Chapter 4
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CHAPTER Four:

"What were you thinking? You could have been killed! And the state you came back in . . ." Marc Xavier braced his arms on the end of Perdia's bed and glared at his foster-daughter. He and the two Jedi were alone in sickbay at the moment, with the exception of the doctor. Pierce had threatened dire harm to anyone who prevented the younger Jedi from getting much-needed rest. Even the captain and the elder Jedi had received a dressing down for barging in and demanding to speak with her. The doctor had granted them a few minutes on the grounds that Perdia was Marc's adoptive daughter, but only grudgingly.

Perdia scowled at the brown-furred fox. "It's not like I had a choice," she muttered.

"There is always a choice." Xavier clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. "To take the life of another being-"

"Marc." The single word was softly spoken but sharp enough to catch his attention. Zannah's ears flipped back. "Let her be."

He frowned. "This is quite serious-"

"I am aware of that," she spoke in the same quiet tone, her voice firm. "Let her be."

"I don't think you understand the gravity of what occurred."

The vixen raised a brow. "Marc . . . Have you ever killed someone in close combat?"

"Of course not!" He gave her a shocked look.

"I have." Zannah's gaze met his. "More times than I care to remember, and every one fighting for my own survival. I've walked away from fights looking worse than Perdia did. I do not kill lightly, nor should anyone." Her eyes turned to the younger feline to drive the point home. "But until you feel the blood of a foe, a foe who would have snuffed out your life without a thought, drying in your fur . . . Until then, Apprentice, do not presume to lecture me on the gravity of taking life."

Marc's mouth worked soundlessly for several long moments as he visibly struggled to control his temper. No matter how hard he tried to divide his time and attention between his captaincy and Jedi training, it seemed they would always be at loggerheads. Federation philosophy and Jedi dogma meshed on many levels, but not all. He lapsed into silence, forcing himself to remember that this was Zannah's area of expertise.

Perdia swallowed and turned her face away from the two adults, her gaze locked on her fisted hands. "It was so easy . . ."

"Perdia . . ." Zannah's voice was gentle. "Sometimes killing is necessary, but don't let it carry you away. Remember, we're Jedi. We're supposed to be the good guys." She smiled wryly.

The girl shivered and rubbed her thin arms. "Being good guys sucks. Someone's always trying to off you."

Zannah couldn't contain her smile. "Then we just have to be better than them. Which reminds me . . ." The vixen looked back at Marc. "It's been too long since you last worked with me on the Jedi disciplines. Block the next available opening in your schedule for that."

Pierce cleared his throat loudly from across the room, and the vixen sighed and rolled her eyes ceilingward. "And I promise you, doctor, it will be nothing more intensive than the therapy you have already prescribed." Pierce's response was a noncommittal grunt, satisfied that she had acknowledged his orders - for once.

The brown fox nodded, though it was clear he was not happy. Xavier was used to being master of his domain. Jedi training reduced him to apprentice status, and even more galling was the fact that his own adopted daughter could trounce him without breaking a sweat. Still, he was nothing if not determined. "I'll see you then."

"Good." Zannah was quiet as he exited sickbay, leaving them to themselves. She turned to Perdia when he had gone. "In the mean time, we have some other exercises we ought to explore . . ."

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Captain Xavier stopped before the closed holodeck door and straightened his uniform tunic. He palmed the door release and stepped inside . . . directly into the teeth of a howling blizzard. Marc stopped, sputtering, two steps inside the door. He squinted through the blowing snow. If it had been anyone but Zannah who asked him to come here, he would have turned around then. There was a dim light visible just ahead. Drifts gave way to icy stone as he stumbled into a cavernous opening and out of the storm. Massive icicles grew down from the ceiling like giant fangs. What began as ice cave became smooth architecture and cold warped paving stones underfoot several meters inside. The flickering light of torches grew stronger as he walked, and the chill faded slightly without the driving wind to back it. He had entered a vast, cathedral-like space, towering columns vanishing into misty darkness near the far reaches of the ceiling. A frown creased his brow. The only sound was the faint echoing drip of water and his own footsteps.

"Zannah, where are you?"

There was nothing while the echoes of his voice faded.

"You're late." Her voice was hollow in the cavernous space.

He turned a circle in place, but did not see her.

"Elizabeth wanted help with the twins. I lost track of time. What is this place? I don't believe I've tried this program before."

"It's Rhen Var, or a representation, anyway. Lanna showed me how to make the program." Zannah's voice was behind him this time.

Marc turned again, and this time spotted the vixen. She was leaning casually against one of the pillars, wearing a sleeveless exercise outfit in her favorite deep blue, her normally loose hair hanging in a neat braid. The chill hanging in the air had no apparent effect on her.

" . . . Ah." He gestured to their surroundings. "So . . . why this place?"

Zannah pushed off the pillar and walked toward him. "Ancient history . . . And I like the climate. This is the temple of Ulic qel Droma. He was a Jedi in the Old Republic era several millennia ago. This was his last refuge."

The brown fox glanced around, half expecting the ghost of a long dead Jedi to materialize. Zannah chuckled softly.

"Rhen Var is a reminder that even the best, brightest, and most powerful of us can Fall. Ulic qel Droma started out on top of the universe, but he met his end here, broken but redeemed. It helps to remind myself that I'm certainly not the first Jedi to take a wrong step and face-plant during a battle. I won't be the last either. Still, I'd rather a broken leg and a little dignity lost in place of losing more lives."

Marc nodded. "How's the leg, by the way?"

"Still slows me down a bit, but much better. Federation medical technology seems nothing short of miraculous. I'd have been in bacta for days if this had happened on the other side of the Rift." She sighed and turned away. "Running into that Jedi Hunter has given me a lot to think about over the past few days. Marc . . . I'm going to have to leave."

A puzzled look crossed his face. "What do you mean, leave?"

Zannah looked back at him. "I've been fooling myself into thinking we were safe here. I forgot that the Empire has ways of getting their fingers into everything. Worse, they'll be actively looking for Jedi in Federation space now, and Perdia in particular."

He grimaced. "So how does your leaving help that?"

"Because I can distract them." Her eyes met his. "I'm good at hit and run tactics. I'll give them so many Jedi sightings they won't know where to look. Keep them running from one end of the Rim to the other."

Marc looked uncertain. "And if they catch you?"

Her voice hardened. "They won't."

"Zannah, that's a suicide mission."

She shook her head. "Not if I'm careful. I have a few bolt holes I can go to ground in if necessary. I still have friends and contacts on the other side I can get help from."

Concern had replaced uncertainty. "But why would you do this?"

"Because it will take the heat off of you and Perdia. If they're too wrapped up in chasing me, they won't be concentrating on you."

He frowned. "I . . . can see your point, but I still don't like it."

She sighed. "I don't want to leave, but I think it would be for the best."

There was silence between them for several long moments. Marc spoke up again. "When would you be going?"

"Not until after we're through here, at the very least. I . . . haven't told Perdia yet, and I still need to find myself a ship. There are some things I need to do first."

Marc nodded, a cold depression settling in his gut. He had gotten to know the Jedi vixen fairly well over the past two years, even if he tended to miss more practice sessions with her than not. He would miss her patient scolding, if not the bumps and bruises it earned him.

She turned away, putting a more cheerful note into her voice. "But anyway, since we have some time today, why don't we give sparring another shot?"

He winced. "Do we have to? I always seem to end up getting smacked into the wall."

Zannah chuckled. "You know, you would be capable of everything I can do if you'd just practice at it more."

"Knowing I could be able to do it never seems to make now hurt any less," the captain sighed before he began his stretches.

**********************************************************************

The blue-toned image of the hooded panther crackled, sending up holographic sparks each time the ship's connection to the Imperial fleet was lost. Though the technology rendered Lord Korriban's image in blue alone, the gathered Hunters could still feel the weight of his yellow eyes from hundreds of parsecs away.

Lady Jadeite stood at the forefront of the pack, flanked by a pair of long bodied dark-furred anthro canines whose thick hair had been gathered into tiny black braids. Her own face showed fury and scorn equal to that of her far distant lover. "You want me to what, my love?" the ferret hissed, her long tail twitching.

"You will report to me, my lady," the panther answered, his tone full of mockery. "I have a task for you aboard this vessel. It is of greater import than the work I have for the rest of these." The blue hologram waved his hand dismissively at the gathered worshippers of the Emperor, ignoring the scowls, snarls, and murmurs of protest his comment earned. The Emperor's hand-picked apprentice had little time for the lesser dregs of the Sith.

"This command was given to me. The Emperor-"

"-feels it would be best to have calmer heads for this task," the panther finished with a snarl. "You will come to Coruscant before the grand admiral's fleet departs for the Rift, or you will suffer the consequences."

The two lovers glared at one another for several long moments before Jadeite finally looked away. "As you will, my lord." The silence was filled only by the harsh breathing of the gathered Sith.

"The rest of you will depart for the Rift." Korriban's eyes glittered with malice, finding each Hunter in turn. Some, like the twin vornskr flanking Jadeite, he had worked with before. Others, such as the red headed snow leopard half-crouched to the side, were new to this team, but all of them had been well trained and would do their duty to the Sith. "Find places aboard the fleet, if you have no ships of your own. Scatter yourselves throughout the worlds nearby, on both our side and the Federation's if you are able. Hunt the Jedi. The Emperor would have us capture alive those that we find - if you kill His prize, He will be most displeased. If you fail Him in this, do not expect His mercy to be swift in coming."

The panther turned, seeming to pace, though the projector kept his image in one place. "We are hunting specifically for a female, a young one who has been known to shelter in the Federation. Do not assume she will be alone, however. Capture any and all Jedi you find. Take the animal vornskr. Track the Jedi. Cage them in, do whatever you must. If you find any traces, you will report to us immediately. Find them, find her, and do not let your Imperial watchdogs know what you are hunting. Go!"

The holograph fizzled to blue static, popped once, and was gone. The Hunters dispersed in silence, going to their assigned tasks. Only the anger simmering in the eyes of a certain scarred ferret showed that not everyone was satisfied with the orders given them.

**********************************************************************

Zannah walked slowly back to her quarters. The pain in her injured leg had subsided to a dull throb, but the time spent sparring energetically with Marc had done nothing to help it heal. While she admitted even to herself that it had not been the brightest idea, the exercise had helped ground her both mentally and physically. An hour or two of meditation would do a great deal to spur her toward full recovery, but she didn't have the time. She reached the quarters she had been assigned two years ago when she first came aboard the Felix and stepped through the door.

Her apprentice sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, PADDs with copies of the away team's reports scattered around her. Another PADD sat in front of the girl, apparently untouched. It was the one that was supposed to contain Perdia's version of the story.

The Holocron, too, had been removed from its usual resting place. It sat lightly on the table where the PADDs had been neatly stacked when the vixen had left. The device had been activated, the image of an avian Jedi Master etched into the air by a series of blue lines. The Jedi Master was seated the same way that Perdia was, her eyes closed and breathing even.

"You were right," Perdia said in a quiet voice, her ears flicking in Zannah's direction. "The Jedi do have a lot of calming techniques."

Zannah gave a slight smile and eased into a chair, watching the rust-striped kitten rise and carefully shut ancient Jedi device down. "The question is, are they working?"

"I've learned a lot about meditation," Perdi answered freely, beginning to gather up the PADDs. "It doesn't . . . I can't forget what I did."

"You shouldn't." Zannah watched the girl with tired eyes. "I'm sorry that you had to do what you had to do. But it was necessary. You were in the right."

Perdi shook her head and set the PADDs back on the table. "I heard we're going to Antares."

The vixen sighed and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. "Yes. Marc contacted Admiral Rikes. We're going to have to talk to the admiral about what happened."

"How?" Perdi demanded, hands on her hips. "What are we supposed to do? 'By the way, admiral, sir, we're Jedi and the Imperials think we're terrorists.' Oh yeah. Just what every 'fleeter wants to hear."

Zannah chuckled at the irritation in the girl's voice. This was the Perdi she knew. "We'll come up with something. In the meantime, you better get that report written up for the captain. You know that Lanna or I would be happy to help you with it."

"I guess." Perdia let her arms drop to her sides. "Um, Zannah . . . listen, about Marc . . ."

"Perdi, my broken leg is barely healed. My head hurts. I want to sleep. Either spit it out, or tell me later."

The redheaded kitten sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. "Can I stay with you until we get to Antares? He just - he doesn't understand, and I don't have what it takes to get into another argument with him. Not right now."

The elder Jedi let out a sigh of her own. "I should have known," she grumbled good-naturedly, understanding all too well the natural cycle of young adults butting heads with their parental figures. It wasn't as though she hadn't had an adolescence filled with fights with her own parents. "Fine, you can stay here - but only if you're quiet. You're either sleeping or working on that report, you understand? And I want you to keep practicing what you've learned today."

The mountain cat's purple eyes filled with relief. "Thank you," she said with feeling. "I'll practice the whole time, I promise." She gave a faint smile. "'Sides, who knows when a little extra meditation will come in handy?"

**********************************************************************

Ensign Brett Walick limped slowly into the Starsyde Lounge. The normally perky squirrel was strangely silent, her fluffy tail matted in several places by splotches of engine grease. The same grease had somehow found its way into her short hair and had smeared into the fur on her nose.

A number of off-duty officers turned to stare at the engineering ensign as she dragged herself over to the bar. "Coffee. Need coffee. Please?"

"Uh, sure Brett." The bartender shook his head and went to get the ensign's drink. "What's going on? Have there been problems with that ship we're towing? Commander Tigris on the rampage again?"

"Mmm, no." Brett folded her arms on the counter and rested her head on them. "S'the kid. Used to want kids, you know. Nice, fluffy kids. Damn kid. Don't want any after today."

The wolf chuckled and placed the coffee in front of her. "Which kid is bothering you? There's quite a few of them on the ship."

Brett perked up and snatched the coffee, downing it in five short gulps. "Ohhh, that's better." The squirrel set her mug down and rubbed at her eyes, leaving grease smudges on the lashes. "This one's the new kid. Kim. She's staying with Lanna."

"I hadn't heard about that one." The blue-collared wolf looked up as Lt. Steve Raymond entered. "Hey, Steve. You heard about Brett's nightmare kid?"

The raptor smirked and slid onto the barstool beside Brett. "You mean you haven't, Neo?"

The bartender shook his head again. "Nope, but I'm always the last one to get engineering gossip. Commander Tigris keeps you all busy down there." Ensign Andrew Neowulf gave the pair of engineers a wry grin, setting the lieutenant's usual rum and coke on the counter.

Steve took a long swig from the glass and glanced around to make sure that neither Lanna nor her charge were within range. "I heard it from Commander Fuhrer. They have to keep apprehending her. She was escaping and trying to break things. Sounds like she might be one of the saboteurs on board that refugee ship, if you ask me. Wilier told me she was right by the worst of the damage when they found her."

Ensign Walick shook her head vigorously, her usual energy returning. "Naw, she wouldn't be staying with Lanna if she'd hurt a ship on purpose."

"Not in one breathing piece, at any rate," Neo drawled. "Starships are the commander's babies, and gods help the person who hurts one of her babies."

Lt. Raymond chuckled. "I had to go in and repair the replicator earlier. Cute kid. She'd taken it apart to build one of those droids they use over in the Far Galaxy. Told me she was going to model it after the targ skull that the commander keeps on her wall."

Brett's jaw went slack. "Ohhh, nonononono. No robo-targs. That'd be bad. Bad, bad, bad. We'd all die." She turned a bit pink beneath her grease-splattered fur when the two men stared at her. "W-well, maybe we wouldn't die, exactly . . ."

"Uh huh." Neowulf shook his head. "Well, if you two ever need help with this kid, you can always bring her up here. She wouldn't bother me."

"Really now . . ." A wide grin split Brett's face. "Y'know, I might just take you up on that sometime . . ."

**********************************************************************

The nightmare slipped up on her softly, an insidious press behind the eyelids, an evil weight that made her stir uncomfortably in her sleep, unable to break free. She moaned and tossed in her bed, but there was no stopping it. 'The smell,' Zannah thought, 'why is it always the smell?' Night on the edge of Invisec, Coruscant always stank of ski taxi exhaust, rotting garbage and alien effluvia. Even in dreams its foul miasma permeated everything, almost covering the scent of spilled blood and charred fur. The swirling fog left behind by the latest storm from this area's microclimate cloaked everything in soft gray punctured here and there by the artificial stars of lighting on buildings, walkways, and passing traffic.

In her sleep, Zannah groaned and thrashed weakly. Some part of her subconscious mind knew things would only continue to worsen in the dream from here on, but she was powerless in the throes of the nightmare. The scenario had caught her now. There was no escape until it ran its course. In the dream she was still young and gawky, a cadet just finishing her third year of officer training at the Imperial Academy. The knees of her off duty jumpsuit were soaked through with fetid water from the puddle she had stumbled and fallen into. Her heart hammered in panic as she raised her eyes to the black cloaked figure standing backlit by flickering holosigns.

"Hello, child."

The icy voice froze the blood in her veins.

"No . . ." She turned to face the foul spectre of her nightmare. Zannah sucked in a breath as a brighter flare of light revealed something of the face shadowed by that cloak. Something was different this time; something was wrong. Every time she had relived these moments in her dreams it was the same . . . until now. The nightmare was based on events that had happened in her nineteenth year. The Sith she had faced on Coruscant had been a man she once called father. The outcome of that battle had left him dead from overconfidence and Zannah with scars that still had not healed even after all this time. This lingering nightmare was one of them.

Towering above her crouching form, the tiger swirled from the mist, his gleaming black armor reflecting her own terrified, distorted features. The lightsaber in his hand flared to existence, splashing lurid red light over the rooftop. She knew that face. It was the same Sith who had killed Master Kain on Daktia. What was he doing in her nightmare? The tiger spoke.

"I have been waiting for you, Roxzannah Lyles. Your father served us well, and the time has come for you to follow his footsteps into Darkness . . ."

"No . . ." She breathed again, frozen in fear by the imposing figure. Her ears lay flattened to her skull and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. This was not how it was supposed to go! Why was the dream different this time? She tensed, ready to fly or fight. In her dream she was still little more than a partially trained child, and nowhere near the knight she would come to be. She could not take on a Sith lord and survive. Zannah chose the only other option she had. She ran.

The tiger's chuckle echoed down the alleyway as the young Lemorian fled for her life, tripping, stumbling through the refuse piled to either side of the narrow walkway.

'You cannot escape, child . . . There is nowhere to run.'

His voice came from close behind, on her very heels as she splashed through puddles, the mist growing thicker as she wound through the back streets.

'Got to get away!' The single thought rang in her mind. She knew he was right, but blind panic spurred her on, refusing to let her stop.

The enormously tall buildings flashed past in a blur, yet she never seemed to gain any ground on the Sith chasing her. Zannah put every ounce of her strength into a leap that took her flying over a bottomless airshaft, and then whipped around a corner. There ought to be a lift just ahead that she could take to another level . . .

It wasn't there. Zannah found herself in a blind alley, the Sith closing in behind her. She trembled and shook, raising her eyes to see . . . and he was gone, nothing but swirling mists behind her, her own wake in the fog. Her heart lifted for a moment, relief making her muscles shake . . . and then the voice again, from the alley behind her.

"No more games, child . . . there is no escape."

She felt a blast of icy cold on her back as the shadows of the alley deepened, enveloping her . . .

"No!!" She cried, staggering away from the chill wind and groped for her lightsaber in its hidden pocket, hoping its light would banish the shadows. The saber, with its coruscating rainbow blade, erupted into life with a snap-hiss, and with a yell, Zannah whirled on the shadows only to find nothing there.

"Who are you?!" She challenged, backing away from the spot where she had last heard the voice. Her senses were dulled, inhibited. Whether the Sith or the dream was responsible she did not know. Waking was not an option. She could not fight free of the dream until it had run its course. "I won't let the Dark Side take me! I won't let you win. I'll die first!"

"My foolish child . . . we have already won."

The shadows coalesced before her, a deeper darkness in the gloom, a towering figure before her, the Heart of Darkness itself . . .

Zannah shied away, "Who are you?"

The crimson saber that ignited in the hand of the Sith answered her question. Panicked and angry, with nowhere to run, she slashed wildly at him, hoping to drive him back with a flurry of blows. She was as good as dead, and they both knew it, but she wasn't going to go down without a fight.

The dark form before her blocked her every blow effortlessly, spinning faster and faster, its hideous cackle ringing impossibly loud in her ears. The wind around them picked up, moaning howling, swirling into a vortex as they fought, a storm of darkness and debris and lashing rain surrounding them both. Their blades met close to the hilt and locked, the clashing energy casting a hellish glare over them both, illuminating the dark one's grinning, triumphant face . . . Her own face.

Zannah gasped, choked on the rain and the realization of whom she was fighting. In the sparking flare of the sabers, she saw herself. The face was older, harder and scarred, but unmistakably her own. She looked on in horror as the grim parody smiled at her mirthlessly. 'Give in,' the voice whispered through her mind, 'Your fear feeds me. Only your hatred can destroy me! You've already taken the first steps down the path of Darkness. Complete them! Join us . . .'

Aghast, Zannah stumbled backwards, disengaging the two sabers. She slammed into the solid side of the building and reeled away, dazed. The Sith easily knocked the saber from her hand and sent it spinning away down the alley.

Zannah tripped, stumbled and fell to her knees. She looked up just in time to see the descending arc of the Sith's lightsaber, and screamed.

**********************************************************************

'You've already taken the first steps down the path of Darkness. Complete them! Join us . . .'

Perdia came awake with a strangled gasp, her ears filled with the panicked rush of her heartbeat. The familiar safe haven of Zannah's quarters seemed completely alien with only the light from the viewports.

She had heard it clear as day. A Sith's dire threat. How many years had it been since she had awakened in the middle of the night to the death of her former master? Ten? Fifteen? She had only been a defenseless child then. But now . . .

The padawan swallowed and took a deep breath, her fingers silently working the latch that fastened her lightsaber to her side even in sleep. With the familiar weight of her weapon's pommel in her hand, the teenager crept toward the door of her master's bedroom.

**********************************************************************

Zannah did not look up as the door to her bedroom slid open. Her gaze was fixed on the warp streaks outside her viewport, though the normally soothing display had no peace for her now.

"Come in."

Perdia half fell through the entryway, catching herself on the back of a convenient chair as the door closed behind her. A cursory glance around the room assured her that they were alone. "A-a dream? It was a dream?" Through eyes still bleary with sleep she made out her mentor, standing slim and still, backlit against the window. A stranger might not have noticed the tension in the vixen's slender frame, but the two women had been working together, sharing a bond, for over two years. "Zannah?" Perdia swallowed hard, not knowing what to say.

"How much did you get?" Zannah's voice was soft, just barely hiding a quiver in her tone. The dream had shaken her badly.

Perdia closed her eyes, sliding her lightsaber back onto her belt. "Not . . . Not all of it. Feelings, impressions. Like I was watching a holodrama through a tank of water or a thick piece of glass. I thought it was real, for a moment."

Zannah shook her head. "I'm sorry I woke you." She smiled wryly to herself, finally turning to face her apprentice and friend. Normally their positions were reversed while they tried to decipher Perdia's dreams. It felt odd to be on the other end of the equation for once.

"It's okay." Perdia ran a hand through frazzled and sleep mussed red hair. "Zannah . . . Did that . . . did your dream mean anything?"

The vixen sighed as she allowed herself to sink into a chair, pulling the robe she wore a bit tighter around herself. "Honestly? I don't know. Visions have never been one of my talents. The future and the past get muddled in dreams. It might be just a mishmash of images my subconscious welded together into a nightmare. It may be a warning from the Force. I have no way of knowing for sure." She rubbed at her temples.

Perdi gave a soft snort. "How often have you told me that only for things to blow up in our faces?"

More often than I care to admit, the vixen thought to herself. "I don't have visions and dreams the way you do, Perdi. I'm not as strong as you-"

"I'm sick of hearing that!" the exhausted kitten snapped. "What can I do that you can't? Huh?" Perdia ran her hand through her hair, leaving much of it standing on end. "I can't Force bond, I can't-" The girl swallowed hard, her jaw taking on a stubborn set as she moved closer to the vixen. "I can't lose you, Zan. When I heard that-I thought they had come for us. I thought you were gone."

Zannah froze for a moment, then rose heavily from her chair. "Perdi, it was just a dream," she said in the low, soothing voice she had always used with her own young daughter. "It was just a dream." She reached her apprentice's side and straightened the girl's hair. "It's all right now. You're not going to lose me."

The vixen squeezed her eyes shut as she hugged the frightened girl. And when she finds out what I've done, what I'm planning to do . . . she'll never forgive me.

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The door chime sounded in Lanna's quarters just as the tigress pulled on her robe. She was fresh from a shower after a most invigorating sparring session with Commander Fuhrer in one of the crew gyms. Part of her had been very surprised that he had shown up after all, but that had not stopped her from taking out her very Klingon aggression on him as promised. After all, the bruises would fade in a few days. "Come in," she spoke up, cinching the cord at her waist.

The door slid open to reveal a familiar figure. Zannah had convinced Dr. Pierce to let her stay out of sickbay so long as she followed his rules, which included continuing to use a brace and cane on her leg until the FELIX arrived at Antares. She had complied, except when it came to practicing with Marc and Perdia. Pierce grumbled that it was taking longer to heal than he liked, and admonished her to stop aggravating the injury, but it was the tired grumbling of a doctor who knew when to pick his battles. So long as she wore it while he was watching, Pierce was willing to let the rest of it go.

The Lemorian smiled at the tigress, but there was a shadow in her eyes. "Hi, Lanna. Mind if I come in?"

"Be my guest." The tigress perched on the edge of a couch, curling her knees under her. She gestured to the empty chair across from her and the vixen sank into it, her injured leg stretched out in front of her. "So what's on your mind?" The two women had hit it off right from the start. It wasn't unusual for them to spend time off together drinking bloodwine and comparing cultural backgrounds. The Klingon had become a close friend to both Jedi, not just because she knew the full truth of their secret but also because she had the reflexes necessary to spar with the two Jedi.

Zannah leaned back in her seat, her ears flicking up and down. "I . . ." Zannah sighed and began massaging her temples. "I need you to tell me about the two Sith you met."

The lieutenant commander frowned, a shadow passing over her face. "PetaQ," she sneered. "He deserves to die, and the woman with him." Lanna shook her head and got to her feet, her robe swishing around her ankles. "What is it that you want to know?"

"I need to know what they look like."

The Klingon stopped in her tracks, giving her friend and drinking buddy a strange look. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing," the vixen answered softly. "I just need some confirmation, and you're the only person who can provide it. Perdi sensed them, but she never saw them."

"She told me the male was the one who killed her master." Lanna crossed her arms, frowning openly at Zannah. "He was a cat. Black fur. A leopard, maybe, or a jaguar. His mistress . . ." The Klingon engineer sneered and turned toward the viewscreen. "Small, white fur. A ferret, I think."

"But no tigers?"

"Tigers?" Lanna chuckled, relaxing her stance. "What, are you afraid I'm one of them? I think you'd have noticed that by now."

Zannah managed a weak laugh of her own. "No, nothing like that." She shook her head. "I had a bad dream, that's all. I saw the Sith who killed Master Kain back on Daktia, and I thought . . . I wondered if it might mean he was the one behind the Hunter we fought."

The tigress crossed the room and opened a concealed compartment, pulling out a bottle of real bloodwine and two glasses. "I thought Perdi was the one with true dreams?" she asked, pouring some of the wine for each of them.

"Sometimes," Zannah admitted. "It's unusual. I've never heard of any other Jedi having so much . . .well, accuracy. I've looked throughout the Holocron, but I can't find anything to explain it." She gave a slight smile and took one of the glasses from Lanna's hand. "It's difficult to have a student whose questions you can't answer."

"Maybe that's it, then." Lanna took a sip of her bloodwine. "That fight with the wolf - Hunter, you called him? It was impressive. It was also the first time you've put your student in that much danger. You had to watch her kill." She gave a slight shrug and settled back in her chair. "I know your philosophies and my views on killing are different. Maybe it's just protective instincts turning into a nightmare."

Zannah smiled. "You might be right. Some dreams are only nightmares, nothing more."

Lanna lifted her glass. "I'll drink to that."

**********************************************************************

Admiral Allen Rikes emerged from the turbolift and entered the ORISKANY's combat information center, affectionately termed the CIC by its crew. He nodded to the tactical officers stationed to the 'lift's right. They nodded their own acknowledgements, some with professional smiles, before returning to their tasks. Rikes leaned on the railing that separated the upper deck from the lower and took in the space.

The CIC was a large, split-level room. The center of the lower area was dominated by a large holographic display, which currently showed a three-dimensional schematic of the system. Icons representing ships, freighters, transports moved in a synchronized dance around the starbase and space-docks, which were centered on the Lagrange point between the binary stars of the system. Traffic was directed by Antares pattern control, with the ORISKANY playing the role of observer - and occasionally in-system enforcer when it needed to. As the admiral examined the screen, two blips that were so close to one another they could have been a single icon entered the system. Rikes stepped down next to the main Ops station.

"Can we get a better look at what the FELIX is bringing us, lieutenant?" Rikes asked softly.

"Aye, sir," the Terran beagle replied. His fingers flew over his console and part of the CIC display changed from displaying icons to the actual image from the long-range sensors.

At this range the image was still small, but the two ships were easily identifiable. The FELIX, with her distinctive ring-shaped nacelle, was towing a ship obviously of Far Galaxy design. Though, Rikes supposed he was being generous in calling it a "ship" at this point. Much of vessel seemed to be missing. As the image grew he could make out missing hull plating and whole sections of the unfortunate craft exposed to the hard vacuum of space. Fortunately it wasn't bleeding atmosphere or other, far more dangerous vital elements.

Rikes listened with half an ear as the FELIX made contact with the in-system authorities and was granted a berth for their cargo. He frowned slightly as the image sharpened and he was able to make out more of the damage. The hull was scorched from enemy fire as well as what looked like a massive explosion from the inside, if the burst metal was any indication. Just what the hell had Xavier gotten himself into?

"Constran to Rikes."

"Rikes here."

"With all due respect, sir, what in the name of the Prophets are they towing?"

"I suspect we'll soon find out, Kylee. Send a message to Xavier. I'd like a word with him and his XO when we get into transporter range."

"Yes, sir."

"Likely we'll have more refugees as well. Coordinate with Antares CIC and offer them whatever assistance they might need."

"Aye, sir."

**********************************************************************

"This is Starsyde," Brett announced in her very best tour guide voice as she led Kim into the deserted lounge. The officers who had been enjoying a break during her earlier coffee run had all returned to their stations while the ship docked at Starbase Antares, abandoning the bar to Ensign Neowulf's capable hands. "It's the best place to eat on the whole ship. We even have a real chef." She beamed at Kim, who looked more than a bit disappointed. "Don't you like cooked food?"

"I guess." Kim shrugged and fussed with her clothes. "But why do you call it 'Starsyde' if you don't keep the side of a star in here? I don't really care about food. Now, if you had a star, I could do some really interesting experiments-"

Ensign Walick shuddered. "Please no more experiments."

The lion cub scowled, her nose going into the air with a haughty sniff. "Oh come on, you weren't really hurt. And that doctor of yours fixed you up nicer than a medical droid and a big tank of bacta."

"No more tail-severing!"

"None of you people are any fun . . ." Kim blinked and sniffed the air again. "What's that smell?"

The ensign gave her a suspicious look and checked to make sure that her tail was still firmly attached. "That is lunch. If you're hungry, I mean. Since you broke your replicator again building that . . . that tail-eating monster."

The girl gave her a cherubic look and padded toward the bar counter. "Sammy didn't want to eat you. He couldn't digest you. No innards."

Brett shuddered and followed her nightmare charge. "Neeeeoo!" she called, peering around nervously. The thought of Kim around all the Starsyde replicators was making her doubt the wisdom of bringing the girl here. "Neo, where are you?"

The blue-collared wolf appeared from the back, a pot of an ominously-bubbling orange . . . something . . . held in his hot pad-covered hands. "Hey there, Brett." The Wulf gave her charge a curious glance. "And you must be the young lady that the whole ship's talking about."

Kim gave a distracted nod, her own attention directed at the potted goop. "What's that?"

"Top secret," Neo answered easily. "In fact, in the wrong hands, this could be positively dangerous."

The lion cub's eyes lit up. "Can I see?"

Neo whisked the pot away from the counter, putting it in a secure spot against the wall. "'Fraid not. So what's your poison, miss-"

"Kim. Kim Amethyst." The blonde girl cast a furtive look toward her chaperone. "You have poison here? Really?"

Brett shuddered and pointed the girl to the closest bar stool. "He wants to know what you want to drink. He does not," she said emphatically, "have poison."

The girl looked somewhat disappointed as she slouched onto the stool Brett had indicated. "No poison?"

"I'll get you a soda," Neo laughed. "We should be all right here, Brett, if you want to go."

"But-" Brett gave the pot of orange goo a worried look.

"Go on now," the other ensign answered, shooing the squirrel toward the door. "Don't you worry about us."

**********************************************************************

Marc Xavier straightened his tunic one final time before pressing the announcement chime outside Rikes' ready room. He took a moment to frown at his non-uniform pants. For some inexplicable reason, the replicator in his quarters had started to issue pants with pockets, and only pants with pockets. After several attempts to cajole the machine into cooperating, the best he could do was a pair that was almost regulation, having only two pockets. Given that he'd started with a pair of cargo pants with no less than twelve compartments, he'd decided to cut his losses and get Tigris' team on the defect. Apparently none of the ship's replicators were cooperating, and the only crew members in regulation uniforms were those who'd had pants on hand already.

"Come," the admiral called, drawing Xavier from his musings. He pressed the door's control and strode into the room, Commander Hare following silently behind him. The two came to attention at the admiral's desk.

"Thank you for coming, Captain Xavier, Commander Hare," Rikes said, waving them to sit down. The two seated themselves across the desk. Rikes leaned back in his chair and regarded the younger officers with a careful eye. Both looked stressed and concerned, but it worried the admiral to see the FELIX's first officer looking more collected than her captain. "So what exactly happened out there? You said you couldn't give a full report now because someone was injured?"

"Well, sir," Marc began, trying to collect his thoughts. "Yes, two of the away team were injured on the mission, one critically but she is expected to make a full recovery."

"And the other?"

Marc's ears pinked as he blushed in shame. "She's tough. There was some emotional trauma, but Lizzy is confident she'll be able to work through it all."

"I see," Rikes said. A quick glance at Hare didn't give him any further answers. The blue-furred officer sat perfectly still, a politely neutral expression on her face, giving away absolutely no detail. This would have looked natural on any of the Vulcans under his fleet's command, from Captain T'Lai to Commander T'Lara. For the normally animated and amiable Hare, this was very telling-but Rikes had yet to determine its meaning. "What happened to that ship? It looks like at least one of the explosions came from within."

"Yes, sir," Xavier replied. "They limped across the Rift and set out a distress signal. When the FELIX responded, their reactor was about to go. We started to transport refugees onto our own ship and an away team consisting of Commander Tigris, some hand-picked engineers and two security experts beamed over to try and stop the breach."

"I take it they weren't successful."

"No, sir. They barely escaped."

"Is that when the two casualties occurred?" Rikes questioned carefully. He was aware that he seemed to have to ask leading questions to get anywhere in this debriefing. Years of experience told him that something was not quite right with this scenario.

"No, sir. There was an altercation with a saboteur on the ship. The security experts were defending Tigris' team while the tried to stop the reactor from breaching."

"What happened to the saboteur?"

"He was killed in self-defense by one of the security experts after they were transported off the ship."

Rikes leveled Xavier with a stern look. He was growing tired of having to pry pieces of the story from the younger captain. He waited a moment, hoping Xavier would volunteer the information himself. Rikes felt a moment of gratification and relief when Marc continued to explain. It was short lived when the younger officer came to what was undoubtedly the most disturbing information thus far.

"Sir, the altercation took place in a Romulan infirmary."

"Romulan?" Rikes asked in surprise, sitting forward in his chair.

Xavier nodded. No Starfleet captain wanted to get involved in any sort of altercation with a Romulan ship, but as a senior officer, Rikes had to know. "Yes, sir. They were cloaked and watching us while we dealt with the JAVELIN."

"Was the saboteur Romulan?" Rikes asked.

Xavier shook his head. "No, he was from the Far Galaxy, hunting escaping persons of interest to the Empire. A bounty hunter of sorts."

"Why was he blowing up the ship then?" Rikes asked, frowning. "Were these people among the refugees?"

"Unknown, sir," Marc replied carefully. "He died before any of my people could question him. The Romulans beamed the away team off the JAVELIN before Tigris and her engineers could finish their repairs. They managed to keep the reactor from completely melting down, but they couldn't stop the failure entirely. I'm sure the ship wouldn't have survived even as much as it has if the explosion had been much worse. He attacked one of my security specialists after they beamed over and were put in sickbay. I'm told he was initially unconscious but awoke sooner than expected and was able to attack."

"I see," Rikes said carefully. Instinct told him that Marc was still holding something back from him, but for now, Rikes would put it down to frayed nerves and a close brush with the Romulans. "You got your people back."

The fox gave his superior officer a slight smile. "Yes, sir. The Romulans were . . . unfailingly polite. They even returned Commander Tigris in one piece. I think her ego was bruised a little, but she was unharmed."

Rikes snorted. He'd have to get details on that later. The animosity between the Klingon Empire and the Romulan Star Empire was . . . epic. The Romulans had to be up to something if they'd forgone a chance to rough up a Klingon, even one in a Starfleet uniform. It was possible they were worried about attracting the attention of the 'fleet and the lieutenant commander's uniform was the only thing that had saved her from an "unfortunate accident", but experience told the admiral to always look below the surface when dealing with Romulans.

"Did the Romulan mention anything?"

"Just that he was in the area responding to a distress beacon. He claimed that he beamed my people off the JAVELIN before it exploded, and they would have died otherwise."

Rikes arched a brow. "It seems unlike Commander Tigris to cut things that closely."

"The lieutenant commander insists she would have been able to contain the breach, but she and the rest of her party were beamed off the ship before they could complete repairs."

"I see," Rikes sat back in his chair and regarded the other officer. It worried him that the Romulans were poking their noses around the Rift - but he was equally worried about the captain. He couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that Captain Xavier was keeping something from him, something of grave importance. "And they said nothing else?"

"No, sir. They re-cloaked after we got our people back."

Rikes nodded. "Thank you for your report, captain, commander. Dismissed."

Xavier and Hare rose and exited Rikes' ready room silently. Rikes stood and walked to the ready room window. The vast, star-speckled expanse filled the view. Tiny in comparison, the Antares yards buzzed with activity. The remains of the JAVELIN didn't look entirely out of place among the other partially completed craft. Not at this distance at least. Up close the battle damage was much more obvious; Rikes watched as the tug-shuttles maneuvered the ship.

The attitudes of the FELIX's captain and first officer concerned him greatly. Xavier was hiding something, and Rikes hoped to God that the young captain would either resolve the situation, or confide in him before something went wrong. If the Romulans were planning something, they wouldn't have much time at all. Rikes let out a deep sigh and pressed the comm. stud on his desk.

The cheerful voice of his communications officer answered.

"Lieutenant, I need you to send word to the FELIX that I want a complete report of everything that went on while their away team was aboard the Romulan vessel. They have two days."

"Yes, sir."

"When you're finished, connect me with Starfleet HQ."

"Aye, admiral. I'm connecting you now."

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