The Rebel Faction

Gash shook his head slowly. "That doesn't ring a bell for me," he said, his mouth twitching slightly. It couldn't possibly be... no. It was too much of a coincidence; too convenient. But... a Sith... of that appearance.

You know what I have become, father...

"No, it doesn't. Come, let us seek out a librarian."


The librarian was fairly old -- at least sixty, but spry and eager to help Gash. He'd mentioned his name before, but the Jedi Master couldn't remember it; he was always somewhat bewildered by the fact that meeting him meant more to others than their acquaintence meant to him.

Jereka. That was his name.

Gash and Tobal sat around a holocron in one of the dusty, but well-lit rooms of the Great Temple's library. The occasional student paced by, but for the most part it was silent. "I am afraid that that is the last of the datacrystals corresponding to that description, Master Jiren," Jereka said, smiling down at the pair.

"Thank you, Jereka."

As the librarian walked away, Gash continued to order the holocron to flip through the list of species, each with full rotating portraits and physical descriptions. The holocron technology used in the library was a crude adaptation of that used by the old Jedi, but it served its purpose; each holocron was not a full repository of knowledge in and of itself -- as such holocrons were too costly and precious to manufacture in large quantities -- but could be inserted with a small, red datacrystal, with which the library was filled in addition to books and datapads. Each datacrystal was the equivalent of a tome, and the semi-sentient guide within the holocron -- intelligent, but not wise, as the guardians of actual holocrons were -- could be used to browse and explain the information.

"Next," Gash said, glancing at Tobal. The Shadow Jedi shook his head again. "Next," and again, he shook his head.

"Next," he repeated, but as the new species appeared, Gash knew the answer even before Tobal spoke. Yet another "no"...

He was certain that one of them would be the species Hadul sought, and the niggling suspicion in the back of his mind would evaporate and the Shadow Jedi sent on his way. But the doubt remained...

Gash Jiren was silent for several moments. He closed his eyes, for all appearances going into some sort of trance. Tobal had just begun to think that the Jedi Master had fallen asleep, or died, when he spoke. "The reason you can't find any record of the Sith's species, is because he does not belong to one. Not anymore."

The Rogue Jedi didn't open his eyes. Before Tobal could ask what he meant, he continued. "His name is Xireon. I know him quite well, because, in a way, you might say that I am his father. I am his... creator. His name is Xireon Jiren."

He let this sink in.

"Before turning to the light side of the Force, one of my final acts was to create a being of perfection, or at least what I viewed as 'perfection' at the time, in my twisted way. Using what I knew about genetic replication and the Force, I warped and altered my own DNA, and created a single clone. He was strong, brutal, and remorseless, a Sith Warrior such as the galaxy had never seen.

"In retrospect, I now know his creation was the result of the death of a comrade I particularly disliked, Qual Zaiso, also a Sith Warrior. He died in the line of duty -- if you can call what a Sith does 'duty' -- and I felt responsible. This was both my legacy, and my method of coping."

Gash opened his eyes, and smiled that little smile of his -- the one that bore no mirth at all. "And so Xireon was conceived. He took my last name, despite having never met me. In my haste to flee Ziost, and my Sith past, I never thought to eliminate that part of it. In a way, I am thus very responsible for the deaths he has caused.

"Xireon went on to assist Grand Admiral Thrawn in his second invasion of this galaxy, beginning with the assault on Ossus. Eventually, he became the driving force behind that conquest, his army of Force-imbued Achrions wreaking a havoc I am sure you, like billions of others, witnessed directly or indirectly. I was irresponsible. I wished to pretend as if I had not created him, when I turned to the light side, as if I had not committed any of the evil acts I committed as a Sith. So I ran."

Gash fished a datacrystal from his pocket, inserting it into one side of the holocron. "Show us Xireon Jiren," he commanded, and so that is what sprang forth. In almost every way, the hologram resembled him identically, though it lacked his scars. "But Xireon, like all clones, was a tool, and little else. When I created him, I ensured through genetic manipulation and flash mental imprinting that he was a... perfected version of myself. More intelligent, more cunning, stronger, faster, and the rest of the cliched terms that all maniacs use to describe their creations.

"I'd designed him as a Sith Warrior, that, in the end, I -- as a socercer -- would always possess the deeper connection to the Dark Side, the power to end him. The control. So, indeed, this was something of an innate logical flaw. A being so intelligent, so sentient, could not remain so forever, without gaining a degree of self-awareness about his creation, and his nature as a tool."

Gash sighed briefly, glancing at the hologram. "Show us the Blade of Klain."

A short sword, with a grip filled with jewels, appeared. "I also, in a manner of speaking, created the Blade of Klain, when I used it to kill Recon Klain and resurrect him into a new form. It gained a degree of sentience in this process, and inheireted the cunning and evil of Klain and the spirits of Ziost.

"Xireon, when he discovered the Blade, lost himself in it. He lost himself in the power it offered. Through a twisted ritual, he merged himself with the Blade of Klain. He fully gave into it, absorbing its power, and so sacrificing the form he'd once possessed. He is now a Wraith of the Blade, Tobal, and that is what you saw. An immensely powerful being, who has sunk to the lowest depth any sentient being can sink to. Do you know what that depth is, Tobal Hadul?" Gash asked very earnestly, suddenly starting forward and staring into the Shadow Jedi's eyes, his gaze penetrating.

"No," the man said.

"He has lost himself." He turned back to the holocron. "Show us the last picture available of Xireon." And so, a hologram of the very demon Tobal Hadul had seen during that battle sprang forth.

"When he was injured at the Battle of Ruusan," Gash continued, "he survived only because of his hate, his strength in the Dark Side. He lost the very essence of what made him Asthentian, what made him a member of my species, his white hair fading to black and the glow gone from his eyes. It is referred to on my homeworld as 'noc'tural', or 'half life'. A shortened, cursed, wretched existence chosen only by those greedily attempting to cling to this world, and possessed of the power to fight death.

"Xireon understands the nature of sentience, Tobal. He understands it better than I do, because his entire life has revolved around his coming to grips with his existence. Though his becoming a victim of noc'tural -- and finally being free of the shackles I'd created for him, embracing Sith sorcery -- he came to a very simple conclusion about the nature of existence. Do you know what that is, Tobal Hadul?" He asked again, fixing his piercing glare once again on the Shadow Jedi.

This time, he only shook his head.

"That there is no 'self' at all. That the only thing at all constant is ambition. He values nothing; not himself, not others. Only existence, power, and his lust for more of it." Gash closed his eyes again, sitting back. "This has always disturbed me, because he is born of me, Tobal, and he is only an extrapolation of myself. He is, in a manner of speaking, what I would have been had I not turned from that path."

The two sat for a long while, these sudden revelations stewing about the minds of the two Jedi. Finally, Gash opened his eyes and locked gazes with Tobal. "Xireon said what he did, as I am sure you have gleaned, because you are also Asthentian. Hence our somewhat similar appearances. He wished to see where your values lay. Whether you had come to similar realizations about the nature of sentience. Xireon," he said, almost smiling macabrely at something unknown, "is very interested in the minds of thinking beings.

"I have now told you what you wanted to know. You know what you are. You now know that I am partially responsible for your friends' death, and fully responsible for the creation of the monster that perpetrated it. And you know why he did so. You have every right to feel a certain amount of loathing for me, and I do indeed feel indebted to you. Should you wish to... learn more, all you need do is ask."

With one last earnest look at Tobal -- one that spoke deeply of a man more haunted than he wished to let on -- Gash said, "I am sorry, Tobal."

"The planet Asthentia," Gash said, "resides north of Ossus, near Yavin IV and the Corporate Sector. It was colonized by the Old Republic shortly before the Sith War, after which it was isolated from the galaxy by the destruction of this world and the chaos that ensued. It was forgotten, and its inhabitants -- Chiss, human, Zabrak, and others -- left to interbreed. A number of Jedi were also within that population. Gradually, the isolated world lost knowledge of the Force, and Force affinity became inbred in the world, in the form of most inhabitants having slight precognitive abilities.

"Typically, it is difficult for species to cross, but gradually, through a slow process of more selective interbreeding, they melded. After thousands of years, a single, unique species was achieved." He gestured at himself. "You and I are the result. White, long hair and eyes of red, violet, or," he gave a meaningful look to Tobal, "a greyish silver are characteristic. A greater-than-average number of us also possess a full, developed Force affinity."

This was a rehearsed answer; a basic textbook answer that came naturally to a man who had single-handedly rediscovered his homeworld. On a more personal note, he added, "Have you noticed, Tobal Hadul, that you do not seem to age at the same rate as your peers? An Asthentian lifetime is two or three times longer than a human one."

Gash listened closely. Tobal's story was reminiscient of something; it hinted at something just outside of the Jedi Master's mind's eye, something only partially forgotten. It took him a moment after Hadul had stoppped speaking to realize what that thing was.

"So you remember nothing? No location, or name?" Gash asked. "That places you in a similar position to the one I was in, years ago. Before I knew and understood what I was."

Gash smiled slightly. "Permit me a question. Why do you so desire to learn of your species? What, in Xireon's perverted game, spurred you on even further to discover your origins?

"It is all the same, then, Tobal. You wish to know what you are, that you might know who you are. Or were." Gash nodded sympathetically. "Everyone wants a home, because your home is a starting point. It makes you who you are. Doesn't it?

"I thought the same thing, Tobal Hadul. I used to be a Sith, as I told you. And I think I believed that finding my home, finding Asthentia, would somehow save me, would some how make me complete and lead me out of the darkness." He chuckled morosely. "It didn't."

Gash stood up abruptly. "You mentioned a crime. I'd like to show you something."