STAR WARS/PREDATOR: DARK APPRENTICE SAGA (PART SIX)

Upon receipt of Count Raxus and his ship, Orlo the Hutt surprisingly rewards Xol and Dex with five times the agreed payment.

In addition, the crime lord gives them a selection of droids and mechanical components taken from his various junkyards on Ord Mantell.

As agreed in their contract, the Hutt signs over three of what he claims to be his best slaves.The three include a Jawa droid engineer named Typ, an unnamed Wookiee possibly a warrior and finally a gargantuan Mantellian Savrip, reputed to be incredibly ferocious and strong but dumber than a box of womprats.

With this newly formed band of miscreants, Dex and Xol set out, departing from Ord Mantell and making their way further into the Outer Rim. With Raxus’ seizure, they suspect, now more than ever, that the Empire is aware of their presence there.

With the Hutt’s task behind them, and enough credits to fund their fight against the Empire. The nameless Wayfarer transport plunges into the depths of hyperspace towards a final destination always in flux. The Force was with them now; the only question was for how long…

Xol had always liked hyperspace, the certain calm he felt as the universe passed by. He usually took this time to meditate or engage in study, but this time he was working with Typ on designing droids that utilized techniques he has just learned from the Sith Holocron of Darth Kla. While the Jawa and Xol engaged in their constructive exchange of ideas, the Wookiee and the Savrip were engaging in hand-to-hand drills. It seemed that the gold colored Wookiee truly was a warrior of a special breed. Dex told a story once about Wookiees so strong and fierce they were given the title “berserker”. Perhaps this new arrival was one of these creatures his comrade had spoken of.

With the final droid plans decided upon, Typ and his brigade of droids set to work. Xol, thankful that the technical banter had ceased was looking forward to taking some quiet meditation time alone in his quarters. As he walked through the hall rounding the bend to his chamber, a sudden shunt to the starboard side of the ship sent him grasping him in reflex for something to grab hold of. The transport regained its stability a few moments later, however, the incident had made Xol curious and he proceeded towards the cockpit instead of stopping at his quarters.

With a whish of hydraulics the door slides open and Xol enters only to find Dex heading towards him. It seems as though they both had the same idea.

“Xol, I meant to call you up here but it appears our communications are being jammed somehow,” Dex says, in a panic.

“Steady your mind 1165, what exactly happened to cause that effect?” Xol replies his voice steady, but firm.

“As near as I can tell, we hit a gravity field like that of a small planetoid and it dropped us right out of hyperspace. However, there doesn’t seem to be any stars, moons or planets in the sector that could do that to our system, not to mention, it still doesn’t explain the interference with our communications.”

As Dex thinks of possibilities, his facial expression turns from one of puzzlement to a look of dread. Abruptly he runs back to his pilot station, slamming himself into his seat.

“Xol!” he shouts. “Get strapped in, we are in a lot of trouble”

Confused but trusting in his compatriot’s recommendation, Xol sits at his station on the command deck and begins to fasten his harness quickly.

“What is it Dex?” the Yautja questions, worried of the answer.

“He’s here. He’s found us! We’ll be lucky to escape!” Dex replies in a panicked breath.

His worried curiosity still piqued, Xol inquires further, “Who has found us Dex?”

With no reply, he asks again, this time in a more affirmative tone. “DX-1165, report our situation immediately!”

“The Emperor. The Emperor is here.” Dex says before being interrupted mid sentence by the horrifying sight appearing before them in the blackness of open space.

From the forward viewport, the pair can see streaks like a swarm of insects exiting the void of hyperspace. The grey hulls of star destroyers scattered in formations with a considerable gap between them. The empty space between the groups gives Xol the hope of escape. As soon as his hope builds it is shattered into a million pieces by the most awe inspiring, yet terrible sight he has ever seen.

Super Star Destroyers, three of them, they were just as formidable as his master had told him so long ago. They would present too great a challenge for him to just cast aside with the Force as he done with the arrogant commander Tykon’s fleet near Ilum. However, the space between ships was still too vast to be for tactical reasons. What were they waiting for?

Then as if like a great puzzle were being solved by the placement of its last piece. Emerging into the hole in the battle group configuration was the spherical, steel grey of the moon sized battle station, the infamous Death Star. Like an armored god, it sat behind the ships that preceded it, motionless, unnatural, invoking images of absolute destruction by its dreaded superlaser.

Dex, clearly drained of his will to go on, turns in his pilot chair to face Xol and says, “It’s him on the comm., he wishes to speak to you. Alone.”

“I will speak to him in my quarters then. Try and find an opening, some way past their defenses so that we may jump to hyperspace.” Xol says as he stands up from his chair, heading towards the exit.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Dex sits up a little and begins darting from console to console analyzing the data they are displaying.

As Xol enters his room, he ensures that nothing that surrounds him to give away any vital information of their mission. Once confident in its discrete appearance he presses the switch to transfer the video feed awaiting him to the display in his room. With a crackle of the signal coming to life on the diminuitive screen, Xol now meets the cold dark gaze of his destined enemy, Darth Vader.
With a mechanical breath, Vader begins to speak, his voice menacing, echoing with the Dark Side itself. “I presume you are Xol. Yes, I know who you are, just as plainly as you know who I am. I know why you seek me out. I present an offer to you that you may want to consider.”

“I will never join you Vader, you need not even ask!” Xol snaps.

“How presumptuous you are! I would never ask scum like you to join my Empire; you will serve as an example to those who dare oppose me.”

“Then what is your offer Darth?”

“So, you know my Sith title, it seems that inferior teacher of yours knows his history. My offer is this. You surrender to me, so that you may fulfill your destiny and fall by my hand and I will let your insignificant little companions go. Should they cross me again, they too will die but not by my blade but by the firepower of a capital ship.”

“And, if I refuse Sith Lord?”

“Then, I will destroy you and your friends here and now, even your midichlorians will not survive the onslaught of my fleet!”

Xol’s anger was building inside him; he knew that there was only one solution that would prevent the utter annihilation of Master Blades’ vision for the galaxy. He knew that he would have to face Vader, one day. Yet he felt so unaccomplished, like he still had a long life ahead, one that as of this moment was possibly coming to an end. He would never see home again, never go on the great hunt, tell stories of his adventures here. He never felt so alone. Slowly he begins to hang his head, his eyes staring submissively downward.

“I will do as you ask,” the Yautja says, his voice heavy with regret. “I will surrender to you, but only if you act as you have said, and let my comrades go.”

“You have my word, Lord Xol, they will not be harmed.” Darth Vader replies, his breathing cold and mechanical with every pause. “My men will come aboard to collect you and bring you to my throne room. Agreed?”

“Denied, Sith.” Xol responds angrily. “You would surely violate our agreement if you or your troops were allowed to come aboard. I will come to you Darth.”

“You are hardly in a position to make demands, but I will allow it this time. Your insubordinate tongue will be dealt with soon enough.”

“You will receive my signal within the hour, Sith Lord. Be ready.”

Responding only with a breath, Vader ends the communiqué and the screen goes black.

Xol, taking some pride in goading the infamous Sith, takes a moment to take some deep breaths before opening up a new channel on the communicator. Awaiting the prompt of the red indicator light, Xol begins to speak. “DX-1165, meet me in the cargo bay immediately.”

Xol then begins to remove all of his armor and Yautja weapons leaving only his lightsaber clipped to his robes belt. He takes a moment to look at the armor lying on his simple bunk one last time before exiting his chamber and making his way down the hall to the loading area.

Upon entering the bay, Xol can see Dex impatiently assembling and disassembling his blaster atop a cargo container. As he grows closer, Typ, the Wookiee, and the Savrip cease their activities and stand beside the nervous Clone Commando. Once Xol comes within a couple of feet of Dex, the veteran soldier cocks his weapon and says, “We’ve all just agreed. We will fight the Empire here and now, rather than be taken prisoner.”

“No, my friend,” Xol says with a smile. “You will space me, and while Vader comes to save his prize, you will make your escape to a location that even I will not know of.”

“No,” Dex exclaims. “You’re insane if you think I am going to let that happen. I cannot let them kill you, like some hull-sucking Mynock.”

“DX-1165, do not question my order! Our mission’s success is paramount. My living is not. You will continue the mission, find some remnant of the Jedi Order out there in the galaxy, and seek out a female named Kuro, she is essential somehow in the successful completion of this task.”
“Honestly, I don’t think we can do it without you, Xol.” Dex replies softly, tears welling up in his eyes as he accepts the truth of the Yautja’s words.

“Quiet your troubled mind, my friend. Let the Force be your guide. Trust your feelings and should destiny wish it, we shall see each other again. Now, do as I have commanded, and may the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you Lord Xol.”

After ushering the rest of the crew to a safe area in the cargo bay, Dex begins opening the outer hatch with a flip of a large lever. Alarms sound in the bay and lights flash as the exterior pressurized door slowly opens. With a whoosh the air of the hatch exits rapidly, pulling Xol close to its increasingly larger open maw. Using Force techniques, the Yautja prevents himself from being sucked out prematurely in the blackness beyond. Once the door opens a sufficient amount, he ignites his lightsaber and turns to meet the eyes of his friends who are peering out at him through a small transparisteel safety window. With a nod of reassurance, he leaps forward into the abyss. Cold fills his every fiber as he floats outward in the direction of the Imperial fleet, which, by now, is moving to intercept him. As he twirls frozen in the void, he manages to turn and catch one last glimpse of the Wayfarer transport before it disappears into hyperspace. Two grey streaks of Star Destroyers enter lightspeed shortly after them. It is just as he had presumed, Darth Vader had no intention of keeping his word, and they were all enemies to the Empire, in the Emperor’s eyes, worthy of only a slow, painful, death. Xol can now feel the life draining from him and as his vision grows dim and finally dark, he thinks of home.

Black makes way to white and muffled sound, as Xol to his own surprise, begins to regain consciousness. His surroundings are warm, and what smells he can pick up at first tell him he is encircled by Imperials, their uniform’s material have a distinct odor to him. His skin is slick with some liquid, an antiseptic smell about it, similar to the medicine’s he has in his field kit. Feeling around his body, he brushes against the familiar fabric of his tunic and robe, and senses the presence of his lightsaber. His vision becomes clearer and he can make out rough shapes of figures standing over him. They are medical droids, but he is not in any medical bay. He is set out on the floor of a cold, grey, empty hangar. As he tries to stand up, his legs and arms scream with fiery pain, making him waiver as tries to right himself. Once fully upright, the droids hover away from him, called away by an unseen master. Laboriously, he begins to dress his still slick naked form in his clothes, fastening his lightsaber back onto his belt. His eyesight still not fully recovered, he screams out in anger, “Vader! Why have you brought me back?” With no reply he repeats his question to the still quiet of the empty hangar.

Then, like an oncoming storm thundering from beyond his line of sight, Xol can hear the breathing, the steady percussive breaths of his predestined foe.

“So,” Vader begins. “You thought that you could steal the glory of killing you away from me, all in an attempt to save that pathetic band of miscreants. You are a fool Xol. Soon, I will have the artifacts you found on Ilum, and all the knowledge they contain, as well as any information you might have. Then, vile creature, you will die.”

“I would rather suffer a thousand deaths than tell you anything Darth. You are wasting your time.”

“You have another alternative, Xol. Freely relinquish any knowledge you have, pledge your allegiance to me and you can become one of the galaxy’s most powerful Sith Lords.”

“I shall never join your Empire and you upset the balance of the Force. My master, a practitioner of the Dark Side just like you knew this, yet you in your power mongering and arrogance do not. No, Vader, your Empire must be stopped and I would rather die than aid you in your foolish, narcissistic, cause.”

“So be it, Dark Jedi,” Vader says, his voice becoming stern. “So be it.”

With a red flash of his lightsaber, Vader emerges from behind the veiled darkness of a shadow and strikes toward Xol. The Yautja still half blind, reaches out with the Force for his weapon. With a twirl it races to his open palm and ignites just in time to block the first blow of the Emperor. The collision of the two blades sends a thunderclap echoing through the hangar, the swirling black of Xol’s saber holding firm against the furious crimson onslaught of Vader’s weapon. The two exchange blows, blocking and parrying each others attacks with artful skill, sending flashes of red light dancing against the dark walls nearby. His reactions compromised by his poor sight, Xol fails to block a flurry of blows directed at him and is struck by three slashes across the chest, though not deep wounds, the pain of a lightsaber strike is nearly indescribable, a mix of searing pain from flesh being cooked after the blade effortlessly cuts across the skin. The pain is too much to bear; Xol falls to his back, his chest wounds still steaming. In the fall, his weak hand is not able to keep a grip onto his lightsaber and it rolls away from him. As to attempts to summon it back to hand, his vision becomes eclipsed by the glow of Darth Vader’s blade pointed at his head.

“Do it, Sith coward!” Xol shouts, angry that in his current state, he was unable to fight this enemy any better than when he was an apprentice.

“You are much more valuable to me alive Xol.” Vader replies, retracting the blade of his lightsaber before walking away, his cowl flowing behind him.

“I knew you didn’t have it in you,” Xol says with a taunting laugh. “Isn’t that right…Anakin?”

Darth Vader stops immediately, turning to face Xol’s body again, he raises both his arms in front of him fanning out his fingers and closing them slowly in a gripping motion.

The Yautja can feel the Dark Side manifesting all around him, stronger than he has ever felt before in his life. Then with a sudden burst, a weight like that of a planet crushes him downward. The floor of the hangar compresses with him ten feet in all directions He can feel the pressure snapping bone, crushing organs, and cracking his skull down the center. The agony is unbearable as he feels like he is torn asunder from the inside. As the pain rapidly overtakes his tolerance for it he passes out, once again descending into the black of unconsciousness. As he slips away he can hear Vader uttering a final warning.

“Never speak that name in my presence again.”

An indeterminate amount of time later, Xol finds himself in a situation that inspires feelings of déjà vu. His skin is slicked with antiseptic and he can barely see. It would seem that his death would not come as soon as he would have thought. His eyesight had returned but he still couldn’t see in the blackness of the room, though his people’s night vision was excellent, there was no source of light for his eyes to amplify. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, it hurt everywhere but, still he tried to sit up. As he attempted an upright position, a voice from the shadow’s interrupted him.

“Injured, you are still,” said the familiar voice. “Rest, you must. All your strength you will need, for the future. When you are well, help you I will to fulfill your destiny, young one. But for now dark one just rest, yes, rest…”

Xol, calmed by the voice, leans back to lie on the floor and allow the aura of fatigue to overtake him and drift off into slumber, reassured by the unseen speaker that sits next to him.

TO BE CONTINUED…