FicWad

Outside the Springhawk's bridge canopy, the scattered stars and a small but magnificent globular cluster blaze brilliantly out of a black sky. The stars, the cluster, and nothing else.

Surreptitiously, Doriana looks at his chrono. Outbound Flight is late.

And apparently his quick glance downwards hasn't been quite surreptitious enough. "Patience, Commander," Mitth'raw'nuruodo calmly reproves him from the captain's chair. "They will come."

"They are late," Vicelord Kav instantly (almost challengingly) announces, scowling darkly at the back of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's head. "More than two hours late."

"Two hours is nothing in a voyage of three weeks," the Commander merely reasonably points out in response.

"Not for Captain Pakmillu," Kav only retorts, his scowl deepening. "Mon Calamari are notorious for punctuality."

"They will come," Mitth'raw'nuruodo only off-handedly repeats with the same absolute (and, to Doriana and Kav. inexplicable) certainty, half turning to eye the Neimoidian. "The only question is whether or not this system is indeed on the correct straight-line path between their last Republic stop and the system where you were preparing to ambush them."

"Do you dare - ?" Kav begins furiously.

"The vector was calculated correctly," Doriana interrupts the Neimoidian with a warning glare. "Our question, on the other hand, is why you think they'll actually stop here."

"They will," is Mitth'raw'nuruodo unhelpful reply. "The droid starfighters are ready?"

"Very much so," Kav assures him in turn, and Doriana can hear the vindictive anticipation in his tone. The starfighters are ready, all right, complete with the second command layer the Vicelord's chief programmer has had built in on top of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's close-approach pattern.

The Commander inclines his head slightly to the Neimoidian. "Then we have only to wait." Utterly calm and unshakeable in his certainty, he then turns back to the canopy

And then quite suddenly, with a flicker of pseudomotion, there it is, floating in space not five kilometers ahead.

Inexplicable though it may seem, Outbound Flight has arrived.

"The device is called a gravity well projector," Mitth'raw'nuruodo begins to explain, his tone almost lazily serene. "It simulates a planetary mass, thus forcing out any ship whose hyperspace vector crosses its shadow."

"Really," Doriana finally manages to say after several moments of stunned silence, trying very hard to sound as calm as the Chiss Commander. To the best of his knowledge, no one in the Republic has ever figured out how to turn that particular bit of hyperspace theory into an actual working device. The fact that the Chiss have solved the problem sends discomfiting ramifications ricocheting across his mind.

Kav, predictably, isn't nearly as interested in such long-term thought. "Then they are in our hands," he all but crows, instead. "All forces: /attack/."

"Hold," Mitth'raw'nuruodo immediately commands. His voice is still calm, but there is a sudden new edge to it. "I give the orders aboard this ship, Vicelord Kav."

"It is/ our/ mission, Commander Mitthrawdo," Kav counters, clearly affronted. "And as we debate, we lose the precious element of surprise." Fishing into his robes, he then pulls out a comm activator. Triumphantly, he declares, "You and your ships may do as you wish. But my starfighters will attack."

"No!" Doriana cries out, making a desperate grab for the activator. If Kav does something that fouls up Mitth'raw'nuruodo's plan, whatever that plan is, Outbound Flight might yet slip through their fingers, and if that were to happen then Lord Sidious would be furious!

But his reach is too short, his grab too late. Twisting his long arms out of range, Kav triumphantly keys the activator. Swearing viciously, Doriana looks over at the asteroid where the lines of droid starfighters waits -

- and nothing happens.

Again, Kav keys the switch. And again, nothing happens. "I'm afraid that won't work, Vicelord," Mitth'raw'nuruodo calmly informs him. "I took the liberty of removing the alternate command layer your programmers had created in the starfighters' systems."

Slowly, Kav lowers the activator. "You are very clever, Commander," he notes, his voice having gone dangerously soft. "Someday that cleverness will turn against you."

"Perhaps," Mitth'raw'nuruodo allows. "Until then, allow me to thank you for showing me how such secondary programming is done. That will prove useful today."

"So what now?" Doriana asks cautiously.

"Now, we talk to them," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies, already keying his board. "Communications: create a channel."

But, "Talk?!" Kav is so furious that he is on his feet, and his voice is raised in such a close approximation of a roar that Doriana suddenly no longer finds anything about the cowardly Neimoidian's anger amusing in any way. "You've managed to lure them into a perfect trap, with your technology, and now you want to ruin the trap by talking with them? You are mad!"

"On the contrary, Vicelord," Mitth'raw'nuruodo quietly corrects him, voice and manner suddenly as hard and unforgiving as ice, "I believe I am quite sane. Surely you did not expect me to simply take your word on the subject and to destroy so many lives without first attempting to ascertain their side of the story?"

"You fool! If you try to talk to the Jedi now, you'll only open yourself to their mind-control! Jorus C'baoth, the senior member of the Jedi party aboard the ship, the one responsible for finally getting Outbound Flight approved for its mission, is but half a step away from being declared Dark and cast out of his own Order: Darth Sidious assured me that he has been working on the man for years, turning him by slow but steady increments, corrupting him and corroding his sanity so that he will be unstable and so unable to defend the ship properly against our attack! Do you honestly think a being of such power will want to talk/, much less listen, to the likes of /you?" Kav only snarls back, long-fingered hands clenched into fists, body thrust aggressively forward, towards Thrawn.

Doriana is so shocked that he can only sit there and gape. He certainly has not ever been informed of any action taken by Lord Sidious' against Master C'baoth, though he must admit that the tactic does make a certain amount of sense and it does sound like something the Sith Lord would do. But still - !

"If talking proves to be a mistake, then I have both the means and the will to rectify it. But I will /talk to these people first, Vicelord Kav," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies, a more menacing tone creeping into his cold voice. Doriana is about to open his mouth to protest when the Chiss Commander continues speaking, and his next words leave Doriana gaping at him in stunned horror, gasping after a breath that will not come. "And if /Outbound Flight and its Jedi are not a true threat to the Chiss Ascendancy, then I will explain to them why I have detained them here and apologize by offering you to them. You are both from this Republic, and it is only proper that it should be the sentient beings of your Republic who decide your fate, after such treachery. The Chiss are a private people. So long as you do not threaten us, we will not involve ourselves. We have no wish to be caught up in your petty internal power struggles."

"Then let this be your final mistake!" Kav all but shrieks in reply, and then, before Doriana or anyone else can say or do anything, the Neimoidian reaches his long-fingered right hand into the loosely draped elaborate sleeves of his gaudy robe, producing a small but nasty looking hold-out blaster. With one smooth practiced motion, the Vicelord raises the blaster, points it at Mitth'raw'nuruodo, and fires -

- but the shot never reaches him. Instead, it first strikes the faint haze that has suddenly appeared between them and then bounces straight back up into Kav's torso. The Neimoidian has just enough time to look startled before he collapses forward onto the deck, his body lying so still that it is clear that the ricocheted shot has killed him. It is only then, as Doriana shifts his stunned gaze from Kav's body to the haze surrounding the Commander's chair, that he recognizes its shape and coloration.

He looks through the edge of the shield at Mitth'raw'nuruodo. "That was still something of a risk, wasn't it?" he asks, striving to keep his voice conversational, even though his hands are shaking with shock and reaction.

"Not really," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies, his glittering eyes adamantine with coldness. "The shield generator was simple enough to remove from one of the droidekas you provided for me. As I said at the time, we Chiss have had some experience with reversing the polarity of such devices." He gestures slightly towards the body. "And it was easily predictable that Vicelord Kav would react badly to learning that his attempt at deception had been caught and corrected. The only question remaining is whether or not you will choose to follow suit now, before I have been able to gather enough information to properly decide whether or not it might still be best to fulfill your mission against Outbound Flight and its Jedi passengers."

"No, Commander. I wouldn't dream of such treachery. The Jedi are dangerous, not only to safety of the Republic but to that of the Chiss Ascendancy, and they will bring ruin down upon us all if they are allowed to continue on their way. I swear to you, upon my life, that this is the truth," Doriana finally insists, forcing the words out from between numb lips, his whole body trembling slightly from where the fine tremor in his hands has finally escaped his control.

"We shall see. And if you are lying to me, I promise you in turn that I will turn you over to the Jedi for prosecution," Mitth'raw'nuruodo vows in answer, his eyes narrowing at Doriana from behind the shimmer of the transferred shield. Then, turning away, he deactivates the shield and calmly announces, "Communications: open a channel to Outbound Flight/. /Now."

***

Jedi Knight Lorana Jinzler is deeply troubled, quite possibly as worried about someone (and therefore also something) and as uncertain about what she should do - no, what it is her duty to do - as she has ever been before in her life. Lorana is well aware of her own limitations, as a Jedi - chief among them being the fact that she still feels as if she has less right to claim the title of Jedi Knight than would, say, someone as obviously talented and generally self-confident as the teenaged Padawan learner Anakin Skywalker - but she can recognize the foul taint and corruption of the Dark Side as well as any other Jedi, and the fact that she has been able to feel a darkness growing somewhere within the confines of the ships of Outbound Flight ever since the Project's launch from Yavvitiri Spaceport (and especially since the rather unexpected and not entirely willing departure of Jedi Knight and Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker from the Project at Outbound Flight's final stopping place within the known regions of the galaxy, in the Roxuli system, to deal with some kind problem between the Roxuli central government and the system's asteroid mining colonies) is one that she can no more ignore than she can bring herself to dismiss her growing certainty that it is her own former Master and the driving force behind the launch of /Outbound Flight /who is the cause of that gathering darkness. For a long time she had been unsure of what it was that she was sensing, unable even to bring herself to acknowledge in her own mind or heart what the Force was trying to tell her about her Master. It was only because of Obi-Wan's obvious and growing concern over Master C'baoth's state of mind that she had finally gained the courage to admit the truth to herself. Even then, for several weeks afterwards she had managed to convince herself that it was only her overactive imagination playing tricks on her. The truth has a way of making itself known even to those who are least willing to know it, though, and she can no longer deny the truth. The foul unnaturalness of the Dark Side seems to follow Jorus C'baoth now like both a shadow and a stench, and she can no more deny its presence than she can deny her own talent in the Force.

True enough, Jorus C'baoth has always been . . . extremely sure of his own abilities and just as certain of the rightness of his own opinions. Lately, though, the man has become almost terrifying in his overweening arrogance and his utterly insupportable dismissive attitude towards those beings who are not strong enough in the Force to either be or be considered trainable as Jedi. Bendu Knight and Master Obi-Wan had been able to keep the haughty old Jedi Master in check, at least somewhat, but with him gone from the ship now things are rapidly going from bad to worse. Lorana is, frankly, frightened now as well as worried, and not just for the health and sanity of Master C'baoth. She is genuinely afraid that her former Master will somehow do harm to both the combined ships of Outbound Flight as well as the actual mission, if he is not curtailed and soon. The problem is that, with Obi-Wan and Anakin gone, she has no idea how it might be possible to even rein him in, much less remove him from his position of authority on the Project. Jorus C'baoth is not only more powerful in the Force than she is, he is also much more knowledgeable in the ways of the Force than she. If she were to try to confront him alone, he could squash her as casually as a man with a swatter might smash a fly. And though she has tried to speak to Master Ma'Ning and the other Jedi aboard /Outbound Flight/, both about the growing darkness she senses in Master C'baoth and her concerns that he might harm the mission (and perhaps even the passengers themselves) if allowed to continue in a position of power aboard /Outbound Flight/, the other Jedi claim not to be able to sense the Dark Side around Master C'baoth with the same certainty that she can. Thus, none of the other Jedi except perhaps Master Ma'Ning seems to understand just how serious a problem they have on their hands. And Ma'Ning has proved unwilling to challenge C'baoth openly when the man has yet to take any openly and irrefutably morally wrong action or to issue any commands that are undeniably evil.

Unable to think of anything else to do and increasingly certain that failing to act is only making things worse, Lorana has been meditating with increasingly frequency upon this matter in the days since the fateful stopover in the Roxuli system. In an increasingly desperate attempt to either gain some sort enlightenment on the issue directly from the Force or else to stretch out far enough into the Force to seek outside help by contacting another Jedi before Outbound Flight succeeds in passing so far beyond the edges of known space that it's simply no longer possible for others to easily reach the ship, she has deliberately pushed herself far more deeply into the Force's embrace than she's ever ventured before. Plagued by a growing certainty of impending doom, she has essentially allowed herself to become a virtual hermit since Roxuli, spending a vast majority of her time meditating within the Force's embrace and only exiting her chambers aboard the ship when she has been specifically called upon to perform some specific task or other minor shipboard duty. With no one else on board apparently willing to do the right thing and help her deal with the problem at its source, it hasn't taken Lorana long to pull so far in upon herself that she's begun to see either the quietly determined face of a concerned and resolute Obi-Wan Kenobi or the ready-stance of an Anakin Skywalker who is prepared to fend off a coming attack whenever she closes her eyes. These past few days, she's been seeing either the concerned face of Obi-Wan Kenobi or the ready-stance of an Anakin Skywalker patently ready and willing to fend off a coming attack every single time she closes her eyes, even when she's been out and about on one or another of the Dreadnaughts that make up the overall ship, working.

Under any other circumstances, she would have long since begun to grown fearful for herself, afraid that she might be slipping into a dangerous obsession with the charismatic young heroes of Naboo (especially the surprisingly handsome Sith-Killer, whose appealing blend of gentle caring and dry wit she misses with an intensity that shocks her). Circumstances being what they are, she almost wishes that this might be possible. But Lorana knows herself well enough to understand that the reasons driving her to long so much for Obi-Wan's steadying presence and Anakin's prowess in battle have very little to do with anything as simple or easy as an adolescent crush or hero-worship. Obi-Wan Kenobi is an almost shockingly handsome man, true enough, just as it is also true that Anakin, although very young, already shows every sign of growing into an extremely handsome young man in his own right. Lorana knows that she is not infatuated with either one of them, though. Instead, she is simply desperately missing the reassurance of their presence in her life: the warm glow of real camaraderie and the sense of truly belonging that she had known while working at their side; the feeling of being both wanted and needed, her presence not simply coldly tolerated for the sake of expediency or the temporary necessity of duty but actually warmly welcomed and considered a truly helpful and wanted addition to their number. Lorana had never known such easy or genuine warmth and open welcome before she had been privileged to work with the famous pair, on Barlok. And even though she understands, rationally, that she never could have really been anything more to Obi-Wan and Anakin than a satellite revolving around their twinned sun, she misses the shared warmth of their glow, the reflection of their light, and desperately wishes that she might call upon them to shed a little of that light upon her now and help illuminate a path for her up out of this dark and tangled morass.

That is why she inevitably sees either Obi-Wan's face or Anakin's raised lightsaber every time she closes her eyes. Not because she is tumbling towards a dangerous obsession of her own, but because she longs so much for a glimpse of one or the other of them that the very idea of Obi-Wan and Anakin has become a sort of combination shield and totem, something to be held up against the encroaching darkness and at the same time pulled comfortingly close and wrapped about her like the folds of a sheltering and protective cloak. There is very little that she would not give to be able to speak with Obi-Wan about the crisis developing on /Outbound Flight/, and anything she might not be willing to part with for that she would most likely gladly give up if only it would actually physically bring those two back to the ship somehow during one of her meditations. Wound far too tightly by tension and anxiety to simply be able to sleep normally, she even has taken to indulging in extended bouts of "moving meditation," as Anakin had called it, dancing with her lightsaber in one of the rooms set aside for physical training and sparring by the Jedi and endlessly practicing the exercises and hybridized katas that Obi-Wan and Anakin had taught her, deliberately working herself into such a state of exhaustion that sleep must come to her when she has finished her "moving mediation," irregardless of how worried she still is. It is the only thing that seems to help, so Lorana holds to this routine of dual meditations with the same strength she holds on to the comforting memory of Obi-Wan and Anakin themselves. Not even when her increasing reclusiveness and the punishing nature of her practice bouts begin to worry some of the other Jedi does she relent. The two forms of mediation make her feel closer to Obi-Wan and Anakin, and the strength she draws from that comfort is armor against the despair threatening to overtake her, as things continue to grow worse on Outbound Flight (especially moral among the passengers and relations between both the Jedi and the crew members and the Jedi and potential colonists), most of the other Jedi remain willfully blind to the growing unrest and tension, and the Force itself reveals nothing about how a resolution might be reached.

It is a handful of hours just after such a bout of dual meditation - hours of driving herself down ever further into the Force, following by more hours of driving herself to and beyond her physical limits, with the help of the Force - that the tipping point finally comes, though she will not recognize the flashpoint for what it is until much later. She is sleeping heavily and dreaming about Obi-Wan and Anakin, half simply remembering things she has watched or heard them do and say and half actually dreaming, when the alarms begin to sound. The memory of a practice bout between the two that had ended rather suddenly when Anakin tried to use a move on Obi-Wan that he had seen Jedi Master Ma'Ning perform successfully against Jedi Master Evrios and Obi-Wan had responded with much more flexibility and speed - the result of which had been that Anakin had ended up being toppled to the floor beneath his Master with his smooth right cheek pressed tightly against Obi-Wan's equally smoothly-shaven left cheek (the short beard and moustache that Obi-Wan had adopted after his ascension to Knighthood having been removed with a six-month depilatory that had not yet worn off for a mission the two had been on before they had been sent to Barlok, to join Master C'baoth and Lorana), laughing up at something Obi-Wan had whispered into his ear, letting the deactivated hilt of his lightsaber drop carelessly to the floor beside them so he could reach up and brush a strand of Obi-Wan's tousled, growing out and therefore slightly overlong, not quite shoulder-length red-gold hair back across his forehead away from his eyes - is playing out behind her eyes when the noise penetrates her sleep-fogged brain and she abruptly jerks upright upon her bunk, shocked and gasping and caught at once in the grip of a dread so strong that she feels half-suffocated with fear. Grimly certain that she needs to get to the bridge at once and terrified that Master C'baoth might have finally done something inexcusable, she struggles both to remember how to breathe and to gain her feet, feeling as if she is caught in a sticky sap already solidifying into amber and unable to free herself alone but equally certain that she must if she wants to save /Outbound Flight/.

By the time Lorana does manage to get there, D-1's bridge has become a hive of quiet pandemonium. C'baoth is standing beside Captain Pakmillu's command chair, his back rigidly stiff as he gazes out the canopy. Pakmillu himself is over at one of the engineering stations, his flippered hands opening and closing restlessly as he studies the displays.

And outside the canopy, arrayed in the distance in front of them like a pack of hunting howlrunners, are a dozen small ships of a configuration that Lorana has never seen before.

"The readback seems to indicate we're in the middle of a planetary mass shadow," the engineering officer is saying, voice taut with tension, when Lorana reaches Pakmillu's side. "But you can see yourself that can't possibly be right."

"This is Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet," an obviously cultured and almost oddly musical male voice booms out over the bridge speakers. "Please respond."

"Who's that?" Lorana asks as she comes up beside the Mon Calamari, so startled by the sudden voice and the sense of power in it that she forgets all of the other questions she has been intending to ask.

"The commander of that force over there," Pakmillu rumbles back, still intently studying the readouts. "He's been calling every five minutes for the past half hour."

"And you haven't answered him yet?" Lorana immediately asks back, aghast.

Pakmillu's mouth tendrils stiffen. "Master C'baoth has forbidden it," he growls, almost snarling. "He insists we know what happened to our hyperdrive before we reply."

"Maybe this Commander could tell us what happened," Lorana suggests, trying to get a feel for Pakmillu and where he might stand, if it were to come down to a decision to disregard Master C'baoth's order.

"Of course he could," Pakmillu simply sourly replies. "But I cannot persuade Master C'baoth to that point of view."

Lorana grimaces, aware that this means the Mon Calamari will not push further, even though he is the Captain and his word should supersede that of C'baoth. "Let me try talking to him. I'll be right back, Captain."

C'baoth is still gazing out at the alien ships when Lorana joins him. "So, Jedi Jinzler," he greets her without bothering to turn away from those ships. "We meet our first challenge."

"Why does it have to be a challenge?" Lorana asks back, trying to remain calm even though the sense of darkness and not-rightness around her former Master is now so strong and so pervasive that the Force immediately floods her with strength, inclosing her in a protective field, and her hand itches to hold and draw her lightsaber, making her pulse start to come faster in anticipation of a confrontation and perhaps even a battle. "Maybe all he wants to do is talk," she adds, aware that she's grasping after straws but unable to think of anything else to try.

"No," C'baoth flatly replies, his voice dark. "I can sense a deep malice out there, malice directed at my ships and my people."

"They're alien minds," Lorana tries to remind him, resisting the urge to bristle over the proprietary my's, feeling her pulse pounding in her ears in an urgent rhythm. She's seen C'baoth in this stiff-necked mood before, and she knows that it is essentially impossible to move him once he's decided to committed himself to an idea. "Perhaps you're simply misreading them."

"No," he instantly snaps back, making her heart plummet within her. "They intend trouble, and I intend to be fully prepared to deal with it before I talk to them."

"Command, this is Ma'Ning," a man's familiar no-nonsense voice abruptly announces from the command chair speaker before Lorana can do more than open her mouth in protest. "We're standing ready at D-Four's weapons systems."

"Acknowledged," C'baoth declares, finally turning to give Lorana a tight smile. "Dreadnaught-Four was the last. Now we're ready to talk." Deliberately, he then lowers himself into Pakmillu's command chair and, with a sweeping gesture, reaches out to touch the comm switch. "Alien force, this is Jedi Master Jorus C'baoth, commanding the Outbound Flight Project of the Galactic Republic," he announces.

Lorana looks back at Pakmillu, wincing to herself at C'baoth's casual preemption of the Captain's command authority. But there is no resentment in the Mon Cal's expression or stance, only a quiet sense of resignation. Apparently, he's bowed to the inevitable. Which unfortunately means that he cannot be relied upon to back her if she should attempt to challenge C'baoth's command authority over the Project's combined ship or crew. Frell!

"Master C'baoth, this is Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo," the cultured and deeply musical voice promptly replies.

"Let me see your face," C'baoth orders.

There's a brief pause; then the comm display comes to life, showing what looks surprisingly like a near-human male with blue skin and blue-black hair and glowing red eyes. He is dressed in a smart black tunic with silver bars on the collar. "There are matters of great importance we need to discuss at once," Mitth'raw'nuruodo announces, voice and manner gravely attentive. "Would you care to join me in my flagship, or shall I come to you?"

C'baoth immediately snorts derisively (if surprisingly quietly) in reply. "I will discuss nothing until you stand away from my path."

"And I will continue to hold here until we have spoken," Mitth'raw'nuruodo counters, his voice at least as firm as C'baoth's. "Are the Jedi afraid of talk?"

C'baoth smiles thinly, in a manner than Lorana has long since learned to associate with dangerous affront on her Master's part, the implications of his expression sending her thoughts into a terrified and panicky whirl. "The Jedi fear nothing, Commander. Come aboard, then, if you insist. A hatchway will be illuminated for your shuttle."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo inclines his head politely. "I shall be there shortly." He gestures somewhere offscreen, then, and the image promptly vanishes.

"You're going to allow him aboard?" Pakmillu instantly demands.

"Of course," C'baoth replies, an odd glint to his eve. "Or don't you find it curious that this supposed resident of the Unknown Regions spoke to us in Basic?"

Lorana feels her breath catch painfully in her throat at that. To her chagrin, she must admit that she hadn't even noticed the oddness of that fact. That, in combination with her former Master's behavior, makes her danger sense all but scream at her in desperate warning of some rapidly approaching calamity as she mutely shakes her head in response to the question.

"No, there's something more here than meets the eye," C'baoth continues, eyes glittering dangerously, not even seeming to notice Lorana's reply. "Let's find out what that something is."

***

"Come aboard, then, if you insist," C'baoth's voice echoes from the D-4 reactor monitor room speaker. "A hatchway will be illuminated for your shuttle."

There is a click. "D-Four?" a different voice calls out. "Any progress?"

With an effort, Reactor Tech 4 Chas Uliar pulls his thoughts back to focus. "Still negative here, Command," he reports, running his green eyes over his displays (yet again) to confirm it, even though he's fairly sure that he's wasting his time. Whatever's wrong with the hyperdrive didn't start until their flight path crossed this Chiss Commander's track, and he's fairly certain that whatever it is won't go away again until this mysterious Commander decides that Outbound Flight isn't a threat to him or his people. "There's plenty of power going to the hyperdrive. It's just not doing anything once it gets there."

"That's confirmed, Command," Dillian Pressor's voice seconds from the hyperdrive monitor room half a dozen meters away. "The readouts still insist we're in a gravfield."

"So do everyone else's," Command growls back, clearly disgusted. "All right. Keep running your diagnostics, and stand by."

There's another click and then Command is gone. "This is insane," Pressor mutters the instant he's certain that the comm line to the bridge has closed.

"Maybe more insane than you think," Uliar replies, his mind galloping and his heartbeat racing. This might finally be their chance. Maybe their only chance, now that Master Kenobi and his Padawan are no longer aboard to help Knight Jinzler run interference with Master C'baoth for the crew. Excitedly, he continues, asking, "Or didn't you notice that this Commander Mitth-whatever was speaking Basic?"

There's a short pause. And then, clearly shocked, Pressor demands, "You mean he's from the Republic?" his voice almost squeaking on the last word.

"Well, he's sure not from the Unknown Regions. Not this far out and sounding like that, not unless he's had one hell of a teacher. We've got to find a way to talk to him."

"Who, us?" This time, Pressor's voice does squeak on the last word. If circumstances weren't so grim and strained, he might almost have smiled, at that.

"Of course us," Uliar shoots impatiently (and somewhat disgustedly) back. "You, me - the whole committee. If this guy's from the Republic, maybe he's got the authority to get C'baoth and the rest of the Jedi kicked off."

"It's not all the Jedi," Pressor immediately counters, beginning another round of an argument they've already had several times. "Anyway, what would some hotshot from the Republic be doing way out here? It's more likely a pirate who found out about Outbound Flight and decided to grab some easy pickings."

In his mind's eye Uliar sees the firing scores from C'baoth's Jedi meld tests. "Trust me, Pressor, this thing is not easy pickings," he grimly replies, repressing a shiver. "But whoever he is, we still have to try."

"Fine," Pressor replies, his tone making it clear that he is either rolling his eyes or throwing up his hands (if not both). "But how? We're on duty."

"To what?" Uliar counters. "A reactor that's working perfectly and a hyperdrive that isn't working at all?"

"Well, yeah, but - "

"But nothing," Uliar impatiently cuts him off. "Come on - this may be our last chance to get Outbound Flight back to what it was supposed to be. Jedi Knight Jinzler means well, sure, but she's just one person now that Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker are gone. She can't protect us all by herself and the other Jedi aren't willing to go against Master C'baoth. You know it as well as I do. We need another ally, and this Mitth-whatever person is the only one available. We can't afford to just let this go without at least trying to recruit him to our side."

There's a short pause in which Uliar finds himself holding his breath. He's convinced that this is their chance - possibly their only chance - to reverse the disastrous downturn the mission has taken, since Bendu Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker departed and C'baoth truly began to set himself up as a dictator. But he's equally sure that he won't be able to do much of anything about it without the support of the rest of the committee. So he waits, breathlessly, hoping that Pressor will come around. And then, "All right, I'm game," Pressor says at last. "But if this Mitth-whatever's already on his way, we don't have much time. Not if we're going to collect everyone and get all the way over to D-One."

"You just collect them," Uliar instantly retorts, slumping over the console with relief and trying not to let too much of his lightheaded giddiness bleed through into his voice. "I'll make sure he stays put until you get there."

"How?" is the immediate and obviously suspicious reply.

"No idea," Uliar replies, shrugging. "Just collect everyone, all right? And don't forget to bring the children. There's nothing like children when you're playing for sympathy."

"Got it."

Uliar keys off the comm before taking a moment sit and gather his thoughts, gazing unseeingly at his displays as he tries to think. D-1 is indeed a long way away, and if he knows C'baoth the conversation is likely to be both short and unpleasant. If he tries to walk or even run, he's likely to miss Mitth-whatever completely.

But there should be one of D-4's swoops parked just a little way aft.

Ninety seconds later, Uliar is racing down the corridor, the wind of his passage whipping through his hair and stinging his eyes. Fortunately, with Outbound Flight at full alert, everyone is either at their battle stations or huddled in their quarters out of the way; the corridors are entirely empty. Reaching the forward pylon, he punches for the turbolift, but instead of leaving the swoop at the way station like he's supposed to, he maneuvers it into the car. Let C'baoth complain about it - let him even lock Uliar in the brig for a few days if he wants to.

Whatever it takes, he will see this Mith-whatever before he leaves /Outbound Flight/.

***

Car'das has been waiting for nearly three hours when the Miskara finally summons him to the throne room again.

"All is prepared," the Vagaari informs him. "We fly at once to draw our vengeance from Mitth'raw'nuruodo and the Chiss."

"Yes, Your Eminence," Car'das instantly replies, bowing his head and trying very hard not to look at the half dozen fresh Geroon bodies scattered around the throne room. Apparently, the Miskara has been playing some more with his new toys while Car'das has been cooling his heels in his cell. "I would once again ask you to remember that my companions and ship are also there, and would beg your soldiers to be careful."

"I will remember," the Miskara promises. "And I will do even more. I have decided you will be permitted the best view possible of the forthcoming battle."

Car'das feels something cold run through him. Gripped by a sudden dread, he carefully asks, "You mean I'll be on the bridge, Your Eminence?"

"Not at all," the Miskara calmly replies. "You will be in the forward most of my flagship's external bubbles."

Car'das looks sideways to see a pair of armored Vagaari striding towards him. "I don't understand," he protests, feeling the first stirrings of genuine panic. "I've offered you the chance at both vengeance and profit."

"Or the chance to fly into a trap," the Miskara retorts, his fluting voice suddenly icy cold. "Do you think me a fool, human? Do you think me so proud and rash that I would simply fly a task force to a supposedly small and undermanned Chiss base in my thirst for revenge?" He snorts a multitoned whistle. "No, human, I will not send a small task force to be destroyed. My entire fleet will descend on this base . . . and then we shall see what sort of teeth this Chiss trap truly has."

"The Chiss aren't waiting there with any trap," Car'das insists. "I swear it."

"Then you should have nothing to fear," the Miskara merely coldly replies. "If we destroy the enemy as quickly as you claim we will, you will be released and your companions freed. If not . . ." He shrugs. "You will be the first to die." He cocks his head slightly to one side, then, looking remarkably birdlike as he does so. "Have you anything else you wish to say before you are taken away?"

Like a confession, perhaps, or an admission of guilt? "No, Your Eminence," Car'das firmly insists, looking steadily at the Miskara. "I only hope your soldiers are as capable against the Chiss as they've proven themselves to be against other opponents."

"The Geroons could tell you of our capabilities," the Miskara darkly replies. "But you will see them for yourself soon enough." He gestures imperiously. "Take him away."

Five minutes later, Car'das is being pushed through a narrow doorway in the hull into a zero-g plastic bubble perhaps twice the size of a coffin. Set against the hull on one side of his head is what seemed to be a small air supply and filtering system, while on the other is a mesh bag containing a couple of water bottles and ration bars from the Chiss shuttle, along with a diamond-shaped device of unknown purpose. And as the thick hull metal is sealed against his back he knows that the chance cube has been well and truly thrown. From now on, everything that happens will be under the control of others. From this moment on, he can only hope that the Miskara has been telling the truth about the size of the force he is sending and the prowess of his warriors in battle.

***

The fact that Mitth'raw'nuruodo truly is a near-human (and not just humanoid) this far from Republic space ends up being Lorana's first surprise. More surprising than that are the culture and refinement of his demeanor and speech as he speaks to her and C'baoth from the other side of the conference room table. Even more surprising is the sense of strength and vitality pouring off of him, through the Force, his life-signature easily as strong as that of a fully trained Jedi. But his reason for intercepting Outbound Flight is both the biggest surprise of all and the most chilling.

And C'baoth, predictably, isn't impressed by any of it. "Ridiculous," he scornfully retorts the instant that Mitth'raw'nuruodo has finished speaking. "A mysterious species of conquerors moving across the galaxy toward us? Please. That's the sort of story bad parents frighten their children with."

"You know everything there is to know about the universe, then?" Mitth'raw'nuruodo merely politely asks in return, cocking one dark eyebrow in the Jedi Master's direction. "I was under the impression that this region of space was unknown to you."

"Yes, it is," C'baoth replies, still clearly unmoved. "But rumors and stories aren't limited by geographical and political boundaries. If a species so dangerous truly existed, we would surely have heard something about them by now."

"What about Vergere, though?" Lorana murmurs from beside him. "Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker spoke to me more than once of their mission to Zonama Sekot, and the living planet insisted that Vergere went with the Far Outsiders who had attacked that world in order to buy the world and its people enough time to arm themselves against a second attack. The world actually fled only when it came under attack a second time, and it nearly took Anakin and Obi-Wan with it when it engaged its hyperdrive engines. If those Far Outsiders are the same extragalactic threat spoken of to Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo and if they represent a large enough invading force, then that could certainly explain Vergere's disappearance." The longer she has spoken, the more palpable Mitth'raw'nuruodo's interest in her words has become. By the time she's finished speaking, there is a hint of color rising in her face in response to his steady regard. Normally, the curiosity of other beings doesn't bother her overly much, but for some reason (perhaps due to the intensity of focus and sheer sense of weight to his regard) the young Chiss Commander's unwavering interest leaves her feeling flustered.

That sense of agitated confusion instantly tries to turn to anger when her former Master responds by shrugging offhandedly and opining, "Or it might not. It doesn't take a species of conquerors to silence a single Jedi." Lorana is forced to take a deep, deliberately calming breath to control herself while C'baoth's eyes glitter with almost manic light and he adds, "To silence a group of Jedi, of course, is a different matter entirely. And as to this Darth Sidious you cite, I put even less faith in his words than I do in idle rumors. Darth is the title of a Sith Lord, and the Sith have long since vanished from the galaxy. That makes him a liar right from the start."

"But Master C'baoth, we know now that the Sith Order was not completely destroyed at the Seventh Battle of Ruusan, as we had assumed," Lorana immediately counters, her voice growing a little bit louder in spite of her efforts to calm herself, her frustration with her former Master's obstinancy and her inability to sway him simply too great to completely control. "It was a Sith who killed Master Qui-Gon Jinn on Naboo, and it was the same Sith whose defeat served as Bendu Kenobi's Jedi Trial. Given what we know of the Sith's Rule of Two, logically, there has to have been one Sith who was still alive after the liberation of Naboo from the Trade Federation. We have not yet found that Sith or even gathered definitive proof of his existence, but that doesn't mean that he can't still be out there somewhere, working towards the downfall of both the Jedi Order and the Republic and using his ties with the Trade Federation as a way to gather power to himself."

"Nonsense, child! It has never been definitively proven that the creature slain on Naboo was an actual Sith, and as for this rumor of a splinter sect and a Rule of Two - " C'baoth begins, annoyance creeping into his voice.

"With all due respect, Master C'baoth," Lorana cuts in firmly, refusing either to back down in the face of her former Master's obvious and growing ire or to allow the increasingly discomfiting directness of the Chiss Commander's gaze to dissuade her from speaking, "both things have been proven definitively enough that the Grand Master of our Order, Master Yoda himself, has organized searches for the surviving Sith Lord. The High Council has also made its belief on the subject known. And Bendu Master Kenobi - "

"You speak as one who is suffering from an acute case of hero worship might, Jedi Knight Jinzler," C'baoth interrupts, his voice as cold as his expression is threatening, his dark scowl clearly revealing his growing aggravation with her. "I fail to understand why you persist in giving that excitable young man such a title of respect. Jedi Knight Kenobi is no more than - "

" - the only living Jedi who has killed a Sith and the Master of the one who has been accepted as the prophesied Chosen One by the High Council," Lorana ruthlessly cuts him off, crossing her arms in front of her defensively and letting some of her own aggravation show. "I call Obi-Wan Master because he is one and Bendu because that ancient title is a sign of respect and high esteem and he is easily worthy of such courtesy and admiration. I would have named him Sith-Killer as well, as that is what he is, but I know that the title discomforts him, since he looks upon violence as a failure. It is not an act of hero worship to recognize the true worth of another, Master C'baoth. You yourself taught me that, once. Of course, you also once taught me that it would be ridiculous and nonsensical to dismiss an explanation of events that both justifies and accounts for several otherwise inexplicable occurrences simply because that explanation is coming from a stranger and the ramifications of that explanation would make one's own life a bit more complicated than it already is. You seem to have conveniently forgotten that lesson, as well, Master. I believe what Commander Mitth'raw'nurodo is saying. It makes good logical sense. And the Commander himself believes what he is saying. He is strong in the Force but untrained. I sense no deception in him. Do you, Master?" Lorana asks, politely but challengingly.

"I told you what I sensed of this Commander's force already, Knight Jinzler," C'baoth replies, clearly startled by her question.

"But that was your opinion about Mitth'rawnurodo's ships, Master C'baoth," Lorana points out in reply, being careful to keep her voice as calm and reasonable as possible. "Ships aboard which are the remainder of a Trade Federation task force that was deliberately sent to destroy us. It would make sense for you to have been able to pick up on the minds and emotions of beings who are as familiar to you as humans and Neimoidians are. That would explain the malice that you sensed, even before we entered into talks with Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo. But we have met with the Commander now, and I tell you I feel no malice from him and no deception, either. All I feel from him," Lorana continues, her eyes unfocusing slightly as she reaches out into the Force for a clearer grasp of the Chiss, "are concern for his people, as well as for us, determination to do both what is right and whatever may prove to be necessary, and disdain for those who would choose violent aggression and the domination of others out of hand. Unless you believe that the Force itself is helping the Commander to hide the truth from us, the Commander is speaking the truth to us and he is sincere in his concern."

"You are young and inexperienced in the ways of the Force, Knight Jinzler," C'baoth grinds out between tightly clenched teeth, obviously expecting for her to back down, as she always has before, at the familiar rebuke.

But, "I am as you and the other Jedi have taught me to be, Master," Lorana merely quietly but firmly replies.

"Be that as it may," Mitth'raw'nuruodo declares, speaking quietly but determinedly into the sudden strained silence, as Lorana continues to hold Master C'baoth's gaze and her former Master tries to cow her with the weight of his surprise at her sudden defiance and his displeasure with what he sees as her foolishness. "I must warn you that I did not come here for an open debate. The fact remains that I cannot and will not permit you to continue on through this region of space. You must either turn back to the territory held by your Galactic Republic now and pledge to never return to this section of the galaxy or else promise to remain here until the truth of the matter has been safely and fully ascertained."

"Or?" C'baoth challenges, turning his gaze back on the Chiss, his hands fisting upon his hips aggressively.

Mitth'raw'nuruodo's glowing red eyes are steady on him. "Or I will be forced to do whatever is necessary to neutralize the threat that you and your mission will then pose to the Chiss Ascendancy."

Lorana automatically braces herself for the inevitable explosion. But C'baoth merely smiles thinly back at the young Chiss Commander. "So says the avian chick to the billinus dragon. Do you truly believe your twelve ships could survive ten minutes against the firepower I hold here in my hand?"

Mitth'raw'nuruodo merely lifts his eyebrows in a gesture of polite incredulity. "Your personal hand?" he asks.

"My Jedi are even now standing by in the ComOps Center above us, as well as at the weapons stations of each individual Dreadnaught," C'baoth proudly replies, raises his head challengingly. "They are listening to us and preparing for battle. I'll be joining them soon . . . and if you've never before faced Jedi reflexes and insight, you'll find it a sobering experience."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo's expression doesn't change. "Whatever their training, it will do them no good," he simply calmly replies. "Your only choices are to agree to cooperate, leave now and take your people home, or perish. What is your answer?"

Lorana can feel, through the Force, spreading and deepening ripples of surprise and uncertainty from the other Jedi (who are, indeed, listening in to their conversation, and on more than one level, the pressure of minds that are already halfway or more along the way to a full battle meld surrounding her like the presence of an unseen shield), and she knows, suddenly, that this is the chance she has been waiting for (and quite possibly will be her only chance) to neutralize the growing threat posed by her former Master. Giving in to her instincts and to the prompting of the Force, she quickly interjects, "What if we promised to go around this region?" recklessly seizing the chance in both hands and running with it.

C'baoth is so surprised that he actually turns around bodily in his chair to look at her, and she can sense his shock at her presumption quickly turning to anger. "Jedi Jinzler - "

"I mean/ all/ the way around it," Lorana recklessly continues, fighting against the weight of C'baoth's displeasure pressing against her mind and spirit. "We could go to a different part of the Rim and jump off for the next galaxy from there."

"No," C'baoth immediately and firmly declares. "That would take us thousands of light-years out of our way."

"That would be acceptable," Mitth'raw'nuruodo says over him, his gaze once more locked on Lorana. "Provided you avoided the entire region lying along your current vector."

"No!" /C'baoth bites out again, obviously furious, his eyes blazing. "Lorana, you /will be silent. Commander, you do/ not/ dictate to us. Not you; not anyone else." Abruptly, he shoves his chair back and rising to his full and towering height. "We are the /Jedi/, the ultimate power in the universe," he declares, the words ringing through the conference room. "We will do as we choose. And we will destroy any who dare stand in our way."

Lorana stares up at C'baoth, heart racing, her breath coming hard and fast, the sick feeling in her stomach solidifying into sudden cold certainty that this is indeed the time to act, if ever she intends upon doing so. She can feel the incredulity and confusion of the other Jedi at his words - Master Ma'Ning's horrified shock is especially strong, his emotions reverberating through the Force as if he were a violently rung gong - their abruptly spiking dismay and panic threatening to overwhelm her, and forces herself to take a deep, calming breath to recenter herself in the Force. There is no emotion; there is peace . . .

"Master - " Lorana begins to speak a warning, but C'baoth cuts her off.

"I told you to be silent/, Jedi Jinzler!" he snarls, and it is as if a ring of durasteel has settled around her throat and tightened there with those words. She can barely draw breath past that line of obstruction. She certainly can't speak anymore. And, with growing horror, she realizes that he has used the Force to seize her in a choke-hold. "You are here only at my sufferance, child, and I am out of patience with your foolishness! /I am the leader of Outbound Flight and it is I and I alone who will see to it that the proper decisions are made to ensure that our mission will continue in safety!"

"Is your pride truly worth so much to you?" the Chiss Commander cuts in, a cold hardness settling across his features as Lorana raises a hand instinctively towards her constricted throat, gasping after more air as panic tries to sit in.

"A Jedi does not yield to pride," C'baoth spits back. "Nor does he yield to empty threats. He follows only the dictates of his own destiny."

"Then choose your destiny," Mitth'raw'nuruodo challengingly replies. "I'm told the role of the Jedi is to serve and defend."

"You were told wrongly," C'baoth immediately counters with an ugly sneer. "The role of the Jedi is to lead and guide, and to destroy all threats." The unturned corner of his lip twists upwards into a bitter and yet somehow also mocking smile. "If you seek to make yourself a threat to me and mine, then know that I will destroy you - personally."

Unsurprisingly, giving both his strong (if apparently latent) Force-sensitivity and obvious intelligence, Mitth'raw'nuruodo seems to realize at once, then, that events have come to a head, for the next words he speaks fall upon them with all the explosive power and force of a proton torpedo blast, irrevocably striking the flashpoint and igniting a blaze of change. Nodding his head once, as if in sudden understanding, the young Chiss Commander quietly notes, "Ah. I see, then. Vicelord Kav was not mistaken when he spoke of Jedi Master Jorus C'baoth as one who is but half a step away from being declared Dark and cast out of the Jedi Order. At the time, I thought that the Trade Federation Commander might have been lying, in an attempt to persuade me to an unprovoked attack upon Outbound Flight/. After all, the other agent sent by this Darth Sidious - a human going by the name of Commander Stratis, though he has assured me that his real name is Kinman Doriana and that he occupies a position of some power within the government of the Galactic Republic - seemed unaware of any special attention that had been paid to Jorus C'baoth by Sidious. However, I have been told enough of the Jedi and the Sith to realize, now, that the Neimoidian was simply speaking the truth. Jedi Bendu Knight Lorana Jinzler. You should know that Darth Sidious assured his agent within the Trade Federation, Vicelord Siv Kav, that the Sith Lord personally has been, and I quote, 'working on the man for years, turning him by slow but steady increments, corrupting him and corroding his sanity so that he will be unstable and so unable to defend the ship properly' against the attack that Special Task Force One was meant to spring on /Outbound Flight when it entered the Unknown Regions. If the Jedi of Outbound Flight are indeed dedicated to the principles of infinite compassion and unremitting justness that I have been assured are the central tenets of the Jedi Order, then they will want to remove Jorus C'baoth from his position of authority aboard this ship."

There is a moment of shocked silence in which Lorana can feel the other Jedi reeling backwards, the half-formed meld shattering in a whirlwind of confusion even as C'baoth's hold upon her throat falls abruptly away, apparently out of shock (his concentration and therefore his grip on the Force and on her broken by his own stunned disbelief), and in that moment her own mind hums blankly with shock, caught upon the name /Kinman Doriana /and unable to catch up with the rest of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's words. But then, with a blast of psychic rage that sends her reeling backwards in agonized shock, tumbling out of her chair and into the floor in a graceless heap, it happens. Jorus C'baoth's anger and frustration and pride crystallize under the addition of hatred with all the abruptness and irrevocability of a molecular chain reaction, and when it has passed the former Jedi Master has, in his single-minded pursuit of his obsession, gone over to what the Jedi know as the Dark Side.

The horrifying truth slices through her like the blade of a lightsaber. "No!" she shouts reflexively, turning her attention up towards where the furious Force Adept is still standing, towering over the conference table and looming threatening over Mitth'raw'nuruodo. "Master C'baoth - no!"

But it's already too late to stop him from falling. A wave of pain and revulsion sweeps over Lorana, as agonizing as salt in an open wound. She's never seen a Jedi fall before. She's always known it could happen, and that it had in fact happened many times throughout history. But before that moment it had always seemed something comfortably distant, something that could never happen to anyone she knew. But now it has . . . and, following close behind the crushing wave of pain, is an even more powerful wave of guilt. Because she is his most recent Padawan, the person who has spent the most time with him. The one person, as Master Ma'Ning had once suggested, to whom he might have actually listened. Could she have prevented this? Should she have gone to Master Obi-Wan with her concerns the moment the Jedi Bendu and his young Padawan joined them aboard Outbound Flight/, instead of simply silently and anxiously watching (and sometimes quietly helping) while Obi-Wan tried to curtail the older Jedi Master and puzzle out for himself whether or not Master C'baoth was actually slipping over to the Dark Side or just so passionate in his belief of /Outbound Flight's mission that it was driving him to occasionally overstep the bounds of his actual authority aboard the ship? Should she have stood up to her former Master earlier, with or without the support of Ma'Ning or the others, when he first began to gather so much power and authority to himself? Certainly she'd tried talking to her former Master in private on more than one occasion. But each time he had only brushed off her concerns, assuring her that all was well. Should she have pressed him more strongly? Forced him - somehow - to listen to her? Perhaps even pressed the other Jedi until they finally gave in and agreed to convene a Judgment Circle against both her and Master C'baoth, if that's what it would have taken to get them to agree to act?

But she hadn't done so. And now it is too late.

And perhaps, a small voice whispers inside her, it has always been too late for Master C'baoth, considering the man's overweening arrogance and apparent utter lack of compassion.

But blame and fault are no more the issue at hand than whether or not Jorus C'baoth might have been foredoomed to fall to the Dark Side upon this mission. The much more immediate and pressing issue is what C'baoth is going to try to do to Mitth'raw'nuruodo - and how Lorana can stop him from doing it.

"You shall pay for speaking such filth of me, alien!" C'baoth snarls threateningly, and there is nothing left in his voice that is human as he makes that promise.

And, even as she is scrambling desperately up to her feet, Mitth'raw'nuruodo's head jerks back violently, his whole body pressing back against his seat. His hands instantly dart up to his throat, clutching uselessly at it. "Commander!" she cries out, anguish and helplessness making her voice crackle as she grabs reflexively for Mitth'raw'nuruodo's collar. She understands, though, even as she's reaching out to him, that it's no use. The invisible power that is choking the life out of Mitth'raw'nuruodo isn't something physical that Lorana can push aside. C'baoth is using the Force . . . and, unless something happens to break his concentration or the other Jedi form a true Battle Meditation around her to add all of their strength in the Force to her own, there will be nothing that Lorana or anyone else will be able to do to stop him.

In a handful of minutes at most, unless she can think of some other way to combat C'baoth's much stronger power within the Force, Mitth'raw'nuruodo will be dead. And then they will surely all be doomed.

***