THE SITH LORD dredged his way through the blizzard, the torn and black robes wrapped around his body barely keeping the biting winds from turning his bones into ice.
All my teachings, he thought bitterly, all my meditations and training and vision hunting – only to die on this miserable snowball of a planet because I followed a vision.
Only that was not true. The vision he saw was real. The dark side of the force had rewarded his painful meditation with a glimpse of his destiny, and Darth Trajan had sought it out.
The sickening truth was that no matter how clear his mission had become, all his preparations, deceptions and murders were for nothing because of a simple little thing as an engine failure. The sublights of the Dreadnaught, a gift from the Archains, froze up at once upon entering Hoth’s frigid biosphere. The Archains, who were brilliant in designing menacing and groundbreaking warcraft and weaponry, anticipated the climate of Hoth and refurbished the Dreadnaught with thermonucleatic drives to avoid any freeze up. These kicked in, much to Trajan’s relief, who was already thinking the Archains have performed a treacherous sabotage to rid themselves of a sith lord. Unfortuately, a jet stream tossed the vulnerable Dreadnaught from its approach, forcing it into a deadly spin. The Sith was barely able to pull the ship from a straight dive into the snow, crashing headlong into a deep ravine, skimming the declination of the hillside and slamming tree after tree until it finally came to a rest near the bottom. Buried under ten feet of snow, the sith had fell into blackness. When he woke, his surroundings were so dark and so cold he thought he was lost inside space. A small window of his front pilot shield gave a peek of the outside. He saw light and the makings of a tree stump.
Delrious and frozen, he broke free of the cockpit and clawed madly to the surface of the deep snow and started to walk in the direction his senses told him.
Now Trajan stumbled through the biting winds, his eyes blinded by stinging snow, his mind conjuring images of those he had betrayed.
At last he fell, beaten, and cackled uncontrollably at the realization that the vision that had baited him here – a man dying in the snow – was indeed of his very own end.
Trajan opened his heavy eyes to see his own reflection within a half-mask. His vision was blurry and his head felt full of slush. He felt for his lightsaber but could not feel his limbs.
“just relaxe, my friend. How do you feel?”
Trajan felt anger to be put into such a position.
“Where am I? How did I get here?”
“Where do you think you are?”
That mask. Something about it.
“Did you drug me?”
“Not yet. You are experiencing frostblood. You nearly froze to death.”
Frozen. The memory hit him. I crashed on Hoth. I crawled on Hoth. He tried to think. I crashed on Hoth. His mind felt slow, numb.
“Drink this,” The mask offered a cup of steaming broth.
His throat parched, Trajan let the mask tilt the cup to his cracked lips, though the indignity of it angered him so much that he wanted to knock the mask’s head clean off.
“Die,” he croaked.
“Say again?”
“I died,” he corrected.
“Nearly,” said the mask. “Your ship crashed in a ravine. You’re very luck that Salty and I saw you.”
“Salty?”
“My taun-taun. Why don’t you rest a bit now. We’ll talk later.”
Trajan scowled internally, his mind warming with the heat of the drink. His arms were tingling as if being prodded by a thousand needles.
Curse this planet, he thought. He took in his surroundings.
The room was cavernous, the walls covered in dark brown canvas.
He is hiding something.
Trajan closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. His weapon was not with him. Did this mask take it from him while he was unconscious? Was it lost in the snow? Trajan could not remember if he took his saber with him when he left the shipwreck.
No matter, he thought. I will kill him and continue with my plan. Too tired to reach with the force, Trajan fell back into deep sleep.
Darth Trajan’s black robes were a sharp contrast to the blinding whiteness of Hoth as he stood watching Magnus do his ice fishing, imagining every possibility of killing Magnus. There were many ways to kill and Trajan did not want to repeat himself.
It was the third day and Magnus had not yet wanted to discuss anything, much less how Trajan had come to crash land just a parsec from where he stood. Magnus spent the time instead taking care of him. He had fed him, gave him shelter and hot drink.
With every situation a Sith found himself in, there was no fight or flight response. It was fight with the full and quick fury of the dark side, or fight with deliberation; slowly, methodically, plotting and deceiving a hole in the enemy from which to make a greater power or greater weakness. This situation called for the latter.
In the back of Trajans mind was the simple fact that Magnus had saved his life along with the simple desire to return the favor. This desire Trajan fought aggressively to suppress. He was a Sith after all, and had no true good will, only a sense of deception. The truth was that he had work to do and Magnus could play an important role.
The Archain army was just weeks away from its takeover on Hoth and Trajan had not yet met with king Atrus. And he had yet to find his apprentice, which was his true goal. War was a play, a wonderful backdrop, and the scenery of his ascension to power.
Trajan would gain an apprentice and two star systems as a bonus.
But little was happening here.
Trajan knelt in the snow and called upon the dark side for instruction. Closing his eyes, he focused on the outer. He felt ropes of force bound to every living thing. Some were taught, some loose, some frailed and barely holding on save but a few threads. Trajan felt a mass of them leading into red darkness, looping and forming knots. He sensed a bigness heading towards him. The Orchains.
He reached out. What is my destiny?
He saw a great hall with glass ceiling, great stone pillars. He saw the king. There were three boys and one girl at his side. They were surrounded by the Force.
“Trajan!”
Confused, Trajan jumped to his feet and called for his saber with an out reach of his right hand. Of course, nothing came.
Magnus was holding a large, thrashing fish from its mouth. ‘Look at this whopper!”
Sith or not, Trajan could not help but smile genuinely at such a catch.
From the west came a bray. Trajan’s head snapped to the sound, his killer instinct clicking. A pack of taun-taun were migrating north, three snips out.
Trajan ran after them, calling out the dark side to control the largest of the beasts.
Magnus was adamant about Trajan accompanying him for his daily fishing expeditions, saying the cold air would do him good, though Trajan suspected that Magnus did not trust to leave him alone.
So Magnus took his own mount, which he stupidly named Salty, while Trajan pushed on through the snow. Easy or no, Trajan felt belittled, and was on the look out to catch his own taun-taun.
Now that he saw a chance, he took it, commanding the mind of the pack leader to yield. Magnus watched unbelieving as Trajan ran to the larger of the animals and removed his cloak, throwing it around the neck of the beast and jumping on its back. Trajan kicked at the taun-taun and ran it back to Magnus.
He stopped in front of Magnus, who stared dumbly holding his fish. “Magnus, look at this whopper!”
Magnus laughed out loud, smacking his leg. “How the hell did you do that?”
Trajan shrugged, smiling proudly. “The Force.”
Magnus and Trajan looked at one another for a second before bursting out in fresh laughter, each holding their prize.
Trajan woke to the sound of a lightsaber igniting and opened his eyes to see a glowing blue blade held at his throat. The second thing he saw was his own unsurprised reflection in Magnus’ mask flashing away as it fell to the floor, revealing the telling scar of a lightsaber cut, long and smooth, in the shape of a crescent moon arcing from the left temple to the split of the lip. The flesh was burned black.
Trajan had seen this type of scar administered by Sith lords as a tattoo to demonstrate their faith to darkness. This one however, was administered by attack.
Magnus knelt down to Trajan. “You’d better get a good look at a man before you try to take his head off with your blade, sith!”
Now Trajan did feel a sting of recognition. This man was the Orchain general who interfered with his actions on Orchaia. And the lightsaber he held to his throat belonged to the jedi he killed.
Trajan realized he was close to death. His eyes locked on Magnus as he raised himself to a sitting position, thinking he could have easily killed Magnus ten times over in the same amount of time it took Magnus to speak to him.
“I am no longer Sith, just as you are no longer an Archain general.”
“Lying dog! You serve your master, old Darth Gruel, and were sent to kill me!”
“No.” Trajan rose from the couch. “I have killed my master, and am seeking asylum from the King of Hoth in return for the warning I’ve come to give him of the approaching Archain army. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so.”
Magnus scowled. “When a sith talks, a sith lies. You tried to kill me when you killed the jedi. Now I take my revenge.”
“I acted on orders from my master. You and I are no different from one another. We served under a command whose motivations grew more clouded from our own diatribe. We made the same choices, Magnus. We took lives, we lied and plotted, deceieved and murdered for the greater glory of our masters. Can you tell me otherwise?”
Magnus lowered the blade. Trajan congratulated himself and sighed dramatically.
‘Our actions held a cost of many lives. But we have changed our course and the force has brought us together for a reason.”
What Trajan said next felt too sweet from his lips and he wanted to retch.
“We’ve come here to do battle with our enemies and save Hoth. We can fight together.”
Magnus stared at him for several seconds. “I hear you. How do I not know you’re using a jedi mind trick?”
Trajan said, “I can’t. I’ve already tried.”
Magnus looked at him incredulously, then burst out laughing, clapping Trajan on the shoulder, nearly knocking him down. “If I found you a month ago I would not have bothered to wake you before I killed you.”
“Same here.” Trajan nodded toward the lightsaber. “Do you know how to use that?”
Magnus looked at it. “How do you turn it off?”
“Magnus, you’re swinging too hard! You’re hacking!” Trajan called out, clearly enjoying watching Magnus try to use a lightsaber.
The two had not gone out for the morning ritual of catching fish, choosing instead a breakfast of roasted beast, a small snow rabbit that Trajan had willed close, breaking its neck with a thought.
“I could have really used you earlier,” Magnus had said, thinking of all the fishing he had done and his trials of catching a taun-taun. They agreed to make for Adia the next morning. Now, Magnus was taking lessons on lightsaber combat.
“I’ve studied sword fighting since you were in diapers!”
‘The lightsaber is not a steel blade. It is an elegant and dangerous weapon. A touch can kill. Swing it quick and swing it lightly. Let me show you.”
Magnus handed him the lightsaber. Trajan felt the jedi inside its hilt. He wanted to drop it. He held it tightly, crouched in a stance with the blade parallel to the ice, and then sprung, the blade swirling in a helix, he spun and slashed in the air, and made several attacks, the blue blade a blur of strobe light.
Trajan forced himself to stop before the dark side came forth to kill Magnus. He deactivated the blade, not even out of breath.
“Impressive,” Magnus said. “You were trained well.”
The Hoth army is stationed in Adia, with bases here and here and here.” Magnus pointed to a large hologram of a flat map of Hoth. “Terrak’s plan of attack will be to take out their defenses by a long range missile attack, then plunge into a full scale assault into Adia.”
Trajan nodded. “We need to have Hoths army engage the Archain battleships before they launch their initial strike. In fact, best immediately. The attack on Orba is already in progress.”
“Orba was always intended to be a warm-up. With zero military presence, the conquest will not take long. It is too late for Orba. But now Hoth has a secret weapon.”
“You and I?”
magnus nodded grimly. “As a former general of the Archain army, my council will be heard on wary ears. Yet I alone can give them all the strategies and weaknesses of the army. But the king and his council…
“May need a bit of persuasion?”
“Yes. For their own good.”
Trajan was dancing in his head. Magnus was planning everything Trajan was going to do anyway.
The storm was relentless. On the radar, it was a swirling mass of white, spinning lazily over their heads. Magnus shut the monitor off with a sigh. “If this storm doesn’t let up, we’re going to be here for a while.” He turned on the thermal furnace, bathing the command unit with a soft yellow glow. Outside, the storm howled. Magnus felt at peace, comforted by the shelter and its given warmth while outside was a hellish winter raging.
He brewed a batch of bean broth and handed a mug to Trajan, who sat staring at the glowing furnace core.
Magnus took a seat and they sat that way in silence, sipping their brew. Magnus tried to think of a way to begin a conversation.
Odd company, he thought. Trajan broke the silence.
“Do you want to hear a story, Magnus?”
Magnus smiled. “It is a night just right for stories. Is this myth?”
“No. It is the story of how I killed my master. It is one I am sure you would appreciate as we share the same dispassion for our former commanders.”
Magnus sat back, propped his feet on the map table.
Trajan took a minute to fashion a beginning, then said
To begin, you must understand that it is one the siths most highest ambitions to kill their master. It is the way of the Sith. When a sith takes an apprentice, he is essentially accepting the one who may one day kill him. They know this because they were once an apprentice as well before they killed theur master. It is a strange relationship yes, but treachery is at the heart of a sith along with ambition. So the apprentice kills his master, takes on a series of apprentices-
More than one?
Well yes. A master can go through several but never at the same time. You see, depending on the strengths of the apprentice, they may get killed in action, during training
Killed in training?
It is not child scouts, General. Also, if an apprentice challenges his master when he is not ready, the master will kill him.
Trajan took another drink.
Do you have any spirits to add to our broth?
Magnus grinned. I may.
Of course, a mobile command unit ready for war would have been well stocked to feed and drink a platoon. Magnus came back bearing two bottles of hard fruit and a metal box of cigars. He filled their glasses that were about a third full to the top with the hard fruit. They raised their glasses in salute and drank.
You see, Trajan continued, a Sith, though he has powerful desires of ambition in his heart, must learn patience. It is a lesson they has been passed since the old republic when the sith nearly killed themselves to extinction. Patience, slow methodic planning. A sith must build his strength in the force and know ehn the time is right to challenge his master.
How did you know you were ready?
Trajan took another drink, gasping at its potency. That’s straight from Hell – but it’s good! Darth Gruel had many ambitions. He allied with the Archains because he saw the benefits of an army within reach. But that power was a lot of work. That was what I was for. Most of my missions were fulfilling the needs of the Archain army, mostly assassinations, threats, negotiations. The Archain army would not be where it is today if not for my actions. I took out corporate heads, greased many wheels for Terratrons company to become THE military presence of Archaia.
Magnus sat dumbstruck.
Oh yes, but Gruel did not care for Terratrons own ambitions. All my work was for Gruel. So they he could have the greatest military force at his fingertips.
He paused for another drink. Magnus refilled both of their glasses.
You asked me how I knew I was ready? The truth is I did not know. But Gruel did. He knew I was ready before I knew and he took another apprentice in my absence to Arhaia. He hid his new apprentice well. I did not know of it until I returned form my final mission on Archaia.
Know this, Magnus. Terratron instructed me to kill the jedi and you. Upon my landing in Archaia, my only instruction was to kill the jedi. Terratron reached me and gave me the order to kill you both. I am sorry.
It was his first apology of the incident. Magnus accepted with a nod of his head.
Gruel took another apprentice to defend him. He knew I was ready and would challenge him, would kill him. His apprentice would kill me before I killed Gruel. If I proved unworthy, Gruel would have killed me, and he would still have an apprentice. Either way, I was to die and Gruel would live. That was his plan anyway. He chuckled and took another drink.
It failed.
Magnus was lighting his cigar, offered one to Trajan. “So the three of you fought?”
Trajan took the cigar, lit it, inhaled deeply. “For our lives. This is what happened.”
Trajan landed the dreadnaught on the hilltop clearing. He made his way down the mountainside to the dome shaped building that was Gruels home. In answer to the question of why this forest moon as a home base, Gruel grinned “I see great things converging here, my apprentice. A war to end all wars. This place will be a final battlefield.”
Trajan thought the old man has misread his prophesy. The planet was remote. But when Trajan meditated on it later, he too felt a great crashing disturbance, opposite tremors colliding into one that was so powerful he reluctantly quit the vision, his eyes bleeding rivers from the pain.
Pine needles crunched under his boots and small furry creatures fled as he made his way. He stopped suddenly, taken by a vision. The same dark mountain he had seen at the beginning of all his vision quests. Only this time the mountain was crumbling, revealing at last a sick red light bursting from behind it. He did not want to dwell on it, however, as was excited to tell his master the news; the jedi was killed and Terratron wanted his highest general assassinated.
Trajan entered the large hangar filled with shadow and sensed his master in the darkness. He felt waves of fury and rage emanating from his hunched frame. His robes were billowy, making his back appear to be arched like a cat. His eyes burned yellow.
“You have come to kill me,” his master said.
Immediately, Trajan leaped into the air and somersaulted, igniting his twin bladed staff, over his masters body and cut a decapitating blow at his masters head. Grinull easily ducked it and turned, jumping to his feet. He was old and weak, yet the dark side used him as a divining rod to serve its purpose. Trajan stood, trying not to think of what he was doing but only serving the flow of the dark side. His muscles were spasming in a sort of shocked excitement and fear. To attack his master, there was only on outcome, death for either one of them or both. He focused, calming his body, turning himself over and using his hate against his master.
“Come, my pupil. Your graduation is at hand.” He was hunched over in his cloak, his arms held out to his sides in a welcoming gesture, his body crackling with a red lightning that was building up, wrapping around his cloak like glowing maggots. “Come do your worst!” He raised his skeletal hands, his crooked fingers stabbing at his student. “Let me tell you…”
“You are not ready!” Dark lightning bolts flashed from his fingertips. Trajan held them at bay with all his might using his lightsabers blade. The weight of the lightning was heavy, pushing on him with the force of a black hole. He gritted his teeth and summoned the dark side with all his might, and up swung his blades, knocking his masters lightning to the side, blowing up a servant droid.
Cackles from his master echoed throughout the hall. “It would be wise to give in now, my apprentice,” Darth Gruell enticed in the oil slicked croak of a voice. “For I have forseen every errant strike you will make, every parry, every pitiful attempt to move me.” He smiled from the loose bag that was his wrinkled, scarred face. “You will fail. And you will die. Submit now and I will make your death…as quick as possible.” His smile grew bigger, an open mouthed, yellowed toothed, biggest joke of the universe smile. Yet his eyes were cold, red, full of purpose.
Trajan saw something else.
Fear.
Trajan attacked, his blades whirling as he jumped into the air.
Gruell called his own staff to his hands and met Trajan in the center, their blades locking and their noses almost touching. They stared at one another, teeth bared, pushing against the others blade. Trajan called a force push and knocked his master back, who flipped to avoid a deadly roundhouse twirl of lightning blades and counterattacked with a series of left and right raging strikes with the twin sabers. Trajan easily blocked these, flipped back and quickly pulled his masters staff from his clutches.
Now Trajan stood with a double bladed lightsaber staff in each hand. He had never fought with two staffs at once, but the dark side called him to do so. It would be terribly easy to dismember his own limbs or head using four blades, as Gruel was counting on.
Gruel met his pupil’s stance, smiling with gritted fangs.
“Young fool,” he hissed. “You should realize that a lightsaber is not the only weapon of a sith.”
Trajan sensed a pull in the force, like a fish pulling on a line, and ducked in time as a massive rock aimed at his head flew by. He flipped, careful of the four blades within his space, advancing on his master, who was throwing everything he could at his apprentice. Trajan spun all four blades around him, blocking every object forced his way. He lunged, catching his master in a trap of crossed sabers against the wall. Gruel only smiled.
Trajan smiled back. “Thank you, my-“
A ripple in the force.
A third Sith leapt from the shadows and attacked with his own double bladed staff. Trajan leapt straight into the air after knocking aside two smashing blows from this new comer, landing on a beam.
Gruel cackled. “Lord Trajan, meet Darth Plageus, my new apprentice. He has been a great asset in my force borne plans. Together, we will create powerful Sith lords in the wombs of unsuspecting women across the galaxy.”
Trajans mind raced. How could he not know of this secret apprentice? No wonder Gruel kept him busy with meeting every need of the Orchains. Why did he not kill me? Because he needed me, he answered himself. While Gruel and Plageus were creating life from the force, they needed me to obtain the will of an army and set the wheels in motion for a war.
Darth Plageus tall frame was draped by a red cloak, his tattooed face showing zero emotion as he spoke matter-of-factly. “Ancient sith law dictates that there can be only two sith. I challenge you to the death, Darth Trajan. Come and meet your destiny.”
Trajan read the lie coming from behind those black eyes. Gruel and Plageus wanted him dead. This was not a one on one duel.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Chapter 2 - MAGNUS
MAGNUS THE WARRIOR stood at the edge of space, his head bowed as if in mourning, bathed in the blue light of the tractor beam and staring down into the black deep of space as the shipwreck crept eerily from the darkness.
Magnus face, half hidden by a silver, polished mask, showed zero emotion as pieces of ship and bodies passed mere inches from him. Underneath his steely frame, however, grew a tempest of hate towards this display of war.
Magnus knew war. It was his life.
Magnus recognized a fragment of the shell casing. A partial emblem of his home world, Archaia, was laser etched on its charred surface. The same emblem was cut into his flesh when he was a child. He wore it proudly all through his formative years, through adolescence, into adulthood. Now it was just another of his many scars he has collected throughout his ravaged life.
To be born a male Archaian was to be born into war.
The Archains prided themselves on warmongering. It was livelihood as well as their religion. They studied fighting in all forms, hand-to-hand, sword-to-sword, gun-to-gun, ship-to-ship and every combination thereof. There were competing universities where every aspect of warfare was lectured upon and practiced and tested. Weapons and defenses were always in development. Archaia was the go to world when looking for a new battleship, gun or missile. War contracts became literally cut throat, with Archains killing one another for bidding, with the larger of the conglomerates taking out the smaller ones, until there was only one. Like a virus, it wanted to spread. Archaia began testing weapons on other worlds, wiping out civilizations in the process.
Magnus rose amid the ranks of the military, serving as General under Commander Terremon. Magnus could have easily led the Archain army, but preferred to strategize from the shadows of Terremon, disliking politics altogether, thirsty for the battlefield only. It was on the battlefield that he thrived.
Until he met the Jedi. And his entire life was flipped upside down.
Magnus right hand went instantly to the smooth hilt of the jedi’s weapon at the thought of her while his mind retraced the last few exciting weeks.
Magnus stood proudly admiring his best platoon as they underwent a stealth exercise using the latest camo-armour. In the background, the new walkers were being built, towering above the mountains, their legs resembling the roots of unearthed trees. “General, Lord Gruel is holding for you via hologram,” the sentry said.
Magnus nodded, his good mood splintered by the notion that he be expected to jump at the command of some dark sorcerer. He was angered whenever he pondered why his commander would make an alliance with a frail looking, hooded villain that spoke of the dark side of the force.
Magnus turned and treaded to his mobile command tank, bellowing at his inferior officers to kindly remove their behinds from his quarters, then sat in his chair, lit a smoke, and punched up the hologram.
“General Magnus,” Gruel smiled.
A skull always smiles, Magnus thought. “What is it, Gruel?” He had refused to address him as Lord.
Gruel, quite used to this lack of respect, continued without a pause. “A Jedi is en route to investigate our operations of late. I do not have to tell you that the Jedi have no business meddling in our affairs.”
“Pray do not tell me.”
Gruel ignored Magnus’ sarcasm. “Keep her visit brief.”
“Her?”
Gruel smiled harder. “Yes, General, the Jedi do recruit female species. Do not be swayed by her tricks. If she gives you any trouble…”
“Kill her?” Magnus asked, bored by the premise.
Gruel laughed a deep throated chortle. “Do not be so naive, General. A Jedi cannot die so easily. I shall send my apprentice to deal with her.”
The transmission faded before Magnus could contest this new development.
Commander Terratron had always dealt with the Sith via Holonet. To his knowledge, the Sith have never paid a visit. Now there was one on the way.
Magnus heard tales of the Jedi told from retired, craggy soldiers, drunk in the pubs. All of it seemed outlandish fairytales. Beings who could wage battles with massive armies using only their minds and a laser sword. He heard of one jedi who singlehandedly took out en entire front of foot soldiers, tanks and an aerial assault. Magnus laughed at the old coot who told him this tall tale over a craven brew at the hornets nest.
“Impossible, old man,” he laughed.
“It was no man,” the wrinkled old man said, “It was a Jedi,” his eyes nearly melting from years of working on the lightning core.
When Terratron informed him of his new clientele, Darth Gruel, Magnus was amused and then indifferent. Let him fool around with some magician. Then I can focus on getting my men ready, he thought.
But Magnus began to doubt his own work as Terratron suddenly shifted his affairs from military enterprise to galactic invasion as he unveiled his designs to attack the remote system of Hoth.
“It will be an excellent exercise, Magnus. The Hoth system is largely unpopulated. It will be a cake walk. For the good of Archaia, we will take each planet one by one and use them as our new bases of operations. Engineering, testing, production.” He smiled. “We’re expanding.”
“General, we have a droid.”
Magnus turned back to the present, nodded. Perhaps the droid could tell us something, he thought. But what more did he need to know? This was a refuge charter escaping the current Archain takeover of Orba, only to be destroyed by an Orchain battleship. We came upon the wreckage only by chance…
Except Magnus did not believe this was so. The ship under Magnus’s command was returning from reconnaiscance, placing satelittles around the system to track Orchain maneuvers. They were heading straight home to Hoth. When they had found the shipwreck, they were parceps off course.
Magnus saw something emerging from the wreckage. A lifepod. Something was moving inside. There were palms pressed against the glass, beating them.
“The pod! Pull it in! Quick!”
magnus reached out as far as he could, seeing but not hearing the boy inside screaming. Magnus grabbed the curvature of the pod as the technician drew it in the bay with the bluewave and set it down amid the wreckage. Magnus opened the hatch, pulled the boy out and ran off with him, speaking into a comlink.
“Medical! I have a survivor from the shipwreck! Get a warm table ready! I’m bringing him in now!"
The Med techs had a warming blanket ready. Magnus burst in and set the shivering Jekka on it. The techs immediately wrapped him and began attaching Ivs and monitors. Jekka’s wide eyes never left Magnus’. Even though his small body was rocking with spasms of hypothermia, those eyes were still. Jekka was crying.
Sssshhhh, little one. You’re okay.” Jekka’s eyes closed.
“What happened,” magnus asked.
“He’s lost consciousness. He’s dehydrated.”
A officer entered. “Magnus, we were adrift for three hours. The Arca was on auto course back home. There were no errors or alerts. It appears we were pulled into the path of the wreckage.”
”So what you’re saying is...You don’t know what happened.”
”Um. Yes. We’ve recharted the maps. We’re set to continue at your command.”
”Alert Adia on what has happened; we drifted off course and discovered a ship destroyed. There is one survivor. We’re on our way back. That is all.”
One of the techs was listening in with much interest. “The ship. One of ours?”
The other tech chimed in. “Was it the Orchains?”
Magnus ignored them. “Battle stations ready for anything. I want a dozen men watching the scopes.”
The techs exchanged glances. “It’s the Orchains.”
After seeing to the rest of the salvage, Magnus headed straight to Medical to check on the boy. “How is he?”
“Sleeping. He will be fine. He’s quite lucky we found him.”
Magnus made no comment and took a chair next to the boy. Magnus felt responsible for him, as there were no other survivors on the ship, whoever was watching over the boy, if there were anyone, was no longer living. If the boy had family on Orba, the chances were great that they were already dead. Knowing this, Magnus heart ached for the boy; Without family, a home, heading to a frozen world alone.
Like me, not that long ago, how alone he had felt. This too shall pass, he thought. And that is what he will tell the boy after he understands the brevity of what has happened.
This, too, shall pass.
The med tech dimmed the lights and left them alone. Magnus propped his boots on a table. His eyes felt heavy. The last few weeks have been with little sleep since his new post working for the Hoth army. He chuckled at the brief vacation he had in the glacial barrens of Hoth’s frozen sea after defecting from the Orchain army, and fell asleep remembering the solitude.
Magnus of Hoth woke again at daybreak. He was pleased with his own private invasion; how he fashioned a home from one of Archaia’s mobile command transports (removing all communication boards was his first step in the redesign, not wanting anyone, Archain or Hothian, to know of his whereabouts) within a remote mountain range a days journey from Adia. Magnus did not think of his defection as a new beginning but rather a return to his roots. His grandfather was a fisherman. When not in military school, Magnus spent mornings fishing with his grandfather, talking very little, sharing a wink or a joke, just basking in the peace, the call of birds, the splash of fish jumping in the mist covered water, the laughter of missing the “big one.”
Magnus looked forward to each morning, knowing he would venture out into the deep blue and white fields of Hoth, cut a hole in the ice, and catch breakfast, lunch and dinner. The fish were plentiful; Fishing was one of Hoth’s exports. The ice-cold water was ideal for both population and the freshness of the catch.
The intelligence he received from his recon team confirmed that a range of wildlife and a community of humans, mostly fisherman and miners, inhabited Hoth. The largest city was Adia, where there was a hierarchy government in place. Hoth did its trade in ice (plenty of that), fish (plenty there also), and also rare crystals that were subject to illegal trading. The King, dubbed the iceman by the recon team, was an old fisherman elected by his peers and lauded for building the fishing industry, transforming a simple collection of villages into a great city.
Hoth developed a small army to counter the pirates that routinely attacked their trade ships and infiltrated the crystal mines. Though he recognized the army as a tight outfit, Magnus knew they would be outnumbered and outgunned against any average opposition. They would be buried under a single platoon of his old army.
Taking his gear and heading out into the cold, Magnus froze. Not because of the below zero temperature, but because of the lone taun-taun standing just six meters away, its head snapping up from the snack Magnus had left as bait.
Silently cursing himself for not checking the surveillance monitors before venturing out, Magnus began to calculate every possible move by himself and the beast, much like a game of battle chess.
Magnus knew the locals had trained the wild animals to serve as transports through the frozen terrain. Hoth had mechanical transports of course, but the taun-taun, though primitive, held a romantic and rustic quality and Magnus wanted one for his own. He came upon a wild herd during his first week on Hoth and had since been obsessed with catching one. Magnus did not realize how he was regressing to his boyhood. He felt, rather than thought, like a teenager again. His bloody years as a war general were fading just as sure as the universe spun around him. He felt free, intoxicated and cleansed by the chill of Hoths crisp air and now he had a taun-taun within his grasp.
The taun-taun did not move but kept its head pointed directly at Magnus, its curving horns a threat of massive bodily harm if it were to charge. It snorted an angry white cloud of steam from its nostrils.
One wrong move and it will break, Magnus thought, his hand creeping behind his back for the web gun strapped there for his occasion. But it won’t, he told himself, I will not let it, remembering the previous attempts. The taun-taun stood its ground, stomping its massive clawed toes, defending its find of oats, however frozen.
A questioning bray from the distant pack was the golden moment.
Magnus had his gun drawn before the taun-taun even decided to turn its head and bellow out an answer, which came out as an alarming squeal of surprise instead of a confident and aggressive hoot. Due to the temperature, the web unleashed from the gun did not envelope the entire beast but only caught it over its horned, potato-shaped head. Magnus waited for the inevitable lurch as 10 gilas of electric current released from his gun would travel through the length of the cable to the web and into the animals’ body.
It didn’t happen.
Frozen, Magnus thought as he was violently ripped from his stance as the taun-taun bolted on its muscular hind legs. Magnus refused to let go of his prize, hanging onto the gun as he was dragged helplessly behind the beast, plowing through snow and ice.
Snow flew into his eyes and nostrils. Ice cut at his face, his parka, his pants.
The taun-taun squealed wildly, pulling at the cable, thrashing its head side to side to free itself from this trap, its tail whipping back and forth forceful enough to decapitate a man. Magnus, his scar newly bleeding from the rough ice cutting at it, gritted his teeth at the pain, struggling to find a purchase as he was dragged like a rag doll. He pulled back with his arms but could not counter the brute strength of the taun-tauns legs.
This was a bad choice, Magnus thought dismally, his legs torn asunder by the sharp edges of ice rock. It will tire, he hoped, and held on. At this thought, the taun-taun stopped, still struggling at the net around its head, braying loudly in fear, a constant jet of steam from its mouth. It shook is head in violent spasms, squealing.
Magnus got up quickly, his legs screaming, feeling blood on his face and chest. He stood holding the gun with both hands, keeping the line taught as the creatures’ struggles slowed. The taun-taun relinquished, turning itself off.
He stepped forward cautiously, mindful of the horns and its strength. Magnus guessed that a solid kick from a taun-taun could rip a man nearly in half. The beast had many defenses; horned head to rush and head-butt an enemy, a tail to lash at flesh, muscular legs with sharp toes for gripping ice and disemboweling a predator.
The taun taun sides expanded and retracted in heavy, slowing breaths. Magnus stepped twice. He was within reach and harm of all three defenses. With one hand, he let go of the gun and laid it on its hairy back. The taun-taun lunged away from him and Magnus sidestepped with it, pulling the netting downward.
“Sssshhhh. It’s okay, big fella. Easy. Easy.” From his pocket he pulled a snack he was saving for his fishing trip and waved it in front of its nose.
The taun-tauns eyes grew large as it followed the scent with its muzzle. It was interested.
Smiling, Magnus offered the snack bar in the palm of his hand. The taun-tauns teeth plucked the morsel from his palm, its hairy lips brushing his skin. It quickly ate it and snorted Magnus’s hand for more.
Magnus held out the remaining snack and the taun-taun followed.
All too easy, Magnus thought.
Magnus crept to the lakes edge, its waters clear and frozen, much like looking into a mirror. There was a boat sitting in the middle of the lake, caught inside the ice. Some one was inside it, beckoning for Magnus to come.
Magnus walked out onto the ice tepidly, as the clearness of the ice was alarming. He could see the bottom of the lake, fish swimming below his feet.
“Grandfather,” he asked. The figure was sitting with its back to him and dressed in a dark cloak. Snow softly fell around them. He came upon the boat, his heart racing, wanting to know whom this person was. He tried to touch the shoulder and make it turn its head, but his arms were too heavy. He stood there watching, tense, while the snow fell and the ice creaked.
Helpless, Magnus watched as a skeletal hand held up a fishing rod, and cast a line onto the ice.
“He is coming, Magnus.”
The fishing rod suddenly ignited into a red blade of light.
Magnus wanted to turn the body around, tear the cloak off this monster.
The head turned, excruciatingly slow, the reverb of the blade a deafening groan.
Magnus’ heart raced.
The cloaked head turned.
It was the face of Miowi, its eyes were black rocks inside its head.
“Ssssithhhhh,” it hissed, and turned its head back, the bones inside cracking like small twigs.
Magnus was able to grab the thing and turn it around to face him again.
A red skull grinned back at him before crumbling to dust.
Magnus woke, his body shaking in sweat. He wrapped himself and sat in the command chair, checking the surveillance monitors.
The skies were clear. Salty was standing up, sleeping. Everything was all right.
He ate a quick breakfast and saddled up Salty for the daily fishing.
Magnus crafted a crude saddle for his new taun-taun mount, which he affectionately named Salty for his affinity for salty snacks, which were mostly cured fish.
Both man and taun-taun were on edge venturing out into the deep white of Hoth. Magnus felt anxious, keeping watch in all directions and feeling spring-loaded. He packed more weaponry than usual and took Miowi’s lightsaber for a reason he could not explain. It felt strange hanging in place of his right-handed blaster, yet it was right. Salty sensed Magnus’ feelings, and kept his alertness piqued, his great horned head jerking left and right.
Salty reared up suddenly, almost throwing off Magnus.
An instant later came a great booming sound from the sky. Magnus looked up to see an Archain Dreadnaught breaking through the gray snow clouds, spinning out of control, nearly vertical.
Magnus watched numbly as the ship plowed out of sight behind a mountain range. He waited for the explosion. Nothing came. No fireball or smoke cloud. No thunderous boom of impact. Just a vapor trail pointing to the mountains.
Magnus pointed his taun-taun into that direction and took off to face this new development head on.
Magnus face, half hidden by a silver, polished mask, showed zero emotion as pieces of ship and bodies passed mere inches from him. Underneath his steely frame, however, grew a tempest of hate towards this display of war.
Magnus knew war. It was his life.
Magnus recognized a fragment of the shell casing. A partial emblem of his home world, Archaia, was laser etched on its charred surface. The same emblem was cut into his flesh when he was a child. He wore it proudly all through his formative years, through adolescence, into adulthood. Now it was just another of his many scars he has collected throughout his ravaged life.
To be born a male Archaian was to be born into war.
The Archains prided themselves on warmongering. It was livelihood as well as their religion. They studied fighting in all forms, hand-to-hand, sword-to-sword, gun-to-gun, ship-to-ship and every combination thereof. There were competing universities where every aspect of warfare was lectured upon and practiced and tested. Weapons and defenses were always in development. Archaia was the go to world when looking for a new battleship, gun or missile. War contracts became literally cut throat, with Archains killing one another for bidding, with the larger of the conglomerates taking out the smaller ones, until there was only one. Like a virus, it wanted to spread. Archaia began testing weapons on other worlds, wiping out civilizations in the process.
Magnus rose amid the ranks of the military, serving as General under Commander Terremon. Magnus could have easily led the Archain army, but preferred to strategize from the shadows of Terremon, disliking politics altogether, thirsty for the battlefield only. It was on the battlefield that he thrived.
Until he met the Jedi. And his entire life was flipped upside down.
Magnus right hand went instantly to the smooth hilt of the jedi’s weapon at the thought of her while his mind retraced the last few exciting weeks.
Magnus stood proudly admiring his best platoon as they underwent a stealth exercise using the latest camo-armour. In the background, the new walkers were being built, towering above the mountains, their legs resembling the roots of unearthed trees. “General, Lord Gruel is holding for you via hologram,” the sentry said.
Magnus nodded, his good mood splintered by the notion that he be expected to jump at the command of some dark sorcerer. He was angered whenever he pondered why his commander would make an alliance with a frail looking, hooded villain that spoke of the dark side of the force.
Magnus turned and treaded to his mobile command tank, bellowing at his inferior officers to kindly remove their behinds from his quarters, then sat in his chair, lit a smoke, and punched up the hologram.
“General Magnus,” Gruel smiled.
A skull always smiles, Magnus thought. “What is it, Gruel?” He had refused to address him as Lord.
Gruel, quite used to this lack of respect, continued without a pause. “A Jedi is en route to investigate our operations of late. I do not have to tell you that the Jedi have no business meddling in our affairs.”
“Pray do not tell me.”
Gruel ignored Magnus’ sarcasm. “Keep her visit brief.”
“Her?”
Gruel smiled harder. “Yes, General, the Jedi do recruit female species. Do not be swayed by her tricks. If she gives you any trouble…”
“Kill her?” Magnus asked, bored by the premise.
Gruel laughed a deep throated chortle. “Do not be so naive, General. A Jedi cannot die so easily. I shall send my apprentice to deal with her.”
The transmission faded before Magnus could contest this new development.
Commander Terratron had always dealt with the Sith via Holonet. To his knowledge, the Sith have never paid a visit. Now there was one on the way.
Magnus heard tales of the Jedi told from retired, craggy soldiers, drunk in the pubs. All of it seemed outlandish fairytales. Beings who could wage battles with massive armies using only their minds and a laser sword. He heard of one jedi who singlehandedly took out en entire front of foot soldiers, tanks and an aerial assault. Magnus laughed at the old coot who told him this tall tale over a craven brew at the hornets nest.
“Impossible, old man,” he laughed.
“It was no man,” the wrinkled old man said, “It was a Jedi,” his eyes nearly melting from years of working on the lightning core.
When Terratron informed him of his new clientele, Darth Gruel, Magnus was amused and then indifferent. Let him fool around with some magician. Then I can focus on getting my men ready, he thought.
But Magnus began to doubt his own work as Terratron suddenly shifted his affairs from military enterprise to galactic invasion as he unveiled his designs to attack the remote system of Hoth.
“It will be an excellent exercise, Magnus. The Hoth system is largely unpopulated. It will be a cake walk. For the good of Archaia, we will take each planet one by one and use them as our new bases of operations. Engineering, testing, production.” He smiled. “We’re expanding.”
“General, we have a droid.”
Magnus turned back to the present, nodded. Perhaps the droid could tell us something, he thought. But what more did he need to know? This was a refuge charter escaping the current Archain takeover of Orba, only to be destroyed by an Orchain battleship. We came upon the wreckage only by chance…
Except Magnus did not believe this was so. The ship under Magnus’s command was returning from reconnaiscance, placing satelittles around the system to track Orchain maneuvers. They were heading straight home to Hoth. When they had found the shipwreck, they were parceps off course.
Magnus saw something emerging from the wreckage. A lifepod. Something was moving inside. There were palms pressed against the glass, beating them.
“The pod! Pull it in! Quick!”
magnus reached out as far as he could, seeing but not hearing the boy inside screaming. Magnus grabbed the curvature of the pod as the technician drew it in the bay with the bluewave and set it down amid the wreckage. Magnus opened the hatch, pulled the boy out and ran off with him, speaking into a comlink.
“Medical! I have a survivor from the shipwreck! Get a warm table ready! I’m bringing him in now!"
The Med techs had a warming blanket ready. Magnus burst in and set the shivering Jekka on it. The techs immediately wrapped him and began attaching Ivs and monitors. Jekka’s wide eyes never left Magnus’. Even though his small body was rocking with spasms of hypothermia, those eyes were still. Jekka was crying.
Sssshhhh, little one. You’re okay.” Jekka’s eyes closed.
“What happened,” magnus asked.
“He’s lost consciousness. He’s dehydrated.”
A officer entered. “Magnus, we were adrift for three hours. The Arca was on auto course back home. There were no errors or alerts. It appears we were pulled into the path of the wreckage.”
”So what you’re saying is...You don’t know what happened.”
”Um. Yes. We’ve recharted the maps. We’re set to continue at your command.”
”Alert Adia on what has happened; we drifted off course and discovered a ship destroyed. There is one survivor. We’re on our way back. That is all.”
One of the techs was listening in with much interest. “The ship. One of ours?”
The other tech chimed in. “Was it the Orchains?”
Magnus ignored them. “Battle stations ready for anything. I want a dozen men watching the scopes.”
The techs exchanged glances. “It’s the Orchains.”
After seeing to the rest of the salvage, Magnus headed straight to Medical to check on the boy. “How is he?”
“Sleeping. He will be fine. He’s quite lucky we found him.”
Magnus made no comment and took a chair next to the boy. Magnus felt responsible for him, as there were no other survivors on the ship, whoever was watching over the boy, if there were anyone, was no longer living. If the boy had family on Orba, the chances were great that they were already dead. Knowing this, Magnus heart ached for the boy; Without family, a home, heading to a frozen world alone.
Like me, not that long ago, how alone he had felt. This too shall pass, he thought. And that is what he will tell the boy after he understands the brevity of what has happened.
This, too, shall pass.
The med tech dimmed the lights and left them alone. Magnus propped his boots on a table. His eyes felt heavy. The last few weeks have been with little sleep since his new post working for the Hoth army. He chuckled at the brief vacation he had in the glacial barrens of Hoth’s frozen sea after defecting from the Orchain army, and fell asleep remembering the solitude.
Magnus of Hoth woke again at daybreak. He was pleased with his own private invasion; how he fashioned a home from one of Archaia’s mobile command transports (removing all communication boards was his first step in the redesign, not wanting anyone, Archain or Hothian, to know of his whereabouts) within a remote mountain range a days journey from Adia. Magnus did not think of his defection as a new beginning but rather a return to his roots. His grandfather was a fisherman. When not in military school, Magnus spent mornings fishing with his grandfather, talking very little, sharing a wink or a joke, just basking in the peace, the call of birds, the splash of fish jumping in the mist covered water, the laughter of missing the “big one.”
Magnus looked forward to each morning, knowing he would venture out into the deep blue and white fields of Hoth, cut a hole in the ice, and catch breakfast, lunch and dinner. The fish were plentiful; Fishing was one of Hoth’s exports. The ice-cold water was ideal for both population and the freshness of the catch.
The intelligence he received from his recon team confirmed that a range of wildlife and a community of humans, mostly fisherman and miners, inhabited Hoth. The largest city was Adia, where there was a hierarchy government in place. Hoth did its trade in ice (plenty of that), fish (plenty there also), and also rare crystals that were subject to illegal trading. The King, dubbed the iceman by the recon team, was an old fisherman elected by his peers and lauded for building the fishing industry, transforming a simple collection of villages into a great city.
Hoth developed a small army to counter the pirates that routinely attacked their trade ships and infiltrated the crystal mines. Though he recognized the army as a tight outfit, Magnus knew they would be outnumbered and outgunned against any average opposition. They would be buried under a single platoon of his old army.
Taking his gear and heading out into the cold, Magnus froze. Not because of the below zero temperature, but because of the lone taun-taun standing just six meters away, its head snapping up from the snack Magnus had left as bait.
Silently cursing himself for not checking the surveillance monitors before venturing out, Magnus began to calculate every possible move by himself and the beast, much like a game of battle chess.
Magnus knew the locals had trained the wild animals to serve as transports through the frozen terrain. Hoth had mechanical transports of course, but the taun-taun, though primitive, held a romantic and rustic quality and Magnus wanted one for his own. He came upon a wild herd during his first week on Hoth and had since been obsessed with catching one. Magnus did not realize how he was regressing to his boyhood. He felt, rather than thought, like a teenager again. His bloody years as a war general were fading just as sure as the universe spun around him. He felt free, intoxicated and cleansed by the chill of Hoths crisp air and now he had a taun-taun within his grasp.
The taun-taun did not move but kept its head pointed directly at Magnus, its curving horns a threat of massive bodily harm if it were to charge. It snorted an angry white cloud of steam from its nostrils.
One wrong move and it will break, Magnus thought, his hand creeping behind his back for the web gun strapped there for his occasion. But it won’t, he told himself, I will not let it, remembering the previous attempts. The taun-taun stood its ground, stomping its massive clawed toes, defending its find of oats, however frozen.
A questioning bray from the distant pack was the golden moment.
Magnus had his gun drawn before the taun-taun even decided to turn its head and bellow out an answer, which came out as an alarming squeal of surprise instead of a confident and aggressive hoot. Due to the temperature, the web unleashed from the gun did not envelope the entire beast but only caught it over its horned, potato-shaped head. Magnus waited for the inevitable lurch as 10 gilas of electric current released from his gun would travel through the length of the cable to the web and into the animals’ body.
It didn’t happen.
Frozen, Magnus thought as he was violently ripped from his stance as the taun-taun bolted on its muscular hind legs. Magnus refused to let go of his prize, hanging onto the gun as he was dragged helplessly behind the beast, plowing through snow and ice.
Snow flew into his eyes and nostrils. Ice cut at his face, his parka, his pants.
The taun-taun squealed wildly, pulling at the cable, thrashing its head side to side to free itself from this trap, its tail whipping back and forth forceful enough to decapitate a man. Magnus, his scar newly bleeding from the rough ice cutting at it, gritted his teeth at the pain, struggling to find a purchase as he was dragged like a rag doll. He pulled back with his arms but could not counter the brute strength of the taun-tauns legs.
This was a bad choice, Magnus thought dismally, his legs torn asunder by the sharp edges of ice rock. It will tire, he hoped, and held on. At this thought, the taun-taun stopped, still struggling at the net around its head, braying loudly in fear, a constant jet of steam from its mouth. It shook is head in violent spasms, squealing.
Magnus got up quickly, his legs screaming, feeling blood on his face and chest. He stood holding the gun with both hands, keeping the line taught as the creatures’ struggles slowed. The taun-taun relinquished, turning itself off.
He stepped forward cautiously, mindful of the horns and its strength. Magnus guessed that a solid kick from a taun-taun could rip a man nearly in half. The beast had many defenses; horned head to rush and head-butt an enemy, a tail to lash at flesh, muscular legs with sharp toes for gripping ice and disemboweling a predator.
The taun taun sides expanded and retracted in heavy, slowing breaths. Magnus stepped twice. He was within reach and harm of all three defenses. With one hand, he let go of the gun and laid it on its hairy back. The taun-taun lunged away from him and Magnus sidestepped with it, pulling the netting downward.
“Sssshhhh. It’s okay, big fella. Easy. Easy.” From his pocket he pulled a snack he was saving for his fishing trip and waved it in front of its nose.
The taun-tauns eyes grew large as it followed the scent with its muzzle. It was interested.
Smiling, Magnus offered the snack bar in the palm of his hand. The taun-tauns teeth plucked the morsel from his palm, its hairy lips brushing his skin. It quickly ate it and snorted Magnus’s hand for more.
Magnus held out the remaining snack and the taun-taun followed.
All too easy, Magnus thought.
Magnus crept to the lakes edge, its waters clear and frozen, much like looking into a mirror. There was a boat sitting in the middle of the lake, caught inside the ice. Some one was inside it, beckoning for Magnus to come.
Magnus walked out onto the ice tepidly, as the clearness of the ice was alarming. He could see the bottom of the lake, fish swimming below his feet.
“Grandfather,” he asked. The figure was sitting with its back to him and dressed in a dark cloak. Snow softly fell around them. He came upon the boat, his heart racing, wanting to know whom this person was. He tried to touch the shoulder and make it turn its head, but his arms were too heavy. He stood there watching, tense, while the snow fell and the ice creaked.
Helpless, Magnus watched as a skeletal hand held up a fishing rod, and cast a line onto the ice.
“He is coming, Magnus.”
The fishing rod suddenly ignited into a red blade of light.
Magnus wanted to turn the body around, tear the cloak off this monster.
The head turned, excruciatingly slow, the reverb of the blade a deafening groan.
Magnus’ heart raced.
The cloaked head turned.
It was the face of Miowi, its eyes were black rocks inside its head.
“Ssssithhhhh,” it hissed, and turned its head back, the bones inside cracking like small twigs.
Magnus was able to grab the thing and turn it around to face him again.
A red skull grinned back at him before crumbling to dust.
Magnus woke, his body shaking in sweat. He wrapped himself and sat in the command chair, checking the surveillance monitors.
The skies were clear. Salty was standing up, sleeping. Everything was all right.
He ate a quick breakfast and saddled up Salty for the daily fishing.
Magnus crafted a crude saddle for his new taun-taun mount, which he affectionately named Salty for his affinity for salty snacks, which were mostly cured fish.
Both man and taun-taun were on edge venturing out into the deep white of Hoth. Magnus felt anxious, keeping watch in all directions and feeling spring-loaded. He packed more weaponry than usual and took Miowi’s lightsaber for a reason he could not explain. It felt strange hanging in place of his right-handed blaster, yet it was right. Salty sensed Magnus’ feelings, and kept his alertness piqued, his great horned head jerking left and right.
Salty reared up suddenly, almost throwing off Magnus.
An instant later came a great booming sound from the sky. Magnus looked up to see an Archain Dreadnaught breaking through the gray snow clouds, spinning out of control, nearly vertical.
Magnus watched numbly as the ship plowed out of sight behind a mountain range. He waited for the explosion. Nothing came. No fireball or smoke cloud. No thunderous boom of impact. Just a vapor trail pointing to the mountains.
Magnus pointed his taun-taun into that direction and took off to face this new development head on.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Chapter 1 - JEKKA
THE SHIPWRECK, still propelled by the ion torpedoes that crippled it, slowly drifted toward the second moon of Orba, its shapeless, shifting mass of metal, glass and twisted hull spinning and catching light from H’tana, the dimming star of the Hoth system.
Of its dozen life pods, only one was inhabited. The sole survivor of the wreckage, nine year old Jekka slept, his fingers aching and bloody, throat parched from screaming, his eyes darting rapidly under closed lids. Floating helplessly in cold space among the dead did not warrant any desire for sleep but darkness stole over him nonetheless. The dreams that came were fading rotations of comfort and terror. Slowly, his mind began to unwrap the shock and reveal, in tiny, dense packets of flash bulb imagery, the chain of events that led to this undeniable end, beginning on Orba, his home world, where all of this hell began.
Orba was 1,000 storms rolled into a violent planet of red rocks and black seas. The storms were living, breathing masses of black, low hanging clouds that migrated the planet like herds of wild beast, colliding, disappearing and appearing from nothing but a few smoky strands, throwing blue arcs of lightning and pelting winds at the human inhabitants of Orba. A lonely caravan trekked across a red desert, led by Jemmak, father of Jekka, husband of Uuroqu.
Jemmak walked side by side with his scaly beast of burden, a Hessup. The Hessup was a distant cousin of the dewback species, smaller and gray in color with a screen-like membrane that shielded its eyes from the stinging sands flung by the northern winds. Thick, muscled legs made for steady progress pulling a load, in this case, a hovercraft. Inside the hovercraft, the howls of the winds were quieted. It was dark, warm, and peaceful. Uuroqu stroked the brow of her sleeping son, hoping this trek would last forever. Wishing that her boy did not have to leave. As if sensing this, Jekka said with his eyes still closed, “I don’t have to go.”
Please, she thought, my heart cannot take any more. “Jekka, we’ve been over this. This is for the best. For you.”
“No, it’s not. What best for me to stay with family. You and dad, my brothers and sisters. What else do I need?
You will understand when you are of age. Right now, it doesn’t seem that way. If you stay here, and you become of age, you will look back on this time, and you will regret staying here. It’s difficult, I know. This is the hardest-" She stopped, her face quivering. She looked away, tried to control her emotions. "You are special. And the universe needs you. The jedi need you."
"Why?"
"Because you are good."
"Good at what?"
"Just good. There are a lot of bad people in this universe. The jedi need good people to defend it."
Jekka sat for a bit, quietly mulling. "When I’m finished with training, I’m coming home. Just for a little while."
"I should hope so. We will have a great feast, welcoming a jedi home!"
"And I can use mind tricks on Herek!"
"No mind tricks on your big brother!"
"All right. Maybe lil elsie."
"None on your sister, either."
Jekka sighed. "Then what’s the point?"
Uuroqu laughed and tickled Jekka to tears.
Jemmak, dressed in earthly colored cloaks to avoid sunburn, stopped and pulled a flask from a pack fastened to the Jessep. He drank deeply, knowing the voyage would soon be over. He scanned the horizon. Black clouds drifted low like predators hunting prey. He witnessed two storms merge into one. Lightning cracked inside, thunder boomed and echoed over the valley. Past this lay the city of Otannah, where he would say goodbye to his son. Word had traveled through the villages that the Republic was looking for children with special powers. They called this gift the Force. Jemmak knew nothing of the Force, or of Jedi or Coruscant, the capitol of the galaxy and birthplace of the Republic. He did know that his son held special powers, and that he wished the best for him. His other wish was that he did not want to say goodbye to his son so soon, but the word mandated that the candidates must be young. To console their emotions, Uuroqu and Jemmak reminded themselves that there was little opportunity on Orba and Jekka had a chance to do great things.
Jemmak replaced the flask, slapped the beast to calm its worries, and led them on. He had no idea that behind them, emerging from the dark, drifting clouds, came a giant floating war machine, huge cannons pointing forward. It drifted menacingly and quietly over the red sands toward the small caravan.
Jemmak looked ahead and saw the spires of Otannah glistening in the red sunlight. He could make out a ship, and what looked like thousands of people hustling about. The sight was bittersweet. Again he felt the drop inside his heart and the sting at his eyes.
Why am I doing this, he thought. Let us turn back and live our lives as normal as they should be; happy, proud, together. That is too easy, he answered himself. “Strength,” he asked aloud, “Gods give us strength for this.” He started back to let his wife know they had made it, anticipating the tears from her eyes as well. Then he saw the battle tank, as big as a two-story building. Three massive turrets were rising into a high firing position.
Jekka flinched, startling his mother.
“Mom-“
A thunderous blast shook them, splitting their hearing into silence.
Jemmak watched as the tank fired three missiles overhead. They soared high, trailing black exhaust into an arc as they fell upon Otannah.
Jemmak stood helplessly as the bright missiles disappeared with a flash into the crowded city. He saw the ship explode in a ball of orange fire and red dust. He saw bodies fly. He could not hear anything but eerie silence; the blast has ruptured his eardrums. The Jessep almost knocked him over as it fled from the tank, pulling the hovercraft with it. Jemmak ran after it, not realizing he was screaming.
Uuroqu acted on instinct, grabbing Jekka and stowing him inside the empty compartment beneath the bench seat.
She held a finger to her lips, smiled and pinched his cheek. A wink told him all he needed to know; that everything will be all right and she loved him. Then she was gone and he was in darkness.
From his hiding place within the caravan, Jekka had heard distant nightmarish sounds, screams, explosions, ship thrusters, and worst of it, sickening silence. After he counted to 1,000 and retold the genesis of the universe inside his mind, Jekka quietly crawled out. The caravan came to a stop inside a sand valley. Jekka walked to the Hessup, who appeared to be taking a nap. He slapped its rear.
“Go!” Jekka commanded.
The Hessup did not move.
He hit it again harder. “Go!” he screamed at it, looking around frantically. He had to find his mom and dad. He took a closer look at the Hessup.
The Hessup lay still, its body not moving, not breathing.
Jekka patted its rear softly. “Go,” he whispered.
A loud crash woke Jekka completely from his shock-induced sleep. Wide eyed, mouth in an open scream, Jekka spun around inside the small lifepod, looking through the carbon glass for the cause of the noise. The wreckage was being bombarded by a small pack of asteroids. Jekka knew there of the H’tanna cluster that circled the solar system and the countless ships that had been taken out by their unpredictability. Jekka knew he was on the outskirts of this deadly mass of space rock and he was the potential victim of risky chance. Someone please find me, he cried. He reached out into the blackness with his thoughts and pulled. Someone please see me. These thoughts were an echo of what he had felt after he crawled out from the caravan only days before.
Suddenly, the shipwreck trajectory was interrupted as it was pulled downwards towards the bottom of a huge ship. The great ship’s bay doors opened, taking in the fragments and remains of the refugee ship through a bluewave gravity beam. The immense ship bore the bold colored flags of Hoth and telltale fishing export emblems on its aft. Jekka watched in fright as the ship grew larger with each passing moment, wishing that he had never left Orba.
Of its dozen life pods, only one was inhabited. The sole survivor of the wreckage, nine year old Jekka slept, his fingers aching and bloody, throat parched from screaming, his eyes darting rapidly under closed lids. Floating helplessly in cold space among the dead did not warrant any desire for sleep but darkness stole over him nonetheless. The dreams that came were fading rotations of comfort and terror. Slowly, his mind began to unwrap the shock and reveal, in tiny, dense packets of flash bulb imagery, the chain of events that led to this undeniable end, beginning on Orba, his home world, where all of this hell began.
Orba was 1,000 storms rolled into a violent planet of red rocks and black seas. The storms were living, breathing masses of black, low hanging clouds that migrated the planet like herds of wild beast, colliding, disappearing and appearing from nothing but a few smoky strands, throwing blue arcs of lightning and pelting winds at the human inhabitants of Orba. A lonely caravan trekked across a red desert, led by Jemmak, father of Jekka, husband of Uuroqu.
Jemmak walked side by side with his scaly beast of burden, a Hessup. The Hessup was a distant cousin of the dewback species, smaller and gray in color with a screen-like membrane that shielded its eyes from the stinging sands flung by the northern winds. Thick, muscled legs made for steady progress pulling a load, in this case, a hovercraft. Inside the hovercraft, the howls of the winds were quieted. It was dark, warm, and peaceful. Uuroqu stroked the brow of her sleeping son, hoping this trek would last forever. Wishing that her boy did not have to leave. As if sensing this, Jekka said with his eyes still closed, “I don’t have to go.”
Please, she thought, my heart cannot take any more. “Jekka, we’ve been over this. This is for the best. For you.”
“No, it’s not. What best for me to stay with family. You and dad, my brothers and sisters. What else do I need?
You will understand when you are of age. Right now, it doesn’t seem that way. If you stay here, and you become of age, you will look back on this time, and you will regret staying here. It’s difficult, I know. This is the hardest-" She stopped, her face quivering. She looked away, tried to control her emotions. "You are special. And the universe needs you. The jedi need you."
"Why?"
"Because you are good."
"Good at what?"
"Just good. There are a lot of bad people in this universe. The jedi need good people to defend it."
Jekka sat for a bit, quietly mulling. "When I’m finished with training, I’m coming home. Just for a little while."
"I should hope so. We will have a great feast, welcoming a jedi home!"
"And I can use mind tricks on Herek!"
"No mind tricks on your big brother!"
"All right. Maybe lil elsie."
"None on your sister, either."
Jekka sighed. "Then what’s the point?"
Uuroqu laughed and tickled Jekka to tears.
Jemmak, dressed in earthly colored cloaks to avoid sunburn, stopped and pulled a flask from a pack fastened to the Jessep. He drank deeply, knowing the voyage would soon be over. He scanned the horizon. Black clouds drifted low like predators hunting prey. He witnessed two storms merge into one. Lightning cracked inside, thunder boomed and echoed over the valley. Past this lay the city of Otannah, where he would say goodbye to his son. Word had traveled through the villages that the Republic was looking for children with special powers. They called this gift the Force. Jemmak knew nothing of the Force, or of Jedi or Coruscant, the capitol of the galaxy and birthplace of the Republic. He did know that his son held special powers, and that he wished the best for him. His other wish was that he did not want to say goodbye to his son so soon, but the word mandated that the candidates must be young. To console their emotions, Uuroqu and Jemmak reminded themselves that there was little opportunity on Orba and Jekka had a chance to do great things.
Jemmak replaced the flask, slapped the beast to calm its worries, and led them on. He had no idea that behind them, emerging from the dark, drifting clouds, came a giant floating war machine, huge cannons pointing forward. It drifted menacingly and quietly over the red sands toward the small caravan.
Jemmak looked ahead and saw the spires of Otannah glistening in the red sunlight. He could make out a ship, and what looked like thousands of people hustling about. The sight was bittersweet. Again he felt the drop inside his heart and the sting at his eyes.
Why am I doing this, he thought. Let us turn back and live our lives as normal as they should be; happy, proud, together. That is too easy, he answered himself. “Strength,” he asked aloud, “Gods give us strength for this.” He started back to let his wife know they had made it, anticipating the tears from her eyes as well. Then he saw the battle tank, as big as a two-story building. Three massive turrets were rising into a high firing position.
Jekka flinched, startling his mother.
“Mom-“
A thunderous blast shook them, splitting their hearing into silence.
Jemmak watched as the tank fired three missiles overhead. They soared high, trailing black exhaust into an arc as they fell upon Otannah.
Jemmak stood helplessly as the bright missiles disappeared with a flash into the crowded city. He saw the ship explode in a ball of orange fire and red dust. He saw bodies fly. He could not hear anything but eerie silence; the blast has ruptured his eardrums. The Jessep almost knocked him over as it fled from the tank, pulling the hovercraft with it. Jemmak ran after it, not realizing he was screaming.
Uuroqu acted on instinct, grabbing Jekka and stowing him inside the empty compartment beneath the bench seat.
She held a finger to her lips, smiled and pinched his cheek. A wink told him all he needed to know; that everything will be all right and she loved him. Then she was gone and he was in darkness.
From his hiding place within the caravan, Jekka had heard distant nightmarish sounds, screams, explosions, ship thrusters, and worst of it, sickening silence. After he counted to 1,000 and retold the genesis of the universe inside his mind, Jekka quietly crawled out. The caravan came to a stop inside a sand valley. Jekka walked to the Hessup, who appeared to be taking a nap. He slapped its rear.
“Go!” Jekka commanded.
The Hessup did not move.
He hit it again harder. “Go!” he screamed at it, looking around frantically. He had to find his mom and dad. He took a closer look at the Hessup.
The Hessup lay still, its body not moving, not breathing.
Jekka patted its rear softly. “Go,” he whispered.
A loud crash woke Jekka completely from his shock-induced sleep. Wide eyed, mouth in an open scream, Jekka spun around inside the small lifepod, looking through the carbon glass for the cause of the noise. The wreckage was being bombarded by a small pack of asteroids. Jekka knew there of the H’tanna cluster that circled the solar system and the countless ships that had been taken out by their unpredictability. Jekka knew he was on the outskirts of this deadly mass of space rock and he was the potential victim of risky chance. Someone please find me, he cried. He reached out into the blackness with his thoughts and pulled. Someone please see me. These thoughts were an echo of what he had felt after he crawled out from the caravan only days before.
Suddenly, the shipwreck trajectory was interrupted as it was pulled downwards towards the bottom of a huge ship. The great ship’s bay doors opened, taking in the fragments and remains of the refugee ship through a bluewave gravity beam. The immense ship bore the bold colored flags of Hoth and telltale fishing export emblems on its aft. Jekka watched in fright as the ship grew larger with each passing moment, wishing that he had never left Orba.
PROLOGUE
THE SITH collapsed on the stone floor writ with an unspoken language, muscles spasming in pain from the fresh, bleeding scars across his bare back and chest; black, bubbling streaks of burnt flesh from the red blade of the lightsaber he had taken from the dead hands of his master.
He kneeled not out of exhaustion but of needing to know what course the dark side had charted for him. Now was the time to meditate. The Sith closed his eyes and focused on the hate he felt swelling within him. This was the way it had been done for eons.
The sith released his ponderous tendrils of the force, feeling everything around him, searching the future for any possibilities…
He felt the force around him connecting the universe in red ribbons that rippled in a breeze, every tremor within these strings was a death, a birth, a war. Every vibration was a scream of one or many, a cry, a battle lost or won, a deception. These strings were played by those who could use the force, and he could feel each call to its mysterious energies. Some were dark, some were light. He plotted through the territories, the galaxies, feeling with his mind and biting against the pain that this search afforded him. He hit something hard.
A boy in the desert. Strong in the force. Darkness around him. Feelings of loss. The sith drew brief snippets of imagery; starships, a young girl, a woman, the jedi temple on Coruscant. Hate boiled over, bringing the visions to darkness.
The sith bent his head to the stone floor, smoke rising from the burning embers left from battle, searching.
My destiny. Command me, master.
Ice. Snow. Freezing winds. A planet of ice.
The sith lord felt something great here. Something urgent, threatening. A battle on the ice. Great ships anchored in the orbit. War machines advancing in crushing footsteps.
There was a boy. Strong in the force like a tensed spring. The ebb and flow of its oceans were tossed, a growing tidal wave with this one. But lost inside a storm. Dying.
The sith smiled, his lips cracked and bleeding. He is ripe. A strong apprentice.
Then, a ghost of a jedi, leading him towards a lighter purpose.
This cannot happen! He thought. His body was trembling under the weight of the force.
The sith could feel that this entire battle was focused around this one boy. There was a powerfully dark tremor searching for him. A sith perhaps?
The sith clenched his nails into his legs, drawing blood.
The sith was losing the sight. The pain was becoming immense. He shook his head uncontrollably, straining, seeking. He used it. Tears of blood flowed from his eyes.
A disfigured, half-machine man in black, his face hidden behind a mask. He wanted the boy.
The opposition won the battle but the boy escaped. What happened?
The crimson ribbons flowed further into darkness, eons ahead. Where did the boy go?
The wormy tendrils retreated, the sith spent. He collapsed to the hearth, his body spasming in exhaustion.
The sith lord got to his knees, bowing his head to the stone floor covered in his sweat and blood.
His purpose became clear.
He will go to Hoth.
He will bring war. He will find this boy.
And make him his dark apprentice.
He kneeled not out of exhaustion but of needing to know what course the dark side had charted for him. Now was the time to meditate. The Sith closed his eyes and focused on the hate he felt swelling within him. This was the way it had been done for eons.
The sith released his ponderous tendrils of the force, feeling everything around him, searching the future for any possibilities…
He felt the force around him connecting the universe in red ribbons that rippled in a breeze, every tremor within these strings was a death, a birth, a war. Every vibration was a scream of one or many, a cry, a battle lost or won, a deception. These strings were played by those who could use the force, and he could feel each call to its mysterious energies. Some were dark, some were light. He plotted through the territories, the galaxies, feeling with his mind and biting against the pain that this search afforded him. He hit something hard.
A boy in the desert. Strong in the force. Darkness around him. Feelings of loss. The sith drew brief snippets of imagery; starships, a young girl, a woman, the jedi temple on Coruscant. Hate boiled over, bringing the visions to darkness.
The sith bent his head to the stone floor, smoke rising from the burning embers left from battle, searching.
My destiny. Command me, master.
Ice. Snow. Freezing winds. A planet of ice.
The sith lord felt something great here. Something urgent, threatening. A battle on the ice. Great ships anchored in the orbit. War machines advancing in crushing footsteps.
There was a boy. Strong in the force like a tensed spring. The ebb and flow of its oceans were tossed, a growing tidal wave with this one. But lost inside a storm. Dying.
The sith smiled, his lips cracked and bleeding. He is ripe. A strong apprentice.
Then, a ghost of a jedi, leading him towards a lighter purpose.
This cannot happen! He thought. His body was trembling under the weight of the force.
The sith could feel that this entire battle was focused around this one boy. There was a powerfully dark tremor searching for him. A sith perhaps?
The sith clenched his nails into his legs, drawing blood.
The sith was losing the sight. The pain was becoming immense. He shook his head uncontrollably, straining, seeking. He used it. Tears of blood flowed from his eyes.
A disfigured, half-machine man in black, his face hidden behind a mask. He wanted the boy.
The opposition won the battle but the boy escaped. What happened?
The crimson ribbons flowed further into darkness, eons ahead. Where did the boy go?
The wormy tendrils retreated, the sith spent. He collapsed to the hearth, his body spasming in exhaustion.
The sith lord got to his knees, bowing his head to the stone floor covered in his sweat and blood.
His purpose became clear.
He will go to Hoth.
He will bring war. He will find this boy.
And make him his dark apprentice.
And so it begins...
OK, there are probably thousands of Star Wars fans who post their fan fiction online. I started to develop an epic tale set on what I see as the most visually striking setting of the entire Star Wars galaxy. I know, you're thinking - What? It's a snowball! True, but it must be the northerner in me who appreciates the chilling hues of whites and blues of snow and ice as a backdrop to the glitz and glow of Star Wars design.
I see this story as a sort of LOST - inspired epic with Hoth as the setting. Please leave comments as I post the chapters, which is a work in progress. This is also my first attempt at blogging. So please bear with me.
Gregg Kemple
I see this story as a sort of LOST - inspired epic with Hoth as the setting. Please leave comments as I post the chapters, which is a work in progress. This is also my first attempt at blogging. So please bear with me.
Gregg Kemple
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