Ask Discovery on Lysatra

Ransom Caldwell

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When Rance began to come to, all he could see was a soft yellow light that checked his focus as he opened his eyes. He was in a familiar place and he felt safe--that he knew. Blinking a few times to get his bearings, he noticed all around him was medical equipment and he lay on an infirmary bed. Immediately he realized he was on The Kalikori, he tried to sit up but his chest and ribs screamed white-hot with pain. He looked down at the expertly wrapped heavy bandaging. There was no blood? But he could feel a few broken ribs. He touched the wrapping and immediately flashed to the suicide that wounded him. Shaking his head, Ransom rested his hand on his chest and put the other up to his head. The pain was excruciating but he controlled his breathing, isolated the sensation, and focused. He gave the room a more in-depth examination. It didn't take long for him to notice that he was not the only one here. Cawdry was in the bed next to him sleeping with a large bandage wrapped around his head. Shaking the stupor out of his foggy mind he looked at his vital signs. His student was fine. His own? He was fine. He turned his head the other direction.

There was yet another infirm. The Jedi. No way she was injured in the fight. How had she wound up here? What had happened? As he mused hypotheticals, he noticed he hadn't stopped looking straight at her. It was as if he couldn't turn away but more that he didn't want to and felt no reason to. In this moment, everything but her seemed a kind of blurry. Unable to turn his gaze, his chest started to warm and sooth itself. A great deal of pain and anxiety was ebbing. Rance noticed her wince in her sleep and instinctively bring her hand to her own chest,

That was strange, she has no apparent injuries, he thought.

Mid thought he winced and brought his own hand to his chest, as he did he noticed her breathing lighten and some of her apparent discomfort subside. Letting his head fall back, his eyes went white with pain and his mind was splitting with confusion. Luckily for him, Risho came in and turned a small dial on the plasteel apparatus situated next to him. He felt a euphoria wash over him. Oddly enough, it seemed his Jedi counterpart was soothed even further. Now motionless save for a slight, steady breathing.

"Hi doc, you're safe on the Kalikori. We've begun total excavation of the site. What a discovery. You did it. But you shouldn't be awake yet. Though, before you zonk out again, you should know--that woman... saved your life. It was a miracle. Dream of a way to thank her."

Risho turned the dial a little more and he was out like a light. But his dreams were not that of thanks. They were nightmares. Flashing images of harpoons thudding against hide, lances cutting skin and bone, cries from unwitting victims, fleshy masses being reconstituted into various grotesque shapes, blood being boiled, slaves and demons toiling, and a final image of a tortured apparition fiending hungrily for some uncurbed vice.

Ransom did not sleep soundly. He tossed and turned longing to once again live in the waking world.

@Corbeau
 

Fiach Dubh

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Fiach was not asleep – but nor was she awake. She was in a state induced and controlled by the Force. She had been learning the art of controlling her metabolism, to enable her body to be sustained without food or water for some time – but she was by no means proficient enough to create her current state of being. No, that was entirely the Force’s work.

She’d been able to channel the Force sufficiently to stabilise Rance – albeit to her own detriment – and so she’d been placed in this state to enable her own life force to recuperate, but also to maintain the connection between them. Yes, she was no longer in direct contact with him, but nor did she have to be.

Since arriving here, she had remained to all intents and purposes unconscious. And in a way she was, she had no personal injuries to heal, but the Force was using her as a conduit to maintain Rance. When he stirred and felt pain, she felt pain and in some unexplained way, when the Force fixed her, it fixed him. Or at least as much as the Force could do. Ribs would need to be seen to by someone qualified – but bleeding, pain and even scarring was withing its capabilities.

Fiach never dreamed. Which is, of course a nonsense. Fiach never remembered any of her dreams – there is a not so subtle difference. So, to her…she never had any.

But Force Visions she had aplenty – typically when seeking crystals, or in a place where the Force was focused. And right now, she had nothing except the Force. And so they began.

They were never identical, but rather grew and developed each time. And typically, the moment she

sought to control the vision, it ended. It was a bit of a pain in that way.


The room was dark and slowly light filled it. It was white. Sterile. Clinical to the point of being hostile. In the room were two beds, no…cots. In each was a baby – blonde curly hair atop each infant’s head. Two men entered the room, their voices now familiar. They pored over the children.

“Perfect work and not easy. Cloning is simple, any fool can do that. And random cloning is too. But to make them identical in every respect except their faces – that takes precision. But why the eyes?”

The vision closed in on the babies and their similar features – and identical lilac eyes.

“They can walk down the street side-by-side and nobody would give them a second glance. But the moment they gaze into each other’s eyes, they will see. They will instinctively know.”

The first man nodded. “They may sense it anyway, there is always the chance of a Force Bond. But we cannot tell for obvious reasons.”

It was the turn of the second man to nod. “What will be will be. Which, of course, is the whole point of the experiment.”

“What is the point, may I ask?”

“You may ask, but I will not say. I am paying handsomely for your services – and that includes your absolute discretion.”



Fiach stirred. Dreams she never remembered, but what of this vision?

@ItsAtrap42
 

Ransom Caldwell

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Standing in the galley of The Kalikori in a recovery robe. Rance nursed a cup of caf while ruminating on recent events. After the better part of a day or two, he was granted the freedom to get up and move about the ship. The recovery was not without event. He'd awoken a few times, attempted to ask questions and move, but was put back under to allow for the setting of his ribs and for the kolto and bacta treatments to run their course. After enough time, he was ordered to "go take a moment for himself, and drink a cup of caf before diving back in to any distressing situations." He followed his doctor's orders as well as his crew followed their own. After all, in this instance, he was outranked.

Rance was thankful for the ship's physician, Dr. Lia Beatty. She was a kind human who, years ago, had signed a post-doctoral research contract with Dr. Caldwell. She was studying frontiersmanship and how it relates to xenozoonosis. She'd had some silly title like, "Planets, Pioneers, Plants, and Poison: Xenozoonosis and the susceptibility of species to alien inputs" Rance had made her rephrase 'alien inputs.' He'd thought it sounded inappropriate. It was the first joke Lia and Rance shared. Dr. Caldwell took a clear interest in her work and it seemed like a very lucrative partnership. Except that it had always bothered Ransom that Lia actually wished that the interns would get sick from some rare plant or animal so that she could not only successfully fulfill their function on the ship, but to add to her dataset. She would never push a fellow crewman into a skungus plant, and she would feel bad that they were in distress, but could certainly enjoy the experience of diagnosing and prescribing treatment. If it resulted in death or disfigurement, Dr. Beatty would strongly caution against it. If it resulted in discomfort and a treatable ailment, she was much more loose with her morals. Rance didn't really mind the motives, she was a good doctor, a kind friend, a trustworthy advisor, and had decided to stay onboard even after her post-doc was done. At this point, Rance, Lia, and Cawdry were a pretty close cohort.

That turned Rance's thoughts to Cawdry. He and the Jedi saved his life. He'd be sure to thank Cawdry in a meaningful way but he couldn't resist his thoughts dwelling on the Jedi more so than his friend. He'd hoped that she would awaken soon. Lia couldn't explain quite what had happened to her. The doctor stated that her vitals were all okay and that she was not suffering from any physical distress. Lia posited a meditative or healing state. Jedi healing trances weren't a secret, and Rance had heard something of them but he wasn't sure if she had been injured. He vaguely remembered her laying hands on him and a warmth associated with that action. But he'd blacked out. Had Rance injured her? Had he hurt the person intending to save him? He wasn't sure but he would ask if it were appropriate. Surely she was strong enough to take care of herself and she wouldn't have allowed herself to be taken aboard--trance or no--if she didn't feel comfortable. Maybe? He took another satisfying sip. Who knew? Rance, while well versed in the philosophies of The Force, was relatively inexperienced when it came to the mysticism and capabilities of a Jedi. He had no way of separating myth and legend from reality. Verbal histories, while extremely useful and valuable in different ways, had a tendency for embellishment and exaggeration.

Regardless, they resigned to leave her be until she brought herself out of it. Ransom had never hosted a Jedi on his ship before--except for the ghost on Illum but that was not a hospitable experience for anyone. Rance wanted to show respect. He had wanted to meet a Jedi his whole life. The teacher had no intention of bungling this.

He took a sip from the caf, synched his robe's belt, and stared into the hot brown liquid attempting to allow his brain to continue processing the insanity of the past two days. With no idea where to start and some newfound and inexplicable curiosity about cloning at the back of his mind, he was relieved to hear a rustle coming from the doorway. He looked up, eager for interaction--contrary to the doctor's orders--and was pleasantly surprised.

"Hello there."

@Corbeau
 
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Fiach Dubh

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Fiach’s temporary state seemed independent of any physical injuries and she herself had no control over the process. A trained Jedi Healer would have answers – not that any were available – and explain how the Force simply acts in mysterious ways. As if that would be a convincing or useful account. But it would be an entirely accurate one. What Fiach had attempted was not without risk and the attendance of another Force user could have speeded up her recovery. But as it stood, she made continued (invisible) progress that coincided with Rance’s recovery. To the point that, once he was diagnosed as fit enough to remain conscious, the Force worked solely on Fiach and in a day or so, she was back to full health in every sense.

When she woke, it took a few moments for her to orient herself. Her ribs felt strange. Not painful or even sore, just…strange. And she had an atypical craving for caf – a drink she never imbibed as a rule.

But apart from that she felt absolutely fine – and lay on the bed, her eyes closed, going over the last things she remembered. There was the fight with the naked Darksider, and the injury to both of the explorers. And she remembered laying hands on the one with the significant injuries and channelling the Force and…that was it. There were odd memories too, but not hers. Dreams? Possibly, but she didn’t think so. Images of harpoons, lances cutting skin, blood being boiled.

She dismissed them and concentrated on her surroundings. The Force was not warning her of impending danger. Her control and understanding of it grew daily – but she suspected she would never be able to receive detailed cautions, just a generic feeling of something being untoward. Often it was counter-productive – the focus on wondering what was amiss blinded you to the impending problem that was evident with the regular senses. But, as a rule, it stood her in good stead.

So, sure she was relatively healthy and safe, she sat up. The feeling of wooziness suggested she may have dehydrated whist asleep – she had no idea how long she’d been, what she presumed was, meditating.

Finding a robe on a trolley, she pulled it on and used the Force to gain her equilibrium and bearings. She sensed people around and one being shone brighter than the rest. The Jedi that the foul creature spoke of? Possibly.

She walked towards the source, her bare feet padding noiselessly on the ship’s floor and finally she reached her destination and pushed on the door. Facing her was the man she’d help save and he was wearing an identical robe.

As he spoke, she bowed slightly (the first of the three she used and the least formal) before replying. “Hello.” Her voice was raspy, having not spoken for a few days. “You wouldn’t happen to have a water, would you?” she added.

@ItsAtrap42
 

Ransom Caldwell

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Ransom returned the bow after it was offered and immediately reacted to her request. Turning around opening the cupboard and snagged the nearest and largest vessel he could find. Filling the inelegant, oversized, plastic University of Denon cup, he gathered his nerves. It took an awkward amount of time to fill considering the volume. Awkwardly not wanting to speak over the trickle of water, he simply waited. He had no idea where to start their conversation. He turned back around and held the comical thing out to her. She drank thirstily and he used the opportunity to fill the void with blather. He'd find the right words in there somewhere.

"Here. Thank you. Sorry. I..." Rance took a breath and collected himself. You have a PhD get it together, he told himself. "My name is Ransom Caldwell and welcome to The Kalikori. My pride and joy. You'll have to forgive my attire, I didn't pick this out but it seems our wardrobe attendants have the same taste. So that's something." He adjusted his belt yet again. "Truly, I owe you a huge debt of gratitude. I'm not sure I nor Cawdry would have made it out of there alive were it not for you." Demonstrating the formal bow, he said "I would endeavor to repay you were I under the impression I had something of comparable value to my life. Perhaps a cup of caf? That seems about right." He said, holding out his mug and risking a sheepish smile.

Having dreamt of meeting a Jedi his whole life, Ransom was nervous. Years he'd spent under the tutelage of his mentors in The Church of the Force and his collegiate studies. So much of that training had to do with the role of the Jedi in the galaxy. Though, they were so sparse he had never really even been confident if he would meet one. Stifling his nervousness, he tried to harness the same inner-strength he'd found when he was defending his dissertation research. Scrutinous as they were, his dissertation board were no Jedi. Though, they may have posited themselves wise, he'd his own doubts about that.

"Forgive me again, I never asked your name."

@Corbeau
 

Fiach Dubh

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Fiach drank steadily but slowly. Being raised on a desert planet have her an appreciation of water that many might not understand. After three long drinks, she placed the container down on a nearby bench. “Thanks,” she said, her voice now close it its usual pitch.

She listened intently and did her best to decipher what was the rambling of someone clearly a little uncomfortable and also competent at banter – the latter being something she was out of her depth in.

“Ransom,” she echoed, as if testing the name for size. “And please, dismiss the notion of being indebted. I do what I do because that is part of my Code. A Code of Honour, essentially. And a core part of that is to help others and never seek recompense. Even gratitude. The Force clearly brought me here for a reason and that involved helping you both escape intact. It was a team effort.”

At the suggestion of payment, Fiach stiffened slightly, but then realised he was joking. “Thanks, but water is good for me,” she replied. “It’s not that I don’t like caf, it’s just that I don’t believe I’ve ever tried it. Water and blue milk are my staples. Isn’t caf laced with a drug? Something addictive?” She made it sound very sinister and if she were joking, she had a dead-pan delivery.

“And oh, sorry, how remiss of me. I am Fiach, Fiach Dubh.” She gave another short bow, still the middle one of the three she offered. “And I, in turn, should thank you for bringing me on board until I fully recovered. Not that I’m entirely sure what from.” She wrinkled her nose as she spoke, clearly considering the thought.

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Ransom Caldwell

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As it was still early in the day with the sun just barely having risen, there was not a lot of noise coming from inside the ship save for their conversation. Dr. Caldwell's protocols insisted that his cohort do not work around the clock in a secure site. Of course when entering a hostile dig site, they would take necessary precautions but under relatively normal circumstances, shifts were designed to keep the crew happy in their work even though it typically took quite a bit longer to get at any reasonable conclusions regarding their dig sites,. He always posited to his students and colleagues that what they are studying has stood the test of time and will still be there when they wake up. If the answers weren't, well then the galaxy was no worse for wear and neither was his team--though this had not happened yet.

"Well, I'd hardly say we're even but I will take you at your integrity and dismiss the notion as you wish. Truth be told, I'm not a big fan of exchange-based relationships anyway. I find them trite and disingenuous." Rance said thinking of how often during his training other scholars were so hell-bent on getting their names published that they withheld critical information at times just to get a byline on another's work. He had never really cared about them. His work would consistently speak for itself. It mattered little how many other names were tacked on to his publishing. Though, those individuals never made the credits higher than his interns. After all, they were the ones doing the brunt of the work. He took a sip of caf as she suggested he retain it looking at the drink.

"We all have our vices. Though I believe there to be a significant difference between the caffeine in a cup of caf and say... death sticks." He said musing shortly thereafter, "Many of the cultures I've visted have used various mind-altering drugs in religious ceremonies and rituals. When they ask you to participate, the scientist has a hard time resisting." He smiled, "I guess you could say my true vice is knowledge and perspective. But no ma'am, I would argue caf is safe but in the same vein as those experiences I would never force it upon you." Looking to the ceiling and raising his eyebrows, "not that I could if I wanted to."

He shook his head, shaming himself for allowing the tangent. "Again, I've lost my manners. It is truly a pleasure to meet you Master Dubh. I have a lot of que--"

With that there was a clamor of feet pounding on the durasteel of The Kalikori nearly upon them. It was Coti Rama, the Faust intern. "Doc, Cawdry just called up. He's found the droid, but it's barricaded behind a heavy door. It's made of the same stuff as the chasm and there seems to be no mechanism to lift it. I don't understand how it could have found it's way in there. He wants to know if you can come take a look if you're feeling up to it."

Rance turned to Fiach, "I hate to cut our conversation short. To be honest, I've been waiting to meet you my whole life and I have so many questions. More now that I've witnessed what I've seen. However, this droid is incredibly elusive and I cannot justify missing the opportunity." He said. "How would you like to join me? Believe it or not, we weren't looking for that monster we found at all. We were searching for a droid with sensitive information regarding some Chiss, the Acolytes of Beyond, and the Grysk. All very dangerous elements. As has become apparent, this droid is surrounded by death. I would not knowingly ask you to put yourself in yet another harrowing position. If you wish to come with, meet me back here in 20 minutes or so?"

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Fiach Dubh

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Fiach smiled. Or rather, her smile widened slightly. She had a tendency to have a happy disposition almost permanently, and so positive actions simply broadened her grin as a rule. “I would not like to think anyone owed me anything,” she said, “and to owe someone else could prove awkward for a Jedi. I mean, as a rule it would be harmless, but there are some you never want to be indebted to. Hutts for one.” The faraway look in her eyes suggested she’d had run-ins with at least one in her time.

“And I could possibly start by stating I have no vices, but hearing your definition brings me up short. It’s something that defies definition in many ways – being highly subjective. I could never turn down a cry for help. That could be a vice. I seek knowledge constantly, so – like you – that could be another. I’m sure if I put my mind to it, I could list more – which suggests I have weaknesses that could be exploited.” She shook her head, “Which is not a good place to be. I should review them…because on that basis, caf is probably a minor corruption.” She remained dead-pan, but her face suggested she wasn’t taking the conversation too seriously.

They were interrupted and Fiach’s interest was genuinely piqued, but she held back any of her own thoughts and questions until the exchange had ended.

Having lowered her eyebrow following the statement that Rance had been waiting to meet her his whole life, she paused before responding. “Firstly, I’m a Knight, not a Master. Not that I mind the promotion, it would be other Jedi that might take offence. Secondly, I’d be delighted to join you,” she was counting the points off on her fingers, “I have lots of questions about the Acolytes and the Grysk, but they can keep and finally, I’ll be ready in ten, but can be patient.”

With that, she returned to the med-bay and dressed. From her pocket, she grabbed a ration pack and protein drink and quickly finished both. They were tasteless and relatively texture-less too – but she saw food as fuel and no more.

Seeing she still had five minutes by her own time-keeping and fifteen by Rance’s, she hurried to the meeting place and sat cross-legged on the floor, meditating. Yes, she’d been in a state similar for some time, but this was different – at least for Fiach. She connected to the Force and emptied her mind of thought and emotion. As she did, all she remembered about the Acolytes and the Grysk came into her consciousness.

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Ransom Caldwell

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"My dear Jedi, I too have questions about the Grysk and the Acolytes. Perhaps we can find these answers together. In the spirit of that notion, I will dress as fast as I can."

With that, they both did the awkward, we've already said goodbye but are heading in the same direction walk. Though, walking in silence with each other seemed natural to him. As if they'd been walking side-by-side for a very long time. He found that curious. Usually his mind was moving so fast that he pinged from one concept to the next--one idea for a future research project to the next. Now however, he felt calm--at peace. He noted this sensation and tried to lock it away in his memory palace. He'd figure out how to return to this state of mind. Ransom's near photographic memory, as his instructors called it, was nowhere near photographic. It was much less photography and more library catalogue. He'd been taught early on by his father and mother the technique of using one's mind's eye to store important information, sensations, feelings, practices, thoughts, and the like into certain rooms in a giant palace imagined in his mind. He could add rooms but only if an item didn't already fit in another. There were no rules, but the more one embraced the spirit of the practice, the better they were at it. Within each room were shelves and lockers, beds and nightstands, each with visualized items that represent that which should be remembered. A book on xenobiology in the palace's aviary. Schematics for the topographic density scanner as a poster on his workshop wall. He would open an imaginary armoire to find an imaginary kalikori - the namesake for his ship - and on each family member's contribution was a nuanced part of Twi'lek history. He'd aced his test on Twi'lek history. For the most part, this was how he did so well in school and what encouraged the Denon Archeological Society to invest so much in him. But no amount of mind palace could prepare him for the road ahead. Everything was new and he was no longer the smartest nor most capable in the room. He was humbled by this.

He nodded and smiled as they parted ways. As his door shut he closed his eyes and centered himself. There was a lot to wrap his head around and he didn't quite know how to continue. He centered himself and said aloud.


"In The Force we trust.
In The Force we believe.
In The Force we are."


Opening his eyes he looked at his equipment cabinet. His environment suit had been somewhat repaired but there was still a large gash across the chest patched together and sealed with reinforce fiber. It would hold just as strong as it did before and truth be told, Rance thought the slash across the chest quite striking and dramatic. Maybe he'd add some color to that. The thought was fleeting. He wasn't prepared to look at that moment with any sort of joviality. He forced himself to mourn and feel bad for the corrupted life that was taken. Rance had killed him. Not finally. But he had killed him. Even if he hadn't survived the death blow, under any normal circumstances had Ransom hurled a lance through someone's body, they'd have surely died. This would would imply he was prepared to take his life.

It would have been the first life Rance had taken. Beasts had met their end as well as some aggressive semi-sentient plants. And sure, he'd been in plenty of fights here and there. He'd been running away from would-be pilferers and poachers when they met their own ends through some sort of accident or decision they'd made in the pursuit. But he'd never been the direct cause of death for anyone. He closed his eyes with tears in them.

He hadn't even hesitated. He'd emptied that man without a second thought.

"In The Force we trust.
In The Force we believe.
In The Force we
are."

He recited again and that calmed him. His conscience spoke to him. If The Force had intended for you to kill him, you would have. You didn't. The Force decided to return his living force to the cosmic force. YOU are NOT that powerful. But I make decisions. I have free will and self determination. I could have done something different. Perhaps when I saw doom flash from my own weapons, I should have associated it with any weapon. Maybe the lesson was that weapons will result in death. That IS the lesson.

"In The Force we trust.
In The Force we believe.
In The Force we
are."

Ransom turned away from his equipment cabinet and to his clothes closet. Donning a simple pair of trousers, boots, a linen shirt, and his favorite Kowakian Ape-Lizard hide Jacket. He looked across the room at his gun belt, turned, and left the room.

Rance's boots echoed as he approached the meditating Jedi.

"Shall we?" He said they walked down the ramp of The Kalikori. Rance immediately noticed how much his team had done in the past few days. Collapsible structures had been erected, the line down the chasm had been anchored to the ship and reinforced two times over into the ground and a repulsorlift platform installed. Large flood lights poured into the chasm and illuminated the abnormal rockface wall and accentuated the mineral deposits within. Coti Rama was waiting on the lift.

"Rance is getting pretty nervous about the droid. Says its threatening to self destruct if we don't leave it alone." He said.

"Then we'd better hurry." Ransom said as he stepped onto the platform and went to put his hands on his belt. Feeling nothing there and a bit silly for not paying attention, he stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket as they descended.

"Jedi Dubh, have you ever seen anything like this? Surely you've seen quite a bit in your travels." Dr. Caldwell asked.

@Corbeau
 
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Fiach Dubh

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Fiach’s mind pulled from its archives what she knew of the Acolytes of the Beyond and the Grysk.

It was typical for children – especially uneducated ones – to imagine that they are typical. Like everyone else. Fiach did not attend school and assumed, quite wrongly, that everyone was just like her. It wasn’t until she reached the Order and spoke to the Masters there that she realised just how different she was.

She was instantly dubbed a cold-fish by other Padawans. She lacked empathy, in fact she lacked emotions and failed to understand social interactions. At the time she – and the Order – put it down to simply how her mind worked. It was not unique to Fiach. But in using the Force, she discovered she had emotions, buried deep down. It seemed, as she researched her past and pieced together what she knew, that she was something of a natural empath. Being an untrained Force-sensitive and an empath meant that, at a young age, her mind would be full of other’s thoughts and emotions. So much so that it would be overwhelming. So, logically, the Force put up a barrier in her mind. And in doing so, it must have also stopped her own emotions translating from chemical reactions to conscious thoughts and feelings. With great effort, she could lower her defences, but it was like taking a dam away. What she aspired to do, one day, was to install a tap!

But the mind tends to compensate and a brain devoid of all emotions focused entirely on logic. And she found that, quite naturally, she could recall any given fact she’d read or seen. All she had to do was think about the event and she could not only recite a page from a book word for word, but tell you the date and time she read it, what the time was, the weather and even what she was wearing.

So, she relived days in the library and the books she’d read and reviewed all she could remember about the two subjects.

She was aware that Rance was advancing and so she opened her eyes and stood gracefully. She nodded her agreement to proceed and fell into step with the scientist turned archaeologist. She was unsure quite how to classify him – and then she remembered the voice in her head. But before she could ask the question that came rushing to her lips, news of the droid stopped her short.

“Call me Fiach, please,” she began. Jedi Dubh sounded way too formal to her ears. It was a title she’d reserve for diplomatic meetings. “I’ve seen plenty of strange things – but they all had one thing in common. They could all be explained. Even random and inexplicable happenings invariably came down to logic and reason.”

“And droids, especially old ones, can have quite…”
she seemed to search for an appropriate word, interesting personalities.” The tone suggested she reserved the word ‘interesting’ for times when it was a polite way of saying something negative. “My own R2 unit, although upgraded many times over, still has its original memory intact. It makes it very knowledgeable, but a trifle brusque. And some of its language is not for young ears. So, maybe this droid is going the robotic equivalent of senile. Or maybe it is protecting something it was charged to do so at all costs. In truth, we won’t know until we get there.”

“Oh, and one thing I may be able to help with,”
she raised her left hand and turned it over, so her fingers were pointing upwards – like a spider on its back. A faint purple glow emanated from her fingers and the occasional spark jumped from one to another. “It’s a Jedi ability and allows me to overload circuits. If I need to, and I’m gentle enough, I could temporarily shut the droid down. Long enough that you could take a look at it and ascertain its level of danger to your crew.”

@ItsAtrap42
 

Ransom Caldwell

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"Well isn't that something." Rance said. He'd certainly jot that trick down in his journal tonight. "A useful skill, no doubt. Though I think we both would prefer the droid engage with us willingly. Though with our luck this far, you may just have to zap it. Regarding the inexplicable, I'm willing to bet the team will have a decent report for us when we get there. They're no slouches and this is truly exciting work. We get to see parts of the galaxy few even know exist!" Rance said, gesturing at ground torn asunder all around them. "And let's be honest, how often do you see a naked maniac float in the air, recover from a mortal wound, ramble incessantly, and invade your mind. Top notch stuff if you ask me. By the way, we should really talk about what happened when we get a chance." Moving at a steady pace, the lift trudged on down into the chasm. Rance was pleased that this ride was much less eventful than the previous. "It will be much nicer going through this place knowing that thing isn't here anymore."

Finally, the lift came to a gentle halt and they were greeted by Risho. In the gurgled low tones of the Selkath language she offered, "Hi Doc, it's good to see you're well. I'll get right to it." She said turning and walking away, as if it was not a question that they were to follow. "We've been very busy testing inert systems by powering them and have come to the same conclusion Cawdry said you had. This was a floor where they processed Purrgil, or some large space-faring beast similar. That's not what's interesting. Well, let me rephrase, that's not the only interesting thing. Once we gave it a kick-start with our own power sources. Some sort of alternator began working, and that pool that was below--you know, the thing nudie-boy came out of, started to empty and there was this crazy light-show." It was getting harder to keep pace with her as she excitedly carried on. "Now notice, I haven't even mentioned the droid."

"Yes I was going to ask about th--"

"After we did that, the droid who had before simply just barricaded itself into the room, which wasn't that big of a deal--we were going to wait for you to be well to decide how to proceed--Doc, it started freaking out."

"Slow down Risho."

She halted mid-stride and Rance nearly ran into her, holding his hand out to prevent his new Jedi friend from doing the same. She turned after taking a moment. "It tapped into the PA and started speaking some language we didn't understand and then began cycling through others--few, if any, were recognizable. We called down Pete--" Rance's eyes widened with confusion and Riso offered, "You know Pete. Kid from Serrano, kinda pedantic, speaks a lot of languages. Rich kid?" He shook his head again. "Anyway, he finally heard one he recognized and began communicating with the droid."

"What language was it?" Rance said, curious.

"Cheunh"

His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed in frustration. "Wait-- You're telling me you guys didn't try that first?"

"What do you mean, Doc?" She countered.

"The message we first found was in Cheunh!" Ransom managed to choke out between clenched teeth.

The silence was deafening. Risho didn't move and then suddenly she was illuminated. "Oh yeah. Right. That makes total sense."

"What did it say?!" He said, trying too not throttle her in front of his new Jedi friend, instead choosing to continue the jaunt downstairs. They hadn't much left to go.

Risho hurried to catch up calling. "That if we didn't shut the system down it would blow us all to hell. So we did--we shut it down and it went quiet again."

Rance needed more information. "It used those words?" he said as they began descending the steps.

"Yessir. As best as Pete could translate, I suppose. I trust it."

Rance looked up and back at Fiach. "There's your eccentricity." Turning back and continuing on he almost regretted saying, "Okay, Risho, Is there anything else?"

"Well. Did you want to see the holocron? I'm almost one hundred percent sure that the holocron and the scrimshaw artwork came from here. Is it weird to say that the closer it got to this place, the heavier it felt?"

Rance missed a step almost fell over into the rotunda. He had almost completely forgotten about the holocron. "Where is it?"

"Right over there!" She said pointing across the room to a small table with a red glow above it. "I don't know. Like I said, it felt," she stammered a bit. "I don't know. It felt less fragile the closer it got to this place. And then it started turning red, my stomach started hurting, and I haven't touched it since." She hurriedly explained. Her speech increasing in speed as if she had to force it out.

Ransom considered walking over to it and even began moving that direction but he stopped himself. "Holocrons are Jedi business. Fiach," Ransom said turning to her, "I defer to your leadership on that matter. If it pleases the you, I can attend to the droid while you explore the nature of the holocron? Perhaps if we evaluate them separately we might come to different conclusions regarding the nature of this odd facility. It would make sense that based off of what we learned independently, some more accurate truth may be in a marriage of our unique perspectives."

@Corbeau
 
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Fiach Dubh

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Fiach knew her place. She was a guest. A useful guest no doubt, but a guest nonetheless. Whatever she did here, would be at Rance’s behest – unless of course she sensed overwhelming danger, when the niceties of being asked would be put aside for the welfare of those present.

So, she listened and observed. She was about to say how often she’d seen and experienced things that involved maniacs levitating, awesome feats of the Force and invade her mind – when she realised it would appear churlish. To Rance, this was a once in a lifetime experience – so she should accept that and not look to go ‘one better.’

And she nodded at the possibility of discussing what they’d seen, but like so many questions that were buzzing inside her head, she would have to park it for now.

Most of what she heard she already knew. Droids freaking out was out of the ordinary, but not unheard of. If it had a deep-seated loyalty to its former master, she could well believe it capable of almost anything to uphold its mission. Having said that, the turn of phrase was unusual and she wondered if it was actually part of the mission brief?

The mention of a holocron definitely caught her attention. She wondered why she hadn’t sensed anything, but then this site was full of energy and it was quite possible that it was inert, or even being protective of itself. Maybe it sensed a Jedi presence and hoped to be overlooked?

Fiach’s eyes followed the woman’s extended finger and wondered how she could have missed it – even without the Force. Clearly it was not inert, not based upon how the woman had felt near it. She nodded when Rance suggested she take over its review, whilst he tackled the droid.

Absent-mindedly, she headed towards the red glow. Now she sensed it, or maybe it sensed her. Suddenly, her bones seemed disjointed, her muscles lax, without tone. Her disobedient body ignored the subconscious commands to walk. Deep in her veins, she felt the familiar black sludge. And deeper still, faint but insistent, she heard a gleeful, spiteful whisper.

Die Jedi

Fisch closed her eyes and emptied her mind, looking to connect to the Force. These assaults on her mind and body weren't personal. Sith often set up safeguards, mental booby traps, to protect treasures from any Jedi who might stumble across them. Sometimes it was even the gatekeeper who was responsible – but less often. The gatekeeper was invariably keep to entrap – not remain unmolested. The chance of turning a Jedi would be enticing to any Sith gatekeeper.

The Sith voice in her head, the voice imploring her to die, that wasn't personal. The Sith hated all Jedi equally. They wanted every Jedi to perish and would stop at nothing to achieve that goal.

Die Jedi, die

Fear slithered into her stomach like a snake. She suffocated it, as her Master had taught her. Don't feed the Dark side. Stay focused. And stay positive.

Step by slow step, she inched towards the table until finally she reached the holocron and in her left hand, scooped it up and stared at it.

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Ransom Caldwell

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Ransom's skin never stopped crawling. He was relieved he was going to evaluate the droid because engaging with whatever energy that holocron was giving off, did not excite him. Though, he reserved a spot in his conscious mind to keep an ear out for Fiach. Strong as she may be, the force always had the potential to throw curve balls. He would want to be there if she faced any peril.

The low chatter came to a halt as Ransom approached the members of his team standing outside what they had deduced was the control room.

"Still inside?" Rance said as he approached the group who were all huddled over the same datapad as it showed security cam footage of inside the room. Though oddly, the droid's image was obscured. They could make out the size but not the shape or any other distinguishing characteristics.

"Yeah, Doc. We managed to hack into the local server and monitor what its doing in there. It has been jacked in ever since we fired up the system. It hasn't moved since we shut it back down." Cawdry reported.

"And it hasn't said anything to anyone about anything since."

"No sir."

"Very well. Can we get the door open?"

"We haven't tried yet. We didn't know what the droid was capable of and didn't want to run the risk without your input."

"Give it a shot."

Cawdry nodded to one of the other students and they began tapping away at their datapad-which was clumsily linked to an interface under the primitive computer. A few clicks and a few negatory beeps rewarded their efforts. After a few attempts, followed quickly by apologies, the door hissed open and the droid disconnected and whirled on Ransom as he stood in the open doorway. Before he could get a good look at it, it loosed a blaster bolt and Rance ducked around the corner, the bolt flying through the opening where Rance previously stood. In Cheunh, Rance called out around the corner.

"I mean you no harm. Stand down. We have no intention of restarting the machines. I only have a few questions."

The droid returned, "The hunt cannot be allowed to continue. You will not continue the hunt. All will suffer if you do. I cannot let you."

Rance slowly came around the corner only to be met by hurtling plasma searing into the door sill as he yanked his head back behind cover. The archaeologist brushed particles of stone off his face and looked over to Fiach who had taken no notice of the happenings. She was deeply focused on the holocron. He made no move to distract her. Though he had a feeling he would not be able to if he tried. He refocused his attention on his problem in the here and now. One issue at a time.

"Again, I mean you no harm. I am unarmed. May I step in and speak with you? I have many questions and maybe I can help you stop the hunt."

There was a distinct pause. "How could you do this?"

"That is what I was hoping to discuss with you. May I enter?"

"You may enter alone or all are blown to hell."


Rance entered. Alone. What he saw was a large droid seemingly made of some kind of hardened mineral.

"Where do we begin?" Rance asked.

"At the start. Long ago."
 
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Fiach Dubh

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Walking toward the stand that held the holocron on it, her mind was beginning to find conscious thought a challenge. Worse still, the act of walking felt like she was underwater – travelling against a strong current. Fiach lowered her head and pressed on – feeling the drag against her body not physically but mentally. But worse, much worse, was the sensation of abhorrence that coursed through every fibre of her body.

She had experienced holocrons before – and even a Sith one. But that had been latent – and although it gave off an aura, it was low-level. And her research had suggested that a gatekeeper would typically seek to corrupt a Jedi, not push them away. Did this mean this was not a regular holocron, or that the gatekeeper had a different agenda? Perhaps the actions to date had activated some defence mechanism within the structure – and she was now feeling its effects?

The urge to give up and turn away was almost irresistible. Capitulate. Yield. Leave and find peace once more. Let the darkness exist alone. Let the pain she now felt ebb and go. But that would make her a failure as a Jedi. The Order deserved better. Surrender might end in the death of all those around her.

It occurred to her then, with a clarity that was startling, given the metaphorical storm around and inside her, that her views on attachment may be misguided. Not wrong, just in need of review.

It was still true, she was sure, that attachment could weaken a Jedi’s resolve. But it could also strengthen it…as she was buoyed by her need to help others. Perhaps without the need to protect them, she might have failed.

And so, leaning on that thought as some kind of crutch, she continued to press on.

Feeling awkward and entirely out of sorts – because the Light side had been denied her, because the Dark side was so dominant here, because her body wanted to submit to it, she pushed ever closer.

The moment she touched the table the holocron rested upon, it began to tremble. And the trembling magnified until it convulsed. It felt wrong to attribute such a human act to an inanimate object – yet it felt entirely right too. Where, until now the Dark side was the poison in her veins, now she began to sense she was the toxin that the holocron wished to be free of.

And the voice in her head screamed now – not a mere shout, but a screech that scraped against the very insde of her skull.

DIE JEDI, DIE

She reached out. In her mind’s eye she simply extended her hand but what she saw happening was a slow-motion parody of the act. But, eventually, her hand closed around the holocron and they felt as though her fingers were on fire.

She closed her eyes and relaxed – no longer fighting the sensations the holocron was throwing at her. And…abruptly…it ended.

She felt the Light side enter her body, like oxygen filling a vacuum. And like an asphyxiating individual, she sucked in the Force like it was air.

Opening her eyes, she stared at what she now held: an ancient black glass pyramid, Sith sigils tracing its surface blood-red.

It felt alive in her fingers, vibrant with hate and rage and fear and loathing. Vibrant with raw power. Alive with the Dark side as she had never felt it before, or ever thought to.

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Ransom Caldwell

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When the droid awkwardly sat down on the floor, Rance was immediately disarmed and followed suit. He pulled out his datarecorder and set it on the floor between them. "Do you mind if I record you? I'm Rance by the way."

The droid actually laughed at the question. "I am a recording. You see, I am an old droid. My parts are no longer in service and my masters no longer alive. I am a Galactic Interface Lexicon model forty-two. Gil is what my masters called me. Galactic Interface Lexicons are primarily data recording models from the High Republic. This particular unit was tasked to serve the Jedi of that era and I have been in rotation serving to those ends for approximately two-thousand years. More specifically, my master, Karam Draedus, loved wildlife. He was a Jedi healer and scientist and would roam the galaxy curing odd diseases, touring the outer rim and wild space to stop viral outbreaks. He'd spend weeks retooling Kolto and Bacta strains to optimize their efficiency, he travelled far and wide and healed many. I never knew another Jedi to say one bad word about him. Always cheerful, he would go about his work changing the galaxy for the better until tragedy struck..."

Ransom sat eagerly and quietly listened.

"...Master Draedus was on a mission when it happened. A planet-wide viral outbreak occurred on a rural planet in Wild Space. The only reason my master got news of it was because of the wide swath of networks he had established in the region. His hard work over decades was paying off. After spending weeks skipping around the galaxy and facing limitless peril, he collected enough ingredients to manufacture an antivirus that would have cured most, if not all, of the inhabitants of the planet. But his mission failed due to a collision in the middle of a hyperspace jump. All hands were lost with the exception of my master. His force sensitivity barely gave him the focus he needed in order to seal off the bulkhead as his ship was venting into space. He was adrift for years. Using a combination of only two-month's rations, meditation, and healing trances, he was able to survive. To be honest, I'm not sure if my master ever truly walked off that ship ever again. He took it incredibly hard and after the incident, he had changed. Darkness had begun to overtake him."

"Because of the Purrgil he was never able to get to the planet to heal them."

"In his eyes, he did not understand how The Force could allow such a thing to happen. He was clearly on the side of benevolence and good, especially when he was such a successful healer. As A Jedi he was trained that there was no coincidence. So how could the one in a million chance that a herd of Purrgil were crossing his path at just that exact moment, be? So he had to rationalize the existential dread of Free Will against the will of The Force and he failed. He fell into a trap of causality and revenge. 'If only I could have been faster,' 'If only those dreaded beasts hadn't ran into me,' 'If the Jedi hadn't been so reticent to send us out to the outer rim, the planet wouldn't have died, my crew wouldn't have died, I wouldn't have died' It was the last notion that he couldn't shake. He felt as if he had indeed died on that ship and was a shell of something that once was. And so... he fell."

"To the Dark Side of the Force."

"He saw it as a means to an end. If he could wipe out the Purrgil, no one would suffer from their terror any longer. Except what he didn't realize, is that they're sentient and much more numerous than we know. Nevertheless, that didn't stop Karam. He absconded with millions of credits worth of Jedi resources and began The Second Great Hunt. Except this time, they weren't terantatek, wyrms, or dark side abominations of any kind. He knew that he would not be able to do it alone. So he returned to the planet scoured by his failure and rallied the survivors under a different title--one they would not recognize--Sult. The longer he stayed on the planet the more he grew in hatred. He rebuilt their society around one principle, the eradication of their enemy and the profit that lies therein. For all intents and purposes, he had created an intergalactic fishing community--though far more barbaric. Eventually, using the combined resources of his kills, the planet, and the survivors, he slowly evolved his machinations. Growing his operation to include multiple planets and communities, enlisting hunters, smugglers, scavengers, and anyone who would sign on, he used his scientific knowledge to track and slaughter the animals. His goal was extinction. He knew he could not see his goal to fruition in one lifetime. So as with most fallen Jedi, he feared death most of all. He began frantically trying to figure out how he could speed up the culling process or slow his aging. He succeeded in both."

"How'd he manage that?"

"As the Sith do and have for thousands of years, feeding off their enemies and fueling their will with rage. In his travels he found a Sith holocron that told him how to drain life from force-sensitive beings. And Purrgil are very, very force sensitive. His prey was his salvation. He would use the blood of his drained enemies two-fold. One would be alchemized into a bath and salve that had restorative properties. One such pool existed just behind you, that one will never work again--I have seen to that. The second is a sort of refined hyperspace fuel. Sult learned that Purrgil feed on Clouzon-36 in order to fuel their hyperspace and interdimensional travel. They metabolize the gas and then send an electric current through it in order to activate their ability. Sult saw this as an opportunity to change the face of lightspeed travel. He would harvest the metabolized lightspeed fuel and use it to chase them down, thus taking away their primary defense mechanism and striking a two-fold victory against his enemy. He would not age and they could not run. But they were still faster no matter what he did to his ships. Something about the way their bodies amplified the effects of their jumping. Couple that with the reality that his body was breaking down and he adjusted his plan. He turned his workforces and resources to constructing a massive and powerful new body. He rendered, reused, and forged new flesh. It was here on Lysatra where he achieved the ruin he so desperately clamored for. While this is in no way the only refinery, it is where he constructed his Leviathan and ripped it from the crust of this world. Drawing iridium from the stone to infuse with the fleshy mass he was constructing in the chasm, he'd divined a new body. A virtually indestructible killing machine."

"Are you saying The Leviathan, IS Sult?" Rance offered, bemused.

"That is exactly what I'm saying. You're astute for a human. Not blinded by disbelief. You will need this in the times to come. Yes, through Dark Science and Sith Magik he has fused his body with the plated fleshy mass that is the Leviathan. Though now he is unable to walk the path of anything other than destruction. His hunger demands Purrgil. And nothing more."

"Pardon me for saying but, would not perhaps the galaxy be better off if the Purrgil weren't menacing the hyperspace lanes anymore?" Rance said, shaming himself for asking. He knew the answer already, he knew they were sentient, and he had bonded with that one in the past. He chided himself quietly. Still, the droid showed patience.

"Firstly, the Purrgil are sentient and genocide cannot be allowed by any Jedi, ever. I am a Jedi's droid, therefore I share this mandate by proxy. Secondly, I should not have to explain that all things live in balance with one another. The Purrgil have very few natural predators. This ensures that they can easily travel the galaxy doing what they do best."

"And what is that?"

"What is what?"

"What do they do best?"

"Maintenance. How completely the Purrgil contribute to the galactic ecosystem is still a mystery. Though, after my master fell to the dark side, the council tasked me with monitoring him from as far out as possible. Keeping track of his fishing lanes and hunting patterns was no easy task. The Jedi didn't consider Purrgil sentient and deemed that they had larger problems to deal with. After a while, I was forgotten along with Karam Draedus. Years later an algorithm brought to my attention that the more successful Sult was, the more hyperspace lane-ejections and miscalculations. His work was having the opposite effect of what he'd intended. People died. Correlation does not causation make, yes. But it stands to reason that those two seemingly related pieces are indeed that. Related. By culling the Purrgil population, he was causing irreparable damage to our hyperspace lanes.

"Didn't you say your mission was to stop him? How can you stop anything this powerful."

"It is not just him. Many Grysk work as his informants, scouts, and spotters. They beam information to his pet planet and he goes hungrily onward roaming the galaxy while his men trap, hunt, and continue to refine every Purrgil they see. This has been going on for a very long time. I had been long forgotten in a heap until I was reactivated by a member of The Church of the Force. That was just following the Jedi Purge and thus I had no mandate, no people, no home. So I followed the instructions of the Church and pursued my old master. Yet, I could not find him. The Empire was no friend of the Jedi so I enlisted the help of The Chiss Ascendancy. If you know anything about Chiss hyperspace travel, you know it is as unique as the Purrgil. It was only after I found them that I learned of this site on Lysatra. An old inhabitant of it, Eli Vanto, a human living among the Chiss oddly enough, told me of this chasm and that some of his people were once space-faring, big-game hunters like the ones I'd described. When I got here, the apparition you defeated, an Acolyte of Beyond gatekept my master from me and threw me in this room. Little did he know that I could lock him in here as long as I wanted, so I did. Sillisk killed my Chiss research team and took me here. He thought me trapped, but he had sealed his own doom, instead. What he saw as a random hole in the wall was a hundreds year old terminal jack that only older models such as me have the ability to access. It was easy keeping him locked in this tomb. Though, when I plugged in, the computer recognized my ID code and an encrypted passage played, it was one line and it was meant for me specifically, it read GIL, you have to stop me before it's too late. My master seemingly gave me a last command as he felt himself slipping into darkness and as it turns out, you and your friends are the best equipped to help me achieve my last command."

"How then did Sillisk learn of you? Enough to hijack your Chiss escort?"

"Baran Bo Odar, my master from The Church of the Force left a journal that speaks a little about our hunt for Karam, er... Sult. Sillisk had hunted Odar quite some time until he gave up. After he learned of Odar's death, he raided his belongings and learned of me. By that time I had been stuck on the ruins of Jeddha trying to track down my old master when I met Aristocra Droc of the Ascendancy. She was greatly interested in the story and worked it out so I could be taken to this site with a survey team. The survey team turned out to be under the control of the Grysk in service of Sillisk and my master. I dispatched them but had no time to course correct before Sillisk overtook me and forced me here."

Rance shook his head and stood up holding his hand out to the droid to help it up from its own seated position.

"What's say we get you out of here and try and get in contact with Droc."

"Unfortunately, my programming restricts me from taking orders from anyone other than a Jedi or Odar."

"Does it matter than Odar was my mentor?"

This took the droid quite a long time to process before it had an answer.

"While remarkable, it does not. There are no protocols for beneficiaries. Under the circumstances, only a Jedi will do."

Rance keyed his comm, "Cawdry, can you ask Fiach to come over here?"

"Sorry Doc, She's not moving, eyes rolled in the back of her head. A lot of crazy lights coming from the other end of the rotunda. Been like that for some time." Cawdry replied.

"Is she okay?! Don't just leave her."

"She doesn't appear to be in any external danger, I'd assume she's wrestling with whatever that holocron is doing." Came back through the comm. Rance sighed.

"My Jedi is indisposed at the moment. Surely there is something we can do." The droid seemed to consider this but shook its head.

"Unfortunately no."

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Fiach Dubh

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Perhaps the holocron no longer saw her as a threat. Or maybe it saw an opportunity to corrupt her, to turn her to the Dark Side. Or…well, there were countless reasons for the abrupt change (although Fiach only counted 23 during the moments between her previous state and her present condition).

Suddenly, and without warning, the room returned to normal and, cradled in her hand, Fiach felt the holocron. The taint of the Dark side remained – but in a way that she was more used to. And, given the previous moments had felt like the greatest Dark-sided nexus in the galaxy, she was able to deal with its presence. She took a deep breath and once again connected deeply with the Force.

Was it her imagination, or did the holocron vibrate as she did? She had never heard of holocrons of any denomination reacting negatively to the use of the Force. But then, she’d never been this close to one, let alone hold one in her hand.

She scrutinised the device, turning it between her fingers and looking to make sense of the markings – but to no avail.

“Can’t read Sith?” came a voice. No it was less than a voice, but not something she’d imagined, or that had originated in her own mind. It was echoing and dry, like the sound of leaves devoid of all moisture, being trampled underfoot in a cave.

“No,” she responded, honestly.

Then, unbidden, a small image of a cloaked figure appeared above the holocron. Somewhat like you’d see from a holoprojector. She knew this must be the gatekeeper. A facsimile of the creator of the Holocron, or at least the person whose memories and knowledge were used to create it.

“Would you like me to teach you?” the diminutive image asked.

Fiach shook her head. “No,” she added, by way of reinforcement.

There was a long pause. “Ask away?”

“Sorry?”

“Your questions. I sense them. Ask me anything you want?”

The truth was that Fiach really wanted to know about the construction of the apparatus she held in her hand. About the physical construction and also how a mental imprint could be added whilst the donor was still alive. But she knew she had to put personal curiosity aside and focus on the task at hand. Lives may be at risk.

She paused again, aware she should choose her words carefully. This was still a Sith holocron after all and she had to be wary. She was a seasoned Knight now, but just a Knight and could not afford to be complacent when faced with such a powerful and ancient artefact.

“Are there other sites like this?”

“Yes.”

That seemed painless, but she knew that to continue to ask closed questions would take too long. However, open questions could result in misinformation.

“Can you tell me the locations, or rather, will you tell me?”

“I’ll answer both questions.” Now it was the gatekeeper’s turn to pause. “I can tell you and I will tell you – but you will need to do something in return.”

Fiach’s eyes narrowed. If she conceded now, she would be giving all power to the holocron, and to even ask the price would be perceived as a weakness. She decided to change tack instead.

“Is the creator of this place still alive?”

The gatekeeper cocked his head and Fiach felt a surge of Dark-sided power. But before she could put up any defences, it evaporated. “Probably.” The tone of voice suggested the question was something the gatekeeper felt beneath it to answer.

Fiach stifled an audible sigh. She wasn’t making good progress. “What is their purpose?”

Now the gatekeeper sounded positively bored. “It’s a power station, nothing more.”

“And what does it power?”

“A leviathan. You are familiar?”

“With the old Sith Leviathan? I’ve heard the legends.”

“Not legends, facts. But compared to the power of the Dark-side, a mere toy. When will they ever learn?”

Convinced this was getting her somewhere, and without the risk of being duped, she continued at pace.

“And the blood is important, yes?”

“Refined purrgil blood creates a hyper-potent fuel that holds regenerative properties as well as a rare combustion type that allows for more efficient use, better reliability, and quicker speeds…apparently.”

Fiach nodded. “Why are you telling me this so freely?”

The gatekeeper laughed, and a shiver went down Fiach’s spine. “I sense you find all this information tedious. A necessary detail to complete a mission. But it does not excite you, does it?”

Fiach maintained her best poker-face.

“You cannot hide the truth that is as plain as the nose on your face. Knowledge. You live for it – and I have countless lifetimes worth of it. And not just Sith-based information, I know so much about the Force – more than any living Jedi could share."

Somehow, Fiach knew this to be true. All of it. It was, in many ways, her greatest weakness. The thing she had yet to learn to let go was knowledge.

“Yes, I seek information. I appreciate a full and rounded gathering of data to inform my decisions.”

The gatekeeper snorted. “You underplay your desire. And we both know I mean more than knowledge about history. Or rather, generic Jedi history.”

Fiach eyed the gatekeeper suspiciously.

“Your sister. All you have to do is ask.”

Fiach drew in a deep breath and placed the holocron back on the table, turning her back on it and walking briskly from the room.

“Manuk...”

“We’re done.”

“For now…” The words echoed in her head as she strode away from the device. She immediately bumped into one of Rance’s interns.

“I’ve finished here,” she said emphatically. “Can you take me to Rance?”

@ItsAtrap42
 

Ransom Caldwell

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His mind swimming, Rance made a point to exercise his ability to store detailed information in the annals of his mind. somewhat satisfied, he nodded and made a small bow,

"Would you permit me to leave and rejoin you in a moment?"

"I will do this."

"Thank you. I will go confer with my cohort and see if I can't do something that'll help us both. How long can you wait?"

"Thousands of years."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Rance nodded his head respectfully and left the control room. Fiach had just been ushered over.

"Boy do I have news for you. I managed to get quite a bit of information from the droid."

"And I the holocron. Though I am reticent to trust everything it says, I am not sensing deception in its content. There is however, certainly foul intent and it is very clearly gatekeeping what it shares and with whom."

"I had an opposite problem regarding information but my result was still unsatisfactory..."

The two exchanged their recent experiences but all it did was raise more questions. As everything always did. Rance peered over The Jedi's shoulder at the holocron still humming in the distance as she explained what had happened. As if waiting for her to finish, immediately following a very clear voice came from the direction of the holocron.

Seeker of knowledge, come to me for I have much and am willing to share...

Rance's eyes darted to Fiach and he immediately noticed she had heard it too. Moreover, she had noticed that he had heard it but none of the interns had. This was not like Sillisk's telepathy. The Jedi studied Rance closely, realizing a fundamental truth. The Force spoke to him as it did any force user she had ever met but he had yet to see that for what it was. Remaining silent as she weighed her options, she contemplated this significance. Rance wasted no time.

"Did you hear that?" He asked. "I thought that was going to end after we defeated Sillisk back there"

"That was not to everyone, historian." Cawdry shot Rance a quizzical stare as she said this. "That came directly from the holocron. In order to hear such things, one must be touched by the force. You, Ransom Caldwell, are apparently one such person. You say this droid will only take commands from a Jedi? I would like to try something. Are you willing to trust me?"

"I am willing." He replied, his mind uncharacteristically clear of the anxieties and unsureness he usually felt. A strange calm came over him the minute he communicated this to her. It was as if there was no doubt in his mind about what was to come. Though, he had never knew it a possibility or even entertained the notion beyond the fantasies of a child who grew up on stories.

"Then sit." And they sat. "Close your eyes and forget that you can see, or hear, or feel, or taste, and deny your equilibrium control over your perception. Exist but try not to be. Let go, and trust The Force to show you what you need to see."

Ransom was no stranger to meditation but it had never quite worked for him. But he tried again anyway. He had usually tried to calm his mind and think about nothing but he must have been coming at it the wrong way. His mind raced about the prospect of what was happening but he stamped his excitement down. He thought about her words. She was a Jedi, she chose them carefully. She said forget and trust. Exist but try not to be. What did that mean? This almost pulled him out of his meditation but he ejected the doubt from his mind. Baran Bo Odar had schooled him extensively on the philosophies behind force meditation but in practice it was turning out to be a much more difficult thing altogether. What was he getting wrong? Then it struck him. Equilibrium. To Rance, he was still allowing himself to feel as if in a place in space. He knew he was in the chasm. He knew what was around him. Trying to imagine oneself in space and then to deny that that is the truth demanded a different perspective. He must remember that he did not indeed know anything. Walking his mind out of his body, he imagined looking down on the planet where he was and charting the planet's orbit and rotation so that were he at this point in space during a different time he would be looking at the vacuum that is the black void of the cosmos. Then as if unlocking a third eye, the galaxy whirled around that point in space as everything spun in orbit at blinding speeds and then...

Nothing.

Then singing.

He said aloud, "I hear singing, coming from deeper in the cave. It's as if it's a song I've never heard but know all the words to. It is the most beautiful sound I've ever witnessed. I don't know how to explain it but the sound is ... filling my heart and so very enriching. It is as if it is a song of my soul" He cut himself short when he heard something else.

Stop now, That life will only bring more killing. I can give you what you seek. The song is a lie. The chorus is death. Break the chains that bind you to what you think you know.

"No!" He yelled and the trance was over just after it started. Yet, it was as if Rance could still hear the singing. Not nearly as loud, and it certainly didn't fill him with the overwhelming elation he had just felt. But he could follow the 'sound.' He stood to go but realized he had completely forgotten about Fiach and his promise to trust her. He looked to her.

"This you do alone." She said cryptically. "May the Force be with you."

Rance turned and walked across the room to a different corridor that led deeper into the chasm. The singing got louder and louder as he pressed on. reciting to himself repeatedly.

"In the force we trust
In the force we believe
In the force we are."


All of a sudden, the singing changed to a terrible chanting. As the tone changed the walls of the shaft began to melt and twist around him. Crags looked as teeth and and the floor turned into a maw--a terrible toothed leviathan swallowed him whole and he landed hard into a pit filled with rotting corpses, viscera, and fleshy masses piled in the center, glowing bioluminescent walls with pulsing veins, and a machine suspended from the corners of the beast's stomach had what appeared to be a man seared into it. What looked like suspension cables, Rance now realized were tubes. They were cycling something in and out of the man--or was it machine? The air was vague and opaque--similar to the vision with the lance--blurred and hazy. He couldn't be sure of anything he was seeing. Nevertheless, Rance stood up from his fall, his clothes wet with gore and the stench of death permeating every fiber of the environment. He had no illusions as to who... or what... he was looking at. Never mind the details.

"Sult, I cannot allow your slaughter to continue..." He said stepping forward in challenge to the apparition.

Yet you come unarmed. Surely you, of all people, should know the dangers of denying oneself the truth. Knowledge is power. Power is will. Will is The Force.

"That... is a misrepresentation." He could hear the singing attempting to overcome the chanting. The sounds of brightness and hope struggling against the guttural impulses of the darkness.

Is it? From a certain point of view this is a fundamental law of reality. If the Force wills it then it must be. Is that not so, little scholar? Are you not a student of the Cosmic and Living Force? Do you not succumb to its wishes when required?

"That is still a misrepresentation. It's far more complex than that." Rance could feel the Force swirling around him, trying desperately to keep him from falling into the trap.

Is it? If the Force is in all living things and we have no control over its will, then how can you say that I misrepresent it?

"Because you are evil and you lie." He felt the force slipping from him. He almost panicked. That was the wrong answer.

Lie? I have not lied to you. What need would I have of lying to you? You pose no threat to me. You assume because of my appearance and my circumstance that I am evil. What if I told you this was my sacrifice for the betterment of the galaxy--that I live as the Force Wills it. If it did not will it so, then why would it keep me alive for so long? The chanting grew louder, drowning out near everything Ransom could hear of the music.

He struggled with this for a moment then said, "You are a destructive power." But knew it a weak rebuttal. He wasn't even sure if the singing was still going on.

Rivers destroy mountains and rivers give life

"Mountains are not sentient." He said exasperatedly. "There is no justification for this." He was getting closer to his truth. The singing nearly audible again.

The Force is in all things, including the rock. The rock is no different in The Force from you or I.

"No. Those are thinking rational beings and you are removing their right to self-determinism." Closer, still. He almost had it. The singing was growing louder. Nearer now to drowning out the entirety of the chanting.

A necessary evil. The apparition yawped.

"No evil is necessary, Sith." The chorus erupted as the phantom shrieked a terrible cry and flew at him, tubes and cables popping and twanging as it did. Rance lowered himself into his fighting stance but just as the thing made contact, the surroundings evaporated and he was back in the cave--the song was now coming from behind him-deafeningly loud but with no need to cover his ears. He could see a glow of light reflecting off the rock in front of him and when he turned he saw a faint amber glow. He stepped toward it.

Hovering in the air was a crystal the size of his thumb.

It was the most beautiful thing Rance had ever seen. And he had seen quite a bit. He fell to his knees, closed his eyes, and held out his hands.

"I accept."

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Fiach Dubh

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As she and Rance exchanged their findings, Fiach became acutely aware that Rance was sensing things she too could feel and hear. She had suspicions before she arrived that someone in the party was either a Jedi, or a Force Sensitive. And, unless there were two of them, it was most likely that Rance was the individual.

What followed next was akin to the crystal hunts she’d been part of…three times now. Except her experiences lasted hours, and on one occasion even days. This was a condensed version – and a lot for an untrained Force Sensitive to cope with.

But he was here and it was happening now, and there was nothing she could – or she reckoned – should do to intervene. So, she allowed the experience to unfold and for Rance to face his test. What form it took, she could not say – for everyone confronted something different. But she knew it would be linked to some inner demon – a truth the Jedi did not want to face, but had to. It wasn’t called a test for no reason,

And so she waited for him to return. If he was worthy, he would return with something to show and she should consider how he should be trained – lest he fell into the hands of the Sith. If not, then she had misread the situation.

But she doubted that course of action would unfurl.
 

Ransom Caldwell

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Ransom stood up after a few moments rest-his mind had been racing after the vision. The singing was now woven into all other ambient sensations. Yet, this was still different. He could feel the force warming his ears and soothing his soul. Like when a final clue leads to a discovery. Or confessing your feelings to a loved one. He felt a sort of completeness that he had never known. Taking a deep breath, he began to stride up the chasm corridor and back to Fiach, when he got a strong sense of vertigo. The tunnel began to stretch, elongating to the point where there was seemingly no end. What was a hall had now angled itself into a chute at an unbearable, but traversable, incline. He pressed on, his leg muscles quickly beginning to ache as he forced his feet to gain purchase on the slick ground--pushing hard, praying for traction. Struggling to make any progress, Rance forced himself not to despair. What was happening was so real--the perilous drop behind him, terrifying. He tried to shake the fear and then saw only darkness.

The faint glow within his grip provided some light. Anchoring his hips into the incline, he opened his hand and held the crystal up between his thumb and forefinger. A flash of amber light shot out of the stone and through the incline--illuminating everything forward but darkening everything behind him. It was a truly unsettling juxtaposition. Steps emerged from the floor and he felt relief wash over him. But it was not over. The angle of the chute adjusted to an even steeper degree, but this time Rance could easily see the destination ahead and had a solid foundation under his feet. He felt for purchase in both mind and body. His body had taken care of itself. It was the mind that presented a challenge. Remember your training, he thought--the memory of his teacher washing over him and he felt as if he could hear him as plain as ever. Pressing on into the light, he listened.

Ransom, we must always conduct ourselves with potential energy in mind. What are we capable of? What can we accomplish? We are capable of great goods and great evils. If I drop a stone full of potential energy into a river it creates ripples, and changes the mass of the riverbed thus changing the river. This is not an alien concept to you. We all know our actions affect others. But what's challenging is knowing where, when, and why to drop the stone in the river--how to anticipate which ripples will cross, at what point along their journey, how that affects the river overall, and most importantly how that river balances the ecosystem it serves. We must also be able to anticipate and react to others' cast stones effect our own ripples and the river and so on and so forth. To put is simply, I call this 'doing the most good.' We can make good decisions, but they may not be the best decisions. Only the thoughtfulness inherent with this concept ensures that we harm less and help more through all our actions...

Rance turned and sat on the step--the gaping maw of darkness beneath him, the light above. At the verge of both, he bowed his head, and closed his eyes. Awash with emotion, he had no idea where the tears were coming from. Fear? Pain? Joy? He wasn't sure. but his memory was clearer than ever. As if a child again, he could almost completely see Baran Bo Odar in his mind's eye. As if an adolescent, he sat listening intently to this traveler.

...The path to evilness is laden with good intention. When one sees that their stone causes a change in the direction of the river, they contemplate the capability of that potential energy and see power instead of responsibility--or duty. It is when the caster wants to change an aspect of that river's nature, where evil sneaks in. The river naturally flows in homeostasis with the rest of its ecosystem. To dam it might seemingly improve the lives of some sentient beings, but it changes the river's nature while only temporarily improving the conditions of those around. And even those lives are few in the scope and breadth of all that river serves. What was originally a natural force, will now be perverted into a commodity over which to fight. The caster created a dam to help their people, but over time, the original motive will be forgotten and all that will remain is a force from which to draw power-electric power, social power, political power, all sorts. We must protect the natural way of things. That way is balance. And since evil cannot exist in a natural universe, it must be removed in order to achieve said balance. We do that by casting our stones...Cherish, value, and respect yours.

Opening his eyes and wiping away the tears from his face. He looked down to his hand, the crystalline stone pulsing with light. Had Odar known this would happen? Perhaps. He knew one thing, there was no way he wouldn't cherish, value, and respect this stone. What was once a metaphor for Rance's disposition, now had a corporeal attaché. It was now as much of himself as his heart or soul. He took another step up the stairs. The minute his foot felt purchase the vision snapped back to reality and, with a step no longer there, he fumbled and took a tumble face-first right in front of Fiach Dubh. He outstretched his hand for her to see from his newly prone position and awkwardly said, "Master Jedi, it would seem as if there has been a development."

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Fiach Dubh

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Fiach sat cross-legged as she waited. She had an inordinate amount of patience and was prepared to wait as long as it took. But rather than pacing up and down and wasting the time, she chose to meditate. It was a common activity for her, whenever there was free time and no obvious task to perform. She’d even turned one of the cabins in her ship into a meditation chamber for that very reason. Long journeys could be an excellent time to connect deeply with the Force.

She sensed his return before his physical manifestation, and so she opened one eye slowly, followed by the other and stood slowly, pressing down her robes with the palms of her hands to flatten out any creases.

She reached out to steady him as he fell towards her but he was out of reach and so hit the ground – albeit softly as she cushioned his fall with the Force.

She looked into his outstretched hand and nodded. The Force never failed to both impress and surprise. “Indeed,” she replied. “Do you know what this is?”

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