Dark Empire -Exodus- Epilogue, Plasteel Surgery

Authors Note: I’m back; miss me? If you remember me; maybe. The point is I’ve finally finished my 6-month contract, and I’m home. I haven’t had any time to write, but while I was away, during my spare seconds I mapped out how episode 2 is going to go, and a bit of episode 3. I think its fair to say that I will be writing a far more in-depth story than episode 1, and I hope; more enjoyable. Anyways, this last little bit of Exodus is just to give you an idea of what’s going on with the three important characters who got badly injured during the story, sort of a lead into episode 2. This will be the last time I write Exodus, Enjoy! 

Star Wars: The Dark Empire Episode 1 – ExodusEpilogue - Plasteel Surgery 

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Pandema medical centre, undamaged area 

Jadan moaned as the medical droids pushed yet another injection into him, subconsciously he tried to shy away, but was restrained by his bonds. His wounds were terrible, half his body had been sheared away by a lightsaber, just below the hip; another slash had ripped off his nose and a good portion of his face. 

Outside, Lord Delhano Sorge turned away from watching the semi-conscious Sith through the one-way mirror. “Master, why are we making such an effort to save this one, moreover why are you taking such a personal interest?” he said to the black cloaked man next to him. 

Darth Messiah’s face was, as always, invisible; protected by a powerful Force reflection, and his voice gave away no emotion as he answered: “Have a little faith, my apprentice. By the time I’m done with him, I very much doubt even you would be able to defeat him.” 

Delhano fought the urge to scoff “Master, he is a cripple,” he said with respect “Prosthetics for so much of the body have always proven less than satisfactory.” 

“Ah, but those prosthetics were never made by the Dark Lord of the Sith!” 

At that moment, the covering cloth slipped off a table just to the right of Jadan’s miserable form, exposing the eight spidery legs Delhano had seen the Dark Lord working on not so long ago. They were complete now, and ebony black. Delhano knew that they had been caught in the epicentre of the blast radius when the massive meteorite had struck, that they had survived relatively undamaged was a testament to their durability. Only now he could see that some of those legs were definitely armed, two with lightsabers, two more with custom lasers. Delhano suddenly had a vision of the top half of Jadan attached to those legs, standing with four of them, lightsabers in both of his hands, lightsabers in both of his front legs, and two laser blasters backing up. 

“Since he killed his foster parents, and lost his master, he truly has few bonds left. I intend to make sure that he has none.” 

Delhano had to contain a gasp, his master was referring to the prophecy of the Sith’ari. A true Sith’ari, according to legend, could not be beaten, they were unstoppable. But to be a Sith’ari, one must be totally free of inhibitions, and could not have even the slightest of bonds with anyone or anything. It was an ideal that few Sith even aspired to, and there was always the catch. It had also been prophesied that a Sith’ari would be the end of the Sith, so anyone who was suspected of trying to become one was hunted down and killed out of principle. 

“Jadan will become the perfect killing machine,” finished Darth Messiah, and began to laugh. Delhano said nothing, wondering if this wreck of a man could truly be the end of them. He hadn’t heard his master talk that way since the day Korgul had entered his service nine years before, and then he had been described as the ‘perfect assassin’. Hearing this; Delhano couldn’t help but feel that he, the second most powerful Sith in the empire, was becoming obsolete. 

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The ‘Jaeger’, en route to the Republic 

“This is Captain Lorn speaking from the bridge,” said the intercom “At sixteen hundred hours, which was five minutes ago, the fleet exited the unknown regions and entered the outer rim. The vessel is at normal conditions, with a slight lag on our damaged starboard side. Our current speed is…” 

None of this meant anything to Dustil Onasi, it was just noise. He gave an angry start though to hear that there was no sign of pursuit, he wanted a chance to avenge his loss. He paced up and down the corridor, hating the feeling of uselessness. A few meters away he knew, in cold bag, lay the body of the woman who had been his wife. The woman who he still loved. Screaming in anguish he struck the wall. The pain cut through his anger, dispelling it instantly, leaving him with only pain and loss. He crumpled, crying. 

Finally resolving to do something, Dustil dried his eyes and walked to the Medical centre not far away. He had to thank Kaah for saving him earlier. He found the Twi-lek easily enough, he was the only non-human resident in the room. He was greeted by a pale-looking Mission, she looked as though she had been crying. There had been plenty enough tears to go around, Dustil reflected bitterly. Kaah’s face was ashen, he had some sort of cream smeared over his severed lekku. But before he could open his mouth, a sudden female cry caused him to turn in alarm, momentary forgetting his pain. 

“What are you doing here?”

 Dustil turned to see a white-faced Bastila, she looked as though she had seen a ghost. At first he though she was talking to him, then realised that her alarm was directed at the man lying in the bed beyond him, next to Kaah. “Do I know you?” was the man’s questioning response. Confusion was written all over Bastila’s face as she stalled, Dustil took the opportunity to take a proper look at the man in the other bed. His heart gave a lurch, Revan! But wait, no, not Revan. He bore an striking resemblance to the former Dark Lord, but there were differences. He was a slightly thicker build than Revan (despite obvious malnourishment), his eyes less deeply set, and his face less angular. He sat propped up by pillows, a mass of wires attached to the nerve endings of his severed feet and ankles, which Dustil supposed would be used to attach artificial limbs. Thick antiseptic cream covered the left side of his face, which had been shredded by what looked like massive claw gouges, extending onto the top part of his chest.

Dustil took a look from the claw marks, to the double-bladed lightsaber that the other man held in a death grip across his body, and clicked. “You’re the one that killed that Terantatek on Sedan, you’re Marka,” he exclaimed with more than a little awe. 

Marka grimaced at Dustil’s words, then nodded, “I am Marka,” he said. 

“But…but,” stammered Bastila. 

“He’s not,” said Dustil, casting a warning glance in Bastila‘s direction. 

“Not what?” said a pretty young woman who had just entered the medical facility. 

Bastila turned sharply, seeing the other woman for the first time, “You!” she almost snarled. 

“Me,” said the other woman simply. 

“I’m sorry, who are you?” said Dustil. 

“I’m Kaya, Marka’s wife and Bastila’s half-sister,” she replied. 

“Bastard half-sister,” Bastila growled. 

Kaya smiled “We both know that by the will of the Force, there are no bastard children,” she said evenly through pearl-white teeth, “however, there are bastard parents.” 

What followed was just turning into a heated row when Mical entered and shooed them all out, citing that his patients needed rest, not stress. Only Kaya and Mission were allowed to stay, being family. As Dustil began to make his way back to his room, he realised that he had forgotten to thank Kaah for saving his life. 

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It took nearly two hours of constant work for Mical to attach the Mandalorian iron laced with contortis feet to the former Sith apprentices legs. The feet were the ones that he had taken off HK-47, and kept with him ever since, sensing that he would need them one day. He had known as soon as he had seen Marka’s wound that the day had finally come, and made the appropriate adjustments to the legs to allow for a comfortable fit. As soon as he closed the last panel and announced that he was finished, Marka foolishly jumped off the bed, and promptly fell flat on his face. Mical and Mission gave a short laugh, and Kaya rushed to help him up, she was grinning as well. Marka though was not. 

“You’ll have to re-learn how to walk,” said Mical, still smiling, “I did warn you.” 

The other man grimaced, and Mical had to feel sorry for him, proud as he was, reduced to the level of an infant. He would soon find out though that those feet, while heavier, were nearly indestructible and had huge talons that could be drawn and retracted. Three of them were at the front, one at the back, like some obscene bird of prey. Mical shuddered, remembering exactly what those talons had done to his friend Bao-Dur. 

But they were effective weapons, in the hands (or legs?) of a capable user. And the Republic would be needing plenty of both of those resources in the near future. 

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Space station in orbit above Yavin IV 

The kolto tank exploded with such force that kolto and bits of glass and metal were sent flying as far as the far wall, forty meters away. Jezebel Torin emerged, angrily she noticed that there was still a small amount of kolto on her body. Smoke rose as she evaporated the remainder off. A highly polished piece of metal showed a slightly blurred reflection, Jezebel looked into it, for the first time fully surveying Suvam Tan’s handiwork.  

Nearly her entire left side had been shattered by GOTO’s self-destructive explosion, and most of her right side was covered in burns. Her left leg had been shredded, as had her left arm right up to nearly her shoulder. Only her impossible force-strength had kept her alive long enough to receive medical assistance, and much of her power had been drained as a result. Now the left side of her face was covered with a mechanical mask, her left eye artificial and disturbingly red. Her chest had thick metal plates all the way around, which at places were probably all that was keeping her innards in. Her new leg was workable, but not powerful enough to support the extra weight of her metallic left side during movement. The eccentric inventor had obviously realised this, and covered for it by making her left arm massive, long enough to reach the floor. Raising it slightly she saw that it only had three fingers, arranged like a tripod. Two were capable of moving together though, creating a vague semblance of a hand. 

Now I look like a monster as well thought Jezebel sardonically as she took her lopsided, robotic, burn-scarred image in.

<What are you doing?> cried Suvam Tan in rodian, running into the room and surveying the carnage <That was a perfectly good kolto tank, and kolto is now incredibly rare ever since you…> he broke off, his hands at his windpipe. <You promised,> he gasped, <you promised that you would let me live!> 

“Wrong,” Jezebel rasped through a now half-mechanical voice box “Jaq promised on my behalf. But I am grateful for what you have done for me,” she gave a quick twist with her one remaining hand, snapping the hapless inventors neck, “so I won’t make you suffer.” 

Jaq, Visas and Hanharr had just entered, drawn by the commotion. Jezebel barely noticed them though, she was drinking the sensation of drawing the life force from the dying rodian. Her power had diminished greatly during her over six month recovery time, despite her followers frequent murder sorties to keep her fed. She had learned during the course of her incapacitation that the power slowly bled out of her, and if she did not keep drawing in more; sooner or later she would be powerless. 

The problem was that Jezebel was dead to the Force, and did not actually have any power of her own. But through her formidable bonding ability, she had found that her and those bonded to could actually draw the Force from those that they killed, transferring it to her. All the more potently if that organism was Force sensitive, like Suvam here. It was time to move on, that had stalled in the space station to long already. She needed to kill more, hundreds, thousands. And she still hadn’t got her revenge on Revan.

“Visas, see if you can find anything useful amongst this idiots junk.” she said softly, trying unsuccessfully to contain the rasp, “Jaq, find some charges and set them in the atmospheric stabilisers, we’re blowing this rust heap up behind us.” 

As the other two left, Hanharr gave a roar, looking intently at Suvam’s body. For the first time in months, Jezebel smiled. “Yes Hanharr, lunch is on me.” As the insane wookie rushed in on his unexpected meal, Jezebel turned and moved to the massive windows, which were currently facing the stars.

Somewhere out there in the endless darkness was Revan. He would learn the price of betrayal, the wrath of Jezebel Torin.  

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Stay tuned for 'Jenesis', Episode 2 of Star Wars: The Dark Empire