Backstory

Mission Vao wiped the hot, angry tears off her face and sniffed one last time. If Griff was gone, she'd have to take care of herself. She left the sheltered little alleyway she'd shared with her older brother until this morning, determined to get some breakfast. Griff and that schutta, Lena, hadn't left her money, food, or a weapon. Well, she could get those things for herself. Who needed them anyway?

Mission strode cautiously through the streets of Lower City, Taris. She gave a slight wave to her friends in the Hidden Beks swoop bike gang, avoided the eyes of the Black Vulkars, and stayed on the lookout for an easy mark. Someone was going to have to fund her breakfast, she just didn't know who, yet.

As she rounded the corner on her way to Griff's favorite cantina, she heard a noise she'd never heard before. A deafening roar, like a tormented animal, rang through the backstreets. Curious, Mission dove behind some plasteel rubbish bins and poked her head out to watch. What she saw made her blood boil. Four big Vulkars were surrounding a huge, hairy Wookiee, poking him with their stun sticks and laughing. Before even knew what she was doing, she charged right at the group.

"Leave him alone, you core-slimes!" Mission burst out in a rage. She did a roundhouse kick to the head of a Rodian Vulkar, putting him out cold. Two of the others went to grab her, and the Wookiee lost it. Grabbing her attackers by their hair, he slammed their foreheads together and then dropped them in a heap. He turned to the next ill-fated bully, and Mission's eyes widened. This guy was going to lose his arms for sure.

Before anything else could happen, the last of the Wookiee's tormentors fainted dead away. Mission looked around at their handiwork, and shook the startled Wookiee's...paw, hand, whatever. He chuffed uncertainly, and Mission grinned.

"You'll have to stick with me, these guys won't be out long." She began to go through the unconscious gang members' pockets, pulling out credits and grabbing herself a sweet blaster. "Hungry?"

The Wookiee nodded and chuffed again. "Then let's get breakfast." Mission kicked one of the Vulkars in the side, just to help her feel better, then grabbed the Wookiee's arm. "I'm Mission Vao. Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

She led him off in the direction of the cantina, grateful to have a new friend, a new blaster, and some credits for breakfast. This was going to be the start of a beautiful...

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..."Friendship is for sissies," the older boy taunted. " 'Sides, you're a slave. I shouldn't be talking to you at all."

With that, he grabbed the box out of Mira's hand and ran off. She watched him go with a carefully blank face. If anyone else had taken a box of grenades from her, she would have reminded them to be extremely cautious with them. But this particular Mandalorian boy had just made her very mad, and she decided that it would be just fine with her if he tripped and blew himself up.

"I'm a Mandalorian, too," Mira muttered. Wiping her hands on the tail of her green shirt, Mira sat at her workbench and went back to putting together her grenades. Her hands were still filthy, and when she pushed her flame-red hair out of her face, she left smudges along her cheek and forehead. She didn't need him, anyway. She'd gotten along just fine without her family for the last year, so why had she thought she'd needed friends? The stuck-up son of a Mandalorian clan leader was the last person she needed around.

The quartermaster came by and looked over her handiwork. Jin wore his full armor when there was a battle, but tonight he wore a simple bolt-resistant jacket and chestplate, allowing Mira to see the pleased look on his face. "Good work, girl. Looks like you can make just about anything, now." He stopped and looked at her closely. "What's the scowl for, then?"

"Nothing. I'm finished with the grenades. Let's practice hand to hand combat again." Her voice was neutral, but she knew she wasn't fooling Jin.

"Can't tonight, Mira," the quartermaster said kindly. "You need to get these over to the supply line. Look me up tomorrow after your chores are done. We'll talk then."

Mira nodded and carefully stacked the boxes on a hovercart. Jin was the closest thing to a father she'd had since she'd been separated from her family. When Jin left, loneliness settled down on her even further. Determined not to dwell on it, Mira pushed the hovercart carefully through the jungle as a gentle rain began to fall.

Before she got to the supply line staging area, she heard the sounds of shouting and shooting coming towards her. A battle had broken out and the fight was headed in her direction. Selecting two of the best grenades from the top box, Mira left the rest and moved as far away from the hovercart as she could get. Ducking into the bushes, Mira waited out the fighting.

Thirty minutes later, the sounds of fighting had intensified, and she'd caught glimpses of speeders through the tree branches and men fighting through on foot. She thought she heard Jin's voice and the voices of some of the other clan members, and had almost decided to approach them, let them know she hadn't made it to the line. Suddenly, a huge explosion sounded back from the direction of the hovercart. Even with the distance she'd put between herself and her handiwork, Mira felt the wave of heat, and the stench of plasma overwhelmed her.

Mira screamed and blindly ran towards the explosion, yelling for Jin. Branches whipped her face and scratched her through her thin clothing, and she nearly tripped headfirst into a crater almost a span around. Scrambling back from the edge, Mira searched frantically through the wreckage for the quartermaster. Scores of bodies and parts of Jedi and Republic troops littered the jungle floor, and a small number of Mandalorian helmets and bodies mixed with them. She fell to her knees and retched several times, then went back to finding Jin. Further back in the trees, Mira heard coughing and headed towards it.

There was Jin, blasted back into the brush, bleeding profusely from the place his left leg had been only moments before. Mira screamed again and knelt beside him, unsure what to do.

"You do...good work, girl," the quartermaster choked out. "Took down...half a platoon...of the enemy."

"Oh Jin! I'm so sorry," Mira sobbed.

Jin coughed again and went still. Mira stayed with him through the night, as the fighting intensified. All was still again when the dawn broke over Dxun. Shivering with cold, Mira removed Jin's jacket from his lifeless body. She cut away the blood soaked bottom half with Jin's belt knife and put the jacket on. It would be awhile before she grew into it, but Mira vowed she would always wear it, to remind her of the cost of using deadly...

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...Force. That's what it all comes down to, Jaq thought, Just get them before they have a chance to use it. He was leaning in the corner of a hotel bar in the busiest sector in Coruscant. With all the people traffic and mind noise going on here, he would never be noticed, even by the Jedi he was stalking.

Remaining deep in shadow, Jaq slunk out of the bar several paces behind his prey, who was conveniently drunk and making a bee-line for his hotel room. Jaq melted into a deserted servant's hallway, giving the doomed Knight a chance to get to his room before he met his fate. This assignment was going to be easier than Jaq had anticipated; the Jedi had proven impossible to "convert," but was all too mortal. He'd never even glanced behind him as Jaq tracked him to the bar, then up the stairs to his room.

Reaching a count of 3 minutes, Jaq turned to head over to the victim's room. A powerful grip on his upper arm stopped him cold, and he reacted instantly. Slipping free the vibrodagger he kept hidden in the sleeve of his cloak, Jaq slashed upward, intending to catch his attacker in the solar plexus and slice upwards. He was stopped again by the unmistakable snap-hiss of a lightsaber. Blinded temporarily by the blaze of blue, Jaq staggered backwards until he was pinned to the wall by his opponent. He slammed his mental shield into place, counting Pazaak cards in combinations to twenty. When his vision cleared, he saw the face of a beautiful woman bathed in the deadly blue light. The saber was close enough to his throat to cause a burn; he knew he would bear a scar for the remainder of his life. However long that would be.

"Atton Jaq Rand. I must speak with you. You are in terrible danger."

The female Jedi's voice was cultured, with a coreward accent; the ludicrousness of her words caused an involuntary spurt of laughter to bubble out of Jaq's threatened throat. Holding the vibrodagger in the vicinity of her heart, Jaq held very, very still. He would find an opening when she was distracted.

"A guy with a lightsaber at his neck would expect he was in danger, yes. But--"

The woman cut off his words with a shushing noise. "You are in even greater danger from the Sith than you are from me. You must listen. Please don't kill me without hearing me out."

Caught completely off-gaurd, Jaq momentarily lowered the vibroblade, although he maintained his mental shield just in case. The mysterious Jedi woman also lowered her weapon, but did not shut it off. Her voice was urgent as she spoke again. "Your Force-sensitivity has been discovered, Jaq. It is only a matter of time before one of your own will be coming for you, to turn you as you've turned so many others. If you will not train in the ways of the Sith--"

"I'm no frackin' Force-adept, schutta," Jaq spat. He made a move for her but she stopped him again with her azure blade. "And I have been trained in the ways of the Sith."

"No, you're an indoctrinated trooper, nothing more. They want to turn you into a Force-user, a Dark Jedi."

"Impossible!"

Jaq lashed his arm out, catching her wrist with his wicked blade. It sliced through her robes as though they were bantha butter and laid open her forearm to the bone. The Jedi woman did not cry out, but countered his next thrust with her lightsaber. She was not attacking him, merely defending herself. Jaq thrust one last time, severing her sword hand and catching her lightsaber, hand and all.

She crumpled to her knees, and Jaq felt a momentary, albeit deep, pang of regret. Here was an extraordinary woman, a woman worth knowing, strong and full of convictions. He'd only made her acquaintance moments ago, yet something about her made him want to take his time, get to know her as he killed her.

He deactivated her lightsaber and dropped his grisly trophy into a pocket in his cloak. Jaq crouched down, and gently turned her face so he could look in her eyes. There was pain there, and fear. He grew warm just thinking about it. Softly, lovingly, Jaq wrapped his hands around the mysterious woman's throat and began to squeeze.

"I was...trying...to save you!" The woman gasped, weakly struggling under his powerful grip. "Please..."

Her voice died away as Jaq put even more pressure on her throat. Her breathing began to slow, but before it quit completely, there was a sudden, intense blaze of light in Jaq's head. Blinding, incomprehensible; he loosened his grip and put his hands over his eyes to ward away the painful light. But the light was coming from within, and amidst the glorious blaze was the face of the Jedi woman.

"This is the Force, Atton Jaq Rand. You can use it to free yourself from this life of pain and death. You can save yourself, it isn't too late." Her voice was warm and caring, caressing his blistered soul and giving him life.

Jaq regained his control over himself and whipped out his dagger, slashing her already bruised throat. The light faded away with her voice, leaving him alone and shaking in the dim corridor. Her body dissolved into nothingness, and he gathered her robe and folded the bloody cloth into a neat square. Swiftly he stood and walked away, his assignment forgotten. Jaq was...

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...finished. Bastila couldn't believe it. The most dangerous woman in the galaxy was prone and helpless, unconscious before her. Mind completely wiped by the combined efforts of the Jedi Council and draped in a white sheet in the infirmary, Darth Revan's beautiful but scarred face was exposed, unmasked. She appeared completely at peace for the first time in years.

Tentatively, Bastila moved closer to the former Dark Lord of the Sith. "What will we call her? She'll need a new name."

Master Vandar came to stand next to her, his eyes locked on the lovely monster before them. "You may handle that part of the mission, Bastila. She is your responsibility now. You also need to come up with a plausible backstory for her. Tell her that she crashed her speeder here near the enclave."

"I'm not comfortable with that amount of lying, Master Vandar."

The little Master patted her hand gently. "Always remember that what we are doing is for the greater good of the galaxy. When she has awoken and is ready to go, meet me in the courtyard. I will call the transport that will take you to the Endar Spire."

He hobbled away, leaving Bastila alone with Revan. Bastila sat on the edge of the bed, afraid she would wake up, but also afraid she never would. Bastila didn't understand why she felt protective of the woman she had only a week ago been bent on capturing and locking away forever.

Revan moaned and turned her head uncomfortably back and forth on the pillow. Her eyes fluttered open. "Where-- where am I?"

Bastila's heart rate rose and she squeezed Revan's hand gently. "You're in the infirmary at the Dantooine Jedi Enclave. Your scouting speeder had a terrible collision, you've been unconscious for a week. Do you remember any of that? Do you know your name?"

Revan closed her eyes and was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry, I don't remember at all," she replied at last.

Even her voice was different. Bastila's hopes were bouyed by Revan's soft tone and gentle movements. Maybe the monster was gone. "You're a scout for the Republic Navy; Ensign Hope. I'm Jedi Bastila Shan, I've been taking care of you."

"Hope...I like that. Thank you for your kindness."

"You're welcome. Get dressed. I'm going to take you back to the Republic ship you belong to." Bastila stood and left the infirmary, excitement lighting her...

...face stung from the slap, and she growled angrily at her captor, baring her sharp little teeth. Juhani struggled against the binders on her wrists, but deep down the little Cathar knew it was no use. She would have to escape after she was sold. Still, Juhani decided she would not go quietly. She growled again, snapping at the man's hand when he gestured at her.

"Three thousand, five hundred. Do I hear four thousand credits? She's a fine, fiesty specimen. Many years of service left in this one; as far as we can determine, she's just an adolescent. Four, do I hear four and a half? Five?"

Juhani continued to struggle, burning inside at the shame of being sold like a packet of spice. If only her parents were alive, maybe they would save her. She pushed the thought away as a putrid purple Twi'lek pushed his way to the front, a disturbing grin on his disgusting face.

"I make it Seven! Seven thousand credits for the Cathar brat."

It was by far the highest bid, and the auctioneer declared "Sold! Sold to the lucky man in the front."

Before the money could even change hands, a gasp went up from the crowd. A group of people in simple robes strode into the midst of the crowd, weapons drawn. Juhani had never seen anything like the lovely colored light-swords they held. The woman that seemed in charge of the group gave a mighty leap, flipping in the air and landing gracefully on the bidding stage. Her light-sword whizzed through Juhani's binder without so much as singeing her wrists. Just as quickly, the other unfortunate captives were freed, and fled.

"Who are you?" Juhani asked in awe of the tall warrior woman.

"We're Jedi Knights," the woman replied, winking. "My name is Revan."

"Why did you save me?" the little Cathar asked curiously.

"I abhor slavery and all who perpetuate it. Are you okay?"

Juhani nodded. "I'm... I haven't eaten..."

"Here you go, then." Revan reached into a pocket of her robe and handed Juhani a ration bar. "Hurry, little girl. You'd best get away from here."

Juhani fled, but ducked around behind a pillar to watch the rest of the festivities. As Juhani ravenously tore into the ration bar, she watched the Jedi fight the slavers. They rounded them up and put them in binders. That made Juhani smile. She could hardly believe there were such creatures as the Jedi, defending the helpless and fighting without killing. She vowed to herself then and there, to learn all she could and someday become...

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...a Jedi. There are powers in this galaxy even greater, Jolee! Please, join me, join us. Exar Kun could really use your skills in the coming battle." Nayama held out her hand, an imploring look on her face. Something about her face was all wrong, and Jolee shook his head, his dreads swinging. What was it?

"No? You just shake your head at me and don't even consider what I'm saying to you?" Her eyes flashed, and that was when Jolee realized. His lovely Nayama was entirely the wrong color. Her smooth, lovely chokoa skin had grown ashen and rough. The violet highlights in her braids had faded. Her liquid brown eyes had soured and were more yellow than brown, now.

"You've chosen the wrong path, Nayama. Look at yourself." Heart breaking, Jolee gently took hold of her shoulders and turned her to look at her reflection in the garden pond. Instead of the surprise and dismay he'd expected to see on her face, a small, smug grin occupied her full lips.

"Signs of the power I wield, that is all. It is a reflection of my destiny."

Waves of pain rolled through Jolee, rippling across his very soul. This was his own fault. Had he only listened to the Council...but he had loved her too much to see reason. Now it was too late.

"I've heard enough. I cannot join you, Nayama. This is madness. The Dark Side only brings pain and death." Jolee turned to go back into the house he and Nayama had shared when they were in love.

"The only death it will bring is yours," Nayama hissed.

The sound of Nayama's lightsaber stopped him cold, and he whirled just in time to avoid losing his head. He brought his own lightsaber around in a movement the human eye could scarcely follow, and blocked her next blow. And the next, and the next. She kept coming. Jolee was somewhat relieved to see her golden blade had not been replaced with a red one. Maybe there was still hope.

Nayama continued to advance, using a lightsaber form Jolee knew he hadn't taught her. He ducked around the trunk of the tree in their yard; Nayama slashed through it as though it were water. Jolee had to pour on the speed to avoid the falling timber. The tree landed on the house, crashing through the roof and collapsing the second floor.

Jolee's dreams of growing old with Nayama in that house were as crushed as the house was. He continued to deflect her blows, and her face grew strained with frustration. Finally she opened her palm to him and unleashed an attack of lightning, catching him completlely unaware and helpless to defend against it. The pain was excruciating and every nerve in his body jumped and writhed.

Jolee collapsed on the grass in his beloved garden, which had lit with flame from the lightning Nayama commanded with her hands. He knew then that there was no hope for Nayama to come back. She strode confidently, slowly, over to his prone body with an exultant look on her face. "Refusing me was your last mistake, Jolee!" She brought her lightsaber around in an arc towards his neck.

Jolee rolled out of the way, extinguishing the fire on his robe. He rose as quickly as his stiff, pained muscles would allow and deflected her next blow. The fire from the grass extended north towards the flowers, and crept south towards the ruins of their house. Jolee realized he would not be able to continue defending himself only. He would have to press the attack. Maybe if he could stop her now, she would not be able to spread this destruction any further than their own home. Maybe he could save some lives.

Nayama was uncannily strong, but Jolee was at least a head taller and had fifty or sixty pounds on her. Once he switched from defensive moves to offensive, Nayama was hard pressed to defend herself. Jolee steered her away from the fire, guiding her with his blows towards the cooler, flame-free section of the garden.

Nayama backed up, sweat rolling down her greyed face. Not looking where she was going, she tripped over the garden bench and sat down hard. Jolee was atop her, then, pressing the tip of his emerald blade to her violet robes.

"Don't make me do this, Nayama, I love you." His voice was pleading, his breath coming in tired gasps. He continued to hold her at the point of his saber while he watched her face, desperately seeking some change. "I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to."

"Fool!" Nayama spat. Her saliva hissed on his blade. "Kill me now, or your life will be forfeit!"

Jolee felt the tears well up in his eyes and spill over his cheeks, mingling with the sweat. Numbness crept over him, and he lowered his saber and stepped aside. "Go. I never want to see your face again."

Nayama fled, never looking back at her husband or the life she'd sacrificed for the power of the Dark Side. Jolee watched her go, then turned and sat down on the garden bench in utter defeat. His aching body racked with sobs, he watched his home and dreams go up in flame, until all that was left were the...

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...Ashes swirled around Visas' feet as she walked. Her Force sight registered only shades of grey as she gently touched each pile of ashes. Each Miraluka, human, and alien had just crumbled on the spot not twenty minutes before. Visas throat constricted as she "looked" at them all; soulless piles of ash. She almost felt her fingers burn as she touched them.

She couldn't stop walking. She had to find out if there was someone, anyone else left. Her only coherent thought was to find someone. Visas walked straight out of town, into the countryside. The Jedi temple was deserted, piles of ash all over the stairs and in the gardens. The fountain trickled softly, mocking her pain with its ceaseless babbling. A tree on the grounds that Visas had loved as a child stood in a giant, formless pile of ash. A wind picked up, blowing the ash into her mouth and nostrils, and she choked. Coughing and spluttering, sobs racking her body, Visas ran blindly away from the horrid impressions. Too late, for they were burned onto her soul.

She crashed headlong into something on the edge of the temple grounds. Looking up, a brilliant bloody red figure stood towering before her. Mouth too dry to scream or even whisper, Visas stood rooted in her nightmare, staring at the figure. It wore a mask with holes for the eyes, nose and mouth, but nothing but blackness peeked out of the holes. Completely cloaked from head to toe, the nightmare apparition began to speak.

Visas could not understand a word she was hearing; the noise was like an ancient pipe organ that had long since wheezed its last. But the words squirmed into her skull, driving the understanding in like a vibrodagger to the brain. Visas screamed and clutched her head, but the words streamed in unabated.

:Slave. I have left you alive of all the beings on this world so that you may serve me.:

Visas shook her head, trying to get the sound out of her ears and her mind. "I can't...I won't..."

:I am Darth Nihilus. I feed on the Force, consuming lesser beings. This world was as corrupted as the others, it did not deserve to remain. I will make you understand, Slave.:

The being seized her roughly by the face, placing his thumbs under her veil and pressing hard where a human's eye sockets would be. Images streamed through her mind in full color, all of the vicious, terrible things that sentient beings did to one another on every world. A deep sense of violation rolled over her in sick waves, causing bile to rise in Visas throat. Faced with not only the death of her entire planet, but now these unspeakable horrors from all over the galaxy, something deep inside Visas broke. She began....

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...Screaming and the sounds of orbital laser blasts were the first sounds to reach Carth's ears as he evacuated the TSF building. Heart racing, he pulled out both blasters and ran down the front steps of the TSF office. His eyes darted in every direction, and he knew instantly that the entire planet was under attack from ships in orbit. There were no ground troops, no visible enemy as far as he could tell. Carth reholstered his blasters and sprinted for his speeder. He had to get home; had to get to Morgana. He prayed he wouldn't be too late.

Carth sped toward his neighborhood. Smoke billowed across the lanes, forcing him to fly slightly above the normal traffic pattern so as not to hit the running, screaming people. Medic transports added their sirens to the cacophony. With that sound a terrible thought entered his frantic mind, and Carth whipped off to the right towards Dustil's school.

The school was a smoking ruin, but no bodies were about that he could see. He left the speeder on idle and jumped out, running around the school in a dead sprint. Just before panic consumed him, Carth remembered signing a field trip permission slip the night before. Dustil was not in the rubble; he was not even on the school grounds. Relief flooded over Carth, washing him in sweat. Hopping back into the speeder, he resumed his course to the house.

As Carth sped along the lanes, he racked his brain trying to make sense of the attack. Had there been any warning? Couldn't have been Mandalorians-- they were pretty much wiped out, and would have sent ground troops, anyway. Had it been Saul? He'd been so full of rage the last time they'd spoken...Panic gripped Carth's throat again as he turned onto the lane his house was on. Several of the neighbors houses were nothing more than craters.

Carth pulled up to where his house should have been and was momentarily disoriented. There was nothing there resembling the home he'd lived and loved in for a decade. Leaping out of the speeder again, Carth began calling his wife's name, shouting as he searched for her until he was hoarse.

"Mor-gan-a! Morgana, answer me! Are you home, are you here? Mor-gan-a!" The panic in his voice was evident even to him. "Morgana!"

No answer greeted him, and he realized she may not have been home. In the middle of the day she could be at the supply market or chaperoning Dustil's field trip or taking a walk. He turned to hop back into the speeder when he heard a faint whisper of his name.

"Carth..."

The little sound fluttered by as though on a breeze and Carth turned back around. There, pinned under part of the house, was his beautiful wife.

"Morgana!" Carth began pushing the blocks, bricks and beams off of her broken body with terrific strength. Adrenaline had seized him and would not let go. He screamed for a medic, over and over until there was simply no voice left to him.

"Carth, please. It hurts."

After pulling a medpac out of his pack and injecting her with the cool kolto fluid, Carth continued to try and dig her out, but it was no use. Carth collapsed on the ground and took her hand. All he could see of her was her head, neck and right shoulder and arm. Her once shining golden hair was matted with blood and dust and dirt. Tears streamed down his face as he looked at her. If he hadn't stopped...if he'd been home more often...

"Morgana, I'm sorry, I tried," he whispered, bringing her hand to his rough cheek.

"I know...you did..." Her breath was coming in gasps. She squeezed his fingers feebly. "I love you..."

Carth moved so that he could cushion her on his lap, gathering the visible part of her in his arms. "I was never here...I didn't spend enough time with you..."

"Shhh. Don't think about that...You were always in my heart..." She closed her eyes.

"I love you, Morgana." Carth was trembling with anguish and fear. "Don't go. Please don't go."

There was no more stirring from her and Carth sat rocking her for what must have been hours. He would never remember what happened after that; the memory of her death would forever be followed by...

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...darkness swallowed Bao-Dur as he walked quickly through the corridors of the Republic warship. The General had rarely summoned him personally, and he felt a deep anxiety and a glimmer of a premonition. It was a very bad feeling, indeed, but Bao-Dur dismissed it. Of course he felt bad, they were in the middle of a battle. One which the fleet had little hope of winning. Remote floated gently behind him, the only reassuring thing in the whole situation.

Bao-Dur reached the bridge of the Valiant slightly out of breath. The tension in the room crackled with life. Every remaining crew member went about their business frantically, each trying to cover several positions at once. The battle must be getting worse for their side; desperation stank up the bridge.

General Saralonde stood staring out the front display window, her hands clasped behind her. Her fingers gripped each other tight enough to whiten her knuckles and her arms were trembling. No other sign of stress marred her face or figure, and Bao-Dur stood silently at attention next to her, watching their ragged ships get swallowed by the Mandalorian warships.

After a long, silent interval, the General spoke. "Master Revan has been...delayed outsystem. He has made it clear there will be no reinforcements, and has put me in charge of finishing this."

Bao-Dur knew where this was going, and said nothing. The deep anger that roiled in his gut flared up, exciting and sickening him at the same time. His mouth set into a grim line. He would like nothing better than to finish this.

General Saralonde continued to stare out the window, not bothering with the HUD grid showing the virtual battle but forcing herself to see the real action. It would not be long before the end for her fleet if she did nothing, and Bao-Dur knew she took it very personally. The General would not allow them to be destroyed.

"Bao-Dur, it is time. I have no other choice, we must activate the generator." She hesitated, and glanced at him, sending a little thrill through him. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to have to do this."

"Yes, General." Bao-Dur kept the excitement out of his voice and turned immediately to the control panel for the Mass Shadow Generator. Carefully he typed in the sequence that would target the entire planet below. As he did so, he heard the General giving orders to the rest of the fleet to pull as far back as possible. He was jolted by the idea some of their own may get in the way, he'd never considered it while he was designing and constructing the generator. Another terrible thought came to mind, and he turned immediately to General Saralonde.

"We have to be three spans closer in, General." Bao-Dur swallowed. "It might put us in range."

General Saralonde sighed. "I know, I studied the plans. I've already sent everyone I can spare to other ships. But we must stay the course. We must finish this."

Her voice was full of determination, but her grey eyes were haunted. The General went back to giving orders, and Bao-Dur went back to sequencing the codes. It was a relief to know the end of the war was at hand, the Mandalorain plague wiped from the galaxy, even if it meant his own end. Bao-Dur wished General Saralonde had left with the others she'd sent away, but admired her all the more for staying aboard.

The last code was entered, and Bao-Dur selected the final activation sequence, putting in the password only he and Remote had known. There was a whine as the hyperdrive powered down, all available power going to the Mass Shadow Generator. Bao-Dur counted down to himself.

Five.

General Saralonde resumed her position in front of the display window, and Bao-Dur could see the relief in her eyes that this was almost over.

Four.

All talking and mechanical noise ceased. Every crew member, whether Zabrak or human, held their breath. Bao-Dur's heart pounded in his chest.

Three.

Some of the Republic fleet had managed to pull out of range, but many were still engaged with Mandalorian ships.

Two.

Saralonde turned and looked at Bao-Dur, looking at him as though really seeing him for the first time. She nodded slightly, then turned her gaze on the doomed planet below.

One.

There was silence, and a heartbeat later, Malachor V imploded. Everything within range was sucked toward the planet, as though Malachor had taken a deep breath. The ship lurched forward, knocking several crewmen off their feet. Bao-Dur steadied himself with both hands on the console. Shouts and sounds of explosions filled the air, and pressure escaping from the planet and the surrounding wreckage slammed into the Valiant.

Bao-Dur glanced over at the General just as the front window display shattered. He leapt in front of her, shielding her from the rain of transparisteel shards and electrical sparks. There was a burst of hot, liquid pain at Bao-Dur's elbow, and then no feeling at all as he sank to his knees with a sick grunt. From the corner of his eye, Bao-Dur saw General Saralonde go down, hitting her head on the console. She was the last thing Bao-Dur saw for a long time.