Tyson opened a portal directly into the Ebon Hawk. The ship drifted exactly as it had in his vision, suspended in the asteroid field's embrace. No time appeared to have passed. The bridge lay empty and wrecked, consoles sparked intermittently in the dim emergency lighting.
Just outside the bridge entrance, a woman sprawled on the deck plating.
Brown robes pooled around her frame, and her white hair was tied, creating the illusion of braids. She'd aged well. The kind of face that had lived through things without going hard. No obvious injuries, but she remained utterly still.
Tyson knelt beside her and pressed two fingers against her neck. Her pulse beat strongly. Her chest rose and fell in regular rhythm.
"Vicky, check on her."
His Grey Goo Suit streamed off him in a silver cascade, nanobots flowing together and coalescing into his companion's form. She crouched beside the unconscious woman and extended her hand, palm down. The medical tricorder integrated within her nanite structure hummed to life, scanning the woman's body from head to toe.
Tyson stepped onto the bridge and surveyed the damage. Scorch marks blackened the walls where plasma conduits had ruptured. The main viewscreen flickered with static. He moved to the engineering station and pulled up the diagnostics display. The screen wavered, then stabilized enough to show him the ship's status. The hyperdrive showed critical damage across multiple systems. Power conduits had been severed throughout the engineering section. Life support ran on emergency reserves, draining the backup batteries. He traced the power distribution network with his finger, mapping out the cascade failure that had crippled the vessel. This was a mess. Even In A Desert, With A Box Of Scraps, he would have a hard time fixing this ship.
[Free] Import (Spaceships)
Instead of choosing a Ship Type and Size for purchase, import one space-worthy vessel you already own. Its default Section Size and Rating are that of a ship of the corresponding size. At your choice, ship parts you buy can either replace pre-existing parts of the original ship or exist in addition to them.
Dynamic-Class Freighter: Ebon Hawk (Spaceships)
This smuggler ship was a highly modified freighter that became well-known throughout the galaxy during the Jedi Civil War. It was believed to be in the top ten of the fastest ships in the galaxy during its time, as it was the fastest ship in the Outer Rim Territories.
Decommission (Spaceship)
Destroy this vessel. Decommissioned vessels do not self-destruct, they are absorbed by the system. In return, you are granted half of its value in Ship Points. Any living creatures on a vessel when decommissioned will be sent to your Personal Reality along with any CP-backed items. Non-CP-backed items will be destroyed.
[0 SP] Ship Size Rating: I
[100 SP] Artificial Gravity
[300 SP] Hyperdrive
[50 SP] Fusion Reactor
[50 SP] Navigation Suite
[50 SP] Beam Weapons (Turbolaser Turret)
Total Adjusted Decommission Value: 275 SP
"The hyperdrive is damaged. Main power must be restored in order to bring the engines online."
Vicky responded by reporting the woman's status. "She's just unconscious, no damage to the brain or spinal cord. Minor bruises and lacerations."
Tyson glanced back at the woman. "Can you wake her?"
"Not in this form. In my true body, I can administer a mild stimulant."
"Don't worry about it. I'll handle this one."
Vicky streamed back around his body, reforming into the Grey Goo Suit. Tyson knelt next to the woman and used Force Heal, the power he unlocked with the Force Specialization: Intelligence Perk. Slowly, the woman's eyes opened. They were gray, sightless.
"Who are you?" Her voice had a rasp.
"Easy. You've been unconscious for some time. Your body needs to recover."
The woman ignored the advice and sat up anyway, movements deliberate despite the obvious discomfort. She studied him. Not just looking. Reading.
"You're strong in the Force. But you're not Jedi. Not Sith either, though you carry darkness within you."
Tyson offered her a hand. "I'm Tyson. I found the Ebon Hawk adrift in this asteroid field."
"Kreia." She accepted his offered hand and rose to her feet, steadying herself against the bulkhead. "The ship was attacked. I remember... Sith fighters. They disabled our engines before we could jump to hyperspace."
"Where's your crew?"
Kreia's expression hardened. "Dead or captured..." She trailed off, hand moving to her side, where Tyson now noticed a tear in her robes. Dried blood stained the fabric. "Before I collapsed."
"That wound needs treatment."
"It can wait." Kreia waved him off and moved toward the bridge. She stopped beside Tyson and blindly looked around the bridge. "How bad is it?"
"Hyperdrive is offline. Main power is down. Life support is running on emergency reserves."
Kreia moved to the navigation console, her fingers moving across the damaged controls from memory. "There is a woman in the Medical Room who needs assistance. She's in critical condition."
"The repairs this ship needs are extensive. The hyperdrive alone will take hours to bring online, assuming we can restore main power first."
"Activate the T3 droid." Kreia gestured toward a corner of the cockpit where a small astromech unit sat dormant, its blue and white chassis dulled by a layer of dust. "Let it do the repairs. You need to stabilize her."
Tyson agreed. The droid could begin repairs, and he'd join after healing whoever else was on the ship. He approached the T3 unit and pressed the activation switch on its dome. The droid's photoreceptors flickered to life with a series of electronic chirps and whistles. It immediately began scanning the bridge, its head rotating as it assessed the damage. The astromech beeped urgently, then rolled toward the nearest damaged console.
Tyson would have opened a portal into his Personal Reality and docked the Ebon Hawk with the Automated Repair Station, but the engines were offline. It would be easier to bring out the Iconic Interceptor and use its tractor beam to drag the ship in. But this would do for now. If he needed to, he'd take the more drastic step after seeing who needed healing.
Kreia watched the droid work with obvious disdain. "Machines. Always so eager to serve, never questioning the purpose behind their tasks."
"It's efficient," he replied.
"Efficiency without wisdom is merely elaborate foolishness." Kreia turned back to the navigation console, dismissing both him and the droid.
Leaving Kreia on the bridge, Tyson headed for the Medical Room. The door stood partially open. Tyson pushed it aside and stepped into the chamber beyond.
A woman lay on the bed, her body still beneath a thin blanket. Even unconscious and injured, her beauty struck him immediately. Auburn hair fell around her face. She appeared to be in her late twenties. Her skin was pale, and dark circles shadowed her closed eyes. A bacta patch covered her left shoulder where her simple brown tunic had been cut away to reveal a deep wound. More patches dotted her arms and torso, evidence of multiple injuries sustained during whatever battle had crippled the ship.
Tyson moved closer and studied her face. As he examined her, Tyson recalled what he knew of this setting, this situation; the ship, Kreia's presence, and now this woman… He was living through the events of the second Knights of the Old Republic game. Just as he'd been thrust into the first one by Q and the Anomaly, now it was continuing, which might become messy considering he was in the middle of the Phantom Menace story.
The woman before him could only be one person. The protagonist of the Knights of the Old Republic 2.
The Jedi Exile.
Vicky displayed the medical tricorder readings within his HUD. Her condition was indeed critical; blood loss and internal injuries.
He placed his hands over her chest and called upon Force Heal once again. The power flowed through him, warm and purposeful, seeking out the damaged tissue and beginning the slow process of restoration. The bacta patches would handle the external wounds, but the internal bleeding and organ damage required a more direct intervention.
As the healing energy worked through her system, Meetra's breathing deepened. Color began to return to her cheeks, and the tension lines around her eyes eased. The medical scanner's alarms quieted as her vital signs stabilized.
Her eyes opened slowly, revealing irises of deep blue. She blinked several times, focusing on Tyson's face with obvious confusion.
"Where..." Her voice was barely a whisper, throat dry from unconsciousness.
"You're safe," Tyson said, maintaining the healing connection. "You're aboard the Ebon Hawk. Do you remember what happened?"
Meetra tried to sit up, then winced and settled back against the medical bed. "We were attacked. The ship..." She looked around the medical bay, taking in the damage visible even here. "We made it?"
"Barely, from the look of things. The ship was attacked. Most of the crew didn't make it. I found you and Kreia. The ship is still drifting in the asteroid field where I discovered it."
Meetra closed her eyes, absorbing the loss. When she opened them again, they held a determination.
"You're healing me," she observed, studying his hands where they rested above her injuries. "You can use the Force."
"Among other things." Tyson continued channeling the healing energy, watching as the worst of her internal injuries began to mend. "Rest. Let the healing work."
As the healing energy worked through Meetra's system, her attention moved past Tyson to the viewport that dominated the medical bay's far wall. The asteroid field stretched beyond the transparisteel, chunks of rock and debris tumbling slowly through the void. But it was the massive celestial body at the field's heart that drew her attention. What had once been a planet now hung broken in space, its surface shattered and torn away. The exposed planetary core glowed with fierce orange and red light, pulsing like a dying star. Molten rock and superheated gases created an aurora of color that painted the surrounding asteroids in shifting hues of amber and crimson.
Tyson followed her gaze as his healing worked. "It's rather pretty, in a catastrophic sort of way," he said.
A sad smile touched Meetra's lips. "Peragus II. Or what's left of it." She shifted slightly on the medical bed, wincing as the movement pulled at her healing injuries. "It wasn't always like this."
Meetra's eyes stayed fixed on the shattered world beyond the viewport as she spoke. "Originally, Peragus II was a terrestrial world. Its planetary crust contained volatile chemicals and significant quantities of starship fuel, though the planet itself was lifeless. No forests, no oceans, just rock and mineral deposits that made it valuable to miners and fuel companies. Hundreds of years before the Jedi Civil War, there was a mining accident." Meetra's voice grew quieter, more reflective. "An explosion that tore apart almost a quarter of the planet. The blast was so massive it blew an enormous hole in Peragus II's surface, exposing the molten core you see now. The pieces that were cast away formed this asteroid field."
Tyson felt the last of her internal injuries mend beneath his touch. Her breathing had deepened, and color had fully returned to her cheeks. He withdrew his hands, the healing complete. "You're stable now. The worst of the damage is repaired."
Meetra pushed herself up to a sitting position, testing her range of motion carefully. The bacta patches still covered her external wounds, but the critical internal bleeding had stopped. "Thank you. I haven't felt this... whole... in some time."
She held her hand a few inches above her own ribs, the way Tyson had held his over hers. Her expression was thoughtful, almost evaluative. "You were forcing it," she said quietly. "Push too hard, and the body interprets healing as an attack. The cells fight you. Did you feel it resist?" She didn't wait for his answer, which was just as well, because the honest answer was that he hadn't felt it, but now that she'd named it, he could remember the texture of the resistance retroactively. "When you have time, and the patient is stable, you let the body lead. Guide what's already trying to happen rather than command what should. It costs you less, and it costs them less."
Then she smiled a small, almost apologetic smile. "Lessons come where they will. I didn't intend to teach or diminish what you did for me."
She swung her legs over the side of the medical bed and stood slowly, steadying herself against the bulkhead. Her movements were deliberate, testing her body's response to the healing.
"I'm Meetra Surik," she said, turning to face him fully. "Like you, I was a Jedi."
"Was?" Tyson asked, noting the past tense. He knew who she was, of course, but couldn't say so.
"The war changed us all," she said. "The things we saw. The choices we were forced to make." She traced a finger along the edge of the viewport's frame. "At Malachor V, I gave the order to activate a superweapon. The Mass Shadow Generator. It destroyed the Mandalorian fleet." A pause. "It also killed thousands of Jedi and Republic soldiers caught in the weapon's effect. I survived because I severed my connection to the Force at the moment of detonation. I'm told it was instinct. I don't remember the choice as a choice. I remember the silence afterward."
Tyson said nothing. The set of her shoulders. Her hands clenched at her sides. She turned away from the viewport and crossed back toward the medical bed, lowering herself onto the edge of it again. She looked tired in a way the healing hadn't reached. "When I returned to Coruscant, the Jedi Council put me on trial," she said. "They said I had fallen to the dark side. That my connection to the Force had been corrupted by the war's violence." She lifted one hand, looked at the empty palm, lowered it again. "They stripped me of my rank. My lightsaber. They exiled me from the Order." Her voice carried no bitterness. Only a deep, settled sadness, the kind that had stopped being an active wound and become a feature of the geography. "I've spent the years since wandering the Outer Rim. Trying to understand what I became during the war. I don't think I have, yet."
She turned back to face him, her blue eyes reflecting the orange glow from outside. "The Council was right about one thing; I am different now. My connection to the Force... I couldn't sense it at all. Other times, it feels like an echo of something that was lost… Until I woke up and felt you."
Tyson studied her face, seeing the conflict there. In the game, Meetra's unique nature as a "wound in the Force" had been central to the story. Her ability to form Force bonds with others made her powerful.
"But you're still here," he observed. "Still fighting."
A small smile touched her lips. "Kreia would say that's because I'm too stubborn to accept defeat. She found me, convinced me to return from the Outer Rim. Said there were things I needed to understand about my exile, about what happened during the war."
"And now?"
Meetra gestured toward the damaged medical bay around them. "The Sith found us and seemed particularly interested in capturing me alive. Now we're stranded in the Peragus system." She looked at Tyson and asked, "How did you locate the ship in this asteroid field?"
"It wasn't my first time on the Ebon Hawk. Like some Force users have unique abilities, I can open portals to places I've been before," Tyson replied, not wanting to explain the vision that had led him here or the details of his powers. "The important thing is that the Ebon Hawk isn't operational. The T3 unit is working on repairs, but the damage is extensive."
The ship lurched violently beneath their feet, throwing Meetra against the medical room's bulkhead. Tyson caught her arm, steadying her as the Ebon Hawk groaned around them. This wasn't debris impact or the minor tremor of damaged systems cycling. The entire vessel shuddered.
"What was that?" Meetra pushed herself upright, her hand instinctively reaching for where her lightsaber would have hung before her exile.
Through the viewport, the shattered remains of Peragus II began to slide away, replaced by the geometric shadows of metal bulkheads. Orange light from the destroyed planet's core gave way to the harsh white illumination of artificial lighting. The Ebon Hawk was being drawn into something much larger than itself.
"We need to get to the bridge." Tyson moved toward the medical bay's exit, Meetra close behind him.
They made their way through the ship's corridors, past scorch marks and damaged panels that spoke of the recent battle. The sensation of movement continued, accompanied by a deep thrumming.
The bridge came into view ahead, where the T3 unit continued its repairs. The little droid had managed to restore partial power to several systems, though sparks still cascaded from damaged conduits overhead. Kreia stood at the main viewport, her sightless gaze fixed on something beyond the transparisteel.
"Kreia," Tyson called as they entered the bridge. "What's happening?"
"We've been taken aboard another vessel. A Hammerhead-class cruiser, from the configuration I can sense through the Force."
Tyson moved to the viewport and looked out at their new surroundings. The Ebon Hawk now rested within a hangar bay, its walls lined with maintenance equipment and docking clamps. The architecture was distinctly Republic in design, identical to the Endar Spire.
"That's a good thing?" Tyson asked, noting the Republic markings visible on the hangar's bulkheads.
"No." Kreia's response was immediate and certain. "This is the Harbinger. A Republic vessel that was captured by the Sith. They found us for a reason. And that reason has nothing to do with rescue."
A message from Vicky materialized in Tyson's HUD. "Tyson, the tricorder isn't picking up any life signs within this ship, besides ours."
Tyson frowned, processing this information. A Republic cruiser the size of the Harbinger should have carried a crew of several hundred. Even accounting for casualties during whatever had brought them to the Peragus system, some personnel should have survived.
"How did we get pulled in then?" he mumbled, more to himself than to the others. "Automated function?" He couldn't remember the exact details of the early part of the Knights of the Old Republic 2 story. All he remembered was that it was hours of tedious slogging that he'd tried to forget over the years.
T3 chirped urgently from his position at the engineering console, his dome rotating toward the group. The droid's photoreceptors flashed in a pattern that suggested alarm.
The hangar bay around them remained eerily still. No maintenance crews moved among the equipment. No security personnel approached their ship. The only movement came from automated systems, mechanical arms, and service droids that continued their programmed functions.
Vicky reported again. "The ship's automated systems are fully operational. Life support, artificial gravity, even the tractor beam that brought us aboard. But I'm detecting no biological signatures anywhere within sensor range."
Kreia turned away from the viewport, her expression thoughtful. "The Force is... disturbed here. There are echoes of violence, of fear. Something terrible happened aboard this vessel."
T3 beeped again, more insistently this time. The droid had managed to restore partial communications, and now a message indicator flashed on the main console.
Meetra moved to the communications station and activated the incoming transmission. Static filled the bridge speakers before resolving into a recorded message.
"This is Admiral Carth Onasi of the Republic vessel Harbinger. If anyone receives this transmission, do not approach our position. The ship has been compromised. Repeat, do not approach. We are under quarantine by order of the Republic Command."
The message cut off.
The familiar weight of dread settled in Tyson's chest as I Have A Bad Feeling About This activated. The warning felt like ice water in his veins. Whatever lurked aboard the Harbinger posed a genuine threat.
"We need to search this ship," Tyson announced. "T3, continue repairs on the Ebon Hawk. Get us ready for a quick departure if necessary."
The little droid chirped acknowledgment and rolled back toward the engineering console, his welding arm already extending toward a damaged power coupling.
Meetra checked the ship's internal sensors one more time. "The hangar bay appears secure. No immediate threats detected."
"Appearances can be deceiving," Kreia observed, moving toward the ship's exit ramp. "Especially when the Force itself whispers of danger."
As they prepared to disembark, Tyson studied Kreia's profile.
Her ability to sense his presence through the Force, combined with her obvious knowledge of galactic events, raised questions he could no longer ignore. Questions he knew the answer to, but needed to ask anyway.
"Kreia," he said, causing the older woman to pause at the threshold. "You could sense me in the Force. Are you a Jedi? A Sith?"
Kreia turned toward him, sightless, and somehow both amused and irritated at once. "Does it matter?" She tilted her head slightly. "Of course it does. Such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole."
"To stand beside someone without knowing their allegiance is unwise," Tyson replied.
Kreia smiled thinly. "What do you wish to hear? That I once believed in the code of the Jedi? That I felt the call of the Sith, that perhaps, once, I held the galaxy by its throat?" She moved closer, dropping her voice. "That for every good work that I did, I brought equal harm upon the galaxy? That perhaps what the greatest of the Sith Lords knew of evil, they learned from me? What would it matter now? There is only so much comfort in knowing such things, and it is not who I am now."
Meetra spoke up. "Tyson and I both still wish to hear the story."
Kreia was silent for a long moment, her hands clasped behind her back as she seemed to weigh her words. When she spoke again, her voice carried the weight of years and regret.
"There are dark places in the galaxy where few tread. Ancient centers of learning, of knowledge." Her sightless gaze turned toward something only she could see. "But I did not walk alone. To be united by hatred is a fragile alliance at best. But my will was not law. There were disagreements, ambition. And hunger for power."
She paused, her fingers tightening slightly where they gripped her robes. "There are techniques within the Force against which there is no defense. I was cast down. Stripped of my power. Exiled. I suffered... indignities. And fell into darkness."
The bridge fell silent except for the distant sounds of T3's repairs and the mechanical hum of the Harbinger's automated systems beyond the hangar bay. Tyson could see the pain in Kreia's expression, carefully controlled but unmistakably present.
"Learn from me, my mistakes, and use that knowledge to become greater than I. That is all I ask of you, and that is all I desire."
Tyson studied her face, seeing layers of complexity beneath the surface. Former Jedi, former Sith, and now something else entirely. "Are you offering to be my teacher?"
Kreia's smile returned, though it held no warmth. "In you all my hopes rest, for the future, for the Force. Though I'm not sure if it is which of you my hopes lie, or perhaps both."
Her gaze shifted between Tyson and Meetra, as if she could see, as if weighing possibilities only she could perceive.
Tyson mulled it over. He looked from Kreia to Meetra and back, feeling the threads between them. Through the Force, something was taking shape. A connection, delicate but undeniable, linking the three of them together like points on a triangle. Each node fed into the others with growing clarity.
He recognized it for what it was. Meetra Surik's unique ability, the one that had defined her story in the game he'd played years ago, long before he'd ended up in this multiverse. Force Bonds. She created them instinctively, drawing others into her orbit, binding them together through shared experience and proximity. That was what he was sensing now, the early formation of something that would only deepen with time. It had been there from the moment he arrived on the Ebon Hawk, and just wasn't strong enough for him to put a name to it.
And from the way Kreia spoke, from the careful way she positioned herself as teacher to both of them, Tyson understood something else with absolute certainty. His Wise Teacher was never meant to be Qui-Gon Jinn. The realization unsettled him. Because he also knew what Kreia was. What she had been. What she would become again, if history followed its course.
Darth Traya. The Lord of Betrayal. One of the Sith Triumvirate.
She stood before him now offering wisdom, offering guidance, and every word of it would be genuine. That was the terrible thing about Kreia. She meant what she said. She would teach him everything she knew, pour decades of accumulated knowledge into him without reservation.
And then, one day, she would betray him.
She was one of the nine. One of The Sith Lords he'd eventually need to confront. The Drawback guaranteed it. Nine Sith Lords would cross his path, and Kreia, Darth Traya, was among them.
The question wasn't whether she'd teach him. She would, and brilliantly. The question was whether he could turn her away from the Dark Side before that inevitable confrontation arrived, or whether Plague of Butterflies had already altered enough of the timeline to make the game's events unreliable as a guide.
Tyson's frown deepened as another thought surfaced. Against Maul, he'd held back deliberately. He hadn't used his full arsenal because revealing capabilities to a Sith who might report back to another was foolish. But Kreia, as his Wise Teacher, would be traveling with him. Living alongside him. If he used any of his tricks in future battles, she would see them. Sense them. Analyze them and undoubtedly prepare for them.
And if the day came when they stood on opposite sides, everything she'd observed would become a weapon pointed back at him. Every technique she witnessed was a technique she could potentially counter.
He'd have to factor that into every engagement going forward.
The ship's exit ramp descended with a mechanical whir, revealing the Harbinger's hangar bay beyond. Maintenance equipment stood abandoned at their stations, and service droids moved about oblivious to the absence of their organic supervisors.
The first thing Tyson noticed was the smell, or the absence of one. Hangar bays carried odors. Hydraulic fluid, scorched conductors, sweat, fuel, the cooked-metal of recent welding. The Harbinger's hangar smelled like sterile recycled air. The second thing he noticed was the sound. A ship this size, with a crew of hundreds, was never quiet. Boots on decking, voices over comms, the chatter of a hangar. What he heard now was the hum of ventilation pulling air through corridors no one was breathing in and an alert chime somewhere two decks up that nobody had silenced.
Tyson activated his HUD's tactical display, scanning for potential threats. The hangar appeared secure, but I Have A Bad Feeling About This continued its insistent warning. Whatever danger lurked aboard the Harbinger, it wasn't immediately visible.
"Stay alert," he warned as they descended the ramp. "Something's wrong here beyond just the missing crew."
Meetra moved beside him, her hand instinctively reaching for where her lightsaber should have been. The absence of the weapon was clearly still an adjustment for her, even years after her exile.
Kreia followed at a measured pace, her walking stick tapping against the metal decking. Despite her blindness, she moved with confidence, as if guided by the Force, which she likely was.
The hangar bay sported scorch marks on the bulkheads, suggesting weapon fire, though no bodies remained to indicate the battle's outcome. Emergency lighting created pockets of darkness that could conceal any number of threats.
"The crew quarters should be this way," Meetra said, indicating a corridor that led deeper into the ship. "If we're going to find answers about what happened here, that's where we should start."
Tyson shook his head. "We should go to the bridge or the command center first. Find out how the ship captured the Ebon Hawk if there's no one onboard to command it properly."
Meetra paused, considering his logic. "You're right. The tractor beam activation would have required someone at the controls, or at least a programmed response to specific criteria."
They moved through the hangar bay toward the main corridor. The corridor beyond the hangar stretched in both directions, lined with blast doors and maintenance panels. Republic insignia marked the walls at regular intervals, though several had been defaced or painted over with crude Sith symbols.
"Bridge should be this way," Meetra said, indicating the path toward the ship's bow. "Standard Hammerhead configuration puts command and control in the forward section."
They moved in single file, Tyson taking point with Meetra close behind and Kreia bringing up the rear. The older woman's walking stick tapped a steady rhythm against the deck plating, the sound somehow both comforting and ominous in the ship's unnatural silence.
Vicky's voice materialized in Tyson's HUD. "I'm detecting automated systems throughout the ship, but the power distribution is unusual. Several sections are completely dark, while others are running at full capacity despite no apparent need."
"Any life signs yet?" Tyson subvocalized, knowing the others couldn't hear his conversation.
"Still negative. Whatever happened here, the crew is either dead or gone."
They passed through several blast doors, each one sliding open at their approach. The ship's automated systems recognized them as authorized personnel, though Tyson suspected that authorization had been compromised along with everything else aboard the Harbinger.
The corridor opened into a wider junction where multiple passages converged. A display flickered weakly in the center, showing a schematic of the ship's layout. Several sections pulsed red, indicating damage or system failures.
"Look at this," Meetra said, moving to examine the display more closely. "The crew quarters, mess hall, and medical bay are all showing as sealed. Emergency containment protocols."
Tyson studied the schematic, noting the pattern of sealed sections. "Something was loose in the ship. They were trying to contain it."
"Or contain themselves," Kreia observed quietly. "Fear can drive people to desperate measures."
The bridge lay ahead through another blast door, this one marked with additional security warnings. As they approached, the door's control panel flashed yellow, indicating restricted access.
Meetra moved to the panel and began working on the security bypass. "I still have my Republic clearance codes. They might work if the system hasn't been completely compromised."
The panel flashed green, and the blast door began to cycle open. Beyond lay the Harbinger's command center, its stations arranged in the standard Republic configuration. Multiple viewscreens displayed tactical information and ship status reports.
But like everywhere else they'd encountered, the bridge stood empty.
"Someone was here recently," Tyson said, moving to the Captain's chair. Several stations showed recent use.
[Free] Import (Spaceships)Instead of choosing a Ship Type and Size for purchase, import one space-worthy vessel you already own. Its default Section Size and Rating are that of a ship of the corresponding size. At your choice, ship parts you buy can either replace pre-existing parts of the original ship or exist in addition to them.Hammerhead-Class Cruiser: Harbinger (Spaceships)A type of warship used by the Republic Navy, serving on the line in fleet engagements as a courier and as a command ship of large fleets during the Old Sith Wars, the Mandalorian Wars, and the New Sith Wars. This ship can also undertake independent operations, enter atmospheres, and land on planetary surfaces.Decommission (Spaceship)Destroy this vessel. Decommissioned vessels do not self-destruct, they are absorbed by the system. In return, you are granted half of its value in Ship Points. Any living creatures on a vessel when decommissioned will be sent to your Personal Reality along with any CP-backed items. Non-CP-backed items will be destroyed.[300 SP] Ship Size Rating: III[100 SP] Artificial Gravity[100 SP] Hangar[300 SP] Hyperdrive[50 SP] Fusion Reactor[50 SP] Navigation Suite[50 SP] Point Defense[100 SP] Deflector Shields[100 SP] Jump Suppression Field[50 SP] Beam Weapons (Turbolasers)Total Adjusted Decommission Value: 600 SP
The ship, a Hammerhead-class cruiser with standard Republic configurations, offered nothing beyond what his Iconic Interceptor already had, but the vessel could be decommissioned for ship points. More importantly, Importing it would ensure its return if destroyed, just as he'd done with the Ebon Hawk earlier.
The Import process completed seamlessly, and the ship's systems now recognized him as its primary operator. "The ship seems to be mostly in order, there's just no one here," he announced, stepping away from the captain's console. "Which is odd. Want to check out those crew quarters now?"
Meetra nodded with a troubled expression. "The containment protocols suggest something happened in that section specifically. We need to know what we're dealing with."
Kreia remained silent, though her grip on her walking stick had tightened perceptibly. The Force whispered warnings that even Tyson could sense through their growing connection.
Tyson subvocalized to his AI companion. "Vicky, get your main body to the bridge, and be ready to pilot the ship if needed."
"I can't," came her immediate response.
Tyson paused. Right. Limited Party. He could only have two active Companions at any given time, and the system apparently counted Meetra among them despite her absence from his Character Sheet. Kreia and Meetra filled both slots, which meant Vicky couldn't manifest her physical platform.
He glanced back at the two women, then at the captain's console. A workaround, then.
He pressed his index finger against the console's data port. A thin ribbon of silver separated from his glove, the Grey Goo Suit responding to his intent as it flowed into the Harbinger's systems. The nanomachines interfaced with the ship's computer architecture, building new pathways and embedding themselves within the existing framework.
"There," Vicky said through his HUD. "I've established a virtual intelligence subroutine within the Harbinger's main computer. It won't have my full capabilities, but I can pilot the ship as necessary and manage basic systems. My VI will continue spreading through the ship's network. Give me time, and I'll have access to every system on board, including whatever logs might tell us what happened to the crew."
"Good. Flag anything unusual."
"Already on it. The sealed sections are running independent power loops. Someone deliberately isolated them from the main grid before the crew disappeared."
Tyson pulled his finger from the console. He turned back to Meetra and Kreia. "Let's move. Crew quarters."
They retraced their path through the ship's corridors, past the junction with its flickering display and through the blast doors that separated the command section from the crew areas. The lighting here seemed dimmer, more oppressive, as if the ship's automated systems were conserving power for something else. The crew quarters lay ahead through another secured blast door, this one marked with biohazard warnings and containment protocols. Unlike the bridge access, this door's control panel pulsed an angry red, indicating active lockdown procedures.
Meetra worked at the security bypass again. "The containment field is still active. Whatever they were trying to keep in there, the system thinks it's still a threat."
"Or keep out," Kreia observed quietly. "Sometimes the greatest danger comes from what we choose to face, not what chooses to face us."
Meetra pulled in closer to Tyson, half a step behind his shoulder where she could speak to him without it carrying back to Kreia. "That's a thing she does," she said, voice low. "Watch for it. Every truth she tells you is shaped to make you reach for the next question. If you find yourself asking what she means, she's already where she wants to be. Listen, but don't follow her into the question."
The blast door cycled open with a grinding mechanical sound, as if the mechanisms had been damaged or strained. The corridor beyond stretched into darkness, emergency lighting casting pools of red illumination at irregular intervals.
They moved forward carefully, Tyson taking point while Meetra stayed close behind. The air here felt different, thicker, somehow, and carrying an underlying scent of decay that the ship's life support systems couldn't quite filter away.
It took Tyson a moment to place. The scent wasn't really a scent at all. His nose wasn't detecting anything the life support had failed to scrub. It was a sensation in the Force, pressing against his awareness.
The rot of the Dark Side.
This was saturated, soaked into the walls and floor plating. Meetra felt it too. He could tell from the way her steps shortened, her weight settling lower without conscious thought. A combat response dressed up as caution.
"You feel that," he said.
"Hard to miss."
Kreia said nothing, but her presence in the Force shifted, contracting inward like a creature pulling its limbs close. Whether that was wariness or recognition, Tyson couldn't tell.
Crew quarters lined both sides of the corridor, their doors sealed and marked with individual containment warnings. Through the small viewports, they could see personal belongings scattered across the deck, evidence of hasty evacuation or violent struggle.
As they approached the main crew common area, Tyson caught movement ahead. Something lay sprawled across the corridor floor, blocking their path. At first glance, it appeared to be debris or damaged equipment, but as they drew closer, the shape resolved. A body lay motionless on the deck plating. Scorch marks on the surrounding bulkheads indicated weapon fire, though whether the figure had been victim or aggressor remained unclear.
Then, surprisingly, the body began to rise.
What stood before them barely qualified as human anymore. The figure's flesh hung in tatters, revealing bone and sinew beneath. Massive scars crisscrossed every visible surface, some old, others fresh and weeping. Burns covered portions of the torso where clothing had been seared away.
Despite the damage, the figure moved deliberately. Dark side energy radiated from it like heat from a forge, making the air itself feel oppressive and wrong.
"Kreia," Tyson said quietly, not taking his eyes off the approaching horror, "what exactly are we looking at?"
The older woman's expression had shifted to one of recognition and barely concealed revulsion. "Darth Sion. The Lord of Pain. One of the Sith Triumvirate that rules the remnants of Revan's empire."
The figure, Sion, continued its approach, seemingly oblivious to their conversation. Each movement produced subtle sounds of grinding bone and tearing flesh, as if the very act of locomotion caused continuous damage to his already ruined form.
"He has learned to live through pain," Kreia continued, her walking stick tapping nervously against the deck. "To draw strength from suffering itself. Death cannot claim him because he will not allow it. His hatred and anguish sustain him beyond the grave, beyond reason, beyond mercy."
Sion's hollow gaze fixed on their group, and for the first time, he spoke.
"Kreia."
The recognition in Kreia's voice carried decades of history as she stepped forward, placing herself between the Sith Lord and her companions.
"Sion."
The Lord of Pain's ruined features twisted into what might have been a smile, though the expression looked more like a wound opening across his scarred face. "You cannot escape me. I defy death itself to claim you."
"And still you pursue me across the galaxy," Kreia replied, her tone carrying both weariness and steel. "Still, you hunt me like some wounded animal. Have you learned nothing in all these years?"
Sion's hollow gaze shifted briefly to Tyson and Meetra before returning to his former master. "I have learned that betrayal cuts deeper than any blade. That abandonment burns hotter than any flame." His voice grew stronger, fed by the pain that sustained him. "You left us, Kreia. Left us to face the Jedi's judgment alone."
"I left you to face the consequences of your choices," Kreia corrected, her walking stick held firmly before her. "As I faced mine. The difference is that I learned from my exile. You have learned only to embrace your suffering."
The Sith Lord took another step forward. "My suffering gives me strength. My pain makes me eternal. While you grow old and weak, I endure."
Tyson's hand moved instinctively toward his lightsaber, but Kreia's sharp gesture stopped him. This confrontation belonged to her, at least for now. The Force around them churned with dark energy as the two faced each other across the narrow corridor.
"Eternal?" Kreia laughed, the sound bitter and cutting. "You call this existence? This mockery of life? You are already dead, Sion. You simply lack purpose. Lack the wisdom to lie down."
Sion's scarred features contorted with fury. "Purpose? What purpose was there in your betrayal? What wisdom in your abandonment?"
"The wisdom to know when a student has chosen a path their teacher cannot follow," Kreia said quietly. "The strength to let them face the consequences of that choice."
The Sith Lord struck out with the Force, not at Tyson or Meetra, but directly at Kreia herself. The invisible blow sent her staggering backward, her walking stick clattering across the deck plating.
But Kreia recovered quickly, her own power rising to meet his assault. The corridor filled with the sound of grinding metal as the Force battle raged between them, neither giving ground despite the obvious strain on both combatants.
"You are weak," Sion snarled, pressing his attack. "Age has made you frail. Your students will watch you die, and then they will understand the futility of having followed you."
Tyson watched the exchange with growing alarm. Kreia was holding her own, but barely, and Sion's pain-fueled power seemed inexhaustible. He started forward, intending to intervene, but Kreia's voice stopped him cold.
"Stay back," she commanded, her attention never wavering from her opponent. "This lesson is mine to teach."
Sion laughed. "Yes, stay back and watch your precious teacher fall. Watch her pay for her arrogance, her betrayal, her—"
His words cut off as Kreia suddenly shifted tactics, abandoning defense for a concentrated assault. Lightning crackled between her fingers as she struck back. For a moment, it seemed she might prevail through sheer technique and experience.
But Sion's nature as the Lord of Pain served him well. Each injury she inflicted only fed his power, each wound becoming another source of the suffering that sustained him.
Tyson drew a line. If Sion connected with any attack, he was moving regardless of her order. If Sion went for her wrist as had happened in the game, he'd hold for one more beat to see if it happened the way he remembered, then he'd move anyway. He shifted his weight onto the foot he'd push off from, and kept his face neutral so Kreia wouldn't see him preparing to ignore her command.
He never got the chance.
The Force screamed a warning through Tyson's consciousness just as he prepared to intervene in the battle between Kreia and Sion. He spun, igniting his green lightsaber in a smooth arc that intercepted the vibroblade of a Sith Assassin who had emerged from the shadows behind them. The assassin's strike, aimed at his neck, sparked against the lightsaber's blade.
Beside him, Meetra twisted away from her own attacker, rolling across the corridor floor as another assassin's blade whistled through the space where her head had been moments before. She came up in a crouch, weaponless but alert, her Force senses and reflexes keeping her alive through pure evasion.
"Meetra!" Tyson called out, drawing his Laser Blade with his left hand while maintaining his Lightsaber guard against his opponent. He tossed the weapon through the air in a perfect arc.
She caught it smoothly and activated the blade. The sapphire energy hummed to life just in time to parry a downward strike from her assassin, the impact sending vibrations up her arms. Despite years without formal Lightsaber combat, muscle memory guided her movements as she engaged her attacker.
Tyson's opponent pressed him, each strike designed to exploit perceived weaknesses in his defense. The assassin fought like one trained to kill Force-users, but he was nothing compared to Darth Maul. Tyson's physical Perks and growing connection to the Force gave him the advantage. He feinted left, then drove his lightsaber through the assassin's chest in a single motion. The figure collapsed without a sound, its life extinguished as quickly as it had appeared.
Meetra's battle lasted longer; her opponent was more cautious after witnessing his companion's swift defeat. The Laser Blade felt unfamiliar, requiring constant adjustments to her fighting style. The assassin struck in measured attacks, testing her defenses, looking for the opening that would end the fight. But Meetra had survived too much to fall to a simple ambush. She caught her opponent overextended on a thrust and drove the borrowed weapon's point between his ribs, ending the threat.
They must have been using Force Cloak, or some similar ability that hid them from Tyson's senses and scanners. Luckily, they hadn't been particularly strong. He and Meetra both turned back toward the main confrontation just as Sion's voice rose in triumph.
"You are nothing, Kreia. Nothing but an old woman clinging to failed philosophies."
The Lord of Pain had pressed his advantage while they fought the assassins, his inexhaustible fury overwhelming Kreia's defenses. She stumbled backward, one hand raised in a desperate attempt to ward off his assault.
Sion's lightsaber, a crimson blade, swept down in a vicious arc. Kreia tried to deflect with the Force, but her strength was failing. The blade met her outstretched hand at the wrist.
The severed appendage fell to the deck with a wet sound. Kreia's scream of pain and rage tore through the Force like a physical thing, and both Tyson and Meetra staggered as the agony washed over them.
Tyson felt the phantom pain lance up his own arm, as if his hand had been severed instead of hers. The sensation drove him to his knees for a moment, his vision blurring as Kreia's suffering became his own. Beside him, Meetra gasped and clutched her wrist, the empathic feedback nearly overwhelming her restored Force sensitivity.
The realization came to him a half-second late, but it came. This wasn't just him picking up her pain through his Empathy or through the Force.
This was Meetra Surik.
He could feel the texture of her Force signature laid through the pain like a thread through fabric; the connection she didn't quite know she was making, or knew, and couldn't help. Force Bond. Her signature ability from the game, the thing that had allowed her to restore Kreia's connection to the Force, was working unconsciously now to pull every Force-sensitive in her vicinity.
But Tyson's enhanced physiology and growing mastery of the Force allowed him to compartmentalize the pain, to push it aside and focus on the immediate threat. He saw Sion raising his lightsaber for the killing blow, saw Kreia collapsed and defenseless before him, and moved.
His green blade intercepted Sion's crimson one inches from Kreia's throat. The Lord of Pain's hollow gaze fixed on him with surprise and growing interest.
"Another student rushes to her defense," Sion rasped, darkly. "How touching. How futile."
Tyson said nothing, focusing entirely on the immediate threat. He pushed back against Sion's blade, forcing the Sith Lord to step away from Kreia's prone form. The older woman was conscious but clearly in shock, cradling the stump of her severed hand against her chest.
Sion studied his new opponent with the calculating gaze of a predator evaluating prey. "You are strong in the Force, young one. I can feel your power, your potential. But you lack the wisdom that comes with true suffering."
"Maybe," Tyson replied, settling into a defensive stance. "But I'm wise enough to know when someone's talking too much."
"Arrogance. How refreshing. It has been too long since I faced an opponent who believed they could defeat me."
Sion attacked without further warning. Each strike carried the weight of his pain-fueled power, seeking to overwhelm through sheer force rather than finesse. But this kind of battle was where Tyson shined. He was far, far stronger than a normal man and wouldn't be bullied by some dead Sith Lord. He gave ground steadily, drawing Sion further from Kreia while analyzing his opponent's fighting style. The Lord of Pain favored heavy, crushing blows that would shatter conventional defenses. Still, his movements carried the stiffness of his undead state, creating gaps in his technique.
"You fight like her," Sion observed, pressing his assault. "Defensive. Cautious. Weak."
"We're just getting started. I'm still warming up," Tyson replied, deflecting a particularly vicious overhead strike that would have cleaved him in half.
The Sith Lord's attacks became more aggressive, less controlled. Tyson continued to give ground, leading his opponent away while looking for the opening he needed.
Behind them, Meetra had moved to Kreia's side, helping the injured woman to a sitting position against the corridor wall. Kreia's face was pale with pain and blood loss, but her eyes remained alert, tracking the battle with interest despite her condition.
With his next deflection, when Sion's blade was forced wide, Tyson struck back like a snake. His lightsaber drove forward in a perfect fencer's lunge, the green blade passing directly through the Sith Lord's heart, clean and exact.
Sion staggered, collapsing to one knee, then fell forward onto the deck plating with a wet thud. Dark blood pooled beneath his ruined form.
Tyson kept his weapon ready, circling toward Kreia and Meetra while maintaining sight on his fallen opponent. His instincts screamed warnings even as Sion lay motionless.
Those instincts proved correct. Within moments, the Lord of Pain pushed himself upright. The wound in his chest had already begun to close, flesh knitting together through sheer force of will and Dark Side power.
"Death cannot claim me," Sion rasped, rising to his full height once more. "I have transcended such mortal limitations."
Tyson didn't waste time on conversation. He opened a portal to his Personal Reality, the dimensional gateway materializing directly behind Kreia and Meetra. The Medical Bay was visible through the shimmering threshold.
"Get Kreia inside," he commanded, not taking his eyes off Sion. "Take her hand with you. She'll be able to heal there."
Meetra didn't argue; Tyson had told her about his ability to open portals through the Force. She grabbed Kreia's severed hand, then helped her to her feet, supporting the injured woman as they moved toward the portal. Just as they crossed the threshold, Meetra turned and tossed the Laser Blade back to Tyson in a smooth arc.
He caught it with his left hand, now dual-wielding as Sion advanced once more.
"His pain sustains him," Kreia called out weakly, her voice carrying clearly despite the clash of lightsabers. "Physical damage only feeds his power. You must find another way."
Sion laughed, the sound echoing off the corridor walls. "Listen to your teacher, boy. Learn how hopeless your situation truly is. I have endured through pain that would destroy lesser beings. Your blade cannot harm me. Your power cannot match mine."
To prove his point, the Lord of Pain deliberately allowed Tyson's next strike to connect, the green blade scoring a deep burn across his chest. Instead of weakening him, the wound seemed to invigorate Sion further, his subsequent attack coming with renewed fury.
Tyson barely managed to parry the strike, the impact sending vibrations up his arm. He was beginning to understand the true nature of his opponent's power, and the tactical problem it presented. Every injury inflicted would only make Sion stronger, while his own stamina and strength were exceptional, they weren't infinite resources.
Sion pressed forward relentlessly, his crimson blade weaving patterns of destruction that forced Tyson to fight purely defensively. The Sith Lord's undead nature meant he felt no fatigue, no strain from the extended combat, while Tyson could feel the first hints of exhaustion beginning to affect his movements.
"You begin to understand," Sion observed, noting the slight decrease in his opponent's speed. "This is what it means to face one who has transcended death itself. Your strength will fail. Your technique will falter. And then you will join your teacher in defeat."
With Meetra and Kreia safely through the portal, Tyson sealed it and immediately turned toward the ship's hangar bay. Behind him, Sion's heavy footsteps pursued him through the corridor.
Tyson sprinted through the Harbinger, his Augment physique allowing him to maintain a speed and pace impossible for a normal human. The hangar bay doors stood partially open when Tyson arrived, the space only occupied by the Ebon Hawk. Emergency atmosphere shields flickered weakly across the bay opening, the only thing preventing immediate decompression into the asteroid field beyond.
Tyson positioned himself in the center of the hangar, both lightsabers ignited and ready. The green blade of his primary weapon hummed in his right hand while the sapphire energy of the Laser Blade cast blue highlights across the deck plating from his left. He settled into a stance, weight balanced and ready for the battle to begin again.
Sion entered the hangar moments later, his scarred features twisted into an expression of dark satisfaction. "Running only delays the inevitable, young one. There is nowhere on this ship you can hide from me."
"Who said anything about hiding?" Tyson replied, adjusting his grip on both weapons.
The Lord of Pain advanced without further conversation. But in the larger space of the hangar bay, Tyson had room to maneuver, to use his speed and dual weapons to maximum advantage.
Sion's fighting style remained unchanged; powerful, crushing strikes designed to overwhelm through brute force. But Tyson's strength meant those attacks, while dangerous, weren't the overwhelming advantage they would be against a normal opponent. He caught Sion's blade on his lightsaber, deflecting the strike wide, then followed up with a lightning-fast thrust from the Laser Blade that punched through the Sith Lord's ribcage.
The sapphire blade emerged from Sion's back. Any normal being would have collapsed instantly, but the Lord of Pain simply looked down at the weapon protruding from his chest with mild interest.
"Is that the best you can manage?" Sion asked, then pushed himself forward along its length, bringing his own weapon within striking distance of Tyson's throat.
Tyson barely managed to disengage, pulling the Laser Blade free and rolling backward to avoid the counter-attack. The wound in Sion's chest was already beginning to close, flesh knitting together through sheer force of will, leaving behind yet another scar added to the collection.
The duel resumed. Tyson's dual blades landed blow after blow. A deep cut across the Sith Lord's shoulder, a thrust through his abdomen, a slash that should have severed his spine. Each wound closed within moments, and Sion seemed to grow stronger with each injury inflicted.
The most disturbing moment came when Tyson managed to sever Sion's left arm at the elbow with a perfectly executed cross-cut. The limb should have fallen to the deck, cauterized by the lightsaber's energy. Instead, it remained in place, held by invisible Force energy and sheer determination. The arm continued to function as if still attached, moving with the same control as before.
"You begin to understand the futility of your efforts," Sion said, pressing his attack with both arms despite one being technically severed. "Death has no meaning for one who has transcended its limitations through pain."
Tyson gave ground steadily, working through options. Physical damage was clearly useless against an opponent who could simply will his body to continue functioning regardless of injury. As Kreia said. He needed a different approach, something that would remove Sion from the equation without relying on conventional combat.
"Vicky," he muttered, "depressurize the hangar bay."
His AI companion's response came through his Grey Goo Suit, her VI still spreading through the ship's systems from the bridge. "Acknowledged. Initiating emergency decompression sequence."
Sion moved forward for what he clearly intended to be a finishing combination, his crimson blade raised high for a devastating overhead strike. The Lord of Pain's scarred features showed grim satisfaction as he prepared to end the duel.
The hangar bay's atmosphere shields failed simultaneously. Emergency klaxons wailed as the ship's atmosphere rushed out into space in a violent torrent that caught everything loose in its path. Debris, equipment, and both combatants were swept toward the bay opening with irresistible force.
Tyson felt the familiar sensation of his Gray Goo Suit adapting, the absorbed Spacesuit technology activating to provide life support and protection against the vacuum. His HUD flickered to life, displaying atmospheric readings and suit status as he tumbled through space alongside Sion.
The Lord of Pain's undead nature meant the vacuum had no immediate effect on him, but the momentum of decompression sent both of them spinning away from the Harbinger at considerable velocity. Sion's hollow gaze fixed on Tyson with renewed fury as he realized what had happened.
Tyson oriented himself in the zero-gravity environment and opened a portal directly in his flight path. The dimensional gateway led to his Personal Reality, specifically to the area adjacent to the Automated Repair Facility where the Iconic Interceptor was docked.
He passed through the portal just as Sion reached out with the Force, trying to grab him with telekinesis. But, too late, the portal closed behind him, leaving the Lord of Pain adrift in the asteroid field.
Vicky, a copy of her within the AI Core of the Iconic Interceptor, beamed Tyson directly into the ship's bridge.
"Thanks for the pickup," Tyson said. He opened a portal back onto the Harbinger's command center.
Through the cockpit viewport, he could see Darth Sion floating in the vacuum, his scarred form slowly but steadily moving back toward the Harbinger using Force-assisted propulsion.
"Not this time." His hands moved across the ship's interface.
His HUD displayed the available ships in the area; the Harbinger and the Ebon Hawk, both highlighted in his tactical display. He selected both vessels and hovered over the Decommission function. The feature would simply remove objects from existence in exchange for Ship Points.
Tyson's fingers moved across the Harbinger's weapons console, cycling through targeting options. The turbolaser array locked onto the densest fuel deposits visible in the asteroid field. Peragus II's shattered remains hung in the void, the largest chunks still bled raw fuel from exposed geological veins. He selected three of the richest concentrations and fired.
The turbolaser bolts streaked out from the Harbinger's forward batteries, bright green lances cutting through the debris field toward their targets.
Then he hit Decommission.
Both the Harbinger and the Ebon Hawk ceased to exist. One moment, a capital ship, with the small freighter inside its hangar bay sat in the asteroid field around the dead planet. The next, they were simply gone.
Ship Points: 4400
Tyson and Vicky materialized in the Control Room of his Personal Reality, ejected from the Decommissioned vessel. The transition was instantaneous and disorienting. One heartbeat, he stood on the Harbinger's bridge, the next, his boots hit the familiar flooring of his own dimensional space.
"Decommission confirmed," Vicky reported from beside him, already pulling up external sensor feeds on the Control Room's displays. "Moving the Iconic Interceptor to the outskirts of the Peragus system to acquire visuals."
The main display resolved into a wide-angle view of the asteroid field. Darth Sion floated alone in the vacuum, a scarred speck among the tumbling rocks, his crimson lightsaber still ignited and casting a faint glow against the nearest debris. No ship remained within reach. No vessel existed in the system that might carry him away.
But the turbolaser bolts Tyson had fired were still in flight.
The first bolt struck a continent-sized fragment of Peragus II dead center, punching through the exposed fuel deposits. The detonation was immediate and catastrophic. Superheated fuel ignited in a chain reaction that split the fragment into thousands of burning pieces, each one trailing fire as it tumbled outward into the surrounding field.
Those burning pieces struck other asteroids. Other fuel-rich asteroids.
The second bolt hit a cluster of smaller fragments simultaneously, and the third buried itself in what had once been part of the planet's core. The triple detonation created an expanding sphere of fire that consumed everything it touched. The Peragus mining facility, already damaged and abandoned, vanished in a wall of flame.
Chain reactions rippled outward through the field like dominoes falling. Each fuel-laden rock that caught fire became a bomb that ignited its neighbors. The destruction fed on itself, growing exponentially as the fire found more and more fuel to consume. Within moments, a significant portion of Peragus II's remains had become an expanding inferno, a miniature nebula of fire and shattered stone that lit up the system like a newborn star.
Tyson watched it from the bridge of the Iconic Interceptor in silence.
Sion was a pinpoint somewhere in that fire by now.
"You okay?" Vicky asked.
He didn't answer right away, taking the time to consider the question on its own terms. "Ask me when this is all over," he said eventually.
"I'll put a reminder on the calendar."
He wouldn't have done this when he first arrived in this world. He'd done it now without much pause. The question of whether that was growth or attrition was one he wasn't entirely certain of in this moment. He simply watched the inferno burn.
One of The Sith Lords down, eight to go.
Kreia was being healed. Meetra was checking on her. The Wise Teacher slot in his Companion list was filled. D'Lavina was somewhere in the Personal Reality, and he agreed with himself on how to treat her. Eight to go, including a Senator. Coruscant. The decommission of two ships and defeating a Sith Lord was, in the larger frame of things, a clearing of the table before the actual game began.
Coruscant was tomorrow's problem.
Episode: Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic - Pergus Complete!+350 RPReality Points: 2150