Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VII, Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

--Nolvarion system--

    "This is C-308 to base. Do you read me? Over."

    Static roared over the comm. The bot formerly called Doubledealer frowned as he readjusted the radio settings. He had just dropped out into the Nolvarion system, which was where he had been told the Autobot Secret Service was located in. Not unlike Outpost Two, the base was virtually invisible and only its agents and affiliates had their encrypted frequency.

    Why then, with him so close to HQ, was there interference? Had they relocated while he had been gone? Surely he would have been informed....

    As he continued to work the comm, he glanced out the viewport of his ship. While at first he saw nothing but open space, stars twinkling against a black backdrop. But then something caught his eye: the gleam of an object that definitely was not a star. And it was getting larger by the minute.

    He made a quick scan of the approaching object and found it to be a Cybertronian ship: a Unitrex model registered by the Autobots no less than three weeks ago. Perhaps this was where the Secret Service had relocated, although he found it strange they were out in the open.

    Nevertheless, it was better than nothing. He advanced towards the ship even as he started to tap into their frequency.

--The Lost Light--

    "Does anyone have any idea where we are?"

    "Looks like the Nolvarion system," Mainframe replied, reading the data on his console. "Closest planet is Nolvara Minor... I say planet, I actually mean moon: the actual planet, Nolvara Prime, is a gas giant, so no point in going there."

    "Anything you can give me about it?" Hound said, shifting in the command chair.

    "Um, very little," Mainframe said, as he scrolled through the data. "It was claimed by the Galran Khanganete in Cycle 7830, but no activity from them has been recorded since then. Population equals zero."

    Hound rubbed the ridge of his nose and sighed, dreading the answer to his next question. "And how far are we from Caminus?"

    "Let me put it this way: it would take you a shorter amount of time to read the unabridged version of the Autobot Code than it would be for us to get back to Caminus."

    Hound groaned in exasperation. "Scrap. And we're not exactly high on fuel, are we?"

    "The closest refueling station is on Technos, two thousand parsecs from here," Mainframe said. "Not sure if we've got enough juice to make it there, but--"

    "Ahem." Blaster turned in his seat to look up at Hound. "Sorry to interrupt, but someone's hailing us."

    "Really?" Hound looked out the viewport, seeing nothing but the distant world of Nolvara Prime. "I don't see anything."

    "He says his ship is cloaked," Blaster replied. "He also claims to be an Autobot and is requesting permission to board."

    Hound frowned. "This sounds sketchy. Ask him why he's out here."

    Blaster did so, speaking with the other bot over private radio. He then turned back to Hound and said, "He says he's not willing to divulge such information with anyone but the Chief."

    Hound blinked. "Who the heck is the chief?"

    "Ain't that the question," Blaster said wryly. "So what's the word?"

    Hound was silent for a moment in contemplation. He then said, "Let him on board, but dispatch a security detail to surround the ship. Make sure Brawn is with them in case something needs to be blown up."

    While Blaster went to work, Mainframe turned back to him. "So, once he's on board and everything -- and provided nothing needs to be blown up -- do you want me to make the jump to Technos? Our fuel's only at eighteen percent, but I might be able to manage it."

    "We don't seem to have any other choice," Hound muttered. "The only alternative is to end up a floating hunk in space with no one to call. If you have any other ideas, let me know."

    Mainframe stared at him blankly. "So... is that a yes?"

    Hound sighed, rubbing his helm again. "Yes, Mainframe. That is a yes."

--Outpost Two--

    "So he got away with your ship."

    "Yes, sir," Vivisector said, staring at the ground as he stood before Magnificus.

    The latter Decepticon did not move from his spot, continuing to stare out at the raging battle outside. "And with the capsules?" he asked.

    "All but one," Vivisector said. "The seal was damaged when I dropped it. Oil Slick is working on fixing it now."

    "And how many capsules were there?"

    "I had just finished work on the seventh one when the Troobians arrived. Doubledealer has six of them now."

    "I can do the math, Vivisector," Magnificus retorted, whirling around to face the science officer. "Which brings me to my next point: why were you planning to leave?"

    An explosion rocked the station. Vivisector barely flinched as he stared at Magnificus. "I can give you two reasons."

    "We are in no danger," Magnificus said. "Both the Troobians and the Sirians are more focused on their fight than on us."

    "Which is exactly why we should leave!" Vivisector exclaimed. "They're not going to care if we get caught in the crossfire. Any minute now, we're going to end up as collateral damage."

    As if to prove his point, another blast shook the station, knocking both Decepticons down. As the whole room slowly started to turn on its side, Magnificus tapped into his communicator.

    "Status report, now!"

    "All systems are down!" came the alarmed reply. "We have a breach in Bay Seven -- we've lost over a dozen mechs!"

    Magnificus cursed. He glanced at Vivisector, who was giving him an 'I-told-you-so' look, before clambering to his feet, magnetizing himself to the deck.

    "Prepare all escape crafts," he muttered. "Evacuation is effective immediately."

*  *  *

    "Would somebody give me a fragging visual!"

    "For the hundredth time, I can't!" the black and blue femme retorted, hunched over her console as she tried to steady herself. "The power's out completely and my screen is cracked. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't show you who fired at us."

    As Dreadwind curled his hands into fists, a teal head poked out from behind a fallen monitor. "It must've been the Troobians. Their emperor seemed pretty mad when Magnificus--"

    "Hold that thought, Wipe-Out," Dreadwind said, striding over to the mini-bot. "I've just thought of a way to make yourself useful."

    Wipe-Out blinked as he looked up at the larger Decepticon. "How'sat?"

    With one hand, Dreadwind grabbed Wipe-Out by the neck and aimed a gun at the wall with the other. "Why don't you go outside and check?"

    Shadow Striker ducked as Dreadwind fired his gun, blowing a hole in the wall. He then released Wipe-Out and allowed the smaller Decepticon to be pulled out into the vacuum of space. After magnetizing his feet to the deck, Dreadwind tapped into his internal radio.

    "What do you see, Wipe-Out?"

    "I see...." Dreadwind could see the mini-bot flail his arms in alarm. "I see the Xantium."

    "The Xantium?" Dreadwind couldn't disguise the unease in his voice. "Are you sure?"

    "Positive. And I'm pretty sure...." Wipe-Out raised a hand to his head before nodding. "Yup. They're about to kil--"

    A beam of energy erased the mini-bot from Dreadwind's view. Fear gripping his spark, Dreadwind turned on his heel and ran out of the room, ignoring Shadow Striker's cries.

    "Coward!" he heard her scream. "You Pit-burning coward!"

    Yes, perhaps he was a coward, Dreadwind considered. He would admit to that, even unashamedly. Because cowards, he knew, carried a trait few others shared; a trait which, in his mind, made him more valuable than the Decepticons who rushed headlong into battle.

    Cowards survived.

    And when the Wreckers were at your doorstep, survival was the smartest option you could choose.

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VII, Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

--Elsewhere--

    Being punched in the face was no fun experience. Especially when it was being done to you repeatedly. And by someone who was very good at punching. As had a lot of anger for your face.

    "And this! Is just! For the heck of it!"

    Getaway punctuated the last word with a blow so hard, Ratchet was sure he heard his brain module crack. He was then finally pulled away by Rung, who gave the escape artist an admonishing look.

    "For the love of Primus, would you just listen to me? This isn't Pharma!"

    "You might want to clean your spectacles, eyebrows," Getaway retorted, pushing Rung off of him. "That right there is definitely Pharma. One hundred percent. Right down to the deranged look in his optics. See how they're sunken?"

    "That might be because you punched them in," Rung muttered. "But that's besides the point. Point is, even though he looks like Pharma -- and indeed it is his body -- he's really Ratchet stuck in--"

    "Stop right there." Getaway raised his hand, cutting Rung off. "You're not seriously telling me Ratchet and Pharma switched bodies."

    "He's not, I am," Ratchet said, readjusting his dislodged helmet. "When we were captured at Garrus-16, Pharma and some... serpentine Decepticon performed surgery on me and placed my spark, brain, and t-cog in Pharma's body, and vice versa."

    "So the Ratchet who's been with us since we left Garrus-16 was actually...."

    "Pharma, yes."

    Getaway crossed his arms and shook his head. "Nope. Sorry. Not buying it."

    Ratchet looked to Rung, who looked to Froid, who looked to the rest of the room, consisting of nineteen Lost Lighters (five of them unconscious) and assorted Camiens who were still reeling from being teleported to this unidentified location.

    "Do we have any mnemosurgeons handy?"

    Chromedome started to raise his hand, but Rewind quickly pulled it down. "No, we don't," the latter said.

    "What about Sunder?" Rung said to Froid. "Is he not a--"

    Froid waved his hand in dismissal. "Forget it. We'll just have to wait for your other crewmates to wake up so that they can all vouch for Ratchet. In the meantime..." He turned to Ratchet himself. "Mind telling us where you've brought us?"

    "Another Titan. That's all I can tell you."

    "I'm sorry, what?" Nightbeat asked, looking bewildered. "Please tell me you didn't just say what I think you just said."

    "I don't blame you for being in disbelief," Ratchet said. "I felt the same way when Firestar told me about Caminus' history after I joined the Vis Vitalis' crew. While I could buy the fact the colony had been established long before Nova Prime declared it as such, I couldn't quite get behind the idea of a Titan letting his parts be used to make the colony itself.

    "However, when I came across Pharma -- as me -- talking with Afterburner, I realized we had to get off Caminus as soon as possible. Luckily, I remembered Firestar telling me that Caminus' space bridge was right where the Grand Hall was."

    "Yes, but how in Solus' name did you activate it?" Firestar herself asked, standing among the crowd. "It hadn't been used in... well, since Caminus was dismantled."

    "I came across the control room while trying to evade Pharma and, well, everyone else. I at first thought it was Proxima's lab and was hoping she would help me with my situation."

    "Sorry, Proxi-who?" Getaway asked. "And how would she have helped?"

    "Um, hi everyone." A Camien in white, navy, and lavender raised her hand and waved. "I'm Proxima. Chief Science Officer of the Vis Vitalis."

    "And rightfully so," Ratchet said, nodding. "I spoke with her while on the Vis Vitalis, and I have to say, she gives Perceptor a run for his money in terms of brains."

    A femme standing next to Proxima gave her a nudge while Getaway remained looking unconvinced. "Okay, so you turned on the space bridge to save our hides. That sounds like a very good way of making us trust you just to dupe us later."

    "Getaway, save it," Nautica said sternly. To Ratchet, she said, "You say we've been teleported to another Titan. How do you know this?"

    "I vaguely recall Drift giving me scrap about the Titans and how they were all interconnected via their space bridges," Ratchet said. "Based on that, I'm assuming that's where we are."

    "Well, we're definitely inside something," Nightbeat said, looking around the spacious room they were all in. The metal walls had all rusted with age and bored a cobbled-together took. Worn pistons stretched all the way to highly placed ceiling. "And that something is definitely big...."

    "We should probably try exploring outside," Firestar suggested. "We're not accomplishing much standing here."

    "Let's wait for Rodimus and the others to wake up first," Ratchet said. "We'll have to fill them in on what's going on."

    "And stop them from strangling you," Whirl quipped.

    Ratchet sighed. "Yes, that too."

    "Um, excuse me." A Camien emerged from the crowd, cradling an unconscious Swerve. "Your friend is broken."

    An alarmed look fell upon Ratchet's face and he instantly rushed over to take Swerve from the mech. "What happened?"

    "I don't know, he just sorta... collapsed."

    Ratchet frowned as he looked over the deactivated Swerve. He hadn't even realized the bartender had been in the room, having not heard the usual quip from him. This made him wonder how long Swerve had been in this condition.

    "Okay," he said evenly. "Maybe we should leave this room. Try and find a place with medical equipment."

    "Uh, Ratchet?" Riptide piped up, suddenly sharing a shocked look along with everyone else. "Behind you."

    Ratchet looked over his shoulder. Behind him, the door had opened and a large mech filled the frame. His armor was colored in shades of orange and red, with wings adorning his shoulders and a crimson mouthplate over his face, cerulean optics glowing over it.

    The newcomer assessed the room and its occupants, looking at the several dozens of bots crowding around. His eyes then fell on Ratchet, narrowing slightly.

    "I look forward to hearing whatever explanation you plan on providing me regarding... this." The mech gestured at the whole room. "Truly. No joke. It's been a very long time since I've had a good laugh."

    "I assure you, it's a perfectly reasonable explanation," Ratchet said. "But first, can you please direct us to a medbay? My friend here just collapsed, and we have some bots in stasis lock--"

    "Do you?" the mech said tersely. "And just why should I help you?"

    "Please. We mean no ill will. We honestly have no idea what this place is."

    "Sure. That's what they all say." The mech stepped back outside and raised a hand to the control panel. "You all wait here. And don't even think of trying anything funny."

    The door then slammed shut in Ratchet's face. Behind him, Getaway revved softly.

    "This day just gets better and better."

Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light VII, Chapter One

   Lazy boy back here with another legit food yeah that meme's old now

CHAPTER ONE

--Outpost Two--

    "I really hate organics."

    Black hands held on tightly to the railing as baleful red optics glared out the window, watching the fleet of alien ships go at each other outside.

    "They never fail to ruin things. Whenever you think you're safe from them, they just barge in on everything you've been working on and just... just...."

    He couldn't bring himself to say what he wanted to say. Not because he was against using profanity, but because he had wiped out all vulgarities from his script in order to maintain an unemotional personality for better work ethic. So far, however, that hadn't done much. Perhaps he should have considered deleting all of his personality subroutines.

    Alas, there would be a time for that later. Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend. As he turned away from the window, he saw a small black and teal mech running up to him from down the corridor, an urgent expression on his faceplate.

    "Magnificus! Troobian Empire forces have jumped out of hyperspace and are battling the--"

    "The Sirius Police Defense, yes, I know," Magnificus replied coldly. "I'm not blind, Wipe-Out."

    "Okay, but there's more. The Troobian leader wishes to speak with you."

    Magnificus' optics dilated slightly. He hoped he hadn't heard that right. "What did you say?"

    "The Troobian leader wishes to speak with you," Wipe-Out repeated. "He didn't say why or--"

    "That's impossible," Magnificus murmured, more to himself than the smaller Decepticon. "This base is protected by a cloaking shield. Not only should they not even know we're here, but they shouldn't even be able to contact us. All frequencies are supposed to be encrypted."

    "Oh. Right, that." Wipe-Out rubbed the back of his head. "Well, either way, Bug Bite's got him on the line, so if you want...."

    Without a word, Magnificus strode past Wipe-Out and went down the hall, counting up to somewhere in the triple digits to control his emotional subroutines.

*  *  *

   "No. Not in a million years."

    The skull-like visage of the Troobian Empire contorted into a rictus of rage. The red glass orbs that were his eyes flared with anger.

    "You are making a grave mistake," he growled. "Emperor Trux does not offer deals often."

    "Frankly, I can understand why," Magnificus replied, glaring at the viewscreen on which Trux's face was displayed. "You make a very vapid offer, Trux. Either that, or you take us for idiots."

    "You must be, to refuse an offer such as mine!" the Emperor roared. "Without our aid, you will be destroyed by the Sirians when they discover you."

    "See, Trux, that's the problem: they should not be able to discover us. Nor should have you. How were you even able to contact us when we have an encrypted signal?"

    "My men are very skilled at bypassing encrypted radio waves--"

    "But to even know we had an encrypted frequency, you had to know of our location, and with our cloaking shield up, you shouldn't have been able to have seen us. Which means...."

    Magnificus trailed off as an unsettling realization gripped him. Without another word, he cut off the connection with the Troobian Emperor and whirled on Bug Bite, who was sitting at the main computer.

    "Bring me Doubledealer. Now."

*  *  *

    "All I'm saying is, maybe you should wait for things to actually turn for the worst rather than start panicking prematurely."

    "I do admire your optimism, Oil Slick," Vivisector said as he secured a capsule within his ship's cargo hold. "That's a quality few Decepticons scientists -- heck, scientists in general -- have."

   He then turned to walk down the lowered ramp to retrieve the last remaining capsule. "But I'm a realist. Expect the worst and never hope, is my motto. And I don't know about you, but I'm expecting this station to be blown to pieces very shortly."

    "Say's who?" Oil Slick asked, rotating his monocle. "I hear it's the Troobian Empire that we're dealing with, and I know for a fact that they're more tolerant of Cybertronians than most organics."

    "I don't care if their emperor is drinking pals with Straxus, organics always equal bad news," Vivisector grunted as he picked up the last capsule. "You can stay all you want, but I'm not about to let nearly seven months worth of work go to waste."

    Oil Slick was about to say something but was cut off by a gray and blue tank barging into the hangar bay, transforming into a barrel-chested robot. Upon seeing the two scientists, the mech stopped walking and frowned.

    "Oh. I... didn't realize there was someone already in here."

    Halfway up the ramp, Vivisector looked over his shoulder at the mech. "Can we help you with anything, Doubledealer?"

    "Oh no, I was just...." Doubledealer hesitated for a moment, before saying, "Actually, yes, you can. Are you two leaving?"

    "Vivisector is, but I'm staying," Oil Slick replied, eyeing the Triple Changer carefully. "Why do you ask?"

    "Magnificus has sent me on a recon mission to Tyros Seven. If it's not too much of an inconvenience, could you perhaps drop me off there?"

    Oil Slick looked over to Vivisector, who simply kept his eyes on Doubledealer. "Tyros Seven?" the black-plated Decepticon asked.

    "Yes, on the edge of the Malus Expanse--"

    "I know where it is," Vivisector said tersely. "I was there, during the war."

    Doubledealer shifted slightly at this. "Were you?"

    "Yes. Cycle 9600. I was stationed there during the Dekkron Massacre and was one of the few left stranded on what remained of Tyros Seven after Dekkron destroyed the rest of it." Vivisector tilted his head at Doubledealer, his optics narrowing. "Do you care to explain to me what significance Magnificus sees in a continent-sized chunk of a planet?"

    Before Doubledealer could answer, all three mechs heard a voice call from outside the hangar. "Doubledealer? Where the blazes are you? You've got a lot to answer for!"

    For a moment, no one said anything, the three Decepticons all looking from one to another. Fixating his optics on Doubledealer, Oil Slick opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a blast to the chest. A second one brought Vivisector and the capsule he had been carrying in his arms tumbling down the ramp.

    As Doubledealer made his way onto the ship, a squad of Decepticons came rushing into the hangar. Upon seeing the fallen scientists, the lead mech raised his gun at Doubledealer.

    "Freeze!" he ordered.

    The double agent grinned as he held up a primed grenade. "Burn."

    He then threw the grenade. Moments later, a Decepticon stealth ship was flying out of a smoking hangar bay and heading into the blackness of space.

ALL THAT GLITTERS

Part II: Who Needs Enemies?

Star Wars Eye of Kaas: Miserable Woe, Part VI

MISERABLE WOE, PART VI

    "It doesn't count."

    "It does so count!" Typha protested. "You're just jealous."

    Valrisa rolled her eyes as she put their ship on autopilot, having already made the jump to lightspeed. As she got of her pilot seat, she said, "Why would I be jealous?"

    "I don't know!" Typha called after her. "That's just the way you are!"

    Valrisa simply shook her head as she headed for the refresher. Removing her helmet, she went for the sink and splashed water in her face. It was probably about time to look into a new set of armor; perhaps one with a better cooling system. Being on a planet like Tatooine in full armor had been pure torture for her.

    Once she was properly refreshed, she started to remove her armor plates, at the same time, reaching into the pocket of her jumpsuit and digging out the totem that had been her miserable woe.

    The Eye of Kaas. Or, as she liked to call it, the "triangle think with an eye in the center." Was this worthless thing really worth all the trouble it had put her through?

    Oh well. It surely had to be worth something on the aftermarket.

    After putting her armor away, she entered the main hold, where she found Typha already lounging on the sofa. Upon seeing Valrisa, the blue-skinned girl glowered at her.

    "It does count," she said.

    "He wasn't even a real worrt," Valrisa said, sitting down next to Typha on the couch. "He was a skin-changer. He just made himself look like a worrt."

    "So? Who says it had to be real to be shot?"

    "If that were the case, then you could have easily made a few cardboard cutouts and shot at those."

    "That's not... that's not even remotely comparable! At least he was still a living thing! It counts!"

    Valrisa smiled as she leaned closer to the Pantoran, gazing into her gold eyes. "You're cute when you're mad."

    "You've said that before," Typha grumbled.

    "And it still holds true now." She raised a hand to cup her partner's face, stroking her cheek with her thumb. "Then again, you're always cute, no matter what."

    "Stop flattering me," Typha said, the smirk on her lips betraying her true feelings. "You just don't want to admit that I'm right."

    "Keep telling yourself that, beautiful," Valrisa said before joining her lips with the Pantoran's.

*  *  *

    "This... is incredibly... heavy."

    "Cry me a river, ya thieving rodent!" called the namesake owner of Petro's Parts. "I sell parts, not labor. Ya should have thought to bring some help beforehand."

    Trek simply rolled his eyes as he, with great effort, pulled the wagon full of parts after him towards his sandcrawler. He was starting to seriously consider lightening the load by throwing some of the parts back at Petro... but that would surely get him banned from Anchorhead, if not the rest of Tatooine as well.

    As he got to the sandcrawler and prepared to lower the front ramp, he caught sight of a pair of short, pudgy, stout-nosed Blarinas wandering over to him. By the way they acted, they seemed to be a lost couple; indeed, one of them was holding a map to his face. Upon noticing Trek, the map-carrying Blarina walked over to him.

    "Ah, excuse me, good sir. My wife and I appear to be lost. Could you perhaps point us in the direction of a place called Junix's Joint?"

    "Junix's Joint? Yeah, it's just down...." The Jawa started to point in the direction of the cantina, only to see a rather surprising sight. What had once been Junix's Joint was now a burning crisp, with Gungan "firefighters" attending to the fires by simply spitting at it.

    Upon seeing this, the Blarina moaned in sadness. "Oh, what terrible, terrible luck! What are we going to do now, Teka?"

    "Don't worry, Lahn," the other Blarina said, patting her husband on the arm. "We'll find something."

    Trek looked curiously at the couple. "Were you looking to apply for a job?"

    The one called Lahn shook his head. "No, we were looking to purchase a valuable antique item that would've surely paid off our debts. Now we are doomed as we ever were before!"

    Trek scratched his chin as he looked from the couple to the wagon full of parts he was carrying. Then, to Lahn, he said, "Would you be willing to accept a job offer from me?"

    Lahn blinked his slit eyes. "A... job offer?"

    "Yeah, to join my crew. I can pay you each ten credits an hour and perhaps increase that wage depending on our profits."

    Lahn exchanged a glance with Teka before looking back at the Jawa. "You... you would do that for us?"

    "Of course," Trek said, smiling underneath his hood. "Stars know I could use the hand."

*  *  *

    "He's not going to be happy."

    "I know," Lokai muttered as he and Haarkon stepped onto their ship, both of their faces still covered in soot and ash.

    A nasty sneer crossed the brutish man's face. "This could very well mean the end of us both."

    "I know," Lokai bit back. "You don't need to keep reminding me, Haarkon. I get it. We've failed. Lord Krayt is going to punish us. What more do you want me to say?"

    "Perhaps some admittance that this failure is your responsibility," Haarkon said darkly. "Had you succeeded in apprehending that bounty hunter, we would have--"

    Lokai cut him off with a sharp raise of the hand. Haarkon glared at him until he saw what had caught the Nagai's attention. Sitting there in the cockpit of their ship was a male Givin, bony hands folded in his lap as he stated at them with his deep, sunken black eyes.

    "Hello," Nasoth said politely. "Fancy seeing you back so soon. Did you get the totem?"

    "What are you doing on our ship?" Lokai demanded.

    "Hm? Oh. My apologies. I did not think permission was required to come aboard your ship, considering everything I've done for you."

    "You informed us of the whereabouts of the Eye of Kaas and led us here to Tatooine," Lokai said. "That is the extent of our affiliation. Do not presume there is more to it than that."

    "Oh, I am not presuming," Nasoth said. "I am merely altering the terms of our agreement."

    Haarkon sneered. "What more do you want? We gave you the means to liberate yourself from your master."

    "Galus was never my master," the Givin said sharply. "Besides, the 'means' you gave me were something even I could have made myself. Lipstick laced with poison? I expected far more from Sith. I was very much looking forward to seeing some lightsaber action."

    Lokai glowered as he reached for his saberstaff. "That can easily be--"

    "Oh, come off it." Nasoth flicked his wrist and the saberstaff went flying into his hand. He repeated the gesture and Haarkon lost his weapon as well. Both Sith stared at the Givin in surprise.

    "Are you...?" Lokai started to say.

    "Sith? No. At least, not in the same way you are." Nasoth leaned back in his seat, idly tapping the saberstaff against the chair. "I have dabbled in the teachings of the Sith, but my interest is no more than a passing one. Same with the Jedi. I prefer to not devote myself to either one path. For in the end, we are all united in the Force, dark or light."

    Lokai frowned. "Then what do you want from us?"

    "As I've said, I expected more from our partnership. I didn't just want to be freed from Galus' service; I want to find that which has eluded me for so many years. To finally find that which my father failed to."

    The two Sith frowned as they exchanged looks. "What are you getting at?" Lokai asked.

    "Here's the deal: I'll help you turn this loss of yours around and get you back into the good graces of your Dark Lord... if you help me find the Ancient Order of the Whills."

    "The Whills?" Lokai looked incredulous. "Are they not just merely a myth?"

    "Oh no." The Givin raised his left hand and splayed his palm, revealing the faded mark of an abstract insignia. "They are very much real. And I intend to find them." He then smiled, a disturbing sight to behold. "So what are waiting for? I would very much like to finally meet this Darth Krayt of yours...."

END OF

MISERABLE WOE