The Rebel Faction

Gasping for breath, he awoke.

It had been one month since the destruction of the Yuuzhan Vong remnant over the Atal’ai, and for the duration of that time, Michael had been having the dreams. Every night they came. Sometimes they were the same, and vague, but on certain nights there was new intermingled with the old, and everything seemed so clear. He was always there, and the chanting was too.

Slowly rising from the bed, he limped over to the wall opposing the hatch. He shook his left leg in an attempt to awake it from its slumber. As he reached the wall, he placed his left palm upon it to steady himself, and for a while stood there, braced by his arm. Everything in the past month had been so hectic and out of control; he was exhausted.

He stretched his right arm out sideways, and tapped a button on the wall to his side. He closed his eyes, and with a flash of bright light, the wall he braced himself upon lost its opacity and revealed the Atal’ai structure in front of him.

Michael was on board the Solarisian vessel VOW-1. It was his command ship, he supposed; the largest vessel in the Solarisian navy and the one directly under his control. He found it hard to picture himself as a naval officer. Michael had spent his entire life studying the art of war, but it was another thing entirely to be an artist himself.

He opened his eyes slowly, wincing slightly at the brightness of the system’s sun, a stark contrast to the darkness of his quarters. He could see the last of the shuttles rising slowly and steadily through the atmosphere of the Atal’ai, making their way toward the Avalanche which drifted in orbit not too far away. The shuttles were loaded with Andozian citizens, the last wave of people to be transported from the Atal’ai to New Andoz.

It had taken the Avalanche ten journeys back and forth, filled to maximum capacity on the way to and running on a skeleton crew on the way back each time. But it was almost over, and there could be some relief found in that. Well, to everyone except for Michael…

The end of the Andozian relocation meant that people would once more have time to think about things and wonder what exactly they were going to do with their government. As it stood at current, Michael was in essence their unofficial regent, commanding them himself and without aid. And while that was very effective for getting the people moved to New Andoz quickly and smoothly, it would not be so very effective as a permanent system of government.

Michael was scared. He was scared of the task ahead of him. It was up to him to provide these people with a new, stable system of government that they could all agree on. The only thing that scared him more than the responsibility to give up his newfound title of regent was the little voice in the back of his mind that didn’t want him to.

More and more he found himself reasoning that it might be better for the Andozians if he continued to rule for a while. He came up with all sorts of justifications and thought up thousands of different things he could accomplish in the name of bettering both these people’s society and the newly brewing society of the Solarisians.

And at the end of those long hours of justification and cultured reasoning, Michael would realize just what he was considering. It was scary to him to think that someone such as himself, raised by Solarisians his entire life, could be so susceptible to the good intentioned corruption of humanity.

He shook his head, as if shaking the unwanted thoughts from his mind. Ambling over to the small machine built into the wall facing his bed, he retrieved a glass from the cupboard built into the wall right next to the machine. He slid open the duraglass of the machine, placed the glass inside, and slid the duracrete shut again.

“Water,” he croaked, stretching his vocal cords which were hoarse from ordering.

Sliding open the duraglass once more, he pulled out the glass and took a small sip of the water, sliding the duraglass shut on his way back to stand and look out the newly formed window in his quarters. It had been a breathtaking sight the first time he had seen it, and if the thought of the Atal’ai didn’t carry so much anxiety with it over the Andozians, Michael would be free to enjoy the immaculate beauty of the structure before him.

But concerns and fears clouded his mind, and he could find no sanctuary at the sight of the Atal’ai. As he turned away from the view, his thoughts drifted from the Andozians and back to the dreams that plagued his sleep. More importantly, he pondered the most recent occurrence. Much new had been intermingled with the old, and for the first time since the words of the chanting had begun to play, clear memories of words were still emblazoned in his mind.

He took a seat upon the unmade bed, and retrieved a datapad from the nightstand beside it. He typed what he remembered into it, not exactly sure why he was bothering. He knew that he would be forgetting these words just as soon as he would be forgetting the chanting. And that would not be for a very long time. He scanned what he had inputted, making sure the words were correct. There were some hyperspace coordinates, and then the cryptic words…

[FONT=Lucida Console]In three days.[/FONT]

“It is an acceptable deviation,” Michael said aloud, something he had picked up from the Andozians, “It will get my thought process off of more disconcerting subjects.”

He smiled softly to himself.

I hope… he added silently.

[FONT=Lucida Console]“Reversion complete.”[/FONT]

The melodic voice of VOW-1’s main computer was comforting upon Michael’s ears. Not just because the voice was designed to be comforting, but because over the past months he had developed a friendship with the computer. The Solarisian robots were programmed to act as humans would, which meant simulated personalities and emotions. The computers of their starships were no exception.

In essence, VOW-1 itself was alive, and the main computer was just its brain. Nearly the entire ship was controlled directly by the main computer, and only a small contingent of humanoid robots was stationed on board, in order to make repairs and process data that the main computer could not. But in the end, it was only Michael and the computer that ran the ship. Michael gave the orders, and the vessel carried them out.

“VOW-1, are we at the coordinates I gave you?” Michael asked, confirming what he already knew.

[font=Lucida Console]“We are, Michael.”[/font]

“Begin scanning immediately for any signs of a vessel,” Michael ordered.

[font=Lucida Console]“Affirmative.”[/font]

It had been three days since Michael had had the dream in which he had received the hyperspace coordinates. And now, here he was, at the coordinates given. They were on the outskirts of the Transitory Mists, on the side closest the Perlemian Trade Route but still quite a ways from Imperial space.

Michael didn’t know what exactly he was doing here, but he knew it was better than being back at New Andoz. Already the grumblings of the future of government had begun, staved off from serious talks only by the long process of getting the entire population proper lodgings and building up major population centers. The capital city, Caloran, had begun serious construction, and a new life was blossoming for the people of New Andoz.

Michael was glad, most definitely, to see the Andozians bouncing back so well from the terrible things they had undergone. But he could not help but be troubled by the questions of the future. Any distraction was a pleasant distraction if it got his mind off of those questions. And traveling out here, searching for he didn’t know what, did a good job of helping him think of other things.

[font=Lucida Console]“Michael?”[/font]

“Yes, VOW-1?” Michael asked, shaken from his reverie, “Have you discovered anything?”

[font=Lucida Console]“No, Michael. Sensors indicate this area of space is devoid of any ships, or even wreckage. This is dead space.”[/font]

“You are certain?”

[font=Lucida Console]“Within a .0068% margin of error, yes.”[/font]

“Well, run the scans once more. I want to be certain before I leave here.”

[font=Lucida Console]“As you wish, Michael.”[/font]

This disturbed him. If there were in fact no ships of any kind, then what had the dreams wanted him to find out here? Had he missed it? If he left, would he miss it? All too suddenly, the dissipating questions of the future were replaced with even more troubling questions of the present. He knew that the coordinates were correct, and he knew the message that came with them was correct as well. But if the computer was right…

His attention snapped out the viewport as a bright light came into view in the space in front of them. A ship appeared, massive in size. At least, Michael believed it was a ship. He had never seen anything so large! It dwarfed the pictures of the super star destroyers of this galaxy’s past that Michael had seen in the Capital’s library. It was almost…planet-sized.

[font=Lucida Console]”Warning! Warning! Proximity alert! Continuing on present course will cause collision in-”[/font]

“Full stop, VOW-1!” Michael ordered.

[font=Lucida Console]“Initiating full stop.”[/font]

The vessel came to a halt, floating dead in space before the massive ship in front of them.

[font=Lucida Console]”Michael, detecting-”[/font]

“I see it, VOW-1,” Michael interrupted it once more, assuring the computer.

And then, just as soon as it had appeared, the gargantuan vessel disappeared once more in a blinding flash of light. It was no jump to hyperspace. It had simply disappeared. Michael’s eyes widened. Had that been what the dream had wanted him to see? Had he done something wrong? The old questions left and new questions entered in his mind.

“VOW-1, scan for vessels once more, focusing on the area in which the unidentified vessel had been.”

[font=Lucida Console]“Scanning…scanning…Michael, there is a vessel of some kind approximately ten meters long where the unidentified vessel had once been. No identification tags of any kind. It has one life sign.”[/font]

“On screen.”

The computer was correct; a vessel about ten meters long appeared on the screen suddenly. It was…a pod. It looked to be an escape pod of some sort, only slightly larger than the norm. It floated dead in space, much like the VOW-1 was. There were no markings on it of any kind, merely a silver metallic sheen that betrayed its age. It was brand new.

“VOW-1, approach the vessel and pull it into the docking bay with the tractor beams. You have the bridge. I will greet whoever is on board that vessel personally.”

[font=Lucida Console]“Affirmative, Michael.”[/font]

Ainam had considered for a full ten minutes whether or not to plot a course for Naboo instead of the coordinates that Zark had given him. He knew that Zark needed medical attention soon or he would die, and he knew that the proper attention he needed most likely would not but available to him at wherever the frizz in the Hapes Cluster they were headed. But Zark had been so adamant…so sure that where he belonged was at those coordinates…

He punched in the coordinates Zark had typed on the datapad, and as he inputted them he felt a sort of soothing feeling. It was all too familiar, the feeling one received whenever the Force was flowing more strongly within them. The force ebbed and flowed through every living and nonliving being. Sometimes it flowed strongly and sometimes weaker, and to most people, those less attuned, it seemed completely random. But Ainam knew, as Zark had taught him, that everything that had to do with the Force had importance.

He took the strength in the ebb of the Force as a good sign, and prayed silently to it that Zark would make it out of this one alive.

But a small part of him wondered, was Zark praying for the same thing? Ainam had not seen him so excited about anything since he had told him of his charge to wait on Naboo until his “prophet” of sorts arrived. He had been so excited that he had left Theed for the first time in half a year. Knowing how much Zark believed in the prophet to come and, at least rudimentarily, how much the Jedi had been through, Ainam had to wonder. Was Zark coming to Hapes to die?

Every rational thought in his mind screamed to him that that was not feasible. Zark still had to wait for the prophet, and if he just wanted to die then why go through all the trouble of stealing the artifact from the Jedi Corps.? But a feeling in the pit of his stomach denied all rationality and still wondered. Ainam had long ago learned to trust those feelings, those small messages he knew to be from the Force, but just this once he hoped he was wrong.

They were in hyperspace now, and they would be arriving at the coordinates Zark had given him in a few hours. Stirring in his seat, he tried to find a more comfortable position. He had helped Zark as much as he could before he had typed in the coordinates, despite the Jedi’s fierce protests to the contrary. Ainam had insisted on it. Halfway through, Zark had stopped protesting and had gone eerily calm. It had unnerved Ainam at the time, and now it unnerved him even more.

Closing his eyes, he knew sleep was out of the question. So instead he meditated, struggling to clear his mind of the unnecessary thoughts that plagued him. He sought the Force for guidance, but he knew before he had begun that there was no clear path to take.

In the direst of situations, there never were.

The two robots fell in line behind him, flanking their commanding officer on either side. The humanoid robots were two of the thirty stationed aboard the Vessel of War. While their main function was by no means combat, they had received basic programming in the field. To put it succinctly, the two robots behind him could point and fire the blaster rifles they held in there hands, and they could do it with unerring accuracy.

Michael had thought deeply about whether or not to take the two droids along as bodyguards. Of course, everything about the situation suggested that the precautions were most definitely necessary, but something just…he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he wouldn’t need them. Michael’s cold rationality won out over the feelings that had been plaguing him more and more often, and he had ordered to robots to accompany him.

Their names were VCM-8 and VCM-9, and they were not very talkative. In fact, they spoke only when necessary. All military-designated Solarisian robots possessed such a personality. In fact, the only Solarisian robots who were talkative were the ones especially programmed to be, and those were entirely civilians. Still, Michael felt comfort in their silent presence.

With his constant duties to the people of Andoz, Michael had not had much time to spend in the company of his own “people”. While fellow humans were new and exciting and could teach him much about himself and the galaxy, the Solarisians would always be his true family. Michael knew he would always be more comfortable around robots than he would be around humans, and was resigned to that fate.

They were approaching the hangar bay, and in a few minutes Michael would be face to face with whoever was in the pod they had discovered. Emotion coursed through Michael strongly. It was one of two, he knew, either excitement or nervousness. In the past month, he had experienced both in vast amounts, but was still not quite able to distinguish between the two. He wondered if that was the same for all humans, or if it was just his unfamiliarity to the plethora of new emotions he had been introduced to so recently.

The hatch leading to the hangar bay was clear in the distance now. The hallway they were walking in lead straight from the turbolift to the hangar, not deviating from its path in the slightest. In a Solarisian Vessel of War, humanoid access to any of the other areas on this deck was unnecessary. Only the repair robots had access to those areas, as was the same for the majority of the capital ship.

As they reached it, the hatch opened automatically for Michael. No doubt it had been ordered to by the computer mainframe, which was no doubt monitoring his every move. Most humans likely wouldn’t have been comfortable to that, but Michael did not mind in the least. He stepped through the hatchway, and into the hangar bay on the other side.

Rows and rows of Dart Starfighters stretched as far as the eye could see. There were seventy two of them in total on VOW-1. And in the center of the hangar bay, surrounded by Darts, was the pod Michael had seen from the bridge. It looked as new as it had looked from his view on the bridge, and the metallic sheen was only brighter.

Wasting no time inspecting it, Michael strode toward it. The robotic bodyguards followed quickly on his heels, falling perfectly into step behind him. As Michael approached the pod, he wondered how he would even begin to go about opening it. He didn’t have to wonder for very long, for when Michael was only fifteen meters away there was a sudden hiss and steam seeped out from the pod. It was opening itself…or someone inside it was.

The bodyguards’ rifles instantly snapped up, aimed directly at the pod. Distantly, Michael considered holding up his hand to stay them, but realized it was unnecessary. They would not fire unless given the order by him or the computer. He really had been spending too much time with other humans. None of them said anything as the pod opened, Michael only stared at it intently. The robots stared as well, expressionlessly and constantly searching for any signs of hostile intent.

The pod finally finished its opening procedure, and the steam it had unleashed completely clouded what lie within. Finally, as the steam began to subside, Michael caught a glimpse of the shape of a head, only a silhouette within all of the steam. It moved slightly. So the scans had been correct, there was a living creature inside the pod.

“Identify yourself at once,” Michael ordered, his tone dripping with command, “Identify yourself or face destruction.”

“Do not fire! Do not fire!” a voice called in return. There was something odd about it, something Michael couldn’t quite place, “I mean you no harm!”

“Then identify yourself,” Michael restated.

“My name is Varex!” the voice called back, “Varex Tarien! Are you the one called Michael?”

“How do you know of my identity?” Michael demanded, his curiosity only amplified by the mention of his name, “Step forward and reveal yourself!”

“Very well…” the voice conceded, “Do not be alarmed by my appearance, I beg you.”

And any confusion Michael may have had about that last comment immediately disappeared when the creature known as Varex Tarien did step forward. He looked unlike anything Michael had ever laid eyes upon…which was not saying much, as Michael had only ever seen robots and humans. But Michael had never seen pictures of anything like the creature that stood before him in the Capital’s records.

Varex walked on four legs, and possessed two arms as well. He was completely tan, and also “naked”. But the most striking thing about Varex’s appearance was that the being possessed no mouth. There were only eyes and what appeared to be the slits of a nose or equivalent. But a mouth was nowhere to be found.

“I am Varex Tarien,” the alien repeated, and Michael realized the strangeness of his voice was that it was not audible, but in his mind, “I come seeking sanctuary…and penance.”

Michael stood there in the docking bay and listened to the story of Varex Tarien. He listened to the former servant of the Dominion’s damning past, taking in and processing every word the alien said. He listened even as the Priest Lord admitted to his involvement in the destruction of several of Michael’s vessels during the Solarisian battle against the Yuuzhan Vong warfleet.

Michael listened to all of this, knowing that he had every right to be filled with contempt and anger toward this being. But Michael also listened to Varex’s claims of regret and his story of rehabilitation and he was not filled with contempt, but pity. Pity overwhelmed him. The Cree’Ar struggled as he recalled the events following his “abduction” by the Gree as best he could. He explained to Michael that the Gree had blocked many of the memories off. Varex had seen more than the Gree were willing to reveal.

“And that, Lord Michael, is my story,” Varex said after his story was finished, “And I swear to you with all of the honor I have that it is the whole and true story…as much of it as I am capable of telling.”

“I would greatly enjoy believing you, Varex Tarien,” Michael conceded, sighing, “But I am unsure if I can take that chance. A being capable of such great destruction might also be capable of such great deception.”

“I understand,” Varex nodded his head, and Michael believed that he did, “I put my fate in your hands, to do with what you will. Even if your decision is…extermination.”

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted as a voice resounded throughout the entire docking bay. It was the main computer of VOW-1.

[font=Lucida Console]“Attention: Incoming Vessel. Unknown Affiliation. Threat Level: Minimal. CPT unit to bridge.”[/font]

“VCM-8 and VCM-9,” Michael turned toward the two droid bodyguards, “Escort Varex Tarien to an empty quarters and seal him inside. Guard him.”

“Affirmative,” both units responded in unison.

“We will talk later, Varex Tarien,” Michael told the alien, “It is then your fate will be discussed.”

“I await your company, Lord Michael,” Varex nodded his farewell.

Michael walked with them to the turbolift leading to the other humanoid-habitable levels, and shared the ride with them up to their level. At the quarters deck, the bodyguards escorted Varex off the turbolift and Michael rode the turbolift up alone to the bridge. He had a few brief moments of speculation as to what the unidentified vessel could be.

Was it the Gree again? Michael didn’t think so. Varex had told him the Gree had been hesitant to let Varex go in the first place. Not because they didn’t trust the alien, but because they did not like making themselves known. They would not reveal themselves twice. Who else knew they were out here? Only other Solarisians. And the only reason they would send another vessel would be if…something had happened.

With this thought in mind, Michael was tense as he stepped onto the bridge.

[font=Lucida Console]“Michael, we are being hailed.”[/font]

“Put it through.”

“This is…this is Ainam Yzarc. Please respond.”

Ainam Yzarc? Michael had never heard of the name.

“Open a channel, VOW-1,” Michael ordered.

[font=Lucida Console]“Channel open.”[/font]

“Ainam Yzarc of unidentified vessel,” Michael announced, “Please indentify your affiliations and intentions in Hapan space or face imminent destruction.”

“My affiliations are to none one but myself and my Master,” came the reply, “I seek the right to land aboard your vessel, and my Master seeks immediate counsel with the man in charge.”

Michael furrowed his brow. His Master?

“Who is this…Master of yours?” he asked, “And what business does he have with me?”

“He is…he is your brother. And he wants to speak with you…before he dies.”

…my brother? Michael thought to himself. As far as he knew, he had no living relatives. He had been the only one alive on board the vessel that had crashed upon Solaris. Michael’s thoughts drifted to Varex. Were these people that had been sent to rescue him? The voice did not sound human…but then again, it didn’t sound Cree’Ar. But Varex had told him he had been estranged from the Dominion. Perhaps alien allies. Was the Cree’Ar only using him to escape?

“You have permission to board,” Michael said at last. He’d just have to find out, “Close the channel. VOW-1, have you scanned the ship?”

[font=Lucida Console]“Affirmative.”[/font]

“Life signs?”

[font=Lucida Console]“Two. One is faint.”[/font]

So someone on that ship really was dying. The alien on board had at least told the truth about that.

“VOW-1, have ten VCM units meet me at the docking bay entrance…armed.”