The Old Republic Series

by Sean Williams

  Jace lay motionless with his eyes closed on his cot as consciousness slowly returned, floating on a cloud of kolto. He could hear the celebration taking place outside his tent; Havoc Squad had won a great victory today over the Empire. The Republic had been giving ground ever since the Sith had first reappeared and seized Korriban; reclaiming Alderaan was a morale boost the troops desperately needed.

  The songs and laughter of the soldiers from outside the tent sounded as if they were coming from a great distance—muted by the drugs that numbed the pain of his disfigured face.

  The explosion from the grenade he’d clutched in his hand while tackling Darth Malgus had scarred him for life, but his desperate actions had saved Satele Shan’s life … just as her unexpected arrival had saved him from execution at the hands of the Sith earlier in the battle.

  “How are you feeling?” a gentle voice cooed in his ear, and he opened his eyes to see Satele hovering over him.

  “Muddled,” Jace said with a smile. “Kolto’s making me a bit woozy.”

  He could feel his burned skin stretching and cracking at the gesture, and he half expected Satele to recoil as he realized what a gruesome sight he must be.

  Instead, she returned his smile and reached out to place a soft hand on his bare arm. Her touch sent a shiver along his spine.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked her. “On Alderaan, I mean?”

  “I had a vision,” she told him. “The Force showed me that you would need my help on Alderaan, and I petitioned the Council to send reinforcements.”

  “Might have to rethink my opinion on that mystical mumbo-jumbo,” Jace teased her. “Those Imps were about to make me a full head shorter before you arrived. Guess I owe you one.”

  “After all the battles we’ve fought together, I’ve stopped keeping track of who owes whom,” Satele told him. “You know I’ll always be there for you, and I know you’ll be there for me.”

  “We make a good team,” Jace conceded. “They find Malgus’s body yet?”

  Satele shook her head. “I’m starting to think he survived the battle.”

  “You dropped a mountain on him,” Jace grunted in disbelief. “How could anyone survive that?”

  “He’s a powerful Sith Lord. It’s possible he used the dark side to survive my final assault. But you should not let that detract from this moment. All of Alderaan is hailing you as a hero this night. If you’re up to it I can take you out to enjoy the celebrations.”

  “I’d rather stay here in my tent … alone with you.”

  Satele tried to dismiss his comment with a laugh, but there was a nervousness in her reaction that Jace could sense even through the fading fugue of the painkillers in his system.

  “I’m serious, Satele,” he said. “You know how I feel about you. I’ve felt that way for years, ever since we first met.”

  “That’s the kolto talking,” she said, though she sounded unsure.

  “The kolto’s just giving me the courage to say what I’ve felt this entire time,” Jace insisted, sitting up and clasping her hand between his. “Or maybe it’s knowing I was only seconds away from death. Whatever the reason, I can’t keep playing this game.

  “I can’t ignore what’s in my heart,” he continued, the words coming in a rush, his mind suddenly focused and clear. “And I know you feel something for me, too.”

  Satele shook her head, but she didn’t pull her hand away.

  “I am a Jedi. We must unburden ourselves from emotion and passion to find peace.”

  “What peace can you find when the galaxy is consumed by war?” Jace asked. “Instead of denying what we feel, we should embrace it. Together we are greater than each of us alone. You can’t deny it.”

  “I’m a Jedi,” she repeated, though Jace could tell her resolve was weakening.

  “There have been Jedi who fell in love,” he said. “The Order pretends it never happens, but we both know that isn’t true.”

  Satele was silent for several moments. When she spoke her voice was little more than a whisper.

  “I’ve feared this moment since we first met,” she told him.

  She leaned in and gave Jace a gentle kiss on the lips, careful not to brush the exposed and tender flesh of his wounds.

  Jace woke with a start, nearly spilling himself off his couch.

  He hadn’t dreamed about Satele for years. He’d thought the memories, and the pain they brought him, had been boxed safely away. Speaking with Theron—speaking with his son—had reopened old wounds.

  Checking his watch, he saw nearly two hours had passed since Theron had left. That would explain the crick in his neck. The couch was fine for a brief power nap, but it was no place to spend the night.

  Grunting like a man decades older, he forced himself to his feet and staggered off to bed, wondering if his nights would now be haunted by the only woman he had ever loved.

  Back in his apartment, Theron couldn’t stop pacing. The conversation with Jace—with your father—had affected him more than he wanted to admit. Logically, everything he’d said to Jace was true: Ngani Zho had raised him, and the only real connection he had with the Supreme Commander was some shared DNA.

  Emotionally, however, he couldn’t simply brush the revelation off. It rekindled long-forgotten feelings of anger and betrayal toward his mother: feelings he thought he’d come to terms with long ago. But when it came to Jace, he wasn’t sure what he felt.

  He wasn’t angry; it wasn’t fair to blame the Supreme Commander for what Satele had done. He wasn’t feeling happy or excited or relieved: he’d never felt the need to know his biological father before, so it wasn’t like some great void in his life had suddenly been filled. Yet even though he couldn’t describe it, he was feeling something.

  You’re not going to figure this out in one night.

  Theron stopped pacing and shook his head, trying to regain his focus. Operation End Game had to be his top priority; he couldn’t afford to be distracted by this unexpected family drama. He had to put all thoughts of his parents aside and concentrate on the mission.

  He took a few deep breaths to regain his composure—a simple trick he’d learned from Ngani Zho.

  Your real father.

  Ignoring the voice inside his head, he made his way over to the holo-terminal in the center of the room. He’d set up his apartment so that all incoming holocalls were automatically tracked and traced. He pulled up the data from his last call—Teff’ith—and sent off a hailing signal, not bothering to hide the identity tag on the transmission.

  If she’s dead-set on not talking to me, she’ll just ignore the call.

  The holo beeped several times before Teff’ith finally answered.

  “Told you to leave us alone,” she snarled as her image materialized before him.

  “You didn’t have to pick up.”

  “Beeping holo’s annoying. What you want?”

  “I need a favor.”

  Theron half expected her to cut the call short right there. Instead, she gave an exasperated sigh.

  “Knew you were following us for a reason.”

  “It’s a small favor,” Theron assured her. “Just need you to make one call.”

  “To who?” she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  Theron took it as a good sign that she hadn’t said no.

  “I have some business on Ziost. I need a contact there who can hold on to an important package for a few days until I come to pick it up. Might also need him to get me a few things. Blueprints. Information. Maybe some explosives. You know anyone like that?”

  “Thought you said you weren’t following us on Ziost!” she said, her tone dripping with accusation.

  Theron held up his hands defensively. “Never set foot on that planet in my life. I only know you were there because you mentioned it on our last call.”

  Teff’ith’s head-tails twitched as she debated whether to believe him or not.

  “What this about?” she finally demanded.


  “Can’t say,” Theron replied. “Top secret. But it won’t cause any problems for you or the Old Tion Brotherhood.”

  “Cause problems for the Empire?”

  Theron shrugged. “Does that really matter to you?”

  “Got a contact who works with the ZLF,” Teff’ith said. “Maybe could do it.”

  Theron had read several reports focusing on the Ziost Liberation Front, a radical separatist group that had vowed to free their homeworld from Imperial control. Relying primarily on violent guerrilla attacks, they targeted both military and civilian targets, making them technically a terrorist organization. The ZLF was too extreme for the Republic to officially support them, but for this mission they were exactly what he needed.

  And you won’t have to worry about any of them being sympathetic to the Empire.

  “That should work,” Theron said. “Can you set up a meeting?”

  “Never said we’d help you yet,” Teff’ith reminded him. “Gotta work out the terms.”

  “Two hundred credits,” Theron opened.

  “A thousand,” she countered.

  “I’m not giving you a thousand credits just to set up a meeting,” Theron said with a laugh. “Three hundred—take it or leave it.”

  Teff’ith chewed her lip for a minute as she considered the offer.

  “Four hundred,” she said. “In advance. And this makes us even for Nar Shaddaa.”

  Before Theron could agree she quickly added, “We set this up and you leave us alone from now on. We see you following us again, we kill you.”

  “Figured that would be part of the deal,” he said. “Four hundred credits, in advance, and you’ll never see me again.”

  Satisfied, Teff’ith said, “Okay, we set it up.”

  CHAPTER 14

  THERON WAS IMPRESSED with the ship Gnost-Dural had procured for their journey to Ziost. The TZ-6 executive shuttle was one of Corellian Engineering Corporation’s most luxurious mass-production vessels; the ship was easily worth five times the value of any craft Theron had ever owned. The name stenciled on the side, PROSPERITY, seemed particularly apt.

  “The Jedi must pay better than I thought,” he said, running an appreciative hand along the gleaming hull.

  “I’ll be playing the part of a wealthy industrialist,” Gnost-Dural explained. “It would look unusual if we were traveling in a substandard vessel.”

  “Hey, you don’t need to convince me,” Theron said. “I like traveling in style.”

  Theron took two quick steps up the boarding ramp, eager to check out the interior … and just as eager to leave Coruscant behind. He knew from past experience that once the mission was under way, his mind would be too focused to keep brooding over the fact that Jace Malcom was his father.

  “So tell me more about our cover story,” Theron said, settling into one of the six luxurious reclining passenger seats. The plush cushions momentarily gave way beneath his weight before reshaping themselves to perfectly conform to every contour of his body.

  “I will play the part of Ess Drellid, a wealthy noble who owns several factories in the Deadalis sector,” Gnost-Dural explained. The Jedi chose to remain standing rather than join Theron in one of the adjacent seats.

  “You will be my security chief, looking to upgrade weapons and armor for my personal bodyguards; Ziost has a thriving black market for both.

  “Everything on board our ship will support this story, just in case customs officials decide to conduct a random search of the vessel.”

  “What if someone gets suspicious and digs into our backstory?” Theron asked, reluctantly getting to his feet and leaving the comfort of the passenger chair behind.

  “My people have seeded the various databases the Empire has access to with documents that will support our story. Short of someone actually traveling to the Deadalis sector to investigate the factories in person, our story will hold up.”

  “You’ve got quite the little operation going,” Theron said appreciatively. “For a Jedi historian, you make a pretty good spy.”

  “As I said before, SIS are not the only ones gathering intelligence on our enemy,” Gnost-Dural reminded him, following close behind as Theron headed for the cockpit. “But your efforts are focused primarily on the military and the day-to-day operations of the Empire. My people are more interested in those who follow the dark side of the Force: the Sith Lords, the Dark Council, and even the Emperor.”

  “I heard the Emperor’s dead,” Theron noted, taking a seat in the copilot’s chair.

  “That is what many believe,” Gnost-Dural said cryptically, settling into the pilot’s chair beside him.

  “You don’t buy that?”

  Theron was pleased to discover that, like the passenger seats in the rear of the shuttle, the chairs in the cockpit adjusted themselves to provide maximum comfort and support. That would come in handy for the long flight to Ziost.

  “There are many possibilities I have not yet ruled out. The Emperor may be dead. He may be in hiding. Or he may never have existed at all … at least not in any true sense of the word.”

  “Haven’t heard that one before,” Theron admitted.

  “There is some evidence to support the theory that the thousand-year-old Sith Emperor was merely a myth,” Gnost-Dural explained while going through a standard preflight check of their vessel.

  “It’s possible that the Emperor is really just the strongest member of the Dark Council. When he or she dies, the next strongest secretly assumes that role, perpetuating the myth of an eternal, all-powerful being to keep the masses and other Sith Lords in line.”

  “If that’s the case, then why all the rumors that the Emperor is dead?” Theron asked, cross-checking the instruments and readouts. “Why hasn’t one of them just stepped into his robes and made a quick public appearance?”

  “The Dark Council, like the rest of the Empire, is in flux. There may be disagreement among them as to who should be the next one to assume the Emperor’s role.

  “Or,” the Jedi added, “the rumors could all be true, and the Emperor was actually an ancient being of unfathomable power who has recently disappeared, leaving his followers stumbling in his absence.

  “Whatever the truth,” Gnost-Dural vowed, “I will one day find out. Knowledge is the key to stopping the Sith.”

  “I thought taking out the Ascendant Spear was the key,” Theron joked.

  “The Spear is the key to defeating the Empire and putting a quick end to the galactic war,” Gnost-Dural clarified, raising his voice to be heard as he fired up the ship’s engines. “But the Sith are another matter entirely. Even if the Empire falls, the followers of the dark side will continue to exist in hiding.

  “That is why I have devoted myself to studying the Sith. I am determined to find a way to cleanse the galaxy of their corrupting influence, putting an end to the eternal struggle between the light and dark sides of the Force.”

  “Uh … okay. Hope that works out for you.”

  Theron could feel the seat beneath him adjusting as the force of their liftoff pressed him into his chair. The Prosperity’s thrust was impressive.

  “You mock me,” Gnost-Dural said. “Did Master Zho not speak to you of the Force and the battle between the forces of light and darkness?”

  “He was more interested in teaching me the skills I needed to survive,” Theron replied. “I think he was expecting the instructors at the Jedi academy to fill me in on that kind of stuff,” he added. “But when I didn’t show an affinity for the Force, they refused to take me.”

  “The Force manifests itself in many ways,” Gnost-Dural assured him. “It flows through all living things. Not being a Jedi doesn’t diminish your worth.”

  “Never said it did,” Theron answered, a little more sharply than he intended.

  “I need to input our destination into the nav computer,” Gnost-Dural said, perhaps sensing it was time to put an end to the conversation.

  Theron was all too happy to let the matter drop. In
his few weeks at the academy, he’d experienced enough of the unintentional but unmistakable self-righteous superiority of the Jedi to last a lifetime.

  Could have been worse, Theron thought. At least he didn’t ask me about my mother. Once again, Theron wondered if the Kel Dor knew about Satele’s secret shame.

  The rest of the trip passed in relative silence, both men retreating to inner contemplation as they went through the mundane routines of deep-space travel. Theron actually appreciated the lack of conversation; it gave him time to mentally prepare for the coming mission. By the time they were halfway to Ziost, he’d successfully banished all thoughts of Jace and Satele, leaving his mind clear and focused.

  The clearance procedures for ships approaching Ziost were far too regulated to actually be efficient, but they passed through the gauntlet of customs and security with little difficulty and were given permission to land. Once the Prosperity touched down, the faceless guards tasked with authorizing their presence on the Imperial-controlled world simply asked Gnost-Dural a few routine questions, ran a quick verification of his ship’s registration, and made a perfunctory search of the interior before waving them through.

  Safely out of earshot, Theron couldn’t help but whisper, “If we knew customs was just going to wave us through, we wouldn’t have had to ship the decryption core here ahead of time.”

  “The Empire has ears everywhere,” Gnost-Dural cautioned.

  Duly chastened, Theron decided to keep any further smart-mouthed comments to himself.

  As they made their way from the landing bay to a speeder waiting outside the spaceport to take them to Teff’ith’s contact, Theron couldn’t help but marvel at the cosmopolitan feel of the crowd. He counted at least a dozen different species from every corner of the galaxy, including sectors where countless Republic soldiers had given their lives to save the local populations from being conquered and enslaved by the Sith.