And the Desolate Take Solace...

[Archangel]

9 ABY
Captain Gideon Corey smiled thinly as he surveyed the wondrous sight before him: an ancient station, rotating its massive hull slowly before him. After almost a year of searching, they might have finally found what they were looking for. The year had been long and tedious, circling up from Coruscant along the Hydian Way, passing by the Corporate Sector, then heading down towards Mon Calamari and following the Perlemian Trade Route until nearing Bimmisaari, then heading further down, towards Hutt space, before finding this station. The going had been slow, mainly due to the need to check every possibility before moving on. The last thing Gideon wanted was losing an opportunity, or having to revisit these parts of space. "Kiuwo," he ordered, "Tell me about it." As leader of the colonists - indeed, the expedition was his very brainchild - it was his responsibility to confirm everything he could about prospects before informing the majority of the crew and passengers. Before the expedition, he had an aptitude for convincing people to undertake his business propositions, and so his bank account soared; he still had no idea that he was using the Force, and would not know that for about another two weeks.

Kiuwo, the Rodian sensor officer, was fascinated and showed that in his quick, nasally voice: "It's incredible, Captain! Scans indicate that it's older than the Empire - maybe even older than the Republic! It seems to be made of some kind of ancient duracrete, but it shows none of the signs of decay that duracrete shows after aging! Sensors pick up a hatch of some kind on its outside, large enough for the Solace to fit through, and that's saying something! Sensors are having difficulty reaching the inside of the station, but it seems to be emanating large amounts of energy!" Indeed, a hatch large enough for the modified Carrack-class light cruiser was indeed saying something; of course, the station almost rivaled the Death Star in size, so it was not any real surprise. The ship, called the Solace by its captain, had its weapons removed and replaced with extra cargo bays for the extensive resources needed for the colony; in place of its TIE fighters were more cargo bays, save one Lambda-class shuttle for transport purposes.

Gideon nodded, his smile widening. He stroked his well-trimmed beard to try and hide the expression; he did not want to get his hopes up. He breathed deeply and sighed it out, running a hand through his dark hair as he thought. A knowing smile creased the clean-shaven face of Eric Noble, his security chief and second-in-command. Eric and Gideon had been friends for quite some time, and the former knew what the latter was thinking exactly. "Captain, this could be it," Eric said.

Smiles and laughter spread about the room at the announcement, but Gideon waved them away. "Let's not get too excited just yet," he suggested. He knew as well as Eric that everyone on board would be excited about the station, because it seemed to fit all their criteria for escaping the Empire and the Rebellion, and everyone else trying to cause problems in the Galaxy. Every single crew member or passenger had chosen to go on the mission for their own reasons, but all were accepted and none turned away for the peace-expedition of a lifetime. "Eric, take the shuttle and a security team and check it out; we want to make sure that no one is already inhabiting that place when we take the Solace in." Eric grinned and nodded, rushing from the bridge to carry out the order.

At the time, Gideon had no idea of the tragic irony in his words.

* * * * *

Six Years Later [Present Day]
Gideon had aged remarkably for a man only six years older than his once dark and handsome self. Streaks of grey had pierced his sideburns and stress had permanently knotted his brow. His thoughts returned to those days of happiness as the colonists had boarded the Solace - the name of the ship had been transferred to the station shortly after the decision had been made to make it a more permanent home. Within the first two weeks, Gideon knew it should have been name the Desolate instead.

The station had fascinated everyone; in the center of the sphere was a cylinder of incredibly strong durasteel, housing what would become the living quarters and cargo bays of the colony. Housed within the cylinder was a massive energy source which powered the entire station flawlessly, even after what must have been millennia of constant activity. Gideon had ordered that they start at the top and work their way down over time; as that time passed, he was extremely glad that he had made that decision.

The colonists had discovered the ship's computer system still active, though most of the old files were corrupted, including holorecordings, personal logs, and personnel details. Even so, they managed to discern that the station was extremely old, older than the Republic by several thousand years, and that it had been used as a training station for Jedi almost six thousand years before the Battle of Yavin - it had been clearly abandoned at the time. The colonists were more than eager to stay in a former Jedi training academy, regardless of their lack of information regarding it. Gideon, like a fool, he thought to himelf, placated them.

Within a week of the colonization, almost everything was moved in; the ship was mostly dismantled, and putting it back together would be a difficult task - especially since it would require taking apart what seemed like half the station that had been bolstered with the light cruiser's bulkheads, including a docking pad for any visitors they might have someday - though most thought it unlikely, and none hoped for it, they had collectively decided to plan for the worst. Roughly 1200 colonists worked quickly, to be sure, but the farthest they ever reached in the station was the eleventh level down from the top. It was then that strange reports began to come in - people made reports they later said they don't remember, and rumors of ghosts spread through the colonist populace.

Gideon himself ventured to the "cursed" eleventh level - eleventh of two hundred forty-three, according to the gravlift - with Eric and Kiuwo to see for himself what was going on. At the end of the second week, he found himself confronted with the spirit of a Jedi. The Jedi revealed Gideon's connection to the Force and warned that the colonists should leave immediately, or severe repercussions would follow, but the spirit disappeared before more information on the subject could be garnered. If it had been up to Gideon, he would have pulled out right then.

Unfortunately, it was not up to Gideon; it was up to the people, and they decided that if they never went below the tenth level, then they would be perfectly alright on the station. Besides, they claimed, they had already dismantled the ship and moved everything in; putting everything back together, only to wander the Galaxy until another home could be found, was hardly appealing. With that, at least, Gideon was forced to agree, but a large part of him eventually wished he had never conceived of the expedition in the first place.

Still, the colony thrived over the next few years; an agricultural system was set up on Level Five, with personnel on Levels Two through Four, offices on Level One, and cargo storage on Levels Six through Nine. No one went to Ten or Eleven, and no one ever felt the need. There were no visitors in those first six years, but Gideon and Eric decided that with people like the colonists, they had no need for enemies. The first two years were okay, but after that, crimes started up. The criminals were severely punished to discourage future events, but the crimes did not lessen - to the surprise of the administration, they increased. Emotions boiled, and everyone began to feel anger and even rage towards their fellows, despite no reasoning for such feelings. Gideon and Eric were easily able to control these feelings, but they rarely left the top levels; the emotions and the crimes got worse the deeper into the station you went. Soon, both Levels Eight and Nine were considered off-limits unless deemed necessary by the administration, and then only authorized security personnel were allowed in. In six years, the population level went from 1216 to 873, despite forty-two children being born. Most deaths were ruled as accidents or simply indiscernible, but fifty-seven were vicious murders by people who had little to no recollection of their actions. These were restrained to quarters for up to three years, depending on the violence and memory of the crime, until they were considered rehabilitated.

Gideon absolutely hated that 1200 pacifists had turned into 750 disturbed people and 100 criminals, and his worst feeling was that it was his decision that had brought them to the station in the first place.

[OoC: OoC Thread ... Join up! We could use some writers!]

[Archangel]

Gideon sighed. He did not want this. He never wanted this. Eric stood nearby, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for a response to his report. Two teenagers had ventured, on a dare, to the lower levels of the colony - they had not come back, and now their parents were demanding that Gideon and Eric retrieve them. Gideon had no choice - he was responsible for all members of the colony, regardless of age - but he was not going to drag Eric into if it was at all possible. "Mr. Noble," he said gently, "I'll take the security team down and retrieve the boys. You stay here and keep the people in line."

"Sir, I formally object," Eric replied. He said it so smoothly, so calmly, Gideon knew the other man had expected that response. He continued, "As your security chief, it is my duty to command all teams venturing into the lower levels."

Gideon shook his head. "This is becoming political, Eric. The colonists are blaming me for these kids running off like they have. You have to understand, this is my fight, not yours. I need you here to keep the peace until I get back," he explained. If I get back.

Eric shook his head, leaning forward and harshly placing one hand on Gideon's desk. "Gideon, if this is political, then you should be up here with the politics, fixing everything! I'll bring those kids back, and everyone will see that there's nothing to blame you for! Just some stupid teenagers fooling around - I bet they won't even be hurt!" At this point, Eric was getting desperate; he knew it was dangerous on the lower levels, and he would not allow his best friend to die.

Gideon smiled thinly and, as if reading Eric's thoughts - and with his untapped connection to the Force, he might have been - said, "I won't die, Eric. I'll have four of your best men by my side to ensure that, right? So I've got nothing to worry about." Gideon's smile broadened. "Besides, you know I hate politics. That's why I came out here in the first place."

Eric nodded. He was keeping himself in control, and he would have to continue to do so, regardless of what might happen. He nodded solemnly. "Then I obey, sir, and await your safe return," he said formally. He took one step back and turned on one heel, then left. No matter what anyone said, Eric felt Gideon was a better man, and the security chief would show him every respect.

Gideon, on the other hand, had a gut feeling that things would not be improving over the next few hours, and a part of him screamed that it was all his fault.

His prediction was not entirely mistaken; three hours later, Gideon watched as the doors to the gravlift - different from a turbolift in its use of physics to propel passengers from one level to another - closed between him and Eric. Gideon, along with four of the best security personnel the station had to offer, were clothed in strong blast vests and helmets. Each had a simple blaster pistol strapped to his waist; as a peaceful colony, they had never planned on having anything else. As a thin strip of light passed over Gideon's face, he knew they had descended one level. "What level did they say?" Gideon asked his teammates.

One, a Sakiyan by the name of Heigo, replied gruffly, "The eleventh, sir. They went as far as we did." Heigo was probably the best combatant among the colonists, better even than Eric, and his species' physical abilities made him ideal for the mission. Gideon was glad to have him along.

In reply, Gideon nodded slowly. It would take a few moments to reach the eleventh level; Gideon wondered vaguely how long it must take to reach the very bottom levels of the massive station, and how inefficient this predecessor to the turbolift was. It then occurred to Gideon that no one had occupied the station for a great deal of time, and as such, there had been no one to replace the gravlifts when turbolifts had been invented. It was obvious that the entire station was extremely old.

The gravlift dinged faintly; Gideon made a mental note to upgrade that for better notification of arrival, then laughed at himself silently. Ever the administrator, Gideon. The doors opened and the four security officers filtered into the room, making sure it was secure. Gideon could not help considering how foolish they all must have looked, pointing their high-tech weapons down unlit, unoccupied corridors on a largely abandoned space station of ancient design and construction, worried about unknown and unseen attackers, searching for two stupid teenagers who got conned into the wrong room. A smile creased his face; luckily, none of the others could see it in the darkness.

Heigo waved his hand stiffly down one of the corridors. "Heat residues indicate that someone came through here most recently," he said, obviously using his ability to see the infrared spectrum to their advantage. Gideon nodded and followed, the other three bringing up the rear.

"Where do you think they could have gone, sir?" asked one of the younger members of the team, a human by the name of Richard Willard, or Rick as he preferred to be called.

"Don't know, Rick, but we're going to get them and drag them back by their ears," Heigo replied jovially. The others laughed; they were used to this sort of thing, and Gideon felt awkward in the company of those soldiers-turned-colonists.

He smiled, trying to convince himself that he fit in perfectly. That's stupid, he told himself, Why are you trying to fit in? These are your subordinates on a station you essentially own. They're helping you, you're not just tagging along. Silly, really. His smile became more true, more confident, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

The team came to another junction. Heigo looked around, then decided to take the left corridor, assumably based on his perception of the infrared spectrum again. The five walked in silence, checking every nook and cranny they came across. There seemed to be no sign of the two boys apart from the heat of a footstep, the warmth of a hand pressed against a wall for support. One boy was human, and the other was a young Bothan; neither had been particularly fond of authority, and now, they had journeyed to where even the bravest of adults feared on a simple dare from their buddies. Gideon almost envied their ignorance, because it was probably blissful - until they got themselves killed, which Gideon sincerely hoped had not happened.

The station creaked ominously, but the team paid it no heed; it was either the usual rotation of the sphere to provide artificial gravity, or it was just their imagination conjuring images of spooky houses at the rare circus back on their respective homeworlds. Gideon, though, was becoming steadily unnerved; some part of him kept telling him that it was unsafe, that they should return immediately or suffer dire consequences. It was almost as if someone else were predicting their doom, and he had no power to tell it to the others. He could only watch as that very doom unfolded before him.

The five men reached a third junction, and this time, Heigo was less sure. "I don't understand, sir," he said softly, "it's almost as if the were here longer ago than they were back at the gravlift. Is it possible they went back and took the lift to a different level?"

It was a perfectly legitimate question, but Gideon knew full-well that the gravlift had returned to the top level after dropping off the boys and had not left that level until the team of security officers had taken it in pursuit. "No," he replied, "There must be some explanation. Is it safe to split up?"

Heigo activated his comlink; "Comm check!" he announced, and the other four men did the same. All comlinks were in perfect working order. "Yes, sir, it's safe for the moment. I suggest that we maintain comm contact and make sure none of us gets lost. There are three options; I'll go with Rick straight ahead; Gideon, you and Jelik take the left corridor; Brey and Carr take the right." Jelik Quickdraw was a Nosaurian of impeccable speed in his various skills of piloting and shooting. Gideon was glad to be with an experienced combatant, rather than looking out for someone like young Rick. Gideon supposed Rick was only around for the ride, because Eric (vainly) hoped that the mission would be a simple search and return, no combat required.

Gideon took point and Jelik covered the rear as the two ventured down the dark corridor; Gideon shone his glowrod down the empty space, looking for some sign of life. The colonists had never activated a generator for the tenth or eleventh levels, mainly due to their lack of use - a few storage containers had been placed on those levels, but were abandoned when the colonists "retreated" to the higher levels. What still worried Gideon was that they had no idea what they were retreating from, apart from a nameless Jedi spirit that Gideon was still unsure ever existed.

A noise caught Gideon's attention; he was glad when Jelik moved at the sound as well, because it meant he was not imagining things. At first, he thought the sounds were coming from up ahead, and hoped that the teenagers would be found and they could all return to the relative safety - though nothing so far had seemed particularly unsafe - of the upper levels. He was proven wrong when crackling came through the comm. "Hello?" he asked, "Is something wrong? Somebody talk to me..."

Heigo replied, "I'm getting static from Carr; Carr, you there? Give me a sign, buddy..."

Brey's thin, reedy voice returned, not sounding at all like himself - it was still his voice, but there was something in it, something one could not quite place, that seemed unnatural. "Carr's dead," he announced. It seemed matter-of-fact, as if it was a normal thing and nothing could be done about it.

Heigo obviously felt differently. "What?" he demanded. "Why? What's going on over there?" It was obvious he was upset; a twinge of panic was permeating even his powerful will. Brey started to reply, but it turned from his voice to an indeterminable rustling sound, like a whisper broken by static, then only static ensued. Heigo shouted, "Brey? Brey!" After a moment of white noise, the static dissipated, tuned out by the comlinks due to lack of reception. Heigo addressed Gideon, "Sir, I'm taking Rick to check this out. Something's not right, and I hope to the Force they're just playing tricks on us - those two always were sneaky blokes."

Gideon clicked his comlink once in affirmative response. He was worried about Brey and Carr, but his attention was still directed in front of him, and the teenagers were the first priority. Jelik obviously agreed, because he made no argument and followed Gideon's lead. The two continued towards the room up ahead; if Gideon's memory served correctly, it was a storage bay, with several lockers, and it was a dead end.

An ominous clank made him raise his weapon, then he lowered it as the laugh of a young Bothan male reached his ears. He moved forward quickly, Jelik following, and turned on the two teenagers as they were play-fighting with broken and rusted pipes. He snarled at them, "Hey! Stop that!" They responded immediately, dropping the pipes in fear. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused this colony?" he continued, "I want you two back in that gravlift on your way to the top levels immediately!"

Gideon's voice had reached a peak of anger he was unaware that he was capable of, but it made the teenagers immediately fall in formation and Jelik led them back to the last junction. Gideon activated his comlink on the way, "Heigo? We've got the kids. What's your status?"

"We're still looking for Brey and Carr. We'll catch up with you," Heigo replied. Gideon nodded and clicked his comlink; Jelik continued leading them back toward the gravlift.

Suddenly, Gideon stopped in his tracks at the sound of a strangled yell, not through the comlink, but echoing down the corridor. It sounded more human than Sakiyan, and he knew Rick was too young to be in trouble - far too young. He activated his comlink again, "Heigo? What was that? You okay?"

Static returned. Gideon swallowed. "Jelik," he said after a moment. The Nosaurian glanced at him. He continued, slowly and deliberately, "Take the boys back up to the upper levels; I'm going to check on the others. Do not come back for me. Is that understood?"

Jelik nodded. There was definitely something strange going on, and if his commanding officer wanted him where it was safe, it was fine by him. He ushered the boys toward the gravlift, and not another word passed between him and Gideon for a very long time.

The gravlift containing Jelik and the teenagers returned safely and two weeks past uneventfully. In those two weeks, the gravlift never went below Level Six. After those two weeks, Eric held memorial services for the four men who were presumed lost. Eric was placed in charge of the colony's administration, and he was given the responsibility of ensuring this never happened again.

[OoC: Don't worry, there's an answer to this mystery. But I need Maul to post his entry, 'cause otherwise, there won't be a decent reason to solve the mystery. Somebody bug him, I never see him online anymore. ]

[TalRaimi]

OOC: Until Maul posts i'm taking you up on your offer of politickin Hope this works for you.

IC:

Pella Davidros knew she was dreaming even as she took her first step into the dimly lit corridor. There was an ethereal quality to her movements, a grace and fluidity that she would never be able to achieve in real life, no matter how hard she might try. Yet in counterpoint to the way she moved, the rest of her senses seemed dulled and fuzzy. Despite only the single yellow strip light that ran along the corridor ceiling, it should have been able to shed enough light to illuminate the walls of the passageway, yet they remained hidden to her sight, lurking hazily at the edges of her vision; imagined more than seen. Her hearing too was muted, her booted feet hardly making a sound on the metal walkway underfoot.

Yes, this was indeed a dream. The only question was… what exactly was she dreaming about?

Pausing for a moment, she turned to look behind her, yet the same featureless expanse of corridor that lay ahead of her was all that greeted her. Hesitantly she put out a thin arm - goose-bumps forming on her skin as the cold air of the passageway touched her bare flesh – and probed for the corridor wall to her right. She almost jumped when she found it, her mind having already prepared her for the worst, yet despite the reassuring touch of metal she still couldn’t see what her hand was telling her was there. It was as if the darkness concealing the walls had swallowed her arm.

At a sudden sound in front of her, she pulled her arm back from the inky black shroud it had vanished into, somewhat relieved to find it still in one piece, and spun to face the sound. At first she could see nothing, then, as her eyes adjusted to the semi-dark she could make out a ghostly blue light lurking at the very periphery of her vision.

Curiosity set Pella’s feet into motion, and she silently trotted down the corridor, the ghostly blue light growing nearer, yet despite this, it failed to resolve itself into anything recognizable.

She crept closer, but the nearer she got the fainter the light seemed to grow. Irritation joined curiosity, even in the dream world she was a slave to her two biggest flaws. Pella broke into a run, moving swiftly and gracefully across the metal grating of the deck, literally flying down the corridor, but even as she reached the area where the blue light was… it suddenly winked out of existence. She skidded to a halt, blinking several times as the image of the blue light faded from her retinas; it was then that she realized she could now she the walls of the corridor.

Almost against her will her eyes were drawn to the right-hand wall, and to the dull white lettering that stood out against the gun-metal grey paint even in the faint light of the passageway. She traced the lettering, and felt a flutter of pure fear pass through her at the number painted below. It read:

Deck One Two Five.

Deck one hundred and twenty five? No! No, that couldn’t be right, it couldn’t! Her pupils were as wide as a black hole now, her body shaking as tremor after tremor of fear racked her, this couldn’t be possible, no one had ever been this deep in the station before; dream or no dream!

Pella.

The voice came from behind her, and with a startled cry she spun… to find herself facing the hazy blue outline of a wizened old man. She’d heard of these apparitions from the other colonists numerous times, they were the ghosts of the long dead Jedi who had lived her, yet she herself had never before seen one. And for her first encounter they had chosen to invade her dreams!

You didn’t listen to us. The old Jedi’s lips didn’t move as he spoke, instead his words sounded inside Pella’s mind. Now matters are worse.

Pella wanted to run, to scream, to bolt down the corridor as fast as she could, but the wizened old mans eyes held her rooted to the spot. She opened her mouth to gulp down a lungful of air, then steadying her nerves she asked through dry lips, “Who are you? Why are you in my dreams?”

The Jedi continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard her.

Something approaches. Something that will open the floodgates.

“What? What approaches?” Pella asked.

You don’t have much time. This is your last chance to leave.

Blinking back the tears that were pooling in the corners of her eyes, Pella looked imploringly at the old Jedi, searching for an explanation. “What’s approaching? How much time do we have?”

The old Jedi didn’t answer, instead he began to fade back into the darkness, growing gradually fainter, until with a final warning her disappeared. Go… before it’s too late…

With a start Pella woke up! Her heart was hammering in her chest, her sheets were soaked through, her pale skin glistening with sweat, and the voice of the Jedi was still echoing clearly in her mind.

A dream… just a dream!

Only it wasn’t just a dream, Pella realized with dread certainty, it was far more than that. Untangling herself from her twisted sheets, Pella slipped out of bed and padded unsteadily over to the com terminal in her room. Right now she wanted nothing more than to collapse into the refresher station, but first there was something she had to arrange, something she needed to try.

Keying the terminal on, she typed a brief request for a meeting with Eric Noble, head of the station since the disappearance of the stations administrator Gideon Corey two weeks previously. Reading it over once, she hit the send button and sent it on its way through the stations system whereby it would arrive in Eric’s incoming mail box by the time he woke the following morning. She needed to speak to someone about her dream, she needed to pass on her warning; she only hoped Eric would listen.

That done, she rose and crossed to the fresher, sinking down inside the room and letting the tears that had been building in the corners of her eyes flow freely.

[Archangel]

Eric rolled over, unable to sleep. He had not been able to sleep that entire night. It was not a lack of comfort - if there was any lack of comfort, he would have ironed it out after that many years in the same bed. It was the lack of security - Gideon was gone and it was up to him to keep the station in line. He was no longer a lowly chief of security - he was the administrator of the entire station. He felt unqualified to replace his best friend, but then he supposed that most people would respond in that way.

He sat up, swinging his feet over one side of his bed. He rubbed his face, his eyes, trying to massage away the weariness and stress. It did not work. He sighed and stood, heading over to the 'fresher to wash up. Maybe, he thought, if there was no way to sleep, then he could at least get something done. While he was washing his face, his communication console beeped a notification of a new message.

He was in no hurry; whatever it was, it was probably intended to reach him only after he awoke the next morning. He dried his face gently and walked out to the terminal, keying it softly. It was a written message from Pella Davidros. She needed to speak to him, but there were no details on what about. He sighed, transferring the message to his datapad and taking that over to his room's small desk.

The datapad had information regarding food, liquid, and power consumption. By Eric's estimations, the replenishing rate was high enough that there would not be a shortage of consumables on board - especially considering the declining rate of--

Eric cut the thought off. He was not going to count on deaths for administrative purposes. It just was not right - and he had learned that much from Gideon. Still, despite knowing how Gideon thought, Eric was still a security chief at heart, and he knew that people would die, especially on this station. But he let the thought pass as he settled down to do his work.

Four hours later, Eric awoke with a start after a dreamless sleep. His alarm was beeping that it was time to get up; he stood, walking to it, and deactivated it. He did not remember falling asleep, but he supposed that no one ever did. He picked up his datapad and skimmed over the message from Pella as he pulled on his uniform. He keyed a response into the datapad, telling her to meet him in his office as soon as she was able.

He sighed to himself as he entered the office - "his" office, he had called it. It was Gideon's office, and always had been, until just two weeks earlier.

[TalRaimi]

Unsurprisingly after her nightmare vision, sleep eluded Pella until the early hours of the morning, whereby she fell into an exhausted slumber that lasted scant enough time. She was woken by the constant chitterling of her alarm, and even though she didn’t need to be up for at least a couple of hours, she threw of her bed covers and rose to silence the alarm, noticing the flashing com board as she did so. Evidently she had received a reply to her message.

After reviewing the message from Eric Noble, Pella showered and dressed, deciding that she had just enough time to meet with the station’s administrator before work; Pella being one of half a dozen men and women who ran what passed for the station’s school. Pausing in front of the fresher’s mirror, she studied the reflection of the women before her; not yet into her fortieth year of life, and yet the image that confronted her was that of a women at least ten years older.

The first streaks of grey were creeping into her long dark hair, wrinkles and frown lines adorned her once smooth skin, and the ever growing bags under her eyes did nothing but heighten the impression of an aging women. And I have aged since I came to this station she thought to herself miserably, we all have.

Sighing, she collected her things and left her quarters, taking the gravlift up to the administration level in preparation for her meeting with Eric.

-------------------------------

A short time later Pella was shown into Eric’s office, and pausing awkwardly in the doorway she smiled uncertainly at the newly crowned station administrator as she introduced herself.

“Administrator Noble, I’m Pella Davidros. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, especially considering the fact that I was a little sketchy as to the reason why.”

[Archangel]

Eric smiled at her as genuinely as he could. "No problem, Miss Davidros," he replied, "That's what I'm here for. Besides, part of me was worried it might have something to do with the rest of my job." He was not entirely sure why he had mentioned that suspicion, but he supposed it was a perfectly legitimate worry - he himself had experienced the odd dream which he suspected had not originated in his own imagination.

He could tell the situation was somewhat awkward, as well - no one was used to the security chief being the administrator yet. But he understood that; he was still unused to being the administrator, and he doubted that would ever change.

[TalRaimi]

“Please, it’s Pella. Only my students call me Miss Davidros,” Pella told Eric, letting the door to his office slide silently closed behind her. Drawing herself up, she hovered nervously at the outer edge of the office, her grey eyes shifting between Eric and the floor, unsure of how to start.

Finally, taking a deep breath she looked him squarely in the eyes and began. “Is it possible for us to still leave this station Mr Noble? All of us that is?”

[Archangel]

Looking into Pella's eyes, he instantly knew what the dream had been about, what she had wanted to see him for, and why she was asking such a difficult question. He swallowed, almost audibly. He was going to tell her just to call him Eric, that he did not like all the "mister"s and "administrator"s, but he forgot when he fully realized her question.

"It is ... physically possible ... but Gideon tried for years to get the people to leave, and I'm not sure that enough has changed for them to agree to it any more now than they did before. I really don't know what they see in this place - all I've seen are crimes and death, and they somehow still want to see life and escape. It's like they think there's no where else in the Galaxy we can turn to, trying to get away from all that war. But personally, I don't see much difference between the war out there and the wars in here," he explained - perhaps explaining a sentiment he had held pent-up for too long as he watched the people fight against Gideon's purposes, when all he had wanted was to help them. He had always supposed he was too close to that conflict to speak about it.

He realized he had gone off on a bit of a tangent, and he reset himself: "Miss Da... Pella, I would happily do my best to re-build the Solace and get off this station for good, but I don't know how receptive the people will be about all of this." He paused for a moment, then inquired, "If you don't mind my asking, what did your dream have to do with all of this?"

[TalRaimi]

“My dream…” Pella began but then trailed off as the truth of the matter hit her. Sighing, she brushed a stray lock of blonde hair from her forehead. “It wasn’t a dream, it was a vision. Mr Noble, in all the time I’ve lived aboard this station I’ve never personally encountered anything out of the ordinary; at least not directly. Oh, I’ve known what was going on, I’ve even seen the results of the violence that has ensued, but until last night I’d never been touched by it.

“This station is… haunted, for want of a better word, by the spirits of Jedi. Last night one of them invaded my dreams.”

As the memory of last night rose to the surface of Pella’s thoughts she paused, shivering inside. In those long waking hours after the vision had happened, she had wracked her brain trying to figure out why the Jedi had approached her? She had tried denying that it had happened, then trying to accept that it was indeed nothing more significant than a dream, but dreams fade almost as quickly as they arrive… the vision hadn’t.

She remembered it just as clearly now as when she had first woken.

“It warned me to leave,” Pella picked up her story once more. “The Jedi told me that we had been warned before, and that we had made matters worse by staying here; and judging by the events of the passed six years I’d say he wasn’t wrong. He also said… that this was our last chance to leave, out final warning before something would arrive. Something bad.

[Archangel]

Eric nodded. He remembered the day Gideon had been confronted by the spirit of a Jedi; he expected it was the same one. Eric interpreted the spirit as being the leader of the Jedi that had once inhabited the station, so it would make sense for him to enter the dreams of the colonists.

He smiled at Pella. "Trust me, I would do anything to get everyone off this station, but ... this colony prides itself on being a democracy of sorts, and we can't just stand up and say, 'We're leaving.' I'll take this before the leading council, and see if I can't persuade them to leave. But they never listened to Gideon, and I'm not sure they'll listen to me - if you'll try to persuade the people on a more personal level, I'm sure that would help." His smile widened; it was strong, reliable, confident - or, at least, he hoped it was. Inside, he was ripped to shreds: he knew that unless this thing - whatever it was - came, neither the council nor the people as a whole would listen to him, and by then, it would be too late.

[TalRaimi]

Pella watched Eric closely. She took in his disarming smile, listened to his reassuring words, and knew with absolute certainly that he didn’t believe for a minute that the council would listen to him. A small shudder ran down Pella’s spine, she wasn’t sure how she knew this, it was more than a deduction, more than a guess, it was just something she… felt.

She returned his smile, not quite managing to make hers as convincing as his had been. “Thank you,” she told him, clasping her hands loosely behind her back to stop them from plucking nervously at the hem of her dress. “I appreciate the time you’ve taken to see me, and I’ll take your advice to talk to the council members personally…”

Pella trailed off. They both knew it would be a futile gesture, and yet here they were pretending all the same.

“Anyway I’d better go now; I have a class to teach.” Pella slowly turned towards the door, before glancing back over her shoulder. “Again, thank you for your time Mr Noble.”

[Archangel]

Eric nodded. "Anytime," he replied, standing as she left. He would have escorted her to the door, but she was quick to leave, and he was weary just thinking about delivering that statement to the council. He sat back into his chair and leaned back, tapping the tips of his fingers together, trying to do anything that would help him think - nothing was working.

* * * * *

Captain Ragnar Starflight sat in his captain's chair on the bridge of his CR90 Corellian Corvette - "Blockade Runners", they were called - in a very similar way to how Administrator Eric Noble sat in his own chair, on the station Ragnar knew not yet of. The Corvette's name was perfect for Ragnar's personality and his crew, and he would happily give sacrifice all other things before he would give up his ship, the Purgatory's Escape. Commonly called the Escape, the ship's engines had been the primary credit-drain for Ragnar through the years, and the maneuverability and speed of the ship was astonishing to most.

The Escape housed one of the best smuggling crews the Galaxy had to offer - at least according to her crew. They had smuggled thousands of cargoes across the Galaxy, and had been caught only three times, and that was in their very early days of work. There had been additions and losses in the crew, but they were always led by Captain Ragnar Starflight, who many in the Underworld considered to be the best ship captain out there. He humbly accepted the allegations, and moved on - he figured that it probably was untrue, anyway. People like Talon Karrde had been leading the pack for far longer.

Currently, Ragnar was faced with the tunnel of Hyperspace that had more tales to tell than any one man - any one civilization - could ever know. Behind the Escape lay the Corporate Sector, Quermia, and Bimmisaari, where he had acquired certain cargoes for delivery to the Hutts on Nal Hutta. Ahead lay troubles that Ragnar was still unaware of, involving an unexpected gravity well and a fleet of small, vengeful vessels.

On the route Ragnar's navigation officer had chosen lay a planetoid, not particularly large, but large enough to generate a small gravitic field. This planetoid floated through the dead of space like a rogue asteroid, housing a vicious pirate group. This group was, coincidentally, headed by Ragnar's former employer, one Mashaka Vargo, and he absolutely hated Ragnar. The feud was long and age-old, but it is not the pillar of this story.

When the Escape entered the gravity well of this planetoid, it was - naturally - pulled from Hyperspace. Ragnar spun to his navigation officer, infuriated that time was being lost. "Where the Hell are we?" he demanded.

The officer shrugged; he began scanning their location. Simultaneously, the sensor officer punched a few keys to look for other ships. The sensors officer finished first. "Captain!" he announced, "a fleet of snubfighters approaching from that nearby planetoid - weapons charged!"

Ragnar looked back out the main viewport, and immediately recognized the flurry of fighters backed by a rogue planetoid. "It's Vargo," he muttered.

Navigation shouted, "Captain, we're right on course, but this planetoid wasn't supposed to be here - that's why we were pulled out of Hyperspace."

Ragnar swallowed, then made a few split second decisions. "Tactical: raise shields and charge weapons - these guys aren't friendly. Navigation, get us out of this gravity well, but don't make it easy for them to hit us - evasive maneuvers are a must. Sensors, keep tactical updated at all times. Security, make sure everyone is where they're supposed to be - nobody wandering the halls. Oh, and move the cargo into more secure areas of the ship - the cargo bays are too close to the outer hull." His orders were taken without complaint or retort. Everyone understood that Ragnar knew what he was doing.

The pirates were quick to understand Ragnar's goals; they opened fire on the engines. Shields held against the barrage of laser blasts for a decent amount of time, but they were beginning to buckle by the time the Escape began to clear the gravity well. The gunners on board the Escape were doing their best to return fire, but the snubfighters were small and fast, and it was difficult for the much larger ship to eliminate them.

Suddenly, the rear shields dropped. Before energy could be re-routed from other systems, a slew of missiles were headed for the engines. Ragnar cursed aloud as the sensor officer announced this; he loved his precious engines. Explosions rocked the ship, and the engines were severely damaged in the first barrage.

"We're out of the gravity well!" navigation shouted.

Ragnar turned on him viciously and yelled, "Then get us the Hell out of here! Anywhere! Haul jets!"

Navigation nodded; he programmed in a jump away from the planetoid and its trajectory; he activated the Hyperdrive, turning the stars to streaks, and the streaks to a tunnel, but only for a few seconds - then the ship reverted again.

Ragnar swallowed deeply. "Damage report!" he demanded. The engines were severely damaged, and probably would not stand another Hyperspace jump; they could handle realspace flight for a decent amount of time, but that would not get them anywhere. Several of the laser batteries had been destroyed, and the shields would need a while to re-charge. Ragnar cursed. If they did not find a place to dock and make repairs soon, then they might not make it back at all.

As if on cue, sensors said, "Uhh ... sir, I think you should take a look at this."

Ragnar, still in a foul mood, stomped over to the station and looked at the screen. His jaw dropped open a bit. "What is it?" he finally managed.

Sensors shrugged. "Scans indicate it's made of some kind of ancient duracrete, but it's holding up pretty well. It's big enough to be the Death Star, but this thing is way older than any of the technology that built that. I can't tell you its origins ... but it looks like there's a hatch on one side that's big enough for the Escape. We could see if there's anybody on board - and even if there isn't, it would let us do some repairs."

Ragnar nodded. "Okay, take us in. But take us in slow. I don't want any surprises," he said.

* * * * *

Inside that station, Eric was wishing for just the opposite - a surprise affirmative vote would please him greatly. He stood in outside the council chambers, with the council inside discussing his proposition - the same proposition Gideon had been making for years, each time shot down with the same unanimity. He was unsure as to how they would react this time, since Gideon had disappeared. He hoped it was in favor.

A guard opened the door and motioned him in; he put on a smile of acceptance, regardless of what their response would be. "Administrator Noble," Head Councilor Chuck Deakins said when he entered, "We have discussed and voted on your proposal. The response was the same as it has always been - a unanimous negative. It is the opinion of this council that the proposition was made under emotional duress, and that despite recent events, this station is still the best chance of success that the community has. Your proposition is duly noted in the council log, and we thank you for your interest in the community. Good day."

Without another word, Eric was escorted from the room. He doubted that they had even discussed it - he had heard that exact response before. He suspected that Councilor Deakins had committed it to memory and the council merely waited a few moments to appear like a committee. He sighed with defeat as he returned to his office. He only hoped Pella would have more luck convincing them.

Kiuwo met him in his office. "Eric," the Rodian said, "As you know, our sensors from in here are very limited, but they've detected a ship approaching the station - a CR90, to be exact. It seems to be damaged, and is probably coming here for repairs."

Eric smiled despite himself. "This could be our chance to get off this station!" he exclaimed. Kiuwo smiled back; he had always been on Gideon's side, and that meant he was on Eric's as well. "Have security teams meet them at the airlock," Eric continued, regaining his composure, "We can't be too careful in situations like this."

* * * * *

"Have security teams board first," Ragnar was saying, "We can't be too careful in situations like this." The hatch had just admitted the Escape into the inner section of the station, and the navigation officer was gently moving the ship to the station's airlock. "I'll go with them," Ragnar finished, and left his bridge.

The security teams were decked out in blast helmets and vests, with E-11 blaster rifles and D-18 pistols, along with three frag grenades each. They were always ready for things to get ugly. Ragnar carried his own, modified DL-44 blaster. It was an older weapon, but he loved it almost as much as the Escape. It was in his holster, and he was decked out in his most scoundrelly outfit.

The airlock opened slowly to reveal a similarly prepared security detail on the other side. Ragnar waved down his own troopers' weapons down and went through the airlock first. "I'm Captain Ragnar Starflight of the Purgatory's Escape. Who might you people be?" he introduced himself.

Eric stepped out from behind his own security detail, waving their weapons down as well. "Administrator Eric Noble of the Solace colony. How can we help you?" he replied in kind.

Ragnar grinned. "Solace, huh? Well, I'll take that any day. We were attacked by pirates not too far from here, and we need a place to patch up the ol' vessel. We figured here was as good as any, so we docked. To tell you the truth, we didn't really expect to find people living here. It's not exactly in the Core, you know?"

Eric forced a smile at the comment; if it had been up to him, then these people would not have found anyone, but it had not been - it had been up to those who were too full of themselves to see the truth. "Well, we'll be happy to help you out. Feel free to stay docked as long as necessary, and if you need anything, just ask - there are communication consoles every so often throughout the halls, and any one of them can connect you to me." He waved the security team away. "I will ask that you don't explore - especially not below Level Seven. Other than that, make yourselves at home. We're always willing to help those in need."

Eric would not normally have been so accepting of a shipload of strangers, but he wanted the community to be able to leave, and if making these smugglers feel at home helped him do that, then he was fine with it - besides, Kiuwo had already learned with his aptitude for hacking that these were smugglers, not pirates, and that they had been in a battle.

He motioned towards the passage his security officers had just vacated. "Would you care for a tour, or are you anxious to get to work?"

Ragnar thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I think that, according to Galactic Standard Time, it's getting a bit late," he replied, "I'll be happy to take a little tour tomorrow, but for now, I think we could all use some rest. I'll let my people stay on the ship for now, since I figure you haven't got room for all those rowdy smugglers." Eric thanked him. He smiled, and Eric returned it - neither was particularly genuine, but Ragnar's was certainly more so than Eric's.

* * * * *

That night, the thing which everyone had been fearing and warning against arrived. No one noticed it, and no one expected it. The next morning, no one could explain it. Three people had died with inexplicable causes, and the engines of the Escape had been utterly ripped to shreds. Something obviously didn't want anyone to leave.

* * * * *

Ragnar was infuriated beyond description. He had fumed for hours after finding out about his engines. He had even, for a few minutes, accused the colonists of trying to keep them there, but for a reason no one could supply. When he learned of the deaths on the station, he retracted those words, but he was nevertheless angry. Finally, after composing himself, he went to Eric's office and said, "I'll take that tour now. It looks like we might be here a while." Eric nodded, significantly subdued himself - the deaths had hit him as hard as everyone else.

They reached the gravlift and Eric pressed the call button before looking at the lift's location. His eyes widened in surprise, and he turned to Kiuwo, who was helping to guide the tour. "What's the gravlift doing on Level Twenty-One?!"

Kiuwo's eyes would have widened significantly, if that were possible for a Rodian. He went to the gravlift terminal and checked it. "Well," he said after a moment, "It wasn't taken there - it was called there."

Eric looked at him, stunned. "You mean... someone was already down there?" he asked.

Kiuwo shrugged, but nodded - that seemed to be the idea.

A few moments passed as the three waited for the arrival of the gravlift; Ragnar was confused, but he waited with patience - he supposed he would learn it all in due time. The doors opened to admit a drooping, bedraggled, and weary Gideon Corey.

* * * * *

A few minutes later, in the mess hall on Level Two, Gideon began his tale to the anxious ears of the people. With a drink and some food, he had been as eager to tell it as they had been to hear it.

"Well, I guess I'll tell this from when you last heard from me. I walked slowly back down the corridor, after Jelik left with the teenagers, taking the junctions as we had before, then following Brey and Carr's ordered path, shining my glowrod in both directions as often as I could. My gut was now shouting at me to leave, make a run for it, leave them behind, but I knew that if I did not at least check on these men, then the colony would come crashing down on my head for it. I had no choice.

"I rounded a bend and nearly killed Heigo by surprise. The Sakiyan was standing silently and stiffly. I laughed nervously, leaning on the wall for support. I said, 'Blast it, Heigo, you scared me half to death!' The security officer made no reply, so I stood and took a step toward him. 'Heigo?' I asked gently. Still he remained silent. 'Heigo?' I asked again and touched him on the shoulder. He turned around, and it was only then that I saw the body of Rick on the ground. A sharply broken pipe was in Heigo's hand, and it was dripping of thick red blood. I gasped involuntarily.

"Heigo smiled and raised the pipe, almost sacrificially; my instincts took over, and a bolt left my blaster just in time to send him stumbling back, tripping on poor Rick's body, releasing the pipe as he fell. He landed heavily and was impaled by his falling weapon. I was shocked and I moved forward, checking lifesigns on both sentients - neither was alive. I kept on down the passage and found the bodies of Brey and Carr, similarly maimed and slain. I leaned against a wall, gasping for breath through my sobs. Something had killed these men, and it was not each other - there was no reason for that, no motive. Something else had been present. Something else had done that.

"Angry and resolved, I stood and went on down the corridor, determined to find out what and put a stop to it.

"After two days, I was beginning to lose hope. Maybe those men really had just killed each other, for some reason I would never be able to ascertain, I told myself. My supplies were running low, especially considering we had only packed for a four-hour search, not for a time like two days. I had no water or consumables left, and at the end of the second day, the power pack for my glowrod ran empty. But I did not give up - I convinced myself to keep moving, to find the source of these deaths. If I was lucky, it would also be the source of the moral degradation for the entire colony.

"Three more days passed in the dark. I found a stairwell, and took it further down - I don't know how many flights. I just arbitrarily picked a level and took the door, still searching. There were few sources of light there, and almost no way for me to see where I was going. Things had become brighter over the past few days, but that was probably just my eyes adjusting to being in the dark all the time. I rarely slept during those days. Another day passed on this new level before I found something which might provide me with answers: the Jedi spirit I encountered back when we first searched Level Eleven.

"When I found him, he was leaning on a crate, staring down at the ground as if his only child lay dead before him. I came up towards him, my blaster raised, and he looked at me. 'That won't help you here, Gideon,' he said, 'I'm not exactly material. Ethereal is probably the best word to describe this state of living. If you can call it that.' So I lowered my weapon, and he motioned for me to sit on the crate opposite his. 'I've been waiting for you,' he continued, 'I knew you would come. Why didn't you leave when I told you to? Why didn't you listen?'

"I explained to him my situation - the people were in charge, they wanted to stay here. I could make an executive decision, but I wouldn't be trusted with responsibility after that - they would have me removed. In retrospect, I suppose my own fear of losing my position was what kept us here. I wouldn't do what was right, and we suffered for it. But I suppose that's in the past, and there's nothing to be done about it. Anyway, I asked him, 'What about you? Who are you, and why are you here?' I had heard that only certain Jedi were capable of turning to spirits, and I was extremely curious.

"It seemed a very painful subject for him, but I guess he supposed he might as well tell me. 'I am Jedi Master Cogi Nocor. I was in charge of the Jedi training facility on this station roughly six thousand years before you came along. Like you, we discovered that the deeper you delved into the station, the more sinister things became - but we had to go down to the hundred and forty-second level before we discovered this. You were far less fortunate, I think, because now, even the topmost levels are affected by the evil here. When this evil began to encroach on our weaker students, we decided to attack it at its source - we went to the very bottom level of the station, and we searched for the artifact that was the source of the dark power.'

"He paused. I was intrigued by the story, so I asked him, 'Did you find it?'

"He looked at me, sadness in his eyes - or so it seemed to me. 'Yes,' he replied, 'We found it. Or at least, I found it. Its power forced me to kill two of my own students as they were turned to the Dark Side. I came upon this artifact, an ancient computer - older than the Republic. I assumed it was built into the station initially. I accessed it - it tried four or five different languages before it displayed one I recognized. It claimed to be a recording terminal for all events in this sector. I asked it what the station was; it explained that the station was built by a species called the Rakata, thousands of years before the Republic was formed, by my estimation. This species had ruled the entire Galaxy with an iron fist; their source of power was some other space station, one closer to the Unknown Regions, as they were aptly named. It was their factory. This was just an observation post for this sector - Kashyyyk, Mon Calamari, Bimmisaari: all were under their grip, and the primitive species that lived on those planets were enslaved. This computer spoke of the ultimate power of the Rakata, that they had left this sector under its control, and they would soon return and remove us - the Jedi - from their station. I told him that there was no record of any species called the Rakata in any part of the Galaxy, but it said I must have been lying, because the Rakata could not fall. In retrospect, I suppose it was right, in a way.'

"Nocor didn't say anything else for a while, but he showed me where to find some consumables - I ate ravenously. After observing me, he asked me how much the Galaxy had changed in the years he had been trapped. I told him about the Republic's fall, the rise of the Empire, the fight of the Rebellion ... he seemed very perplexed that the Republic could fall so quickly after spending so many thousands of years in charge of the Galaxy. I suppose he was rather like that old Rakatan computer that way. I asked him if there had been any visitors before me, between the end of the Jedi training facility and my arrival. He said multiple crews of smugglers, pirates, and other such fringers had used the station as a base over the past few millennia, but the most recent was over a hundred years prior to our arrival. So the station was no secret, really, but I expect it was kept off the records because many reports were too fantastic to be considered viable.

"Nocor also explained my connection to the Force to me. He said I was most adept at mental deception and that I was slightly weaker in terms of telekinesis and the more physical aspects of the Force. He began to train me, I guess. For the next week, we worked together, developing my connection to the Force. The work went quickly, Nocor said. He supposed it was due to the power of the station itself, and if I ever left, much of my control and ability would disappear. I was fine with that, because the very notion of escape from this place seemed nonsensical. So after seven days of training, a total of thirteen days after finding those teenagers, I was as adept in using the Force as any Jedi Padawan. Most usefully, I had learned how to see through the Force.

"The old Jedi found a training sword for me to practice with; I was pretty good, if I do say so myself, and he agreed. Of course, I've had some training with melee weapons before. He said that if I ever got the chance to build myself a lightsaber, I should - and I should become a Jedi. All the lightsabers on that station would have depleted power packs, if they weren't destroyed by the Rakatan spirits already. I suppose if we ever get off this station, I might look up a few Jedi Masters and do just that. So, on the fourteenth day in the dark, I asked Nocor what he meant about the Rakata not falling. Again, he was reluctant, but he finally did explain everything that happened. 'Well, after the computer explained the purpose of it all to me, I asked it why and how it was emitting such evil power, and it told me that its masters had ordered it to do so, so that the slaves would kill each other off once the station was completed and only the Rakata themselves could use it. As for how, it seemed perplexed that I asked. It explained that the Rakata had been extremely powerful, and they had imbued the very duracrete with the Force.'

"Confused about what he had said when we spoke of lightsabers, I interrupted him, 'Earlier, you mentioned Rakatan spirits. Did they have anything to do with the dark power?'

"He waved me off and said, 'I'm getting to that, hold on, would you?' After a moment's thought, he continued, 'I asked the computer if there was any way to deactivate it, and again, it was confused - as confused as a computer can be, I suppose. It told me that if it was deactivated, the entire station would deactivate, and there would be no power for the artificial gravity, or the gravlifts, or the lighting. Regardless, it told me that only the Rakata could deactivate it properly. I asked if it could be destroyed. It replied that with enough energy and heat, it could be damaged to the point of deactivation, but it did not understand why I would want to do that. I asked it no more questions, drew my lightsaber, and prepared to destroy it, with the hope that the Jedi above would realize it was deactivated and begin preparations for their own power generators. I was vaguely aware that the doors would deactivate as well and I would be incapable of reaching the upper levels, and also that it would take too long for the Jedi up there to reach me with their own sources of power. But before I could destroy the terminal, I was attacked by Rakatan spirits. These were the spirits of the rulers of the Galaxy, and their own dark power had forced them to remain forever in the bowels of the station, barely capable of affecting the corporeal world - but capable enough to destroy my lightsaber and kill me. Like those Rakata, I was forced to remain here as long as the dark power of the station remained active. I tried to warn my colleagues, but the Rakatan spirits beat me to them and killed them. I think a few Jedi escaped, but it's a moot point given that they've been dead thousands of years, and no one remembers that there was ever anything here but empty space. The Rakata slowly made their way up the station, bringing their dark power with them, taking a level about once every fifty years. More recently, they've sped up, and they took everything up to the fifteenth level or so - six levels above this one, if you were wondering - and then just stopped. I guess that's about when you came along. I tried to warn you, get you out, but you didn't listen. Now I'm worried that, even if you had a way off the station, the Rakata would stop you before you could escape. I just hope that no one else comes here unless they have the power to destroy it all.'

"Saddened, I wished that I could help him, but I knew that I did not have the ability to reach the very bottom levels and destroy that computer without help. That's why I came back up here. Unfortunately, the Rakata beat me back up here. Nocor said, 'May the Force be with you,' and he also said he would probably see me again before too long - especially since he resolved to try and get us all to leave one last time. I expect he's right. But I need your help, and some explosives, and some firepower, to get down there and destroy that terminal, or we'll all be stuck here until the Rakata decide to kill us. They can destroy any repairs we make as easily as they already have. And I don't know about you, but I'm not particularly interested in dying here and spending the rest of eternity with my spirit trapped here."

That said, he sat back and waited for a response. The entire council was there, as well as Eric, Kiuwo, and numerous other citizens of the Solace. Ragnar was there, with quite a few hand-picked people from his own crew. Gideon was tired and he hoped someone else would suggest just how they might accomplish all of that.

[OOC: Catch-up time! I'm going to leave this alone for a few days, unless everybody catches up sooner. ]

[Archangel]

[OoC: This post basically starts at the beginning of the last one. I figured I'd expand on some stuff if you guys aren't going to post. ]

Meanwhile...

Lieutenant "Lef" Tieradeff "Def" Jaggeron squinted at his weapons control screen. The Ailon hated being posted to a laser cannon - he was a soldier, not a gunner. Ailons were relatively unknown to the universe, and he was glad for that - he was never recognized, not even by the Imperial Remnant scanners, which tended to pick up former employees. He had almost been a member of the Ailon Nova Guard, often considered the most elite soldiering group in the Galaxy - rivaled only by Mandalorians and the Royal Guards of the Emperor himself. Unfortunately, Def had not made the cut and had left Ailon in defiance of his commanders, determined to prove himself stronger than his rival prospective members. He later berated himself, considering the irrationality of the action - he knew that the military training was best done on Ailon, but he had been emotional when he left, and he had vowed not to return until he had made something of himself. As a general rule, he never broke his vows - nor would any other Ailon in his position. It would only prove he was as weak as decided by the council - perhaps weaker. Over the next few years, he had joined Ragnar Starflight's crew as a security officer - but the shortage of crew members often resulted in his position as a gunner. "'Ow in the Nine 'Ells are ye s'posed to 'it anything when ye can't see yer en'my?" he demanded - he had picked up Galactic colloquialisms as well.

His compatriot, the Omwati security officer Lieutenant Jex Sirri, replied, "You just pull the trigger when the console beeps, Def," with a cheeky grin. Jex seemed the most out-of-place on the rough smuggler ship. Tall and frail-looking, with pale blue skin, dark blue eyes, and what most people would call "iridescent feathers" for hair, Jex liked to think of himself as a tightly coiled spring: small and seemingly weak, hiding a world of trouble if released. Always a believer in freedom of commodities, he had been a smuggler all of his life, and hooked up with Ragnar Starflight as about the same time as Def, and the two were instant friends, despite their strong political differences - each supposed that the other provided a nice opposite to his own passions, creating a neutral individual. Or Jex thought so, at least - he was something of a philosopher in his free time, while Def tended to spend his free time in the practice arena.

"But 'ow?" Def practically shouted, "They move so fast across me tiny screen, the beeping only lasts for 'arf a sec'n'!"

Jex paused his firing a moment to glance at him. "I thought you had quick reflexes, Def - being a soldier and all," he said, goading the other. Def, knowing the jest but still taking the insult, redoubled his efforts and almost immediately got a kill. Both sentients laughed aloud and continued firing.

There was a lull in targets as the enemy snubfighters moved to the back of the vessel, out of either emplacement's arc. Def said to Jex thoughtfully, "So 'ew are we shooting at, anyway?"

Jex smiled thinly. "You should pay more attention to passing officers," he responded, "You could learn a world of information from eavesdropping." Def looked at him as if to say, "I was busy killing things" - it had become a more common expression as time had gone on. Jex's smile became a grin as he answered the question: "I heard one of them say that these were Mashaka Vargo's fighters." Another expression from Def, saying clearly enough to elicit a chuckle from Jex, "Who?" Jex explained, "Mashaka Vargo has been Captain Starflight's archenemy throughout all of the latter's smuggling days. I think they used to work together, but since I don't have the liberty of working closely with the Captain, I haven't had the chance to investigate more thoroughly." Def nodded and returned to his console, obviously either tired of listening or satisfied with the explanation - there was very little difference, as far as Jex could tell.

* * * * *

Def and Jex were just two of the security officers detailed to enter the strange station first. There were eight other men there, not counting Captain Starflight himself. When the door opened, Def was utterly surprised to find people there - as much as Starflight - but Jex almost smiled knowingly when Starflight introduced himself and his ship to the strangers.

Later, back in their bunks, Def asked Jex how he knew there would be people aboard. Jex replied, ever the philosopher, "Well, Def, there were bound to be people out searching for a home in a Galaxy like this - the chaos resulting from a dozen governments, all vying for ultimate power, could drive anyone insane. And since this isn't an entirely uncommon area to pass through - it's between Bimmisaari and Hutt space - it's just a matter of stopping at the right place. Like we did, for example. And there are thousands of years of history in this Galaxy to consider - especially with how old this station is."

Def shook his head, snorting in derision. Beneath the disdainful facade, he was amazed at the Omwati's powers of observation. Then, grinning, he asked, "So w'y 'asn't all this chaos made yew insane, Jex?"

Jex laughed. "Come on, Def, you and I both know I was insane long before there was any chaos in this old Galaxy!"

* * * * *

Jex, but not Def, was at the meeting where Gideon had so intricately described the details of the past two weeks. He was enthralled and deeply interested in the entire ordeal - out of everyone present, he was probably the only one who took in and remembered every word. When Gideon sat back from exhaustion, Jex piped in.

"Well," he began, drawing the eyes of quite a few in the room, "I expect Captain Starflight was just about to suggest this, but the Escape is actually transporting quite a few high-grade explosives in separately small quantities. Two security teams from the Escape, as well as your hand-picked men, could probably reach and destroy the terminal before the Rakata could stop us!" His earnestness was genuine, and everyone took a moment to take in the suggestion.

Ragnar turned to him, his eyes reprimanding him for revealing the cargo, but the smile commending him for such a solid suggestion. Turning back to Gideon and Eric, the smuggler captain said, "I'd be happy to lead the expedition if you want to take care of the Escape..." Part of him knew that suggestion would be shot down immediately - Ragnar had little doubt that both men would be accompanying the expedition team.

Gideon confirmed that instantly: "No, thank you, Captain. I will be leading the expedition, and Eric will certainly be accompanying me. The Council will be in charge of getting your ship repaired - there are several exceptional mechanics here, and I'm sure you have your fair share of those as well."

Ragnar grinned. "But it's settled. That's the plan."

Gideon nodded, and looked at Eric, who returned the smile and said, "That's the plan."

[Archangel]

Def sighed resignedly, the sound echoing oddly around the small room. "'Ow is it that yew get to go, Jex?" he demanded of his Omwati friend. It was quite obvious that he was displeased with the situation, and Jex smiled at the fantastic notion.

"I supplied the idea, Def. As such, I'm one of the people in charge - that way, it's my neck on the line," Jex replied. He could tell that Def was less than satisfied, so he added, "Besides, they need the best of their soldiers to defend the ship from those damned spirits." No pun intended, he annexed mentally.

Def grinned at the obvious compliment - however false - and returned to cleaning his rather common-looking E-11 Blaster Rifle. Jex saw the grin and had to turn away to hide his own smile; he had long before learned that appealing to Def's vanity was a surefire way to make him agree to almost anything. It was something of a fatal flaw in his character, but at least his loyalty overrode that sort of thing in dire situations. Or at least, it had so far.

Jex donned his blast helmet, though he was entirely unsure that it would protect him in any way from the spirits that the station administrator - Gideon - had spoken of. Still, he told himself, it can't hurt to be careful. Then again, he always felt like he was lying to himself when he started a thought with "it can't hurt..." Too many times in the past, it had ended up hurting someone. Jex did his best to ignore the feeling as he strapped on his D18 pistol and turned back to face Def again. "Well, Lieutenant, I guess I'm off," he said.

Def looked at him and a moment of tenderness almost passed between them - almost. Though both men knew how serious the situation was and both were fully aware that Jex might not come back - indeed, that his body might not even be recovered - Def was hardly the sentimental type. "Well, awright, den!" he announced and went back to his gun. Jex, noticing Def's brisk scratch of his forehead, threw his head back and laughed a laugh not expected from the frail-looking Omwati. The Ailon glanced up and could not help but laugh as well, despite the sentimentality forming in his alien eyes.

* * * * *

Ragnar Starflight was not so jovial about the situation. He loved his ship, and he had hardly wanted to leave her to go on some "fool's errand" to destroy some "damned bloody console" on some "haunted hunk of ferroconcrete slag" - but the honor in his promise had eventually brought him around, and he was dressed in full regalia and waiting at the airlock when his hand-picked security detail arrived. He paced in front of them like a drill sergeant on the first day of training, and his voice held the same clipped accent and stinging strength. "Gentlemen!" he bellowed. "And lady," he added, winking at the young female security officer at the end of the row closest to him. "We are about to venture forth," he continued in the same bellowing voice as before, "on a mission to save this station, her colonists, this ship, and her crew. It is of vital importance that we all keep our cool out there, unless you want to be spending the rest of this hope-forsaken eternity on a station filled to the rim with bloody aliens bent on slaughtering your sorry asses!"

He paused for effect, noting the subtle reactions in each officer - the most subtle of which was Jex, followed by the young woman at the end of the row. Ragnar smiled and nodded as he looked over the officers, knowing he had made the right choices. "I picked you for that very reason!" he said, continuing his harangue, "And I know that you can come through for me! Now I want you out there, and I want you on the ready, and I don't want to see any of you goin' crazy on me, or so help me, I'll make your ears into a new coat that I'll proudly wear on the bridge of my freed ship! Hear me?!"

A resounding, unanimous response of equal volume from all ten officers rang out in the small anteroom: "Yes, sir!"

* * * * *

Over on the Solace, Level One, Gideon was going through a dissimilar routine with his men - and they were all men. Gideon was a somewhat chivalrous - though some might say chauvinistic - man, and he thought that women ought to stay home while the men went to do battle. His routine appeared similar to Ragnar's, but he was not shouting nor commanding, but encouraging and gently leading. As he walked in front of each man, he took mental note of their identity and the expression on their face. Eric Noble, human male, ever valiant. Kiuwo, Rodian male, ever sly. Jelik Quickdraw, Nosaurian male, eyes quick, emotions quicker. Pr'seyd, Gand male - the subspecies without lungs - ever resilient. Carveik, Shistavanen male, ever the hunter. Each was useful in his own way, and each would help them - hopefully - come to success in the bowels of the station. "I'll be frank with you," he began.

He would have said more, but he was interrupted by the incorrigible Carveik: "I'd rather you be Gideon, sir, if you don't mind." The joke made them all laugh, except for Gideon - though a smile did manage to crease his face.

"Thank you, Carveik," he said, eliciting a salute from the Shistavanen. After a breath, he continued, "I'm not going to lie. There is a strong chance that some of you won't come home - there's a strong chance that I won't come home, either. I've chosen you because Eric and I agree that you're the best we have to offer when it comes to combat. But I understand if you want to back out and stay on the upper levels to defend the ship - I know you have a family, Carveik. No one would think less of any of you."

Carveik had to restrain himself from laughing. "Sir," he said, "I think I speak for all of us when I say, we're going with you, no matter what happens. Yeah, I've got my wife up here, but I think I'd be doing her a disservice by not going to give those spirits Hell, sir." The others asserted their agreement in their own ways - exclamations from Jelik and Kiuwo, and nods from Eric and Pr'seyd.

Gideon smiled. "Then let's get to it, gentlemen."

[Archangel]

Jex had the unnatural feeling that something was severely wrong with the gravlift. He supposed it was nothing more than nervousness produced by the magnitude of the mission before him, and passed it off as such; that mental action was assisted by an affectionate pat on the back from Lieutenant Anna Creschia. The young human female had been kind to Jex ever since they had met, and she could wield a blaster to boot; Jex often caught himself thinking of her, but now, he had to focus, so he did what he always did to focus: exercise.

Of course, it was no traditional exercise, because the gravlift was exceedingly cramped carrying sixteen different individuals, each armed to the teeth. Still, Jex did his best: he clenched and unclenched his fists, first of all, then stretched his neck. He shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, raising himself up a few inches, then letting himself back down gently. He elicited a few glances from the soldiers based on the station, but his fellows knew what he was doing - a couple even joined in. When the gravlift jolted and creaked, they all stopped and stood stock-still.

Yet the gravlift continued. Ragnar looked uncomfortably to Jex, then to Gideon, who smiled reassuringly - however falsely it may have been. The smuggler captain was even less comfortable than Jex, and no thing so simple as exercise could absolve him of his nervousness. All he knew was that he was descending into the bowels of a vicious beast - made up of innumerable spirits of an ancient, evil race - and, to his consternation, he was doing this voluntarily. He was not one to risk his life without cause or sense, so he ultimately decided that he must have had a very good reason for venturing into the station, but he could not for the life of him - no pun intended - think of what it might have been. He fingered his blaster anxiously; something was making his gut churn, and he did not like the feeling one little bit.

Gideon looked at the station's guests; they all seemed nervous - but then, so did Eric and Kiuwo, who trusted Gideon explicitly with their lives. Gideon, however, was able to keep his cool. Gravlifts were considerably slower than the more modern turbolifts, so it had just passed where he had been for the past week - with Master Cogi Nocor. Part of him hoped to see the Jedi spirit again, but another part hoped they could be quick and successful, and the ancient Jedi could go off to his eternal rest in peace - but Gideon was cynical enough to know there would be a hitch somewhere along the way. And this "Force" business was telling him it was not very distant.

Eric could see that expectancy in his friend's face, and he could see the nervousness in the other soldiers on the gravlift. He felt it, too - he was as susceptible as any of them to the strange notions of the mind. That, though, was all he considered it - a product of nervousness and anxiety. He doubted that the spirits of long-dead Rakata were warning them to go no farther - besides, even if they were, he would not be listening very intently. Part of him enjoyed the thrill of the mission and his blood filled with adrenaline at the thought of bringing his blaster to bear on murder-minded phantasms.

No one had said a word. Even as the gravlift passed Level Thirty, all aboard remained gravely silent. Gideon was the first to know that they had reached their first (of many, more than likely) hitch. Jex and Eric, in their training, were next, then Anna, then Ragnar, and then the rest. The gravlift lurched to a halt with a gut-wrenching screech and crunch. The doors opened to reveal a wall and, as the eyes followed that wall upward, the lower portion of a corridor on Level Thirty-One. Roughly half the gravlift was still accessible to Level Thirty-One, and that was about mid-torso on most of the sentients aboard.

Jex, looking between Gideon, Eric, and Ragnar, shrugged and moved to the wall, pulling himself up onto the ledge. Anna eagerly followed him, and he lent her his hand as she exited the cramped gravlift. At Gideon's nod, Pr'seyd and Carveik followed. After they had successfully been extricated, Eric clambered out on his own. Suddenly, as Ragnar reached for the wall to pull himself up, the gravlift lurched again, knocking him back and into the supporting arms of his soldiers. Shrugging them off, he reached for it again, but the gravlift denied him once more. This time, though, not only he fell - the entire 'lift fell.

Jex, Eric, Anna, Pr'seyd, and Carveik could only watch as the gravlift, with eleven occupants still aboard, plummeted away, quickly fading from sight.

[OoC: I've got to go, and I thought that was a good stopping point. Nice and suspenseful. I'll finish this post later.]

[Archangel]

"Plummet" was perhaps too strong a word. The gravlift fell for several seconds before the emergency brakes kicked in and brought it skidding to a stop, a good ten levels below its last position. Gideon winced for a full two seconds before he faced the prospect of escaping the damaged gravlift. The other passengers seemed equally distraught by the experience. Several seconds can be a very long time in a free-falling gravlift on an ancient station.

Gideon went to the door; it did not open. He placed his fingers along the crack and attempted to pry the doors open by hand, but to no avail. He turned to the group of soldiers: "Help me get this thing open," he said, trying to keep the annoyance at their inaction out of his voice. They practically leapt to help him. Kiuwo and Jelik stayed back with Ragnar while the nine others, Gideon included, grunted and grimaced with all their might.

It took what seemed like an eternity, but eventually, the doors creaked and opened to reveal an empty passage, covered with a thin veil of grey dust, lit by the under-powered lighting emplacements. The twelve men stumbled into the corridor, doing their best to bring up weapons in case something should be bearing down upon them. Gideon looked to Ragnar, who gave a lopsided grin without any mirth. Gideon nodded and took point, followed closely by Kiuwo and Jelik. Ragnar had his men take the rear, and he stood in the midst of them.

"What about the others, Mr. Corey?" Ragnar asked after a few silent moments of moving through the desolate corridors. His voice echoed eerily through the metal passageway and two of his soldiers started slightly at the noise. Ragnar silenced them with a glare before returning his attention to the administrator-turned-Force adept.

"They'll be fine, Captain Starflight," Gideon replied simply, not wishing to talk until he was more confident of their safety. He did not succeed in communicating this, despite the implications of his terse phrasing; that only succeeded in annoying Ragnar. The smuggler hated to be left out of the loop, especially when he was convinced that there was a loop.

Ragnar rolled his eyes. "I should expect so," he replied sarcastically, "They're the ones who got off the gravlift at a normal stop, whereas we had to fall another twenty levels before we could stumble our way out."

Gideon was slowly getting exasperated, but he did his best to keep his temper. "Ten," he said, trying not to get into a lengthy argument while there could be threatening spirits nearby. "We only fell ten levels."

Ragnar stared at the back of Gideon's head as if the latter man were already insane - and for all Ragnar knew, he was. He had, after all, claimed to speak to a Jedi spirit for an entire week. "I don't give a womprat's hide how many levels we fell! I want to know what you intend to do about regrouping!" he hissed.

Gideon could not stop the sigh that was then expelled from his lips. He was thoroughly upset now. He stopped and turned on the smuggler captain. "Nothing," he said, "Absolutely nothing." Before Ragnar could interrupt with a demand for repetition, he continued, "Because there are two of your best men and three of mine up there, and I think that they will do just as well alone as if they were with us - probably better, if you keep shouting your way through this discussion. Besides, we can't risk comm contact because we simply don't know what those spirits are capable of. At the moment, it's best for us to forge our own way and trust them to do the same. Understood?" With that, he turned frontward once more and moved off, Kiuwo and Jelik shadowing him as always.

Ragnar, thoroughly subdued, just sneered and kept his silence as he followed, his own men staying after him. Hopefully, they could find a stairwell soon, get down to that console, and complete the mission, so he could get the blazes out of there.

* * * * *

Ten levels higher, there was considerably less enmity between the two smugglers and three colonists. Eric took point, Jex took the rear, and everyone else was content to move slowly down the corridor. Eric was displeased with the status of the rest of the team - to the best of their knowledge, the other twelve were already dead. If that was the case, it would be a considerable difficulty to reach and destroy the console, given that Ragnar - not Jex nor Anna - was carrying the explosives. They might have to find some other way to destroy it ... but that was a bridge to cross for another time. For the moment, they had to find a stairwell so they could journey deeper into the station.

Jex was worried at the slow progress; granted, they did not have a map of the station, and he could tell that the lower levels were nothing like the higher levels (probably due to the use of the higher levels by both Jedi and colonists since the Rakata), but he was still displeased that they had not yet found a way down besides the gravlift. He would be much happier when they were steadily making their way down toward the goal of the mission. Still, he had decided he would not go in complete depression. "So, Mr. Noble, how is it you came to arrive on Solace Station?" he asked the security chief.

Eric spoke haltingly due to his focus on the mission over the conversation, but he figured he ought not to be rude. "Well, I've been Gideon's friend for a lot longer than we've been part of this colony. We went to the Academy together, back when people hadn't yet realized the destructive force of the Empire. I guess that was a long time ago..." he said. After a moment's pause, for thought and an unrelated tactical decision, he continued, "We both graduated Carida as Stormtroopers, but as soon as the Empire hit Alderaan, we were gone. Neither of us approved, and we knew each other well enough to help each other escape the watchful eye of the Empire. We worked as mercenaries and smugglers for a time, but eventually - when the Rebellion destroyed the Death Star at Endor - we went into business in the Corporate Sector. After some time," he trailed off, pausing for another directional decision, leading the group of five further into the station, "we decided we weren't cut out for the military, gung-ho life of a mercenary or smuggler anymore. We decided we wanted to find a nice place to settle down. Gideon's bank account had bloomed considerably, so we found some people of a similar mind - all 1214 of our other colonists - and headed out into the Galaxy. Carveik and Pr'seyd here were among those... in fact, everybody on this station was."

Jex thought back over everything he had seen and watched and was about to pose a question, but Anna beat him to it: "But, Mr. Noble, I didn't notice quite that many colonists when I came aboard..." She trailed off suggestively, hoping Eric would explain without her having to ask what happened to them?

Luckily for the security chief, he did not have to; Carveik, in his usual talkative fashion, leapt in to save the man from the difficulty of talking about everyone who had been murdered and imprisoned. "Well, miss," the Shistavanen said, "we didn't quite realize that the Rakata were behind it, but there was a lot of aggression between the colonists - especially for pacifists, you understand. Over three hundred people died of either 'accidents' or foul play."

Anna frowned, though no one in the group could see it through the gloom. "Oh," she said. "That's terrible."

Jex glanced at her; she had been a soldier for quite some time. Three hundred deaths should not have affected her like that; perhaps the Rakata did not merely enhance aggression, he decided, but all emotion. He only hoped she could resist whatever temptation there was to shoot him in the back.

"Aha!" Eric announced, attracting all their attention. He had found the stairwell; it was circular, as if running around a cylinder, leaving an empty space running through the middle of it; it looked as if there had once been a handrail, but it had broken from age or overuse. Eric went in and began his descent without paying much attention to the rest of the stairwell, but everyone following was somewhat more wary. Jex entered last, looking both up and down; he took a deep breath and let it out slowly... this would take a while.

[Archangel]

Ragnar's mood did not improve, even after they found the level and began their descent. There was no sight nor sound of the other group, so Ragnar decided they must have either found a different stairwell or were as thoroughly confused as he was. They had left Level Forty-One, and were descending at a steady rate - but they had two hundred two remaining, if the gravlift went to the bottom level, and part of Ragnar suspected that it did not. "Two hundred forty-three" seemed a very arbitrary number to end a station on. He expected there to be several levels below that, accessible only to stairs.

Gideon was growing tired of Ragnar's irate mood. The man had done little but mumble complaints for the entirety of the mission, and Gideon was interested in his own safety - as well as the safety of the colony and the smuggler crew - and knew that the Rakatan spirits were capable of quite a bit of damage to living flesh, if they should get the inclination. Everything he had heard about Force spirits seemed to indicate that they had no corporeal connection and existed only in ethereal form, but these Rakata seemed to deny that idea: they could affect the physical realm just as easily as the spiritual.

Gideon paused, at the lead of the group, to look down the shaft that the stairs were built in. If his eyes spoke true, the stairwell ended at about the eightieth level, still another thirty levels away. He wondered remotely why the Rakata would build the station in such a manner, with numerous stairwells connecting different sets of levels, with none that connected them all.

The group continued their steady pace; at this rate, wondered Gideon sarcastically, they might reach the bottom level sometime the next week.

[Archangel]

Level Eighty seemed to be identical to every other. Upon closer examination of the foot of the stairs, it became clear that they were not intended to end here, but were somehow sealed with excess duracrete. Ragnar stood out in the corridor, waiting on Gideon as the latter surveyed the stairs one last time. "What's the hold-up, Corey?" Ragnar asked loudly.

Gideon was next to him the blink of an eye, and Ragnar was surprised by his speed. He was also surprised by the blaster barrel that was being shoved roughly under his chin. "No hold-up, Starflight," Gideon whispered menacingly in response, "But if you don't quiet down, there will be when the Rakata decide to rip us to shreds, like they did to your engines." He released the smuggler captain and moved off down the corridor.

Ragnar grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. "Listen!" he said, still not a whisper, "I'm tired of you bossing me around. I think it's high time you let me in on absolutely everything, because I'm risking more down here than you are - I've got a lot of demolition packs resting on this mission!"

Gideon looked at him in incredulity and indignance. "I can't believe you," he retorted, "You're worried about your demolition packs? Your cargo? You've got ten lives from your ship on the line here, I should think that would be foremost in your mind." Ragnar sneered, but Gideon was right. He had not been thinking about the lives of his officers. Gideon continued, "No doubt your own life was your first thought, with your cargo as your second, your ship third, and your crew last."

Ragnar shut up then. He knew when he was beaten, and Gideon had just beaten him; Ragnar was on edge and seemed to be losing his sanity. This entire mission was driving him crazy - literally. Gideon turned on his heel and continued down the corridor, Kiuwo and Jelik close behind, while a trooper patted the still Ragnar on the shoulder. The captain slapped at the arm and stormed stoically after the colonists. It would not take too much longer, he hoped desperately.

* * * * *

Level Seventy-Eight seemed to be identical to every other. Like Gideon before him, Jex examined the foot of the stairs, wondering why it would be sealed. He sighed and went out into the corridor, followed by Anna, led by Eric. Carveik and Pr'seyd were waiting for them, weapons trained in both directions. "Thought I heard something," Carveik explained.

Jex glanced at Eric, who glanced back warily. They were both hoping it would take longer than this before they reached the Rakatan spirits. Jex muttered a curse as Eric began leading them toward where they hoped more stairs could be found. The five soldiers moved as silently as possible, but the slightest noise echoed all around them, creating an eery environment that reminded Jex vaguely of a horror holodrama. But he knew that this was no holodrama.

This was much, much worse.

[Archangel]

Councilor Chuck Deakins sat at his desk with his head in his hands. This was all his fault, he told himself. It had to be - he was the one who had influenced the council against both administrators. If only he had listened... He tried to shake the feeling off. There was no sense in bemoaning actions past when actions present required so much attention. With several of the security officers gone on the mission, it was up to the more peaceful civilians to keep the peace. The smugglers were not making it easy; many of them blamed their position on the colonists, and the colonists - not to be outdone - were blaming the smugglers for instigating the attack from the spirits.

Work on the Purgatory's Escape was going just as slowly as community relations. The ship had been very badly damaged by the spirits' attack, and the full extent was difficult to tell without completely removing some of the equipment, which could take a considerable amount of time - some weeks, the mechanics were estimating. Deakins sighed; another person that was causing problems was in charge of that: Jakob Marle. The human mechanic was eager to get the job done, but he was the only serious mechanic in the colony - all his "subordinates" were from the smuggler crew, and none of them seemed at all inclined to work under the substantially experienced (if somewhat cocky and often unbearably indignant) man. That led Marle to cut out the smugglers entirely, bringing in his own friends to do the job under his supervision. Smuggler security had to throw them off the ship to keep them from destroying the smuggler mechanics' quarters as payback.

To make matters worse, there was still political unrest within the colony. There was one group of people, following Councilor Harold Firegg, another human, who felt that it was not some fantastic group of spirits thought up by the former administrators (they were clear to make the distinction between Corey and Noble and the current pseudo-administrator, Councilor Firegg himself), but rather some crazed colonists who decided they did not want to leave the station that destroyed the Escape's equipment. Unwittingly bolstering their case were the people following Councilor Werro Prell, a Duros, who thought that the smugglers wanted to impose themselves upon the peace-loving colony and sabotaged their own ship - these wanted very badly to stay on the colony, not suspecting that anything at all was wrong beyond the presence of these unwanted guests.

Deakins sighed wearily. Things were not looking good for the colony, and if things continued as they were, they might even get violent - which, he thought, would be a strangely ironic end for a peace-seeking colony.

* * * * *

Chief Mechanic Jakob Marle sighed wearily. He was leaning against a wall, being unofficially interrogated by the pseudo-security chief for the smugglers, Lieutenant Tieradeff Jaggeron. It seemed like an incredible number of people were becoming pseudo-leaders in the absence of the colony founders and smuggler commanders. Jakob looked with some disgust at the Ailon as the latter spoke equally condescendingly toward the mechanic.

"What were yew doin' in Lieutenant Quor's quarters?" Def demanded angrily. These colonists were getting on his nerves, and he found himself wishing that Jex were here to keep him calm.

"I told you, I was looking for him. I wanted to know where he kept your hydrospanners - mine broke, and our only replacements are down on Level Eight, which has been banned by the council until further notice," Jakob explained unpleasantly.

Def nodded, looking down his face at the human (for Ailon do not have obvious enough noses to look down). "A likely story!" he announced after a moment, eliciting another sigh from Jakob. "I'm goin' ta let yew get an 'ydrospanner from the 'Scape's mechanics, but if'n I find ye in anybody's quarters agin widout der express clearance, yer spendin' a night in da brig!"

Jakob nodded, his incredulity and disdain for the Ailon showing clearly. "Yeah, fine," he rejoined, and left the room to find Lieutenant Quor, the Mon Calamari in charge of the Escape's repair crew. In truth, he had been in Quor's quarters to "plant a pretty prank for the prick", as he had told one of his compatriots, just to irritate the Mon Calamari. They had, after all, refused to work under so condescending an individual, and Jakob wanted to show them who was boss. Still, he supposed that the work was more important, so he resolved to treat the crew more amicably in the future.

Luckily, he told himself, the problem with the future was that, by the time it arrived, it was the present. He chuckled a bit as he turned a corner and headed for the crew quarters portion of the ship.

[Archangel]

A sudden, desperate, and troubling thought passed through Ragnar Starflight's mind as the troupe continued to troop through the desolate halways of the lower levels of Solace Station. He voiced it instantly, much to Gideon's dismay. "Mr. Corey," he began warily, "How do you know our blasters will affect these spirits if - when - they attack?"

A long pause passed through the group; one could hear a pin drop, despite the movement of the soldiers on the duracrete. Gideon was slow to respond and it was Ragnar's turn to be dismayed; finally, Gideon replied simply, "I don't." Gideon was not happy with the situation, but he was maintaining his cool (with some difficulty, no thanks to Captain Starflight); at this point, Ragnar was nigh on furious. Neither could predict that they would soon understand that Gideon knew far less than he let on.

* * * * *

Jex smiled to himself as he turned the corner to be confronted with another set of stairs. "Come on," he said, almost excitedly, to his compatriots. Jex was taking point now, with Pr'seyd beside him, Anna behind him, then Carveik, with Eric covering the rear. He glanced over the edge of the better-kept stairwell - there was actually a rail around the inside of this spiraling column. "This looks like it goes down practically forever. With luck, this will take all the way to the bottom!" he announced as he began his descent.

They went down only one before a displeasing noise reached them: the sounds of a firefight, fully including the yells of eleven men. Jex broke into a run, taking two or three steps at a time until he reached the next level, Level Eighty, where he found Ragnar at the entrance to the stairwell, leaning against the wall, a look of absolute fear on his face. "Th- They!" he stammered out; Jex knelt beside him, trying to coax out some explanation, as Eric, Pr'seyd, and Carveik ran into the corridor, weapons at the ready. "They don't die!" Ragnar finally managed.

Three of Ragnar's security officers ran forward, one of them yelling, "Come on! We've got the explosives! Let's go blow this place while they're busy with that Corey!"

Jex stood and stopped them from rushing off down the stairs. "We've got to help these people - they would do as much for us," he stated firmly.

The soldier that had elected himself spokesman shoved Jex aside. They had seen what they believed to be Death itself, and they were not planning on sticking around for it. "Screw them! They're buying us the time we need! Come on, Captain, bring those explosives! We can finish this!" he exclaimed. Ragnar nodded and stood, following the three soldiers down the stairs. Jex looked pleadingly at Anna, hoping for some last remnant of civility, of honor.

It might have been there, but her survival instinct overpowered it entirely. She took one last look at Jex and took off after her four comrades. That was the last time Jex would see her alive; but he did not have time to worry about that. He hurried after the three station security officers, who were now running toward the sounds of combat. Those sounds oddly resembled some seaside birds Jex remembered from Corellia, but he realized it must have been the screeching of the ethereal dead. This would not be a pleasant meeting, he decided.

Jex rounded a corner after Eric, Pr'seyd, and Carveik, and almost ran straight into the backs of them. They had halted in their tracks, staring at the spectacle before them. To the sides of the corridor, on the distant side of Gideon, Kiuwo and Jelik stood by in an equal amount of awe. At the center of the corridor, directly between Jex and Kiuwo, knelt Gideon. The man was on his knees, surrounded by dead soldiers from Ragnar's crew. His every muscle and sinew was tensed, tightened, pulsating with the power of the Force. The spirits of the Rakata were nearby, always fading in and out of view, like they were not truly in phase with the universe - which, of course, made sense, given their ethereal forms against the corporeal forms of Gideon and his fellows.

Gideon seemed to rock back and forth slightly, like a pulsing beacon of dread for the Rakata, who seemed both furious and terrified at whatever the former administrator was doing. The tendons on Gideon's neck stood out like branches from a tree trunk as he let out a roar of pain and anger. The Rakata screeched all the louder; there was something not quite right about their status as "ghosts" - they seemed far more primal, far less evolved, than their position as creators of this station would suggest. Gideon suddenly and completely relaxed, his limp body falling to the floor.

Jex almost stopped Eric from rushing forward to his prone friend, for fear of the spirits, but the Omwati suddenly realized that the spirits were no longer present. The living humanoids were the only beings in the corridor anymore. All of them hurried to Eric's side, above Gideon.

Jex stood back a bit, not sure of his place among the colonists - for he was the only living crewman from the Escape now on Level Eighty. All the others were either dead or rapidly descending toward the bottom of the station, in the hopes that they could destroy it before the Rakata took notice. The Omwati watched as Eric applied some bacta patches to Gideon's left arm and across a long gash on his side. "What happened?" he asked, stunned that Gideon had gotten so physically injured.

"He destroyed them," a sullen voice said from behind him. He spun to be confronted with former Jedi Master Cogi Nocor. "He tapped into the Force - especially the Dark Side, infused into this very station - and completely annihilated the Rakatan spirits. He erased them from the Force. Not an easy feat." Jex stared dumbly at the Jedi spirit, along with Kiuwo - who was more fascinated than awestruck - and Carveik, in his own curious way. "That also assisted," Nocor continued, "in the injuries they inflicted upon him - his use of the Dark Side made his physical form that much less resistant to this realm of combat. It corrupted his body for his spirit to be so encapsulated in evil. It has happened to notable Jedi - and Sith - in the past." He paused, looking slightly dejected once more, then said, more to himself than to his audience, "I was going to intervene, but he would have destroyed me, too."

Silence ensued as Eric desperately tried to wake Gideon. If the spirits attacked again, they could be in serious trouble without him - and even if he was awake, there was no telling how weary he would be after that display of power. All present were worried, for one reason or another.

[Archangel]

Def was not surprised when three Councilors showed up at his security office. In fact, he was almost ready to call them and request their presence, it had taken them so long - considering the nearly tempestuous extenuating circumstances. He stood as the human Chuck Deakins, the human Harold Firegg, and the Duros Werro Prell entered his office. "Gennelbein's," he greeted them, "I think we all know why yer 'ere. Let's git this o'er with, shall we?" He gestured to the three chairs in front of his desk. "I 'pologize if'n those seats aren't as comfy as yer own, but we're a modest crew, no matter what the cap'n sez."

Deakins replied with a diplomatic smile, "No, not at all - they're just fine, thank you." Firegg glared at him as he shifted - uncomfortably - in his seat. Prell tried his best to smile, but he was not pleased to be aboard the smuggler ship that he blamed for the colony's problems. Deakins glanced at both Councilors with a light sigh; this was certainly a varied group of opinions. He turned back to the now-chief of security, the smile that only a politician can obtain once again showing on his face; "Please, Lieutenant," he said, "continue."

Def nodded his thanks and began, "Well, I can unnerstand - even tol'rate - a simple mistake bein' made once, but when I've gotta throw a repeat offenner in the brig, I figger we've got problems. Now, does one o' yew wanna tell me why yer lead mechanic is trying to sabotage me charge and kill me crew?" He looked at each one of them directly; something about being in command made him enjoy watching people squirm under his gaze.

Prell was indignant. "I am sure it was just a simple misunderstanding, Lieutenant - no mechanic of our colony would be so malicious as that, I'm sure!" he said, with a sense of nervousness leaking through his otherwise cool facade.

Def glared at him. "Is that so, Counc'lor? Well, I think I know a saboteur when I see'm. Did yew know that yer pal Marle attached low-grade explosives to the door controls of Lieutenant Quor's quarters? All just an 'armless prank, no doubt! But 'ere's the real problem: not only did 'e use our explosives, the lowest grade on-board is an 'and-grenade - an 'and-grenade! Marle blew an 'ole in the corridor wall two meters wide and Quor will be spennin' the next three days in a bacta tank to recover!" He glanced between the Councilors again, now on his feet, his three-fingered hands placed upon the desk in anger. After a moment, he calmed, but he did not sit. "I'm gonna release 'im inter yer custody - but either keep 'im civil or keep 'im away from this ship! If'n I catch him anywhere 'sides the repair areas, I'm gonna have to resort to more vi'lent measures! 'E coulda killed somebody!"

* * * * *

Councilor Prell stayed behind in Marle's quarters after the other two Councilors had given their own speeches about the danger of making enemies with the smuggler crew. Prell waited until he was sure they were definitely gone before turning on the mechanic. "How could you get caught?" the Duros demanded.

Marle looked at him with annoyance. "I'm probably the only person on this bloody station who could pull that off - well, me and Quor, and Quor wouldn't go about killing himself, now would he?"

Prell paced back and forth across the small room, wringing his hands, his face contorted in anger. "Well," he snarled finally, "the next time I tell you to kill somebody, you make it look like somebody else's fault!"

[Archangel]

Gideon had finally awoken, but it was not without the weariness and sluggishness that was to be expected from tapping so strongly into the Force. He presently stumbled, rather than walked, down the stairs, supported by Eric's strong arms. The two men were talking in hushed tones, trying to make some sense out of the situation, trying to salvage what they had left.

"What if the spirits come back?" Eric asked his friend.

"When they do, it will not be in force, as it was this time - it will be with subtlety, and we will probably not even realize it. They know that if they come in force, and show themselves, and try to kill our corporeal forms, they will be found out and risk destruction, like their comrades - but if they come silently and whisper into our ears, they may yet turn us against each other." Gideon sighed lightly before he shook his head in dismay. "And I don't know if there will be any stopping them."

Jex was leading the team, with Kiuwo at his side. The observant Rodian was taking stock of their surroundings as they ventured deeper into the station, trying to find some means of reaching their destination more quickly, but to no avail.

"It looks like," the Rodian was saying, "your compatriots came this way as well. Those fresh bootprints in the dust, for instance. They obviously weren't trying to hide from the Rakata."

"Even if they were," Jex replied solemnly, "do you really think it would make any difference?"

Pr'seyd, Jelik, and Carveik brought up the rear, with no words passing between them. None of the three was one to mince words in dire times, and all had decided that this was definitely a dire time. Carveik's boisterous nature was subdued, even removed, and a serious face with a serious grip on a serious gun was all that remained for the moment. Pr'seyd, similarly, was less-than-jovial about their current situation. Jelik was stone-faced.

They knew that Master Nocor was floating around somewhere, but he was not in sight - nor did they expect him to be. The old Jedi's spirit had been trapped on a Dark Side space station for millennia - that would make anyone too depressed to be hospitable, even to fine company such as the meager crew.

Gideon held up a hand to silence Eric's next question, and called forward to Jex and Kiuwo: "Gentlemen," he said, "Stop at the next floor. I fear the Rakata have left something that we should see."

The Omwati and the Rodian glanced at each other and shrugged, continuing on down the spiral stairs until they reached Gideon's chosen destination. They stepped out of the stairwell and, more out of curiosity than mental connection, Kiuwo pointed out, "Look, the bootprints left the stairs here as well."

Jex glanced at the evidence and nodded, slowly - it did not seem right. They were supposed to be headed for the main computer, not stopping off whenever they felt like it. Jex was worried for them, certainly - it was not normal for his crewmates to deviate from their mission. He led his six fellows from the stairs until he found precisely what Gideon was referring to. They entered a large chamber - what may have been a communal bedroom during the station's early years - and therein lay five humanoid bodies in the darkness, four male and one female.

Jex swallowed hard as he knelt by Anna's corpse, looking over it for the cause of death. Kiuwo began glancing at one of the other soldiers' bodies and spoke up before Jex could find his voice, "They were killed by blaster fire." Jex could only nod; the trauma at that particular moment was still too much for him.

Kiuwo began analyzing the layout of the bodies and the footprints, trying to figure out how the scene went in his mind. The other six sentients merely stood by, watching his rather odd movements until he turned to them, a grim smile on his face. "I know what happened," he said.

* * * * *

Ragnar was leading the group now, despite his earlier fear and surprise. The troops would follow him to the ends of the Universe, and he knew it - but since he knew it, the spirits which he could not see knew it, too. At a whim not his own, he turned away from the staircase at a seemingly arbitrary level. Anna tapped him on the shoulder as he stepped into the corridor. "Sir?" she asked gently, "Where are you going?"

Ragnar turned on her, almost livid with anger. "Who's leading this little expedition?! You, or me?" he demanded. He turned back to the corridor, storming forward.

Anna had to bite her tongue to avoid saying, "Neither," as she followed in subdued silence. It was unlike Ragnar to become so angry over something so trivial; she decided that he must have been under extreme duress that she was unaware of.

In a way, she was right - duress, defined as compulsion by threat, was being placed on Ragnar's mind by a force he did not comprehend in the least, and he had no clue it was being done. He continued onward, stopping only when he had crossed more than half of a mysterious large chamber. The other soldiers stopped, as well, a few meters behind him, and just stared for a few moments.

Finally, one of the soldiers built up the nerve to ask, "Sir, do you know something I don't? This doesn't look like the way to the lower levels."

Ragnar did not turn; he did not indicate that he even heard the question. He stood stock-still, unmoving, like a ferrocrete statue. After long last, he replied softly, "We're not going to the lower levels." He spun on his subordinates, his blaster drawn, and opened fire. He killed Anna before anyone had time to react; the other three soldiers, so stunned by this action, simply stared in silence at their captain. Ragnar killed a second while they remained thus.

Finally, the other two seemed to snap out of their reverie - but they did not do the expected and fire upon the crazed man before them. Instead, they fired upon each other. Both received mortal wounds and collapsed to the ground, unconscious from the pain.

That left Ragnar Starflight standing alone in a room of death and writhing pain, unscathed. He was not hurt, but he was once again in his right mind, and he stared in shock and horror at what he had done. He fell to his knees, eyes wide at the gun he held in his hand. He closed his eyes, lonely tears running down his cheeks as the explosive-filled pack slid from his shoulder. His hand clamped down around the blaster pistol, gripping it tightly as he lifted it until the still-smoking barrel was against his right temple.

With a little sigh, he pulled the trigger.

* * * * *

After relaying the most basic outline of the events resulting in the rampant death in the room - with a few tips from Jelik's quick eyes - Kiuwo glanced once again at the bodies and maintained his silence. Everyone in the room took a solemn moment to let the dead pass on, and with luck, escape imprisonment on that foul station.

When those few moments had passed, Pr'seyd stepped respectfully over the various bodies until he reached Ragnar's; the Gand picked up the pack of explosives and turned back to his fellows. The mission must go on, was his expression. The six others nodded and moved back to the stairwell, still silent.

[Archangel]

Councilor Prell's scheming notwithstanding, ship repairs were continuing smoothly. Perhaps, Def hoped, the spirits were too busy with Jex and the rest of that insane crew that ventured into the deep to be attacking the ship for a while. In fact, by the looks of things, they had only two days remaining in terms of how long it would take to repair the Purgatory's Escape. He could only pray that the others were back by then - if they were not, they might just have to be left behind.

Def sighed. He hated this business - he would much prefer to be a mercenary soldier or a bounty hunter, but instead, he was stuck as security on a smuggler vessel, and to top it all off, he was presently trapped on a haunted station in which it seemed nearly every sentient, living or dead, was trying to kill him. Things could, in Def's mind, hardly get worse.

* * * * *

Jakob Marle was on probation on the colony station. He paced back and forth in his quarters, aware that a colony security officer was stationed outside his door. It upset him, for some reason, to be trapped in here when he ought to be out there, killing those damned smugglers.

He stopped his pacing when that thought hit him. That was not him - it could not be him - he was no murderer. Why was he trying to kill the smugglers? What had they done to him?

They had imposed themselves upon him! Not only that, but they were idiots and imbeciles that could not follow simple repair instructions! Plus, when he played a harmless prank on his cohort, Quor, they threw him in the brig like some criminal! Of course he should kill them!

No! Killing people never solved anything - it just made you hate yourself for doing something you probably once told yourself you would never do. It was like any other vice - the moment you indulged in it, you were trapped by it, and you hated every second of it.

Well, maybe that was a little off. Over time, you would come to realize that the vices were not so bad - they were just shunned by supporters of the virtues. There was no good or bad in this scenario - just difference. Vices were different from virtues. Some followed one, some the other - to each his own.

But if vices were just "different" - not "wrong" - then why did you get this horrible feeling the first time you neared them? Why did you not just feel "different" - why did you feel so wrong?

Bah, that was fool's talk. Society forced their ideals upon you, so you reacted accordingly. If you were separated from society, like you should have been, allowed to go your own way, you would never reject the vices. They were completely normal - you were just taught, by your parents and your influences and your government - that vices were wrong. There was no such thing as wrong.

Jakob was pacing again. Nothing made sense anymore, it was all a blur. He tried to straighten things out: Vices are just different. They are not wrong. There is no wrong. Committing a vice was no worse or better than committing a virtue.

Some other sense, some other mind, some other voice, confirmed those statements. Jakob gave a grim smile. He walked over to his bunk, where his pillow covered his blaster pistol. He retrieved the weapon and checked its power supply - it was full.

His smile widened. Killing was a vice, right?

* * * * *

The whine of a blaster and the short-lived scream of a man in pain brought the security guard stationed outside Marle's door in immediately, his weapon drawn. Upon confronting the gruesome sight before him, he swallowed hard and lowered the weapon. The Council would want to know about this...

[Archangel]

Someone was playing a cruel trick on him, Jex decided. There was no other explanation - he was dreaming, and someone was observing him, whispering little subliminal messages that made his dreams go awry and lead him down paths he did not want to take. That had to be it - if he was alive, and awake, and in control, then why was he going on this fool's errand? Why was he not working with the repair crews to get the Escape finished and just fly out of there? Indeed, why was he taking orders from some idiotic administrator who, for some reason, could allegedly access the Force? He was probably a cohort of the spirits, and was trying to get everyone aboard the station killed.

Jex almost stumbled physically by the sudden revelation that he was having thoughts not his own. He knew better than those crazy ideas; he knew that Gideon was in the right, that chances dictated him as their only hope in this dire situation. Where did this logically unfounded desire to kill him come from? Those Rakata were too powerful for their own good, he thought.

Perhaps, but perhaps not. Perhaps they were right - perhaps it was better to stay on this station, living forever as a powerful spirit, capable of holding its own on any domain.

To live forever, Jex replied, is not to live at all. There is no change: no improvement and no destruction - to live forever is simply to be, like rocks or dirt. Even a star had its own slow cycles; to live forever meant to outlive all else, even the things that did not live. There could be no joy and no hope in such a "life". The Omwati silenced further comments from the Rakata; he knew he was right. To allow debate was to allow confusion, which was to allow failure.

Gideon was leading them again, further and further down into the station. He had lost track of precisely what level they were on, but as long as there were stairs leading down, he was going to take them. It was dark in that section of the station, and the crew had brought out the glowrods they had taken, shining eery beams of light onto the duracrete walls. As Gideon reached the next landing, his glowrod lit up the numbering: 200.

Not much further, he thought. He knew, after descending so many stairs, everyone would be tired - and certainly, the spirits were taking their own toll on the minds of the crew. "Let's take a breather here," he called out, only then realizing how thirsty he was, and how raspy it made his voice. No one complained; they were all eager to sit down for a minute.

Gideon dearly wished he had a bottle of water, of anything, but he had nothing beyond the weapon on his thigh, the clothes on his back, and the glowrod in his hand; everyone else was similarly underprovided. The only person with anything more was Pr'seyd, and he was carrying the demolitions. Gideon watched Pr'seyd for a few moments; the Gand was always difficult to read, but more so recently. He had become impassive - not cold, just indifferent. Gideon did not know whether to be worried that he was losing his grip and did not show it or reassured that he was not losing his grip at all.

His eyes flitted around the room; the others, however, were clearly showing their hold on reality slipping away. Jex was taking the deaths of his comrades and friends - perhaps more - very hard, but he was keeping himself in one piece, at least for long enough to finish the mission. There would be plenty of time to mourn when the mission was complete, Gideon agreed. Kiuwo was subdued, but he was not crazy - no more crazy than he had been beforehand. Gideon wondered how the Rodian was escaping the mental pressure everyone else seemed to be experiencing. Eric was concerned about the situation, but like Jex, he was keeping his cool until it was finished; he could worry about it later. Carveik was sad to be apart from his mate and cubs, but he was focused and serious, no longer showing the jovial and boisterous attitude he had shown so often before the mission; Gideon wondered if he would be permanently affected. Jelik looked nervous, unlike his former resolved appearance; maybe he was getting close to the edge, Gideon thought. He would have to keep his eye out for the Nosaurian.

Gideon stood and said, "Well, boys, time really can't be wasted, I'm afraid. Let's keep moving. Only forty-three levels to go... hopefully."

[Archangel]

Def was now thoroughly convinced of his earlier supicions: the longer you spent on Hell Station, the sooner you went crazy. When he had heard of Marle's suicide, he had almost been pleased, but he knew it told of unpleasant things to come. Despite the inevitable hassle of proving it was not him or his crew that enticed the mechanic to suicide, he would have to be battling spirits of the undead for himself and his entire crew until they could leave.

He sighed, his emotions mixed between anger and confusion. Why him? Why here? Why these people? Why this station? Any number of pointless questions flooded through his mind as he fought for some shred of sanity, some identifying thought which kept him in the real world and away from the suicidal inclinations of men like Marle.

He realized the irony of calling Solace Station "Hell Station". It was directly opposed to the initial thinking of the colonists when they arrived, and it was precisely what the station was to the mercenaries and smugglers that had since arrived.

At that, he cursed at himself. Philosophy and thought - those were Jex's ideals, his plans, his problems. Combat, war, destruction, mayhem, slaughter - these were the things of a warrior like Tieradeff Jaggeron, the Ailon mercenary. He expelled a brief sigh and grabbed his blaster, headed to the firing range in the bowels of the Escape. Perhaps some battle would clear his head of this nonsense.

* * * * *

It was not the time for mourning. It was not the time to admit defeat and to go, dejected, to one's quarters to cry the world's troubles away. Despite that being her inclination, and despite her feeling as helpless and weary and weak as she did when last she felt this way - at the age of about ten - Councilor Emma Zacharias was not about to give up in such a manner. Going to one's quarters and crying into one's pillow from bouts of depression and sadness were things a small child did - not an upstanding political leader.

Even so, it was the most tempting thing she had ever experienced, all the more so at this moment. She was the mediator in disputes; this was always known of her, that she would stand between warring nations if need be to prevent conflict. To her consternation, the innumerable conflicts presently occurring between individuals and groups on this hellish station were overwhelming her. Prell and his followers blamed the mercenaries for Marle's death. Firegg and his followers blamed Prell for Marle's death, and for the troubles of the mercenaries. Deakins was too overwrought with anger and fear to make any sort of objective judgments in the matter. It was left to Emma, the only woman on the Council, and the only Councilor who had been willing to listen to Gideon's - and later, Eric's - pleas for help.

But she was not enough. She had never been enough. She could not convince the Council to move the colony elsewhere, and she could not stop Prell and Firegg from clutching at each other's throats. If things continued as they were at that moment, they would wipe each other out - with or without the help of the Rakatan spirits. And it seemed, despite her best efforts, there was nothing she could do to stop the madness.

Their only hope was Gideon's expedition. If that failed, no one would outlast the Devil's retribution for their defiance.

* * * * *

Councilor Werro Prell smiled, his lipless mouth curved upward in a wicked grin; the source of his pleasure was the plan that had been forming in his mind for quite some time, regarding the livelihoods - or, more accurately, the lives - of the other Councilors. With those bickering fools out of his way, he would become the leader of the colony - its sole leader - and he could force the mercenaries away and end this insane attempt to leave their precious station.

First to go would have to be Councilor Firegg - the man was crazy, blaming Prell and his people for these problems. They were not to blame - this idea of spirits was insane, stupid, and nonsensical, making further thought on the matter pointless - that left only the mercenaries. It was the only explanation, once you had eliminated the absurd. After that would be Councilor Deakins, who seemed to have agreed with Gideon and Eric and the others in their crazy ideas about Rakata. Then the other councilors would follow - Sserik, Horace, Moraine, and of course, Zacharias. They were all on the fence, and if they would not join Werro and be subservient to him, then they would die like the rest.

He would have to carry out Firegg's execution personally; after the Marle incident, he could not fully trust any of his followers to obey what they knew was the right course. His grin widened as his grip tightened on the butt of the blaster in his hand; Firegg's quarters were just up ahead.

[Archangel]

"How could this happen?" said second lieutenant Lionel Everard, acting-chief of security, to Councilor Emma Zacharias, "Who would kill Councilor Firegg like this? He ain't done nothin' to nobody." Before him lay the blaster-burned body of the late Harold Firegg, bereft of any clue as to the murderer.

Emma placed a consoling hand on the young officer's shoulder. "I don't know, lieutenant, but the sooner we find the culprit, the better. I fear other councilors may be in danger if the murderer isn't caught," she warned. She had her suspicions, but none of them were founded on any sort of fact - only her "feelings", the sort of thing men were always wary and skeptical of. Werro had been acting oddly lately, and Charles was less than pleased with the entire situation - both councilors were holed up in their rooms, just waiting for everything to pass over, it seemed.

Everard nodded slowly. "Perhaps, ma'am, if we gave each councilor their own personal security guard - to stay with 'em at all times. Maybe then they'd - I mean, you'd - be safe enough to keep the killer at bay," he suggested.

It was Emma's turn to nod pensively. "I agree. Assign each remaining councilor their own guard, and don't let them out of your sights - they might be targets - or worse, they might be involved. And set up some sort of surveillance in their quarters - this was done by someone with access to security passcodes." After he saluted and went to his work, leaving Emma at the crime scene (a security guard just outside), she sighed dejectedly and muttered to herself, "I wish Gideon were here."

* * * * *

"How could this happen?" said Councilor Werro Prell to the wall before him. If he left his quarters, he would be shadowed by a security guard wherever he went - and all communications, on-station or off-, were being closely monitored for suspicious activity, which meant he had no way of reaching his other targets. "Everything was going smoothly," he continued to mutter, "I was going to eliminate the troublemakers, and everyone was going to be happy again - but under my lead, not some damned council!"

A rap on the door silenced his twisted musings. "Who is it?" he demanded, his hand sliding involuntarily toward the pillow which hid the murder weapon.

"It's Everard," the young second lieutenant replied through the door. He was apparently very nervous about his duties - and that, even to the convoluted mind of Werro Prell, made sense, given the situation.

"Enter," Werro replied. No sooner had the acting-chief of security entered than Werro berated him: "Why have you let this happen, you incompetent fool? You've gone and let a councilor - and a good man - be killed by some lunatic on board this damnable station! Poor Harold... You call yourself a security chief? You don't come close! I would do better!" The lies felt good as they escaped Werro's lipless mouth; no one would suspect him as the murderer of "poor Harold".

"I-- I apo-- apologize, Councilor," Everard stammered, "I di-- didn't mean to--"

"No, no," Werro interrupted, going from enemy to best friend in the blink of an eye, "I suppose it wasn't your fault. I apologize. I shouldn't have gotten upset at you - you couldn't have known about this sinister plan! Here, sit down," he said, gesturing at the bed.

"No, sir," Everard replied, eyeing the room warily, "I'd rather stand." It took a moment, but the words Werro had used finally struck a chord in the young man's mind: "How do you know this was a 'sinister plan', Councilor? Not just some random bit of insanity breaking loose, or somethin' like that?"

Werro smiled, his flat face looking even more malevolent as the slit curved upward around his noseless skull; he sat down on the bed, patting the covers beside him as he offered again, "Please, lieutenant, sit. I wouldn't have our dear security chief getting tired!"

"Answer the question, Councilor," Everard ordered as he took a step back, closer to the door; it chirped at his presence, but did not open. Werro only smiled in response. "Councilor," Everard warned, "open this door, or I shall have to arrest you."

Still Werro did not respond; Everard reached into his pocket and drew forth a comm unit, used primarily by the security detail. As he activated it, he unwittingly turned his back on the Duros councilor. Werro's hand snaked under his pillow and drew forth the blaster that had already taken one life that day. He aimed it steadily and without any hesitation, let the weapon take another.

* * * * *

Emma sat bolt upright as a familiar voice intoned over the station intercom: "Ladies and gentlemen, now is the time of our revolution! Let us throw off these old shackles of councils and diplomacies! Let us remove these foul mercenary intruders from our midst! Let us take back what is ours! Raaanaaa!" The final word, Emma recognized, was a drawn-out Durese word meaning "dark cloud". She knew it was Councilor Prell speaking, but she could not figure out what the strange tone in his voice was - nor could she understand why he shouted a seemingly random Durese word over the intercom.

Soon afterward, however, she did - her security detail, a female officer named Macy Wickham, entered her room without warning and raised her weapon; only pure instinct and reflex saved Emma from being instantly killed as she rolled over and fell behind her bunk. The bed was riddled with blaster fire. One shot got through and struck the councilor in the shoulder. As darkness consumed her vision, she realized that Prell must have hypnotized or managed to control a large number of the colonists - the result would be complete chaos.

[Archangel]

Eric sighed lightly as he leaned against a wall; he had led the group for a time so that Gideon could slacken his awareness and attain even the slightest wisp of rest. Eric somehow doubted that he would, given the situation - how could anyone rest in a time like this? He, too, was tired, but the idea of letting one's guard down enough even to close your eyes for a few minutes seemed foreign and distant. Resting was as far from his grasp as a bird might be from a worm's.

He felt a suckered hand set on his shoulder. He glanced back at Kiuwo and forced a smile, something which would let the Rodian know that he was still in the land of the sane. It seemed odd, in fact, that the Rakata had not inspired mutiny in his mind; would it not simplify their own ends if they got just one of them to kill the rest, as they had with Ragnar Starflight and his crew? If they could convince any one of them to turn a weapon on another, then the whole group would be jittery enough - assuming they survived - that they might just kill each other without any more help. It seemed a perfectly normal course of action.

Maybe, then, Eric decided, they were all a little hardier of mind and spirit than he had thought. Maybe it took a lot of work to convince someone to slay another, even with the Force. Maybe it was like old tales of "hypnosis", where you could only be "forced" to do something you might normally do anyway. If everyone trusted everyone else in the room, then they would never suspect betrayal and could not be convinced to kill each other - assuming the premises hypnosis. If it worked differently - for instance, if it was possible, just a little harder - then they might run into trouble.

Either way, that made the Omwati smuggler, Jex, an issue. He had been part of the group for a very limited amount of time, and Eric doubted anyone fully trusted him - and vice versa. Either he would be a target for subversion or one for betrayal, and in either case, he was worth worrying about.

Perhaps he was even worth getting rid of - maybe by accident, some way that would keep others from getting on their toes about spiritual enemies delving into their thoughts...

Eric almost slapped himself. The Rakata were trying, they were just having hard time of it. As the rest of the group caught up to Kiuwo and him, he turned to glance at each one individually, to gauge their sanity. Each seemed to be in control - or at least so much as they had been for the last few levels. The going was slow, at this point, because everyone was growing tired and no one knew what to expect.

Kiuwo patted him twice on the shoulder and took the lead. "My turn," he whispered. Even that slight sound was so sudden, so loud in the near-darkness, that Eric had to restrain himself from jumping in surprise. They were all getting edgy. Eric prayed to the Force or whatever gods might be in charge of it that the mission would be able to end soon.

[Archangel]

Emma was surprised when she awoke, but even more surprising was the alien face looking over her. She started, trying to rise up, trying to reach for something to fight with.

"Easy, there," Def warned, gently pushing the woman back onto the bed. "Ye've not fully recovered yet. The bacta patch seems t'be taken care o' things, but ye'd best lie still for a few minutes yet." The Ailon looked away, across the bed from where he was standing; Emma could not see what he was looking at.

She sniffed, smelling carbon scoring and the stench of busy men of various species. Bathing was apparently not important at this point in time, but she did not blame any of those present for that. "Bacta patch?" she asked, "Is something wrong with your tanks?" She hated to sound ungrateful, but normally a blaster wound would be treated with immersion, not just a patch.

Def tried to not to get irate with the woman; she was unaware of the full situation. "Yeah, there's a problem wit' 'em!" he exclaimed, barely holding in curses, "They're full!" He pointed across her, to where he had been looking before, and she turned her head to follow. She inhaled sharply as she looked over the ten men, badly injured, in the bacta tanks - as well as some twenty more on various beds throughout the medical center. She realized she must have been on the Purgatory's Escape, because she did not recognize the room.

"Oh, my," she said finally, "I'm sorry, I didn't know." She wanted to ask what had happened, how all this had occurred, but then she began to remember the last moments of consciousness before waking up here - Councilor Prell's announcement, the apparent brainwashing of the colonists, her own guard shooting her...

"That Durese Sit'spawn been killin' my men wit' 'is crazy buddies for six hours now. I been tryin' to 'old back, jus' injure 'em or stun 'em an' lock 'em up, but 't ain't easy - my men's gettin' trigger-'appy, an' wit' good reason! I've lost a lot o' good soldiers t'day an' I ain't seein' the ben'fit in lettin' yer people live!" Def explained exasperatedly; Emma could tell that he was extremely displeased with the situation.

"Are there any colonists that weren't affected by Prell's... brainwashing?" she asked, hoping against hope that there might be a few who knew the station better than the smugglers - who had not been there very long and would not know the variety of passages nearly as well.

Her hopes were futile, though, as Def replied, "If there were any, they're eit'er dead or locked up - I ain't seen a one of 'em shootin' at their fellas - but that, I think, I c'n unnerstan'."

Emma nodded in response. It seemed a very dire time indeed for the colony; with any luck, Gideon and the others were almost done with their mission.

* * * * *

Gideon, in fact, was very pleased with their progress. There were, as expected, more than 243 levels to the station - they had just reached the 248th - but they were sure that the number was limited to 250. Kiuwo had accessed a computer terminal several levels back and managed to find his way to a map of the station - showing 250 levels, the bottom being the location of the central computer.

Gideon did not know how the spirits of the dead were tied to that computer, but in two more levels, he desperately hoped that they were close enough to be released with its destruction. That thought in mind, he glanced back at Pr'seyd - the bearer of the explosives - to ensure that they were still there. He was taking no chances with this terminal - no one had any idea how resilient it was.

Gideon shone his weakening glowrod on the next number, just to reassure himself: 249, it read. He smiled involuntarily. As dreadful as this mission was, and as much death as went on around him, he managed to find solace in that the mission itself was coming to an end. He had no idea how it would end - it might end in complete failure and even his own death, but at the very least, it would end.

His thoughts stopped and returned to the notion of failure: if the mission ended in failure, he realized, it would not end at all. If they failed to destroy the terminal, he and all the others would be trapped, just like the Rakata. Just like Cogi Nocor. They could not fail.

[Archangel]

The only light on the bottom level of the station came from the party's glowrods; if anything, this made things seem darker and more surreal than if they had no light at all.

Shadow.

With each step Gideon took, deeper into the core systems of the station, he could feel the spirits gathering around him, shrouding the light of everything good in the Galaxy, stripping him of all joy.

Darkness.

There was a very certain cry among them: leave or die. They wanted him gone, they wanted their tether protected - and they knew he had arrived to sever it.

Fear.

But leaving was something Gideon was hardly willing to do. He took another step, trying to clear superfluous thoughts in case he had to fight off these spirits as he had before - if he even could.

Pain.

Realizing Gideon would not leave until he had finished his mission, the Rakata sent powerful emotions out in droves; Gideon saw stars as agony shot through his mind.

Anger.

He was about twenty paces from the computer console that Cogi Nocor had described, Kiuwo and Eric flanking him, then Pr'seyd carrying the explosives, Jelik - ever more nervous than before - Carveik, solid as a rock, and Jex taking up the rear.

Rage.

Gideon fell to his knees, sending the entire party into motion: Kiuwo and Eric dropped back, covering the path to the stairwell; Pr'seyd and Carveik dashed forward, preparing the explosives; Jelik and Jex stood near Gideon, protecting him from more corporeal enemies, if any came. They all understood that, now more than ever, their wills had to be resolved.

Revenge.

Gideon focused, striving for the power he had found earlier; he searched for it, trying to find some way to defeat the spirits as they attacked the minds of him and his comrades. His pain increased tenfold until he was sure he was going to fall into unconsciousness and all would be lost - but it did not. Something lessened it, some spirit was there, reinforcing his will. Gideon did not see or feel him directly, but something told him that Cogi Nocor had banded the remaining Jedi spirits together to help him - he was their only hope.

Jex began to hear a loud ringing, though it seemed to come from nowhere at all - he decided it had to be in his head, something the spirits were doing to confuse him, hurt him. He winced, then grimaced as the ringing increased in intensity; soon, he let out a yell of agony, forcing all thought out of his mind as best as he could. He could not be prone to suggestion; such was his resolution.

When he looked up, though, he saw that Jelik Quickdraw was not so resolved: the Nosaurian had his blaster raised, aimed at Gideon's head. The shorter alien did not seem to be in much pain, though the occasional twitch told Jex that Jelik was trying to fight the urge to kill Gideon. Gideon, completely unaware of the physical danger he was in, remained in the spiritual realm, battling the Rakata in whatever way he could manage. The plan had Jex and Jelik there to protect the former administrator in case anyone fell subject to these "temptations" - and that left Jex to do the dirty work.

"Don't do it, Jelik!" the Omwati shouted over the ringing, though he did not hear his own voice through the pain. "Don't do it! The pain won't stop! They'll kill you anyway, and then we'll all die! Don't do it!" The Nosaurian glanced at him; he seemed to listen, seemed to understand, began to fight again - but then, with a grimace and a yell, he raised his weapon again, finger tightening on the trigger--

--and fell backwards, a blaster wound in his chest. Jex found he could holster his blaster again; Gideon was right there - he would be so easy to kill. Jex found himself in Jelik's former position, trying desperately not to kill their only hope. He shouted to Carveik and Pr'seyd in distress, "Hurry up!"

Pr'seyd was almost done setting the charges, Carveik assisting him as much as covering him. "Get out of here, Carveik," the Gand forced out, "Get back to your mate and cubs. Get Gideon out of here. Get them all out - I'll set these off from right here. It's too dangerous to remote-detonate them - it might not work." Carveik began to protest, but Pr'seyd cut him off: "You've got a lot left to live for, wolfman! Get out while you still can... You'd better be off this level when this goes off..."

Carveik nodded, tears in his eyes as he left Pr'seyd's side, snatching up Gideon as he ran and knocking Jex's blaster aside, breaking the spell over him. Both sprinted, Carveik half-carrying Gideon, Eric and Kiuwo falling in behind them as they took off up the stairs. They were three levels up when they began to slow down and Gideon began to come around, back into the physical realm.

"Come on, Pr'seyd," Carveik muttered as the group continued as quickly as they could manage up the stairs, "Come on... press the button!" The shudder of success reached them before the sound did; so violent was the explosion that all five were thrown to the floor; Jex heard as much as felt his right arm crack as his struck a stair at an inauspicious angle, and Kiuwo struck his head on the wall.

The shudder increased in intensity as the noise of the explosion hit, loud and real, silencing the ringing and external thoughts, followed by the heat that warmed the bodies that had no clue they were cold before. Numbness had set in slowly, and as blood flowed again to their extremities, each felt a powerful sigh of relief - but not without remembering the losses that allowed the victory.

* * * * *

Def muttered a curse as he found himself shooting at another civilian; whatever had happened, it had affected nearly all the colonists. Def made sure his crew was set to stun, though in a few cases, it simply had not been enough - especially in the larger, tougher species, strengthened further by a hidden resolve that Def could not understand.

He poked his head around the corner, firing twice more and was rewarded by the grunt-thud of a person falling into unconsciousness. He smiled, waving for his personnel to move up to his position as he crept forward.

Suddenly, he was struck from the side. He looked up to see his attacker: a young human male, barely out of his teens, wielding a blaster and sporting a look of fearless rage. Def swallowed hard and knew that, in half a second, when this boy fired, his life would be over. But help arrived in the most unexpected form: a deep, rumbling shudder that knocked the boy off of his feet. Def leapt up, confiscating the boy's blaster and aiming it back at him.

The boy rolled over, rubbing the fresh bump on his head. "Whuh... What happened?" he asked, obvious confused, "Where am I? What's going on?"

Def relaxed and leaned against the wall as his fellow security officers poured into the hall, training their weapons on the boy and a few others that were staggering out of hiding places further down. "They did it," Def muttered, "Dose sons o' Sit's acsh'lly pulled the bloody plan off."

[OOC: One whopper of a quest-completing post, huh? I'll wrap everything up next time. Maybe advance it forward a bit in time.]

[Archangel]

Two days passed.

Gideon, Eric, Kiuwo, Carveik, and Jex returned to the upper levels of the station, quickly recovering from their ordeal with the Rakatan spirits. Gideon admitted that he could no longer feel the Force - at least, not as strongly as he had fighting off their enemies. He wondered if he would ever have it back again - or, for that matter, if he would ever want it back again. The entire experience had been rather traumitizing for him.

Eric seemed to be stable, as well. He had taken the deaths of his comrades and subordinates well and was containing his grief for a time when leadership would not need to be so strong. He hoped that time would come very soon.

Kiuwo seemed nonplussed, despite his minor head injury during the explosion. On the outside, he was the jovial, sardonic, and generally playful Rodian he had always been. Everyone who observed him wondered how he could have gone through what he did and not suffer, mentally or emotionally - and if he was suffering, how in the Force he could hide it from all the eyes that watched him.

Carveik grieved for his friends and fellows that had died; no one thought less of him for it, either, since his mate had been one to die in the fight against Werro Prell's strange uprising agains the mercenaries, leaving Carveik to care for their three little ones. Prell himself had only a hazy recollection of the events and had been locked up until everything could be sorted out.

Jex was glad to be back with his own comrades and friends, but like Eric, he was hiding grief for the numerous souls that had been lost on the expedition to the lower levels of the station. He had lost friends - and perhaps more - down there, including his captain, Ragnar Starflight. With the Escape lacking its head, Jex and Def were the logical choices for succession, but neither man truly wanted the position.

Def was still upset about the entire mission, from being forced to dock with the station to having to repair the ship because of some crazed Force spirits, but he channeled his anger into his work; soon, he had a dozen small repair crews organized and working on the Escape; it would be shipshape in no time flat.

Emma was pleased to have everything finished on the dreaded station. She was surprised to find herself glad Gideon was alive and well, almost rejoicing in that fact, despite facing the deaths of dozens of others. She put those thoughts away, though, for another time - or perhaps to remain away forever, depending on just how the Solace Colony folded out after this. Most of the Council was dead and those that were not were either traumitized or imprisoned. A large number of the colonists were, however, still alive due to Def's stun tactics, which Emma thanked him profusely for. Emma was annoyed by the detail that she suddenly found herself in charge of organization of the colony; normally, that responsibility would have fallen on Gideon, but everyone could see the weariness in him from the ordeal, and she took over administration - at least for the time being.

People were peaceful and productive again in the colony - they would even be happy if they had not retained memories of the horrible things they had done while under the influence of the Dark Side of the Force. The Purgatory's Escape was well on its way to being repaired, and once it was, the entire colony would board it, alongside the mercenaries they had temporarily fought, and they would travel elsewhere to search for a new home.

[Archangel]

Several weeks had passed since the Solace Station ordeal. The Purgatory's Escape was well under way; it had made stops at a variety of stations and starports, picking up supplies and continuing on its way. No one aboard was still quite over the ordeal, and no one had left the fold - not even the smugglers of the Escape, who felt that the Ailon security chief, Sergeant Tieradeff "Def" Jaggeron, and the Omwati first officer, Commander Jex Sirri, were their leaders after everything that they had gone through on the possessed station.

Jex would have been Captain of the vessel, but Gideon Corey had taken over that position after he had finished recovering from his injuries and weariness. Eric Noble was working as a colleague, rather than an officer, as was Emma Zacharias. The Rodian, Kiuwo, was sensors and communications officer, and he was essentially the second officer - acting-captain if both Gideon and Jex were out of commission.

Gideon had re-ordered the colony after the mess of the Council. He was its sole leader, under the advice of his friends and colleagues, deciding what was best for the colony - and their fringer bunkmates. Many of the smugglers were not inclined to get along with the "crazy colonists", but after some severe glares from Def and Jex, they hid their displeasure - and some even got over it as they realized that these colonists were truly good people once out of the clutches of the Dark Side.

Gideon was relaxing in his quarters - once those of Ragnar Starflight - when the room's comm. unit began to chirp. Gideon rose to check it and was greeted by Kiuwo.

The Rodian smiled when he saw the face of his friend and captain. "Gideon," he said, "I've just gotten a message on the ship's HoloNet transceiver, directed to you. I think you'll recognize the sender."

Gideon thanked the Rodian, grinning at the officer's tendency to leave things unsaid - not for the purpose of secrets, but so others - and Gideon especially - would be surprised by the often-mundane details. He went to his computer console and activated it; he found a message from an old business partner, a Ryn with some connections:

Dear Gideon Corey,

It has been a long time. If you are still searching for a home, I have a proposition for you: Kuras IV, in the Kuras System, in the Elrood Sector. It's an ice planet, with enough warmth beneath the surface for your colony, and it's out of the way - practically unreachable by the rest of the Galaxy.

There is a catch, though: it is currently controlled by a vicious crime lord, whose plans are not altogether known. We do know that he plans on using whatever it is he has down there against the nearby planets - and, perhaps, the Galaxy at large - and we mean to stop him. If you still have that fancy vessel of yours, and would like to help us against him, we could definitely use you.

Your old friend,
Freyel

He smiled. This might just work. Not only would it be a service to the Galaxy, but he would be able to give his colonists a home that - hopefully - would not be infested by age-old Dark Side spirits.

He called Eric in for his assessment. He let his old friend read the message and, when he was finished, asked him, "Well, what do you think?"

Eric looked at him with a smile. "What do I think? I think it's great! It sounds like Freyel's really got us something here - and if everything goes smoothly, it ought to already be readied with an underground base... assuming that crime lord has been there for some time," he said thoughtfully.

Gideon nodded. "My thoughts exactly," he returned, "Have the crew set in a course for the coordinates attached to that message; I'll tell Freyel we're coming." Eric nodded and left; Gideon turned back to the terminal.

Freyel,

Old friend, it is good to hear from you. After a certain ordeal (which I will explain in more detail when we again speak in person), I am still searching for a home for the Colony. However, I am no longer captain of the once-Sky's Business and then-Solace; it was lost due to... extenuating circumstances. I am, however, captain of a smuggler's CR90 Corvette, the Purgatory's Escape. Though considerably smaller and less-armed than the Sky's Business, it has been modified with more weapons and is crewed by smugglers and mercenaries - not a bad combination, if you ask me.

Regardless, I will be at the coordinates you sent as soon as possible. See you then.

Gideon Corey

As he sent off the message, he felt the again-familiar lurch of a ship entering Hyperspace.