The New Jedi Order: A Vision of Confluence

PART VI: SHIFT IN CIRCUMSTANCE

XVI: Ignition

The blazebugs spoke of chaos and panicked, reflexive reaction. Clusters of the insects buzzed and spun about the projection of the infidel moon, indicating frenetic searching for the deep-buried khot-bru'basal. Commander Harmae indeed succeeded and succeeded well at his task, planting the basal deep beneath the lunar surface, so deep as to continue to baffle the 'Imperials'. Prognostications of the Shapers claimed the moon would survive no more than three revolutions, measuring the heathen's world's remaining time in mere days.

Malik Carr was sanguine as he watched. His squadron: reformed, retired. They watched the events from a distance of several light-seconds, well outside of both the demesne of the world's gravity and the punishing sting of the Imperial's weapons of punishing light. He did not command his ships to hide. The Imperials could see him, could see all of his squadron. He wanted them to know he was watching. He wished for them to quail under his judgment, while they scurried about like rim-stratum scavengers.

He wanted them to curse his name and know that he would watch their end from a seat of high disdain.

Commander Harmae was granted lordship of a miid-roic, as recompense for his daring implantation. The battleship Egk-barkkan flew as one of Carr's valued escorts, kept close to ward the grand cruiser Blood Spat in Wrath. Such proximity allowed for Harmae to attend Carr at his master's desire. The touch of the Bloody Slayer was strong in Harmae, but Malik Carr could see the makings of a great tactician and leader in the teneral warrior.

Tak-tak-tak scraped Malik Carr's talon, impatience and restlessness channeled through his truncated arm. Harmae, at his right hand, noticed the twitch and smiled with fringed lips.

"Give me leave, Warleader. Why must we watch like Shapers, when we could be blooded as Warriors?"

"Do you believe the Impeerials may yet overcome the khot-bru'basal?" Malik Carr kept his words mild, wishing to know Harmae's mind, not chasten the Commander for speaking up.

"They are a more dangerous foe than we have yet faced, Warleader. Their arms are potent and their dead-clad ships mighty. I say: let us not give them time or respite to carve cunning new plans. Let us harry them and distract them, to ensure the 'basal's function."

The suggestion was not without merit, nor had it failed to occur to Malik Carr. By his ascension to Warleader, not long yet ago, greater mysteries had been revealed to him and grander tactics leant out by the many red-stained hands of the Slayer. It was this elevation and his greater perspective that allowed Malik Carr to shake his head at Harmae's suggestion. The Commander was not wrong, but rather his experience incomplete.

"I would agree."

Harmae's eyes darkened and Malik Carr could see his subordinate's muscles tense.

"But I would not act thusly." He gestured to the broad swarms of blazebugs. "On all facts, you speak truly. The Impeerials are formidable. Supreme Commander Nas Choka has relayed much to us in warning. As have our own losses in this system. Were we against the infidels of the Republic, we would do as you recommend."

Tak-tak-tak. This was why he had been elevated, after all. Nas Choka saw in Malik Carr his temperance, his ability to master his humours and observe the wider strategy. Though his blood burned to bring combat, as any true Warrior's should, he was master of his desire. He looked to his betters as his guide: at Fondor, the Supreme Commander wisely chose to disengage from the Impeerial squadron. Some might try to heap shame on Nas Choka for what they perceived as cowardice, to not sacrifice his armada that the Slayer might allow them to break the Impeerial warships. They might say it would be better if the Supreme Commander died as gol'hok do, with jaws locked about their foe's throat even as their entrails were spilt.

That would have been a waste. The measure of a Warrior was not to merely make war, but to allow for a future that war might continue. To act otherwise was to be feral, mindless: a thing that the Slayer would not smile on. The Slayer cared little for beasts, desiring bold champions and brave bloodletters. War Eternal was the goal of the warrior, with the means bent to achieve that end.

Harmae's desire - and Malik Carr's too, to be sure - would see much of his squadron lost to the superior guns of the Impeerial line. It would be glorious, it would be bloody - but their war would end.

This was unacceptable.

"Consider instead all as parts of a greater strategy, Commander. The khot-bru'basal is the heart of our tactic. Can any ignore such a threat as a moon? Indeed not. Then, Commander, when their eyes are set and all their will is bent toward overcoming that one particular task: that is when we will strike again. It is all a matter of timing."

Harmae inclined his head, knotted braids rattling bone tokens against the pauldrons of his vonduun.

"I understand, Warleader. Your words are wise."

"As will yours be, Commander. Go and meditate on the teachings of Aurn Kukahl. Specifically, his third teachings."

"Belek tiu," Harmae genuflected and took his leave. From across the strategic grotto, Malik Carr espied Harrar, who was in conference with lesser priests about burnt-bone prognostications. They shared a nod, as brothers.

The din of 'droids' and taghmata slaughtering vong and their auxiliaries faded swiftly behind them, dampened and blocked by switch-back passages and torn-open hatches. The underbelly of Fondor, the labyrinth network of service tunnels, brought to mind the deeper bilges of Imperial warships, where wire-cage wrapped lumens flickered and the detritus of decades, if not centuries, accumulated. There were nests of shredded insulation, abandoned by whatever vermin made them. Overhead, long and flat lume-panels flickered desultorily, trying to light from dregs of electricity that still flickered through Fondor's traumatized grid.

Tshek Ulm could not be far. Zalthis and Solidian loped along, ignoring screeches and clangs as their plate caught against narrow doorframes and clipped corners. Vox connection continued to return - according to spotty transmissions, the bio-titans of the vong appeared to act like disruption towers, sleeting out both Imperial vox and Republican com with white-noise and shouting interference.

All of which were now dead, killed by the heroic stand of Legio Lacassex's Primus engine. Word of that Warlord could not but raise both their spirits, injecting new energy into their stride and Solidian had muttered sourly about missing such a engine-battle.

By all accounts, the battle for Fondor was winding down. The bio-titans were slain, the Warlord of Lacassex held the center and on the flanks, massed tides of battle droids swept forward and drove in the invaders back.

In face of such a shift in circumstance - did the subtle mission of this 'Tshek Ulm' matter?

Zalthis refused to consider otherwise. The Yuuzhan Vong armada hung still in orbit. The shields of Fondor kept them at bay even still. The mustered citizenry and automata of Fondor were pressing forward, though fortunes might yet be reversed again should the vong have reign to rain fire down from orbit.

No, the scarred invaders continued to prove more canny than the Republican implied. Any vong - any vong - with knowledge and access to the precious shield generators of Oridin was a threat. That was the only practical, the only theoretical.

S'hmu lay slain, along with almost all of Zalthis' slapdash auxiliaries. In their name alone, he would hunt down this Ulm and crush the life from him. He felt Solidian's similar resolve, his brother's bare, blood-streaked face set firm and eyes hooded.

With vox connection returning, they were able once more to triangulate their positions against Fondor's global positioning systems and the theatre grid. To Zalthis' shock, they were closer indeed to Oridin City than he feared. At an Astartes' pace, they might be directly beneath the shield generator complex in an hour, perhaps less, if the maintenance tunnels ran true. The Yuuzhan Vong were hardier and faster than a mortal human, so he estimated two hours perhaps for Ulm, if pressed.

By what means the vong intended to bring down the shields, Zalthis could not guess. Were they Astartes, he would suspect melta-charges, perhaps a large warhead borne by one of the squad. The vong did not appear to utilize many large-scale explosives, outside of the matter-reactive magma missiles of their battleships.

Then again, an amphistaff introduced to sensitive databanks and twisted had a destructive power all its own.

'Motion,' Zalthis murmured. Solidian, helmetless, narrowed his eyes at Zalthis' whisper from his collar-vox. Smudgy red streaks up ahead, forty meters, flickered and flared in Zalthis' peripheral vision. 'The number is unclear.'

'There's no one else in here,' Solidian whispered in return. 'It must be the Commander.'

Zalthis gently released the safety on his borrowed bolter. Solidian adjusted his grip on S'hmu's rotary cannon.

Solidian huffed in amusement.

'I truly have no theoretical for how they'll respond to us.'

'They could flee,' Zalthis agreed.

'Or charge. Or scatter.'

The uncertainty was almost enervating. They would need to react instantly. Act and react. Exactly as trained.

Slowing their pace, the two Ultramarines closed the distance. Stealth was a dream - old crumbled insulation and ceiling tiles knocked loose from groundquakes crunched and crackled beneath their tread.

They found Tshek Ulm easily, for the tall and rangy vong could be no other, supervising breaching yet another emergency hatch. A full dozen warriors, all notably taller and bulkier than most Zalthis had seen before filled the small chamber. Old, dusty consoles were embedded along the walls, while pipes as wide as a man's arms outstretched burst from the floor to wend and snake into the ceiling, into the walls. It was an industrial room, of some sort: some ancient control nexus rarely trod.

Tshek Ulm shouldered through his subordinates, coming to a halt facing Zalthis and Solidian. A thick-bodied amphistaff twisted in his fists, the biot hissing and baring long, glistening fangs. Several of the vong spread out, lifting strange, coral-and-wet-muscle constructs that engulfed their left arms, braced by their right.

The urge to simply gun down all of the vong was strong and he had sufficient bolts remaining.

Silence. Dust tricked in the gloomy air. Lips peeled back, exposing teeth etched with runes, sharpened to points. Transhuman biology heated.

Tshek Ulm was of height with an Astartes, but with a litheness more similar to the eldar breed. His living armor was gold-flecked green, glossy, chased with silver about the edges of armor plate. His warriors wore similar colors.

'Aistarteez,' Ulm hissed between teeth. Solidian grinned, needing no translation.

'You know your killers, then,' the Ultramarine called.

'Speak not tongue of infidel,' Ulm barked, the words intelligible but the grammar strange to Zalthis. His command of their speech was incomplete.

'Tshek Ulm,' Zalthis did not raise his voice, yet it filled the room all the same. 'By name Imperium, by sign Republic, to die: sentenced.'

He was sure he sounded a fool, but Ulm's face darkened with anger, not mockery.

'Butcher the Holy Tongue! Death yours!'

Amphistaves stiffened. Hands crept toward bandoliers slung across vonduun armor.

Solidian fingered the rotary cannon's trigger. Zalthis double checked his ammo count.

Violence, inevitable, erupted.

Four vong died in under a second. Zalthis prioritized those nearest the far door, those who had been applying sharpened amphistaff to metal to prise it open. He hoped Ulm was incensed enough to fight and die here, but feared to allow even one vong to escape.

One bolt struck a vong in the chest, detonating prematurely but still shattering the entire plastron of his armor. Blood coughed from beneath his helm and he went to his knees.

One bolt glanced off vonduun plate, striking poorly and caroming into the ferrocrete wall where the mass-reactive fuse tripped. Dust and shrapnel blitzed out. The second bolt hit true, between chest and chin, punching into and through a warrior's neck. There was not enough flesh to trip the fuse, but the warrior fell, head barely held on with a few tendons.

Another warrior was moving, a credit to the heightened agility of the invaders, and took a bolt at the hip. The joint exploded and the warrior collapsed, shrieking. His claws scrabbled for a bandolier of bugs, but Zalthis was tracking the next.

The fourth warrior, who strangely stood apart, leapt for the half-shredded hatch, just as Zalthis expected. One bolt went wide, cratering the wall. The second Zalthis watched, as if time slowed to a crawl. He even glimpsed the flaring ignition of the bolt's jet.

The last vong's back was turned. He reached for the rents in the frame of the door, looking to pry it the rest of the way. Zalthis' bolt punched into a lumped mass of coral that clung to the back of his armor like a limpet or barnacle.

The world went weird.

Zalthis looked at himself. He saw himself, inverted, feet planted and bolter raised. Smoke wisped from the barrel. Solidian, at his side, was just then depressing the trigger of the rotary cannon, barrel beginning to spin. He saw the vong from behind and from the fore, afterimages dancing.

A terrible, grinding shriek stabbed at his ears. A tremendous force, like something reached into his body and hooked fingers behind his fused ribs, tried to haul Zalthis forward and off his feet.

The vong all stumbled, swaying and almost tipping backwards.

The world returned to normal.

A perfect sphere, three meters wide, bit out the far wall, the hatch, a cluster of pipes. Two vong were drawn, stretched and shattered and splattered out to the lip of the impossible hole. Zalthis's mouth hung open.

'Throne alive!' Solidian shouted.

Zalthis had no time left to wonder, for Tshek Ulm was upon him.

Amphistaff lashed, first stiff as a blade, then twisting like a whip. He slid aside, letting the biot whip past his left. The vong filled his vision, fronting close. Taloned fingers grasped for his bolter - Zalthis wrenched the gun away, clamping it to his thigh and ripping his combat knife free in the same motion.

He remembered his theoreticals. And Obroa-skai. When Ulm jabbed hard again with his amphistaff, Zalthis met it not edge-to-edge, but slapped it aside with the flat of his blade against the broadened back of the biot. The vong fought silently, in contrast to the usual snarling bombast of his kind. Blue eyes narrowed with focus behind his bone-colored helm, fixed on Zalthis.

Ulm pressed. Zalthis was no bladesmith, for all he had trained as rigorously as his brothers. He found himself on the back-foot, knife a blur as he kept the monomolecular edge of the biot from his flesh. Dimly, he heard cries and shouts and the crackle of blaster-fire, the hissing spatter of plasma as Solidian, alone, took on the rest.

Clang went the last six inches of his knife, lopped clean off and spinning aside. Ulm cried in victory, whirling and jabbing at knee, hip, chest and then head. The vong's speed was incredible - honed by decades of training and the augmentations of his promotions. A duelist like Captain Thiel might have dismantled Ulm in moments, but Zalthis was no veteran.

Snickt and half of Zalthis' pauldron slid away with a clang, cloven deep enough to seize the reactive gearing that supported it. Suddenly, his range of motion was curtailed.

Mortality struck him hard. He might die here. Under the soil of a foreign world, fighting to save a planet not of the Imperium. He might die here.

Zalthis shouted, wordless, ripping his combat knife around in a violent, horizontal slash. The air sang around the edge and Ulm finally gave space.

'Strong-fought, infidel.' the warrior saluted.

In the moment of pause, Zalthis realized there was no other noise of battle.

Ulm must have noticed as well, for the vong's visible blue eyes widened.

Blue-clad digits clamped onto Ulm's upper arm and squeezed.

Vonduun held - barely, creaking, but the warrior winced and spun, attention broken. Zalthis darted forward. His knife, monomolecular, sunk to the hilt in Ulm's gut. Solidian, still gripping the warrior's arm, caught Ulm's wrist and shattered it, amphistaff falling from nerveless and limp fingers. Ceramite tread caught the biot and smashed it into the duracrete underfoot.

Tshek Ulm trembled, impaled, caught between two Astartes.

'That's for the alien,' Solidian growled, then wrenched the vong commander off of Zalthis' knife. Sideways. Dark blood spattered. Intestines flopped. Solidian cast the vong to the ground. He raised his boot and brought it down. Once. Twice. Thrice.

The other vong were dead. Some were scorched from blasterfire, overwhelming at close range and concentrated on the weakest points at neck, groin and underarm. Others were broken dolls, limbs askew.

Solidian bore new slashes and a cratered, smoldering scar at his left thigh.

Noticing Zalthis' gaze, his brother gestured a thumb toward one of the dead vong, one with a lumpen, arm-mounted biot.

'They carry plasma, now.'

Tshek Ulm, at their feet, lacked a head. Instead, only a smear of brain and gore, stamped with Astartes tread, spread out from above his neck.

It all felt somehow…hollow. Anticlimactic. That it all just ended here, in some forgotten service station, ten meters below the surface of Fondor. The bodies of the other vong - some were missing. There lay Tshek Ulm, there lay three seared by blasterfire. The four Zalthis had slain with bolts were there too. Two were stretched and shattered smears, drawn toward the hollow sphere gouged out of the room. That left two more. Solidian noticed his confusion.

'I believe that was some sort of…gravity mine. Like the 'dovin basals' of their starships.'

Zalthis stepped closer.

The missing matter was crisp and clean. As if las-cut, the edges of the spherical scoop were smooth and exact. Dust drooled from bit-out ceiling, wafting down to cover a handful of fragments of ferrocrete and metal shards that scattered the bottom of the crater. There was no sign at all of the vong who Zalthis had shot, who had detonated in such a way. Likewise, no sign of the missing warriors.

A brutal way to die. Erased, it seemed, from existence itself. The rare and potent vortex weapons of the Destroyer company could do similar.

'I don't recall the Republicans knowing of any such weapons.'

'Nor I,' Solidian agreed, toeing a crawling, loose thud bug on the ground until the biot flipped over onto its back. He crushed it decisively. 'Fondor continues to showcase new dangers. Imagine if we had been closer.'

Zalthis chose not to. That was no way for an Astartes to end. He tugged a cloth from a pouch at his belt, wiping away the vong's dark blood from his knife, returning it to its hip sheathe. Solidian slowly shouldered S'hmu's rotary cannon, peering around.

'Then we are done.' he said, like an affirmation.

Zalthis nodded, before reaching up and doffing his helmet. The air was stuffy and old, slightly stale, but to be free from the confines of his helmet was pleasing. Not long ago, he had only worn the open-faced casques of a Neophyte, and adapting to the full-seal of Astartes plate was not immediate. There was a wet-iron spice in the air - aerosolized vong blood. He gathered saliva, spat it out, sizzling on the duracrete.

'Well, brother,' Solidian held out a hand. Zalthis took it, clasping forearms in a clatter of ceramite. 'This has been a strange campaign, but you led us well.'

'Gratitude,' Zalthis murmured.

'Truly. I have been - choleric. I hope you can forgive me.'

'Always, Sol.' Zalthis keyed his vox, listening to static crackle. 'Brother Zalthis, to Lieutenant Optarch. Brother Zalthis, calling Lieutenant Optarch.'

There was a long moment, before, scratchy, drawn, but discernible, their Lieutenant spoke back.

'Your connection is poor, brother, but I hear you. This is Lieutenant Optarch.'

'We have engaged and slain a Yuuzhan Vong commander. Our theoretical was that he sought the generators in Oridin City.' He peered down at the remains of Ulm. 'His squad is dead.'

'Report your grid coordinates. I will ensure the garrison at the generator is redoubled.'

Zalthis relayed their new coordinates, branched off from the main transit tunnel. Optarch gave praise, evoking both pride and embarrassment. Solidian just grinned, his friend ever ready to take plaudits when offered.

'Return to the surface. A Thunderhawk will be sent to collect you. The siege is broken and it is predicted the vong fleet will draw anchor soon.'

'By your command.'

Before they left, Solidian crouched and prised a scute from Ulm's vonduun, the biot stiff with rigor mortis. He turned the glossy scale over in his hands, then tucked it into a pouch. Zalthis asked with raised eyebrow.

'A trophy,' Sol replied. 'Our first commander killed, and in personal combat no less.'

Later, aboard the Thunderhawk, which collected as well the taghmata that accompanied the battle droid battalion, Zalthis watched as Solidian carefully, gently punch a hole through the corner of the stolen scute. Derek and Vili, who Zalthis was pleased to see unscathed, hunched together, already dozing. He would see both Fondorians received the pay of an Auxilia for their steadfastness. The others, cut down in the dark, he would see a stipend paid to their kin. Ultramar did not forget those who fought alongside her sons.

Sol swiftly looped a leather thong through the vonduun scute. He tied it off to the foregrip of the rotary cannon, letting it dangle. Solidian kept the borrowed gun close, resting across his knees. An apothecary poked and prodded at his brother's scalp, ensuring the crusted blood and shredded flesh went no deeper than the skull.

'The bone is scratched, but intact. You will need a fleshgraft. Report to the apothecarion once we return to Opolor's Vow.'

'Sir,' Sol affirmed.

Zal cracked a smile.

'Your skull's as hard as the Sergeant claimed.'

His brother's scowl was fit for a World Eater.

Tahiri Veila was in the medical bay, having her ribs taped. Sannah was with Kam Solusar, for she was handling poorly what she had experienced. Anakin Solo fidgeted, seated in a comfortable chair in the vox center - the com center. Aeonid knelt, so that he would be within the holo's caster range.

Tionne Solusar, her silver hair up in a messy bun, roused from sleep, sat with datapad perched precariously on one knee.

Occasionally flickering, Master Skywalker appeared serious and grim, visible from the waist up and rendered in shimmering blue.

'It's what the Sith told me,' Solo continued. His tale had been concise, relaying the essentials in a way that was commendable. Had he not known better, Aeonid might have suspected the young Jedi had a military background. 'The Melodies were made by him. That's what we saw in the murals too. Suz is going to send us better holos when she sets up down there-' the young man glanced over to Aeonid, knowing the Ultramarine's thoughts on the matter, but did not otherwise interrupt himself. '-and, well, to me, if the Sith who made it all says it, I think I believe him.'

The female Solusar's face was not one made for frowning, but her brows beetled and she chewed on her lower lip, scrolling with rapid swipes of a stylus through flicking pages of text.

'I've never come across any references to a 'Melin-Bralam'.' She tapped the stylus to her narrow chin a moment. 'We don't have anything close to full records from the Sith wars, but what we were able to recover from the Lost City of the Jedi doesn't tell us anything about Yavin 8. This Sith Lord kept his work a secret even from Naga Sadow. Exar Kun never learned about it either. Suz says that her current guess, from stratigraphy, is that the glacier moved down about three thousand years ago, so it wasn't always covered.'

Solo shifted in his seat, grimacing.

'The feeling I got from him was that he…didn't think very highly of the other Sith.'

'That's not unusual. Sith are always jealous about their secrets.'

Solo's jaw worked, words stuck behind his teeth.

'No - it's not that - he talked about something else. He called it the 'Deeper Ocean' and it sounded like he didn't think much of the Force at all.'

'This is where my concern begins,' Aeonid spoke up, cutting as Solo paused to breathe. 'The testimonies of Anakin and Tahiri point to but a single practical: this Melin-Bralam was no Sith, but a sorcerer. A psyker, wielding the Warp itself.'

'The Sith are known to use many kinds of strange magic,' Skywalker countered. 'It's part of what they consider mastering the Force. Palpatine experimented with his own kind of Sith sorcery, but none of it seemed like the 'Warp'.'

'And you can be sure of this?'

'Completely. The Sith workings that I've encountered - that Tionne has too, and others - they're always clearly part of the Force. Perversions of the Force, like the Golden Globe-' Skywalker nodded to Solo. '-but definitely of the Force.'

'This Melin-Bralam would be an outlier, then.'

Solusar drummed fingertips against the edge of her dataslate.

'And the first real proof of psykers here in our galaxy.'

Aeonid cleared his throat.

'That is not something to be excited about, Master Solusar. Psykery is a dangerous, even deadly art and one the Emperor, in his wisdom, was right to curtail. If Anakin's visions are accurate, then this Sith-psyker is already responsible for perversions and cruel experimentation.'

'Which brings us to the next topic,' Skywalker said around a sigh. 'The Melodies.'

'At best, they are Sithspawn, though I am less sure on the implication therein. At worst: they are Warpspawn. Attainted.'

Aeonid felt the young Solo's spike of righteous indignation. Since Yavin 8, Aeonid had found it quite difficult not to passively sense at the least the strongest surface emotions of those around him. It was…disconcerting.

'Sannah is my friend! She's not a spawn of anything, and the Melodies have been nothing but peaceful!'

'Peace, Anakin. I don't mean offense, but it does not serve her or her people to shy away from the truth. Remark 47.6: 'Bad news is bad news, but to ignore it is to invite defeat'. I paraphrase, but we cannot ignore facts.'

'Let's not call the Melodies 'spawn' around Sannah, but you're right, Aeonid. I don't think the Melodies are any danger, nor has the Force ever warned me about them. It might be worth bringing Lyric back to the Praxeum. If there's any Melodie who has a better sense of perspective about this, it would be her.'

'We can prepare the grotto pools for her, but the trip will be hard to manage.' Solusar considered a moment, continuing. 'It won't be very dignified, but we could fill a shipping crate with water and have Peckhum fly it over.'

'What are we even proposing? Huh?' Anakin launched himself up, pacing in the small com center. 'That-just because some old dead Sith made the Melodies what they are, that they could be some kind of threat? Uncle Luke - Master Skywalker - that's just nonsense.'

'Exar Kun waited four millennia to exact his revenge.' Aeonid heard of such, first in short when briefed on the members of the summit, which felt like years ago. Then, he'd heard more when he inquired after arriving at the Praxeum. It was both fascinating and disturbing how openly the Jedi discussed the possession of a member of their order. Possession, and subsequent exorcism. Aeonid shuddered at the concept. Any mortal, any Astartes in the Imperium even half so tainted by a warp-predator (a daemon, his mind unhelpfully supplied) would be executed on the spot.

Again, he reminded himself of how alien this new world was.

'It's not that they could be a danger, Anakin. It's important to learn and understand things and not to fear them. This is the history of the Melodies. It's their right to know what we've learned and we can't keep that from them.'

'But back to if this Sith really was a psyker - Anakin, you said it felt like the Force itself was gone?'

Aeonid was glad for Solusar's topic change. Later, he would advise Master Skywalker on his own suggestions on how to handle the ancient temple and the Melodies, but the place was not here, not in front of Solusar and Solo. In his measure, Aeonid felt Luke Skywalker capable of what few in this softer, 'kinder' galaxy were not.

'I didn't notice it at first. It was - man, I need to ask Tahiri about it - I've been around ysalamiri, so I know what it feels like when the Force is cut off. It wasn't like that. It wasn't like with the vong either. The vong, they feel like the Force doesn't even know they're there. This was like…'

Uncertainty. Confusion. Tinges of fear. They washed from the young man, almost coloring the air about him. Aeonid grappled with sudden vertigo, clenching his jaw and trying to push aside the…the Force.

Where before it felt he would never touch it, now it was as if it would not be silent.

'This felt like the Force just didn't want to have anything to do with Melin-Bralam. I don't - no, that's the best way I can describe it. It's hard to put into words. The Force was still there, but it just wouldn't answer.'

Aeonid felt similar. The moment the ritual began, it was like a spike into his brain. Like the sudden onset of a migraine, without the pain, but with the speck-in-the-eye blur that couldn't be blinked away. It was why he reached out, instinctive, his Astartesian reflexes and sense for danger coming alive. The Melodie girl answered him.

'I agree. I am no practitioner as you are, as any of you are, not yet, but I felt a measure of what Anakin describes. More: I could find the mind of young Sannah, but I could not find yours, nor that of Tahiri.'

In becoming Astartes, in joining the honored ranks of Ultramarines and accepting the Emperor's gifts, there were sacrifices. Some, like Captain Corvo of the 90th Company, had to set aside their inheritance. Not a few Ultramarines came from old and fabulously wealthy families, but service was service, and they passed from the material concerns of mortals. All Astartes foreswore lineage. No children would they sire, no spouses would they take. Again, that was the realm of mortal humanity.

Beyond the physical, tangible sacrifices, there were those that ran deeper. Memories were lost, ironically even as gene-science forged near-eidetic pathways. Their time-before faded, became more ephemeral, more dreamlike. Emotions were changed, too. They were refined, in the same way as the body, to be greater tools in the hands of each Astartes warrior.

And some were stripped away entire. Fear was excised. It served no purpose in a posthuman soldier, whose life was forfeit the moment of their initiation. To be Astartes was to die, either tomorrow or in a thousand years. Fear was extraneous. One need not fear to be cautious.

Aeonid Thiel felt fear again, at the touch of the young Melodie's mind. After decades without, the sensation was so alien, so impossible, so inhuman to him that he was frozen. His body reacted. Adrenaline surged, endocrine implants dumped combat chemicals. His focus narrowed. His second heart thumped faster. His third lung stirred.

Fear!

Fear felt filtered through the lens of a thirteen year old girl, terrified for her friends.

Perhaps he should have wrenched his mind away. In another life, he might have thought himself polluted. Lessened by so mortal, so basal an emotion poisoning him.

Yet he felt her fear, her honest, raw fear and Aeonid could not leave her alone. She feared for herself, yes - and no less than expected - but her greater horror was reserved for her friends. Her compatriots. Her comrades. Thirteen years old and confronted by the power of the Warp, which Aeonid had seen unman Astartes veterans of a thousand campaigns, and she wanted more to save Anakin and Tahiri than herself.

Remarkable.

Another figure joined Skywalker in the holo - the bearded visage of Kyle Katarn.

'Sorry - I was checking on our ETA. Should be to Coruscant soon and we can turn right back around if you need to, Luke. You couldn't have dug up an ancient Sith before we left, Anakin? Terrible timing.'

'The danger seems to have passed. Would you agree, Aeonid?'

Would he indeed? The ritual circle was broken by Sannah and he had personally crushed every last feature of the ritual chamber to warped metal and dust. Solo pronounced he sensed no lingering presence in the Force, though Aeonid mistrusted relying on said Force when the Warp seemed, perhaps, anathematic to the senses.

But he knew little else. Codicier Rubio could advise better, but attempts to raise Macragge's Honour's installed holocomm went unanswered. He would try again, after this meeting was concluded.

'I know only what has been taught to me, and that is little. As I have stressed, the Warp is corrosive. Mere knowledge of it can be damaging. My Primarch has relaxed some of the proscriptions, so I am more learned than I once was, but I cannot give a perfect practical. I will say: the ritual chamber should not be entered. In fact, it should be burned and then probably buried. For the rest of the temple there may be no danger.'

'It was just that room,' Solo agreed. 'Everything else seemed just like old stone.'

'Access should be limited, regardless.'

Skywalker nodded.

'Suz can be trusted and I think we'll keep it to just Masters for now. Tionne? Would you oversee this?'

'I'd be honored, Master Skywalker.'

'Thank you. This is more your specialty than mine,' Luke smiled, boyish, shaking his head. 'I can't believe we missed this right in our backyard. I don't think I said it yet, but thank you, Aeonid. You have my gratitude for watching over my nephew, and my Jedi.'

Even across many parsecs and a hologram, Aeonid felt the Jedi Master's earnest goodwill.

'I am glad I was there.'

'And Anakin, try to write down everything you remember. Get Tahiri to as well. We'll reach out to Lyric and see if she's willing to come back to the Praxeum. Master Cilghal might want to take a look at her, knowing everything now.'

Anakin managed a small smile.

'It'll be nice to see Lyric again. I didn't think we ever would.'

'I'm sure she'll be happy to see you and Tahiri again too, and Sannah also.'

Tionne graciously gave them the room, ushering Anakin out with vague mentions of collecting Tahiri's account of what happened on the moon, leaving an uncomfortable-looking Aeonid to rise to his feet, adjusting the holocom's sensor.

"Master Skywalker, I must recommend destroying the entire temple."

Beside him, Kyle fidgeted. Luke expected nothing less as advice from the Ultramarine, and in fact expected more drastic suggestions-

"If not quarantining the entire moon."

There it was. Their Primarch, Roboute Guilliman, clearly had a powerful aversion to 'psykers' and those that could channel the Warp. There was a mismatch there, as Luke knew that the Astartes Legion had a 'Librarium' that actually trained Astartes in using the warp. Aeonid had spoken about it a little when he first arrived at the Praxeum, mentioning that he'd sought other guidance on attempting to touch the Force.

Still, the tour of the Primarch's gallery showed the healthy respect and caution the Imperium held. Given what he'd felt from the dagger kept in stasis, it wasn't unfounded. The question remained for Luke if the Imperium was being overly cautious.

They conquered a world, put it under lock and key, and then decided to deport every single being that didn't fall within their own particular view of what a human was.

So the Imperium wasn't entirely rational, which Luke was well aware of.

He would still argue that they were acting rationally from their point of view, which was a sticking point that had Kyp Durron of all people aligning with Corran and several other of the older Jedi, sparking yet another split in his order. So much of one that the divide over the Yuuzhan Vong seemed almost forgotten. Luke suppressed a sigh. The moment he began to be proactive about the invaders, in a way that might have eased tensions between the two camps, a new debate erupted.

Luke couldn't agree with their methods or the conclusions the Imperium reached, but he did at least try to understand what drove it. Roboute had been very helpful in that regard, with how freely he was willing to speak on their Crusade and even what was called the 'Old Night'.

Thus all signs did point to the Warp being dangerous - but so corrosively, virulently hostile as Aeonid portrayed? The Imperium also claimed the same about all beings nonhuman, which was patently and obviously untrue. The causes Luke understood, but the Imperials took it to the wildest, farthest possible degree. So - perhaps the dagger Roboute showed Luke was just a particular example of the darkest, cruelest aspects of the Warp, no different to a notably potent Sith artifact.

Which left Luke in a difficult place. Sithspawn - that is to say, the bio-creations made by Sith alchemy - were usually mindless and feral. The Emperor's chrysalis beasts of Byss were a prime example. Monstrous, twisted, but otherwise utterly unable to be controlled except by whichever Sith held their leash.

"Further, I understand you will vehemently disagree, but the only practical I can imagine for the Melodie species is liquidation."

Kyle, sitting beside Luke, whistled.

"You don't pull any punches."

Aeonid's expression was complex and hard to read.

"It's worrying that you'd consider wiping out a whole people, Aeonid." Luke spoke with no real heat, more of a resigned understanding. Aeonid was a work in progress, one that had already shown great potential in such a short amount of time. Where others might hear a Jedi-in-training casually recommend genocide and be appalled, Luke instead viewed it as an indoctrinated child-soldier who waited to voice such a recommendation until in private. Aeonid Thiel helped save the life of one of those 'warpspawn', willing even to speak to her, mind-to-mind.

Maybe the Astartes didn't realize what he was doing, but Luke did.

Luke was breaking down his walls, one at a time.

"It might be a kindness." Aeonid exhaled, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his broad, oft-broken nose. "I am conflicted as well, Master Skywalker. The touch of young Sannah's mind…whatever they are now, they were human once."

Kyle noticed the same thing Luke did, but beat him to the punch.

"Would it matter if they hadn't come from humans?"

Aeonid took a long, long pause. Luke and Kyle exchanged significant looks. The other Master winked.

"In this privacy, between the three of us - perhaps not. Young Sannah's thoughts were noble. Selfless. I daresay that were it not for this Force, I would not see her the same. You understand, this makes me trust the Force less? I am Astartes, I am not to question."

Luke opened his mouth, but Aeonid raised a hand.

"But the irony is that I am also Aeonid Thiel, and all I can ever do is question." The Ultramarine rumbled what could be considered a chuckle. "That nature has seen me raised from Sergeant to Captain in less than a Terran year."

"You deserve it," Luke assured him. "You're a good man."

"The problem is that I should not be a man. Ah. Enough - I'll redouble attempting to raise Macragge's Honour. Codicier Rubio will be able to advise us far better and I would wish to inform the Primarch."

"There's one other problem that I think Anakin might have forgotten." Luke's face turned, darkened and more severe. "That was no sithspawn that Tahiri found - it was a vong biot."

Beside him, the other Master winced.

"I have seen his evidence. The organ is decaying, but it matches Republican tell of dovin basals. More: this theoretical explains many of the strange practicals of the beast."

"It does, and I should have noticed it. Not many animals can brave travel through space, and it was certainly no mynock." Something about the holos of the biot rang bells in Luke's mind, niggling at him about a memory half-forgotten. It was familiar, but he couldn't place from where. Maybe something he'd been told about, but not seen. He'd have to ask Leia, if she was still on Coruscant.

"I worry for the security of your Praxeum. The vong are an implacable foe."

"It's something I'm going to raise to Borsk and the Senate. The illusion does a lot, but it's not like it can hide the whole system or make the galaxy forget about it. Wedge has told me he's trying to stir up support for a permanently assigned task force, but there's drawbacks to that too."

Kyle nodded.

"Because why is the New Republic Navy defending some out of the way star system?"

"Exactly that. The Praxeum has avoided notice because as far as most everyone is concerned, Yavin is just a historical footnote, famous for the battle twenty-five years ago. If we put ships there, that's a lot more points of failure."

Using a Fallanassi technique to shroud the entire temple complex, making it appear like so much jungle to prying eyes was effective - but only against denizens of the galaxy. Luke was sure that the vong, outside the Force, would see right through the illusion. The Peace Brigade was gaining in reach too, demonstrated all too clearly by growing discontent spreading even into the core. Han had been chasing down something to do with the Peace Brigade, though Luke wasn't sure what.

"If the Republic is immobile, or too risky with potential turncoats, I may have a solution. Allow me to request reinforcements from the 4711th. We have few ships to spare, but the Primarch has an interest in the Jedi. You were the first to extend a hand, Master Skywalker, and trust is repaid."

"The Senate is going to want to have much more in-depth talks with the Imperium, what with everything that happened at Fondor. We can open this option up, behind the scenes."

Inwardly, Luke could cheer. The Jedi were a beacon of equality and understanding in the galaxy. To get the Imperium to offer even one of their few and precious ships to defend the Jedi? A group of 'witches' and 'xenos', who preached tolerance and temperance and defense over attack?

The trick, Luke had learned over his many years and many, many adventures, was not to approach directly and with bluster. It was to come from the side, as a friend and an offered hand and a willingness to understand. The dark was powerful but love? Love could ignite the stars.