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At last, when everything had stopped moving, when the ship had ground to a creaking hull-rending halt and the whine of the engines choked into uneasy silence, Aronoke found the wherewithal to pick himself up and take stock of their situation. It was dark, very dark, but he could feel Hespenara stirring on the bench beside him and hear Tarric Gondroz muttering from across the corridor.

The emergency lighting flickered into dull green life.

“Is everyone alright?” asked Kthoth Neesh, her voice sounding strained and a little out of breath. Aronoke’s deafness seemed to be receding. He could hear her quite clearly now.

“I’m okay,” gasped Hespenara. “Just rather shaken up.”

“I can’t believe we’re not dead!” wheezed the kubaz.

Aronoke undid the buckles on his safety harness. “Everyone’s fine,” he said, standing up, his senses having already confirmed this, “but I think the ship’s not going anywhere any time soon. We’d best see what Master Caaldor thinks we should do now.”

Kthoth Neesh followed his lead, unbuckling herself and then helping with Hespenara’s harness.

“You should get yourself some other clothes, Aronoke,” she said. “And you need a medpac.”

Aronoke looked down. Kthoth Neesh must have been badly shaken to not take this obvious opportunity to leer at him, he decided. His garments were badly shredded, revealing more of his skin than he liked. His heart suddenly skipped a beat, as he wondered how obvious the markings on his back were.

No, don’t even think about that, he told himself firmly. There were more immediate things to worry about.

Like his leg. The left one was deeply gashed by shrapnel and gently pulsing blood. He hadn’t noticed it hurting any more than the rest of him, but now, as if encouraged by his attention, it began aching with a dull stabbing pain.

“I just have to speak to Master Caaldor first. Will you..?” he indicated Hespenara.

“I’ll look after her,” Kthoth Neesh said agreeably. “Come along, Padawan Hespenara. We’ll get you cleaned up and into some other clothes.”

“I could use a change,” said Hespenara wryly.

Aronoke could hear them continuing to banter as he stumbled and limped along the oddly angled corridor that led towards the front of the ship.

“Those robes are looking decidedly dated.” Kthoth Neesh’s voice was tinny but audible. “Let’s see if we can find you something in a more modern style. And do you realise you haven’t had a shower in over two years?”

“Better than Aronoke when we first met him,” came Hespenara’s reply, and Aronoke smiled to himself, blinking away the sudden tears that came into his eyes.

Master Caaldor was still sitting in the pilot’s seat when Aronoke came into the cockpit, bent over the instrument panel. He looked up as Aronoke came in. “Everyone is alright?” he said. It was only barely a question.

“Shaken and a little bruised, but nothing worse than that, Master,” said Aronoke. Master Caaldor’s dry expression told him that his own condition was obviously a lot worse.

“You should get yourself cleaned up, Padawan,” said Master Caaldor. “You could use some medical attention. In fact, you should probably be in a kolto tank, judging by that leg, but we don’t have the facilities. We do, however, have a little time. I don’t think the queb saw exactly where in the river we came down, which gives us some leeway. I’ve dampened all our external emissions short of turning off our life support systems. It’s best that we meet any new obstacles rested and refreshed.”

“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke, “but there’s something I have to tell you first. Just before we were taking off, I sensed something – or rather someone – in a ship high up in the atmosphere. I’m certain it couldn’t be anything other than a Sith.”

“A Sith?” asked Master Caaldor, studying Aronoke’s face intently for a moment. He sat back in his chair and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Well, that does complicate matters.”

“Why would a Sith be here now, Master?” Aronoke asked.

“There could be any number of reasons,” said Master Caaldor slowly, “all unrelated to our presence here.”

Aronoke nodded.

“However,” Master Caaldor continued, “I am not a subscriber to coincidence. It seems to me that there can only be one reason for the appearance of a Sith here now, and that is because we are here. Either they have traced Hespenara, or they came in pursuit of us. They could have had informants on Zamora station, or amongst the queb.”

“What do we do, Master?”

Master Caaldor sighed. “For the moment, we hide,” he said. “I have a knack for dulling the emanations that Force-users naturally emit, which is one of the reasons that you were assigned to me, Padawan. I can keep us concealed from the Sith for a considerable length of time.”

“But what about the queb?” asked Aronoke. “I doubt they’re going to give up looking for us any time soon. They must know that we’ve crashed, even if they don’t know exactly where. If they find us, the Sith won’t be far behind. They might even combine forces.”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes, Padawan,” said Master Caaldor. “We have some time in hand. Time that you should put to good use. Go and clean up and have that leg seen to. I only had time for very basic first aid earlier.”

“I’m sorry about the droids, Master,” said Aronoke, remembering his nigh-disasterous mistake anew. “I didn’t sense them at all, only the queb.”

“That’s something we can concentrate on during your future training,” mumbled Master Caaldor, his attention already back on the ship’s readouts. “Now go.”

“Yes, Master.”


Aronoke felt considerably better once he was clean and PR-77 had seen to his wounds. He had instructed the droid to cut his hair off evenly, which left little more than the barest fuzz covering his skull. He would have to cultivate a new padawan’s braid once it grew, he thought sadly.

“I do hope the ship will be repairable, Master Aronoke,” the droid had said nervously while it applied synthflesh to his various injuries, “but I estimate that there is only a 2.34978 percent chance of that being achieved with the equipment and spare parts we have on board.”

“Don’t worry, PR,” said Aronoke comfortingly. “I’m sure the Jedi Council will recover or replace the ship.”

“But a new ship would not be the same,” quavered PR-77. “I have spent years adapting this one and ensuring that its systems run according to Master Caaldor’s most exacting standards.”

Aronoke privately thought that PR’s standards were likely to be far more exacting than Master Caaldor’s.

“I think I may request that I remain with the ship, if Master Caaldor is required to abandon it,” PR-77 continued, pausing thoughtfully. “I don’t know that I could bear to think of it left alone, slowly deteriorating under the water, only observed by hostile river creatures.”

“If that happens, I’m sure Master Caaldor will want to bring you with us, PR,” said Aronoke firmly. “You are too valuable to be left behind.”

“You are very kind, Master Aronoke,” the droid said mournfully. “But there is also my collection of images of different models of ships. I doubt there will be time or storage capacity to recover it from the ship’s databanks before we are required to leave.”

“You can always start a new collection, PR,” said Aronoke wearily. “Master Caaldor and the Jedi Order need you more than your collection does.”

“Master Caaldor has put a great deal of trust in me, granting me the duty of overseeing the XL-327’s maintenance to such a high degree,” the droid said, brightening a little as it glued another patch of mismatched synthflesh on Aronoke’s upper thigh. The synthflesh was of a pinkish human skin tone, suitable for use by Master Caaldor, so it looked terrible applied to Aronoke’s dusky blue skin. It was a minor thing, not worthy of his consideration – he knew the colour would adapt to his own within a few days. “Do you realise, Master Aronoke, that he even entrusted the naming of this ship to me, back when we were first granted its use by the Jedi Council?”

“You named the ship?” Aronoke asked, a little confused. He had only ever heard it referred to by its number.

“XL-327 has such a nice ring to it,” said PR-77 proudly.


“Aronoke, come in and sit down,” said Master Caaldor, indicating a chair near Hespenara. The three Jedi were meeting in Master Caaldor’s personal chambers, which were on as lopsided an angle as the rest of the ship.

“Aronoke, you’re looking so grown up,” said Hespenara, smiling at him. “You’re even taller than I thought.”

“Your sight has come back?” Aronoke asked.

“Yes, although it’s still a little blurry,” Hespenara admitted. “I feel vastly better after my rest.”

“I trust you are also feeling recovered, Padawan?” Master Caaldor asked.

“Mostly,” said Aronoke. “A bit stiff and sore, but nothing to worry about.” He ran a hand ruefully across his extremely short hair.

“Good. Let’s get down to business then. I shall entrust most of the conversation to you two, since my attention is largely absorbed with maintaining a shield over us all, to ensure that the Sith don’t find us. I know we are both eager to hear Hespenara’s story, so we will start with that.”

“Very well, Master Caaldor,” said Hespenara, gracing the older Jedi with a polite gesture. “Master Altus and I, as the Jedi Council are doubtlessly aware, were investigating an artefact known as the Biocron.”

Aronoke glanced at Master Caaldor but could see no hint of recognition in his master’s face.

“It’s a very ancient Force artefact, or should I say, network of artefacts, with nodes, or individual Biocrons if you like, hidden across the galaxy. They are large and ancient machines, incredibly complex and very powerful, thought to have been created by a mysterious and as yet unknown race of ancients. They are very strongly tied to living systems, but, as far as we know, no one has found any way of actually controlling or activating them.”

She looked at Aronoke seriously and he felt an icy wave of trepidation rise in him.

“Master Altus was convinced that you, Aronoke, were intrinsically connected to them.”

“Oh,” said Aronoke weakly. “So that was what you were investigating on Kasthir?”

The image from his vision arose as fresh and clear as ever in his mind – the now-familiar underground chamber floored with red sand and writhing bone-sucking worms, the simple monolith statue seething with dark Force energy.

“Yes,” said Hespenara, a little grimly. “Both Master Altus and Master Skeirim, Ashquash’s master, have spent years researching the Biocron, hoping that there might be a way to use its power for the benefit of the Jedi Order and the greater galaxy. We went to Kasthir, following up one of Master Altus’s leads, hoping to find part of the Biocron there.”

“And you found it?” Aronoke asked.

“We didn’t locate it entirely,” said Hespenara. “It was too deeply buried, but Master Altus found enough to convince him that it was there.”

“But you did find me.”

“We weren’t looking for you. You were a surprise.” Hespenara smiled, doubtlessly remembering the scruffy little chiss skimmer she had first encountered. “Even when we found you, we didn’t know you were anything more than a Force-sensitive kid, but Master Altus wanted to take you off Kasthir as quickly as possible, back to the safety of the Jedi Temple. Being so near the Biocron was dangerous for someone as inherently Force-sensitive as you, he said. We broke off our investigation early.”

Aronoke had no idea that they had considered his welfare so important. He remembered how he had expected that the deal would never go through. How it was impossible that he would ever leave Kasthir. Strong emotions rose in him, remembering what it had been like to feel those things, and he schooled himself to be calm and patient.

“Later he decided you were connected to the Biocron,” said Hespenara.

“I showed him my back when we were on Coruscant,” Aronoke said. He remembered the Jedi Master’s reaction. Master Altus had asked him nothing about the strange tattoo or the hideous scars that obscured it, but had only reassured Aronoke that no harm would come to him because of it. Only a good deal later had he asked questions and recorded an image of it.

“Master Altus thought you were created as a living key to the Biocron,” Hespenara said. “He believed that the markings on your back were a map, showing the path to the Kasthir Biocron. It explains why you were there in the first place – someone was trying to follow the map.”

“Uncle Remo?” mused Aronoke. The new information cast the large pink twi’lek, one of the few of Aronoke’s childhood memories that was not unpleasant, in a different light. “He was just a treasure hunter?”

“We don’t know what Remo’s intentions were,” Hespenara said. “Master Altus thought he was one of the researchers who worked with the project that created you, somewhere in the Empire, and that he went rogue and stole you away from them. He may have wanted to use you himself, he may have intended to sell you, or he may have taken you to Kasthir to hide you, thinking that your connection to the Biocron might protect you in some way. I don’t expect that we’ll ever know,” she concluded gently.

“Why did Master Altus never tell me any of this?” Aronoke asked, dismayed. Feeling betrayed and disappointed. He had learned he was bioengineered from a droid, sent by his harasser. He had felt so abandoned and alone, not knowing where he had come from, or why he had warranted such negative attention.

“Master Altus didn’t piece together everything I’ve told you until later,” said Hespenara. “He didn’t have a chance to tell you all of it, but I think he wouldn’t have told you anyway, at least not right away. He sought to protect you – he wanted you to have what you never had on Kasthir. He hoped that within the Jedi Temple you might be able to experience something of the childhood you missed out on. He wanted you to have as much time as you needed to feel safe and to grow into the Jedi he thought you could be.”

Her face fell. “I suppose his attempt to protect you failed after all,” she said sadly, “or you wouldn’t be here, a Padawan already.”

“Someone found out about Aronoke’s hidden potential,” observed Master Caaldor quietly. “He was not allowed to pursue his studies peacefuly within the Jedi temple, but was hounded by attempts to influence him in a most un-Jedi-like way. Being made a padawan early was considered the best alternative, especially when taking into account Aronoke’s rapid maturation.”

“The harassments started up again after you left,” said Aronoke to Hespenara, “as soon as Master Altus was gone. It wasn’t just me that was affected – they tried to get to me through Ashquash in a very harmful way.”

“And we didn’t come back to stop it,” Hespenara said heavily.

“But what happened to you and Master Altus?” said Aronoke. “How did you come to be frozen in carbonite?”

“Master Altus uncovered a lead regarding a Biocron hidden deep beneath the ocean on a planet called Zynaboon,” said Hespenara. “I don’t expect you’ve heard of it – it’s a water world controlled by the Sith Empire, unremarkable in most aspects, save that it’s inhabited by a native race of natural force-users, called the Kroobnak. We went there incognito, planning to meet with Master Skeirim to combine forces to search for it.”

Aronoke sat very still. “Master Skeirim?” he asked. “He knew you were there, on Zynaboon?”

“Yes, of course,” said Hespenara. “Master Altus and Master Skeirim often worked together. We went to meet with him, but the Imperials somehow found out we were there. There were so many of them and they had back-up forces. Mercenaries. Master Altus and Master Skeirim put up as much of a fight as they could, but it wasn’t going well, and after that – well, I don’t remember. I was stunned during the fight, and after that I suppose I was frozen in carbonite.”

“We have to get this information back to the Jedi Temple,” said Master Caaldor.

“I don’t understand,” said Hespenara, looking bewildered.

“Master Skeirim wasn’t captured by the Imperials,” said Aronoke. “He didn’t say anything about meeting Master Altus on Zynaboon.”

Hespenara looked horrified. “He betrayed us? But why? Master Altus and Master Skeirim were close colleagues.”

“He’s the one who has been put in charge of leading the search to recover you,” said Aronoke grimly. “No wonder it was taking so long. I wonder what else he might have been responsible for.”

Could Master Skeirim have also been involved in the strange incidents that had plagued Aronoke in the Jedi Temple? He hadn’t been there most of the time, Aronoke remembered, but he was Ashquash’s mentor and would have had ample opportunity to drug her. Master Skeirim had also encouraged Aronoke and Ashquash to spend time together. Had the entangling emotions that developed between them, the strange uncontrollable wave of lust, also been part of his plan?

If he had been responsible for hurting Ashquash, Aronoke thought, with an un-Jedi-like pang of fury, he would pay for what he had done to her.

Calm. Peace.

“So I was captured and frozen in carbonite,” said Hespenara. “But what happened to Master Altus?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know,” said Master Caaldor, but Aronoke shook his head fiercely, for he had worked something out in his head that very moment.

“He was captured by the Imperials, either then or later, trying to save Hespenara,” he said, intently. “He was taken prisoner on Zynaboon, and hidden away in an Imperial facility there, deep under the water. That’s the place I saw in my vision – an Imperial base, deep in the ocean, with strange Force-sensitive sentients swimming above. He was alive,” he told Hespenara darkly, “but suffering. Tormented. They were torturing him somehow but he was withstanding it.”

“Oh no!” said Hespenara, paling. “Poor Master Altus.”

“From what Hespenara has told us, it seems likely that facility is also where the Biocron is hidden,” said Master Caaldor thoughtfully. “Which brings us to the second part of our discussion. This information only makes it more imperative that we get out of here and back to the Jedi Temple as soon as possible. We will have to abandon the ship, I’m afraid. PR will be most upset.”

Aronoke judged that his Master wasn’t too pleased about it either.

“Getting away without a ship won’t be easy,” Aronoke said. “We’ve got the queb and the Sith looking for us everywhere, and there’s no vessels to, ah, requisition, down here on the planet’s surface.”

“The ship is too badly damaged to be repaired here,” said Master Caaldor shortly.

“Can we send a distress signal?” asked Hespenara.

“Sending a conventional communication will pinpoint our position accurately to our pursuers,” reminded Master Caaldor, looking strained. Aronoke guessed that the effort of maintaining the shield protecting them from detection was weighing heavily on him. “Although the content of our message would be protected by encryption, that’s of little help to us. With all the scanners they’ve doubtlessly deployed, they only need to pick up a stray electronic signal. By the time help arrives, they’ll have traced it back to our current location.”

“Bolar Dak is probably out there looking for us too,” said Aronoke glumly. Seeing Hespenara’s blank look he added “Bolar Dak is the bounty hunter who froze you in carbonite and auctioned you off. He worked with the Empire and for the queb.”

“I see,” said Hespenara.

There was a long minute of silence while they all thought.

“What if one of us sneaks off the ship,” said Aronoke slowly, “and fires off a distress signal from somewhere else? When the Jedi come to find us, we can send them a message then. If they’re close to us, they should be in a position to help us more quickly than the queb can trace us.”

“That could work,” said Hespenara. “I expect there’s a portable distress beacon somewhere on this ship. As long as it gets off a signal, there’s a good chance some Jedi somewhere will pick it up.”

“Of course, it could also attract a lot of unpleasant attention,” added Aronoke.

“Nevertheless, it’s probably our best chance,” said Master Caaldor. “All that remains is to decide who should do it. I am obviously the least injured, but I am also the only one able to hide our presence from the Sith.”

“That leaves either Aronoke or myself,” said Hespenara reluctantly. “I can see quite well now, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling very fit. Certainly not up to a cross-country expedition. That leaves Aronoke, but he has been quite badly injured.”

“There’s also Kthoth Neesh” said Aronoke. “She could come with me.” He didn’t bother to mention the kubaz. If Tarric Gondroz ran into any trouble, Aronoke didn’t doubt that he would sell them out immediately to save his own skin.

“That’s probably our best option,” said Master Caaldor. “Ask Kthoth Neesh if she will accompany you, Padawan. PR can assist with finding the distress beacon. You must not take any unnecessary risks. Better to fail to set off the beacon than to get captured by the Sith. I have little doubt they have made an arrangement with the queb specifying that they are to be given custody of any prisoners which are taken. Except perhaps for you, Hespenara.”

“Doubtlessly they plan for me to continue as some sort of lawn ornament,” said Hespenara wryly.


“I’d best leave immediately,” said Aronoke, climbing to his feet. “Perhaps you can decide where the best place would be to fire the beacon off while I gather together the equipment I will need.”

“May the Force be with you, Padawan,” said Master Caaldor.


“Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so quick to volunteer,” said Aronoke, looking doubtfully at the underwater breather Hespenara had just passed him. “I didn’t get up to the part of the training where we learned to operate these.”

“Look on the bright side,” said Kthoth Neesh, not looking any more enthusiastic. “At least you get to wear a spankworthy swimsuit.”

The narakite girl was dressed similarly to Aronoke himself, in a form-fitting full body underwater suit with a tight-fitting face mask.

“The breathers are very easy,” said Hespenara reassuringly. “You can’t go wrong, so long as you remember to breathe through your mourth and not through your nose.”

“Have I mentioned my phobia of water?” Aronoke quipped half-seriously, but both Kthoth Neesh and Hespenara looked so worried, he wished he hadn’t said it aloud. “It’s true – I don’t like water,” he added, trying to sound reassuring, “but I can deal with it when I have to. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t feel like he was going to be fine when he and Kthoth Neesh stood in the ship’s airlock with cold green river water rising up around their waists. He felt like he was going to panic, to spiral out of control like he had when Ashquash pushed him in the pool, when he had thought he was drowning. Perhaps the Aronoke of back then would have perished in this situation, a victim of his own fear, but he had come a long way in the intervening months. He knew how to control his fear. Knew so many things he hadn’t known then.

A minute of meditation. A deep breath through the breather as the water rose to cover his face. A momentary twist of fear in his gut as the water completely filled the airlock, quelled by calm confidence that everything was okay. He was in control. Here by choice. He could do this.

By the time the outer airlock door slowly ground aside, manually opened by Aronoke and Kthoth Neesh, Aronoke was ready to face the great brown and green current of the open river beyond. A flick of his feet, and his special swim-shoes expanded into graceful flippers, allowing him to swim far faster and more competently. Beside him, Kthoth Neesh was also making good progress. The narakite girl had no more experience with swimming than Aronoke did himself, having been raised on a space station and spent most of her life on ships, but she grinned cheerily at him and made a thumb’s up sign as they surged downstream, angling across towards the riverbank.

Being underwater was not so different from being in open space, Aronoke thought to himself. It was odd that the latter didn’t disturb him anywhere near as much as the former.

The plan was that they should swim a considerable distance from the ship before surfacing near the riverbank, just in case they were observed leaving the river. Once on land, they would trek through the jungle several miles towards a low hill offering a vantage point above the trees. Here, they would set off the distress beacon and then retreat quickly back into the jungle. Once certain that they were not being followed, they were to return to the ship by a different route.

It sounded easy in theory, but in the field, even the best-laid plans were open to random influence and unknown factors, something that made itself clear only minutes after the two explorers had left the ship.

Aronoke had been keeping his senses open, watching for anything that lived in the water that might be a threat. There were plenty of small things that dwelt in the river. The vast majority of them were tiny – single-celled algae, slightly larger plants, some weedy and free-floating, others adhering to the bottom of the riverbed in the shallows. Then there were animals. Tiny swimming worms composed of chains of flat paddles, and crustacean-like creatures composed of balls of conjoined limbs, no larger than the fingernail on Aronoke’s smallest finger. Larger swimming wrigglers with fins and tentacles ate the algae and the smaller creatures, and then there was….

Big. Very, very big. Aronoke could sense the curiosity and hunger of the giant river worm as it oscillated through the water towards them. It was easily large enough to swallow them whole. He couldn’t be certain if it was purely aquatic or an amphibian, but now was not the time to get caught up in interesting taxonomic details.

Kthoth Neesh grabbed at Aronoke’s arm and he realised he had stopped swimming. She made a querying gesture and he pointed off through the water towards the creature. Big, he mimed, putting his hands far apart. Snake. He pressed his hands together and made an undulating movement. Kthoth Neesh stared off into the murky water, glanced back at Aronoke and shrugged. It was still too far away to see, but it was getting closer with every second. Too quickly for them to make it to the riverbank, Aronoke judged, even if they headed directly towards the closest point and swam with everything they had.

He gestured for Kthoth Neesh to wait and swam a few strokes closer to the creature.

As the monster came nearer and nearer, Aronoke tried to be calm and focussed his senses on its brain. It was small compared to the vast bulk of its long, thick finned body. The monster was surging forward, opening its mouth, getting ready to engulf him. Aronoke wondered briefly if it would swallow them both, and if he would be able to cut his way out of its gargantuan body with his lightsaber before he was digested.

Ah. No lightsaber.

This was not a good time to try learning how to trick minds, but on the other hand, the creature’s intellect was small. It should be easy to trick. It was the best option left to him.

Calm, peace and certainty. Aronoke tried to channel the Force into one decisive sweeping thought, emphasised by a single gesture.

You don’t want to eat us. You should go away.

For a moment he thought it hadn’t worked, as the creature continued to bear down upon him, but perhaps it was merely momentum that carried it along, for at the last moment, tossing Aronoke aside in its tumultuous wake like a drowned leaf, it streamed past him and Kthoth Neesh and continued on its way up the river.

Once he had righted himself, Aronoke located Kthoth Neesh and swam over to her. She hung in the water, her eyes huge and round in her face mask. She looked vastly relieved to see him and made emphatic gestures towards the shore.

Yes, perhaps we are far enough away from the ship, Aronoke thought to himself, and he nodded. They lost no time making their way to land.


“I thought we were dead and no mistake,” spluttered Kthoth Neesh as she tore off her mask. “Monster bait. Then I thought it had swallowed you. I wonder what made it change its mind. Lucky it didn’t decide to come back for a second try.”

“Yes,” said Aronoke taking a grateful breath of fresh air and restraining himself from kissing the ground. It sounded good from a dramatic perspective, but the riverbank was profoundly muddy. “Come on – there’s no time to waste. Let’s be off up that hill and get this over and done with.”

He retracted his flippers into his swim shoes and together they set off towards their goal.

Like the first part of their journey, the trek through the jungle looked far easier on a map than it was in practice. The jungle in this area was pock-marked with clearings and criss-crossed by streams. Whereas walking through a rainforest was relatively easy, since there were not many plants that grew beneath the canopy, this area was tangled with dense stringy undergrowth and oozing lobe-leaved creepers. Many tiny creatures lived amidst the densely coiled brambles and vines, and Aronoke and Kthoth Neesh were continually stopping to remove would-be parasites from their clothing. Aronoke was grateful for the tough form-fitting swimsuit now – Jedi robes would only be an additional encumbrance under these conditions.

They had been pushing their way through the undergrowth for about an hour before Aronoke heard the sound of a ship approaching.

“Quick, someone’s coming!” he said, pulling Kthoth Neesh under the nearest bush.

The ship that passed almost directly overhead was sleek, black and triangular.

“An Imperial ship,” said Kthoth Neesh, staring up at it angrily.

Aronoke was no expert on ship models, but his senses told him that this vehicle did indeed contain the Sith that he had sensed earlier. Suddenly the spark in his mind that represented the strange Force-user flared oddly, and Aronoke hastily withdrew his senses, clamping them tight around himself. Too late. The ship altered its path and began to curve almost lazily around, circling around their hiding place.

“They detected me,” he hissed to Kthoth Neesh. She shot him an alarmed glare.

How did Master Caaldor’s Force shielding trick work, Aronoke wondered fretfully as the ship droned by overhead. Another thing he had never been taught. The best he could do was to sit quietly, gathering his Force powers around him in tight-fitting quiescence. He tried to empty his mind and visualise empty space, an absence of everything except the natural world around him, continuing with its biological business. No Jedi here.

“I think they’ve given up,” said Kthoth Neesh after a few minutes. The Sith ship had streaked away across the sky, but not so very far, Aronoke thought, allowing a tiny tendril of his senses to follow that strangely tainted flare in the Force. It was setting down over there behind those trees, perhaps a mile away.

“We’d better hurry,” said Aronoke. “They haven’t gone far. They’re still looking for us.”

Kthoth Neesh nodded grimly. “Then let’s make as much distance as we can.”


Another hour and Kthoth Neesh was flagging and Aronoke was limping, despite his efforts to control the injury in his leg. They had reached a more substantial tract of forest and were walking under the trees. The sun was setting, casting long, low-angled rays sporadically through the canopy. The sounds of forest creatures heightened around them to a new crescendo as the diurnal cycle of the forest shifted through a crepuscular interlude.

Aronoke had been glad they had not encountered anything more difficult than the regular hazards of the jungle. Large predators had been conspicuous only in their absence. He was glad too that Kthoth Neesh had accompanied him. He had tried to keep his senses wound in tight, only using them intermittently to spot approaching threats. As his injuries had made themselves more loudly known, he found it difficult to concentrate, and he was grateful of the pirate girl’s quick eyes in helping to avoid potential dangers. Aronoke had not spotted the metallic wasp’s nest, suspended at head-height from a tree, nor had he noticed the trail of enormous spiked many-legged ground bugs, each the size of his hand, that consumed everything in their path. Both threats had been successfully avoided; each could have caused them serious trouble had they not been noticed in advance.

He and Kthoth Neesh had both heard the occasional sounds of speeder bikes criss-crossing the jungle around them. Thus far they had been lucky, easily able to avoid the search pattern of the vehicles, but the buzz of engines was a constant reminder that their enemies were aware of their presence and were hot on their trail.

As they reached the top of one slope and turned towards another, Aronoke could see the forest opening up into another clearing ahead.

“I think that is it,” said Kthoth Neesh, looking up from the navigation unit she carried. “It’s as close as we’re going to be able to get, anyway.”

“Good,” said Aronoke. “You might as well wait down here. There’s no sense both of us setting up the distress beacon – it might attract unpleasant attention rather quickly.”

“I can do it,” said Kthoth Neesh. “Your leg will slow you down.”

Aronoke’s injury had worsened as the day progressed, and his limp had grown more pronounced.

He took a swig from his water flask as he considered her offer, then passed it to Kthoth Neesh. “I can handle it,” he said to the pirate girl. “This is our mess that you’re caught up in, so it should be my responsibility. Besides, I’m experienced at being blown up.”

She smirked tiredly at him. “All right then. I’ll head north from these coordinates and meet you near the base of the hill,” she said. “I’ve no doubt you’ll be able to find me there.”

Aronoke nodded. “If I’m not back in half an hour, return to the ship,” he said.

“I will, but there’ll be no need,” said Kthoth Neesh. “I know you Jedi – tough as gundarks and full of hidden surprises.” She leered at him as she said the last bit, although Aronoke thought it was more through habit than from any immediate desire. They were both far too exhausted to worry about such things now, he thought.


The hill-top was choked with undergrowth and alive with tiny creatures. Clouds of leathery winged fliers, no larger than Aronoke’s thumb, flitted raspily through the maze-like world formed by the densely packed sticky-leaved plants, while many-legged carapaced invertebrates clung to leaves, flew through the air, crawled on the ground and burrowed underfoot. Swarms of aerial tentacular bladder-creatures were starting to awaken in dark clusters under the nearby trees. Here and there, larger creatures wandered through the tangle, preying on the smaller ones. Aronoke stamped out a small clear space at the top of the hill, and set down the distress beacon, feeling guilty that he was about to turn this thriving environment into a blazing warzone simply by pressing a button. He looked back along the way he had come, picking out the path he had made through the undergrowth. He intended to return along it with all possible haste as soon as he had activated the beacon.

He took a deep breath, snapping his control fully over the injury in his leg, dampening the pain, and simultaneously twisted the control on the beacon to start signalling. The barrel-shaped device expanded, mechanically unfolding stubby stabilising legs and spindly antennae. A small dish started revolving, and the whole unit emitted a faint glow. Aronoke did not wait to see more, but began running, across the clearing and down the hill, focussing on turning his body into a Force-driven propulsion machine. He surged through the undergrowth, leaping over the denser tangles of plants, narrowly avoiding ensnaring himself in the multitude of twisted vines and thorny bushes. He reached the edge of the clearing and continued off under the trees, his breath coming in steady, controlled gasps, the Force fuelling his muscles towards greater effort as the way became clearer.

How far… how far should he run? How quickly would…

The hillside exploded behind him, spectacularly. Trees on the edge of the clearing were knocked flat by the force of the explosion, and Aronoke himself was carried forward several metres and rolled along the ground like a quozball. He picked himself up painfully, staring in astonishment at the devastation raging behind him. The whole hilltop was ablaze with fire. The beacon surely hadn’t managed to function for more than a minute before it had been completely destroyed.

Someone was extremely averse to the idea of them getting help from outside. He could only hope that the brief window the distress beacon had signalled within would be enough.

There was no time to hesitate; enemy forces would soon be here, looking for him. Hopefully they would be uncertain as to whether he had been caught in the blast, and would spend some time trying to determine if this was the case.

Breaking into a steady jog-trot, Aronoke began running through the darkening forest, heading towards his meeting point with Kthoth Neesh.


Not far. Not far now. Surely no more than another hour. Aronoke was more tired than he had ever been in his life, except perhaps for that one time when Mill thought it would be funny to drop him off ten miles from Bunkertown, to see if Aronoke could run that far in the single hour remaining before sunset. Aronoke had been completely convinced that Mill was entirely capable of abandoning him out in the Fumelands at night, and had ran, as hard and as fast as he could, across the loose sand, across the firmer, crumbly ground scattered with tiny marble-sized rocks, across the vast dangerous sprawl of the Fumelands that lay between himself and safety. On and on, chest aching, robes flapping, legs turning to rubber beneath him. His ventilator filters hadn’t quite kept up with the demands his labouring metabolism had put on them and his body demanded water that he didn’t have.

Aronoke had nearly died of sheer relief when the flier had returned minutes before sunset. Mill had smirked as Aronoke climbed weakly inside. “You’re slow, kid,” he drawled. “There’s still three miles to go!”

Aronoke was certain that Mill would never have bothered to return, if not for the fact that Careful Kras would have been angry if anything had happened to him because of one of Mill’s stupid jokes.

As he and Kthoth Neesh straggled across yet another dark forested slope, Aronoke paused to briefly sense his surroundings and was immediately aware of a sentient approaching quickly from ahead of them.

“Another speeder bike,” said Kthoth Neesh at almost the same moment. “Hide!”

There was little cover, other than tall thin tree trunks. Both Aronoke and Kthoth Neesh dived behind the same fallen log, which would have been a close fit for just one of them. Despite the tenseness of the situation and his considerable weariness, Aronoke was intensely aware of the narakite’s warm body pressed up tightly against his own.

No, no time for distractions!

The speeder was drawing near, travelling quite slowly as it picked a path between the trees. A searchlight flickered between the treetrunks, glancing momentarily off the top of the log they hid behind. The engine slowed as the bike drew very near indeed and then idled a moment. A masked, slightly robotic voice spoke briefly.

“This is unit six, reporting in. All clear,” the rider said.

Aronoke held his breath. The speeder bike could be no more than two body-lengths away from them. The bike rider waited a moment that seemed to stretch on forever before he spoke again. He must be receiving further instructions, Aronoke thought.

“At once, my Lord,” said the rider, and the speeder bike turned and zoomed off through the trees.

Aronoke and Kthoth Neesh lay still and silent for a short eternity, crushed up against each other behind the log, as the sound of engines receded.

“Why, Padawan,” the narakite girl said seductively, twisting around to face him, “and here I thought you weren’t interested.”

Aronoke blushed and opened his mouth to voice a denial, but before he could say anything, Kthoth Neesh leaned over and kissed him.

And like before, when he had kissed Ashquash, a great green wave of energy broke over Aronoke, tearing his control aside as if it counted for nothing. His Jedi training was washed away, forgotten, as was his weariness and the pain of his injury. Any thought of shielding or restraint was lost in the current that ran between his body and hers, in the intense biological resonance between them, and the awareness of a connection, distant and tenuous, controlled by an ancient alien instrument, that nonetheless linked them intrinsically through the Force.

He kissed her back, pushing himself against her with a fierceness that Kthoth Neesh herself hadn’t anticipated. Her eyes widened and she tried to pull away, but she was trapped between Aronoke and the log. Then she gave in, relaxing against him, her hands coursing down his back delightfully. Aronoke was completely lost in the sensation, unprepared for the abrasive interruption when she suddenly broke the kiss and wrenched her head aside.

“Aronoke!” she hissed, fiercely.

He ignored her, driven by his rising passion, tugging at the fastener of her annoyingly restraining swimsuit.

She slapped him across the face. Hard.

“Ow!” he said, stung. She had wanted this… she had taunted him. What right did she have to suddenly deny him now?

“The speeder,” Kthoth Neesh hissed frantically. “It’s returning!”

Sanity returned slowly and Aronoke’s face burned with the enormity of his own foolishness. Whatever he had just done, whatever he had been intending to do, had doubtlessly blazed through the Force with a penetrating, clear and unique signature. Back in the Jedi temple, Master Insa-tolsa had known instantly that something was happening to Aronoke when this had happened with Ashquash! Here, now, while trying to hide from the all-too-observant senses of a Sith lord, Aronoke had announced their position as clearly as if he had fired off a flare.

Aronoke pushed the confusing tangle of thoughts aside, pushed himself away from Kthoth Neesh and scrambled to his feet.

“Stay in hiding,” he snapped at her. “I’ll distract him.” He ran over to hide behind the trunk of a nearby tree.

The speeder bike approached, more carefully than it had the first time. The rider was obviously alert and fully aware that there was some danger in the area. He probed the jungle carefully with his searchlight and scanned the ground, looking for footprints. Aronoke waited until the bike was near the fallen log and then leaned out a little too far from behind his tree.

The rider must have had some sort of augmentation system, Aronoke thought later, for he detected that slight movement immediately. His blaster rifle swung around to point at Aronoke instantly. “You there, step out into the open slowly. Throw down your weapons!”

The speeder bike rider dismounted smoothly while keeping Aronoke in his sights. He wore Imperial armour in camouflage green and black and the rifle that was trained on Aronoke was held sure and steady. Aronoke had no doubt that he was a trained professional soldier and a crack shot to boot.

“Don’t shoot!” Aronoke stepped slowly out from behind the tree, arms raised, moving carefully. Growing up in the company of Fronzak and the other Fumers had made him fully aware of exactly what damage a blaster could do. He was a Jedi now, capable of dealing with mundane forces like blaster fire, but he had a different plan in mind. Catching a glimpse of a slight movement behind the log made him certain that Kthoth Neesh had exactly the same idea.

“This is Unit 6,” said the trooper into his communicator, his attention focused intently on Aronoke. “I’ve located the subject. Repeat, I’ve located the subject at my current coordinates.”

Aronoke swore silently to himself. He had hoped to distract the man enough so that he didn’t send out an alert. Best to deal with him as quickly as possible and to get on their way.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Aronoke, talking to keep the speeder bike rider’s attention firmly on himself and to cover any small noises Kthoth Neesh might make. “I won’t do you any harm. In fact, I’m glad to see another sentient face. I’ve been wandering around this jungle for days, ever since I was separated from my hunting party. Just about near starved to death.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them and lay flat on the ground,” said the speeder bike rider, ignoring Aronoke’s patter. “Any sharp moves, and I’m instructed to shoot first and worry about your health later.”

“There’s no need to be like that,” said Aronoke, in a wounded tone. He moved slowly to comply.

The speeder bike rider made a choking noise and dropped to the ground, Kthoth Neesh’s vibroknife protruding from his back. The blaster rifle fell from his hands unfired. Aronoke could sense the life fading from him as he fell.

He turned to Kthoth Neesh.

“Don’t you ever do anything like that to me again,” he snarled, stepping towards her, ignoring the second vibroknife she still held in one raised hand. “No more seductions. No more kisses!”

“You didn’t seem to mind,” she said indifferently, dropping her hand and lightly kicking the body of the fallen soldier, making sure he was properly dead.

“This is not a game,” said Aronoke angrily, overflowing with self-loathing. “Not an amusing challenge. I don’t have time to explain, but I have enough problems without you playing with me. I know you don’t understand – I don’t understand properly myself – but there’s more at stake here than simply the Jedi code.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kthoth Neesh curtly, but her face showed a moment of genuine regret. Then, as her expression closed down, Aronoke’s anger faded, and he chided himself for giving in to it so precipitously. For shouting at Kthoth Neesh, when the one he was really angry with was himself.

“I’m sorry too,” he said more quietly. “I should have more control. It’s not your fault, Kthoth Neesh, it’s mine, although I would appreciate it if you made things a little easier on me.”

The narakite girl studied him a moment, her emotions opaque to Aronoke’s scrutiny.

“Come on,” she said quietly. “Like you said, we don’t have time. Let’s get out of here.”

She climbed on the speeder bike and waited for Aronoke to climb up behind her.

As they zipped away into the darkness, Aronoke wished his life was less complicated. He could blame Kthoth Neesh, but she wasn’t a Jedi. He could blame himself, and by all means, he deserved a hefty serving of self-criticism. Yet there was something else with which some of the blame deserved to lie, and now he had a name for it. The Biocron.