Post by Trenton Vinh on Feb 10, 2012 0:37:26 GMT -5
_____________________________
He stood on the precipice of a dusty cliff. His robes whipping in the air around him, stinging the exposed flesh of his knuckles, his cheeks. It blew his hair in every direction, and the coldness pulled the oxygen from his lungs, stinging his cheeks.
Beneath him was the Dark Abyss, its black power radiating through The Force. Its depth unfathomable, possibly endless. It had been there for as long as he could remember. And he had stood upon this precipice for as long as he had lived.
This cliff, with the dark pit laying beneath, was within a mental plane, deep inside the psyche of Trenton Vinh. The freezing wind blew against his back, pushing him towards the edge, forcing him forward. It was a constant struggle for Trenton to keep himself from plummeting over the edge, dropping into the murky depths of the Abyss.
His Meditation had been this constant struggle, ever since leaving Coruscant and the Republic.
His eyes peered over the cliffside, taking in the sight of the Abyss below him. The Abyss seemed to stare back, looking up at him like a hunter eyeing its broken-legged prey.
He was vulnerable on the ledge, stepping back was impossible, every time he tried to retreat, the winds grew stronger and pushed him back towards the edge. Stepping over the ledge...he didn't know what would happen. Falling into The Abyss may end his life. He did not know. He feared what was beneath him. It was like looking into a mirror, and seeing the reflection of a person one didn't want to see.
Trenton was looking down at the darkest part of himself. To allow himself to be engulfed by this darkness, surrounded, encompassed, filled and penetrated by whatever the Abyss contained, was something that scared him more than any beast or betrayal. The darkness within was a greater threat than anything he had experienced in his life.
The Jedi had sensed it. They had always sensed it in me. That is why I was paired up with Master Sumner....Jet. The strongest trainer to tame the most dangerous beast.
His thoughts came slowly, they seemed distant. Muffled and difficult to discern, like a conversation underwater.Forcing his internal eyes to look away from the Abyss below, Trenton forced himself to focus on his thoughts.
I went from being their best hope, and became their worst nightmare. They had known what I was capable of all along. I was blind. I was arrogant. I made myself into a monster.
His powers had dissipated as he left New Republic space, it seemed. He had to concentrate to lift even small objects with The Force. His confidence had dropped quickly. Perhaps the Abyss was his power, his Force Strength, all that made him a Force-User. It awaited him, waited for him to take the plunge, to let it take over and fill him with its raw energy.
Maybe it was the embodiment of the Dark Side, and touching that Abyss would taint him. There were tales that some Sith became tainted by the Dark Side. They would have to draw upon it more and more as time went on, like an addict growing an immunity to a potent drug.
I know what I can do, what I have done. I didn't regret it when I killed Jet. I didn't regret it after, either. Not until after the trial, in the coldness of space did it really hit me.
The trip had been quiet since they had left Coruscant. Hours of Hyperspace left Malaia and Trenton with plenty of time. With a sad smile, Trent realized, I suppose I've got nothing left but time now.
______________________
The sleek shuttle pierced the clouds of Belkadan as Malfurion guided the spacecraft towards the Science Outpost.
The population of the Outpost was a mere twenty-seven people, according to the database.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
The recorded comm message played over the speakers, the same thing over and over. By now, all three Jedi had tuned the voice out, but Trent remained carefully aware of the tone of his voice.
He sounded horrified, and psychotic. Maddened. Perhaps insane? Trent did not know what they would find inside that facility, but he had no doubt that it would be nothing good.
The craft landed gently on the docking platform, at the rooftop of the two story facility.
Harsh winds ripped across the planet, and a cold chill rippled down Trenton's spine as the boarding ramp lowered to the duracrete.
He led the way across the platform, Malfurion behind him, Roth in the back. Lightsabers in their hands, unlit but at the ready, they stopped in front of the doorway.
Malfurion stepped in front of the keypad and tapped a command, the door slid open silently.
The wind blasted back Roth's wild hair, and when they stepped inside he muttered, "Close the door behind us. We don't want a draft getting in."
Trent nodded, knowing full well that Roth was being tactful. What he really meant was "Close the door so the bocats and razor cats can't come maul us to death."
Roth wasn't censoring himself to spare Malfurion from fearing death. Malfurion was fully aware of death, and fully capable of defending himself.
But Roth was still being wary of his Padawan, not completely sure if the boy was mature enough or not to begin to learn the more...dark powers Trent and Roth practiced.
The door slid shut behind them, sealing them off from the harsh blowing winds and damp air.
The dark hallway they now stood in seemed to be much darker than it had been moments before. As if the light from the numerous transparisteel windows was somehow not making it through the reinforced glass. Like it was being blocked by something sinister.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
The words rang through the facility, and Roth cursed under his breath. The voice of the horrified psychopath was being replayed over and over on the intercom system.
Trent looked down the hallway they stood in. At a hundred meters long, the corridor seemed to grow darker as it grew longer. More than a dozen doorways pockmarked the walls.
To the left, a staircase leading upwards, to the right, one leading down.
Trenton asked Roth, "You go up, I go down?"
Roth nodded, and inclined his head towards the staircase, looking at Malfurion.
His apprentice understood the signal, and turned to move up the steps.
Trent began to step down the dimly lit staircase and said, "Keep me updated if you find anything, otherwise, lets try to keep it quiet. I have a bad feeling about this place."
Roth smiled, "A blind womp-rat would have a bad feeling about this place. Doesn't take Force Intuition to realize something is wrong here."
Trent shot him a grim look before retreating down the steps, "True."
*****
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Trent shuddered when he got to the bottom floor of the facility.
It had grown steadily colder as he had moved down the stairs, and a faint stench filled the air. It was a stench Trent knew well.
Rotting flesh.
Something- or someone, had died here.
Straight ahead of him was a closed doorway, and to his left the hallway stretched a hundred meters. To the right, a doorway into the sub-basements.
The dim hallway was illuminated only by the five strobing emergency lights, the rotating lights giving an eerie look to an already eerie situation.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
The d**n voice replayed again over the loudspeakers. Trenton resisted the urge to rip the speaker from the wall. The repetition was frightening, and more than a little annoying.
He tuned it out, and stepped forward to open the door ahead of him.
Trent reached towards the keypad to tap the button to open the door pausing when he caught sight of the back of his hand.
The crimson emergency strobes made his skin look like he had been dipped in blood.
Feeling like he was being watched, he pushed on the pressure tab and the door rumbled open before his eyes.
The room looked like it had once been a neat and productive laboratory, but it had been destroyed.
The lights had been shattered, all the machinery smashed to bits.
Trenton stepped over a smashed datascreen and stood in front of a table that ran the length of the room.
Vials and bottles had been shattered, their colored liquids spilling over the edges of their stands.
Trent watched as a pool of blueish liquid trickled drop by drop off the side of the table and into a green puddle that rested on the floor.
With each drop of blue that splashed into the green goo, a sizzle erupted from the point of contact, and a small puff of smoke shot into the air.
He turned away from the mess of a room, and returned to the hallway, still lit by the red lights.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Trenton moved down the hallway ten meters, where a doorway sat on either side of him. Both had windows on the upper half of the doorways; the glass had been shattered.
Trent peered inside both broken windows, seeing empty bunks inside.
Barracks.
He heard a yelp from upstairs, assuming Roth or Malfurion had found something, Trent lifted his comlink to his lips, but before he could say anything, Roth came on saying, "If you heard that, its nothing to worry about. Just a stray bocat got into one of the broken windows. Have you noticed all the machinery is destroyed?"
Trent responded, "Yeah...Keep me updated. Nothing here yet."
He returned the comlink to his belt, and moved to the next doorway. Inside, a kitchen, the drawers and cupboards all yanked open and rifled through. Broken glasses and plates littered the floor. The fridge had been overturned, and spoiled rotting food littered the ground around it.
Trent ignored the smell, and looked around, noticing all the knives had been removed from the utensil cabinets.
He took this as a bad sign.
Most likely, something bad happened, the scientists got worried, and without weapons, they grabbed whatever they could find.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Trent proceeded to the second last doorway, the final one at the end of the hallway. The door Trent stood in front of was ajar, and Trenton pushed it open with a creaking sound.
This room had its machinery all torn apart too, computers and datapads smashed and stomped on.
His worry had only increased. The only remaining doorway was marked "Safe Room".
This door would have a seal on it, and be thick enough to survive all but the strongest of explosives. Trent pulled the foot-thick door open, hoping the scientists would be inside, awaiting rescue.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
The room was black. Trent took three steps inside, and the door slid shut behind him ,sealing with a pop.
Trent didn't reach for a light switch. He knew what was here.
Half a second later, the emergency light strobed crimson, revealing the room's contents.
Blood covered the floor, an inch deep at its shallowest.
In the half second that the room had been bathed in crimson light, Trent had caught sight of the bodies.
At least a dozen of them, mouths gaping open in silent screams of pain and terror.
Eyes wide, week old tear stains showed skin beneath the dried blood that covered the corpses.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Dried blood covered the walls, as if the killer had taken delight in causing as much bloodshed as possible.
The wounds on the bodies suggested that they had been mauled and slashed, as if the killer had used a sharp blade, but also had fierce jaws.
Trent imagined a fearsome creature with large razor sharp claws and teeth ripping the scientists to shreds, but he belayed that thought.
The hands of the corpses clutched everything from knives to vibroblades, yet none looked as if they had caused any damage to the attacker.
There were nail marks on the inner walls of the door, as if the victims had hoped to cut through the foot thick durasteel to get to safety.
Judging by the outside of the door, there had been no forced entry.
That meant the killer had been among the victims. Most likely acting as afraid as they were, taking pleasure from their horror.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Trent turned away from the horrific sight, feeling slightly sick. He suppressed the urge to vomit, and left the room, tapping the "Seal" key on the inner keypad before closing the door behind himself.
When the door slammed shut, a high-pitched whine cut through the air- the sound of the door locking itself into an airtight state. No raiders or curious adventurers would stumble onto the bodies. Shut away forever inside the steely, blood-encrusted tomb, Trent promised to find out what had murdered the scientists.
He made his way down the hallway, feeling extremely warm, he drew his comlink from his belt, sweaty hands fumbling slightly.
He took a rattling breath, and turned on his comlink. Putting on the strongest possible voice he could muster, Trent said, "Roth, I found the scientists. Meet me on the middle level once you're done up top."
Trent returned his comlink to his pocket, and tried to forget the words that kept repeating themselves, on the loudspeaker and within his own head.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
______________
Its so cold here.
In space, the interstellar chills seem to cling to one's bones. Its like wearing wet clothing, every fiber sticks to you in a way that it can only be peeled away by the warmth of atmosphere.
For this Wanderer, the chills are a feeling he has grown accustomed to, something he needs, something he feels out of place without.
On the ground, on planets and space stations and large space cruisers, he is left off-balance, out of place, and uncomfortable.
Some men travel between the stars in search of their homes in the Galaxy. My home is between the stars.
Native to a planet he has long since forgotten, son to a mother and father long gone. Brother to none.
Destined to die out there, in the void where few ever traverse.
But this one seems to enjoy it like that. While some aim to make their mark on the Galaxy, this man longs to disappear in as much ambiguity as he came in with.
For this one, the Galaxy is merely a window that he looks in upon. Never is he the subject, only the observer.
His only purpose is to have no purpose, to see and view and watch and think. He is not a man of war, or a farmer, or a king, or a smuggler or Bounty Hunter or Jedi.
He has no interest in who controls the Galaxy, or who will rise up to defeat the malicious threats of invaders.
He is just there, as permanent as a black hole.
As noticeable as a speck of dust in an ion storm.
As memorable as an extinguished flame.
He does follow the Galactic News. He enjoys seeing how people react to the terrors and joys of everyday life. He does not feel the need to participate, or to try to make his thoughts heard. He does not write down what he thinks. Instead he just allows his thoughs to wander in the same way that his ship does.
His path arches a long circumference, passing around planets. He follows a trail that is as real as a dream.
He studies. For days and days he neglects his most basic instincts, to eat and sleep and drink, and instead delves into the information of the Universe.
The Jedi fascinate him. He is not a religious man, merely a curious one. The Force is the only thing he let's himself wish he could have. But he is wise enough to know that if he had access to the mystical power, he would have no use for it.
One does not need to wield magic for himself, when the magic already wields everything in the Galaxy, himself included.
Sometimes this one wonders why he was chosen to be what he is; a wanderer and a drifter, an interstellar hermit.
He also wonders why a chosen few in the Galaxy are chosen to defend the trillions of others in the Galaxy. He finds this strange. Perhaps destiny chooses to do so, or perhaps they it is a destiny they choose themselves. Do choose to step forward, or does everyone else step back, leaving him in the spotlight?
This also makes one wonder: What if they are destined to do great? Does that mean they are in control at all? Or does everything happen for a reason that only someone of a higher power could comprehend?
Some would assume that the wanderer would eventually catch wind of some dangerous threat or terrible event that would drive him to return to the known Galaxy to aid any innocent lives he could, but this assumption would be misguided.
For if this one returned, he would make no difference. He did not command charisma or strength or the knowledge needed to aid the Galaxy. he knows he is not special. He is just a wanderer, and that is all he will ever be.
He finds it ironic that he considers it his destiny to remain secluded in his lonely ship, his only comfort being the touch of the cold interstellar winds.
Or...perhaps destiny did not choose him, but he chose it to be his destiny.
Perhaps destiny is a by-product of luck.
One could spin the wheel, and whatever the arrow landed on became their fate. Perhaps luck made him what he is. Or perhaps luck is destiny.
But, he muses, if luck is entwined with destiny, than there is no such thing as luck. For destiny implies predestination, leaving no room for error or chance. Error is also impossible, because any error would happen only because it was destined to happen. So, in a way, errors are as much a part of fate as anything else.
The wanderer wondered if there was any way to deny one of his fate. It would be impossible. The wanderer's destiny was to travel between the stars endlessly. If he was tempted to defy fate and walk the planets, than that would have been his destiny all along. His fate would have always been to eventually test his own fate, by landing on the planets he passed.
With fate being inescapable, choice became irrelevant. If one have always been destined to save the Galaxy, than one would not be able to deny that. No matter what, one would be drawn into the conflict. And if he or she was killed, or they killed themselves in an attempt to rid themselves of their destiny, than that is what they were in fact, destined to do.
Fate is unavoidable.
Destiny is inescapable.
They are one and the same.
But these are merely the thoughts of a wanderer. A traveler, whose only home is the homelessness of space. The darkness between stars.
His destiny is to feel the chills of space.
He is not a visionary, or a conqueror or a hero or a villain. He is not meant to be a doctor or a scholar or a soldier. Not a Smuggler or Bounty Hunter.
For this one, the Galaxy is merely a window that he looks in upon. Never is he the subject, only the observer. Forever will be remain the observer.
_________________
A pair of men stood on a ship, adrift in a void of empty space; desolate as a grave.
On the other side of the wall-size viewport, the stars rotated slowly, peering in at the occupants of the shuttle.
The younger of the men stared out and saw the Galaxy with a sense of awe, a sense of wonder.
The older of the men could not bear the true weight of the Galaxy, and he turned away from it, his shoulders heavy with wise sorrow.
He was a realist, while the younger was bright with youthful optimism.
If only the child could understand that the Galaxy was not a happy, peaceful place.
It was dangerous, dark, and cold.
The younger man was youthful, on the verge of manhood. Nearly twenty years of life had shown him that things didn't always go the way one wants them to. But it also showed him that the Universe worked in unexpected ways. That some things have ways of coming around, and that an opportunity must be seized when it is presented.
The older of the two was the boy's father. He had once been as naive and hopeful for the future.
"You know, father, that if I go there...I could help." The boy said softly, weary of his father's response.
The father turned his eyes once more to The galaxy beyond the viewport, and shook his head sadly, "You could. But what difference will it make? If you move without direction you may as well remain still."
The boy lowered his eyes from the stars, darkness clouding his face. He understood the meaning in his father's words. The lessons.
Sometimes it seemed that everything was a lesson with the elder.
"What should I do then, dad? I have a destiny to fulfill. How will I know if I am fulfilling it or not?"
The father lifted a hand slowly, turning his palm upwards as if presenting a gift. In the palm was a small crystal, and the boy stared at it intently. The sphere of translucence caught the light from the distant stars, casting a rainbow of color along the wall.
The father said softly, "We can never know all the answers, young Kavan. We can only be answers."
Kavan took the crystal in his own hand, his hands cupping the precious stone with awe, but his eyes were on his father, who looked down at him with a look that seemed sad.
"Take me to Coruscant, father."
The father nodded his head, and turned away from his son, tapped a few buttons, and flipped a switch. The ship rumbled to life, and the Hyperspace warmed.
He looked back towards his son, who was now inspecting the crystal's every angle. In time the child would be one with the crystal, inseparable in mind, bonded by the Force forever.
"Kavan, you have an incredible gift. You must remain centered in the present while using your powers to intuit where all possibilities lay. I have trained you as much as I can, but some of your powers surpass even my own. If you need guidance, you will find it in the Galaxy. Sometimes it comes in strange forms."
He paused, while Kavan looked out the viewport at the stars, his gaze distant, his eyes unfocused.
Deep in thought, he hardly noticed the stars disappear into lines as the shuttle entered Hyperspace.
Del Moirai, Kavan's father, spoke once more, "You will be tested. Your resolve and your strength will be pushed to the limit. Sometimes you may feel like giving up hope. Don't. Hope is what the galaxy needs. You will bring hope where there is none. So long as you are doing this, you will be on the right path, my son."
He stood on the precipice of a dusty cliff. His robes whipping in the air around him, stinging the exposed flesh of his knuckles, his cheeks. It blew his hair in every direction, and the coldness pulled the oxygen from his lungs, stinging his cheeks.
Beneath him was the Dark Abyss, its black power radiating through The Force. Its depth unfathomable, possibly endless. It had been there for as long as he could remember. And he had stood upon this precipice for as long as he had lived.
This cliff, with the dark pit laying beneath, was within a mental plane, deep inside the psyche of Trenton Vinh. The freezing wind blew against his back, pushing him towards the edge, forcing him forward. It was a constant struggle for Trenton to keep himself from plummeting over the edge, dropping into the murky depths of the Abyss.
His Meditation had been this constant struggle, ever since leaving Coruscant and the Republic.
His eyes peered over the cliffside, taking in the sight of the Abyss below him. The Abyss seemed to stare back, looking up at him like a hunter eyeing its broken-legged prey.
He was vulnerable on the ledge, stepping back was impossible, every time he tried to retreat, the winds grew stronger and pushed him back towards the edge. Stepping over the ledge...he didn't know what would happen. Falling into The Abyss may end his life. He did not know. He feared what was beneath him. It was like looking into a mirror, and seeing the reflection of a person one didn't want to see.
Trenton was looking down at the darkest part of himself. To allow himself to be engulfed by this darkness, surrounded, encompassed, filled and penetrated by whatever the Abyss contained, was something that scared him more than any beast or betrayal. The darkness within was a greater threat than anything he had experienced in his life.
The Jedi had sensed it. They had always sensed it in me. That is why I was paired up with Master Sumner....Jet. The strongest trainer to tame the most dangerous beast.
His thoughts came slowly, they seemed distant. Muffled and difficult to discern, like a conversation underwater.Forcing his internal eyes to look away from the Abyss below, Trenton forced himself to focus on his thoughts.
I went from being their best hope, and became their worst nightmare. They had known what I was capable of all along. I was blind. I was arrogant. I made myself into a monster.
His powers had dissipated as he left New Republic space, it seemed. He had to concentrate to lift even small objects with The Force. His confidence had dropped quickly. Perhaps the Abyss was his power, his Force Strength, all that made him a Force-User. It awaited him, waited for him to take the plunge, to let it take over and fill him with its raw energy.
Maybe it was the embodiment of the Dark Side, and touching that Abyss would taint him. There were tales that some Sith became tainted by the Dark Side. They would have to draw upon it more and more as time went on, like an addict growing an immunity to a potent drug.
I know what I can do, what I have done. I didn't regret it when I killed Jet. I didn't regret it after, either. Not until after the trial, in the coldness of space did it really hit me.
The trip had been quiet since they had left Coruscant. Hours of Hyperspace left Malaia and Trenton with plenty of time. With a sad smile, Trent realized, I suppose I've got nothing left but time now.
______________________
The sleek shuttle pierced the clouds of Belkadan as Malfurion guided the spacecraft towards the Science Outpost.
The population of the Outpost was a mere twenty-seven people, according to the database.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
The recorded comm message played over the speakers, the same thing over and over. By now, all three Jedi had tuned the voice out, but Trent remained carefully aware of the tone of his voice.
He sounded horrified, and psychotic. Maddened. Perhaps insane? Trent did not know what they would find inside that facility, but he had no doubt that it would be nothing good.
The craft landed gently on the docking platform, at the rooftop of the two story facility.
Harsh winds ripped across the planet, and a cold chill rippled down Trenton's spine as the boarding ramp lowered to the duracrete.
He led the way across the platform, Malfurion behind him, Roth in the back. Lightsabers in their hands, unlit but at the ready, they stopped in front of the doorway.
Malfurion stepped in front of the keypad and tapped a command, the door slid open silently.
The wind blasted back Roth's wild hair, and when they stepped inside he muttered, "Close the door behind us. We don't want a draft getting in."
Trent nodded, knowing full well that Roth was being tactful. What he really meant was "Close the door so the bocats and razor cats can't come maul us to death."
Roth wasn't censoring himself to spare Malfurion from fearing death. Malfurion was fully aware of death, and fully capable of defending himself.
But Roth was still being wary of his Padawan, not completely sure if the boy was mature enough or not to begin to learn the more...dark powers Trent and Roth practiced.
The door slid shut behind them, sealing them off from the harsh blowing winds and damp air.
The dark hallway they now stood in seemed to be much darker than it had been moments before. As if the light from the numerous transparisteel windows was somehow not making it through the reinforced glass. Like it was being blocked by something sinister.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
The words rang through the facility, and Roth cursed under his breath. The voice of the horrified psychopath was being replayed over and over on the intercom system.
Trent looked down the hallway they stood in. At a hundred meters long, the corridor seemed to grow darker as it grew longer. More than a dozen doorways pockmarked the walls.
To the left, a staircase leading upwards, to the right, one leading down.
Trenton asked Roth, "You go up, I go down?"
Roth nodded, and inclined his head towards the staircase, looking at Malfurion.
His apprentice understood the signal, and turned to move up the steps.
Trent began to step down the dimly lit staircase and said, "Keep me updated if you find anything, otherwise, lets try to keep it quiet. I have a bad feeling about this place."
Roth smiled, "A blind womp-rat would have a bad feeling about this place. Doesn't take Force Intuition to realize something is wrong here."
Trent shot him a grim look before retreating down the steps, "True."
*****
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Trent shuddered when he got to the bottom floor of the facility.
It had grown steadily colder as he had moved down the stairs, and a faint stench filled the air. It was a stench Trent knew well.
Rotting flesh.
Something- or someone, had died here.
Straight ahead of him was a closed doorway, and to his left the hallway stretched a hundred meters. To the right, a doorway into the sub-basements.
The dim hallway was illuminated only by the five strobing emergency lights, the rotating lights giving an eerie look to an already eerie situation.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
The d**n voice replayed again over the loudspeakers. Trenton resisted the urge to rip the speaker from the wall. The repetition was frightening, and more than a little annoying.
He tuned it out, and stepped forward to open the door ahead of him.
Trent reached towards the keypad to tap the button to open the door pausing when he caught sight of the back of his hand.
The crimson emergency strobes made his skin look like he had been dipped in blood.
Feeling like he was being watched, he pushed on the pressure tab and the door rumbled open before his eyes.
The room looked like it had once been a neat and productive laboratory, but it had been destroyed.
The lights had been shattered, all the machinery smashed to bits.
Trenton stepped over a smashed datascreen and stood in front of a table that ran the length of the room.
Vials and bottles had been shattered, their colored liquids spilling over the edges of their stands.
Trent watched as a pool of blueish liquid trickled drop by drop off the side of the table and into a green puddle that rested on the floor.
With each drop of blue that splashed into the green goo, a sizzle erupted from the point of contact, and a small puff of smoke shot into the air.
He turned away from the mess of a room, and returned to the hallway, still lit by the red lights.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Trenton moved down the hallway ten meters, where a doorway sat on either side of him. Both had windows on the upper half of the doorways; the glass had been shattered.
Trent peered inside both broken windows, seeing empty bunks inside.
Barracks.
He heard a yelp from upstairs, assuming Roth or Malfurion had found something, Trent lifted his comlink to his lips, but before he could say anything, Roth came on saying, "If you heard that, its nothing to worry about. Just a stray bocat got into one of the broken windows. Have you noticed all the machinery is destroyed?"
Trent responded, "Yeah...Keep me updated. Nothing here yet."
He returned the comlink to his belt, and moved to the next doorway. Inside, a kitchen, the drawers and cupboards all yanked open and rifled through. Broken glasses and plates littered the floor. The fridge had been overturned, and spoiled rotting food littered the ground around it.
Trent ignored the smell, and looked around, noticing all the knives had been removed from the utensil cabinets.
He took this as a bad sign.
Most likely, something bad happened, the scientists got worried, and without weapons, they grabbed whatever they could find.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Trent proceeded to the second last doorway, the final one at the end of the hallway. The door Trent stood in front of was ajar, and Trenton pushed it open with a creaking sound.
This room had its machinery all torn apart too, computers and datapads smashed and stomped on.
His worry had only increased. The only remaining doorway was marked "Safe Room".
This door would have a seal on it, and be thick enough to survive all but the strongest of explosives. Trent pulled the foot-thick door open, hoping the scientists would be inside, awaiting rescue.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
The room was black. Trent took three steps inside, and the door slid shut behind him ,sealing with a pop.
Trent didn't reach for a light switch. He knew what was here.
Half a second later, the emergency light strobed crimson, revealing the room's contents.
Blood covered the floor, an inch deep at its shallowest.
In the half second that the room had been bathed in crimson light, Trent had caught sight of the bodies.
At least a dozen of them, mouths gaping open in silent screams of pain and terror.
Eyes wide, week old tear stains showed skin beneath the dried blood that covered the corpses.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Dried blood covered the walls, as if the killer had taken delight in causing as much bloodshed as possible.
The wounds on the bodies suggested that they had been mauled and slashed, as if the killer had used a sharp blade, but also had fierce jaws.
Trent imagined a fearsome creature with large razor sharp claws and teeth ripping the scientists to shreds, but he belayed that thought.
The hands of the corpses clutched everything from knives to vibroblades, yet none looked as if they had caused any damage to the attacker.
There were nail marks on the inner walls of the door, as if the victims had hoped to cut through the foot thick durasteel to get to safety.
Judging by the outside of the door, there had been no forced entry.
That meant the killer had been among the victims. Most likely acting as afraid as they were, taking pleasure from their horror.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
Trent turned away from the horrific sight, feeling slightly sick. He suppressed the urge to vomit, and left the room, tapping the "Seal" key on the inner keypad before closing the door behind himself.
When the door slammed shut, a high-pitched whine cut through the air- the sound of the door locking itself into an airtight state. No raiders or curious adventurers would stumble onto the bodies. Shut away forever inside the steely, blood-encrusted tomb, Trent promised to find out what had murdered the scientists.
He made his way down the hallway, feeling extremely warm, he drew his comlink from his belt, sweaty hands fumbling slightly.
He took a rattling breath, and turned on his comlink. Putting on the strongest possible voice he could muster, Trent said, "Roth, I found the scientists. Meet me on the middle level once you're done up top."
Trent returned his comlink to his pocket, and tried to forget the words that kept repeating themselves, on the loudspeaker and within his own head.
"They're already dead! There's no one left...came from the void...we're doomed!"
______________
Its so cold here.
In space, the interstellar chills seem to cling to one's bones. Its like wearing wet clothing, every fiber sticks to you in a way that it can only be peeled away by the warmth of atmosphere.
For this Wanderer, the chills are a feeling he has grown accustomed to, something he needs, something he feels out of place without.
On the ground, on planets and space stations and large space cruisers, he is left off-balance, out of place, and uncomfortable.
Some men travel between the stars in search of their homes in the Galaxy. My home is between the stars.
Native to a planet he has long since forgotten, son to a mother and father long gone. Brother to none.
Destined to die out there, in the void where few ever traverse.
But this one seems to enjoy it like that. While some aim to make their mark on the Galaxy, this man longs to disappear in as much ambiguity as he came in with.
For this one, the Galaxy is merely a window that he looks in upon. Never is he the subject, only the observer.
His only purpose is to have no purpose, to see and view and watch and think. He is not a man of war, or a farmer, or a king, or a smuggler or Bounty Hunter or Jedi.
He has no interest in who controls the Galaxy, or who will rise up to defeat the malicious threats of invaders.
He is just there, as permanent as a black hole.
As noticeable as a speck of dust in an ion storm.
As memorable as an extinguished flame.
He does follow the Galactic News. He enjoys seeing how people react to the terrors and joys of everyday life. He does not feel the need to participate, or to try to make his thoughts heard. He does not write down what he thinks. Instead he just allows his thoughs to wander in the same way that his ship does.
His path arches a long circumference, passing around planets. He follows a trail that is as real as a dream.
He studies. For days and days he neglects his most basic instincts, to eat and sleep and drink, and instead delves into the information of the Universe.
The Jedi fascinate him. He is not a religious man, merely a curious one. The Force is the only thing he let's himself wish he could have. But he is wise enough to know that if he had access to the mystical power, he would have no use for it.
One does not need to wield magic for himself, when the magic already wields everything in the Galaxy, himself included.
Sometimes this one wonders why he was chosen to be what he is; a wanderer and a drifter, an interstellar hermit.
He also wonders why a chosen few in the Galaxy are chosen to defend the trillions of others in the Galaxy. He finds this strange. Perhaps destiny chooses to do so, or perhaps they it is a destiny they choose themselves. Do choose to step forward, or does everyone else step back, leaving him in the spotlight?
This also makes one wonder: What if they are destined to do great? Does that mean they are in control at all? Or does everything happen for a reason that only someone of a higher power could comprehend?
Some would assume that the wanderer would eventually catch wind of some dangerous threat or terrible event that would drive him to return to the known Galaxy to aid any innocent lives he could, but this assumption would be misguided.
For if this one returned, he would make no difference. He did not command charisma or strength or the knowledge needed to aid the Galaxy. he knows he is not special. He is just a wanderer, and that is all he will ever be.
He finds it ironic that he considers it his destiny to remain secluded in his lonely ship, his only comfort being the touch of the cold interstellar winds.
Or...perhaps destiny did not choose him, but he chose it to be his destiny.
Perhaps destiny is a by-product of luck.
One could spin the wheel, and whatever the arrow landed on became their fate. Perhaps luck made him what he is. Or perhaps luck is destiny.
But, he muses, if luck is entwined with destiny, than there is no such thing as luck. For destiny implies predestination, leaving no room for error or chance. Error is also impossible, because any error would happen only because it was destined to happen. So, in a way, errors are as much a part of fate as anything else.
The wanderer wondered if there was any way to deny one of his fate. It would be impossible. The wanderer's destiny was to travel between the stars endlessly. If he was tempted to defy fate and walk the planets, than that would have been his destiny all along. His fate would have always been to eventually test his own fate, by landing on the planets he passed.
With fate being inescapable, choice became irrelevant. If one have always been destined to save the Galaxy, than one would not be able to deny that. No matter what, one would be drawn into the conflict. And if he or she was killed, or they killed themselves in an attempt to rid themselves of their destiny, than that is what they were in fact, destined to do.
Fate is unavoidable.
Destiny is inescapable.
They are one and the same.
But these are merely the thoughts of a wanderer. A traveler, whose only home is the homelessness of space. The darkness between stars.
His destiny is to feel the chills of space.
He is not a visionary, or a conqueror or a hero or a villain. He is not meant to be a doctor or a scholar or a soldier. Not a Smuggler or Bounty Hunter.
For this one, the Galaxy is merely a window that he looks in upon. Never is he the subject, only the observer. Forever will be remain the observer.
_________________
A pair of men stood on a ship, adrift in a void of empty space; desolate as a grave.
On the other side of the wall-size viewport, the stars rotated slowly, peering in at the occupants of the shuttle.
The younger of the men stared out and saw the Galaxy with a sense of awe, a sense of wonder.
The older of the men could not bear the true weight of the Galaxy, and he turned away from it, his shoulders heavy with wise sorrow.
He was a realist, while the younger was bright with youthful optimism.
If only the child could understand that the Galaxy was not a happy, peaceful place.
It was dangerous, dark, and cold.
The younger man was youthful, on the verge of manhood. Nearly twenty years of life had shown him that things didn't always go the way one wants them to. But it also showed him that the Universe worked in unexpected ways. That some things have ways of coming around, and that an opportunity must be seized when it is presented.
The older of the two was the boy's father. He had once been as naive and hopeful for the future.
"You know, father, that if I go there...I could help." The boy said softly, weary of his father's response.
The father turned his eyes once more to The galaxy beyond the viewport, and shook his head sadly, "You could. But what difference will it make? If you move without direction you may as well remain still."
The boy lowered his eyes from the stars, darkness clouding his face. He understood the meaning in his father's words. The lessons.
Sometimes it seemed that everything was a lesson with the elder.
"What should I do then, dad? I have a destiny to fulfill. How will I know if I am fulfilling it or not?"
The father lifted a hand slowly, turning his palm upwards as if presenting a gift. In the palm was a small crystal, and the boy stared at it intently. The sphere of translucence caught the light from the distant stars, casting a rainbow of color along the wall.
The father said softly, "We can never know all the answers, young Kavan. We can only be answers."
Kavan took the crystal in his own hand, his hands cupping the precious stone with awe, but his eyes were on his father, who looked down at him with a look that seemed sad.
"Take me to Coruscant, father."
The father nodded his head, and turned away from his son, tapped a few buttons, and flipped a switch. The ship rumbled to life, and the Hyperspace warmed.
He looked back towards his son, who was now inspecting the crystal's every angle. In time the child would be one with the crystal, inseparable in mind, bonded by the Force forever.
"Kavan, you have an incredible gift. You must remain centered in the present while using your powers to intuit where all possibilities lay. I have trained you as much as I can, but some of your powers surpass even my own. If you need guidance, you will find it in the Galaxy. Sometimes it comes in strange forms."
He paused, while Kavan looked out the viewport at the stars, his gaze distant, his eyes unfocused.
Deep in thought, he hardly noticed the stars disappear into lines as the shuttle entered Hyperspace.
Del Moirai, Kavan's father, spoke once more, "You will be tested. Your resolve and your strength will be pushed to the limit. Sometimes you may feel like giving up hope. Don't. Hope is what the galaxy needs. You will bring hope where there is none. So long as you are doing this, you will be on the right path, my son."
