Prologue – 6 months after Ancients Waiting
Starship Jurkanis
Hyperspace
En Route to Epsilon Sector
Princess Almani strode quickly across the blue carpeted floor of the throne room. Her delicate, ornate robes made a soft swishing sound as she moved, and her pure white hair fell down behind her back in two long, elaborate braids. Her slipper-covered feet padded across the floor with hardly a sound. Within moments she reached the white throne at the end of the large chamber, and she paused, placing a hand on one of the arms as she stared down for a minute at the empty seat.
“I thought I might find you here, Almani,” came a familiar voice from behind.
She turned, and found herself breaking into an involuntary smile. “Zoar!” she cried out to the tall, handsome man standing back at the entrance. Zoar was kind, gentle man, and held a special place in her heart. He’d been a brother to her, in everything but blood, for as long as she could remember. Zoar had long hair, most of it a rich brown, but with a few strands of white as pure as Almani’s. He wore his formal dress, as he usually did; an ornate robe that split at the leg to form loose pants that allowed freedom of movement. His deep brown eyes looked on her with compassion, but could have a deadly fire when he felt a lecture was necessary. Almani had always looked up to her brother, who was sometimes the only stable factor in her life. Especially after recent events.
Her smile quickly faded, and she looked down at the seat, speaking more solemnly. “I miss my sister,” she admitted softly.
“You know that Lucia’s duties keep her very busy. But even when she is not present physically, she is still with us in spirit, my little Zuami blossom,” Zoar told her. His deep voice sounded soft and comforting. “She will always remain by your side to guide you, as will I.”
“I know,” Almani said. “That makes me glad. But I still wish she were here.” She looked back up at her brother. “Do you think we’ll be safe in the… Nooh Emperium?” she struggled with the foreign words, so different from her native tongue.
“The New Imperium is a very tolerant place, I hear,” Zoar said, correcting her pronunciation. “They take many refugees from the… evil ones. I am certain they will give us sanctuary on our way toward the Core.”
“I hope so.”
Feeling a sudden impulse, Almani pushed away from the throne and ran across the carpet, wrapping her brother in a fierce hug. “Oh, thank you for doing this, Zoar. I’m so glad you’re here to protect us.”
“It’s all right, Almani,” he said softly. After returning her hug, he took her gently by the shoulders and knelt down on one knee, looking into her crystal blue eyes. “This ship holds the last of our people. We will preserve and protect our own. And I will never abandon my duty, or my love for you. As your Guardian, I promise this to you, now and forever.”
“I want to live in a safer place,” she said, her delicate voice almost cracking. “Without war or fighting. There has to be such a place. There has to be!” She’d known war her entire life. It was something she almost couldn’t imagine living without. What would it be like? Would it be as wonderful as the legends said?
“There is such a place, little sister,” Zoar said. “And we will reach it soon enough; have no fear of that.”
***
Downtown Vectur
Planet Varnus
2230 Hours
The bar was named the Desperate Chance, and with good reason. One of the seedier pubs in town, it was located on street level, and home to an amalgam of motley-looking aliens looking for the right place to get wasted for the night. Anyone down on their luck or strapped for cash could usually be found here, and it had generated quite a reputation across the city, so much so that the entrance line was sometimes two whole hours long. As a result, it had attracted more than the common run-down spacefarers and junkies, from thrill-seeking youngsters to politicians who wanted a nice, “public” place to take care of some of their less legitimate businesses. It had become a far cry from its original, simpler roots. Not that the owners were complaining though, with the obscene amounts of money the place was raking in.
It’s one of life’s little ironies, Xar thought as he sat at the bar, nursing a blur concoction in a gourd-shaped glass that tasted more like some exotic alien’s by-product than an alcoholic beverage. But that was all part of the image, he guessed. Same thing with the heavy techno music and the neon blue room lighting, and the strobe lasers that were constantly reflecting of shiny surfaces and into people’s eyes. Yeah, I really love this place, he thought for the tenth time that hour.
What made this experience even better was the obnoxious Weequay sitting to his left who simply would not shut up. Ever since replacing the seat’s previous occupant in the crowded nightclub, he hadn’t stopped talking. He’d taken an instant fixation on Xar for some reason, rambling on in broken Basic first about his dire situation – obviously a lie, since everyone here made up a tough-luck story to keep up appearances – and then from there went on about everything from politics to how well different drinks mixed together. Now he seemed to be prodding closer for some response, and he was quickly pushing the limits of the Xar’s nerves.
“I tell you truth, it all same here,” the Weequay went on. “I come here to make living, but no luck. You have luck?”
Feeling his synapses starting to twitch, Xar turned to cast a wary look at the drunken figure. “Could you please leave me alone, I’m waiting on someone.”
“It no baatha,” the alien mumbled on. “Let me buy you drink…”
Suddenly the alien broke off a large hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around the other way forcefully. The Weequay stared into the imposing gaze of a wide-shouldered, bald and dark-skinned man, flinching as he was pulled to his feet and held up by his shirt. The large, built man practically yelled into his face.
“Can’t you hear? He said leave the man alone!”
The two fell out of Xar’s sight, and a second later he heard a wild shriek. The crowd shuffled around him, and then the large man slid into the now-empty seat beside him.
“Thanks, Atridd,” Xar said, nodding but not looking in that direction.
“Not a problem. You found our buddy yet?”
“Got a line on him now,” Xar said, fixing his gaze on the rear exit as he watched between the stirring mass of bodies. He tapped his ear once, activating the transceiver there. “Heads up everyone, we move in two minutes.”
He quickly received confirmation from his other team members, three distinct double-clicks over his commlink. There were five of them including himself and Atridd. Nodding, Xar settled back to wait the allotted time. Taking another look at the caustic liquid in the glass in front of him, he slid it over to his left. “You want this?” he asked Xoan.
“Thanks,” the man said, taking the drink. He tasted it, then set the glass back down on the counter and flexed his right hand. “You know,” he said, breathing out beneath his black mustache that traced its way to his chin, “I may have actually hurt that guy’s shoulder.”
Xar looked over at him. He knew that underneath the coat sleeve and glove, Xoan’s arm was artificial, and he sometimes didn’t know his own strength. It had been sliced off in a vicious battle with an Altarin’Dakor Jedicon, and Atridd had chosen to wear a prosthetic instead of a potentially risky clone arm. Ironically, the mechanical arm would be much stronger than a normal human’s, but with Force-enhanced strength Xoan could make his left arm many times as powerful. “Don’t worry about it,” Xar said.
Outside the bar, it had begun to rain steadily, and the crowd of milling bodies inside packed more closely together in an attempt to stay dry. Beings who entered were cloaked in drenched raincoats, by now. The atmosphere inside was becoming more uncomfortable for everyone. Casually, Xar reached into his coat and touched the handle of his single-handed rail gun, his favorite ranged weapon, taking comfort in feeling its weight there. Roughly the size of any hand-held blaster, it hung snugly in the shoulder holster in which is was concealed. It was an elegant weapon, simple in appearance – made of polished metal – but it was deadly in form, holding a magazine of twelve supersonic mass driver projectiles. Using such a weapon was mostly tradition for him, one that he’d kept even after becoming a Jedi Master. Almost unconsciously, he popped the safety switch off with his thumb, making ready. “Let’s go,” he whispered into the transceiver.
Without further word, he shoved away from the bar and started forcing his way through the crowd towards the back door. He could feel Xoan’s presence moving behind him, and his other three operatives drawing close, as well. It only took a couple of minutes to break through the thickest part of the mass and reach the rear door near the refresher stations. Standing just outside of the ‘fresher line, he turned to see the rest of his team gather up around him. Atridd was close by on his right, calm and alert, as always. Drawing up in front of him, the other three members gave knowing yet inconspicuous nods. Xar grinned back at them. The slim, attractive Nadia Ispen had fit in well with the crowd; her short, bleached-white hair turned blue under the room’s lighting. Beside her, Jacob “Jinx” Skipper was reaching into his trench-coat for the blaster hidden there. And bringing up the rear was the large form of Ralagos Akala, the only Togorian Jedi in the New Imperium. He was a rare find, but the fact that he held the rank of Adept spoke that much more about his skill. Any enemy not cowed by his fearsome feline appearance would regret being the recipient of his awesome Force abilities.
His short inspection satisfying him, Xar turned back towards the door and strode up to the rough-looking, muscular security guard standing watch there. From the way the man watched the crowd, he was obviously one of the bouncers, though Xar figured he had other reasons for watching this particular exit.
The sight of the five shady-looking characters approaching him was probably what sent the guard’s eyes wide. “Is there something I can help you with?” he spoke up gruffly.
“Yeah,” Xar said, coming to a stop half a meter in front of him. “Let us through this door.”
“The back room is off limits to customers,” the man said, his eyes narrowing. “You’d better turn around now before I decide to have you thrown out.”
Xar gave the man a cold smile. “I assume you don’t know who I am, do you? Open the door.”
The man began reaching into his belt for the stun rod secured there. “That’s it. I’ve had enough of you…”
But Xar didn’t give him a chance. Slapping a hand over the bouncer’s wrist to trap it, he thrust his fist straight into the man’s solar plexus, bending him over in pain and cutting off his breath.
“I own this city, idiot! Now get out of my way!” Xar yelled, forcibly shoving the man to the side. Then, ripping his mass gun out of his holster, he stepped forward and kicked the door completely off its hinges. The door clattered to the floor amidst a shower of splinters, and Xar quickly stepped through the doorway, followed closely by Attrid, Nadia, Jinx, and Ralagos, each with their weapons drawn and at the ready.
Four men looked up from the sabbacc table in the center of the smoke-filled area, clearly startled speechless by the sight of five armed assailants suddenly bursting into the room.
“What’s the meaning of this?!” the bald, pudgy man at the far side of the table demanded loudly, backed up by the protests of the others gathered there. Xar quickly took stock of all four. Two of the men around the circular table were plain-looking and built– clearly hired muscle. Across from the fat man who’d spoken was another man with tall, spiky blond hair, the other’s business associate. Concentrating on that group, Xar was surprised as Jinx moved up beside him and trained his blaster on a fifth person, a tall, dark-skinned man who had been returning to the table with a drink.
Xar walked up to the table and pointed his gun straight at the pudgy fellow. “Slyvie Voor, you’re under arrest for conspiring to and committing treason against the New Imperium.” He gave a cynical grin as he recognized the man he’d been searching for. It had taken him almost a month to find this one. “You’re a kriffing AD spy.”
The man’s eyes went wide, and he jerked back as if hit. “What? That’s ridiculous! You can’t just come in here and arrest me on such a ludicrous charge. What proof do you have? Where’s your warrant, puke-eater?”
“My name is Xar Kerensky. I believe you know who I am. And my warrant is right here,” he said, turning his gun to one side, still pointed at the man’s chest.
“Kriff you! I demand to see a lawyer!”
“Gentlemen. Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a relaxing game?” the spike-headed man put in. “What happened to the freedom of personal privacy? Can’t you desk-jockeys leave well enough alone?”
“I’m sorry, but we’re not tolerant people,” Xar shot back sardonically. “Put your hands up now.”
“Please, officers,” Slyvie broke back in. “This is absurd. Allow me to explain the situation…” He glanced nervously at the guard on his right as he spoke, and Xar groaned inwardly. So much for a non-violent confrontation. As one, the two guards’ hands shot under the table, followed an instant later by Slyvie and the spiked man. The first guard had brought the handle of his weapon up by the time Xar moved. Taking a quick step forward, he kicked the table hard from underneath, launching it into the air and scattering cards and chits everywhere. Slyvie and one of the guards were thrown backward as the table fell down in front of them on its side with a crash. Not waiting to see what had happened to Slyvie, Xar brought his weapon up and fired two shots straight through the wooden table. The supersonic bullets tore through the wood like flimsy, blasting splinters out of it, before spearing two holes straight through the fat man on the other side.
Simultaneously around Xar an explosion of sound and light erupted as the other members of his team fired their rounds. He felt the heat of blaster bolts burn through the air around him, followed by the sickening smell of burnt flesh. A split second later, there were four corpses lying across the floor, strewn with sabbacc cards and gambling chips. One guard’s face had been blown completely apart; the other guard and the spiked man had smoking holes in their chest and back, respectively. Xar let his weapon fall to his side and he shook his head, sighing.
“Kriff. I was hoping to get something out of this group. What a waste.” Of course, that was how all of these busts had gone so far. Altarin’Dakor – even traitors from this galaxy – never surrendered; they would always fight, no matter what the odds were.
“You okay?” he asked Atridd, who was wincing as he nursed his left arm, smoking from a near-miss Xar hadn’t noticed.
“I’ll be fine,” the man winced. “Just a scratch, it’ll heal up in no time.”
Ralagos and Nadia had replaced their weapons and were stooping down to search the bodies. Xar let his gaze linger over each one. How do you defeat someone like that? he wondered silently. After all, they were the aggressors. Usually the defending forces in a conflict would have the advantage of pure desperation on their side, but these Altarin’Dakor fought as if winning were the only thing that mattered in the universe. But of course they do, he thought. They’ve trained all their lives for the Return. Even defectors from this galaxy, like these worthless thugs now lying on the ground, were willing to put everything on the line for a victory.
“Don’t move,” Jinx spoke up suddenly, interrupting Xar’s thoughts. Turning, he saw that the man’s blaster was trained on the fifth member of the group, the one who hadn’t been at the table. Xar arched an eyebrow in surprise. The dark-skinned man hadn’t moved an inch, but his drink had shattered on the floor when it had fallen from his limp hand, and the man’s eyes were filled with terror at what he’d seen.