The Rebel Faction

The personal domain of Dacian Palestar was a terror to behold. A black monolith of steel, it jutted out of the pierced molten heart of the planet below. At a distance it seemed like a dark mountain, dwarfing the jagged ridges of stone thrown up around it by the messy death of Ukitan and the ill-omened birth of Symbol.

A little closer, and one could see the mountain was in fact a massive fortress. Built on deeply sunk foundations driven into the magma sea, walls and battlements rose as steep peaks, studded with huge and crude cannons at every plateau. Landing pads and hangar bays stuck out here and there, connecting into the deep labyrinth of barracks, command centers, communications centers, interrogation chambers, foundries, and more that filled the mysterious heart of the mountain.

Crowning this fort was a command center for visiting dignitaries of the Crusade, the coming and going of their ships and men, and other more mundane activities. This ensured that the goings on of the lower fortress was kept entirely secret and separate from the rest of the Crusade. Dark rumours were traded amongst the hardened Crusaders of evils taking place that put their meager sins to shame.

Rising at last out of this public meeting area was a slim tower, piercing the oppressive clouds of smoke that filled the sky. Pale when compared to the darkness of the rest of the fortress, it was easy to miss entirely. It was inadvisable to do so, however, for this tower held the private residence of Dacian Palestar himself.

Dwelling in his throne room at the very apex of the tower, Dacian was reading. Undisturbed by servants, soldiers, or strategists, he had rested alone since returning from Xa’Fel, immersed in study.

The vaunted chamber of the throne room was built to contain an entire court of officials, generals, and dignitaries, but at that moment (as it often was) it was entirely bare except for Dacian himself. Sitting upon his throne, book in hand, he failed to cut the threatening figure that whispered stories and dark trappings suggested.

With his legs resting idly on one of the arms of the throne, Dacian seemed more the insolent youth than a seasoned galactic terror. His clothes were little more than torn black rags, ripped by blade, blaster, and beating since his initiation. A long face tapered down into sharp yet unassuming features, concealed though they were by a chitinous black mask. A slick of short black hair rested upon his brow, untroubled by crowns or other finery.

Dacian leafed through the book held lightly in one hand. It was a rough and ill-kept thing, aged beyond its’ prime and inexpertly crafted to begin with. Dismissing the book as unimportant, however, would be just as foolish as underestimating its’ reader for his appearances. As it stood, this one ill-favoured text had occupied Dacian’s attention constantly since his return from Xa’Fel, where the book had been looted during the purging of the Sith Order.

What remained of his Void Knights had been despatched to the Maiden’s Retreat with their caretaker, and Silk had departed to attend to his own mysterious agenda. The Crusader armies neither needed nor much desired his oversight. Strangely free of the usual obligations of a tyrant, Dacian had sat undisturbed for days, totally enthralled by what he was reading.

He carefully lifted and turned the next page, taking pains to keep the ancient paper from crumbling in his hand.

“...It is thus only because of the breadth of my experience, of seeing the nature of the Force from both perspectives - no, from all three sides, that I am able to at last glean some small understanding of its’ purpose. Oh yes, for the Force has a purpose, and it is not the naive and idealistic benevolence of Jedi nor the petty and selfish weapon of the Sith. These are illusions, lies crafted to comfort us, to allow us to slip slowly into the roles crafted for us to play.

“The greatest tragedy of galactic history is that for all our wisdom, for all the diversity of viewpoints that so many races and peoples possess, none are wise or clever or alien enough to escape the great trap which the Force has prepared for us.

“There are those who heed the will of the Force and do incredible good, while there are others who are equally as faithful and commit terrible atrocities. Prophecies govern the fate of individuals, arbitrarily choosing saviours and casting devils who repeat the cycle of death and rebirth ad nauseam. There is no progress, there is no victory, and yet always we say things are as the Force wills them. We seek to balance the Force, and yet is it not the same Force which compels us to kill and dominate as compels us to heal and nurture? Are these cycles of rises and falls, of redemption and corruption our own doing? How free are we, in a galaxy where we must obey the impulses of an alien power so deeply insinuated in sentient life since the dawn of time?

“The truth is that ultimately it is the Force who is using us, not the other way around. The Force chooses champions to put things back into ‘balance’, only to empower instigators who tear stability apart. The Force whispers in the ear of a hero and blackens their soul, only to offer them a chance to save themselves, all on the whims of fate. Who knows what history’s great villains might have been, had not the voice of the Force compelled them on to destiny? Which saviours owe their good intentions to the guidance of an all-knowing, all-powerful Other? By what scale does this thing we call the Force judge which of us is to be empowered, which of us are to fall and which are to rise?

“For so long we have struggled against one another according to the machinations of an entity we know nothing about. We divide the Force into the “light” or “dark” side, according to preference, which ignores the critical truth that they are one and the same thing, facets of an intelligence that seems aware of our sentience and is influenced by our emotions, our beliefs, and our thoughts. It has a will, and it gives us destinies not easily defied. We are its’ slaves, either willingly and trustingly as the Jedi, or foolishly and ignorantly as the Sith, or hopelessly and helplessly as the rest of the Galaxy forced to submit to the machinations of a God that does not answer their prayers.

“This is the culmination of my life. This is the height of my revelation. This is, though the word is tainted, my purpose. Few others have seen the Force as I have, and fewer still would dare to try and look so far beyond the veil lowered over our eyes to blind us on our paths.

“Should you find this text, and, in reading it, find the truth as I have, know always the paradox that embitters me as I write, that likely your discovery of this forgotten book was also the desire of the Force, for it could have just as easily lead you away. Do not think that by leaving the book you can escape whatever destiny it has in store for you, for that too it will have predicted. The fate carved for you and I are as immutable as stone, but that does not mean you must go quietly. Defeat is for the weak and the cowardly, one of the few selfish Sith teachings with any sincerity behind it. Life without the Force is not so terrible as you may have been lead to believe, and you might be so lucky as to live without it.

“Fight fate every step of the way, and perhaps one day, you might be free of it.”



Closing the book at last, Dacian turned it delicately in his hand, in order to look at the cover. The title and author had long been erased by the passage of time, and yet the words themselves resonated with as much significance as ever.

Within the mind of Dacian, unfathomable gears turned while he digested the information. With gentle care he rested the book next to his throne, the silence and stillness of the chamber as unbroken as it had been for hours.

The fixed expression upon his face seemed to soften, suggesting a conclusion reached. Rising at last from his seat, Dacian said “Communications,” pausing a moment during which there was a crackle of static. “Get the Crimson Wing ready for takeoff, I will be flying alone. Put the Maiden on standby for my arrival and inform Silk of my departure.”

“What shall we tell Mr. Ridley, master?” A gravely voice replied.

Dacian paused to consider the question, before replying “Tell him where I go he must never follow, for it is my business alone. If he needs me, he knows how to get in touch.”

“Understood.” The static shorted out again. Dacian picked up the book again and strode from his chamber, on to the landing pad that rested just outside.

In a matter of moments the silvery form of the Crimson Wing could be seen rising up from the bottom of the fortress, touching down nearby. The pilot scurried out, stepping smartly aside as Dacian ascended the boarding ramp.

In a few moments more, the Crimson Wing took off, making immediately for space, cutting through the thick black clouds and emerging into the empty black void. The Crimson Wing went faster and faster, until Symbol was just a receding red blur in the distance, before at last leaping to hyperspace. The master of the Crusade was on the move again, although for what purpose, only he yet knew.

The primitive natives scattered towards their shacks once more as the gates of the forbidding tower creaked open. Out of the narrow gap stepped Dacian, hampered by a painful limp that caused him to wince with every step. The Maiden followed closely behind, and lastly came a smooth grey medical droid.

The three of them went straight for the Crimson Wing. Upon reaching the boarding ramp, Dacian turned back towards the Maiden. “Once you’ve purged all record of my visit head to the communications center, where I will send you the necessary codes to communicate with me while I am away. Share this with no one under any circumstances. You will receive further instruction as I deem necessary.”

The Maiden inclined her head a degree to signal understanding, though Dacian’s piercing glare lingered a few more moments. Seeing nothing, he turned and ascended the ramp. “I am taking the droid. Send for another one if you have need, Mr. Ridley will not deny you.”

The medical droid stepped quickly on to the boarding ramp, which had already begun to pull shut. Moments later, the thrusters growled to life and the Crimson Wing began to lift off.

With her duties clear, the Maiden returned towards the tower while her master set off to parts unknown.

At the door, one of the mewling alien natives cowered, its’ head bowed and its’ hands clasped tightly around a mop handle.

“Do you know who that was?” the Maiden asked, her tone calm and flat.

Eyes flicking nervously towards the Maiden, the hapless cleaner nodded his head. “Yes...?”

The intensity of the Maiden’s sightless gaze seemed to grow. “Who else was in the tower yesterday?”

“J-just me...” the pitiful creature mumbled in broken basic.

With no more than that, the Maiden raised one hand in a clenched fist. Quite suddenly the cleaner began to scream, clutching at his chest with long, knobbly fingers. A damp crunch quickly put a stop to the screaming, as he went limp and fell to the ground.

Stepping over the body as though nothing had just happened, the Maiden stepped back through the dark and shadowy tower gates. The great doors creaked shut of their own accord, the dull thud a final exclamation on the proceedings.


Now having eased into the command chair of the Crimson Wing, Dacian let out a shuddering breath as he felt the pain in his leg recede. His ship was on autopilot, breaking fast for the orbit of Maiden’s Retreat. The medical droid sat in the copilot’s chair, his one luminous photoreceptor fixed upon his master’s wounded leg.

“Machine,” Dacian muttered. “What is your identification number?”

“XZ-30, master,” the droid replied. “Built in the foundaries of Goddra’s Point, Nyx, according to designs produced by the department of galactic re-”

“Don’t tell me one of Maxson’s windup toys is chief physician for some of my most valuable assets,” Dacian grumbled.

XZ-30 seemed to flinch from the remark, though the one large glowing photoreceptor that so dominated his face limited his capacity for reaction. “If it’s any consolation, my design was primarily derivative from designs imported by Lord Silk’s men. The major difference between the XZ series and galactic standard medical droids are manifest in various software upgrades carried out by James prior to implementation of mass-production.”

“You call him James?” said Dacian, glancing with surprise towards the droid. “There are relatively few beings in the galaxy so bold as to claim they are on first name terms with their creator.”

“It was by his stipulation, master,” said XZ-30.

“Stop calling me master,” mumbled Dacian, as he idly tapped the hyperspace coordinates for their next stop into the console before him. “You may call me Dacian. Personally, I find XZ-30 inconveniently long, so I will refer to you as Zeetee.”

“Understood.”

There was a brief pause in their conversation as the vessel shuddered and shook. The static blackness of space quickly gave way to the swirling lights of hyperspace. “Well, we’ve got a few hours,” said Dacian. “I have a few questions for you, Zeetee.”

“At your service, Dacian.”

“What’s your opinion on my leg? Will it be a problem moving forward?”

Zeetee leaned back a bit in order to get a better look at the tightly-bound bandages swathed around Dacian’s thigh. “Standard medical practice would recommend bacta treatment, in which case you’d be-”

“Just give me the short version.”

“Well,” said Zeetee. “It all depends on how easy you’re going to be on it during the next few weeks. If you limit your physical activity, allow for regular inspections and bandage swaps, avoid especially infectious, humid, or otherwise bacteria-infested areas, you’ll be fine within a week and suffer no lasting damage.”

“What if I’m planning to be a touch more... active in these next few weeks?” Dacian asked. He drummed his fingers somewhat impatiently on the console in front of him. “How much can I push this and what are the risks?”

“If you insist on remaining active, the leg will take weeks to heal and you’ll risk infection or permanent disfigurement. In a proper medical setting almost anything you could do to yourself can be recovered from, but out in the wild spending more than one or two weeks away from civilization and actively using that leg will put you at serious danger of complications.”

“Well, it appears that means I’ll need you for the rest of this trip,” said Dacian, turning to the viewscreen. “I don’t have time to waste letting biology catch up with me. So long as you can keep my leg attached, we will go forward.”

“Is there any other way I can be of service, Dacian?”

“Just one more question.” Dacian glanced over at the droid. Though his head was mostly devoid of features, Zeetee’s stance and body language radiated earnest interest and sincerity. Someone, somewhere down the line, had very carefully programmed such nuances into the robotic doctor’s bedside manner.

“What sort of loyalty programming do you support?” he asked, before turning back to the viewscreen. “What guarantees do I have you won’t inject my leg with toxins? Kill me in my sleep? The Nyxans have no great love for me.”

“My loyalty programming comes straight from the hands of James, not the Nyxan R&D department,” said Zeetee, his voice modulator betraying a shade of pride. “He placed loyalty to you above all other priorities, even himself. The only man who could order me to kill you is you.”

“So I take it you were designed early in Nyx’s ‘galactic’ history?” said Dacian, who kept his vision fixed ahead. “I can’t help but think that if James were able, he might want to change your priorities around a bit.”

“Regardless, you have my full cooperation. A copy of this guarantee can be acquired by checking my-”

“No need,” said Dacian waving dismissively. “I’ll take your word for it. I know your creator enough to believe you. That’s enough questions for now, wake me when we drop out of hyperspace.”

Dacian kicked back in his seat, a move he only briefly regretted as stabs of pain went up his leg. His eyes fluttered shut and he was asleep within moments, leaving Zeetee to carry out a silent vigil over his new patient.

Zeetee came to rest as gently as fallen snow upon the surface of Malachor V, his feet kicking up a small cloud of dust to complete the effect. The gravity was so weak and dispersed on the broken planet’s surface that he had simply drifted to the ground with the aid of the modified space suit. Unfortunately, this weak gravity also meant the atmosphere was lethally thin and the pressure was little better than open void, but this was of little concern to a sturdily-built medical droid.

“This is Zeetee, I’ve made landfall. What are your instructions?”

Dacian’s voice was muffled over the comm, but still barely audible. “You’ve landed near where the ruins should be, if the legends are true. What’s the situation down there?”

Zeetee appraised his surroundings, his head gently spinning round to take in the jagged cliffs and broken chasms that made up the surface. “This planet is barely traversable, but if these ruins are nearby I may be able to find them. Can you give me a heading?”

“Unfortunately, no. Just start exploring and report back any landmarks you find, and I’ll try to use them to pinpoint your location.”

With little information to go on, Zeetee wandered off towards a ridge of rock chosen at random. It was slow going, delicately picking through the terrain that hadn’t felt a footfall in millenia. Were it not for his weighted boots, Zeetee might have been swept off by a misstep and sent tumbling through space, but he managed to keep his footing and gradually progress towards distant cliffs.”

“What exactly am I looking for?”

“A temple,” said Dacian, his voice fading in and out as the signal struggled to overcome thick interference. “It was abandoned after a war thousands of years ago. Built into the ruins after the world was destroyed, so the cataclysm won’t have swallowed it, and since none have been here since it should be quite untouched.”

“Why this temple? What’s so important about it?”

Dacian seemed to hesitate, allowing the eerie silence of the grave world to go undisturbed. At length, the comm crackled, and he said “It’s evidence. Proof. Proof that what we pursue is real. I need to see it with my own eyes - or in this case, yours. Call back once you find some evidence of your own.”

They didn’t speak for a few more minutes as Zeetee eventually worked his way up the cliffs. From their shear summit he was able to look down into a chasm made by the ripping of the earth, noting heavy steel doors sealing either side of the narrow canyon. “Dacian, I seem to have found something. Doors.”

“What do you mean, doors?”

“Just... two doors. Big ones, either side of a narrow chasm.”

“Can you get down into the pit?”

Zeetee zoomed his gaze towards the far end of the chasm, noting how steep the inclines were and how sharp were the rocks. “...Probably not, at least, not without sustaining injuries far beyond my ability to heal.”

“Never mind, then. Describe the pit - can you see any bones? Any weapons?”

Sweeping his vision along the rough stone floor, Zeetee managed to pick out the shape of chains and collars amidst heaps of dust and scattered pebbles. “I can see chains, collars as well - big ones, for holding big beasts. By their diameter I’d predict something as thick-necked as a rancor at least.”

Dacian was once more silent, although by listening carefully Zeetee could discern the sound of pages being delicately flipped. “Follow along the top of the cliff towards the entrance on the top left side of the chasm from where you’re standing.”

“What were those chains for?” asked Zeetee as he set off where directed.

“Storm beasts,” Dacian replied. “Almost certainly extinct, the last predator to scrape a living off the surface of Malachor V, mainly by eating each other. It’s been several millenia though, I can’t imagine any would survive as they were described.”

Zeetee found himself involuntarily increasing his pace. “Big, were they?”

“Only the older ones.”

Almost jogging at this point, Zeetee did his best to avoid thinking how large one of these mythical beasts would get after three thousand years.

It was this burst of ill-considered speed that almost sent him careening over the edge as the cliff side ended suddenly. Zeetee came to a screeching, scraping halt as he fell down a few feet, landing hard on a rocky outcropping just over the edge of the cliff.

“Zeetee, what happened?” Dacian exclaimed, practically shouting over the comm. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”

Heavy machinery with delicate parts don’t do falls well, but Zeetee could see no real damage as he picked himself up. “Nothing, I’m okay. Just a bit of a tumble.”

“Don’t risk yourself,” said Dacian. “Take it slow if you need to, we’re in no rush. Now, what can you see?”

Zeetee steadied himself against the cliff wall, taking in his surroundings once more. The rocky outcrop on which he stood was uncomfortably small, but he was in no great risk of falling. Just over the edge, however, he could make out the imposing outline of worked stone. Smooth, finished surfaces extended away from the surrounding cliffs towards a temple just barely out of sight.

“I think I’ve stumbled across that temple you were looking for,” said Zeetee, inching towards the edge of the outcrop to look down at it. “It’s... somewhat of a squat dome, but the architecture sweeps upwards on either side to a towering spire-like construction in the middle. Large staircase out front, huge sealed stone doors at the top of them. The area looks badly cracked and parts of the structure seemed to have fallen off... it might have sustained some damage.”

“But it’s there?” said Dacian, his tone suggesting a hint of excitement. “You can see the temple?”

Leaning over just the barest bit more to get a better look, Zeetee could see the entire magnificent and ominous edifice. “Yes, I can see it. It’s-”

Too late, Zeetee registered the sound of cracking stone behind him. With a resounding crash, the stone outcropping upon which he stood tore from the cliffside, taking Zeetee with it as it dropped into an infinite black abyss below. Grappling desperately to stay on top of what amounted to a block of rock, Zeetee looked down only to see a hole in the planet’s crust racing towards him, ready to embrace his falling form in an endless inky darkness.

It would be several hours before Dacian came to in the ship’s medbay. After a brief argument with Zeetee, they had moved the cot to the bridge so that he could at least direct their progress as he recovered. Dacian then relayed the coordinates for their next hyper jump, before settling in for a deep brood. His expression was glazed and distant, even as the lights of hyper space filled the bridge.

Zeetee had all the patience of a machine, but even he was getting anxious from the long and enduring silence. At length, he said “I meant to thank you for saving me at such severe risk to yourself. I can’t imagine the damage you might have done to your recovery, however. I’m unsure how the Force exerts its’ influence on the living, and cannot predict how the planet has affected you.”

“Don’t worry about the Force,” Dacian murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on some invisible goal. “Just help me keep my body in one piece - something you can’t do if you’re crushed under a pile of rubble.”

Zeetee attempted a short, static-laced chuckle. “Regardless, thank you, Dacian. Some might call the act uncharacteristic...”

“Undoubtedly.”

Dacian seemed unwilling to engage in discussion, so Zeetee checked their arrival time again. Eight hours. Much too long for a healthy human to spend alone and in silence. “So tell me, did we find what we were looking for on Malachor V? Did you find your ‘proof’?”

“It’s not your concern,” Dacian mumbled, turning away from the droid.

“Dacian, as your physician, it’s going to be terribly difficult for me to ensure your good health if you can’t tell me what you’re planning. I assure you, the confidentiality of your secrets is guaranteed by my programming.” After a pause, he added “Besides, I’m a smart droid. Maybe I can help you. Life does not thrive in isolation.”

Dacian turned back to Zeetee. “Your curiosity is insatiable. No better proof that you were made by James, I suppose. Very well, I will indulge you just this once, and only because of the particular nature of our work.”

A compartment on the side of the captain’s chair popped open, revealing a battered old book. From where he lay, Dacian was able to reach out and take up the book, holding it before himself. “After a cataclysmic battle on the planet of Xa’Fel, I discovered this book. It is the journal of a woman from the distant past, filled with her particular musings on the Force and its’ disciples. The text hasn’t seen much circulation, probably because it signs on to neither the Sith or Jedi ideology.

“What intrigued me about this book was that it looked at the Force as a separate entity, stripped of the religious trappings and mysticism most Force-using orders build up around it. It speaks of the Force as a single entity, with an alien will and agenda, controlling and manipulating us all through it’s fanatical adherents.”

Dacian turned the book towards himself and flipped it open, gently turning the pages. “The author’s views are especially relevant to me considering an event that happened at the battle of Xa’Fel, where one Sith Lord used a Force Storm to tear a wound in the Force. He intentionally created a dead spot like the one you and I visited on Malachor, in order to use it against us in battle. Such a thing was unheard of to me until then, yet this book... it describes such wounds in intricate detail, which lends credence to its’ other claims.”

A page half-way through the book seemed to catch his eye, and Dacian carefully passed the book to Zeetee. On the page, Zeetee could see an intricate sketch of what appeared to be Malachor V. The planet in the picture, however, seemed horrible and otherworldly, with ghosts screaming their way across the jagged surface and broken bodies twisting in orbit.

“Now I see that Malachor is just as the author described... although we didn’t have much of a chance to explore the surface and find anything else the book mentions. This journal may be telling the truth about the nature of the Force, and if it is, then a whole new world of possibilities might open to me. I must know.”

Zeetee flipped a few more pages, looking at the spidery handwriting that seemed to spill across each page without much established order. “So what’s your next stop? Are we going to test anything else from the book?”

“Actually,” said Dacian, “the next step is unclear to me. I’ve read the book from cover to cover, but much of what’s inside is conjecture and speculation. It’s very hard to test. If only there were more material, other books written on the subject, even critiques from other Force Users I could use for contrast. The Jedi and the Sith seem to have done their best to forget this time in their history, however, as the viewpoint is heresy to both of them.”

Zeetee thought about the matter for a while, running his database for any useful information. “You say you found this book in a Sith temple, there might be other versions or copies in Jedi libraries to compare against. How much Jedi lore have you gone through in your research?”

“Pitifully little,” Dacian admitted. He took the book back from Zeetee and closed it. “The Jedi have traditionally practiced heavy censorship of what information they keep, however. They seem to fear that ‘dark side’ knowledge has a presence of its’ own and will corrupt simply by sitting on the shelf.”

Dacian gave a faint smile and raised up one hand to touch the mask fused to his face. “I can’t entirely discount this view in light of a few personal experiences. The Sith were much more interested in the contrast and conflict between the ideologies, so their libraries tended to be more complete. I may yet come to regret burning theirs to the ground.”

“The Jedi have often been just as fractious as the Sith,” said Zeetee. His memory banks housed only a rudimentary galactic history, but even that was littered with schisms and splinter factions. “Did any of them keep private libraries, or defy the will of the Order? If you need more reference material, you might have more luck with hidden stashes than temple vaults.”

The writhing lights of hyperspace gave the small bridge an unusual ambiance, with small pools of light moving up and down the walls while stars shot by at incredible speeds. Dacian fixed an appraising look on Zeetee and held it for an unnerving minute before they continued.

“It is rare indeed that I discuss my plans with anyone before they are fully formed. I do so now out of necessity, but understand where your place in these plans ultimately rests.”

“My interest is purely in being better prepared to guard your good health,” Zeetee affirmed. “The more I can help you now, the less risk you’re at later.”

“Very well,” said Dacian. He rose from the cot, remarkably recovered albeit still limping. Taking his place in the command chair, Dacian began to input new coordinate into the navcomputer. “There was one particularly famous offshoot of the Jedi Order who spurned their restrictions and gathered knowledge of all kinds. If any Jedi stockpile would contain information for my mission, it is the site of the former Rogue Jedi headquarters on Ossus and their famed library. That’s our next destination.”

Ancient texts and preserved scrolls lay scattered about the floor with disdain. Books only briefly examined before being discarded were stacked five deep on the rickety old study desk between two sagging shelves. By the faint light, two figures working the stacks furiously were just barely visible.

One stepped into a narrow cone of artificial light. There, Dacian held aloft a new book, blowing thick layers of dust free. “The life and times of Vodo-Siosk Baas.”

“Yes, I believe we may have wandered a bit from our original section,” said Zeetee from the shelves. “Not to mention your vitals aren’t looking very encouraging. By a cost-benefit analysis, you might want to consider postponing any future search until-”

“I’m fine,” Dacian stated, although the firmness of his declaration was undermined somewhat as he hobbled off to return the rejected text. “The book we need is here, it’s just a matter of finding it. I see no reason to delay.”

“Pardon me for asking, but is there any reason to hurry?”

As if on cue, the sound of a howling wind echoed down from the tunnel entrance. Both Zeetee and Dacian snapped round towards where the sound had emanated, but the echo died quickly and nothing more was forthcoming. All was still again.

Dacian’s face was drawn tight as he pulled a fresh text from the shelf. “No reason at all.”

Zeetee scanned the stack before him, deciphering the mysterious scripts as best he could. Most were written in common languages, though they varied greatly, but a few were written in extinct tongues or strange dialects with only the loosest roots in known culture. Had not James’ eccentric interests prompted him to design Zeetee with a broader available database, he wouldn’t have been able to read half of the books they found.

His big red photoreceptor stopped as it passed over one text in particular. “Dacian…”

Dacian dropped the book he was reading - a useless treatise on the alphabetic system of Kel Dorian monks - and joined his droid doctor’s side. “What is it? What have you found?”

Zeetee gently squeezed a crisp, leather-bound tomb from a privileged position on the stack. In once-gold filigrie the spine proudly proclaimed The Unauthorized History of the End of the Great Sith War.

Dacian seized the book as eagerly as his sapped strength allowed and flipped open the cover. “A personal account from a survivor of the last great battle against the Sith, widely suppressed by the council after the war as part of a concerted effort to destroy any evidence or record of the Sith that might lead to a revival. This is it! This is what I’ve been looking for!”

As he said this, a second howl echoed down into the chamber, this one clearly more bestial and sharp than the first. Dacian looked up from the text before glancing to Zeetee.

“Life forms?”

“My scanners detect nothing, for what they’re worth in these conditions.”

Dacian fumbled for his lightsaber, holding the book close to his chest with his other hand. The blade came alight and bathed their dim surroundings in pale yellow light.

“I didn’t think the Jedi would leave guards for a forgotten ruin,” said Zeetee. Each sweep of his sensors was like trying to hit a target the size of a dime through a thick fog.

“Not all guardians of the Force’s secrets are living,” Dacian muttered, and he broke for the tunnel mouth. “Come on! We’ve got to get moving!”

The two charged forwards into the darkness of the tunnels, Zeetee slowing to keep pace with Dacian, who struggled as his lungs sucked down thin air. It was difficult going, scrambling up the steep stone while the howling wind drew ever closer and more dire. The route was treacherous, however, and filled with many twists and turns which the two plunged down without a second thought.

“How much further?” Dacian gasped as they passed another intersection.

“Not far,” said Zeetee. “We’re almost to the-”

This time, the wind was less a howl, and more a scream. It was the sharp whip-crack of a voice in pain, bringing Dacian to his knees as his ears rang. Zeetee turned back to where Dacian had fell, only to see him look up and go even paler from what he saw.

Turning back around, Zeetee came face to face with something whose existence defied every subroutine in his medical database.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-” screamed a ghostly apparition of what appeared to have once been a man. Whatever it was, it was ethereal and thin, it’s features blurry and indistinct, wrapped in a cowl big enough to almost consume it. “-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

“Get back!” Dacian managed to bark over the din, his face contorting in pain as the backlash from the spirit’s psychic assault buffeted him. “Keep away from it! It’s dangerous!”

“A Force apparition poses no risk to a non-living entity,” Zeetee declared, and with that he strode purposefully into the ghost - passing through, unaffected. “There’s nothing I can do to it, nor it to me.”

“-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

“That’s great,” Dacian growled, but his retort was cut short as the ghost advanced upon him. Dacian held his lightsaber before him, which seemed to work as a deterrent.

The pitch of the ghost’s scream lowered to a bearable level, although only barely. Behind the scream were countless voices, each one different, each trying to speak at once and producing an indecipherable hum.

“Can you understand it?” asked Zeetee.

Dacian seemed to concentrate on the middle distance, his eyes wandering before snapping back towards the ghost. “No… it seems weaker than it should be, fainter. The spirit should have power here, this place is it’s anchor, but it can’t touch you and seems reluctant to attack me. Silk said that-”

At the name, the spirit seemed to rouse and the scream picked up once more. The ghost advanced on Dacian, but he lashed out with his lightsaber, causing his foe to dissipate. Dacian rushed past Zeetee and back up the tunnels. The two ran as fast as they could, though the shrieks of the reformed apparition were had on their heels.

“What is it?” shout Zeetee as they ran.

“Why is more important,” Dacian replied. He gasped down air greedily, but it was little use, his leg simply wouldn’t support him. As he stumbled, the reformed spirit began to gain on them, wielding an equally-ethereal lightsaber above it’s head. “Some dead Jedi sent to stop us. The Force doesn’t want us to get away.”

Thought he was on his knees and wheezing feebly, Dacian managed to raise his lightsaber to parry the ghost’s blade. “I can’t… fight it, though… not now.”

“Don’t worry,” said Zeetee, who strode through the ghost, lifted Dacian straight up off the ground, and began to run with him on his back. “I’m fully equipped to remove patients from danger zones if required.”

Dacian was too winded to reply, he merely watched as the ghost attempted to pursue, becoming fainter and weaker as they grew more distant from it’s source of power. At last it disappeared altogether, and the howl became a mere bark of frustration.

Zeetee kept running until they emerged into the light, stopping only at Dacian’s insistence so that he could hobble back aboard the ship under his own power. They said not a word until they arrived on the bridge, where Dacian immediately collapsed into the command chair. He waved off Zeetee’s attempt to inspect his health and flipped open the new book.

“This will have the answers I need, and thus our next destination.”

“Hopefully it will be somewhat more hospitable to your good health,” said Zeetee as he settled into the navigator’s chair. “What was that back there? I have no reliable database entries on it.”

“A force ghost,” Dacian flatly replied, leafing through the pages of his new text.

“Ghosts are superstition.”

“I can move objects with my mind and see through time and space. Superstition is a decidedly relative matter in this galaxy.”

Zeetee considered this, processing various possibilities and coming to terms with the somewhat flexible nature of the afterlife. “So… that was a Jedi guardian trying to protect the library? Are the Jedi in pursuit?”

Dacian glanced up from his book, sighed, and flipped it shut. “The Jedi aren’t after us specifically, no, but it appears the Force itself might be. It doesn’t help me at all in my pursuits, but where I conflict with other Force-users it shows them favour by letting them return from the afterlife or empowering them with Force powers far beyond the norm.

“The Force sets it’s own agents against each other all the time, for some reason, and sometimes it seems to favour one or the other almost arbitrarily. In this, though, I see the Force trying to tilt the odds against us. Honestly, it should be successful, as from what Silk has told me the Force is powerful enough that to actually draw it’s ire would obliterate any mere mortal. That’s why we encountered that ghost in our path, but why it wasn’t strong enough to stop us… that’s another mystery to unravel, for now.”

“That’s… a lot to process.”

“Good,” Dacian grumbled as he flipped his book open again. “Think about it, then, and in the meantime get us out of the system. We’ve still got a long journey ahead of us.”