Simple Retrieval [Gamorr]

[Rugs]

“You know, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be back here.”

The Heirophant cruised along through subspace. The small Exchange courier had arrived in the Gamorr system a few minutes ago, bearing Io’an and Vance. The trip from Circumtore had been short, though after returning to Hutt Space from Coruscant with Qiki a day prior, Io’an was growing weary of being cooped up in hyperspace.

Things were better than they could have been, he reminded himself, and not for the first time. Only a few weeks ago, he wasn’t sure he’d even be alive now, let alone traveling the Galaxy again.

He sat at the controls for the small courier ships, nudging it along through the system. They hadn’t brought along a pilot — the ship was only large enough for the two of them, and even that was a squeeze — but Io’an at least knew enough of flying to let the ship’s nav computers do most of the work and keep from crashing.

Gamorr loomed ahead of them, dominating their view through the small, curved spaceport.

“But here we are...” he muttered. As the Heirophant drifted closer, Io’an saw debris — remnants from the Archeri’s conquest of the world--drifting listlessly in orbit. A shattered cruiser carcass — the hull blown outward out along its spine told the tale of an internal blast ripping it apart — floated along above the jungle world as if not a thing were wrong. The Archeri were defeated, but it'd take years for Hutt Space to fully recover. If it ever did.

Io’an’s stomach twisted in knots. Last he’d come here had been with Jazen and Cassandra. The former — who he’d known only as Forte — had turned on the Eye during the Archeri Crisis. The latter... he didn’t know what happened to her.

“I am sorry about this,” he said, apologizing to Vance for the dozenth time since they left Circumtore. “We would have gone back for the Augur Hawk but with all the Archeri, there was just no way to get there.” Landing the ship so far away from the mountain fortress hadn’t been his decision, but that didn’t stop the guilt; he’d been as much a part of the botched job as Jazen. In the moment, with the Archeri rampaging across Hutt Space, it seemed a small thing, to lose a ship in exchange for getting out of that trap alive.

With the crisis past, he’d felt obligated to go with Vance to retrieve it — if it was still there.

“I hope nothing has happened to it since we left.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance's eyes were locked on the carcass of the Hutt cruiser as they passed. He'd seen broken ships before; during the Galactic War, during times before and after, during the Crisis of course, and more recently, littering Nar Shaddaa. The Republic and Imperial fleets had not escaped unscathed, and those ships that been unfortunate enough to be moving toward the moon when they'd been incapacitated now formed the newest set of craters. Or whatever the ecumneopolical equivalent was. Collapsed towers. Destroyed buildings. Ragged paths carved with sheer force of gravity into the undercity below.

Returning people were already building in them, ranging from the poor people whose homes there had been destroyed to the opportunist "business people" that made Nar Shaddaa go 'round.

As with most things regarding the nature of sentient-kind, it was both haunting and inspiring. Vance didn't dare to try and figure out which.

"I keep telling you it's not your fault." Finally sitting back, Vance shot Io'an a kind smile; confirmation of no hard feelings. The Chorus had forced a lot of decisions, and leaving a starship behind was, in the grand scheme, the least of them.

"I'll honestly just be happy if it's still there." Vance tried not to think about what could have happened to it, trying to focus on the Heirophant's gentle motions through the debris and toward the planet below. As the outlines of the jungles came into view, he found the effort lost. Scavengers, angry Gamorreans... they were all dwarfed by the biggest concern.

"If a certain someone came back and took it... well, then I'll be mad." Squinting, Vance glanced at Io'an again. Picking up on his own word choice, his face broke again to an apologetic smile.

"At them, I mean. Seriously, don't worry about."

[Rugs]

“I keep telling you it’s not your fault.”

“Yea, but...” Io’an’s voice had an almost pleading edge to it before he let the thought fade. If I had just said something, maybe we could have landed closer. Knowing now what he knew of what awaited them in that old Gamorrean stronghold — the warlord’s haunting laughter rang in his memory and chills rolled down his spine — maybe it was better that they’d landed far away.

“You’re right,” he muttered. The cabin bumped slightly as the Hierophant broke into the outer fringes of Gamorrea’s atmosphere and met early resistance. “It could still be there.” Io’an’s weak smile didn’t offer much hope. “I don’t think many people go rummaging through those jungle depths that often.”

Io’an gazed at Vance out of the corner of his eye as they flew ever lower toward the surface. He knew Vance meant Jazen. He knew that, given the situation as they fled, with Archeri biting at their heels, it would have been madness to try to run back through the jungle and return to the Hawk. And yet...

“Yea, well...” Io’an said, shrugging as he searched for more to say. He turned with a start back to the task of guiding the ship down through the skies; he’d let his gaze linger a touch longer than was perhaps appropriate. A spot of color touch his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears.

“I don’t think he’s come back here. I don’t know where he’s been, honestly.” No one heard a peep out of Jazen since that ill-fated attack on the Eye with Ylva during the Archeri siege. Io’an didn’t think he was dead but he supposed anything was possible, with the battle raging as it had been. “Or Ylva, for that matter.”

“I don’t know much about him,” he said. They were reaching cloud-level now. Gamorrea’s jungles spread out below in all directions. In the distance, Io’an could see the mountain fortress — what remained, after he’d brought the mountain in on itself — jutting above its surroundings. The great stretches of Archeri spores seemed to be mostly gone now, washed away by rain or carried off on humid winds, but patches splotches still lingered here and there. “I know he’s been working for Ms. Faine for quite some time though. Longer than I have, ayway.”

He could have learned more if he wanted to. Jazen had a few personnel files on the Eye’s systems. It would have been easy to peek, and he doubted anyone would have minded.

Io’an looked again at Vance, turning his head slightly as he spoke. “Could you have seen that happening? Siding with the Archeri against us?”

[Fromikeable]

Vance's eyes narrowed at the question. It was hard to separate objective and subjective thinking when it came to his former peer. Everything about their respective stories seemed like bizarre mirrors. A Sith apprentice reclaiming long-forgotten joys of padawanship compared to a would-be Knight pining for a Mandalorian upbringing made for an odd contrast. That was to say nothing of their similarities, their shared history with Locke, their closeness in age and experience, their upbringings among the Jedi and their explorations of schools of thought unapproved...

"I'm not sure how to answer that question." Folding his arms as ship's jostling lessened, Vance let his eyes glaze in the direction of the blue skies and green jungles.

"Did I expect 'Forte' to leave at some point? Yeah, I guess in a fucked up sort of way, I was hoping for it." Was it jealousy that made him say as much? Vance wasn't sure what he'd be jealous of. He was far more content with the work he did for Lidah than he'd ever been elsewhere. He'd never had a burning desire to discover his lineage, reconciled all but the most egregious of his issues with the Jedi with Locke's help, and even begun to swallow some of his worst days with the Sith.

Not jealousy then. Contempt. Shock that his peer didn't share that same sense of gratitude.

"But no. I would never in my wildest dreams have expected him to do something so-" Vance could only bite his tongue and make small explosions with his hands, releasing the anger with a tiny flare of the Force instead. With the Crisis only recently concluded, opportunities for him to look into the exact story of the conversion were scarce. Attuned Ylva hadn't seemed particularly persuasive during their encounters, but perhaps she'd found just the right buttons to press? Perhaps it had been forced and they had simply lied? A devious trick where she'd cried victim and he'd ignored his HLS mail?

Vance's expression soured before it softened. "Ylva, at least, I can understand. I'm at least a little at fault on that one. I probably shouldn't have asked her to test the drug Mauve had been peddling in the first place." The purple club seemed such a distant memory, but he could remember the sensation of her presence twisting clear as day. Before he could let his imagination run with what the long-lasting effects on her might be (assuming she was still alive out there), he elected to end the thought.

"But doing it voluntarily after a warning?" Vance's arms returned to their folded state, huffing lightly as he tried to come up with the words.

"I've got nothing, Io. It's astoundingly stupid and I can't help but hate him for it."

[Rugs]

“Hate’s a powerful thing,” Io’an said quietly as he looked at Vance from the corner of his eye. He understood how Vance felt, truly. It was unforgivable to turn your back on your friends — on the people who had taken you in when others would not — in the moment of their greatest crisis. And the way in which everything had happened was baffling.

“That was what Master Yu — my old mentor — used to say,” he added. “Emotions give us strength; he always disagreed with the Jedi’s view on that, and I think that was one of the reasons he left. But he always said hate is kind of like a drug. Hard to let go of it once you get used to it.”

“Hate is the way to the Dark Side,” the old Epicanthix’s voice echoed in Io’an’s mind. “Few turn to it willingly, knowing what awaits them once the dark has them in its grip. For many, it comes in a time of need, in crisis. Very few escape once they fall.”

Io’an shivered. He remembered what happened in that confrontation with Ylva. He remembered feeling strength he’d never tasted before, as he wrapped the Force around her neck.

I could’ve done it, he thought. Snapped her neck like a twig...

He shook his head, throwing the thought from his mind. “Anyway, I get it,” he muttered. “He did a terrible thing. And I guess he deserves whatever consequences he has to deal with because of it.” He glanced at Vance as he guided the ship down toward the jungle treetops, searching for the clearing the Hawk set down in, so long ago.

“I’d just hate to see his mistakes drag you down too, y’know? You’re better than that.”

“There we are,” he said. A small gap in the jungle canopy, easy to miss, revealed a ship sitting in a clearing. The Augur Hawk. Familiar pale dust coated it in uneven splotches and streaks, where rain had only washed away some of it.

“Looks like she needs a wash, but she’s in one piece, at least,” he said. “I’ll set us down.”

[Fromikeable]

Hate’s a powerful thing. Wasn't that the truth? Vance had gotten an upfront seat to see what emotions could do, how they could be used. Hate, fear, sadness, and even the more positive ones. They all loaned a fortitude that was supernatural. They gave desperate parents the strength to save children. They gave tyrannical despots the will to kill without batting an eye. They gave everyone inbetween the ability to shrug off limits, logic, and life itself, for better or for worse.

"Master Yu sounds like a smart guy." Nodding a little absent-minded, Vance's mouth thinned into a straight line to one side. It was always strange, to catch himself like this. What would a younger self, still steeped in the Jedi Order on a shaky road to Knighthood, say? Worse, what would a slightly less younger self, terrified and captive to the Sith Order, say?

"Don't worry about me." Sighing lightly, Vance sat back. Braving a smile, he shot it at Io'an, trying to give a semblance of confidence. "I've endured stronger emotions than wanting to kick his ass without cracking." That much was true in a dozen senses. He'd been angrier, sadder, and most certainly more crazed in just the past few years alone.

This time, it was just personal. He couldn't imagine how it must have felt to Lidah, or worse yet, to Locke.

As the ship settled, Vance stood, exiting with a small hop. One look at the Augur Hawk made him cringe, the ship's state gross to a mechanic's eye. The dust betrayed the little signs of the better part of a year's worth of abandonment; the beginnings of rust, mold, and overgrowth, not to mention the settling of the ship's landing gear into the wet soil below. The good shape of the structure and lack of any openings lessened his disgust, providing some assurance that the interior boasted no such issues.

Moving forward, Vance popped open a small panel beside the ship's door. Within sat a small crank, which he proceeded to move spin by slow spin. The Hawk's side entrance hissed as the seal released, and the door moved millimeter by millimeter with every crank.

"Besides," Grunting as he found his rhythm, Vance looked over to Io'an, a bit of concern overtaking his expression. "-I wasn't the only one getting angry during that fight outside the Eye." A glance at the hacker's hands indicated what he meant, the image of Io'an choking Ylva still fresh. Vance could understand a bit of fury in the heat of a fight, but it was so uncharacteristic. From what he'd seen, Io'an was reluctant to even connect with the Force half the time, let alone use it to do something so... permanent.

"Want to talk about it?"

[Rugs]

“If you say so,” Io’an said, smiling as the Hierophant settled down near the Augur Hawk. “I guess he deserves that much, but I wouldn't relish in it. If we ever see him again.” He wondered again, watching Vance stand, where Jazen had vanished to. No one had heard a peep since the Chorus’ defeat.

Then again, with Nar Shaddaa mostly in ruins and the Exchange focused on moving to Circumtore, there hadn’t been a lot of time for worrying about one runaway. How long will that last? he wondered as he stood to exit the ship. He’s a loose end. How dangerous is that? He took off his armorweave jacket and left it draped across the back of his seat. After sweating his way across the jungle once already, he had no desire to repeat the experience. He fastened a leather tool belt, large pockets stuffed with hydrospanners and other tools for working on a ship, around his slender waist as he stepped out into the sun.

As soon as he set foot on the soft ground, he felt the life of Gamorr come rushing back to him. Nar Shaddaa was choked with life, with such noise in the Force that it sometimes gave him headaches. Gamorr’s energy was different — it was wild, untamed. Natural.

It called to him...

No. Io’an shook his head, retreating as much as he could from the Force’s allure. There’s no need for that.

He pushed his long sleeves up to his elbow as he took a good look at the Hawke. It was filthy, and looked worse in person than it had from the air. As Vance busied himself with manually opening the door, Io’an set to pulling free loose branches and detritus that he could only guess got washed up against one of the landing gears during a storm.

“Want to talk about it?”

Io’an kept his eyes on the ground as he grunted to twist free a piece of wood. “Not really,” he finally said, sheepishly, with a quick look at Vance. He sighed, shoulders drooping some. “But I guess I should, shouldn’t I?”

If felt as if he was back at the Eye, with Ylva leading her ill-fated attack. I could have done it, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Crushed her neck like a twig and ended it. I had the strength. I have the strength.

“I...” he started, not quite sure what to say, “I got infected early. You know that. It was hell. I spent every day wondering if I was going to die. I know you don’t know what it’s like, having the Chorus with you all the time but it’s horrible. They know your every thought, see what you see, hear what you hear. They talk to you, always trying to convince you to join them.

“Then Ylva shows up. I know she didn’t get infected on purpose, but she was still one of them, regardless of who she was before. She killed those men, and delighted in it.” Io’an looked at Vance. His violet-ringed eyes seemed searching, pleading for Vance to understand.

“When she turned on Emilio and Simone, I just... something in me snapped. I didn’t mean to do what I did. I didn’t even know I could.” He tossed the last of the vegetation away from the ship and leaned against the hull. “But I did it anyway.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance tried his damnedest to imagine the Chorus as Io’an described it. He’d tried dozens of times during the Crisis, when he’d watched Lidah, when he’d watched Io’an, when he’d watched anyone. Every time, he could only fail and remember watching the transformation Ylva’s presence had gone through when she’d been infected. The horror he’d felt at the unrestrained manipulation of her presence. The sick twists and breaks that had been made. How did anyone recover from that? Especially someone like Io’an, who barely tolerated his natural sensitivity?

The look in Io’an’s eyes made it clear that he didn’t know. The look in V’s as he looked back with his brows raised, a frown below them, made it clear that he didn’t know either.

”Emotion makes us capable of new things. The Sith taught me that much, at least.” Continuing to spin the crank, Vance took the opportunity to take a deep breath, his face riddled with thought. ”You did it. But you could’ve taken it further. And you didn’t. That means something.” As the door finally hit the top of the entrance way, Vance let the crank go. Stepping away, he wiped a small bit of sweat from his forehead before walking over to Io’an, patting his shoulder.

”Just don’t think it makes you a monster. Being able to call on the Force doesn’t mean you stop being sentient.” Vance offered him his kindest smile, trying to put on a brave face. ”A Jedi on Zeltros told me that the other day. I’m starting to think she had a point.” With a final pat, he turned toward the ship’s now-open hatch, climbing up and peeking in.

The thick fog of spores within caused him to immediately pop back out, coughing hard into his elbow. Waving his other hand at the doorway, a gentle call to the Force forced the air to begin moving, the spores coming out in a stream behind him.

”Ugh…” Wiping his eyes, Vance failed to notice the sounds of motion within the ship, an irregular set of light clangs.

”Did you guys seal the ship before you left?”

[Rugs]

“Yea, you’re probably right,” Io’an said.”You and your Jedi friend.” He looked down at his feet, arms folded over his chest. Whatever the circumstances of the time, he couldn’t shake the lingering guilt. What if I do it again? he asked himself. What if I go further next time? Io’an wondered, not for the first time, how many steps he could take near the edge without falling over.

Ms. Faine would know. She had given him assurance that he wouldn’t fall by accident, all those months ago. Io’an smiled to himself. That seemed like an eternity ago when joining the Exchange felt like moving from one crimelord boss to the other. Now they’d fought and bled, nearly died and survived, laughed and mourned together. He wouldn’t trade his family-of-sorts at the Eye for anything.

”Ugh...”

Io’an looked up, drawn back to the present by the grunt from Vance, who’d gone up into the Hawk. “Vance?” He hurried around to the boarding ramp and, as Vance asked his question, Io’an’s hand brushed against the wall...

Silence. Such silence. The song ceased. Why did the Chorus quiet its voice?

No matter. Must find shelter from the raging storm. Must find a place to survive, to wait until the Chorus sings again as one.

The flying metal construct, sitting in a clearing, battered by the storm’s wind and rain. Not as graceful as a vessel of crystal, or as pure, but it would do. But how to open? These constructs were made for unusual beings. Not like the crystal vessels, no.

Much fiddling, much searching as the storm howled and whipped the jungle trees around them.

Why was the Chorus silent? So much pain. Incredible pain, burning in the very soul.

At last, a solution. A ramp unfolds, offering shelter...

“Vance!” Io’an yelled. He staggered against the wall, nearly hitting his head on the threshold as he half-ran the rest of the way up the boarding ramp. “One of those things is on the ship!”

He muscled his way past Vance, lavender lightsaber springing to life as the Force filled up to the point of bursting. Never again, he thought with a fury that should have shocked him. They’ll never have me again.

The Hawk’s interior was dim and in disarray. Io’an’s lightsaber threw a pale, lavender light that was clouded by the spores he and Vance disturbed upon entering the ship. Equipment was knocked off the shelves. Clothes and food, some molding, lay scattered across the floor in a haphazard mess. Stuffing spilled out of jagged tears in the upholstery. It looked like a whirlwind tore through the ship.

A loud crashing as something fell drew Io’an’s eyes to the short corridor leading to the small quarters in the ship’s aft. There he saw the unmistakable pockmarked face of an Archeri sticking out of a room.

It shrieked and retreated out of sight.

[Fromikeable]

Io’an’s shouts made Vance rub a little quicker, blinking his eyes open as boldly as he dared. When only one proved clear, he wheeled around with it alone, about to shout in response.

“One of those things is on the ship!”

”Sonuva-” As Vance’s saber zipped to his hand, he retreated a few steps. A hand dipped into his sleeve, the fingers protruding from under the cloth in a desperate bid to clear his other eye. His presence shot out as he did so, sensing Io’an as he muscled past into the ship and, sure enough, as a shaky presence within recoiled.

Finally opening both eyes, he shouted. ”Wait!” Diving in behind Io’an, he just missed the creature’s head, instead only hearing its shriek.

Green light flooded the room, the hiss of Vance’s saber responding.

But Vance couldn’t help but hesitate. The presence of the Archeri felt so unlike what they’d fought in droves just weeks before. Had any member of the Chorus ever expressed fear like that before? Furthermore, had any of them ever been so small, so digestible? Gone was the crushing pressure of an entire hivemind channeled through a single entity. Gone was the unshakeable calmness, the horrific steadiness of countless minds blurred together. There weren’t even any grand or cryptic commands or assurances.

Just a single monster that, by the sound of it, was scrambling around in the ship’s bathroom, the sound of tiles smashing apparent.

Stepping forward, Vance put a hand on Io’an’s shoulder, holding him back. ”Cover me.” Moving slowly, Vance walked down the hall with careful steps, his saber held at the ready. As he neared the door, the sounds of destruction in the bathroom ceased, a light clattering replacing it all. Stopping by the door frame, Vance slowly peeked out.

Within, the Archeri cowered in the shower, arms braced against the wall, head tucked into the corner. The two arms it stood on shook lightly, one of them producing the clattering against the glass shower door.

Reaching for the door control, Vance ushered it to close. Quiet for a moment, he finally looked to Io’an.

”... did the Chorus ever shiver?”

[Rugs]

Io’an did not think himself oft-capable of the sort of rage that consumed him when he’d nearly killed Ylva in front of the Eye. He was a gentle soul, averse to conflict except as a last option.

But as he watched the Archeri scamper away into the refresher, he felt anger, cold as ice and harder than the Hawk’s durasteel plating, take hold. Never again, you hear me? He grabbed his disruptor pistol. It gave off a high-pitched whine as he held the trigger to charge a shot.

You’ll never get in my head again.

“Cover me.”

Vance’s voice, steady as it was, broke through the haze of anger. “I...” he looked around, dizzy. He’d drawn very heavily on the Force without realizing it. For reasons Io’an still didn’t understand, the infection seemed to have left a deeper, stronger connection to the Force in its wake. He still wasn’t entirely used to it. His head pounded. Or was that his heart, in the fight-or-flight rush of seeing an Archeri aboard the Augur Hawk?

“Right behind you,” he said to Vance, flicking a switch to safely dissipate the charge on his gun. He reholstered it, but kept his lavender lightsaber out and ignited.

As Vance inspected the refresher, Io’an looked around them. The evidence of the Archeri’s residence was everywhere. Splotches of spores lay like dust on shelves and furniture and the floor. He noted, with some distress, the creature seemed to have made a nest of sorts from his spare clothes in the room he’d spent the trip to Gamorr half-dead in.

There were only signs of the one Archeri, at least. It didn’t seem to have gotten into the

“Did the Chorus ever shiver?”

“Shiver?” Io’an walked back to Vance. The door was shut, blocking sight of the Archeri, but that was fine with Io’an. He could feel it, inside.

“No, not that I can recall.” He blinked as he remembered the vision that hit him as he rushed into the Hawk.

“When I was coming onto the ship, I touched the loading ramp,” he said, holding up his hand. Some of the Eye crew knew of his Psychometry. It wasn’t something he’d learned to control yet, and came without warning. “I saw it... It found the ship in a storm, looking for shelter. It figured out how to open up the ramp and get inside, and I guess it’s stayed here since.”

Io’an’s brow furrowed as he recalled more of what he’d seen, what he’d felt. “It was... afraid. Confused.” He looked at Vance, realization dawning on his face. “It wondered why the Chorus was silent. It must have been after the Spires were destroyed, Vance.”

That opened a thousand more questions Io’an didn’t know how to answer. Was the Archeri still dangerous? Was it looking for something or just surviving?

“What happens when they’re cut off from the hive?” He wondered aloud. And then, “Should we tell Ms. Faine?”

[Fromikeable]

”Confused, huh?” Vance’s saber receded with another hiss, his knuckles pressing to his hips. The creature locked in the bathroom was hard to excuse in any capacity; the Archeri occupation of Nar Shaddaa left little doubt of their capacity for unrestrained horror. But none of that had seemed uncertain, least of all “confused”. The Chorus had been outrageously firm in its convictions, and even to the end, it hadn’t faltered for a moment.

Now without the Spires, cowering and confusion?

Vance raised a hand to rub his chin with a sigh. Eyeing the bathroom door, he thought quietly for a minute before his head began to shake.

”I’m not moving this ship with a monster in the bedroom, powerful or not.” Approaching the door again, Vance closed his eyes. His presence probed with guarded patience, creeping closer and closer to the Archeri that even still cowered in the shower. As it finally touched, the beast only seemed to recoil further, a scrambling audible from within.

Discordant! Destroy no more of our harmony!

With a single motion, Vance’s hand clenched into a fist. The door opened with a shove of the Force, which continued inward until it wrapped around the Archeri. The fungus screamed in horror, limbs flailing against the bathroom tiles. Vance just squinted with focus, keeping his fist up as he slowly began to walk backwards toward the ship’s side door.

The Archeri followed, kicking and screaming.

With a final wave, Vance flung the beast out of the exit. It soared until it hit a tree on the opposite side of the clearing, scrambling as it fell to the ground. With a final, pained hiss, it dove into the brush, pangs of fear radiating off of its warped, horrific presence until it was gone.

Clipping his saber to his belt, Vance sneezed. ”Try to fire up the central computer and see if you can get a message to Lidah.” Wiping his face, Vance waved a hand at the air with mild disgust.

”Tell her that I don’t think they’ll be laying siege to Nar Shaddaa again.”

[Rugs]

“We ought to kill it,” Io’an said bluntly as Vance announced his attention to remove the Archeri from the Augur Hawk. “Cut off or no, cowering or no, think of all the death, and the pain and the suffering they put so many people through — that they put us through.” Heat rose with his voice with every word so that by the end he was nearly shouting. His anger wasn’t directed at Vance, but at the memories of constant pain and agony, of spending every day wondering which day would be his last.

All because of the Chorus. All for their crusade to share their song with the Galaxy.

His grip creaked on his lightsaber. Io’an found a sudden awareness that his face had contorted to an enraged sneer, that his thumb hovered over the ignition switch. The Force, filling him near to bursting with the newfound strength that lingered on after his infection, pulsed in time to his elevated heartbeat, sweet with life and a deeper connection to all the life in the thriving jungle around him.

Yet something else — something strange — lurked below. A heat, at once distant and near like warmth from a roaring furnace with the door left ajar. It called to him. As surely as a part of him knew sticking his hand in would burn him, there was some strange comfort in the foreign, sickly warmth. Some urging to action.

Do it. Was the voice his own, or something else? What’s one lost life against the many they’ve taken? Kill it.

His eyes locked on the creature as Vance dragged it out of the room with the Force. His thumb brushed against the lightsaber's ignition switch. It’d only take one stroke...

Even a taste of the pain they put you through wouldn’t be enough. The voice was insistent, forceful. Kill it.

Io’an’s will hardened. He reached for more of the Force, reached for that open furnace and its promises of strength to steel himself for what he had to do...

Then the Archeri was thrown out the door and scrambled off into the forest.

Something snapped in Io’an and he recoiled, physically and mentally. His lightsaber banged loudly on the metal floor as his fingers went slack. The Force retreated from him like a rubber band breaking.

There he stood, panting and looking dumbfounded, with a light sweat dampening his brow. What was that? I’ve never felt that.

Next time. The voice whispered, yet carried the weight of a shout. Next time you will do it.

It took Io’an a moment to realize Vance had spoken to him. Send a message to Miss Faine.

“Right,” he stammered, as he leaned over to scoop up his lightsaber. He frowned at the spores coating one side of it and brushed them off with a bit of the Force.

He found a clear spot on the wall to lean against — he needed the support — and fished his datapad out of his coat pocket. As he typed a message to Lidah, fingers shaking, his mind raced, searching for answers.

“I think we’re going to have to do some cleaning before taking this thing home,” he said. “I’ve got a program written that I can integrate into the navicomputer so that it can basically fly itself to Nar Shadda, but it’ll need a living touch once we get back, with all the traffic.”

For a moment he typed on, explaining the situation and what they’d found to Lidah. But he stopped with the message half-written and looked at Vance, worry plain on his Vance.

“Vance, I...” he hesitated, rubbing the tattoo on his neck as he tried to think of what to say. It seemed stupid, to worry about the urge to kill an Archeri; they’d killed more of the things than Io’an could count during the Crisis. But this felt different.

“You said having the Force doesn’t make you a monster, right?” he asked weakly. “But what do you do when these temptations keep coming, whether you want them or not?”

[Fromikeable]

”Ugh…” Looking around now that the ship was depopulated, Vance made a face. Cleaning would barely be the start of it. The entire interior of the ship was ruined by moisture, spores and fungal growth, damage from its former occupant, and sheer dereliction. Panels and holoprojectors glitched and flickered. Panels failed to light, with what error lights remained blinking in silent, neglected protest. A thick layer of spores coated every surface from floor to ceiling.

Vance just shook his head, mumbling. ”When I get my hands on him…”

Undoing the latch to the cockpit as Io’an typed, Vance disappeared for a moment. Reaching the controls, he gave them a few testing punches, getting mixed success. After a few seconds, however, the ship’s power surged, the doors working again, the panels filling in, and a bevy of errors and messages all clamoring for attention at once. Silencing them, Vance punched in a few simple commands to run a diagnostic, the readouts starting to display.

Returning to the cabin, Io’an’s face stopped him. His question wasn’t so easily answered this time, a hand raising to Vance’s chin. Silence rang for a few seconds as he made a few false starts to answer, his face squinting harder with thought after each try.

”Y’know, since the battle ended, I’ve been really angry.” Crossing his legs, Vance leaned a shoulder against the wall beside Io’an. Holding up his hands, he began to count off on his fingers.

”I want to knock Jazen’s head into the next fucking galaxy. I want to shove Ylva’s face against every grave she made. To say nothing of everybody else that made things even more of a living hell during those months.” It wasn’t limited to just people he’d had to fight. There had been Exchange employees who hadn’t listened. There had been opportunists. There had been cowards. There had even been simple negligence.

Looking back, it had all been infuriating. Hadn’t they known the stakes? Didn’t they care?

”There were a few nights where the only thing that kept me going was the simple image of sticking so many heads on a spike and laughing. Not even giving a damn if it’d kill me in the process, just-” Vance snapped his fingers, ”waving a hand and seeing how hard it could be to tear someone in half without moving.”

”But I’m probably going to see Jazen and Ylva and the rest that survived at some point soon. And you know what?” Vance crossed his arms, his expression hardening. ”The only thing that’s going to keep me from doing it is a simple truth.” He shrugged.

”I don’t like killing people. I don’t like ruining people’s lives or making things harder. Even if it would make me feel really, really, really good.” When Vance smiled this time, it was genuine. Small, but sincere.

”I don’t like doing any of those things because that’s not the person I want to be. And yeah, I’m bound to slip that up. I have plenty in the past. But every time I do, I wind up less happy than before.”

”So that’s the deal.” Shifting against the wall, Vance cocked his head, sniffling lightly. ”What kind of person do you want to be, Io’an? Would killing every time you got the inkling make you happier?”

[Rugs]

Io’an’s shoulders slumped. He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes shut and datapad forgotten in his hands as Vance spoke. Vance was right. Io’an knew that. But he couldn’t shake the shock of what he’d considered--not that he’d considered killing the Archeri, but the way he thought of doing it.

The way wanted to, when it had done nothing to him.

“I...” he started. The words died before they made it to this throat. Io’an took a deep breath and opened an eye, looking at Vance from the corner of his vision.

“The first time I killed someone, I didn’t know what to do with myself,” he finally said. His voice croaked, as if hoarse. After taking a moment to clear his throat, he pressed on. “My master and I were ambushed, by a former pupil of his who’d fallen to the Dark Side. The only reason I didn’t die in the initial attack was because I was away from our camp. When I got back, I saw my master dead and this strange man standing over him.” Io’an turned his head, looking at Vance with both eyes.

“We fought. Truth be told, I should have died, but I didn’t.” His throat tightened. Even years and countless battles later, the memory difficult to confront. “I lost control. The ground came up around him. Body popped like overripe fruit.”

He remembered the shock of it all — the rush of surviving instantly overcome with horror at what he’d done as blood stained the rocks he’d lifted to save himself.

“I don’t like fighting, Vance — not when it’s serious. I hate killing. Before the Crisis, I could count the number of people I’ve actually killed on one hand. But it gets a little easier every time, and at some point during the siege, I realized that I just... I didn’t care anymore.” Sadness crept over Io’an as he looked at Vance. “I know we were fighting to stay alive. I know there wasn’t any other choice but now that that’s passed, I don’t know if I can ever go back to what I was before.”

Io’an tapped the datapad against his thigh, message to Ms. Faine still half-written. He looked toward the door, where the Archeri had been dragged out and tossed into the wilds of Gamorr. “When I saw that Archeri, I wanted to kill it. That’d only be fair, right? After what they put us through. I kept telling myself that I could just kill it quick, y’know?” His lightsaber ignited as he made a sudden cut through the air. “Just like that. Force, we’ve killed enough of the damn things that I know how to do that.

“But...” he squinted slightly, “if you’d given me the chance, I don’t think I would have done that. I wanted to hurt it — make it suffer like I did. Like we all did. I don’t know if it would have made me happier. I’m glad I didn’t have a chance to find out.”

Io’an fell silent, thinking, for a long moment. “I don’t know what kind of person I want to be, Vance, but I know I don’t want to be that.” He stood and killed his lightsaber, returning it to its place at his hip. “And I hope doing the same doesn’t make me any happier.”

He walked to the front of the ship, which was blessedly free of Archeri contamination, and slumped into the co-pilot’s seat. “I’m gonna finish getting this sent to Ms. Faine,” he said dully, “then I guess we should see about cleaning up and getting this thing out of here.”

[Fromikeable]

Vance bit his tongue. He could remember when killing had been so traumatic for him. It felt like ancient history; he had never taken a soul before Lidah had saved him for the first time on Taris, and he’d only had to start when he’d returned. That day, during that battle, he’d killed soldiers, he’d killed combatants…

He’d killed a padawan. By the Force, he’d almost forgotten that he’d killed a Jedi.

And there had never been a chance to process it. Not that day, when so much else had happened during that battle. Not in the following days when his shock had been too raw to consider much of anything. Not in the following months when Lidah had revealed her imminent demise.

Only in the scant quiet moments of the last few years had he found himself flipping through the faces he could remember, the names that had mattered. Only when his mind had the time to be dangerously introspective did he wonder at what right he had.

”We can never go back.” Muttering a little more quietly than he’d meant to, Vance seemed to snap himself out of it. Patting Io’an’s shoulder, he stopped leaning on the wall, offering up his smile again.

”So the only other option is going forward.”