Book 2 Chapter 30

The moment the generators were destroyed, there was a moment of silence, before pandemonium erupted. It was enough of a shock to the system that the Resistance fighters remembered they had guns and started firing at everything around them, while Jorel moved forward, intent on his goal.

The Dark Adept was furious, the Dark churning all around him, as he stood on a walkway, thirty feet up, far higher than Jorel could leap, farther than anyone but a Master could, but this cavern was packed full of the tools of misery, which meant there was a path, of sorts. The Jedi pulled the Force to himself, gritting his teeth as he did so, physically fine but, in the Force, raw and ragged. The Dark tried to rush into him but he held it out with a force of will, barely able to strain out a trickle of the true, all-encompassing Force, not its twisted shadow, but that would have to be enough.

Jorel leapt forward, pushing himself as much as he could, leaping ten feet into the air, one foot on a large glass tube full of dark fluid, which shattered under him as he pushed off it to reach a lower bit of scaffolding in his attempts to reach the Dark Adept, who screamed in fury, and turned, hurling a thin bolt of purple lightning the Padawan’s way, the Jedi barely dodging it, receiving no warning in the Force, but when the crazy man throws his hands at you, you move.

Firing himself, Jorel hit the mad scientist, blaster bolt scorching his flesh, but the Dark Adept didn’t seem to care, taking a moment to gather another crackling bolt, the finger-width tongue of energy more than mere electricity, practically screaming with malice in the Force as a thin arc pulled away from the main stream to run along his arm, the bulk of which missed the Padawan by inches, but even that much fouled Jorel’s aim, muscles locking up as agony far worse than any time he’d shocked himself working on the Dove trailed up his body.

Evil lightning is evil, got it, the Padawan couldn’t help but think, landing heavily on another piece of scaffolding, struggling for a moment, even as, snarling in victory, the Dark Adept gathered another bolt, starting to reach out before Jorel could move.

Which is when Hisku shot the crazed man in the kriffing side.

While the wild-eyed torturer didn’t seem to feel pain, he at least still had to worry about physics, and the force of the bolts discharging into the Dark Adept pushed him to the side, his own blast of Dark energy going wide, giving Jorel enough time to make his body move, taking a few stumbling steps before launching himself forward, glancing back to the rest of his squad as he flew through the air. They was still firing, and what the hell?

The Resistance fighters had shot one of the torture victims, likely out of a merciful desire, but while the woman had died, the Force so full of Dark that he hadn’t felt her passing, her flesh had split open, and hundreds of hand-sized worms were spilling out, flailing, but starting to orient on the terrified squad, lampray-like mouths flexing with ravenous intent.

“Hisku! Grenade!” Jorel ordered, landing, as the Dark Adept, hands now shaking, tips of his fingers black, hurled another bolt at the Jedi, who, having waited a moment for that very thing, jumped again, clearing the path of the attack easily. Turning his weapon to fully automatic, going the ‘who needs accuracy, I’ve got volume’ route, Jorel sent a stream of plasma towards the Adept, who, if anything, seemed to be getting stronger, and the Padawan remembered a tidbit from his dives into the Temple Archives.

Sith, and their lessers, Dark Adepts, gained power from darker emotions, like fear, anger, despair, and pain. And, with several blaster bolt burns, and damaging himself with every bolt of what was clearly Sith Lightning thrown the Jedi’s way, Jorel realized that no, that account of pain increasing their power wasn’t being metaphorical!

Explosions detonated below the two Force users, and the space around them roiled with the Dark, as the creatures, twisted creations of the Dark Side, died in the dozens, if not the hundreds. Braced for it, the Jedi still strained under the assault, as he saw Hisku driven to her knees, while the old man turned, screaming in fury, “MY CHILDREN!!!”

Seemingly forgetting about Jorel entirely, the Dark Adept drank deeply from the tainted Force, gathering not just a single bolt, but a veritable storm of purple lightning to himself, hands charring as he prepared to destroy Hisku.

No, the Padawan thought, anger flaring, but, along side that, a need to Protect that pushed back the Dark for a moment, allowing the Jedi to pull upon the Force fully, which sang within him, aligned in his purpose, strength filling his body as he moved without thinking, throwing himself forward, blaster coming up, its barrel glowing even as his own Presence punched through the miasma, clear lines of fire forming before him.

Moving as fast as the bolts themselves, his attacks formed a wave in front of him as the Padawan reached the Dark Adept, blowing the man back a step through combined fire as Jorel’s feet hit the walkway and the Jedi struck out with his fist. The old man’s flesh gave way in an instant as the Padawan’s hand buried itself, elbow deep into the mad scientist’s chest, a wet, sucking sound loud in his ears as, bracing the barrel of his blaster against the Dark Adept’s flesh, the Jedi pulled out his blood and viscera covered arm, dropping the crazed man to the ground.

Sighing, glad that that guy was dead, the Padawan reached for the Scroll that reeked of Dark, only for Hisku to yell, “Jorel!” A faint sensation of Danger in the Force came, a half a moment too late, but he was already moving after hearing his partner’s cry, pushing off against the walkway with a blast of telekinesis as Force laden muscles ached, propelling him high into the air.

A dozen bolts of purple lightning passed through the space he’d been in, starting to track upwards even as he rose, but Jorel twisted, bringing his blaster to bear, and though his connection to the Force had ebbed, he didn’t need its assistance to sink a dozen shots into the Dark Adept, the lightning going wild as the Jedi landed, still firing, took a step forward, still firing, and didn’t stop until the madman kriffing died, his demise almost tearing the Force in an eruption of Dark that washed over the Jedi, pressing in on him with a hundred grasping claws of hate, despair, greed, and more.

Grasping onto the walkway’s railing with his bloody hand, Jorel shook, his already injured spirit feeling like it was tearing apart, but he knew the Dark, knew that its words were nothing more than lies, and, just as before, he wasn’t here for himself, wouldn’t be the only one who suffered if he fell. Looking down, the Resistance fighters were heading for the door, leaving him behind, the Cowards, but Hisku, his Hisku, was staying, firing, even as the torture droids advanced on her, and another swarm of foul worms closed.

No, No, he would not fall, and reaching out, the Dark whispered to him how he could save her, how he could strike down his enemies, make them suffer, but he didn’t care about that, he only wanted her safe.

With that thouhgt, the Dark, pressing in from every angle, was rebuffed, just a little, and Jorel, mind clearing ever so slightly, remembered that he had grenades too! Pulling one, the Force guided his throw, and it detonated, killing this new swarm, whose deaths rippled with the Dark but, oddly helped push away the grinding, clawing pressure that tried to stick to him, tried to eat its way inside him.

Pushing against it didn’t work, that just gave it more to hang onto, so he took a calming breath, remembering the Temple’s lessons, the ones that went back millennia, and didn’t fight the Dark, but neither did he let it in. He merely noted that it was a thing that, yes, existed, but he was busy now, and didn’t have time to play.

Because the opposite of hate wasn’t love, or anything like that, it was apathy, and he wouldn’t let it into his mind, because it didn’t matter.

Oh, how the Dark howled at that, threatened to go after Hisku, but if it could, it would’ve already, as the Dark was a hungry, greedy thing that took everything you had and demanded more.

It wasn’t easy, but no one said being a Jedi was easy, and Jorel could feel the comforting sensation of the true Force wrap around him, supportive and comforting, even as it sank into his aching muscles, further helping to clear his head.

Okay, time to go, he told himself, leaning down and grabbing the scroll, dripping with Dark, and clipping it to the back of his armor, the grasping tentacles of corruption sliding off him as if he was coated in polished durasteel.

It was a strain, doing this, but, glancing to Hisku, who was furiously firing on the droids, face set in an silent snarl, another swarm of worms making its way towards her, he could keep it up for now. His annoyance at the creatures opened a crack in his defenses, the Dark starting to pour in, but he, calmly and firmly, pushed it right back out as he lightly leapt over the railing and dropping the thirty feet to the ground, negligently taking, arming, and tossing his second, and last, grenade into the oncoming swarm.

The detonation killed them, the wave of Dark passing over him, and as the pressure on his Presence waned a little further, the Padawan realized that, whatever they were, they were passively twisting the Force around them to further pollute it that corrupting energy.

The last of the Resistance fighters had left, but he could feel them, and their panic, in the Force, as well as dozens upon dozens of other things awakening further away, the bestial feelings of Hunt/Feed/Hurt screeching with the Dark, and the Jedi understood that, whoever that Dark Adept had been, he’d been busy.

A skeletal looking droid lunged for him, its arm ending in a syringe full of black fluid, the faint stirrings of something alive inside it, likely larval versions of the worms, but the Force was with him, and he took a half step in, placed the end of his blaster an inch away from its head, and held the trigger for a half second, four blaster bolts blowing apart its main processor.

While crude, and while he was much better at using his saber, there was something to be said for the point-and-kill nature of a blaster.

“Jorel?” his attaché questioned, worried and confused, as he strode up to her, unhurried, fully within a sort of walking meditation as he tried as hard as he could, without trying, to maintain a sense of perfectly balanced calm.

Looking at her, he found she was unharmed, something that, despite himself, made him feel relieved, but oddly enough the Dark didn’t take advantage of that slip. Finding himself smirking, Jorel, burned and bloody, quipped, “I do believe we’ve overstayed our welcome, Lieutenant Hisku’Biatha’Pusi. Let us rejoin the rest of our compatriots before what else that Dark Adept created runs into them.”

“They abandoned us!” the Chiss snarled, but followed him as he broke into a jog, headed for the door. She was not balancing like he was, but, given she had no training, that was hardly her fault.

“Yes, which I’ll be sure to include in my report to Master Er’izma,” the Padawan noted, feeling a hint of vindictive pleasure, which the Dark tried to force its way in through. Oh, that you give a druk about, he thought, annoyed, which just let more in, but, with a flex of ever-tiring will, he cut off and drained out the Dark from his Presence, focusing on the mission.

Hisku grinned with obvious bloodthirstiness, which was just another sign that, despite his attempts to purge the Dark from both of them, it was creeping back in, but that’d be a constant problem as long as they stayed here. Firing on the left, while Hisku took care of the right, they cleared a path out, both of them breaking into a Force-assisted run.

It was clear that his attaché didn’t realize what she was doing, and just as obvious from how she was trailing Dark that she’d need his healing when this was done, but he didn’t feel annoyed, only accepted it as the price of getting her to safety.

Thankfully, it let both of them practically fly out the door, turning off the way he could hear the Resistance fighter’s blasters firing, and while Hisku stumbled, he was there to catch her, helping her to turn at a right angle as she moved with a strength it was clear she wasn’t used to.

Sprinting down one hallway, then the next, the maze-like nature meant using something like Force Speed was impossible, the mechanism like a Force Jump, only horizontal, but requiring a good amount of slow-down space if one didn’t want to slam into a wall at fifty miles an hour. They passed the mauled corpse of Felan, the slicer boy, and while a small part of Jorel wanted to move faster, he kept control of his emotions, his priority Hisku’s survival first, the others’ a distant second.

There was no malignance in that thought, merely cold certainty that held the Dark at bay.

Regardless, he remembered the way in, even if the trip had an odd, dream-like quality to it, almost certainly the Dark having affected his mind on the way in, and soon enough they turned the corner, to see the fighters shooting at ten large red dogs. Each was almost the size of a horse and all of them were covered with biological plating. They had hemmed the survivors in, six between the Force-using pair and the Force-less fighters, another two on the Resistance members’ other side. Gareth, the older man, had already been ripped in two while four of the creatures ate what was left of him from either end of each half.

Reaching out with the Force, Jorel pulled the pins and depressed the detonation triggers on the dead man’s grenades, left unused, on what was left of the man’s chestplate, two telekinetic strikes a second later simulating the impact of thrown weapons hitting their target, setting them off as he and Hisku closed.

The detonation blew apart five of the creatures, the sixth injured, a few blaster-bolts as they passed the hound ending it as well, as the Jedi and his companion hurtled forward, through the blast, and into the fray.

Reaching out to his partner in the Force, she instinctively took hold of the connection, her vague Presence already stained with Dark, but he kept hold of her, even as it tried to cross the connection to him, but slid off his stalwart rejection of it. Conveying his plan without words, he felt her understand, both of them splitting up as they reached the fighters, both pulling a vibroblade and thrumming it on.

Jorel had his lightsaber training, and Hisku her swordsmanship, both commanding the survivors with the Force to “Run!” as the sprinted at inhuman speeds, leaping, firing with one hand, both twisting in the air with blades out, vibrating knives striking home in the eye-socket of their respective targets, the red, slathering, fanged hounds yanked off their six respective feet by the force, before their blades came free of the creatures’ skulls and the pair landed on their feet, still moving.

The Dark blossomed in the Force at the Hounds’ deaths, but that only made Hisku faster, as Jorel tried not to worry, and mostly succeeded, denying the corruption any purchase, matching her beat for beat as they both darted down the hallway towards the last two surprised hounds, the creatures already flinching from the bolts that’d impacted their hides, though they were tough enough that those were only glancing wounds.

As the pair closed, both went down into slides, blades upwards to slit the creatures open from chin to groin, and those wounds were not glancing. Rising as one, they both glanced backwards to see the remaining three fighters staring, and, again speaking as one, demanded, “Now!”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

That got them moving, even as Jorel, and thus Hisku, both felt another three Presences turn the corner, firing their blasters, taking down the lead two dogs while the last lunged from behind its ersatz meat-shields for them, and they raised their blades, catching its claws, while the creature’s middle pair lashed out, to be caught by their blasters, both Jedi and attaché lashing out with a Force-empowered kick that broke its ribs while catapulting the beast several feet back, exposing its armor-less belly, which they filled with blaster bolts.

Charging forward, with the three behind them, Hisku and Jorel cut a bloody path through the complex. Hounds, droids, and one large slug that bulged obscenely as it tried to close on them were all killed, the last with a pair of grenades they’d ripped from Syko’s armor, their ‘team lead’ having not used them at all.

As the group moved forward more of the hounds came for them from behind, but after the pair had killed another dozen the dogs pursuing them pulled back. The ones in front of them did not get the message, and were quickly dispatched. Closing on the exit, Jorel could feel his own control slipping, even as Hisku breathed harder and harder, muscles twitching under her skin, bruises starting to form without injuries, as the Dark took its price for its ‘gifts’. Seeing the door, Syko broke away, bolting for the exit as fast as she could while the rest of them ran with more difficulty, Loran, the Duros having been slashed across the chest by one of the beasts’ claws, which cut through his armor like it wasn’t there, while Lantha, the older woman, had taken a hit to the thigh from one of the guard-droids still active, the automatons leaving the creatures alone, and were ignored by them in turn.

Their ‘leader’ however, was unharmed, and slammed on the lift buttons as soon as she got in the cabin, the doors starting to close, and, at their speed, she’d be leaving them all behind. Reaching out, Jorel held the doors open with the Force, causing the servos to whine while the Dark tried to ‘assist’, seizing on his ill-controlled anger to turn the push into a rip that would’ve destroyed the lift, stranding them down here under the guise of ‘helping’, but the Jedi had just enough control and focus left to only do what he wanted as they all staggered towards the lift, Syko uselessly slamming on the close button, and it was kriffing hard not to just lift his blaster and kill the traitor, but to do so would give the Dark too much of an in, and keeping Hisku stable and himself sane was all he could manage now, and they could make it.

However, the hounds realized the same thing, howling as they charged around the corner, a red tide of death, and Jorel had to make a choice.

Letting go of the door with the Force, and sheathing his vibroblade, he physically reached out and grabbed Hisku, as she copied the motion exactly, using just a hint of Force Speed to accelerate them both through the door. Pulling her close to him, he twisted, taking the force of the hit as they both bounced off the back of the lift, he quickly reached out in the Force again, taking hold of now-closing lift doors, and keeping them from sealing, so the last two could make it.

Lothan did, but Lantha, stumbling and slower, fell under the tide of Dark beasts, the wet tearing of her body being ripped apart, as well as the nearly imperceptible ripple in the Force of her painful, violent death spread out through it enough for Jorel to let go, the doors slamming shut, and the lift starting to rise. With a thunderous CRASH the creatures hit the now-closed shaft doors, but didn’t break through, and the four survivors sagged.

Jorel moved even as Hisku did, knocking her weapon aside, the bolt that would’ve taken off Syko’s head going wide, and, as the Dark receded, he could reach deeper, and pull the Force to him. “No, Hisku,” he commanded, the connection they had weakening without the Dark to actively power her end, helping her make the bond in an effort to try and corrupt him through another vector, but it was enough.

“But she-”

“Is a coward, and scum, but not worth killing,” he stated, now that he could feel anger without it being a danger to his very soul, the Dark Nexus below them wailing in frustration as they escaped it. Sighing, he turned his attention towards the Rebel ‘leader’, and pulled upon all of his skill, as well as what little he’d learned from Er’izma, who was a master of this technique. “I saw the Congs were performing biological experimentation on prisoners down there,” he instructed, Force thick in his voice.

“I saw the Congs were performing biological experimentation on prisoners down there,” the woman dully repeated, the Duros gasping, but he’d be next.

“When confronted, we detonated the explosives we’d placed on their generators, escaping, but this released their bio-weapons, which killed the lead scientist, and his staff, but also several members of our team,” Jorel continued, the woman repeating his statement, word for word, her pitiful will buckling under his own. “Felan had all our proof, except for the holo-images I took, but was killed, and we could not retrieve it without being killed ourselves. Jorel and Hisku’s skill kept us alive, showing that they are trained commandos, and nothing more than that.”

Sighing, Jorel gave one last statement, “I held the door, firing into the hounds, trying to give the others time, but Lantha didn’t make it, and on the ride up I saw nothing out of the ordinary.”

“On the ride up, I saw nothing out of the ordinary,” she finished repeating, believing it to be her own thoughts, and, as Er’izma had instructed, Jorel kept a mental ‘finger’ in her mind, keeping the last order active while he worked on Loran.

“You, you’re Jedi,” the green-skinned alien whispered, looking between the two of them.

“Yeah,” the Padawan nodded, even as Hisku frowned, “But I can’t let you remember that.”

“I, I will not say,” the alien argued holding up a hand, before wincing, coughing, his chest a bloody mess.

Looking at the wound, it seemed bad, and Jorel couldn’t hold two Mind Tricks and heal. “Let’s take care of that first,” the young man said, kneeling down and holding a hand over the torn flesh, concentrating on heal, be whole, be healthy, as Er’izma had suggested, leaning into the ‘desire’, but an unselfish one, something that, paradoxically, worked for the Force without a hint of Dark.

The alien gasped, as glowing blue drops of ‘water’ formed on the Padawan’s hands, dripping into Loran as the wounds started to heal, only. . . there was something else. Frowning in concentration, Jorel paused, unsure, but, listening to the Force, he let it guide his movements, and the Duros started to convulse.

“Hold him down!” he ordered, Hisku hesitating a moment, before doing what he asked, and, after several seconds of shaking, more and more healing poured into the man without anything seeming to happen, the wounds suddenly bled profusely, running down the man’s armor and onto the floor, where the fluid seemed to writhe, dozens of tiny worms flailing as the Force poured into them, before they went still, dying, the Dark within them smothered by the healing embrace of the Force, and, as creations of the Dark, there was no true life within them.

Head swimming with fatigue, Jorel pressed on, continuing to heal the Duros, who stared at the dead wormlings in horror, the man’s wounds finally closing. Once the slashes looked merely unpleasant instead of possibly fatal, the Padawan stopped, taking a bacta-patch from Syko’s armor and slapping it on the wound, one last pass of healing making sure he was no longer. . . infested.

“Those, those were in me?” Loran questioned, hoarse voice horrified.

Taking a deep breath, Jorel grabbed Syko’s canteen and washed off his bloody arm, focusing inwards with his own healing, and, while his lightning-scorched arm still twinged, he was fine. “Yeah, you get stabbed by one of the torture droids?” he asked, taking a step over to Hisku, who was shaking slightly, but trying her best not to.

Dripping his glowing healing into her, she didn’t even argue, and while her body drank in the life force like water on parched soil, there was none of the resistance that indicated she might be infested.

The edges of his vision started to darken, the Jedi fatigued almost beyond words, so he stopped, and Hisku let out a short breath, nodding her thanks.

Looking to the Duros, Jorel realized that he didn’t have it in him to try and Mind Trick the alien, so slowly told him, “Then the hounds probably did it with their claws, which is. . . so like the Sith. Fine, I saved your life, now you keep quiet about us.”

“But, the Congressional forces have a Jedi working for them as well,” Loran pointed out, confused.

Feeling out in the Force, Jorel tried to tell if this was a mistake, a choice-point like that first mission had been, but he got nothing. Hoping it would work out, the Padawan slowly stated, “Er’izma’s looking to see if the Congs are in the right. We’re looking to see if the Resistance is. And that,” he said, motioning down, “that’s a pretty good indication that the bad guys here aren’t you guys, but her,” he jerked a thumb towards the still blankly staring Syko, “leaving us all for dead isn’t exactly great either. Not as bad as kriffing Sith Alchemy, but not great either.”

“That. . . what is ‘Sith’?” the alien questioned, unsure.

“Anti-Jedi,” the Padawan replied simply. “They’re all dead, thank the Force, but some of their stuff shows up sometimes. This,” he said, tapping the scroll-case, which hummed with malevolence, but, out of the Dark Nexus, was a shadow of its former power, “is probably going back to the Temple. Where it’ll be sealed up if its important, like if it tells us how to cure whatever that stuff was, or into an incinerator if it isn’t. Also, don’t tell anyone I have it.”

“I will not!” Loran promised, and, from little of him Jorel could feel in the Force, the man seemed honest.

“Syko?” their comms crackled, whatever had blocked them out gone, and, with a sigh, Jorel released the Mind Trick he had going on the woman as he clipped her now-empty canteen back on her belt. “Syko, you there?”

With a start, the woman jerked awake and answered her comms, “Holy Druk, Blon! We found, I don’t know, some kind of bioweapons lab!? It was terrible! We barely got out alive, and we lost everyone but Loran and the newbies. And the newbies, dear kriffing god was Dilvax right about them!”

Leaning against the wall, Jorel took a deep breath, and wove a miniature Veil around the Sith Scroll. Surprisingly doing so was incredibly easy, the Dark emanating from the tainted artifact helping and reinforcing the technique, and Jorel could practically hear it go, ‘Yes! Keep me for yourself! Only you are worth of me!’ and he had to repress a snort.

If it wanted to help me turn it in, that’s fine with me.

The doors opened, and there were a couple of Resistance fighters standing guard, who, seeing the Duros was a bloody mess, rushed in and helped him out while the rest of what was left of Delta squad followed as quickly as they could.

Their debrief had taken a while, but soon enough they were let free, and returned to their room. Using the ‘momento’ they’d gotten from the Dove’s quartermaster, they activated its lower setting, which would call for someone to come by, but wasn’t the ‘We’re discovered and need evac ASAP’ signal.

Hisku used the Fresher and dropped bonelessly on their shared bed, and he took a seat next to her when he was done cleaning himself off twice as well. “So. . . that happened,” he commented dully. “Who the hell builds a prison on top of a Dark Nexus?”

“Happens more often than you think,” a man’s voice commented, and Jorel was on his feet, Force thrumming in his body, before he stumbled, and he felt someone push him backwards, so he fell back on the bed next to Hisku.

There was a ripple, and a smiling blond man in Geist Squadron’s mottled grey armor was standing in front of him. With an exaggerated frown, the soldier pinched his nose, “Ugh, you two reek. You especially, little lady. So, Dark Nexus?”

Jorel gave the man a complete report, handing him the vial of ‘healing potion’, and, when the Padawan reached for the Sith Scroll, he could hear it whisper, ‘Do not! You could use me! Be greater than that foo-’

Dismissing the Dark, and also the Veil he hadn’t realized he’d still been keeping up, the drain on his energy, which he’d somehow forgot about it, eased, and he handed the soldier the artifact. “Be warned, it talks.”

“They do that,” the Geist agreed, glancing at the scroll and rolling his eyes before unfolding a shimmering bag and dropping it inside, the tendrils of Dark shutting off like someone had shut a door on it.

Blinking, Jorel stared, asking, “Uh, can I have one of those?”

“Ask the General when you’re done being a spy,” the blond man smirked. Giving the Padawan a weighing glance, he reached forward and messed up Jorel’s hair, much to the teen’s displeasure. “Not bad, kid. Either of you need a Cleansing? You’re good, and she’s. . . okay, but I’d have to take you back with me.”

Jorel considered that. He could still feel traces of the Dark on him, but he knew, from experience, that it’d fade with time and practice with the true Force. They’d gathered a good bit of intel, but he had a feeling they were just getting to the core of the Resistance, and, if Slevath was any indication, there was more going on here than there seemed.

However, he wasn’t just making the decision for himself.

“Hisku,” he said, turning to his attaché. “Your call. You hate this spy druk, you want to call it? What we just went through, it’ll stick with you for a bit, and make this entire thing harder.”

“I can handle it,” she replied, instantly.

“Lieutenant,” the Geist soldier commanded, his easygoing demeanor gone, tone laden with both discipline and the Force as his Presence unveiled itself. It was akin to a Knight’s, a serpent, made of green stone that shone with prismatic light, and it stared down the young Chiss woman. “You have taken an injury. You know your training. A hurt soldier kills more than just themselves. Do you require evac?”

Hisku grimaced, and took a deep breath, giving her response some thought. “. . . No. No, I’m able to continue,” she stated slowly. “Though I do request a hold on infiltration missions until I have received proper instruction. Both of us, Sir.”

The man’s Presence faded, the prismatic light covering it until it settled into the Force in a way that was almost impossible to see, only a slight disturbance in the ebb and flow of the Force indicating he was there at all. “Okay,” he nodded, tone light once more, looking between the two of them. “If you’re sure, then I’ll take this back. Er’izma’s gonna be pissed,” he smiled, then caught Jorel’s worried expression. “Not at you kid, he’ll be pleased as punch ‘bout your performance.”

“Even though I almost fell?” the Padawan asked, incredulous.

“If you almost fall you’re still standing,” the man shrugged. “‘sides, who hasn’t come close to loosin’ themselves a little.”

“. . . Most of the Jedi Order,” the teen pointed out, but the Geist soldier snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Sure they haven’t, kid. Suuure they haven’t,” the blonde reassured the Padawan patronizingly. “You younglings are always so adorable.”

And with that, the other man vanished, though, at the edge of perception, Jorel could almost make out his position in the room as he headed for the door, which opened seemingly on its own. “You did good kid,” the disembodied voice repeated, “but maybe heal up your partner? She looks like she needs it.”

The door closed, and Jorel sat back down on their bed, looking over at his attaché. “So. . .?” he questioned, holding up a glowing blue hand. At the woman’s hesitation, he added, “The Dark Side of the Force messed you up, let me use the true Force heal you back up? It’s not the same thing as using it to help after training.”

“. . . fine,” the Chiss admitted, holding out a hand, which he took, and started to heal her through it. “Why did it affect me?” she suddenly asked. “It didn’t do the same to the others.”

Concentrating on wanting her to be better, something that was strangely easy, Jorel answered, “You’re strong in the Force. They weren’t. It means that while you can use it, you can also be used by the Dark Side, if you’re not trained to resist it. There’s a lot of accounts of Dark Adepts, and before them, Sith, doing terrible things to those naturally strong in the Force. It’s. . . like living on a planet that’s rich in, I don’t know, chromium, what you need to make hyperdrives. Yeah, you could ignore it, or you could mine it for a profit. But even if you ignore it, that doesn’t stop someone bad from invading and taking over because they want it.”

“Then, I got invaded?” she questioned, frowning.

“We both did. I just. . . have my own planetary defense force,” the Jedi shrugged, expanding on the metaphor. “Which means I can handle it better, but they can also do things like, uh, asteroid mining and zero-gravity construction. You’ll fight it off, but it’ll take time, and your, um, ‘people’ will be tense because they’re busy fighting off an invasion. But people like Syko are just barren rocks, so there’s no point in invading them.”

“Valueless describes her fairly well,” the Chiss noted icily, then frowning, and finally gritting her teeth. “I, I didn’t mean to say that.”

With a smile, the Padawan offered, still Healing her, “Like I said, you’re tense fighting off the Dark corruption. If you avoid the Dark, you’ll be fine, but people strong in the Force, we get lucky. Or un-lucky. So you might never see anything Dark again, or you might stumble across something else in a couple months. And Jedi fight those invaders, so being around me means its probably gonna be the latter, though hopefully not that soon, or at least not that bad. That was. . . bad, Hisku, like ‘takes a Jedi Master to deal with’ bad, which is why we’re messed up, but Er’izma could probably stroll in, kill everything, take out the Dark Adept, seal up the Sith Scroll, and stroll right out like he was going for a walk.”

Hisku didn’t respond, so Jorel continued to try and heal her, getting increasingly tired, but he had nothing else he needed to do that night.

“Jorel?” she suddenly asked, and he blinked, finding himself on the floor. How did I get here?

Trying to sit up, he found had to use Force Control just to do that, wincing. “I, sorry?”

“You passed out,” she informed him, confusion and concern in her tone, along with a little fear, as she helped him up and into bed.

“Sorry,” he apologized again, grinning weakly. “Healing takes it out of you, and you tore yourself up something fierce because of the Dark.”

His attaché paused, biting her lip, before asking, “You have to do this, because. . . because I used the Dark?” At his look, she frowned, “I, I was keeping up with you, Jorel. And I, I was strong. I was too strong.”

He nodded, which made the room spin a little. “You didn’t mean to, but that stuff’s not big on consent. Doing it with the Force leaves you feeling a little tired, but refreshed. Doing it with the Dark? It’s like you beat your body into doing what you wanted, but you’re so high on power you don’t realize it. Trust me, you would barely have been able to move tomorrow.”

“If you didn’t heal me,” she stated, and he nodded. “Fine. I want to learn,” the Chiss announced. “At least enough to keep you from having to heal me.”

Blinking, thoughts still hazy, the Padawan smiled, not having expected that. “Oh, uh, Wizard! I, uh, so first-”

“Tomorrow,” Hisku informed him. “I’ll learn tomorrow. You’re barely conscious, Jorel, and I would be failing in my duties if I caused you undue stress.” She winced, blushing almost cobalt, which some distant part of the Jedi’s tired mind noted was kinda cute. “More undue stress,” she corrected.

“Iz fine,” the Padawan mumbled, as the world started to fade, “everybody makes mistakes.”

The next morning, they both awoke to find that the Prison was gone, blasted down to the bedrock by orbital bombardment by the Dove.