beginning to tremble but still he did not look away. He refused to show fear, even if it was plastered all over his face. “Then kill me,” he said, his voice shaking. “The life I have is not one I wish to live any longer, and if I can’t have anything better than that… then I would rather have death.”

He cursed himself for the tears that were beginning to stream down his face. The old man continued to look down at him… and then, slowly, he smiled.

“My boy,” he said, now speaking as if he were a kind grandfather. “I am already offering you a better life by letting you leave this ship. Better than anything you could possibly imagine.”

Galli blinked as he stared back at him. “W-what do you mean?”

“The work I am doing here on Jakku is of the utmost importance. The fate of the galaxy hinges on its success. If you step back outside, you will have the significant task of ensuring that success. There are excavation droids hard at work now as we speak, and it will be your mission to make sure they do not falter in their task.”

“Excavation droids? What are they excavating?”

“That is not for you to know. Not yet, at least.” The old man smiled at him, but it was not a smile that filled the boy with warmth. “If you do decide to take on this task, then you will follow it to the utmost of your ability. Should you fail or become lazy—and trust me, I will know—then you will have wished you had died here and now. But…” He raised a long, bony finger. “Should you perform your job well, then I will return for you and you will be able to see the rest of the galaxy and live the life you have dreamed of.”

Galli swallowed. “How long will that be?”

“The future is always in motion… but I can give an estimate of five years. In five years, I will return to Jakku and pass judgment on your work. Until then, you will remain here and make sure the droids do their work.” The old man then lowered his hand from Galli’s shoulder. “The choice is yours. Make it wisely.”

Galli closed his eyes as he weighed his options… but truly, it did not take him long at all to make up his mind. It was almost as if the choice had already been made for him.

Before long, he was standing at the edge of the Plaintive Hand, watching as the mysterious ship took off into the sky, carrying its two passengers into the stars he so longed to see for himself. But one day, he would.

Soon, he told himself. Soon.

Star Wars: Vergence VI, Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

 43 ABY

Located within the remote Galactus Nebula, Brodo Asogi was a mystery to most denizens of the galaxy. Inhabited by the secretive Asogians, contact with the Green Planet was rare; natives that departed from their world typically traveled to verdant worlds to collect plant samples which they then brought back to their world for study. Beyond that, Asogians were rarely seen throughout the galaxy; they didn’t even have a presence in the Galactic Senate, although they once had a delegation during the final years of the Old Republic.

Having once been commander of the Imperial Remnant’s Perinn Sector Fleet, Admiral Wred Lortay was familiar with Brodo Asogi to a certain extent. He had never been to the planet, but it was located in the sector he had once been assigned to defend under Moff Lecersen. Having grown up on nearby Valc VII, he vividly recalled a time during his younger years when an Asogian delegate had come to speak with Lecersen’s predecessor, Moff Crowal. He had gotten a glimpse of the alien’s trunk-like body and scrawny neck which retracted in and out of its torso. The sight had horrified him then, and the memory of it only disgusted him now.

His family had long been against the prospect of non-humans playing any role in Imperial affairs, and when the First Order arose to supplant the weak-willed Remnant, he was quick to swear allegiance to the new Supreme Leader. Now, with the Moffs long gone, the Perinn sector was under his jurisdiction, and the Asogians would rightfully know their place in the grander scheme of things.

For the past few years, the First Order had spared Brodo Asogi from its wrath, focusing on more strategic worlds such as those located in the Slice. But as of the other day, he had received orders from the Supreme Leader himself—relayed through one of his emissaries—to venture into the Galactus Nebula to abduct a particular Asogian from the Green Planet so that he could be interrogated. What information the alien supposedly held was not something Lortay had been made privy to, as apparently the Knight of Ren assigned to his station would be doing the interrogation personally. 

But Lortay did not mind being mind being left out of the loop. Any opportunity to see one of those Asogians cower in fear before him was a good one.

Standing on the bridge of his command ship, a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer designated as Necrosis, Lortay watched as a Xi-class light shuttle escorted by four TIE fighters emerged from the Green Planet’s surface and headed up into the hangar bay. He allowed a smirk to cross onto his face for a job well done—not that the Asogians had put up much of a fight being the pacifists they were. His dark elation quickly vanished when he glanced at the Knight of Ren standing to his side, and his nose creased in disgust.

While most of the Knights of Ren, from what he had seen, hid their species with masks and armor, they at least passed for humans which allowed them to blend in among the First Order ranks. But the one assigned to him, a woman named Karis, could not have hid her non-human heritage if she tried. Large green wings extending from her back marked her as a member of some winged humanoid race—likely a Stenax or a S’kytri of some sort. She kept the wings folded to keep them mostly out of sight, but there was simply no hiding such protrusions.

Her face was hidden behind a black mask with a thin red visor. When Lortay turned to look at her, she inclined her head towards him, and he could swear he saw his own reflection in that small crimson window.

“Was the extraction successful?” Karis asked, her voice slightly modified through the helmet’s vocabulator.

“Indeed it was,” Lortay said icily. “I suggest you head down to the interrogation chamber to await the prisoner.” And to get out of my sight, he added silently to myself but did not dare voice aloud. He knew the creature wielded a lightsaber and did not dare cross her, as much as he would have liked to.

Karis stared at him for a moment before nodding slightly. Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel and began to march down the bridge. Lortay watched her go for only a few seconds before sharply turning away as well, unable to bear the sight of her hideous back anymore.

The sooner the galaxy is rid of scum like her, he thought to himself, all the better for it.  

*  *  *

It took everything within Karis’s own power to maintain her composure as she strode through the corridors of the Necrosis. Every stormtrooper she passed tilted their helmeted head slightly towards her, and every officer gave a withering glare in her direction.

She should have been used to such looks by now; the xenophobia inherent within the First Order and its Human High Culture was impossible to ignore. But without the other Knights of Ren—particularly her former master—at her side, the venomous looks had become even more targeted and prominent. She had felt it practically exude from Admiral Lortay when she had been in his presence, which had made her all the more eager to take her leave from the command bridge.

Even within the Knights of Ren she had never been particularly liked by the others; her presence was only tolerated because she had been apprenticed to their master Kylo Ren. But ever since her master had went missing six months ago, the rift between her and the others had only widened. After their endeavor on Mandalore, Vicrul Ren—their new leader—had recommended that she be assigned to the First Order forces stationed in the New Territories. Ostensibly, it was to spread their reach across the Outer Rim as the First Order made its push towards conquering the galaxy. But Karis knew the real reason: They wanted her gone, but found her too valuable to simply kill or dispose of. They were likely betting on the fact that she would get overwhelmed by some Resistance force or Jedi strike team and end up perishing in the process, ridding them of the burden she was to them.

She involuntarily flexed her hands, barely tempering the rage building within her. She would not give them that satisfaction. She would prove her worth by carrying out the Supreme Leader’s will, even if she had to do it alone and without anyone’s support. She at least had a lightsaber, something which the others—save for Kylo—did not have until Vicrul got his hands on the Darksaber.

As she understood, leadership of the Knights of Ren was claimed by whoever carried a red lightsaber—the “Ren” they called it. Named for the former Sith acolyte that had established the Knights nearly two centuries ago, the Ren had passed down from master to master; if it was ever destroyed, then it was always rebuilt or replaced, as Kylo Ren had done when he had taken control fifteen years ago. With both him and the saber he carried now gone, she was now the one with the red blade… but apparently, that did not qualify her for mastery. Instead, the Supreme Leader had given that honor to Vicrul after he had claimed the ebony blade of the Mandalorians.

She wasn’t exactly sure what it was that made them distrust her. Like many of them, she had been recruited by whoever was the current Master of the Knights; for her, it had been Kylo, while for them it had been Kylo’s predecessor. She knew that some of them—Vicrul especially—had their grievances with Kylo, but was that enough to explain their distaste for her? She didn’t think her being a non-human had anything to do with it, as she was pretty certain some of them came from non-human races themselves. Were they simply threatened by her power? Her skills? Or was it something else?

She was still unable to reach a plausible explanation by the time she reached the interrogation chamber. She forced herself to put such thoughts aside as she stepped into the darkened room, instead focusing her attention on the other occupants.

Two stormtroopers had just finished strapping the Asogian to the interrogation seat. It was an awkward fit for the alien, with his squarish head barely fitting within the collar and his long arms hanging uselessly to the side. Along with the stormtroopers was the First Order officer that had procured the prisoner. The pale-skinned woman eyed Karis warily with icy blue eyes before glancing back at the Asogian, her pointed nose wrinkling in disgust.

“I have not been able to extract much information from it,” the officer said. “I trust that your efforts will prove more fruitful.”

It, Karis noted. Not him, her, or them. Just it. That was how non-humans were regarded here, just as they had been at the height of the Empire’s reign.

Pushing her thoughts back again, Karis nodded curtly to the officer. “Thank you, lieutenant. I will not be long.”

With a dismissive sniff, the officer strode out of the chamber. The two stormtroopers trailed behind her, taking guard positions just outside the door as it closed behind them.

Now left alone with the prisoner, Karis turned her gaze to the Asogian. He stared at her with wide blue eyes, his whole body trembling with fear.

This was the only time anyone regarded her with any form of respect. When they were at her mercy.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she began to pace around the interrogation seat, keeping her gaze trained on the Asogian from behind her visor. “Do you know why you’re here?”

The prisoner swallowed hard, his long, thin neck rippling from the motion. “No,” he croaked, his voice shuddering. “Please… don’t hurt….”

“No harm will come to you if you give me the answers I seek.” Karis wasn’t sure if she was lying or not. “First, tell me your name.”

The Asogian hesitated at first before speaking. “Zr…Zrek.”

“Zrek,” she echoed. “The same Zrek who now serves as chief of the agricultural sector on Brodo Asogi?”

“Y-yes,” the prisoner stammered.

“The same Zrek who, after the Clone Wars, partook in a venture that was ostensibly a botany mission to the Unknown Regions but was, in fact, an extragalactic voyage?”

To this, the Asogian fell silent, his thin lips quivering as he kept them sealed. Karis came back around the seat and leaned in towards the smaller alien, bringing her masked visage close to his face.

“It’s a simple enough question, Zrek,” she hissed. “Sure, the Empire forbade the extragalactic mission that Senator Grebleips had funded, which would have made you a criminal for having partaken in it. But the Empire is gone now, and the First Order is not looking to punish those who broke its laws. Especially when it’s been nearly sixty years.” She slowly lowered her hand to the lightsaber which hung from her belt. “So there is no harm in telling me, is there?”

She put a little bit of the Force into her words, planting seeds of fear within the Asogian’s mind under the guise of reassurance. Zrek swallowed again before blinking his wide blue eyes. “No harm,” he echoed in that croaky voice of his.

“Right.” Karis leaned away from him and resumed making her rounds. “Besides, in the time that has elapsed since your… unsanctioned voyage, plenty of contact has been made with territories that lay beyond the known galaxy. Much is known already of the Nagai and the Tofs from the satellite galaxies. So you should be able to tell me, Zrek, if you succeeded in your voyage or not.”

Zrek took in a haggard breath before releasing it in a loud sigh. “Yes. We succeeded.”

She paused in her steps, her head snapping to him. “You reached another galaxy?”

“Yes.”

“Was it one of the satellite galaxies? The Rishi Maze or what the Nagai call Firefist?”

“No.” Zrek closed his eyes. “Far, far away.”

She gripped the edge of the interrogation seat as she leaned in close to him again. “And what did you find there?”

The Asogian took another moment to respond. “Life.”

“Sapient life? Or plant life?”

The smallest of smiles touched the prisoner’s lips, almost as if he was reminiscing. “Both.”

“Both?” Karis could not believe what she was hearing. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the Asogian was simply so old that he had become plagued with dementia or senility. But still, she continued her questioning. “Did you document any of the species you found there? Or take a sample of their plant life?”

“Yes,” Zrek answered her. “Plant life added to the Great Gardens. Information recorded to the Galactical Encyclopedia.”

So the information was verifiable, at the very least. She doubted the leaders of Brodo Asogi would add any information to their great database if it came from the delusions of a madman. And if that was the case, then it meant the knowledge she sought—what the Supreme Leader sought—was just within reach. But she needed to hear the prisoner say it before she could report back to the Supreme Leader and authorize a takeover of the Green Planet.

“Give me the information you added to the Encyclopedia,” she demanded. “What kind of species did you encounter? What did they call their planet?”

Again, the prisoner hesitated. Zrek turned her eyes to her, his mouth drooping down into a frown. “No harm.”

“Yes, yes, no harm will come to you if you just tell me—”

“To them.”

Karis frowned behind her mask. “To them?”

“If I tell you,” the Asogian continued, “swear to me that you will bring no harm to the world I found or its people.”

She stared at him, grateful for her mask as it meant he could not see the conflicting emotions warring on her face. She could promise him that she would not personally bring harm to the planet that he had discovered in his mission… but she could say the same for the First Order in general once she delivered this information to the Supreme Leader.

It was an easy enough lie, and yet for some reason she had difficulty in saying it. “I swear to you,” she murmured, her modified voice masking its lack of sincerity.

Zrek continued to stare at her, his eyes suddenly pensive as if he were trying to study her like a plant in one of his gardens. “You hurt,” he started to say.

“I will not hurt you or—”

“You hurt yourself.” He tried to lift one of his long arms, his movement restricted by the bands around the spindly limb. The tip of his index finger began to glow. “Darkness plagues your heart. Your heart—your mind—is sick.”

She leaned away from him, taking a few steps back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know me.”

His lips twitched back into a small smile. “Know enough. Let me heal you.”

“I don’t need healing.” Karis unclipped her lightsaber from her belt and ignited its scarlet blade. “Now tell me everything you know about the planet you found, and its people. Or else I will hurt you… and them.”

The Asogian sighed as he shook his head. “I will tell you, but you can do nothing with the knowledge.”

“Out with it then,” Karis snarled.

And so he told her. And with each word he spoke, Karis found herself falling more and more into disbelief… until eventually, she circled back into the realization that everything he was telling her was true.

And that the galaxy itself would collapse from even trying to fathom the truth.

When he was done, she shut off her lightsaber and made her way for the door, leaving the Asogian there. As she stepped outside, she found the human officer waiting for her, an expectant look in those cold blue eyes.

“Well?” the officer asked, sounding more than a bit impatient.

“Patch me through to the Supreme Leader,” she ordered. “I’ve found what he’s looking for.”

*  *  *

Light years away, aboard the flagship of the First Order itself, Vicrul Ren bowed before the Supreme Leader, his helmeted head angled towards the pristine floor. His heart thrummed against his chest as he maintained his breathing, putting on a facade of composure in order to mask his growing sense of impatience.

He had counted them; ten full minutes had passed so far since he had entered the Supreme Leader’s throne room, taken a knee, and spoken the words he had wanted to say for the last six months—if not longer than that.

“Teach me the ways of the dark side.”

Snoke had simply sat there in his throne after he had said this, scraping under his nails as he allowed those words to hang in the air. Vicrul knew that the Supreme Leader had heard him and so he did not dare repeat himself. But he also did not want to be kneeling in this position for much longer….

Finally, at the twelve minute mark, the silence was mercifully broken by the Supreme Leader’s deep, gravelly voice. “What makes you believe you are worthy of my knowledge?”

Vicrul lifted his head up. “I am the Master of the Knights of Ren. You taught Kylo Ren, and the Ren before him—”

“The Ren you originally served was not my student,” Snoke interjected. “He was an asset, yes, but never my student.”

Vicrul bristled from the correction. “In any case, I have served the Knights of Ren—served you—for many years. I have accomplished so much more than the others. More than even Kylo.” 

He unclipped a rectangular hilt from his belt and pressed the ignition switch. The black blade of the Darksaber extended from the emitter. The red-clad Praetorian Guards that flanked the throne tensed up but Snoke raised a hand to belay them from moving.

“I have claimed the Mandalorians’ mantle of leadership,” Vicrul went on. “Mandalore is now rightfully mine to rule.”

Snoke arched a hairless eyebrow. “Do you consider yourself a Mandalorian?”

Vicrul hesitated. “No. I am more than that—I am a Knight of Ren. But without their precious symbol, their clans are scattered and powerless. In only six months, their numbers have been spread thin as we’ve broadened our attack on their worlds. It won’t be long before the legacy of the Mandalorian Crusaders is nothing but ash.”

“And what then? What use will Mandalore be to you after that?”

Vicrul said nothing as he shut off the Darksaber, retracting its ebony blade. Slowly, Snoke arose from his throne, clasping his hands behind his back as he approached him.

“You have indeed pleased me with your latest accomplishments, Vicrul Ren,” the Supreme Leader said. “But that alone is not enough to make you worthy of becoming my apprentice. Kylo Ren was much stronger in the dark side and had the legacy of Darth Vader—and by extension the Sith Order—behind him. What do you have?” His disfigured face twisted into a sneer. “A desolate world that has been forgotten by all.”

Vicrul tightened his grip around the Darksaber’s hilt. “My being from Hattaska means nothing. My past means nothing. What matters is what I achieve in the here and now. That is what makes me worthy.”

“We shall see.” Snoke made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Let us see how your campaign against the Mandalorians proceeds from here. Then perhaps I will reconsider. But until then, you are simply my servant—not my student.”

Vicrul could feel his anger boiling but he tampered down his emotions. Without a word, he rose to his full height and, after a moment, reattached the Darksaber to his belt.

Just as he was about to leave, one of Snoke’s purple-robed attendant approached and whispered something to the Supreme Leader. Snoke’s eyebrows raised again before he gave the attendant a slight nod. “Put her on.”

Suddenly, a blue figure materialized in front of Vicrul and he quickly took a step back. It took him a minute to recognize the shape as that of his fellow Knight of Ren; Kylo’s former apprentice Karis. Her large green wings were folded at her back as she took a knee in front of Snoke.

“Supreme Leader, we have successfully captured the Asogian known as Zrek,” the S’kytri woman said. “I have just finished interrogating him.”

Snoke smiled down at the hologram. “Excellent. And what information have you gleaned from his mind?”

Karis was slow in responding, as if she was considering her words. When she spoke, she almost sounded as if she wasn’t believing what she was saying—not because she was lying, but she was truly in disbelief. “He confirms what you have suspected, Supreme Leader. The Asogians were successful in traveling to another galaxy. Not one of the satellites, but one that is truly far away from our own. More than that, he said that the world he found there was home to humans.”

Vicrul did a double-take at those words. Humans? In another galaxy?

Snoke, for his part, did not at all seem to be surprised. Instead, he simply grinned back at the S’kytri Knight. “Excellent work, Karis. This information will be quite fruitful for our future endeavors. Tell Admiral Lortay to send his forces down to Brodo Asogi to acquire one of the Asogians’ exploration vessels so that its hyperspace capabilities may be examined in detail.”

“Of course, Supreme Leader. Is there anything else you require of me?”

“Not yet. Stand by until further notice, and report to me when Admiral Lortay is finished with his task.”

“As you wish, my liege.”

With that, Karis’s hologram dissolved and Vicrul was left staring in the space where she had been. He then looked back up at Snoke as the tall despot sat back down in his throne, a satisfied smirk on his face.

“That,” the Supreme Leader said pointedly, “is who your competition is. Keep that in mind.”

Vicrul could only glare back at Snoke through the visor of his mask before turning sharply on his heel and marching down to the turbolift. As he fumed in silence, he vowed to himself that he would do everything in his power to prove himself superior to his supposed “competition.”

Even if it meant eradicating it personally. 

Transformers Regenerated: Beyond Imagination IV, Epilogue

EPILOGUE

  “The paradox lives. Our creation has failed.”

In the realm that laid beyond all of reality, the entities known as the Vok convened, their shapeless forms swirling endlessly through the void.

“Correction,” a second one said. “We have failed. Lord Imperious was much a part of us as we were of him. He was more than just an emissary; he was the culmination of the history and culture we left behind.”

“Do not allow yourself to fall into such worthless concepts as sentimentality,” the first one chided the other. “We are above such feelings now. We must focus on what is important, and that is the fate of all of reality.”

“Indeed,” the second one bemoaned. “Because of the paradox’s continued existence, the order of the universe remains fragile. Even with the gates that had been opened by the Timemazes now closed, the curtain that separates this reality from the rest remains fragile. Even as we speak, those who have traveled through time and between realities before seek to do so again.”

“Yes, but you yourself said that their intentions were noble.”

“That I did… and that they needed to be dealt with. Otherwise, realities will continue to collide. Past and future will merge with the present. Everything will collapse.”

“But what can we do to prevent it? Our sole remaining emissary is the one called Tigerhawk. Is he alone capable of stopping what is to come?”

“No. Not by his own hand. But perhaps he can influence the events that are to come so that they result in the desired outcome.”

“Indeed. Perhaps a more subtle approach is required, rather than the direct and overt approach that we took with Lord Imperious.”

“Correct. The dark one continues to slumber within the earth, biding his time. He is the key to their extinction. Our emissary will ensure that his heralds succeed in their objectives, perhaps even joining their ranks to see things to fruition.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” The other Vok cackled. “And through him we can observe everything fall into place. Their oblivion will be much more gratifying to watch.”

“That it will, that it will.”

And so again the Vok laughed over their plans for the future, their voices heard by none, as a universe oblivious to their machinations carried on with its existence.

Transformers Regenerated: Beyond Imagination IV, Chapter Ten

TEN: TO ASHES WE TRANSFORM

 The Nemesis

“All hail Megatron! All hail Megatron!”

The chants of the assembled Decepticons echoed all throughout the bridge, carrying the same level of enthusiasm that was typically only held by the likes of Lugnut. Even Astrotrain and those who had joined Starscream in his attempted mutiny joined in, cowed by what they heard of how Megatron had destroyed Lord Imperious (corroborated by Starscream himself). Starscream, for his part, did not join in the chanting but remained close to the front of the crowd, his arms folded as he watched everything and everyone closely.

Sitting in his command chair like it were a throne, Megatron basked in the glory of his victory. For the first time since embarking on his mission to reunite his scattered armies and settle the score with the Destructons, he felt fully in control of his empire—something which he had not felt in three years.

Of course, this victory was only the first step towards the ultimate end goal. There were still more than needed to be done… and he would waste no time in getting to them.

After allowing another few minutes full of chants to go by, he silently raised a hand and the entire bridge went silent. All eyes were on him now, waiting expectantly for him to speak.

“Today,” he began, “is a day that will forever go down in history. Today marks the full reunification of the Decepticon Empire and the final defeat of the Destructons, bringing an end to a campaign that should have ended long ago.”

Another round of cheers broke out. Once it had settled down, Megatron continued. “But the work has only just begun. The Destructons were just one of only many obstacles that stand in our way towards complete and utter victory. The Autobots remain an ever-present nuisance, and the organic world they so desperately try to protect now carries within it the soul of our foretold destroyed: the Chaos Bringer himself, Unicron.”

“Traitors to our race!” Lugnut bellowed, and several others echoed him.

Megatron smirked. “Indeed. Now, I have heard whispers that Primus himself walks among them and perhaps even wears the Autobot badge. But those same whispers claim that our species were created by the organic mercantile race known as the Quintessons.”

More than a few Decepticons jeered at the idea and made sounds of disgust.

“I shouldn’t need to tell you, of course, that you are being deceived. The Autobots are desperately trying to change the narrative in order to hold onto what little power they have. But we know the truth. Decepticons we may be, but I speak only the truth now. Those who dwell now on the planet they call Earth have forever been infected by the evil of the Chaos Bringer. They stand for the eradication of our race, just as the Destructons had.

“But we will not let them succeed. No longer shall we allow the Autobots to fool us into a false peace. Their order shall fall. Earth will be destroyed, and with it the dark god that inhabits it. And Cybertron shall be ours!”

The bridge erupted in uproar once more, dozens of voices cheering and chanting his name. It took several minutes for them to settle down again, and only then did Megatron resume speaking.

“But before we begin… there is one more thing I must address, just so that all of our affairs are in order. Air Commander Starscream, would you step forward?”

A hushed silence descended upon the crowd as all eyes turned now to the gray, red and blue Seeker. Starscream shifted uncomfortably before wordlessly stepping to the forefront. He kept his head tilted forward slightly in reverence, although whether it was genuine or not was impossible to tell. Not that it mattered.

“I am yours to command, Lord Megatron,” Starscream started to say.

“Spare me.” Megatron rose abruptly from his seat, his mighty form casting a shadow over the Seeker. “Do not think for an instant that you have been absolved for your transgressions.”

Starscream snapped his head up to him, fear and defiance fighting for dominance on his face. “My liege, I fully acknowledge the error I have made. I was wrong to presume you to be unfit for leadership; you more than proved yourself in getting rid of the Destructons. I hereby pledge myself to—”

“Your pledges mean nothing,” Megatron snarled. “How long before you perceive another misstep? Or before you become plagued with more delusions of grandeur? Will you remain loyal to me then, or engineer another mutiny?”

Starscream started to back away, attempting to retreat into the crowd. He bumped into Astrotrain, who merely shoved him back towards Megatron.

“Please,” the Seeker stammered pathetically. “Everything I did was for the benefit of the Decepticon Empire. I want the same things you do! I—”

“That you do,” Megatron replied. “Which is why I cannot afford to have you around any longer.”

Starscream gaped at him as he raised his fusion cannon. Behind him, the crowd of Decepticons slowly began to part, as if to anticipating what was to come.

“An example must be made, Starscream,” the Decepticon leader intoned. “That is the burden all great leaders must carry.”

Starscream’s pleas and protests were drowned out by the sound of the fusion cannon discharging. The blast of energy punctured straight through his chest and knocked him off his feet. His body hit the deck with a loud clang, slid on its back for a few feet, then went still. All present watched as the red and blue colors of his armor plating slowly faded into black and white hues. The lights behind his optics flickered before extinguishing, leaving only black windows into an empty shell of a machine.

The assorted Decepticons stared at his lifeless body for a moment before slowly turning back to face Megatron. The Decepticon leader retook his seat, a content expression on his face.

“See to it that his remains are disposed of properly. I no longer want his presence sullying this ship.” He then turned his gaze to Flatline, who stood among the crowd. “Once we have reached New Kaon, I want you to get to work on restoring Trypticon to full operational status. You may need to create a new… conduit since we’ve lost Full-Tilt.” A dark smile touched his lips. “I believe the one who calls himself Megastorm will do. I do not need any more imitators on this ship, physical or otherwise, but he is loyal enough to still be of some use.”

Flatline bowed his head. “Your will shall be fulfilled, Lord Megatron.” 

“See to it that is. A new age is upon us, my fellow Decepticons. Once the Autobots have been wiped out, Cybertron will again experience a golden age… and the rest of the universe shall quake in fear of my power!”

This time, he did nothing to silence the cheers and chants that shook the bridge. After so many years of stagnation and defeats, he felt that they had earned themselves this moment.

As he settled back into his throne, he looked upon his army as they showered him with praise and reverence. Where mere years ago he would have rejected or dismissed such expressions, now he welcomed it.

Besides, it was all he could focus on to ignore the fact that the apparition of Shockwave stood among them, watching him silently as the cheers went on and on…

*  *  *

It felt so strange to be back at the bottom again.

Were anyone to look at him, it was as if the past several hours hadn’t even happened. He thought that him being an unwitting participant to Starscream’s short little rebellion would have resulted in punishment, yet no one had come to deliver it. He thought that maybe him assisting Megatron in fighting the Destructons would have resulted in some sort of promotion, yet no one had come to extend such an offer.

Instead, Krok was back where he had started: working sanitation duties aboard the Nemesis.

Perhaps it was the best outcome. Had he been promoted, he would have had to compete with others vying for Megatron’s favor, and that was simply not anything he had any patience for.

At the very least, Nickel had offered to visit him more frequently whenever she could, if only to give him some company. And if he was being honest, that was more than he could have ever asked for.

As he approached the Nemesis’ garbage disposal unit and prepared to open it, Krok heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He turned around and was briefly taken aback by the sight of Spinister. The tall purple and blue Decepticon towered over him, carrying some black and gray husk over his shoulder. Krok was about to say something to his former comrade but stopped himself, remembering what Nickel had told him.

They might as well be newborn bots.

Letting out a sigh, Krok said, “Can I help you?”

Spinister grunted as he unceremoniously dropped the weight he had been carrying. Krok nearly jumped back in alarm as he saw that the husk was in fact a corpse. But it wasn’t just anyone’s corpse.

It was Starscream’s.

“Make sure there’s nothing left of him,” Spinister said, already turning to walk away. “Megatron doesn’t want him around anymore.”

Krok looked down at the Seeker’s lifeless body, and for once he couldn’t exactly fault his leader for feeling that way.

Not giving it any more mind, he opened the garbage disposal unit and, with all of his strength, lifted the husk up and over the opening. He waited until he heard it hit the bottom. Then, he got rid of the rest of the trash he had been assigned to take care of. Once he was done, he closed the unit and pressed the command panel. He then propped himself against the wall, folding his arms as he began whistling a small tune to himself, waiting for the work to be done.

*  *  *

“You still have no idea where we are?”

“Give me a minute, will ya’?” Foldspace snapped. “I’m still trying to triangulate our position!”

“It’s been seven hours!” Spacewarp cried out, her voice echoing throughout the desolate sea of sand that surrounded her. In the sky above, night was turning into day as a pair of suns began to ascend from over the horizon. And in all of that time, it felt as if she and her Mini-Con companions—which now only consisted of Foldspace and the three she had picked up on Combatron—hadn’t made any progress in journey.

“Yeah, well, these stars don’t look like any I’ve seen before. Their arrangement don’t match anything in my stellar database.”

“Then we’ll have to go into orbit to see if we can warp to somewhere more familiar.” Spacewarp winced as she rotated her injured arm. By this point, the armor plating had completely dissolved, leaving only a skeletal frame. “Hopefully I can still transform in this condition….”

“Even if you can, we can’t warp anywhere. We’ve lost the—”

“I know!” Spacewarp sighed in defeat. “I know.” She dropped herself to the ground, not even caring about the coarse sand getting into the cracks in her armor. “I’m sorry, Foldspace, I just… I’ve never felt this lost before. Normally I’d be excited by an unknown planet like this, but after what just happened, I… I just feel defeated.”

Climbing over shoulder, the green Mini-Con known as Grip-Lock pointed up towards the sky. “Well, it looks like Skysickle and Thunderstick are back from their recon. Took ‘em long enough…”

Spacewarp looked up as the two Mini-Con fliers came down from the brightening sky, having been sent out to explore ahead five or so hours ago. They transformed and landed at her feet, both of them wearing concerned looks on their faces.

“Well?” she said expectantly. “What did you boys find?”

Skysickle released a string of binary, which Thunderstick translated. “Looks like there’s a spaceport of some kind about fifty hics from here. This planet is definitely inhabited, with all kinds of species. Can’t say I recognize any… but then again, we haven’t really gotten out much in the last several centuries….”

“That’s fine. Did you at least capture any visuals on the spaceport? Just to give me an idea of what we have to work with?”

“Oh, yeah.” Thunderstick slapped his maroon partner on the back. “Show her, ‘sickle.”

Skysickle obliged and projected a holographic image of the spaceport from his optics. Spacewarp watched it closely as the Mini-Con zoomed in on the image, showing her as much detail as he had been able to capture without getting sighted. There were definitely a lot of organics, and even some machines that were about Mini-Con sized or smaller, although they appeared to be not as independent as Cybertronians were. But what really caught her attention was the appearance of a certain kind of organic species… a kind that appeared to be plentiful on this planet.

“That’s weird,” she murmured. “Those look like humans.”

“What’s a human?” asked Grip-Lock.

“An organic species from a little planet called Earth. The Autobots are friendly with them.” Spacewarp tapped her chin. “Problem is that… I don’t think the humans are capable of interstellar travel yet. I mean, they’ve been to their moon, but they haven’t gotten to the point of setting foot on other planets in their solar system, let alone other star systems.”

“Well, maybe they’re not humans,” Foldspace suggested. “They could be Femaxians.”

“Nope. Too small to be Femaxians. And not as barbaric-looking.”

“Well, remember that one guy who shrunk you down to Mini-Con size? He had like a time machine or something? Maybe they’re members of his species.”

“I don’t think so, old timer. I’m pretty sure they’re just plain ol' humans. Sometimes the simplest answer is the most—”

Before she could finish, a blast of electricity struck her in the back. Her joints instantly seized up as she lurched forward and fell face-first into the ground. Foldspace and the other Mini-Cons scattered as a sleek, silver-plated figure came down from the sky, landing on top of Spacewarp’s back. In one arm he carried a blaster rifle of some kind, which he pointed at the back of her head, while in the other he held a pistol which he trained on Foldspace and the other Mini-Cons.

“No sudden movements,” the mechanical being intoned. His face was fully covered by a mask that was almost featureless save for a t-shaped black visor that broke up the chrome of his helm. “I can either bring you in warm… or I can bring you in cold.”

Spacewarp winced from the pressure of her assailant’s foot. “Do as he says, guys,” she muttered. “I’m starting to get the impression we’re far away from anything we can consider home. Far, far away….”

*  *  *

In a more familiar galaxy, Nemesis Prime stood in the center chamber of the Winged Moon. Around him, the mercenaries from Doubledealer’s crew got to work at the various work stations, trying to figure out how to operate the mobile satellite. Amidst them was Termagax, still trapped within her shield after one of the mercenaries had managed to hack into the systems to prevent it from lowering it, making her a prisoner now.

But Termagax didn’t act like a prisoner. In fact, she seemed rather pleased by her current predicament.

“You are him, aren’t you?” she spoke up at last, having studied Nemesis and his crew in silence for the past several hours. “You are the Arisen.”

“I already told you who I am,” Nemesis replied, not turning to look at her. “My name is Nemesis Prime.”

“Yes, but as a Prime you must be aware of the Thirteen; the ones whose legacy you carry. It has long been foretold that the thirteenth of the Primes—he who would arise from the ashes of his predecessors—would return to Cybertron and lead it to a new golden age. All surviving records of his physical appearance describe a figure much like yourself.”

Nemesis Prime slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder at her, his red optics flashing briefly. “You’ve been out of the loop for a long time, haven’t you? Your so-called ‘Arisen’ has already shown himself, and is nothing more than an ordinary ‘bot. None of the Thirteen were the deities that people like you professed them to be.”

Termagax shrugged. “Perhaps you are correct. Indeed, I have been away for some time. I didn’t even know who the current Prime was until today; when I left Cybertron, the pretender Zeta Prime had claimed the title. But, please, tell me something.”

“If it’ll get you to shut up, sure.”

“The explorer… the one you just sent away… she had mentioned Optimus Prime.” Termagax stepped up to the shield, her face mere inches away from it. “That was the name Sentinel and I had selected for my former student’s ward. He was built in the spitting image of the Arisen, despite coming from a cold construction facility. My student saw this as a sign from Primus, as did Sentinel Prime and myself. We thought for sure he would become the Prime we needed to unify Cybertron and bring our society into an age of prosperity. So tell me… did he succeed?”

For a long time, Nemesis Prime simply stared at her, his face betraying none of his thoughts. When he did finally speak, his tone was low, quiet enough so that only Termagax could hear him.

“No. He hasn’t. In the near millennium that has passed, he has accomplished nothing of the sort.” He then tilted his head, a wicked gleam in his scarlet optics. “But not to worry, for you are correct about one thing… from a certain point of view. I may not be the Arisen mentioned in the legends, but I am… connected to Optimus Prime. I would not exist were it not for him. But in every place Optimus Prime failed, I plan on succeeding.” He lifted up the Transwarp Blaster in his hands. “This is only just one piece to the puzzle of that future success. There are two others that need to be found, at which point I will be ready to set things in motion.”

Termagax raised an optic ridge with intrigue, a small smile coming upon her face. “You speak in riddles. I think I like you already, regardless of who—or what—you are.”

Nemesis Prime chuckled. “Then perhaps this is the beginning of a long and fruitful alliance.” 

He made a gesture to one of the mercenaries, who then pressed a command at their work station. The shield around Termagax and her platform dissolved, allowing her to step down and stand in front of the dark Prime. He extended a hand to her and she took it, giving it a firm shake.

“Now then,” Nemesis said. “Are you ready to make history?”

“As opposed to being a part of it?” Termagax grinned—her first true smile in nearly a thousand years. “Yes. Yes, I am.”