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Phu


BLCKCLONE

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Elnia was sad to watch her teacher depart, but she could sense that a much needed change was brewing on the wind, one that she was not yet ready to step into, though she knew that she would be welcomed if she chose to one day take advantage of the opportunity.

 

She didn't have much to gather, all she had was only the lightsaber that Aryian had given her on the Helix Station, and a few changes of clothes. Though not having that much to pack to her wasn't really seen as a sad thing, as she'd never really owned anything before, not even her own life. Now, thanks to Aryian and the Jedi, she now had that and so much more than she'd ever thought possible.

 

From the hangar, she found herself drawn to a sleekly designed E-Wing starfighter, as the little astromech trundled up to her greeting her warmly, and surprisingly in Basic.

 

"Greetings! I am Arseven-eleven. It's nice to meet you!" the mechanical voice addressed her as cheerily as the vocoder's processor could muster. His outer casing was predominately white to the normal-sighted observer, but was also trimmed in various shades of blue on his carapace and legs and the lighting elements were gold, signaling his association with the Jedi Order.

 

Elnia smiled shyly, wondering to herself where Cade was and where he might be headed, before she responded to the droid.

 

"I am Elnia, Elnia Nexma. I need to find other Jedi, can you help me? I don't know anything about flying a ship," she admitted, as teaching a pet to pilot also fell short of the list of things that her Master had taken upon himself to educate her upon.

 

Arseven-eleven processed in his own language for a bit as he communicated with the stations local computer and that of the ship, helping to select a proper destination for what he now saw as his young charge. Finally after a few seconds he replied, "Yes, Elnia Elnia Nexma. This we can do. Please follow."

 

"Elnia will be fine," she said as she took her small pack and followed the droid to the ship. The young Miraluka had considered saying "just Elnia" but considering the literalness of the droid, she thought it best to leave the "just" out.

 

She took a moment to consider her path as she climbed up the steps to the cockpit, wondering where this little droid would take her, wondering if she'd ever see Aryian or Cade again, if their own paths would coincide with hers again. She admitted to herself that she was a little bit frightened to leave Cade's protective side, but at the same time she would understand if his path led him elsewhere. She would have to learn to defend herself one day.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Arseven as he took his own position with the ship, and addressed her, "Elnia, - did I get that right? - A course has been laid in for Haruun Kal, there are Jedi needing help there."

 

Despite her nervousness about striking out on her own, Elnia quickly responded, "Yes on both counts Arseven-eleven."

 

And with that the pair and the ship rose from the atmosphere and found their way into Hyperspace.

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Ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya. - "Train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger."

“A Mandalorian woman's greatest talent is not her charm or beauty, but her strength of body and will.” - Mandalorian proverb

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  • 10 months later...

Cold winter winds blew past the Cerean's face as his ship touched down on the open terrestrial planet of Phu. He could see the diversity of the planet's structure from space, but never imagined how unique it was, in comparison to the rest of the galaxy. There were any number of varying terrains to choose from fir his search and although Roene was eager to see them all, he couldn't help but think about Kitt's mission in the back of his head. Tyue was left in the ship with a few days food and toys Roene had bought on the way to the planet to keep him company while the Cerean was gone. The little pup had been with Roene for a little while now and although his favorite thing to do was still to fruitlessly nibble at Roene's leather shoes, Roene had warmed up to the little fellow and would miss him while he was gone.

 

"Well, it would seem logical to put a Jedi temple on such a beautiful planet. That is, for the most part, untouched by foreign hands." said Roene to himself as he trekked to a town that rest atop a hill near his ship. The venture wasn't along one, but Roene could tell that this mission was going to be harder than he initially though. First of all, when Roene did a preliminary geological scan from his ship, there were no signs of any large complexes above or below ground. There were a few holes in the sensor grid, but they weren't flagrant enough for Roene to really poke at those regions in wonder. Second, there were no adverse force signatures on the planet, which either meant there were no Jedi on the planet or they were doing an incredible job of hiding their talents.

 

So, trying to find alternative ways of searching, instead of giving up, Roene headed to the nearby town to ask around and see if anyone had seen any Jedi about or if they themselves had seen people heading off in an odd direction...

 

The attempt appeared fruitless though when no Phuii would give him a straight answer and instead looked at him as if he were raving like a madman and grew angry at his questions as the Cerean pushed the issue. The insult alone was enough for Roene to turn away from the people's help, but he thanked each person for their time regardless of their inconsideration and looked about aimlessly for any sort of sign...

 

"Try me"

 

The sound was so small and insignificant that Roene hadn't noticed it at first, but when it came back a second time, the Cerean perked his ears and wandered toward what looked to be a large group of burgeoning wild flowers.

 

"Hello?" Roene asked aimlessly into the crowd of flowers as if expecting an answer.

 

Now he must've really seemed like a madman, talking to flowers as if they could respond...

 

"We can..." said the group of flowers in a vague whisper that resonated in echoes off of the Cerean's mind. The words were real... Almost too real, but as the Cerean thought more about the talking foliage, he was reminded of situations in the Tython forest where whispers came to him, comforting him and guiding him along. Each whisper was different and all seemed supportive, but they were all mysterious in that Roene never really knew where they came from. They came from the plants? He thought to himself as he structurally interrogated the group of wild flowers.

 

”œDo you know where the Jedi Temple is, or if there is a Jedi temple at all?”

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The door opened with a soundless whisper, revealing a roughly hewn path into the mountains. It was very dimly lit, with only dull red emergency lights illuminating the floor. However, the way the air moved through the path hinted that the ceiling was somewhat low--not low enough to give Roen problems, but enough so that there was an uneasy sense of claustrophobia in the darkness.

 

Occasionally, the pitch-black walls were lit by a patch of blue-white luminescent fungus, but there was no further sign of life at this level. If Roen proceeded through the hallway, he would eventually come to an express turbolift, as well as a set of emergency stairs that led upwards into the mountain.

 

_____________________________________

 

Elsewhere, there was movement in the Jedi Temple. An unidentified visitor had just entered into this most secret of the Jedi strongholds, someone who was not in the records as a Jedi or a Sith. It would be necessary to investigate who exactly this person was, and.... if needed, to deal with the possible threat.

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Conscious of his presence, Roene looked about and instinctively grasped at the training saber latched to his waist. Then he paused. The Cerean couldn't see well enough into the cave and the lighting was so sporadic that his eyes would be a nuisance even if he could manage to see, but violence wasn't a necessary risk here. One small cut in the wrong direction might end up making Roene a few unsavory enemies, or even worse, bringing a mountain down on his head. Even if it was a training saber, accidents could happen.

 

So, instead of warily creeping through the tunnel like a man who had something to hide, Roene moved slowly through the cave, trying to ignore the biting sensation of claustrophobia in his head. The fear hadn't necessarily been his, but the passage was narrow enough that it didn't matter.

 

However, after a decent amount of walking through red blinking lights...

Red blinking lights? Roene though to himself as he tapped on a metal door, opening what looked to be a hardy turbolift. The Cerean scratched at his white beard speculatively and looked around to have the epiphany reach him just as the metal doors of the turbo lift closed.

 

"Crap!" Roene mumbled loudly to himself. I have just triggered an alarm and instead of walking away I am going further into the complex... Brilliant. Aren't Cereans suppose to be smart?

 

Roene had no time to insult himself though; the Cerean had to think of a plan of action. He had no idea where he was headed, he had no idea who or what would greet him and he had no idea what ordinance of weapons they carried if they indeed carried any weapons...

 

Just as the Cerean was about to formulate something simple, the turbolift stopped and the door hissed open.

 

This does not bode well...

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After the walk through the darkness, the light from the corridor just outside the turbolift was almost blinding. Even through the glare, however, Roen Givrah would have been able to tell that he was in deep trouble, for a pair of what could only be a pair of battle droids waited just beyond the door. Standing resolutely on a set of four heavily-armored legs, they had a sleek, almost refined look to them despite their thick-barreled, squat construction. They rose up to the Cerean's chest on double-jointed legs.

 

Unlike most droids, these were had a slightly unnerving appearance, due to the fact that they had no humanoid-like eyes””instead, their torsos were dotted by a number of sensor modules embedded into the chassis. More unnerving was their heavy weaponry””both of them were amply armed with a gatling blaster that was affixed to a manipulator arm on their front, though the latter was similarly equipped with what could have been a grenade launcher.

 

Even more unnerving was the fact that both blaster cannons were revolving at a high velocity, clearly prepared to fire.

 

One of them””it was difficult to tell, as they had no visible mouths or speakers””shouted out an order. The voice was calculated to deliver maximum threat without driving the poor soul into a panic. They didn't want him to try something reckless.

 

”œOn your knees! Hands behind your head!

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Wordlessly, the Cerean gaped at the blinding light before him, trying to shield his eyes from its overpowering luminescence. Then as his feet tried to move forward a large whistling sound peeled through the open door as metal gleamed to life. Although the Cerean still couldn't see, he could vaguely hear a cold voice pushing through his moment of obscuring disability. The words sounded mechanical and as Roene rubbed at his sockets fruitlessly, with minimal force, he swore he could see something with multiple apertures rotating quickly aimed in his direction. Roene couldn't make the gun out, but the words floated effortlessly into the small room even if the voice was broken slightly through his disoriented perception. Roene only saw the threat after it was too late; his eyes soon adjusted to the light and the droid's chassis became clear, as did its intentions.

 

Humbly admitting himself to their will was his only option for now. Without any profess of battle and no weapon to speak of aside from a training saber that was of little use in this situation, even if he did want to fight, he couldn't. So, within a second or two, the Cerean was on his knees, feeling the cold durasteel of the turbo-lift on his pale, shaking legs. There was no fear in his eyes, but the warmth from his body had dropped with enough speed to give his body away to trembling advances.

 

Something struck him though. It wasn't a truthfully cognizant epiphany, or something he could rightfully confirm, but he had seen something like these droids before. He swore he saw someone pushing around a design, blueprint or something as he snooped carefully around the temple on Gala. There weren't a large number of guards to conspicuously draw attention to what would've obviously been secret, but Roene could tell it was important to some degree. If he remembered correctly”¦ It had”¦ Her name on it”¦ Roene had only really met her once or twice, but he remembered Kitt telling him she was excellent with machines.

 

These must be her work, he thought to himself quietly, as his hands raised in acquiescence to the overpowering droid threat. Should Roene lie and tell them Armenia had sent him here? Knowing people who were masters of their craft, would they leave gaps of logic so large in their creations like that? No. Lying may have been constructive at times, but right now was not the time to be proposing illegitimate truths even for a small glimpse at what might've been hidden further into the mountain. If these droids wanted him to see anything, it would be of their own will”¦ Not his.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Roene's demeanor was deftly calm and quite respectful in its quiet assessment of the situation -- ironically enough, due to the massive blaster cannon swinging 5 feet from his face ready to fire -- but quiet nonetheless.

 

Already preferred to non violent ways of coping with problematic issues, Roene was glad to talk, but something about the atmosphere felt heavy around him. There was a large encumbering, residual feeling from being underground. Why? Roene didn't exactly know, but his feet felt thicker and his mind felt a bit murkier as it tried to seek out the clear blue skies of morning through the force.

 

Something poked him though, as his visions strayed and although Roene had been trying to focus on the dangerous droids, one had asked a question and the ever present blaster evidence in Roene's face told him that they wanted a quick and precise answer.

 

Roene sighed a deep breath as he stepped one pace back from the large blaster cannon and bowed deeply, not throwing or touching any weapons or weapon handles/holsters. "My name is Kro'Roene Givrah of the planet Cerea and I have come upon the request of Jedi Grandmaster Kitt Fitt. He was so recently promoted to Grandmaster due to the previous Grandmaster, Armiena Darkfire, stepping down, and she gave him her blessing." said Roene in one grand stanza that stretched through one entire breath. Then the Cerean continued as he rose from his bow with a slow and balanced grace, "I was sent here to find evidence of a Jedi temple that was supposed to have been built here years ago and I was led here through the rather eccentric use of my naturalist talents in communicating with the planet's wildlife. Plants... Animals... and the like. Anyway... I am sure you have more questions for me and I will answer any and all that are required of me." Roene finished with a grand and open smile, showing only the top row of his brilliant white teeth.

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The Cerean tried not to evince a broad show of relief as his nerves cooled, but a small sigh was enough to show that his suspicions were settled, he hoped. With a stony expression kept across his face to betray no emotions to these metal masterpieces, the Cerean found himself marveling at the broad stony architecture. Taking a moment to look inward and silence his thoughts, Roene could feel the life of the world around him, echoed in the cavern like a voluminous vacuum of sorts. It was a pleasurable sight to behold in an array of magnificent blue hues, but Roene forced himself to regain his present concentration and not be quite as distracted.

 

When the Cerean was led to a brand new ship though, his thoughts wandered to the ship he was leaving behind. Tyue... I must go and get my pup. If I don't there is no telling what would happen.

 

Other than that idle digression though, he was satisfied that his belongings weren't taken and that his identity permitted safe departure. It wasn't exactly a pleasant experience having eminent doom looming over his head in the form of a large barreled blaster cannon, but it was stomach able and apparently livable.

 

So, having no further question to the large arachnid machinations, Roene gathered up his things, resettled his clothing and hopped into the cockpit of the ship he was gifted. It was a simple vessel, much like the one he'd left behind, but it would do him well... He could feel it.

 

Then Roene popped a few switches and pressed a few buttons, triggering the takeoff sequence and rose softly from the hangar floor and into the beautiful Phu horizon.

 

First I need Tyue... then I can leave...

 

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  • 2 months later...

Padawan Arlan Vass' mind flurried with worry, with unawareness, but more prominently, with fear. Dazzling blue eyes flicked open and surveyed the foreign environment, taking note of the empty cloning vat, as well as the bitter-smelling liquid that seemed to have pooled beneath his naked body. His eyes widened at that sudden realization. Where were his clothes? Where was Armiena? But more importantly, where was he? Wherever he was, he was cold. And numb. He may as well have been on Hoth, that's how frigid the temperature of the cloning laboratory was.

 

Without warning, something stiff and freezing cold pressed into his right bicep. With a yelp, he drew himself into an upright position and wheeled rather hastily on the astromech. It began to warble in an annoying - yet very familiar - tone of Binary. One that he recognized, and could translate with minimal effort.

 

Suspended in a brief juncture of disbelief, Arlan froze and stared at the droid.

 

"Artoo?"

 

With a series of enthusiastic whistles and blithesome beeps, R2-R8 began to delightfully jab the end of his manipulator arm against Arlan's shoulder again. Arlan laughed, gave in to astonishment, and rubbed his hand against the droid's body shell. Being reunited with his mechanical companion provided him with a momentary sense of contentment, but seeing the set of robes folded on the nearby cot brought him back to reality. He dressed quickly, only to be struck with another jolt of realization. His lightsabers - all three of them - were nowhere to be found.

 

"Son of a bantha!" Unbeknownst to him, they were currently in Armiena's possession. He, however, was under the assumption that they were still stored away on the Y-Wing they'd used to escape from Nhagathul.

 

The young man's outcry startled Artoo, who had taken it upon himself to lead the way out of the laboratory. Arlan followed him, murmuring a word of thanks to the medical droid that had been in charge of looking after his new body over the course of its development.

 

"Where are we anyway?" He waited for the droid's response.

 

"Phu. Okay. Does Armiena know I'm here?" He waited again.

 

Negative.

 

Wishful thinking. Artoo didn't know where she was, either.

 

They entered the hangar a short while later, where Armiena's own Wolf Spiders stood on guard. Much to his surprise, there was a lone craft docked in the middle of the room. He recognized the design right off the bat - it was a YV-664. In more ways than one, it resembled the Corellian Engineering Corporation's famed YT-1300 model. The cockpit was notably similar, as was the configuration of the ship's sublight drive. Arlan had never been behind the controls of one himself, but he did have experience with piloting other models founded on the same product line.

 

He embarked without hesitation. There was a second R2 unit on board, but this one seemed to be more passive and focused on what it was doing. Once they reached the cockpit, Arlan sat down in the pilot's chair and directed his gaze to the navigation computer.

 

"Gala?"

 

Oh. Now he understood - the droids must have been sent to Phu so he'd have a way of getting off the planet once his clone had been freed from the tank. He wondered if this was a routine procedure that every cloned Jedi underwent, or if Armiena had sent for him herself.

 

He sent an encrypted comm to the Ghost Breath to inform her of his situation. Moments later, the ship exited the hangar. Moments after that, the starry void of space materialized through the viewport. With the coordinates set, it wasn't long before the ship entered hyperspace, bound for the Jedi Temple located on Gala.

 

[ooc - OK, let me know if I should edit anything. I also need to talk to you the next time you're online, when you have the time.]

"Even if this land shall expire, thou may be able to prevent further corrosion. But even so, one day the flames will fade, and only Dark will remain. And even a legend such as thineself can do nothing to stop that."

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  • 2 weeks later...

Gala. Come.

 

Deep in the shadowy recesses of the massive hangar in Phu, a little red light began to slowly blink upon the reception of a message. It wasn't the words that were used, rather the frequency and specific encryption that were the key to releasing the dam of activity, rendering life to a long dormant being that been asleep far too long...

 

>>
>>//
//STARTUP PROCEDURES INITIATED.
...
...
//RETRIEVING INDEXED FILES...
//RUNNING SCRIPTS...
//RETRIEVING BOOT INFORMATION...
//RUNNING OPERATING SYSTEM DIAGNOSTICS...
//DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE...
//BOOTING OPERATING SYSTEM...
...
...
...
//OPERATING SYSTEM ONLINE...
//ACTIVATING MAIN AI CORE NETWORK...
//SHELL ACTIVE...
//TRUEFORM ENVIRONMENT OPERATIONAL...
//MOTOR CONTROLS ACTIVATED...
//WEAPONS CONTROLS ACTIVATED...
//NEURAL NET STARTUP INITIATED...
...
...
...
...
...

 

The hangar faded up into existence in front of the near omnidirectional mechanical eyes. Of course, this section of the hangar was pitch black save for small operating lights, so most of what was seen was in spectrums humans and most other beings couldn't percieve, but it was crystal clear to the large lumbering mechanoid. Saladin had been asleep for quite some time, awaiting the call of his Master. Having spent such a long time out of service, his most logical course of action he had determined for himself was to conserve functionality and energy until he was called and needed again.

 

And the call had finally come.

 

Small spiderlike maintenance droids began to crawl the surface of the huge wolf spider, oiling joints and perfoming menial tasks, returning the massive thing back to full functionality. Several minutes passed before the leg clamps were released and Saladin was released, not that he could have merely broke them himself if he really wanted to get out of them, but instead they were to assist his hydraulic system while the maintenance was being performed.

 

>>
>>//
//REQUEST CURRENT STATUS REPORT FOR NEXT SCHEDULED MAINTENANCE

 

The Wolf Spider worked its joints, then slowly walking to the hangar entrance as he triggered the large blast doors to open in front of him, ignoring the request from the docking assistant. As the doors opened, he triggered the ignition on his main jump jets, the engines beginning to warm themselves up, heated air exiting the exhaust vents.

 

"I'm fine."

 

With a roaring blast the Spider shot out of the hangar and up into the atmosphere, loving the freedom. It was very happy when Aryian had made it spaceworthy, to include a hyperdrive, but as of its mandate, it had very few times it had actually used it, and using it always excited the mech. Stars turned into lined as the hyperdrive kicked to life at the appropriate time, slingshotting the Wolf Spider deep into space. As per Phu protocols, microjumps were used to prevent tracing the trajectory of the jump.

Immediately reachable by  charlesjhall@gmail.com

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  • 3 years later...

After a rather lengthy voyage through hyperspace, Armiena’s rented salvaging vessel appeared out of hyperspace in the orbit of the Phu system. Thoroughly annoyed by the lackluster of the civilian spacecraft, its pilot grumbled under her breath and went into the ship’s galley for a cup of caf. She returned at the first hint of turbulence that the ship’s poorly calibrated inertial compensators failed to dampen. Watching the cliff face that the Jedi Temple’s hangar was built into rapidly approaching, the veteran pilot punched her authorization code into the ship’s comm unit and prepared for a difficult landing.

 

Prior to her experience navigating the picked-over debris field near Centerpoint Station, Armiena Draygo’s only experience piloting the Exhumer in atmosphere was in flying the salvage corvette out of its landing berth. Phu was a mostly hospitable planet, and even the mountain range in which the Jedi Temple she had established there was not terribly prone to dangerous crosswinds in good weather, but guiding the civilian craft into the Temple’s cliffside hangar was akin to trying to teach a swarm of drunken bumblebees to perform in the Coruscanti ballet: frustrating, clumsy, and likely to end in a darkly amusing disaster at the slightest misstep. Those maneuvering thrusters that allowed the anorexic bumblebee to dance through a debris field unlike any other craft that she had laid her hands on made for a treacherous landing in an enclosed hangar, and the repulsorlift array was so badly designed that every minute course correction was an exercise in frustration.

 

“I swear on my mother’s veil...” Armiena snarled as the craft set down so heavily that she headbutted the consoles. Her left hand and wrist were bleeding heavily and the controls for the maneuvering thrusters were shattered, a fist-sized hole having been punched through the plasticine panel and bare wires laid exposed; the two injuries were obviously correlated. “The first chance I get, I’m going to take my lightsaber to your repulsorlift array. And then I’ll improve it! I’m gonna optimize your ass.” As the Jedi veteran signaled for the loading droids to take away Inquisitor’s mangled chassis, it occurred to Armiena that it might have been a little too long that she had taken her medication.

 

From the canopy, Armiena watched as a squadron of four yellow-and-black striped lifter droids approached the Exhumer and extracted Inquisitor’s limbs and command pod from the ship’s cargo hold. She nodded as they took the disabled droid’s carcass away. She withdrew back into the ship to dress her wound, holding the injured hand above her head and clenching down on the vein. Nevertheless, rivulets of blood began to drip down her black combat suit.

 

A few minutes later, Armiena sat in the corvette’s common room with her hand bound in bacta bandages and a spent syringe at her feet, taking a few deep breaths to prepare herself for a healing trance. Just as she began to close her eyes and slip away into the trance, her comm unit chimed at her belt. The former Jedi lifted it up to her eyes and smiled at the hologram. The trance would have to wait.

 

“Hey, kiddo. How’s Gramma treating you?”

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  • 2 months later...

Weeks passed.

 

The Jedi Temple on Phu, which Armiena had occupied as a personal headquarters, had never been the liveliest of facilities maintained by the Jedi Order. The security protocols were too intensive, the facility too isolated, and the Temple too fortified to be of much use as an academy for the Order’s learners. Having a squad of Urban-class Wolf Spiders tackle and hold a Hopeful at blasterpoint for an infinitesimal security violation did not make for an environment that fostered learning, after all—though it always been intended as an emergency holdout. With the mines deep in the mountains spitting out a continual stream of heavy metals and rare earths for the smelters and forges nestled in its foundation, to say nothing of the extensive fortifications on the surface, it made for a wonderful stronghold.

 

Maintained by droids, the facility was in pristine condition. However, as no living creature had set foot in the Temple in ages, and security precautions dictated that a bare minimum of supply runs be made in the absence of visitors, the galley’s food stocks had never been replenished and what remained was fit only to be composted. With no company save the droids, and no fresh food fit for human consumption, Armiena Draygo had never even had occasion to leave the hangar, instead taking her meals from the mess of her ship. Over the course of the last week, she had gone horribly native, her living habits resembling that of a freshman university student. The veteran Jedi had stripped the suboptimal Exhumer of its armor plating (if its plastic carapace could be called armor) and repulsor array and left starship parts and various plumbing and cables strewn all over the floor of the hangar.

 

Virtually every square meter of the hangar was littered with starship parts, save for a broad corridor for the Wolf Spiders to patrol and return to the foundry for maintenance, and a barren patch where she had left out a bedroll and ration pack.

 

Now the ace pilot was clambering over the bow of the Exhumer, sparks flying from the chassis of the salvager corvette as Armiena welded a section of the ship’s repulsorlift array to a more optimal location. A train of bumblebee-striped maintenance droids rerouted cables and other hardware in her wake. The last few days had been almost paradisiacal: lightsaber drills, exercise, and meditation in the morning, a few hours to develop some new gadgets that were lurking around in the depths of her possibly-addled mind, renovations to her newest acquisition in the evening… Until now, the Jedi veteran had never understood the tendency of some of the more experienced members of the Jedi Order to disappear on a solitary exile and allow the events of the galaxy to pass by. Isolation had never appealed to Armiena, though having a quiet, secure world to herself and thousands of square kilometers of hiking terrain had brought a kind of serenity to her life.

 

A buzz came from the communications unit on her belt. Grumbling under her breath, Armiena secured her torch and allowed a maintenance droid to take her place, springing from the bow of the ship and landing nimbly on the hangar deck. She set down the disc and gave it a gentle tap. The miniaturized image of her Miraluka mother shimmered into existence just above it.

 

“Mask.” The Miraluka’s gloved hand rapped on her veiled forehead. Armiena lifted the shield of her welding mask, revealing an oil-stained face that was quite displeased to receive this communique.

 

“I have dire news. I need you active again.”

 

Armiena pulled a set of molded plugs out of her ears and grimaced. “I didn’t quite catch you one hundred percent, but I could have sworn I heard you use the word ‘active.’ Mother, I… am… retired. I have my own life to look after.”

 

“Were it so easy. Our analysts went to work on a rather interesting Holonet broadcast that went throughout the entire system a month ago. We weren’t able to locate the exact server from which the broadcast originated, but a detailed analysis of the encryption algorithm… and the means with which the hacker covered his tracks left us with some disturbing conclusions.”

 

“Let me guess…” Armiena raised a finger to her lips and gently bit the skin, feigning concentration. She quickly spit it out, as it was covered in grease and metal shavings. “Former military. Oooh, I know! Ex-Imperial? Like one of those very interesting characters that goes on the Holonet and vomits out that bile calling for my arrest on treason charges, making all those wonderful sketches on a holoboard claiming that I’m part of a new ominous dark foreboding galactic order planning to--”

 

“Sarcasm does not befit you, dear. One does not simply toss around baradium charges like Hallow’s Fest candy.”

 

“And one does not simply bring a half-insane Jedi Master out of retirement.” Armiena countered, mimicking the pose of a popular Holonet meme. “Mother, it’s not that I don’t care, but I am no position to deal with this nonsense. I am a post-traumatic recovering alcoholic, and I am trying to repair my relationship with my son, for Force’s sake. Damn it, it’s enough that he’s halfway across the galaxy in one of Illumination’s little refuges, and you want me to go back in the field?”

 

“Dear, I’ve spoken to him since. He’s angry and he has the right to be, but he also understands. He knows what’s at stake.”

 

Armiena’s hands twitched. “You… talked to him?”

 

“Yes. He understands that the situation is dire. You’ll remember those pirates we faced on Acacia, the Dresden Crusaders. The last five years we’ve been trying to keep them from consolidating their position in the Rim, sabotaging their operations and, when opportunity presents itself, neutralizing select forces. We’ve been trying to keep them from mustering enough power to pose a threat to the Core, and… from time to time I believe that we are failing. Our fireteams are stretched dangerously thin, and… Slaughter is alive and working with them. That man may not be subtle, but he is the first unequivocally competent commander those people have employed. We need as many of our operatives in the Rim as possible, and frankly, our assets in the Core are now negligible. Armiena, I need you active again.”

 

“Not happening.”

 

“Dear,” Misal Draygo paused, knowing that she was about to tread on tender ground. “Have you spoken to Aryian yet?”

 

Armiena just glared at the image. “I haven’t yet given him the slap he so richly deserves. Maybe box his ears, too. And knee him in the groin. Maybe all of those.”

 

“And Dantooine?”

 

The expression on Armiena’s face left nothing unsaid.

 

“We discussed during your recovery that it would be necessary for you to eventually confront the events that led to your breakdown. There is no time that this could possibly be more urgent. Armiena my dear, dreadful events are coming to the galaxy, and I suspect you can sense it as well. Please, at least face your former husband.”

 

“I hate you so much right now.”

 

“And I love you too.”

 

“Droids!” Armiena raised her head from the communications disc and roared out to the hangar. “Get the Switchblade out of storage. Complete the modifications to the Exhumer as planned. And when Inquisitor comes out of the forge, tell him prep for action.

 

“And… Mother, I’ll come out of retirement and take care of some unfinished business. But if you think for a moment that you get to call me out on another one of your favors… no. Never again. There’s only one other person that I’m ever going to fight for again.”

 

With that, Armiena closed the comm channel and the holograph of her mother winked out of existence. Turning around, she saw the needle-like fuselage of her personal starfighter rising from the bowels of the Jedi Temple on the service lift of the hangar, a curtain of dust wafting from the length of the vessel. She stared at the mothballed spacecraft in dismay. It didn’t look as though the ship had been so neglected that rust had started to accumulate on its landing struts, but the years of disuse were clearly visible. It would be some time for the droids to complete the preflight checklist and warm up the starfighter’s oversized engines.

 

The Alderaanian veteran sniffed at her arm and crinkled her nose in disgust. There would be enough time to clean up. If she remembered correctly, there wasn’t much room in the Switchblade to stretch…

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  • 4 years later...

The last four years of peace had not been kind to the Jedi fortress on Phu. Established nearly a decade ago to serve as a last, desperate holdout for the Jedi Order in the event of a catastrophic defeat, this final refuge had never been occupied for its intended use. It operated only on emergency power, awakening only for a few hours every month for maintenance by droids. The mighty batteries of turbolasers built into the face of the mountains had succumbed to rust, to obsolescence, and to expiration of their tibanna gas stocks. The mines that fed its foundries fell into silence and were gradually flooded from a thousand undetectable pores in the mountainside. The quarters of the Jedi fortress, hidden from sensor sweeps by millions of tonnes of ore-rich stone, slowly filled with dust. The facility’s atmospheric generators having long gone idle, the facility was no longer even fit for humanoid inhabitation.

 

Silence reigned, save for the occasional thudding of steel feet of one of its arachnid guardians when it awoke from its electronic slumber and returned to the automated foundries for maintenance. Only a few communications transceivers and guidance buoys remained active, ready to return the redoubt to active serve in the contingency that it was needed again.

 

That day had finally arrived. A brief communique arrived from Coruscant, detailing the results of Misal Draygo’s activities for the last few years. The message was brief and contained little in the way of actionable intelligence, but what was of greater interest to the fortress’ computer core was that it had been encrypted using an algorithm assigned to the former Jedi Grandmaster, Armiena Draygo. The transmission leapt from the communications antennae to the facility’s sentinels with electronic alacrity, rousing the steel monstrosities from the slumber within a few milliseconds.

 

One by one, the clockwork monstrosities shuddered away the mechanical sleep-sand of four years and roared their existence into the vast opening of the fortress’ largest hangar. Macabre imaginings were whispered amongst their ranks, promises of vengeance against the organics that had stolen away the Maker of the Wolf Spiders were sworn. Oaths of valor were taken; chants were cried into the silence. A scene akin to the awakening of a fantastical deus ex machina took place in this confined space, the shouts and chants uttered in a mechanical language inaudible to anyone not equipped with a radionics transceiver.

 

The exchange lasted approximately 187 milliseconds.

 

At the end of this scene, twenty mechanical voices roared in a mixture of soundless machine language and the audible human frequencies, signifying their rage, their loyalty, and their exuberance at possibility that they would finally be allowed to kill something. Twenty mechanical beings boarded their deployment craft and cast out into the void, exhilarated at the prospect that they had at last been called to their Maker's aid. Whether death or glory awaited them at the end of their hyperspace transit mattered little to them.

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