A Broken Foundation (Sa’ato)

[Varn Badaash]

Jedi temple, Kashyyk

“Permission denied Captain Badaash,” Ranger General Linok’s stern voice carried through her holographic image.

“Generals,” the Dashade began to retort, his gravelly voice held an urgency to it.

“This matter is not up for debate Ranger,” the voice of the Master Jedi Farlander cut him off.

Varn’s dark eyes turned briefly to the Jedi’s hologram before refocusing on the two generals.

“You must understand Varn,” General Alim began, the only one that wasn’t a hologram in the meeting with the Ranger Captain. “We can’t risk a squad of Rangers and their support crew on a mission into the Reach. We have no Intel and we can’t even be sure that Padawans Swann and Austjor are even in the Reach.”

“All the evidence we’ve received says the Sith took them both,” Varn’s voice was beginning to rise. “Someone has to do something! Forget a full squad, let me go, I’m the most qualified to infiltrate Sith control space!”

“Your qualification aren’t in question Captain,” once again the Cathar hologram spoke. “You are to emotionally invested in this, it’s clouding your judgement, we are aware you blame yourself for...”

“Of course I do!” Varn snapped, “Swann wouldn’t be gone if I was just a bit faster, let me go, let me find them both, no one else needs to be risked.”

“We can’t approve this mission, Varn, that’s final.” Farlander spoke, his voice remaining calm. “You need to take some time, reflect, in time we will find Master Kenobi’s apprentices, trust in the Force.”

How could the Jedi say that to him!? Varn knew nothing of the Force, he couldn’t feel it, hells it couldn’t even feel him. “If you won’t do anything then I must...” Varn’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Good day Master, Generals.” Varn turned and began walking out of the room.

“Varn! Do not do this, don’t throw your life away, the Padawans need you to live, not die out their with no direction!” General Linok shouted. “General Alim, stop him.”

Alim just stood there, shock holding her in place, she’d known Varn his entire career with the Rangers and was there when they lost Swann, she knew he’d do this even if she stood in his way.

Several days later, deep space near Rhen Var

Varn sat quietly aboard his new Pursuer class vessel, the console lights reflecting in his black eyes. The coordinate were set, all he had to do was push the hyperspace lever. “Am I really doing this,” the Dashade muttered to himself.

“The initial details of the plan do have a relatively high chances of success though there is definitely a likely hood of danger, and possibly death,” the robotic voice of the Espionage droid that had been assigned to the Ranger many moons back responded. Varn had brought it along because he lacked the computer knowledge to hack any Sith systems, something droids like this one were specially programmed for.

“Thank you MC,” Varn quietly replied, the droid was also a reminder of the mission that saw Padawan Swanns disappearance. The alien took a heavy breath before pushing the lever forward and watched as the viewport filled with the blue maelstrom known as hyperspace.

[Professor Mors]

***Jovan II, Outer Orbit, Gordian Reach, Grid Coordinates P-6***

Sa’ato cast a half-interested eye at the Mudhorn’s main censor grid and leaned back in his chair. While he was grateful that this particular patrol route was quite in some respects, the Neti was not entirely accustomed to spending whole days in the vacuum of space. If the professor had been sent to the border at Maridun, he might have found himself in a much more charged environment. As things were, there was little to do but sit about and wait for transports to come in.

The Jovan system had been a key agricultural exporter in the old Imperial period, a role which it continued to fill under Sith leadership. That did come with one noticeable change however. The farmers were not paid but rather forced to until the lands until their bodies came out. Numerous shuttles ferried fresh labor in from all corners of the galaxy, and for the time being, it was Sa’ato’s job to get them logged and cleared. And, while it was unlikely, the academic was similarly tasked to deal with any independent parties searching for lost friends or relatives.

But thus far, it had been all quiet on the eastern front. In the downtime between shipments, Sa’ato took to scanning and pouring over charred and faded documents that had been steadily provided to him by his mentors. Poems, ledgers, histories, a preponderance of Sith culture that may as well have been forcefully yanked from crumbling tombs on Korriban. This was the payment for the Neti’s services. Ironic, military service in lieu of a library datacard. Despite the myriad of topics, the professor’s fixation remained that most enigmatic of runes: the holocron.

The small, jagged pyramid of mystery that had started Sa’ato on his long journey from home still refused to offer up its secrets. One nagging barrier that remained from the Neti’s initial Sith encounter on Montitia was the language itself. Amidst psionic training and other exercises, his malevolent tutors hardly had time to teach a survey course. All the same, fresco by fresco, etching by etching, the retired teacher was slowly beginning to understand. As the moon began to slowly wind around the nearby planet, Sa’ato became caught up in what appeared to be a descriptive triumph of a warlord long passed.

Not the best tool for learning grammar, he thought, but at least he could skip the names.

[Varn Badaash]

The maw of hyperspace circled around the viewport of the lone vessel. Everything was quiet besides the occasional low tone of the navcomputer making micro corrections to their course. Varn closed his large clawed hand, his thumb gently feeling the synthetic ‘flesh’ that covered his robotic index finger. It didn’t feel right, the doctors back on Koda station didn’t have the correct formulas to replicate the Dashade’s skin but it allowed the finger to be a reminder of his last encounter with the Sith. Perhaps one day he could find an expert to grow him a new finger to replace this mechanical contraption.

The large Dashade slowly stood up and paced around the cockpit before heading deeper into the vessel. He wasn’t nervous, or anxious, no he was ready and the waiting was killing him, he needed to find something to help those who were lost. He stepped into the engine compartment to find MC working silently on the life support systems.

“Is it going to be ready?” Varn ask, his gravelly voice shattering the silence.

“It will be Captain Badaash,” the droid replied promptly. “It will shut down as soon as we exit hyperspace at our planned junction, the computer will then inform any ship scanners that the life support system have failed.”

Varn nodded, “I’ll grab my gear.” He slowly turned to walk away before pausing. “Thank you MC.” He generally wasn’t a fan of droids however this one had shown it could be relied on.

“No need for thanks Captain, you are after all my superior.”

The alien slowly shook his head before stepping out, the droid still couldn’t actually understand what this meant to the sentient. He slowly walked to his quarters where he dawned his gear and grabbed the breather apparatus, he had no idea how long he’d be stuck onboard till a Sith vessel spotted them. Quietly he reentered the cockpit and took a seat again, MC was now here input some commands to the ship computer. For the time he just sat and watched the droid work, nothing else could be done for now.

[Professor Mors]

Tribute. Spoils. Gilt pottery, tapestries, fine foods, uncut gems. Waist-deep in his reading, Sa’ato had reached a lull in his research while dissecting an extensive description of a military victory from the time of Marka Ragnos. Of course, the Neti would not dare voice his disinterest in the presence of his betters, but in the private confines of his ship, his boredom was undeniable. An endless sea of nouns and the occasional adjective could not give the scholar the understanding of Sith idiom he so earnestly sought. Not to mention the grating, indeterminate verb tenses the academic was encountering more and more frequently in the text proper.

Sa’ato blew oxygen-rich breath from out his lips with anguish made manifest, and let his gaze drift up to the Mudhorn’s main viewport. The Neti very desperately wanted to move on to the next item in his loaner catalogue. However, he was to be on call for many hours still, and now he deeply regretted the speed and zeal with which he worked at the start of the mission. The professor’s stack was growing thin. And if he thought he was bored now, the itinerant teacher would be even more so without something new to read. There was always physical training, the academic supposed. But, if some brigand did just happen to enter the system at that time, self-exertion would only prove burdensome.

It was at this moment in his meditations that a flash caught the corner of the Neti’s eye. Jerking his head swiftly to one side, Sa’ato scanned the blackness of space for some sign of the disturbance. For several moments he saw nothing. The professor began to run numbers. Perhaps a comet, unnoticed before, had broken up. Maybe a distant solar flare had teased the scholar to ensure he was awake at his post. Then the scintillation returned. And this time, Sa’ato caught it. A partially obscured wedge of silver, no bigger than a humanoid thumbnail, and the blue wisp of sub-light plasma. A ship: or what was left of one. Maybe the Neti would have something to occupy his time after all.

Squeezing the Pursuer-Class’s throttle with both hands, Sa’ato eased his vessel forward, and kept one gleaming eye fixed on the long-range scanner console. A new mystery had presented itself. And like all unknown things, the professor would find the truth of matters.