Downward Spiral

[Ghev Dralin]

"Sometimes the only way to begin anew, is to destroy that which already exists. Perhaps, at first, such a task seems daunting, frightening, particularly to those who have grown attached to the existing regime. But change is necessary, and uncompromising."
- High Moff Riktor Xanven, on the subject of the Empire's growth

Galactic Alliance Emmissary Shuttle
En-route to abandoned 'Trade Haven' space station, Mid Rim
0400 Hours

Claustrophobia, Wren reflected, was an odd feeling when all around there was nothing but empty space. It was an almost nauseating feeling, like being cast adrift with no footing, just left to float among an ocean of black. Even the brush on his skin of the soft leather pilots chair, crammed into the tight cockpit of the Galactic Alliance emmissary shuttle, didn't help him feel grounded.
He didn't even know which direction the ground was; the funny thing about space travel, he thought, was that everyone assumed they were facing the right way, and everyone else was just flying upside down.
"Okay... clear your mind" Wren muttered to himself, expelling a huge sigh, half exasperation and half panic. He closed his eyes, his grip on the steering yoke relaxing somewhat, and envisioned the flow of the Force around him. Suddenly, everything seemed so full, as though the void beyond the shuttle's cockpit had burst into flourescent life.

And it did nothing to ease his feeling of claustrophobia. Rather than a great big nothing pressing in on him, all he could now think of was how small he was in comparison to the greater universe, how... miniscule his presence was within the all-encompassing Force.
"C'mon Wren... pull it together" he sighed, loosening his crash webbing slightly, and brushing his hair from his forehead; it was slick with sweat. Remarkable, considering how cold space travel was.
"Jedi Taven, is there cause for alarm?" a voice crackled through the cockpit inter-comm; it was the on-board 2-1B medical droid.
"No, no alarm One-Bee" Wren replied, his heart hammering at the sudden noise in what had so far been a quiet, uneventful journey.
"Forgive the intrusion, Master Taven, only I observed a peak in your vital signs" the droid said. "Increased heart rate, increased adrenaline, increased..."
"Relax" Wren interrupted, a little too forcefully. "Relax. I'm just feeling a bit... space crazy, thats all".
"I don't believe that is an actual medical condition, Master Taven" the droid replied in it's deadpan, monotone voice.
"Remind me to recommend a personality overhaul when we get back to Coruscant" Wren chuckled, then shut the connection with the flick of a switch.

Wren leaned back in the pilots chair, a little tentatively, as though expecting it to break off if he put too much pressure on it. Paranoid by nature, he took extra care while in space transit; afterall, one loose bolt could tear open an entire ship, in the worst-case scenario.
No sooner had he begun trying to relax when the chrono let out a shrill alarm; it was time to set the jump co-ordinates for Trade Haven, the neutral meeting point in the Mid-Rim, chosen for his and Ben Joreth's meeting with the Cuy'val Dar.
He shook his head sadly to himself; the Mandalorians shared a somewhat savoury history with the Jedi, but in recent memory their affairs hadn't threatened the stability of the galaxy like this. With these Cuy'val Dar - those who no longer exist - threatening to wage an all-out assault on the Empire's hired Mandalorians, it spelled certain disaster for the Galactic Alliance.

Wren's former Master had spelled it out for him, before he'd embarked on this mission; few though they may be, the spark of dissidence these rogue Mandalorians would cause could potentially lead to an uprisal not seen since the war against Corellia some sixty years ago.
But, with all probability, he and Ben would be able to negotiate for a peaceful solution. Unstrapping himself from the pilots chair, Wren stood and squeezed out of the cramped cockpit, and into the thankfully-windowless passenger compartment.
"Ben" he said, to the other Jedi meditating on the floor. "Ben, my shift's over. We're entering hyperspace, and you get the pleasure of staring into nothingness for the next two hours" he grinned.

******

Abandoned space station 'Trade Haven'
Mid-Rim

Boots clanged loudly in the spacious hangar, empty but for the freighter venting steam and expelling built-up moisture on the decking.
"Brings back memories, this place" one of the men said, stepping out from beneath the shadow of the freighter into the dull illumination cast by the running lights embedded in the floor.
"Memories of what exactly?" a female asked, joining the man. Both wore armour of the same design, fragmented for mobility and adorned with trophies, varying from simple braids of hair sliced from all manner of creature, to humanoid skulls.
"Let's just say I acquired a few choice items here back in the day" the man chuckled, cuffing the woman under the chin, and receiving a playful but solid punch in the breastplate for it. The woman, despite obviously breaking a finger in the exchange, barely flinched.

"Cut it, you two. Dralin wants this done with clear minds" a second man warned, running his hand along the hull of the freighter. "Shab, they don't make these like they used to".
"I thought it was Hokan who'd sent us?" the woman replied, as the second man inspected a hairline fracture, made evident against the crimson paintwork.
"The verdict's out on that one, Lorn'ika" the first man smirked. "Whoever's running the show, they want us to do this cleanly. We may even have to listen to the jetiise before we say no"
"They're not gonna like that" the second man muttered, seemingly giving up the fracture as a simple scratch in the paintwork. "Might even get violent" he snorted, as the three began to walk through the low-lit hangar to the turbolift, so they could settle into the disused station cantina.
"And if they do?" the first man asked, taking off his helmet and stretching his aching limbs.
"Then we hand-deliver them to that shabuir Tarn Kane, in very small boxes" the woman laughed.

Disappearing into the bowels of the station, none of the Mandalorians noticed the dark shadow stalking them.

[Trenton Vinh]

His movements were slow and silent, but he moved inexorably towards his targets like a poisonous fog, creeping through the cracks under doors and windows of houses to suffocate sleeping inhabitants.

The Jedi would be arriving soon, no doubt. But he was in no rush. His prey, while not much of a match for him, could put up one hell of a fight if they spotted him. They would all be charred, bloody corpses by the time he left.

His white, scarred, and tattooed hands reached for the double-bladed lightsaber hanging from his hip. He plucked it from his belt, and gripped the cold durasteel cylinder in his fist.

As he leapt into the light, the ends of his weapon emitted crimson blades of pure energy.
And then the killing began.


*****

The Force was filled with an aura of foreboding, it seemed. Dark clouds seemed to pass over the visions Ben saw. Like a holodrama montage, The Force displayed small and silent visions of events from all over the Galaxy. They always were connected in some mysterious way, and discerning the connection was a difficult and very often misleading task.
But if one could understand these visions, and learn their meaning, they could gain valuable insight into future events. The problem was, these visions could be blurred and hidden by a dark fog, which often was a hint in itself.
The darkness was a hint that evil was on the horizon.

Ben's vision showed the senate, and a masked senator giving an impassioned speech. But then the vision shifted, to an armor clad man, falling at the hands of a dark, hooded phantom, faceless and evil.
The vision shifted once more, this time to a man that Ben thought seemed incredibly familiar. Like a distant school friend, whose name sat on the tip of his tongue yet never found its way to flip a switch in his mind.
The dark clouds tinged his vision, and threatened to hide the face of the man, the man that Ben felt seemed not only incredibly familiar, but incredibly important as well. This man was the key to the vision, the key to the mystery that The Force hinted to him. Something crucial was slipping through his grasp.

"Ben."

The voice seemed to come from far away, but at the same time from right beside him. He struggled to ignore it and focus on the man's face, but the dark clouds were passing over, growing thicker, asphyxiating him and pushing him out of his meditation.

"Ben, my shift's over. We're entering hyperspace, and you get the pleasure of staring into nothingness for the next two hours."

Kriff Ben thought.

"Kriff." He repeated, out loud this time.
Without waiting for Wren to ask the obvious question of, 'What?' He added, "I had a vision. The same one I've been having for the past month. Every time I meditate, I get so close to seeing something with substance. And then the darkness closes in and I lose my focus."

Wren raised his eyebrows, the grin that had been on his face faltering, "Have you thought of talking to the council about it? Master Graken is brilliant at defining visions. I think his weird insight into that kind of thing is from all the spice he did when he was younger."

Ben nodded, thinking of when he was younger, and when the Jedi Council discovered Master Reyne Graken's spice addiction. Not only had it compromised his rank as a Master and member of the Jedi Council, but
it also compromised the security of the Jedi Order itself. But Reyne had been good about it, and gone through an intense period of purging himself of his wrongdoings. Ben remembered the week-long Meditation that Reyne had gone through, locked inside his quarters with only a miniscule amount of water.
He had returned a stronger man, and he had grown much wiser because of it. He was now one of the most respected and influential members of the Order.

"I'll talk to him when I get a chance. You get some rest we should be there within a few hours. Let's hope these Cuy'val Dar have good heads on their shoulders. I'd really rather not be there when they decide they want to go to war. The Jedi and the Mandalorians have an...interesting history. As long as they are open-minded and thinking with their heads and not their egos, we should be fine."

He sighed as he dropped into the leather pilot chair. The bantha-skin was warm and moist.

Wren was sweating.
He didn't ask why. If Wren chose to share his issues, Ben would listen, but he would not pry. If he had learned one thing from his brother, Tiverian, it was that curiosity led to prying, and prying led to problems. Ben had been trying not to let his unending curiosity get the better of him recently.
He remembered his brother's words, echoing their master, Jet Sumner, and his teachings: A Jedi does not think, and he does not guess. He trusts in The Force, and he knows that the answers will open up to him.

He mumbled quietly, "I guess some questions just don't have answers, Jet..."


*****

The space station 'Trade Haven' had automated docking systems. The Jedi shuttle entered the docking bay and landed silently in the vacuum. The blast doors slid shut and the room repressurized, then flooded with oxygen.

Back when the station was in its prime, there would be a team of security officers to check the ship for weapons and various illegal contraband. But the station had been abandoned for years, as new trade routes became useable.

Ben woke Wren with a gentle tap on the shoulder. Wren was wide awake within a minute. The pair pulled on cloaks, hoods down; no reason to hide their faces here.
The Mandalorians would be nearby; the station was not a large one.

Wren muttered, "Let's hope all goes well. The council always asks too many questions when things go badly."
Ben lowered the boarding ramp, and opened his mouth to speak. But as the stale, recycled air of the space station touched his tongue, his response was to only pull his lightsaber from his belt.

The station smelled like death.

[Ghev Dralin]

Wren was a little slower on the uptake, but seconds later, the same sense of forboding washed over him, and he too reached for his lightsaber. He hesitated, fingers barely a hairsbreadth from the polished hilt, remembering the words of his former Master; 'Your lightsaber should always be your last line of defense. Too often do we reach for a weapon, while preaching peace'.
"Let's check out their ship" he suggested, more to break the eerie silence than anything. He edged toward the only other vessel in the main hangar, a beaten up freighter which was unlike anything Wren had ever encountered; it looked like someone had taken a YT-2400 and turned it into a warship. He recognised pieces from Y-8 mining vessels, old LAAT/i gunships, and even a stripped-down point-defense cannon from an Acclamator-class Star Destroyer.

"Well, it's definately Mandalorian" he smirked, approaching with caution; he wouldn't put it past the Mandalorians to have rigged the ship to explode should anyone try to intrude. "So, we know they arrived..."
"We're wasting time" Ben interrupted, though not harshly. "Lets go. Be cautious... something definately isn't right".

********

Imperial Headquarters
Coruscant

They all came at once; reporters from a hundred different HoloNet broadcasters, with hovercams in pursuit, charged at the sleek black speeder that had just arrived outside the fortress which was Imperial HQ. A man in a green-grey uniform stepped from the front passenger seat, struggling out of the speeder and into the pressing crowd.
"If you could... if you could all please just step back..." he tried calling out, but the uproar drowned him out. The young man paled, and swallowed hard, adjusting the collar of his uniform. "I am chief of security for Governor Xanven, and if you don't..."
"Is the Governor with you?" one reporter asked.
"Do you know anything about the Governor's so-called plans for the future of the GA?" another asked.
"I'm... I'm not certified to..." the young man began replying, but was cut off by another reporter, then another.
"What do you know about the Governor's plans to end the dispute with the Mandalorian dissidents?" a woman shouted, pushing her way to the front of the crowd.

Before the young officer could answer, one of the rear passenger doors slid aside, and out stepped a fully-armoured man, his back to the crowd. He tucked his thumbs into his belt, turned his head, then bodily faced the crowd from the other side of the speeder.
His name was known to anyone who kept up with current affairs; Tarn Kane, leader of the Mandalorians. His gunmetal-and-black armour had become synonymous with no-fuss policing on the capital, and unofficially he was known as Xanven's lapdog.
Kane didn't utter a word, as he slowly rounded the speeder, and put a hand on the officers shoulder, silently dismissing him from the task and opening the remaining passenger door.
Riktor Xanven, High Moff and acting Head of State of the Empire, climbed out of the speeder, carrying a slim black case.
"Measures have been taken by the Senate to end the Mandalorian dispute" he announced. His voice sounded slightly muffled by the respirator he wore, though it was clear a cybernetic vocabulator was enhancing his speech. "I trust you'll not waste my time with questions that will be answered on the HoloNet later in the day".

The crowd parted, and the reporters continued assailing the trio with questions, none of which the High Moff acknowledged. He marched steadily onward, limping on his right leg, and straightened his black uniform while approaching the gates of Imperial HQ. Guards in white armour with black cloaks stepped aside, then crossed their electro-pikes before the crowd of reporters, barring them from entering the grounds. Gears whined and chains clanked as the heavily reinforced gates slid apart, reaching some ninety feet high and masking the AT-AT walker which stood on constant guard.
"Reporters" Xanven scoffed, stepping through the gates as soon as they'd parted enough for the three of them to walk in side-by-side. "Scavengers of the worst kind".
Nobody replied, and Xanven didn't expect them to; now wasn't the time for small talk, and as they walked the mile from the gates to the stone steps leading into Imperial HQ, none stopped to take in the sights; AT-ST's patrolling the perimeter walls, ranks of Stormtroopers parading, drill seargeants putting new recruits through their paces.
Even the constant noise of the new TIE Predator prototypes in test-flight couldn't distract them.

Once settled in Xanven's office - which itself could reputedly contain both the office and the antechamber of the GA Chief of State, with room to spare - the three relaxed considerably.
"You gentlemen know what must be done" the Governor murmered, peeling his shiny leather gloves from his prosthetic hands. "If either of you have any misgivings, now is the time to mention them. Once I open this case" he said, flipping the locks on the case and holding it closed, "then there's no turning back".
Tarn Kane and the officer, Jan Millon, held their silence.
"Very well" Xanven said, exhaling sharply through his respirator. He flipped open the case, and began extracting files, each bearing the emblem of the Jedi Order.

[Trenton Vinh]

Ben rounded a corner of the dim and eerily silent hangar. The turbolift doors stood open, inviting him to enter for a free trip to view the horrors that lay above.

"This way." He nearly whispered, The Force pulling him forward. He had learned to follow these Force nudges, the same way he had been taught to let the Force guide his body and blade during combat.

His first worry was that this was a Mandalorian trap. But that thought was quickly dispelled; if the Mando's had wanted them dead, there would have been a firing squad opening up on the ship before it had even landed in the hangar.

There were no other ships in the hangar bay, so unless someone else had taken off before the Jedi had arrived, the intruder's wouldn't still be on the station.
Unless they had been on the station for all the years of its abandonment, patiently waiting for visitors...

The turbolift carried the Jedi duo upwards, sliding to a halt at the cantina.
His lightsaber quietly burned to life, more out of nervousness than anything else.

Ben had expected walls scored with blood, blaster burns across the room, and a disturbing murder scene.
What he found was much less messy than he had anticipated.

A trio of corpses in Mandalorian armor lay dead, one headless, one severed horizontally at the waist and split shoulder to hip.
The third Mandalorian corpse lay against the wall, sitting up in an awkward position that implied broken bones.

Their weapons lay on the floor, one hand gripped a blaster pistol lifelessly.
They must have spotted their attacker a split second before their lives were cut away...

Blood had just begun to seep from the wounds, the smell of burning flesh indicated a heated weapon.
When Ben dropped to one knee to look more closely at one of the wounds, he shut down his lightsaber and returned it to his belt, swallowing the foolish feeling he got from igniting it for no reason.

Wren queried, "Are those...are those lightsaber wounds?"
Ben nodded, "The cuts are too clean to be anything else. Even a vibroblade would take a few cuts to get through the armor underweave, flesh, bone, and muscle."

Wren inspected the corpse that lay against the wall. He lifted the armored arm of the body and bent the joints slowly.
"This one's bones are shattered..." He said as he mentally scanned the body with The Force. As effective as an X-ray, the body seemed to have been crushed against the wall with the force of a rancor charge.

Ben answered the next question before Wren asked it, "And yes...I do fear we are being set up. Anyone seeing this will assume it was us."
Wren swallowed hard, and said, "I'll go send a transmission to the Order...this is bad."

Ben straightened up as Wren took the turbolift back down to the ship.
He looked down at the corpses, his eyes darting to the trio of drinks, still cold. The killer must have left mere seconds before the Jedi had arrived...

Snap-hiss-hummm

Ben's instincts kicked in a split second too late. His blade whirled, igniting on its way to his palm while he spun, blade arcing downwards to parry the attack that had come from behind.
The crimson blade that carved towards him through the air missed his stomach, carving a shallow, superficial wound into his hip instead.
He gritted his teeth through the pain, as his clothes and skin melted away to the unyielding energy blade of his attacker's lightsaber.

"WREN!" Ben called out, worried that his friend may have been slaughtered in the turbolift. It was also a cry for help, if Wren could hear him at all.

Ben's attacker seemed to be made of nothing but robes. Gloves covered the hand that gripped the double-bladed saber, and a large billowing cloak masked the man...or woman's face.

Ben parried the next two lightning-quick strikes, and thrust a palm outwards in an attempt to knock his attacker away from him.
The Force Push was effortlessly absorbed by his attacker, who responded by leaping high into the air and hurtling his lightsaber like a spear, straight at Ben's head.
Ben somersaulted to the side, the flying blade burying itself into the floor at a sharp angle.
Realizing a moment too late that the lightsaber throw had only been a distraction, Ben turned to face his opponent in time to feel the cold, dark grip of a malevolent Force User closing in on him.
His feeble attempt to cast off the Force Grip failed miserably, and he felt himself get thrown into the wall painfully.

Ben's arms were pinned down, and his lightsaber dropped from his grasp. He struggled to breathe as an invisible hand closed over his nose and mouth.
He felt a dark pressure growing across his entire body and felt his bones straining.
He would have smiled had the situation been less grim...for he now knew how the Mandalorian's bones had been shattered.

He felt his bones pop, and his vision went dark around the edges, as the lack of oxygen began to force him into unconsciousness. But strangulation wouldn't come quickly enough...he would feel his bones get pulverised before he passed out.

As the blackness robbed him of sight, he heard a familiar voice yelling out, and a lightsaber buzz to life.

Suddenly, he was dropped to the ground, The Force Grip on him dissipating. He blinked twice before rolling onto his side to see what was going on.
The Force User that had attacked him had their blades locked with Wren.
Before Ben or Wren could react, the Force User blasted them both back against the wall with a Force Wave. Wren made an oomph sound has he hit the cold metal wall next to Ben.

Their attacker, who was no doubt the one who had slain the Mandalorians, spat at them, "As much as I would love to end both your lives...it is necessary that you are both breathing. Remember, little Jedi boys, 'There is no emotion, There is peace."
The voice was a girl, and she quoted the Jedi Code in a mocking, sing-song voice.

Before Ben could say a word, she disappeared, throwing herself down the turbolift shaft.
As soon as she was out of sight, Ben launched himself to his feet, and jumped down the chute after her.
It was a fifty or so foot drop to the hangar bay, and Ben fell quickly. He kicked off the wall and let The Force gather beneath his feet, slowing his fall.
He landed hard and rolled out of the shaft, hands raised in a ready stance for combat.
But the attacker wasn't waiting for him; she was in his ship.
The engines started up just as the docking ramp sealed itself.
Ben leapt onto the ship, landing in front of the cockpit window, crouching low for balance.

He had hoped to get a look at the face of his attacker, but the hood was still covering her face.
The ship lifted off its landing struts, and Ben turned to see the blast doors opening, the energy shields keeping the atmosphere within the hangar.
There was nothing he could do here, if he remained on the ship he would be driven into space.
He leapt sideways off the ship as its engines blazed, and the ship shot into space.

Ben landed in a heap on the cold floor, watching the ship disappear into the black void beyond the energy shields.

He pulled himself to his feet and let out a slow sigh.
At least that explains the foreboding I felt on the way here...

[Ghev Dralin]

The Jedi Temple
Coruscant
1400 Hours

Rushing through the vast entrance hall of the Jedi Temple, Seravin drew odd stares and reproachful glances from his fellow Knights, none of whom seemed in any rush to get anywhere. His robes, indigo and grey, looked unpressed, almost as though he'd slept in them. Truthfully, he hadn't slept, meditated, or even eaten in the past twelve hours since losing contact with the Jedi that had gone to the Mid-Rim to negotiate with the Cuy'val Dar.
The news that a squad of Mandalorians were insisting on seeing him at the Temple entrance had made him drop everything he'd been doing.
"Always in a rush, young Master Taven" a wisened old Jedi murmered, shaking his head, the tentacles found on all Quarren's faces flapping limply.
"Afraid so, Master Sek" Seravin called back, slowing from a run to a hurried walk. He reached the Temple entrance, rubbing his eyes against the glaring afternoon sun, and bowed to the Gatekeeper. Typically, the Gatekeeper was a hulk of a being, all scales and teeth, with the polearm of a double-bladed lightsaber hanging from his hip. So much for 'size matters not', Seravin thought.

Kane waited with patience, as silent as the Trandoshan Jedi guard. He felt as though it had become a contest of will, to determine whether he could outmatch the Trandoshan for stoic silence, to see who could give off a more rigid air. So far, he suspected the Trandoshan was winning, but then the Jedi had probably slipped into some self-induced stupor to while away the minutes.
When Knight Taven finally arrived, Kane barely noticed; not only was he fixated on the annoyingly unhelpful guardsman, but Seravin Taven looked nothing like the holo in his file; he was at least five years older, ten pounds lighter, and looked like he'd just crawled out from the undercity.
"Tarn Kane, I presume?" the Jedi asked, extending a hand. Kane looked at it, then tilted his helmeted head back up, locking eyes with the young man.
"You presume right" Kane replied, tucking his thumbs into his belt. "Jedi Knight Seravin Taven, the Council of Moffs requests your presence at..."
"Hold on a second" Seravin interrupted, holding up a hand. "The Moffs know they have to go through the Jedi Council for anything like this. Xanven was told that much when he tried to impose Imperial security on us".
"Governor Xanven was acting in the interests of the Galactic Alliance and its people, I'd hardly call that imposing" Kane retorted dryly.
"We can handle our own security. Having Stormtroopers milling around the place... it's a little unsettling for those of us who remember our history lessons" Seravin muttered, and Kane suspected many others in the Temple shared that view.
"The Empire thinks it would serve all parties well to have its own security at the Temple. It eases the minds of those in the populace who think the Jedi are becoming a power unto themselves" Kane said, crossing his arms. "But I digress, I didn't come here to battle politics. Governor Xanven extends to you the invitation to meet with him and the Moff Council in two days. Take it or leave it, your call".

As the Mandalorians walked away, Seravin frowned deeply.
"Wonder what this is all about..." he muttered aloud.
"Then perhaps you should take the Governor up on his offer" replied Master Sek, who came hobbling out into the light of day, having obviously heard the bulk of the conversation.
"The Governor's actions lately disturb me" Seravin admitted. "He's taking a lot of interest in Jedi affairs".
"Ah, but he serves the Senate, as do we. Sometimes we forget that" Sek replied, prodding Seravin in the shoulder. "See not political machinations where there are none to be found. He may be simply inviting you to dinner".

Seravin doubted that, but he smiled anyway, his thoughts lapsing back to his brother and the mission he'd been sent on.

********

Wren had been prepared to drag Ben off the ship with the Force, if necessary; for one moment, it had looked as though the tenacious Jedi had meant to cling onto that vessel even if it meant travelling through Hyperspace holding his breath.
Now, he too couldn't help but wonder who the mysterious woman had been. They'd been on the station for a while now, though how long he couldn't say; and, unable to find a working transmitter, they'd failed to get a message out to the Council to report on the events that had unfolded.
"The joys of ration packs..." he murmered to himself, popping a small cube into his mouth that tasted strangely like dried nerf and cardboard. "Any clues yet, Ben?" he asked, once more opening himself to the Force, looking for any hint or sign of what had happened here aside from the obvious. Something with Force abilities had attacked the Cuy'val Dar, but there was no apparent motive other than to set the Jedi up for something.
No... not just something. Murder, betrayal, treachery... this could turn ugly very fast if the record isn't set straight.
"I think we're wasting our time" Ben sighed, turning to head back to the hangar. "We should take the Mando ship and go home. IF that woman didn't disable its hyperdrive along with its communications suite".
"If she didn't, then I don't think it would have been by accident" Wren said, narrowing his eyes. "None of this was accident. I felt uneasy through the entire trip, but I thought it was just claustrophobia. Now..." he paused, and shook his head. "Now I'm not so sure".
Pulling his robes tighter around himself to keep warm, he headed with Ben back toward the hangar, to see whether the Mandalorian freighter would get them back to Coruscant or not.

********

Nothing irritated Kane more than being used as an errand boy. Nothing except arrogant Jedi. From his silence during the speeder ride home, his men had worked out that he wasn't satisfied with the hand Xanven had dealt him. It was no secret that the Mandalorians felt like they were being paid millions to show their faces in every corner of Coruscant's hot-spots; even civvies in the streets joked about them as though they were a simple publicity stunt. And, by request of Xanven, Kane had so far tolerated those jibes whenever he heard them.
"Buckets on, boys" he murmered as the speeder drew to a halt outside the Imperial HQ. "Can't let them know we're just a bunch of good-looking boys under these cans". They all smirked as they slid their helmets into place. Kane found himself in the familliar chaos of his HUD; he felt blind without it these days, as though his eyes alone weren't enough to trust in.
"We gonna bother with a debriefing for this one?" Deej asked, easing out a cramp in his shoulder as the small group headed for the guarded fortress-like building. Despite his sarcasm, he sounded tired, but Kane knew it was just weariness at the situation.
"I'll leave it in a memo to the Governor. Jedi confronted, heavy exchange of words, no casualties. RSVP inbound".
The Mandalorians laughed, then went their seperate ways. Kane headed for the turbolifts at the far side of the building, which would take him to the offices; the idea that he'd even been assigned an office left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Top floor" he said upon entering the only available turbolift, and the doors abruptly slid shut, followed by the stomach-churning feeling in that split second that it took for the inertial dampeners to take the kick out of travelling upwards so fast.

As always, silence greeted him when he stepped out on the top floor. What was unusual, though, was Moff Wayland milling around outside his office.
"Chief Protector Kane, sir" the Moff said, crisply snapping to attention and saluting.
"I deplore the use of that title" Kane glowered. "A couple of fancy words devised by beaurocrats to legitimise their use of mercenaries. Call me Tarn".
"Very well, if you won't acknowledge your official position within the Empire, far be it for me to enforce such... inconveniences" the Moff replied. His mouth seemed to curl upward into a distasteful sneer with every word. Tarn didn't like him, and hadn't ever since he'd met the man.
"What do you want?" Kane sighed, his hands falling close to the holstered blasters on his thighs; a conscious movement, which blatently panicked the trooper enough to make him back-step.
"Just to inform you there's a man in your office. One of your Mando boys, he was rather rude and seemed somewhat agitated..." the Moff began, but Kane stormed right past him once he'd heard the basics.
He thumbed the pressure pad to open his office... and fell back as a shower of blaster fire rained out the moment the doors had even cracked open.
Without even thinking, Tarn called for back-up; not from his own people, but from Stormtroopers.
"Die sha'buir!" his assailant cried, sailing out of the office and landing ontop of Kane, who had ducked and covered to avoid the shots. He felt a blade slide through the gap between his shoulderpad and breastplate, and twisted to a side, trapping the knife and wrenching it aside.
The knife pierced his shoulder at an angle, but it would have been his heart had he not reacted.
"Tracyn Velor" he spat, rolling as hard as he could manage, pinning the assassin beneath himself and driving an elbow into his ribs.
"Traitor... back-stabbing dar'manda..." Tracyn hissed, even with the air driven out of his lungs.
Quick to his feet, Tarn drew both blaster pistols and fired down at Tracyn, but before he'd even squeezed the triggers, the younger man had rolled aside. Tracyn jumped to his feet, a blur of bronze armour, and grabbed for Tarn's arms. He raised one to point at the ceiling, and slammed his right arm against the corridor wall, causing him to lose his grip on one pistol.
"You had your chance to join me, back on Orto Plutonia. You chose exile, Tracyn" Kane snapped, kicking the young man in the knee once, twice... then, on the third time, a muffled snap sent Tracyn reeling to the floor, clutching his broken leg.

It couldn't have been more perfect; at that moment, Stormtroopers burst in from either end of the corridor, some from the turbolifts and some from the emergency stairwell. If he knew these men as well as he thought he did, Tarn predicted the story would be all over the Coruscant barracks by the end of the day, and all over Coruscant by the following morning.
"So, the Cuy'val Dar send an assassin... and they think eliminating me will change things for Mandalore?" he asked.
"Go to Hell, Tarn..." Tracyn muttered in a strained voice.
"Your actions here are punishable by death" Tarn said solemnly.
"I'll see you at my trial" Tracyn retorted.
Kane reached behind him, drew his beskar katana, and deftly cut Tracyn's helmeted head off. "Your right to trial has expired".
"My word..." said a shocked voice, and Tarn turned around, pointing at Moff Wayland.
"Arrest him! On suspicion of knowingly aiding and abetting the enemy" he snarled.
"Don't be absurd!" Wayland snapped, holding up his hands as a dozen rifles were levelled on him. "As far as I knew he was just one of yours, you all look the same to me..."
"Say no more, Governor. If you're innocent, I'll prove it. If not... then your right to trial may also have expired".

[Trenton Vinh]

Captain Scott Voren eyed the 'abandoned' space station through the viewport of his Tartan Patrol Cruiser, 'The Soilborn'.

He had been given mysterious orders to inspect the nearby space station less than twelve hours after being assigned to this seemingly random area of space. He also knew, via Galactic Alliance Intelligence, that this was the meeting place of the Cuy'val Dar and the Jedi.

Scott was a middle-aged man, his hair was graying at the temples, he had several harsh lines across his space. He had left his homeworld of Bonadan to join the military, following the footsteps of his father.
He had spent his career earning a flawless reputation within the military, but it had not saved him from being assigned to the dreadfully boring patrol routes he had spent the past four years flying.
But he had a ship he could call his own, it was small, with a crew of only 249, himself included.
The crew had been together for years, and had a few good experiences to share. A few bad ones as well.
He frowned, thinking back to the incident in the Ison Corridor, where a pirate fleet had attacked the ship, and three of Scott's men died from decompression when the hull was breached.

The crew was a close-knit one, and Scott understood the Military well enough to know that he had not ended up in this random reassignment for no reason. No doubt some political game was being played, wherein he and his crew were pawns being moved.

He briefly thought of the chessboard of the Galaxy, and who would be the one forced to check mate at the end of the game. As long as his crew and him made it home at the end of the day with everyone's dignity intact, than Scott had done his job.

He said aloud, "Take us in, ladies and gentleman. Someone with connections in the military wants us inspecting that station A.S.A.P."
The crew snapped to work, and the cruiser slowly inched forward, its engines powering up.

Feeling the familiar vibration echoing through the hull beneath his boots, Scott said aloud,
"Get a boarding team ready, I want a complete sweep of the station. Expect there to be people on board, no weapons are to be fired unless fired on first. There is apparently Mandalorians and Jedi on the station, but we aren't exactly supposed to be aware of this. A friend of mine in Naval Intelligence tipped me off. So let's play nice and pretend we weren't informed by anyone."


*****

Ben was standing in front of the Mandalorian Shuttle, wondering how he would get in to get off the station, when a shuttle bearing the Galactic Alliance insignia landed in the hangar.

Looking at Wren in confusion, he asked, "Did you send out any transmissions?"

Wren shook his head slowly, "Only the Jedi Order, the Mandalorians, and the Senate know what's going on here."

Ben smirked, "If the senate knows than the whole Galaxy knows."
Wren smiled, and the pair watched as the shuttle's ramp lowered and a squad of Galactic Alliance troops strode down the ramp.

They identified themselves, and Ben and Wren did the same. The squad's commanding officer walked over to the Jedi pair while the other troops moved throughout the station.
The officer, a bothan, saluted crisply and said, "I'm Lieutenant Riew Sdam. Galactic Alliance Military. My commanding officer, Captain Scott Voren of The Soilborn, ordered me and my men to inspect this station."

Ben saluted back and replied, "You are aware that there was a meeting betwe-" he was cut off when the bothan's comlink crackled to life, and a voice said shakily,
"Sir...you should come see this."

The bothan said, "Follow me please, Master Jedi." To his comlink he said, "On the way."

The Jedi followed the bothan, knowing full well what his men had found. Three bodies, two with lightsaber wounds. They took the turbolift up to the cantina level, Wren beginning to explain what they had found. He didn't get the words out before the bothan saw the corpses.

Riew stooped in front of the corpses and eyed them. He turned to face the Jedi and said, "One moment please, stay where you are."

He opened a comm channel back to the ship, where Captain Voren awaited, "Yes, Lieutenant?" Voren's voice crackled.

"Sir." Riew answered, "We have something you should see...immediately."

Voren must have sensed the worry in Riew's voice, because he responded right away, 'I'll be there in five, Lieutenant."
The channel went silent.

Ben began to take a step forward to explain the situation, "When we arrived we found them like this, we were attacked by a-" he went quiet when three of the troopers levelled their blaster rifles at him.

Lieutenant Riew said, "I suggest you remain still, Master Jedi. I'm sure you understand how this looks. We don't want to have to treat you as hostiles."

Wren stated, "There's really no need..."
Ben silenced him with a look. Arguing would not help the situation.

He felt a weight drop in the pit of his stomach. He knew what was happening.
The Jedi had been set up.

[Trenton Vinh]

Captain Voren eyed the scene of the murders, a grim look creasing his features.

He pulled off his cap and wiped a beat of sweat from his hairline, before looking at his Lieutenant and nodding slowly, "This...this is bad. The Mandalorian sects will be furious."

Lieutenant Riew nodded, his eyes not leaving the two Jedi, who stood in the corner of the room.
His men had their blasters trained upon the Force-Users, whose attempts at explaining what had happened had been repeatedly ignored.

Ben said, "Sir? We found them like this. When we found the bodies we were attacked by a Si-" he caught himself from uttering the word Sith. They did not know that for sure, and if news of any Sith reappearances showed up on the Holonets, there would be panic.
Wren finished the sentence for Ben, "attacked by a suspicious figure, who then stole our ship."

Lieutenant Riew smirked, "Two Jedi couldn't stop one man from taking their ship?"

Ben felt his temper rise, but he held it in, and said, "The person killed three Mandalorians. They clearly knew how to hold their own with a weapon. And yes, they got our ship."

Captain Voren was a smart man. He had seen his share of evil in the Galaxy, and he did not especially distrust the Jedi. But he wasn't sure he trusted them, either.
He had to make a decision, and he knew that the decision could affect the future of the Jedi Order, and the future of the Galactic Alliance. A mistake could mean war between the GA and the Mandalorians.

He gave his men a hand signal, and said, "I'm sorry, Master Jedi, but for the safety and security of the Galactic Alliance, I am placing you under arrest while the murders are investigated. You will return with us to Coruscant...in the brig."

Two soldiers moved towards Ben and Wren slowly, as if expecting an attack. Ben shook his head slowly, and Wren knew not to act stupid. They allowed the men to remove their lightsabers, and held out their hands while binders were locked around their wrists.

Voren said slowly, "I hope you people realize how bad this looks for you. I sincerely mean it when I say I hope you're story is proven correct."

Lieutenant Riew smirked as he prodded Ben with the butt of a stun baton, "Get walking, kiddo."

Ben started walking towards the lift, and mumbled, "This is ridiculous. How could we have launched our own ship into space and out of the sector?"

Lieutenant Riew was the only one who heard him, and he answered with a tap of the baton. Electricity jolted Ben's body, and he struggled to keep walking.

It was going to be a long trip to Coruscant...