In the Presence of Enemies: Act One

"In the Presence of Enemies" is the first in a series of short stories featuring the KoTOR II crew, re-exploring their story with a slightly different take.

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Brianna sat and watched the sun set. It was her favourite part of the day; another chapter of her life ended by the movements of the worlds themselves, with rest now awaiting her and the promise of a new day given with it. She always used to marvel at the power of being able to close one's eyes and come into a different world when they opened, where the passage of time had taken its effect and everything was a little bit different. Sometimes she counted the days for weeks on end -- before she lost track of the current cycle -- to see if she could measure the change, so that after enough time she could wake to discover a new world. At the age of 17, change seemed to come too slow for her. And the blinding sun, too high in the sky to be yellow, took months to set over the polar region of Telos.

She and her sisters weren't always kept at the Academy there, but with whispers of a war beginning somewhere far off, Jedi Master Atris and her ilk were most intent on keeping Brianna Kae and her half-sisters close by. Brianna was only ever told that her mother had asked for her child to be given a haven, and that Atris had accepted despite the woman's sordid past; exiled from the Order for bearing a child. This was a fact which Brianna was reminded of all too often by her pure blooded Echani sisters, both in their subtle exclusion of her and their physical jabs during training. It seemed they only shared their father's silvery-white hair. But such things didn't matter to a girl who simply missed her mother, a woman who hadn't been seen by anyone since the beginning of her exile.

At the small, frozen entrance to the Academy, Brianna would sit alone at the end of every day, even when she couldn't measure the time of day by the position of the sun. She would dream of her mother coming to rescue her from some far off place. But these last few weeks, during which the sun rode high, even this one small peace that the girl was rewarded for enduring her days was disturbed. These days she could only look on the horizon and feel that something dark was coming.

---

In the first year of the great Jedi War, as it was known to those who didn't distinguish Sith from Jedi, much of the Outer Rim of the Galaxy fell victim to battles that were triggered like flash floods. Revan's fleet, which had been victorious against the Mandalorians in the same staging grounds mere years before, used parallel tactics against the Republic it once served to seize important production, trade and supply sectors. Thus, the war began very much in the Sith's favour, and those on the Outer Rim found themselves left to the mercy of Revan's new empire. It was under such circumstances that the many caught off guard by this new order of rule were not only subjugated, but reduced to making the most primal of choices; dangled over a volcano's edge, it was in this new world that they truly found themselves.

One such man now found himself before his judge, jury and executioner: a balding and scarred war dog of the Republic-turned Sith Captain. Like every good trial, it was held in a dark, dirty room in an undisclosed location somewhere off-world from wherever the accused was taken. The judge sat, and the two men faced each other across a table for a moment.

'Do you know why you're here?'

'Your guys had a faster ship,' the accused man responded plainly. His thin, sardonic tone conveyed a defiance that could flow from him out of pure habit, but he seemed tense underneath.

The judge managed an insincere smirk at that remark. 'My report says you were taken off a freighter in our territory. Do you know what happens to illegal freighters in that sector?'

'Two to five on some rank industrial moon. Depending on who you know.'

The Captain eyed him grimly. He brought his hand up and loudly SMACKED a blaster pistol against the metal table, and spun it to point right at his subject. 'Just so we understand each other,' he explained. 'We spoke to your accomplices, and not one of them had a single remarkable thing to say about you. Unfortunately they had nothing remarkable to say about themselves either. Lucky for you, you seem like a practical enough guy. The people I work for might like that.'

'Uh huh...so this is either an interrogation or a job interview.'

'It could be both. The Civie Criminology dex of that sector reports that you've been served numerous fines for illegal flight and been arrested half a dozen times and yet you sit before me. Your honest buddies were quick to tell me variations of what this report told me, which told me they were cowards. You've haven't needed to say a word about them which tells me that you have stones, and the fact that you're here to prove it despite this auspicious record tells me you're very good at swinging said stones. That, or you're just one hell of a performer.'

'If I was I'd probably be doing the Onderonian step by now.'

The man's finger starting tapping on his blaster. 'And I'm sure I'd be giddy at the sight.' Tap -- tap. 'But my eyes are made for reading, space man. And right now all I'm getting is fear. You know exactly where you are, mister' the Captain ceased talking to glance at the datapad before him, 'Joaq Rand. Medium build, medium height. Brown eyes, jet black hair, age 24. Pilot. That wouldn't happen to be an alias, by the way?'

'Since you guys were Republic goons before turning coats, I don't think it really matters to people like you,' Joaq briskly sniped back.

The Sith Captain nodded, still tapping. 'Now that attitude I like. Here we're not interested in who your parents were, what school you attended..any other of that luxury, high society bullcrap. We're interested in what you. And according to my records you can do quite a bit.'

'Know a trick or two. I don't owe any of it to anything else either, least of all the parents I'll say that much.' A thin trace of venom coated his words.

Tap - tap... 'Bad history?'

Joaq stared off a bit, his eyes wandering to the side. 'There was this one time, that I know they wouldn't remember because of their ale-induced-schizophrenia, when they just left me for a weekend. No warning, never even found out why.' He turned his gaze sharply back to his interrogator. 'My mom came back first.'

'No happy reunions, I'm guessing.' Tap - tap..

Joaq straightened his head up. 'I put a heating rod through her face.' The Captain's fingers stopped cold.

'HA!' Joaq busted out a gigantic laugh, holding it for a few good seconds. 'Ahhh, nah. Woulda been something, though.'

'Whatever you might think, our ideas here aren't as dense as heat-rod-smash. And you'll be tested -- excruciatingly. If the training doesn't kill you, your fellow pupils'll try with all their little hearts to.'

Joaq clenched a bit at this, his mirth quickly fading. 'So...what? It's either that..or..'

'Hell, don't even worry on the 'or,'' said the Captain with a smile, 'You can stay right here until we're ready to take you back; we're but a few hours from your sector. We can put you back on your freighter. 'Course, you'll barely be able to operate at minimum capacity for a few hours, and by then another one of our ships patrolling the area'll likely pick you up. And I know a lot of the other Captains out there; they really -- really -- prefer Telosian step.'

'Then that's it,' Joaq conceded.

The interrogator motioned to the dark space behind his prisoner, from which a pair of armour plated soldiers emerged. 'That I don't know about. Guards, assign him his quarters. Welcome to the Sith.'

---

'There is nothing that requires guidance as greatly as the human mind,' Kreia advised coolly. The lights glared oppressively into the dim, empty space around the walls of the Ebon Hawk's port dormitory, their glow only reaching so far.

'It is so bound to the structure of beginning and ending that it must always reach towards an end in all things; to win, conquer, or overcome. So great is this need for the world to be properly ordered by such ends that even those sensible enough to recognize the fallacy of believing one can 'win' at life remain torn between hope and dread.'

Kreia paused at this, studying Jayna's reactions. The Exile, robed in standard Jedi browns, sat in needing, mind racing, before her.

'This is not the answer you were looking for?' Kreia questioned her.

'I came to ask your advice, Master.'

'A willingness to listen? That is good, though still I sense many questions within you.'

'There's a lot that I need answered.'

'You thirst for answers when my point is that life will give few. Believe as one may, there are no definitive absolutes such as beginning and end, and the very idea of 'definition' itself is but the face of popular opinion's social tyranny.'

'So an answer is impossible?'

'You came to ask me 'what of this mission to find the lost Jedi?' But that is only what you want to know. What you need to know is the why.'

Jayna nodded. 'I feel strange. Ever since I came back into contact with the force, things have felt -- different. Different from even the last time I had power. When I'm awake I feel like I'm floating, and when I'm asleep I feel close to the ground.'

'It's not just your power that alienates you from this world. You were a General once; one of the few beings that can truly take on the role of the purely objective, the objective being to destroy your enemy. Now your mission is one of an ideologue: to save the Galaxy from the Sith. But to ask what saving the Galaxy means, and you must when it is your mission, is maddening, as it too begs at definition. There is only one answer: power.'

'I already have power. I can't feel anything else.' Jayna broke her locked stare with her Master, turning her head slowly to check both sides of her as though she expected to find something. 'The Sith that have attacked us -- Sion and Nihilus -- come from all sides and without warning. It's...difficult to sleep.'

'Ah, but when you speak of power, you speak of the Force. That is not what I speak of. I am referring to the only clear, definable truth that exists: that power endures. Think to a time when you felt powerless...' Malachor flashed before Jayna's mind at once. '..and now ask yourself why.'

The Exile felt colder at the very thought. 'I don't know,' she responded truthfully.

Kreia hmphed, clearly unimpressed. 'The thought of letting down your old Masters, your order, puts a great weight upon your shoulders. This burden and the prospect of collapsing under it has power over you, and to succeed you must take back that power. Only power will dictate your worth in the eyes of the Galaxy.'

'For what reason? The way I've gone about my mission has gotten me here.'

'And what is your mission? To 'save the Galaxy' is far too vague an objective. Minding that, know that morality is as subject to the fallacy of definition as any subjective thing. Because of the relative and fabricated nature of any ideal concept, there exists nothing that truly defines the concept of inherent human worth. It is a cold notion, to be sure, but you have experienced it to be true. We departed Nar Shaddaa not two weeks ago after you located Zez-Kai Ell. You did so not by appealing to anyone's better nature, but by putting your lightsaber through the influential and giving their spoils to others who could aid you.'

'That hasn't always been the way,' Jayna interjected defensively. 'We've been here on Dxun for nearly a week, and the leader of the Mandalorian clans has already agreed to help us meet with the Onderonian Queen.'

'He only agreed to do so in peaceful words because you proved yourself to him as a warrior in the jungles. You showed him power, as you have begun to show Atris' Handmaiden and the fool Pazaak player power in their Jedi training, which I have advised against repeatedly.'

'We've had this discussion, Master...'

'And yet you continue unabated. I wonder if you will heed any of my advice,' Kreia sniped. 'You ask for my counsel and just now you have objected to it twice.'

Jayna sighed. 'Kreia...'

'We are done,' Kreia declared wearily as she rose to her feet; Jayna obediently followed. 'If you hear but one thing, let it be this: be wary of those you have taken on aboard this ship; there are a great many things any one of them will not tell you.'

'I will.'

'I do hope so.'

---

Atton Rand shot up in his bunk, the sheet covering him a damp, cold sweat. It was another dream. Through the foggy black of his waking stage and his quick draws of breath he fumbled to throw on the light on over where he lay. He mumbled through his panting, feeling the walls vibrate around him as he crossed over from his dream.

'Okay, reality. Good. Good...' After a moment he got up, barely cogent, and picked out his flight fatigues where they hung next to his Padawan robes. The Ebon Hawk was quiet as he exited the medical bay where he had been sleeping the past few nights; it had been some time since the Ebon Hawk had left Nar Shaddaa, and Mira and Visas had made two bodies too many for this ship now. Thus the some-times scoundrel had little choice in the way of bunks.

'Good morning, Atton,' a gentle female voice addressed him when he had reached the supply room. Jayna awaited him in their usual morning meetup spot, and at once he snapped up, more awake.

'Hey. Morning. If it is morning.'

'It is. Though it is pretty early. Everyone else is still enjoying their rack time or hovering about. Looks like you enjoyed your rack time quite a bit.'

Atton lit up with a dumb grin, but quickly pulled it back. 'Oh uhm, hey, no. Not me.'

'Dreaming again?' Jayna walked past him, pulling a pair of water canteens out and handing one to Atton.

'Yeah, actually. Not that kind of dream, though. I wish. I mean, not that I -'

'There's no need for embarrassment,' she reassured him. 'It's not abnormal to have needs.'

'Well, no. Everyone has needs. Everyone needs...things.'

Jayna drank her water, watching Atton's general direction of sight waver as he tried to uphold his manly façade of determined non-neediness. 'Mm. What did you dream about then?'

'The past. Again. I've just been thinking about a lot of things since we had that big talk, you know? The uh, very, very private one.'

'I haven't told anyone; you don't to remind me. But that was a good while ago, not long after we first touched down on Nar Shaddaa. It's been bothering you all this time and you haven't said anything?' Jayna asked with concern. As he started to clam up she went right on to reassure him. 'Atton, it's me.'

'Yeah I know,' he said with a nod. 'You're my master. I'm supposed to pow-wow with you regularly right?'

'I'm also your friend. Come, tell me.'

With the invitation, he did so. 'Well, it always bothers me. I mean, you can't ever let go of some things even if you've decided not to - do things like them any more. But the last few nights I've been having these really intense dreams about uh, the Jedi woman. I never really dream anything specific like where it was or why I was there. I just remember what she told me about the Force and then that I left. Don't even remember her name.' He fell silent for a second, thinking. 'Do you think it's all because I'm more connected now?'

'To the force, you mean? That seems likely.' The Exile paused in consideration. 'But I've been training you in the force since right after you told me about the Jedi who showed you your force abilities before....'

'Yeah, I know. That's been the main feature of the late-night boogies lately. But hey,' Atton perked up, 'Another few months and maybe I'll be able to hold a lightsaber without scorching the wall.' He glanced down at the lightsaber mounted on his belt, finding that his hand had been resting with ease on it throughout the conversation; a sense of genuine ownership filled him up at the sight of it. 'But you'd think if these dreams are more intense just because I'm more in the force now, you or the old witch would be honing in on something,' he continued.

'These things are always different for everyone,' Jayna replied, shrugging. 'I just spoke with Kreia. I can ask her or Visas if they've felt anything...'

Atton scoffed. 'I'd rather you didn't. I'll take it from you, not them.'

'They might've felt something I didn't.'

'One's -- whatever she is, but definitely not someone who I'd take for face value. We've only had her on board since we left Nar Shaddaa. I don't think I know what the old spinster is either and I don't think I want to. You're the chosen one or whatever, if anyone can sense this stuff it should be you.'

Jayna finished her canteen and chucked it back into the storage bin, pensive about Atton's point. 'I don't think my power works that way.'

'Doesn't it for all Jedi?'

'I'm not all Jedi. It's like -' She held back for a second, looking at Atton.

'Like what?' he asked simply, earnest concern coming through in his voice.

'Like I feel everything going on everywhere,' she admitted, encouraged by his sincerity. 'There are great things out there and when they move I can feel it in every bone. But the little things I used to sense, the basic intuition, it hasn't really come back. It's like I'm drawing on entire worlds but I can't get anything but the most basic emotion off the person next to me.'

'Lucky for the worlds, at least.' Atton smiled at her. Through her weariness she smiled warmly back.

'So, my Jedi-Master-friend,' he bubbled enthusiastically, 'should we do some exercises? Got my laser sword handy.'

'That you do,' Jayna acknowledged with just a touch of condescension. 'But: a little advice before we begin, Padawan? Males tend not to mount their lightsaber hilts facing down on their belts. Or diagonally.'

---

They stood in rows: grey-clad officers-in-training. Following the lead of their training officer, the crowd of fifty-something recruits bellowed back at the tall, leering man who stood in front of them: 'Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion I gain strength. Through strength I gain power. Through power I gain victory. Through victory my chains are broken, the Force shall set me free.' Not a week after being properly drafted, Private Rand stood alongside his fellow trainees as one of the first groups at the newly established Sith Academy on Korriban, the reclamation of which had been seen as a huge symbolic victory for the relentless Sith Army.

'The Sith Code holds a truth for all of us, even those without Force capability,' Ermen the training officer regally declared on the first day for Joaq Rand; like the Captain who had drafted him, he was a war dog, but appeared far more zealous. The only truth as Ermen described it was a simple and utter objective: victory. Repetition of the Code, which decried victory as the goal, became a daily ritual as did practice of it. 'Peace is a lie' certainly rang true; Joaq had found a poorly made, and luckily, non-functioning motion grenade under his bed the third day of training. But most important was the race towards the goal. The Jedi, said the ranking Sith officers, had become stagnant because of their focus on the means rather than the ends. Moralizing to no practical end had castrated them; while the Council sat in polished towers, the Jedi who had defied the Order and battled the Mandalorians as Generals were held as heroes by many, even now as Sith.

Victory. To try and be 'better' than another soldier was to dabble in a point of view. After all, what constitutes 'better?' Inviting the very question left open the possibility of an unfavourable answer. And so life or death rode purely on success or failure, both of which were to stand indifferent to morality. Ermen made it very clear that random killing was not to be tolerated; 'If a man approaches you with a ready blade you take it and ram it back into his heart; you don't take a man's razor blade while he shaves and slit his throat for the good fun of it. That weakens us all.' But to find yourself someone's enemy was to be found entombed in a cave's alcove in butchered pieces. This was Revan's philosophy, which made it everyone's philosophy. Mostly.

The maker of the grenade Joaq had found in his bed had never been conclusively identified, but as the first month rounded to a close it quickly became clear just who was willing to do the most for success. Several companions of Ignatio Atton's had gone missing on training missions out on the temple grounds, and in all assigned tasks the tall, blonde-haired, square-jawed jarhead had performed considerably, sometimes inexplicably well. Joaq had never pursued his suspicion of Ignatio, but had always remained prepared. This came in particularly useful on one occasion, which began with a pair of drinks at the Academy recreation lounge.

'It's yours,' Ignatio reassured the quiet, wary Joaq, sliding a glass filled with an amber drink to his hand. 'And this one's mine. It's for a toast.' Joaq stared at him blankly. 'Ermey's progress report for this week just came out. You're moving up, Rand. Funny you don't look happy about it.'

'He always looks depressed,' one of Ignatio's sycophantic accomplices piped up from just down the barfront.

'Cheers, I guess' Joaq shrugged, swigging back the contents of the glass.

'Another,' Ignatio directed to the bartender. 'It's good that you're getting towards the top. Means we'll be training in the same tier. Same exercises, same challenges...it's nice to see someone who wants to win.'

'Actually I just got drafted,' Joaq replied distantly, taking his next drink as the bartender served it.

'Hm. Well, sometimes the galaxy just hands you something and you make what you do of it.'

'Sorry pal, I'm not much for making things.'

Ignatio rested himself on the bar, curious at this so-called soldier's indifference. 'So you're just like all the sacks then? Trying to fill your time and avoid the cut? The cut being literal around here...'

'Tie me up and fill me with sand.'

'That's a funny way to say it. Think someone might.'

Joaq ignored him and faced the bar. No sooner than that the bigger man leaned in towards him.

'Good luck out on the grounds tomorrow then,' Ignatio lowly said, 'there's lots of sand to play in.' Joaq raised his shoulders up and turned to face the threat-maker dead in the eye as he leaned back and finished his own drink.

'We'll just see who the best man is and has anyone ever told you that you have the prettiest blue eyes?

'What the - ' Ignatio spit.

'Really I mean it,' Joaq continued as blithely as he could, 'they're like two sapphire pools, I could just get lost in them on long walks on the beach and...'

'You're disgusting.'

'Whoa now,' Joaq taunted, 'You're not calling me some kind of deviant are you Iggy?'

The large man shook his head. 'You're done tomorrow, wipe.' With proud bluster he set down his empty glass on the bar, turned towards his waiting companions and collapsed in a lightning-quick buckle almost instantly thereafter. The crumple and thud sounds were damn near comical to hear, the people around the bar still milling casually about as the lifeless man just laid there on the floor. There had never been quicker dropped jaws than those Joaq saw of Ignatio's little group that night, and for the first time since he'd been at the Academy the whole month, he let a smile creep across his face, afterwards pointing to Iggy's glass and advising the bartender to dump it.

---

Brianna Kae and Atton Rand faced each other from opposite ends of the supply room. Their blue and green lightsabers cast a soft fluorescence against the walls around them.

'Rules of engagement,' announced their Master. 'There will be no physical contact, and there will be no assails made against bodies with your blades. Now...attack.'

At Jayna's command the two Jedi Padawans clashed with one another. Her words as a trainer carried weight on them the way emotionless, perfunctory statements from all military types did, though the edges of them were now softened by her years away from the service; closer to the world, passion slowly bled back in to them. It was now later in the day, as preparations were being made for the journey to Onderon, and the ship had become lively. Brianna had joined Atton and Jayna in training, and the two pupils now sparred.

'How a Jedi fights emerges from within him or herself,' Jayna sounded off from the side as the two Padawans carefully practiced their lightsaber techniques in mock battle. 'Channel yourselves into the fight. Let the Force flow through and bring you forth.' Brianna's bright blue blade sparked and cracked as it rested against Atton's green, as the Echani warrior in her gathered her focus and attacked. She nimbly side stepped the stare-down with her opponent, coming down on his head as quick as lightning right after. Her white Jedi robes flowed gracefully through the air with her body as though they were made for her.

'Good, Padawans.'

Atton dashed backwards after deflecting her overhead attack, his technique mechanical in its rigidness compared to Brianna's confident glide. But he had his own tricks; he jerked his wrist forward and let the end of the blade stop just inches to the right of her face. And the surprise of it worked. Atton pulled his hand back and took advantage of her stunned state to land a trio of quick attacks against her.

'Padawan Rand,' Jayna chastised him, 'there are to be no weapon attacks made against bodies.'

'I didn't. It was a fakeout. In a real fight...'

'This is a training session for the benefit of your lightsaber skills. Follow the instructions I've given you.'

'Fine. But I think I have some experience with this, you know.' Shaking his head he returned to the fight, Brianna shooting a glower at him for his trespass. 'Like you wouldn't do the same,' he defended himself. Swiftly she spun her blade forth in a dizzying twirl, throwing him off his balance, and quicker than he could recover she did another quick sidestep. This put her directly behind him, from where she put a forceful kick square into his back.

'Only if I had to,' rang Brianna's frosty rebuke.

'Hey!' Atton spun around as his fellow Padawan fell into a holding pattern across from him, their positions now the opposite from where they began. 'No grey area on that. That was deliberate aggression.'

'You attacked me with aggression, and I responded in kind.'

'I was being strategical. Now that we've got the rules all clarified...'

'As though you would ever respect any such rules.'

'Excuse me?' Atton demanded, surprised by her uncharacteristic pettiness.

At this Jayna interjected. 'Padawan Kae, restrain yourself,' she advised. 'Both of you, practice the techniques I asked you to.'

'Forget it,' Atton shot, frowning in annoyance at his fellow Padawan. 'I have stuff to do up front.' He sheathed his lightsaber and marched out of the supply room.

'Padawan,' Jayna called him. 'Atton!' She turned directly to Brianna, sighing. 'That was uncalled for. Is there something going on I don't know about?'

The white-haired Echani sheathed her lightsaber as well. 'My apologies, Master. I...' she wavered in search of an explanation, perhaps unsure herself. '..I was in the spirit of the training.'

'You certainly were,' the Exile scolded. 'Atton's had no formal training of this type where you have. And of anyone I'd expect you to show a little more judiciousness.'

'I tend to be competitive in exercises. My apologies again. Growing up with four sisters -- when you are the half blood and they are pure - is...let us just say that one learns that certain approaches to conflict diffuse problems before they occur.'

Mollified for the moment, Jayna nodded. 'I can understand that. Try and remember that this isn't the same. He isn't here to compete with you for my affections; you're both here to learn.'

'There is affection to be won?' Brianna asked with a hint of teasing in her voice.

'That's not a subject I'm comfortable with, thank you.'

'I see. I wouldn't think to compete for affection in any case, my Master; to stay on top of one another, to become more skilled, perhaps, but my sisters and I never trained for any such thing as affection. Atris did not encourage emotion through either punishment or reward.'

'I remember Atris. That must've been lonely for you.'

'Things have improved since.' Slightly and for a moment, the younger woman seemed to manage a contented smile. 'Though I often wonder what life may have been like if my mother had been my life's guide; it was her blood passed to me that gave me this gift. These robes were hers. But one learns to cope.' Her reply was solid, and she stood at ease, warmly wrapped in her robe. 'This new place, it is still something uncertain for me, so I am learning what I can of how to behave in it. A place can inform so much.'

For another flash, Malachor came to Jayna's mind. 'It can.'

Up front, flashes of a different kind became the subject of discussion as an annoyed Atton began preparations for takeoff.

'Being annoyed doesn't mean I have menopause, you giant little Ewok man.' Mira huffed right in Atton's vicinity, occupying the space leading out of the cockpit as he sat at the pilot's chair, flipping important switches and dials as all pilots do.

'Giant...and little. Alright then and what the hell is an Ewok?'

'I'm thirsty, I'm annoyed and I want to know where the extra stores are, Atton.' She held off, searching for more arrows to shoot with. 'And how can you not know what an Ewok is? Aren't you the travel-the-galaxy type?'

Atton got up and sauntered over to the Galaxy map on the wall. He proceeded to press more important buttons. 'Okay, that's two questions. First: Because I'm not a menopausal bounty hunter with delusions of an ability to intimidate. Second: Been there and done that thing where I travel the galaxy and get sick of it. Now leave me alone.'

'I'm not menopausing, I'm trapped like a caged Gizka on this rusty ship in this musty jungle and I'm annoyed. You need to stop trying to get some rise out of me because of your own bad mood...'

'..seems to be working...'

'And come on. Everyone knows that Ewoks are just like little Wookies.'

'Wookies.'

'Yeah. Little...what do you..I don't know. Like quashed in, little Wookie men. Like with feet...and hands and bearded. Except their faces have hair all over. Not beard hair but hair but there are beards...and..yeah. Brown, little bearded Wookie men.

For a moment he just marveled at the incredulousness. And when Atton marveled, one knew to be afraid. 'Okay,' he conceded with no ego. 'Water's in crate C in the supply room under some protein packs.'

'If I wanted a big vocabulary I would've bothered with an education, okay?' she blurted defensively.

'Far be it from a humble freighter pilot o question your intellect. Just watch yourself going back there. Little miss white-hair is having a Kreia-sized snit fit for no good reason.'

Mira shrugged. 'Should I be surprised? Everyone on this ship is crazy.'

'You're on this ship...'

'I don't know how any of you can sleep at night, you know,' she continued. 'There's not one person on this ship who couldn't find a reason to kill any one of us in our sleep if they looked hard enough.'

'See, that's more a product of you than the ship.'

'Oh, pull the stick out of your ass before you spit pinecones, fly boy.'

The Scoundrel sat back in his pilot's chair. 'That wasn't bad. You just might make it here.' He stopped. 'Watch out for the rust-bucket. The upright walking one.'

'The HK? Pfft. Droid's a droid. It can shut up as quick as it be shut down. It's the people that freak me out.'

Fresh from the supply room, Jayna joined the pair in the cockpit, surveying the thick of the Dxun jungle that the encroached Ebon Hawk overlooked. 'Don't start,' she directed Atton pre-emptively, 'she's been told. Are we ready?'

'Button down the hatches, 'cause this thing is a piece of crap.' He turned to the frontal pilot console in his chair. Jayna waited. And then he realized this. 'Oh, right. Yeah. Ready.'

As Mira departed in search of crate C, the Exile strapped herself into the co-pilot's chair. 'The Mandalore's contact in Iziz said we can see the Queen of Onderon within the hour of our arrival, so fast and direct should be our preference.'

'This is the part where I make a phallic joke.'

'Not if you value yours.'

---

Ermen the training officer stared the trainee down from across a quaint, utilitarian kitchen table with a smooth sip of his hot beverage, then setting it down on a saucer. Surreal as it seemed, the small, largely unused recreation-zone kitchen in the west wing of the academy was Ermen's favourite hole. The room was as plain as could be; the smooth, beveled walls and roof coloured to match the dirty red-orange of the Academy's old stone columns. And yet something seemed 'off' about it compared to the rest of the place; as opposed to the pomp and grand pageantry of the main halls and the outer ground, it was simple and made to function. Not to inspire.

Ermen's first words in that room were spoken to offset the other's expectations: the simple fact he imparted was that the grandstanding done in the early days of training was not to his preference. 'I do that crap on the first day to make it easier for the officers who have to deal with you in the field,' Ermen's deep, controlled voice told him with a casual lack of emotion. 'I'm just here now to ask you a simple question: Did you kill Joaq Rand by poisoning his drink last night at the recreation lounge?'

'Yes, I did, sir,' the other answered.

Ermen took another sip of his drink. 'Well I'm grateful of your honesty, Private. It makes this whole process easier. What's your relation to the deceased?'

'Cousin. Real smart ass, no work ethic. The big, blonde lunk looks nothing like me,' Atton Rand answered, confident with his cover.

'I can see that. What I didn't see was your name in our records. Care to explain that one for your next answer?' Atton opened his mouth, but Ermen cut him off. 'Ponder your answer very -- very carefully, Private.'

Wise advice. In the shadow of the black-robed, humanoid Sith Acolyte standing behind Ermen, every thought felt suspect. The grey of Ermen and Atton's uniforms blended into the chrome red-orange of the kitchen, whereas the acolyte, sentient though not human, painted a void against it by standing there. Its hands were cracked and brown, long fingers extending from them like tendrils; its claws jutting out even further. Folded like a frail old woman's hands on top of each other, the ghastly appendages rested on the waistline of its dark robes; the creature's face invisible under its hood. Terrifying, but not without its use.

'I was going under another name,' Atton responded while his innards fought the urge to snake and twist. 'I was worried that if Private Rand -- the other Private Rand -- discovered me, he'd target me.'

Ermen looked back at the Acolyte, who silently nodded. 'So it you were afraid? Odd that you decided to be so outgoing in training then.'

'I wasn't afraid.'

'Sure,' Ermen snickered plainly. 'Maybe you weren't of him, but that's how you look. Maybe a better haircut, Rand?' He took another sip. 'Ahh. Good stuff. Want any?' Atton glanced briefly at the cup and shook his head. 'I have no problem with the current arrangement of your training. But if I so choose, I can tell this gentleman behind me to pop your head off with a look. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir.' Atton felt the clench again.

'So why shouldn't I?' he pondered. 'Do you know what fear is? Let me tell you, most of our recruits come in hot off the press with their blasters to blaze. They talk about honour, and glory and all this juvenile crackery and do you know what it gets them? Exactly nothing. This man you killed sounds like a showboat by description and look how long he lasted. The people to watch for over your shoulder are very afraid. So what do I tell my companion back there?'

Atton swallowed. 'What, sir?'

'I don't tell him to pop your head off. Force, that would be a messy way to kill someone. Could take an hour to clean.'

'...that'd be next to Godliness.'

'Mm hm. Rand, what would you think about training under Force Sensitives similar to this one here?'

'You want to promote me,' Atton acknowledged incredulously.

'Not exactly. Such a thing would, however, be a recognition of your abilities, not the least deadly of which are all yours.' He motioned around his face. 'Eyes and ears, private.'

The clench faded as this thing Ermen called sense padded Atton's consciousness with comfort. 'You know,' he started to beam, 'I think that's the smartest damn thing I've heard today.'

'I'm glad you think so.' Ermen looked back at the Acolyte. 'Kill him.'

With frightening speed the black-clad Acolyte erupted from its spot like a blast of black smoke. No sooner than it was on him Atton was on his feet and fired his blaster -- BLAM BLAM - sending it collapsing to the floor. Ermen sat dumbstuck.

'You killed him,' he stated in disbelief. 'Very impressive,' he instantly declared thereafter. 'Go to the East Wing. Speak to Lina; you'll be her charge to train. Congratulations.' Atton saluted genuinely for the first time, exiting the kitchen without delay. Unnerved, Ermen lifted his communication device to his mouth: 'Control: I need cleaning to rec kitchen immediately. And inform Lina in East Wing to expect a new student.' He took a glimpse at the body resting near his feet. 'I want him watched for Force Sensitivity.' The Control Centre confirmed his orders and he sat back to wait for the cleaning crew, wondering just how close Atton should be watched, and whether or not he'd known the entire time of Ermen's intention to kill him.