A Living Nightmare

  Chapter 18: Starting the Hunt

  “Destiny is merely the conduit of our will.”

  Date: 6BBY

  Location: Fortress Inquisitorious - Comm Hub 1C

  The turbolift hummed with oppressive silence as I stood beside the Grand Inquisitor, my mind still reeling from the Emperor’s summons. I wanted to ask a thousand questions, but the words choked in my throat, pressed down by the sheer suffocating tension in the air. Finally, the Pau’an broke the silence.

  “Seventh Sister is in the medical bay,” he said, voice betraying no hint of concern. “Her injuries are extensive.”

  “What happened?” I asked, my question tight with apprehension. Then I allowed my irritation to bubble up. Without thinking, I reached out through the Force and stopped the lift mid-descent, the floor jolting us both. “Why the kriff didn’t you warn me that I was about to get orders from the Emperor directly? Face to sorta face?”

  He offered no apology, just a level stare. “I don’t need to explain myself to you. And if you’re truly capable of succeeding in this investigation, you should require no forewarning.”

  My anger simmered, but I didn’t ignite the next retort I felt forming. Instead, I took a calming breath, letting the darkness of my frustration swirl inside me like a storm I refused to unleash. The Grand Inquisitor continued, unperturbed.

  “I hope this mission of yours proves fruitful,” he admitted. “Originally, I was assigned the task, but I proposed that you take it instead.”

  Surprise, then immediate suspicion. I narrowed my worthless eyes. “Why?”

  “A better use of your unique talents than wasting them on some backwater brat. The Jedi are dwindling, and we can only do so much training. Our tasks are shifting. The Empire’s real threat is these wretched rebels multiplying by the day.”

  I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “I wonder why.”

  He fixed me with a long, chilly stare. “I will ignore your treasonous words only in the hopes that you succeed where Katari failed.” Before I could respond, he eased the turbolift back into motion with a controlled flick of his long fingers. The turbolift’s ambient hum resumed, carrying us downward once more.

  We soon arrived at a lower level adjacent to the medical facilities. The doors hissed open, and I stepped out into the corridor. I reached out with my senses and felt the faint flicker of life that once was Katari Naju. The Seventh Sisters presence was weak, flickering like a candle in a storm. I followed the Grand Inquisitor’s lead toward the med bay.

  A medical droid hovered near her bed, injecting something into her arm as a cluster of monitors beeped softly. Through my heightened perception, I could sense the severity of her injuries—burns, broken bones, a concussion. It would be weeks before she recovered enough to hold her sabers without trembling.

  I wasted no time, stepping forward with arms folded. “Where’s the intel, Sister? I’ve got a job to do.”

  She feigned a wounded expression. “You don’t even ask how I’m feeling, you savage?” Her voice dripped with mock hurt.

  I gave her a flat look, saying nothing. In truth, if it were me lying there, she’d offer no courtesies either. After a moment of pregnant silence, she sighed and gestured to one of her miniature probe droids perched at the foot of the bed. The small sleek droid floated over to me, carrying a data cylinder in a magnetic clamp.

  “Data cylinder, ZT4,” she said. “Encrypted transfer. No transmissions to trace.”

  I removed an empty, matching cylinder from my belt, swapped it with the droid, and locked the new one in place. The entire exchange was as sterile and unfeeling as the medical bay’s bright overhead lights.

  “Thanks,” I said, keeping my tone clipped. Then I allowed curiosity to edge into my voice. “So… what happened to land you here?”

  Her face darkened. “Black market dealer tried to double-cross me. Didn’t realize who they were dealing with.”

  “Sloppy,” I muttered, unable to resist the jab.

  “It was the only tangible lead I had,” she shot back. “And now it’s gone.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Gone?”

  “They’re dead. Suicide for their precious ‘cause.’” She spat the last word.

  “Oh,” I said quietly, absorbing the implications. Then I shrugged, aware of how callous it must seem. “Well… I’ll be on my way.”

  She eased herself up in bed, wincing. “Next time, you’ll be even quieter. Probably dead too.”

  I didn’t offer a comeback; the door sealed behind me, and I made my way back to the turbolift. My first instinct was to head for Sublevel 2 and see Galen one last time, but the intel in my hand could be time-sensitive. Any delay might forfeit the only lead we had on Fulcrum. Ahsoka Tano… That name still pricked at my mind, conjuring half-remembered images of Anakin’s student in another lifetime.

  I inhaled sharply, guilt gnawing at me. Leaving the boy behind felt like a betrayal, but I had no choice. The Emperor, the big bad Sith Lord, had mandated this hunt. I’ll have to trust Galen to take care of himself, I told myself.

  Stepping into the turbolift, I keyed the control panel for the upper hangars. As the lift began its ascent, I cast one last glance at the corridor behind me, the place where I’d parted ways with the Grand Inquisitor just moments ago. I felt a tightness in my chest, an ache that wasn’t purely physical. No matter how well I performed, the Emperor already expected me to fail, leaving Galen free to be molded by Vader’s iron hand. The notion stirred my fury.

  I squeezed the data cylinder in my hand, letting my anger fuel my resolve. If I have to chase Fulcrum, I’ll do it on my terms—win or lose. And if that means returning to the Fortress alive, I damn well will.

  At last, the turbolift shuddered to a stop at the designated floor. The doors slid open, revealing a corridor bustling with flight crews and security droids. My hunt was about to begin, and all I could do was hope that the boy I’d left behind would still be there when I returned.

  Location: The Scythe - Nur Orbit

  We skimmed the upper atmosphere of Nur, engines thrumming as the Scythe broke free from the moon’s gravity. Gray storm clouds and distant fortress spires shrank behind us, swallowed by the blackness of space. Captain TK-421 sat at the ship’s controls, guiding us away from the security perimeter while I remained in the co-pilot’s seat, arms folded. The entire craft vibrated with pent-up energy, ready for a jump to hyperspace once we cleared the system.

  “Sir,” TK began, glancing at the holo-projector between us. A faint glow reflected off his armor. “Allow me read you the details on the Sister’s leads.”

  I couldn’t read the text, of course, but I could still perceive the flicker of the device through the Force—a blur of radiating energy that told me something was there, if not its contents. “Go on,” I said curtly.

  He tapped a console. “First up, there’s a rumor of an active rebel cell on a planet in the Mid Rim. Place called Omereth. Supposedly, they’ve been hoarding arms and refurbished starfighters—enough that local Imperial patrols have noticed missing shipments. The Sister believed they might be receiving direction from Fulcrum.”

  I listened, letting the name Omereth etch itself into my memory. Mid Rim, not too far from a major hyperlane. Easy way to move the product around, and get reinforcements. “How reliable is that intel?” I asked.

  “Sparse,” TK admitted, “but the Sister’s logs mention multiple confiscations of black-market proton related weaponry on Omereth. If Fulcrum’s helping them, she might have left traces.”

  He slid a finger across the panel, no doubt pulling up the next lead. “Then there’s a pirate gang operating near the outer edges of the Taspar Sector. They’ve been buying large quantities of starship hull plating, shield generators, and engine components—stuff you’d expect from someone building or refitting a small fleet. The Sister suspected these pirates might be working for some rebel groups indirectly.”

  My lips tightened. “Or they just want more destructive power for themselves. Pirates rarely have higher ideals.”

  “Exactly,” TK said, exhaling. “Still, if Fulcrum’s funneling parts to them, they could be a stepping stone. The Sister’s droids turned up a few shady transactions in that region.”

  He paused before the final piece. I felt his hesitation like a ripple in the Force. “And the last lead is… well, more of a set of partial references to a remote moon out in the Outer Rim. The name never shows up in the standard Imperial databases, which suggests it’s uncharted or has been intentionally scrubbed. The Sister saw the term ‘Fulcrum’ pop up in a short-range comm exchange, but no specifics. Could be an enclave. Could be a hideout.”

  I let the thought settle, trying to envision these three options in my mind. Omereth and its rumored rebel cell. Pirate scum in the Taspar Sector. And a nameless moon far off in the Outer Rim. Three distinct possibilities, each one a potential waste of time or a goldmine of information on Fulcrum.

  “Pirates might be a diversion,” I mused. “The rebel cell is at least an organized threat, but that also means we’ll face stronger opposition.” My fingers drummed against the armrest. “And the third… well, if something’s been wiped from the records, it’s probably significant.”

  TK grunted in agreement, pressing a sequence of buttons. “Right. So we’ve gotta pick one. The Sister mentioned all three as potential leads.”

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  I sensed the swirl of frustration in him. We were chasing phantoms, trying to find a shadow codenamed Fulcrum in a galaxy full of shadows. “Look,” I said, “I suggest we ignore the pirates for now, or at least push them down the list. If they’re just hunting credits, they won’t be the biggest piece in this puzzle. And Omereth… that might be a fortress in disguise.”

  TK paused as if studying me. “Then that leaves the moon with hardly any data. That’s your plan?”

  I shrugged. “Might be the best chance at discovering something unexpected. If there’s too little info for Sister’s droids, it means it might be hidden on purpose.”

  “Alright,” he said, turning back to the console. “We’ll make for that unknown moon. Sending a quick notice to any nearby Imperial outposts, letting them know we’ll be operating in that sector. They probably won’t help much, but it’s procedure.”

  A faint beep indicated we were clear of Nur’s gravity. The starlit void outside our cockpit stretched into the distance, giving us an open corridor to jump.

  “It’ll take a bit of time to get there,” TK remarked, double-checking the coordinates. “We’ll need to swing around a few gravitational obstacles. Probably a couple hours, maybe more.”

  With a soft sigh, he eased off the steering yolk. Autopilot would take over until we spooled for hyperspace. “Anything you want to handle in the meantime, sir?”

  I hesitated, then let the question that had been rattling around in my mind come forth. “What… an unofficial opinion on Galen. You’ve been there every time I visited him. Think he has what it takes?”

  TK’s posture shifted; a heavy silence stretched for a beat or two. “Just take the boy and run, Alonzo,” he said, voice edged with regret. “We’ve joked about it. I see how you care about him.”

  Those words hit me harder than I’d expected. I tried to brush it off. “There’s a bond, sure, but it’s not like that. I don’t care about Galen—” My throat tightened. The truth felt more complicated. “Not the way you might think. I’m forced to keep him safe because no one else will.”

  TK nodded. “You don’t want him to end up like you.”

  “I don’t want him to end up dead. The poor boy could be so much more.” The instant those words escaped my mouth, Shaak Ti’s final plea to Galen rang in my head. That memory belonged to another life—another universe, even—but it still stung. And in a flash, I recalled Felucia, an isolated jungle world of wild Force energies. If we needed it… we could use Felucia.

  TK cocked his head, eyebrows knitting in concern. “You just stopped mid-sentence. Something up?”

  I forced a casual shrug, rubbing the back of my neck. “Nah, just a thought.”

  “Dangerous, those are,” he teased, the corners of his mouth curling in a faint grin.

  I smirked, letting a flicker of amusement lighten my features. “Alright, Yoda.”

  “What the hell is a Yoda?” he shot back, the confusion in his tone drawing a sudden laugh from me. The unexpected levity eased some of the tension in the cockpit, if only for a moment.

  In the quiet that followed, I let my Force senses drift, feeling the swirl of possibility around us. Fulcrum was out there. She might have connections to that nameless moon, or the rebels, or the pirates, or all three. Meanwhile, Galen remained behind on Nur, alone in a place that sought to twist him into a weapon. And the Emperor… the Emperor wanted me out of the picture, I was sure of it.

  TK started the countdown to hyperspace. I braced myself, letting out a slow breath. “Alright,” I said quietly. “Let’s get it.”

  The stars in front of us stretched into brilliant lines. The Scythe rumbled, and we leapt forward into the unknown.

  Location: Ydran System - J23R

  We broke through a thin cloud layer, descending toward the nameless moon’s surface. I couldn’t see the rolling vistas with my nonexistent eyes, but I felt it all the same through the Force: a sprawl of rusted metal shapes, a huddle of mismatched life signs. Captain TK-421 tapped the scanners, verifying my suspicions.

  “Looks like we’ve got an entire settlement down there, built around a large CIS bunker,” he said, guiding the Scythe over a ridge. “There’s what remains of an airfield, too, probably scrapped for parts. And I’m picking up multiple energy signatures—droids and people. Probably expect the worst.”

  “Always do,” I muttered, bracing myself as we set the ship down on a patchwork landing platform. The place felt like it had been hammered together from corroded hull panels—an improvised airfield that might have once serviced Confederate gunships.

  The moment we touched down, the Force bristled with tension. Outside, I sensed a small crowd gathering. The ramp hissed open, and the acrid stench of old oil and desert-like dust hit me. I descended first, feeling TK keep pace behind me.

  A handful of B1 battle droids stood in a half-circle, rifles aimed our way. Two battered B2 super battle droids flanked them, hulking masses of durasteel with mismatched plating. One of the B1s let out a tinny chuckle as I approached.

  “Look what we’ve got here,” it droned, voice crackling. “A Jedi, maybe. Didn’t expect it to be so easy to capture.”

  Its companion chimed in, “Yeah, roger-roger. No fancy sabers—he’s not even fighting back.”

  I bit down a growl of annoyance, but TK gave me a subtle warning touch on the arm. It was true: no sense provoking them—yet. Behind the droids stood a group of armed sentries, mostly humans and near-humans dressed in ragged clothes. Their eyes glimmered with a mix of anger and fear.

  A tall Nemoidian stepped forward, the folds of his tattered cloak swaying in the stale breeze. “Granuuk Bitoor,” he proclaimed. “Governor of this refuge, such as it is.” Without warning, he yanked a vibro-knife from his belt and pressed it against my neck. The hum of the blade’s ultrasonic edge buzzed dangerously near my skin.

  “Give me one good reason,” he growled, “I shouldn’t slit your throat for trespassing here.”

  TK tensed, hand inching toward his blaster. A few of the onlookers raised their weapons. The B2s whined, powering up their cannons.

  I felt a flare of anger rise within me, yet I kept my tone calm. “Because I’m here on behalf of the Emperor himself,” I said. “Tasked with rooting out a rebel threat that may have paid you a visit. You kill me, the Empire learns of this place, and they’ll send a thousand more in my stead.”

  Bitoor’s blade didn’t waver. “Your word means nothing. Imperial types have threatened us before. We are done bending to your kind.”

  He slid the tip of the vibro-knife a fraction closer, enough for me to feel the heat of its vibration. Behind him, one of the B1 droids cackled, “Oh, sir, sir! Can I kill the Jedi?!”

  I exhaled and slowly lifted my hands, letting the Force brush through the crowd to sense their collective unease. “We have no reason to kill you,” I repeated quietly. “Unless you make one. But as you can see,”—I carefully reached for the lightsaber on my back—“I’m willing to negotiate.” I tossed it to the ground at his feet, along with the backup on my belt.

  TK followed suit, carefully removing his blaster and setting it aside. The Nemoidian studied us both, knife still poised at my throat. After a tense moment, he relented, stepping back. I felt the blade draw away from my skin.

  “Fine,” he spat. “You’ll speak with me inside.” He snapped his fingers at the B2s. “Confiscate their weapons.”

  A pair of ragged human sentries hurried forward, snatching up our gear. I clenched my fists, annoyed but mindful this was better than having them open fire.

  Bitoor beckoned us through a gate fashioned from old Separatist armor plating. Inside the walls, I sensed the sprawl of a makeshift town: salvaged ship engines used as generator pods, tattered tents clustered along cracked duracrete, and a labyrinth of bunkers repurposed into homes. The remnants of the airfield stretched in the distance, runways littered with the rusted shells of fighters long cannibalized for parts.

  Families skulked around corners, eyeing us warily. Many were alien species once loyal to the Confederacy—Neimoidians, Muuns, and even a few Humans. I heard whispers of fear, caught glimpses of children clinging to their parents. The entire settlement reeked of desperation and quiet hostility.

  We were led into a central command building that had likely been the base’s nerve center. Cracked CIS insignias still adorned the walls, painted over with children's art and poor attempts at graffiti. Bitoor shoved the door open, guiding us into a dimly lit chamber filled with half-functioning consoles and flickering screens.

  He tossed the vibro-knife onto a metal table with a clatter, then faced me. “Now. Tell me why you’re here. And do it quick.” The anger radiating off him was palpable, but beneath it, I sensed fear. Perfect for me to exploit.

  “I’m tracking someone called ‘Fulcrum,’” I said. “Word is, you might have had dealings with them.”

  Bitoor laughed bitterly. “You call it dealing. I call it survival. We trade leftover technology from this—” He waved a hand around at the bunker. “—with those who pay well. And yes, one of them uses that name. What’s it to you?”

  Captain 421 squared his shoulders, carefully stepping forward. “Fulcrum is a known Rebel agent. We have reason to believe they’re supporting insurgent cells. My friend here is assigned to locate them. Permanently.”

  Bitoor glared. “We have no interest in your Imperial squabbles. The rest of the galaxy might as well be a thousand parsecs away.”

  I let out a slow breath. “Nonetheless, you’re caught in it now.” My voice dropped to a low, dangerous register. “If I don’t find Fulcrum, the Emperor will wonder why. He’ll send an entire fleet here, raze you to the ground, and take what he needs.”

  “Give me a reason to trust you,” Bitoor hissed.

  I offered him a cold smile. “Because I’m giving you a chance to cooperate. That’s better than the next Inquisitor who’d come knocking.” I let my words hover, the implied threat crystal clear. “So… what can you tell me?”

  He wavered, then snarled. “We’ve sent shipments of old experimental weapon parts at Fulcrum’s request. They give us credits or supplies. That’s how we keep this place alive.”

  “How frequently?” I pressed, sensing he was already lying or minimizing the truth.

  “Every few months,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. I felt his fear subside, replaced by forced composure. He hoped I believed him.

  TK glanced at me, then spoke gently, “Look, we just want to find this informant. Not kill them. That’s not our job, right?”

  I gave him a curt nod. “Right. We just need a way to track them. Any clue helps, and we can make it worth your while.”

  Bitoor hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. Come.” He gestured for us to follow him through a side door leading into a reinforced bunker tunnel. Guards and droids shadowed our every move, making sure we didn’t try anything.

  We ended up at a rickety turbolift that descended into the moon’s crust. Old warning signs in the CIS language lined the shaft. The place smelled of rust and stale air. As the lift descended, I felt a flicker of unease in the Force—something about the Governor’s quiet smugness put me on edge.

  Sure enough, when we reached the bottom, a heavy corridor stretched ahead, walls dripping with condensation. Flickering lights cast uneven shadows on broken paneling. Bitoor moved forward, beckoning us deeper.

  Suddenly, the Force screamed a warning. “TK!” I shouted, but a fraction too late. A ray shield crackled to life around me, forming a shimmering column that pinned me in place. TK stumbled aside, narrowly missing being trapped himself. I whirled to see Bitoor racing back to the turbolift, a triumphant grin on his gaunt face.

  I lashed out through the Force, gripping his throat from across the corridor, but paused when I sensed something else clanking on the far side of the hallway. Droidekas. At least two, rolling up to positions and unfurling with lethal grace. Their shields snapped on, presenting glowing blue domes of energy.

  TK scrambled to his feet, cursing under his breath. “Looking for a control panel—hang tight.”

  “I knew we should’ve come in blasting,” I muttered darkly, scanning for any break in the shield’s perimeter. “Fuck this place.”

  “Sir, these doors are sealed, and I’m not seeing any controls!” TK hollered back, pressing frantically at a dead console. The droidekas spun their twin blasters forward, the whine of power building ominously.

  Then they fired, unleashing a barrage of stun bolts. TK yelped as the rings slammed into him, sending him sprawling hard against the wall. He crumpled without so much as a gasp. My jaw clenched in fury, the swirling energy of the dark side straining inside me, but the ray shield’s hum kept me pinned like an insect.

  Outside, the clang of the turbolift door sealed with a final echo, leaving me trapped with a pair of not-so killer droids and an unconscious trooper. I felt my anger ignite, resonating in the enclosed space. Bitoor was going to regret this betrayal—if I found a way out alive.

  The chances of that grew slimmer when a voice all too familiar rung out from the comm speakers of the underground facility.

  “Mocking Greeting: Welcome to my humble domicile, meatbag. I sincerely hope you provide a brief spark of amusement before your inevitable demise.”

  HK, I grimly smile to myself. I should have fucking known.