Saga Valley of Dying Stars (Vader/ Wythe Terin/Syfer Helis) (post-RotS) [updated 8/4!]

Valley of Dying Stars
by KrystalBlaze
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Summary: A jaded young reporter finds herself at the center of a mystery involving a dead Jedi and a living one.
Characters: OCs: Wythe Terin, Syfer Helis, Daravan Duilio
Timeframe: three years post-RotS
Genre: drama, mystery
Disclaimer: the Great One owns it, of course. I just play. The OCs are mine, but all else belongs to the Master. TS Eliot owns the poem.

Notes: this story involved two characters from my full-length, Syfer Helis and Daravan Duilio. This is an AU from that storyline.

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Valley of Dying Stars
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Part One

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

- The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot


?Deadline, Terin! Do you even know what a deadline is??

?Calm down, Jylan.?

?Deadline?s in five minutes, five minutes! I told the boss the piece would be ready, I told him I?d make do! What am I supposed to do if you don?t have it, huh? Go out and hire some bum off the street? Yeah, Terin, complete sense, complete sense.?

?Ssh, for five minutes, will you??

Wythe Terin?s fingers danced along the keyboard, almost as if of their own accord. Her eyes were fixed on her computer screen, despite the annoying presence of her editor fluttering above her like some useless glowbat. She tried to ignore his frantic pleas, intent on finishing this story before deadline, like he wanted.

Jylan paced around her, hands clasped in front of him. Jylan was notorious in his editing, quick and precise. Rumors had it that once Jylan?s wife had been a reporter, just like Wythe, and a very prominent one at that. The rumors went on to describe the first meeting of Jylan and the young reporter, who burst into tears as Jylan smashed the datapad that contained her story against the wall.

They married a year later, and the young wife, Wythe?s role model and inspiration Kikerio Tekra, soon after won the Holonet?s greatest journalism honor, the Golden Key. Kikerio was infamous in recounting the story of the first meeting with her husband, but the media only loved her more for it, and Jylan?s apparent love for journalism had skyrocketed him to the top of the game.

It was tragedy, though, that Kikerio had retired so early, to care for the couple?s children. She was so young, and had so much to offer.

It completely escaped Wythe why a person would throw it all away, the glory and the love and the respect, just to have a couple of babies. The idiocy blew Wythe away, but having met Kikerio, she had to hang the assumption on the wall when it came to her. For everyone else, though, it applied in full.

?Mass of rodents!? Jylan was cursing as he paced around her.

?That?s original,? Wythe threw at him.

?What do you expect? I can cuss at the home, the kids would pick it up!? Jylan all but yelled. ?Full-balled little snakes, less jabbering, more writing!?

?Shut up,? Wythe said as she banged the last word into the keyboard. Delighted, she stood up and back. ?Done!?

?About bantha-stinkin? time, Terin!? Jylan said, propping himself in her seat so he could read. ?The audacity of the Holonet to hire you and not consult me, stupid people. And throwing you in my department without as much as a ?hey-do? and then??

Wythe, who had been leaning against the wall of her cubicle with her head bowed, looked up in concern as Jylan?s voice trailed off. He was staring intently at the screen, and she watched as his eyes skimmed the words. Her story wasn?t long, perhaps two pages at the most, but Jylan jumped back in less than minute.

?No, no, no!? he screamed as he wheeled on her. ?Are you insane? That will never get pass the censors!?

?It?s journalism,? Wythe defended, knowing she would strike a cord.

Jylan?s lip twitched as he looked at her, and then he laughed. ?Damn you, Terin, with your damn idealist crusades,? he said almost affectionately. ?I swear, kid, if I didn?t know better

 

I love stories that give a new, interesting bent on things and this once is certainly exciting. Can't wait for more.

 

Zara - glad to see you're liking this. It makes me happy.

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Part Two

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?TERIN!?

Oh, drat. Jylan was waiting for her. Wythe had wanted to go to her desk first and read the reactions that had been written in the hour commute it took her from home to work, but apparently she was going to have appease Jylan first. Casting one longing look at her desk, knowing the glowing reviews waiting, she pulled herself to walk towards the sound of Jylan?s voice.

She?d stayed up all night waiting for the replies to come rolling in, the reactions to start. It hadn?t taken on; five minutes after her story ran, the reviews started piling up on the Holonet feedback site. There were reactions on both sides of the line; some praised her story as being the only truth in the galaxy, another wished the author would die in a heated crash for spreading such lies about the Emperor. It had delighted Wythe.

This was why she had become a journalist: to create reaction. When she had torn herself away from the replies that seemed to come every minute, one user had been hell-bent on starting a petition to dethrone the Emperor. There were death threats being issued, word of rallies taking place all over the galaxy.

And because she, Wythe Terin, had the courage to stand up and declare the truth.

Oh, it felt good.

She had hoped Jylan would be pleased with her initiative, but she had never seen him so angry. She had seen him frustrated, annoyed, upset, but this was genuine anger. Her steps slowed as she neared him, suddenly afraid. His eyes fixed on hers with a furious glare, and she pushed her hesitation aside and strode forward, willing herself to believe he was only angry because he had tried to hold her back.

?My office,? he growled, his voice mangled with fury.

Truly frightened now but unwilling to show it, she marched with her head held high into his small office. There were holos of his wife and kid on the walls and on his desk, a rotating slideshow of his life. His degrees were mounted on the walls, along with the dozens of awards he had won, including his own Golden Key award for editing. Suddenly she pictured herself with a Golden Key award, with an office like this, screaming at an inferior for disrespect?

Oh, that would feel good, too.

The slamming of his door shook her from her thoughts.

?Sit!? he yelled at her as he moved with vigor to sit behind his desk. When she hesitated, he screamed, ?what is so hard about that??

When she was seated, he jumped up. ?You really have a death wish, don?t you, Terin? Is that what you want, to die? No, you can?t want that, because then you wouldn?t be able to cause the trouble you have again. No, you don?t want death, right??

?Jylan,? she said in a small voice. ?I just wanted to put the truth out there.?

?Oh, can it with your truth syndrome, Terin!? he shouted. ?Even if I was going to believe that, it doesn?t matter! I told you no, and you did it anyway! How?s that for truth??

?You don?t believe me?? she asked, unable to process what he was saying.

?No, if you really want to know, I think you did it for the glory,? he seethed at her. ?I told you no one published stories about the Emperor, and you did it anyway! So, of course, that would mean you wanted to be the only one who did. Which means you did it for the glory and self-recognition.?

?I didn?t put my name on it,? she defended herself.

?Because you were scared!? he barked.

Silence now, a silence in which Wythe could still not comprehend this senseless anger. Annoyance, vexation, frustration ? she had been prepared to deal with all those. This Jylan was driven not by that, though, but, she could see now ? fear. Genuine, sweet fear of something, or someone.

Jylan collapsed back into his chair, head in hands, shaking. Wythe wanted to say something, anything, but no matter how many times in the past people had called her a ?chatterbox?, she could not think of anything to say, in part because she didn?t really know why he was angry. Was it spec

 

Now, the best aspect of this is the fact that, for once, it's from the perspective of the men and women of the media in a galaxy far, far away.

In almost everything else, characters are either mercenary Han Solo wannabes or troops or Jedi. Gotta love originality.

 

Wonderful! Please include me on the PM list for this one! I don't want to miss a post. And I promise to leave a longer review the next time around.

 

Antilles - hush, you. No, really, thanks for replying and I'm glad you think the story is original.

Mama Vader - will do. Thanks for reading.

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Part Three

?Say, Terin. What?s a guy gotta do to get you to loosen up??

Wythe ignored Yrvan as he crept up behind her. She kept ignoring him, even as he prowled around her desk, waving his hand through his hair and tiptoeing, puckering his lips and batting his eyes, as if that would endear her to him. Telling herself he would get bored soon, she kept her eyes trained on her computer, fingers mechanically rapping out the sentences without much of a thought.

?You can?t ignore me forever, Terin, as much as you want to,? Yrvan continued, batting his eyes at an almost impossible speed. ?I have all day to do this.?

As much as she didn?t want to believe him, she didn?t see why it couldn?t be true. As editor-in-chief of The Revelation, he really didn?t have to be anywhere until the end of the day to divide up assignments. Yrvan was pathetically lazy, choosing to let most of the editing to his lower editors, who took the job with zeal in hopes that one day Yrvan would just stop coming in. So far, though, Yrvan had shown up each day without fail, although Wythe suspected it wasn?t so much as duty that brought him but the need to annoy and seduce her.

Two months ago when Wythe had been hired, she had been nothing more than a face among the dozens of ?journalists? who made their living doting on Coruscant?s socialite, taking what the investigators found her and turning it into something almost akin to an article. The Revelation ran once a week, and the huge deadline moved her story to almost flawless perfection, and had called Yrvan?s attention to her.

He was curious, like everyone. How did someone like her, a respected journalist for the Holonet who had been in the department from which had come the Devastation Article that had caused the galaxy to almost tumble six months before her hiring, come to work at a place like The Revelation, which Yrvan admitted was not really journalism?

It seemed it was now his mission to find out, because everyday for the past week, he had come calling at her desk. These sexual advances were new; before they had been merely an invitation for a drink. She had accepted at first, but after the first time, she had quickly discovered the only thing he wanted was getting her to bed. It appalled her, the way he acted, so she stopped speaking with him.

It had been eight months since the so-called ?Devastation Article? had run, and in those eight months her life had been hell. She had quit the Holonet the day after Jylan?s murder, calling raised brows from the Chief and her new department head. It didn?t matter; she knew she could no longer work in a place where she had caused Jylan?s murder.

And it was murder, not death. Not execution. He had died to save her.

She had gone to her funeral, seen Kikerio, one the strongest women she knew, break down sobbing as her husband?s body burned. At least the Empire had let them have the body. The children were shell-shocked, standing there too dressed up and too quiet as they watched the body of their father soar away into the sky. She had left early, unable to stand being in the presence of Jylan?s loved ones and knowing she was the reason for their pain.

Her loft apartment had sold for little, and so she moved back in with her mother in a dingy apartment in the lower levels. She?d gone to work as a waitress, swearing she?d never write again. For six months she slaved away at a diner where men slapped her behind as she walked and gave her a large tip when she responded. It made her sick, but sick was what she deserved.

When her mother had died, Wythe decided to kill herself. One day after work, tired and unable to think straight, she moved to her mother?s room and pulled from the locked box the blaster her mother kept in case of emergencies. She pressed it to her heart, summoning all her self-hatred, all the pain and loath

 

Still going strong and loving it.

 

Very nicely done!

Yes, there was a story here, but she wouldn?t be the one to write it. She was good, it was true, but there were other reporters out there better than she. And she had amended her vow to not write to take it as she would never write politically again, never against the Empire.

There were nights when Darth Vader?s wheezing breath managed to make its way into her dreams.

The Jedi weren?t evil, and did not deserve to be killed, she knew that. Perhaps they had become misguided, but never did they ask to be killed as the Emperor would have them believe. Jylan?s death had rocked her values, her faith in the Chancellor, now Emperor, and their passion for justice.

They had killed Jylan without trial.

She skipped work the rest of the day and went home.

I feel really bad for her, it's obvious she's consumed with guilt! I can't wait for more!

 

*is awed*

You know what? You tell a darn good story. I liked Wythe. Poor Wythe.

Enter Syfer Helis!

Lovely post.

 

Looks intresting I plan on reading it

 

Zara - glad you're here, and glad you like it!

Mama Vader - well, here's more, and thank you for reading!

P_A - aw, thanks so much for praise! Funny thing is, I didn't really like Wythe at first because I've never really done a female OC, but now I just love her. She's not a Mary Su, but I like to think there is some of her in me. And here comes Syfer! Thank you so much for reading, I love you!

G__Anakin - hope you're still reading!

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Part Four

?You didn?t finish your story! You told me it was done! Get back here, Wythe, I never said you could leave!?

?Yrvan, I lied,? Wythe told him angrily in the port on Crodai. ?The story is finished; it?s on my computer. And I?m sorry, but I just had to get away, for a little while. I won?t be gone for more than a week.?

?Is it another man, Wythe?? Yrvan asked, sounding heartbroken. ?Is it? Because I can make it up to you, I promise.?

?Yrvan,? she said, struggling to keep the outburst from escaping. ?Just give it a rest.?

?You owe me,? he said. ?For leaving like this.?

?Grow up,? she said in frustration before terminating the call.

For being the sole home of a dead Jedi in three years, the port was surprisingly deserted. She detected the added security, the way the troopers at the check-out regarded each face with deadly seriousness. She passed in without any commotion and headed towards the taxi dock, figuring she had enough time to head to her hotel room before her meeting with Varv Duil, the man who had found the body of the dead Cam Frie.

Rui had contacted her upon learning the name of the guy, giggling and seeming? well, he seemed drunk. She had heard laughter in the background, several voices, and then a hushed, ?Senator Yri is so pretty, the way she moves.?

?So you slept with her, then?? she asked, slighted.

?Not yet!? he cackled before hanging up.

The taxi dropped her off at a shabby little building, the cheapest she could find. The town she was in was called Catharan, and seemed the epitome of decadence to her eyes, the way the cotholds were blackened and falling down. There was homelessness here. She had passed people on the street, ignoring them as they called out to her. When the patrolling troopers walked by ? another sign of security ? they nodded at her.

Her room was dirty and ugly, the bed lumpy and uninviting. The first thing she did was take a shower, although the water was freezing. She had been in transit for two days, alone in her own private berth, but still. You couldn?t really shower on a ship; it just left too much up to ambiguity on part of the cleanliness.

When she was done with the shower, Wythe Terin became a reporter again. She carefully put on her crimson robe, tying it neatly with the black sash. She took out her hat, the one made of real yan feathers, and set it on her head. The black shoulder case, a gift from her mother, was set up the way she always had, with four datapads, two touch keyboards, and three recording rods. The glow-rod was stuck in the corner pocket for easy access, and the cards in the one next to it.

If she had a camera right then, she would have taken a holo.

Wythe Terin looked like Wythe Terin again.

Slightly giddy, she caught her taxi and told him the address with a foolish grin on her face that made the driver look at her in concern. She looked out the window, sighing happily as she caught her reflection in the mirror.

Oh, she looked good again.

Talking to Varv Duil was a long shot, maybe, because everyone else had done it, but it was the only place conceivable for her to start. The story she was formatting had no direction yet, but maybe it would after speaking with Duil. This was the way it happened with stories, at least with her.

The taxi took her to a tired looking cothold with a cracked window covered with dark blinds and a door that seemed about to fall off the hinges. It would have set her back had this cothold not been on this world, but now Wythe was ready for it. She paid the taxi and walk

 

Reporters of less caliber than Wythe would have fainted right there. She knew some people who worked at the Holonet who, at that moment, would have run screaming around the room in ecstasy. And still, there was a girl her age who had collapsed in sobs when the Jedi Order was destroyed. Perhaps if she was here now, she?d throw herself at the man and begin making out with him right now.

It seemed her life flashed before her eyes after the words slipped from the man?s mouth. She saw everything, from her father?s death when she was five to her mother?s death, to Jylan?s death, to the moment when she graduated from school and the happiness and liberation she felt when the Devastation Article brought in the most reviews for an article in the last decade. She saw it, and measured it to this moment, when the words fell and a blossom of hope seemed to bloom inside her.

For a long time she couldn?t find the words, and just sat there gaping at this man, whose entire demeanor just argued against his Order. He wasn?t acting like a Jedi, had half a leg, and was going by a codename. Who was this man? What had he seen? He had survived the purging of the Jedi Order only to be found on Crodai?

To imagine that, to imagine the irony of that?

?You?re Syfer Helis?? she managed with a shaky breath.

?I am,? he said. ?A fact I would like you to keep off the record until I tell you so.?

The thoughts cleared away, and she realized her fingers had frozen over her datapad. Wythe looked down at it, surprised she hadn?t dropped it yet. Trembling, she huddled over it, itching to write what he had said, realizing that ?off the record? must mean life or death for this man, the last of his kind.

The last of the Jedi, in the entire galaxy?

The last of the Jedi sits before me, she thought in her head, the story frantically doing circles, crippled, a casualty of the war to which thousands like him died for. He is an outlaw, a criminal-

?Please stop that,? he said politely. ?You?re blanking.?

Wythe pulled herself to look at him. ?This is amazing.?

?I?m pretty plain, actually,? he told her. ?My favorite color is brown, and the only food we?ve been able to afford isn?t too glamorous. I?m not really amazing in those senses.?

?You?re alive!? she exclaimed, wondering how this fact could be escaping his grasp. ?Palpatine told us all the Jedi had been killed!? She suddenly jerked around to look for Duil. ?Is he a Jedi, too??

Syfer Helis chuckled. ?Daravan? No, I?m afraid he?s just caught up in this mess.?

?Daravan??

?Varv is his ridiculous nickname,? Syfer said, exasperated, as if this argument had happened before. ?And if anyone had any sense on this world, they?d realize who he is.?

?And that is??

?Daravan Duilio. He was elected Leader of this world a year before the war ended. When Crodai finally fell, he resigned.?

?How did you survive?? she asked quickly, before she forgot.

The man narrowed his eyes at her. ?You?re here about Cam, aren?t you??

?But you found her. And that would call questions into your survival.?

?I?m good,? he said simply. ?And that?s all you need to know. Cam is the reason you?re here.?

?Yes, but-? she started to press.

?Kikerio Tekra sends her regards.?

That stopped her. ?Huh??

?She sends her regards.?

Kikerio Tekra? Jylan?s wife? His widow?

She felt herself growing hot. ?You know her??

?She?s my contact,? he said. ?She?s a very remarkable woman. You knew her husband Jylan. She said to talk to you, that you?ll tell the truth.?

The truth will set you free.

Something akin to tears sprang to her eyes.

The truth can?t be hidden.

Swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat, Wythe stood, keeping her head bowed. The datapad in her lap crashed to the floor, and Syfer started. Without a word she made her way over to the sink and leaned over it, the hot tears falling fast as she struggled for composure.

The guilt stung at her from all directions. Of all people in her life, she had wronged Kik

 

Part Six

Someone was crying.

Wythe groaned, unable to face the fact she had awakened. Hoping to stifle the sound, she rolled on her side, pulling the blankets up securely around her. The pillow was soft beneath her, and she was soon lulled by the ship?s noises and the beautiful lack of substance beneath her. Her eyes closed again, and she felt herself fading when the hand shook her gently.

Never a morning person, she tried to move away but the hand held her. Damning existence and her own futile mind, she sat up, rubbing the sleep away. Syfer turned on the light, and she yelped.

?I?m ready now,? he told her in those same strangled tones she had heard earlier.

Glaring at him with the full force of her sleep-crusted eyes, Wythe moved to grab her recording-rod and datapad.

?It?s almost morning,? she threw at him.

?Then the night?s almost over,? he told her. ?The stars are dying.?

?Very poetic,? she snorted. ?But that doesn?t change the fact it?s inhuman to wake me at this hour.?

?Are you a reporter or a girl?? he asked with disinterest.

?Kikerio is a woman!? she shrieked.

?A woman, Miss Terin,? Syfer told her. ?As opposed to a girl.?

Fully annoyed, irritated with the break in her sleeping pattern, she thumbed her recording rod on and faced it towards him. Telling herself it was only a minor infraction and he didn?t know she was a woman who thrived on the hours of darkness, she steadied her voice and informed the recording-rod of time, date, and person to whom she was addressing. Pleased she?d remembered protocol in her dazed mind, Wythe turned to him.

?What are we discussing?? she asked. ?Cam Frie??

?What do you know of her?? he asked.

?She was found on Candalas,? she said. ?She probably died from the blaster to the head, but an autopsy was prohibited by the Chancellor. He thought it best to let the Jedi die in peace.?

?How very noble of him,? Syfer sneered, eyes suddenly working.

?A man named Varv Duil ? Daravan ? found her early in the morning while out running in a nearby park from his residence. She was completely dressed, missing her weapon, and appeared to not put up a struggle. Varv Duil called the Catharan police force, who ruled it as a simple murder. They ran across several fake identification chips in her pockets, which they ran through the Holonet police files. They figured out that all of them had been figured to be fakes, which accounted the large quantity, and the name attached to the forger Cam Frie, a member of the Jedi Order. They rung Coruscant, who informed the Supreme Chancellor, and brought her body there.?

She studied his placid face and guessed, ?you have more to add??

?Of course,? he said graciously. ?For one, Daravan didn?t find the body; I did. I found her laying in our front yard at almost midnight exactly. She was fully dressed with no apparent injuries.?

?She had a shot in the back of her head! How did you miss that??

?Like I said, there were no apparent injuries. I called Daravan and he brought her inside.?

?Wait, you shot her?? Wythe asked, bewildered. ?She was already dead!?

?That?s a marvelous thing to deduce,? he told her dryly. ?Knowing that I told you I found her body. It implied she was already dead.?

?Then why shoot her??

?To make it look like a clean murder. Daravan wouldn?t keep her in the house; he?s not very good around dead people anymore. It was pretty obvious she had been poisoned, the way her mouth was open, but we didn?t have the right equipment to check. We wanted an autopsy done, but not there.?

?Then why did you shoot her??

?To make it look like a murder! To let them know we knew!?

?Knew what??

Syfer was agitated, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head. ?That we knew she was poisoned.?

?Who??

?The Chancellor. The Abomination. Whoever did that to her. To let them know.?

She wasn?t following.

?We wanted an autopsy done, on Coruscant,? he told her. ?I didn?t really care about the results; it was enough she was dead. But if we found out the typ

 

Great story. I like the angle you are taking with this. I rarely read OC driven stories but occasionally find some that keep my attention. Like this one. Poor Wythe - in her youthful exhuberance boldly proclaims the truth and gets her boss killed. She is certainly learning the reality of the Empire. The media is always the first to be censored in any dictatorship. I hope she can find an avenue to print the story when she completes it without becoming a martyr.

 

RM - I'm so sorry I didn't reply sooner! I didn't know anyone was reading and forgot to check it. I'm flattered you found this one interesting enough to stay on. Thank you for reading!

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[b]Part Seven[/b]

Pretty soon their small, cramped cabin became Wythe?s entire world. She was enraptured by Syfer and his stories, the way his voice carried an unhurried melody that seemed contrary to what he had been through. He seemed content to spend time simply sitting on his bunk, eyes closed, dictating what had happened to him in his addicting voice. They didn?t speak about the war, or Cam Frie, or Daravan, or the Jedi, just about? they talked about the most random things.

?Brown?s a uniform color,? he told her one time.

?Brown?s uninteresting, but not uniform,? she replied. ?You can?t really have one uniform color, and if there were one, it would black.?

?When we speak of uniform, you mean to say as in one form, right??

?That?s right. Black is better than brown.?

?How so? Brown is uninteresting, true, but when you take that, uniform is pretty uninteresting itself.?

?Uniform can speak volumes. The greatest wave-makers in the past have been uniform.?

That intrigued him. ?You mean those who shaped our society??

?That?s right. Every single one of them knew what he set out to do, and did that. His ideal was uniform, although it may have varied with the circumstances. What he wanted, though, was so uniform I?m surprised people don?t go around and bark ?unoriginal!? at people who try to make a difference.?

?In a uniform world, such as the one we?re living in now, I?d be called a wave-maker, wouldn?t I? Does that mean I?m unoriginal in what I?m trying to do??

?Pretty much,? she said, nodding. ?But I think it?s a given. We?re past the point in our history where anything can really be original. It?s been done so many times before by so many different people, that we can?t be anything more what we are. None of us can really ever be the ?one? who manages to right a wrong or a destiny, because in some way right from start, in a uniform world.?

?So you?re saying, nothing is original. Everything is uniform, even motivations that speak against what the normal ?uniform? is, because it?s been done before. So, in a way, uniform is everyone, even those who go against the accepted uniform.?

Wythe nodded across at him. ?That?s right.?

Syfer sighed. ?That?s a very jaded way of thinking about things.?

?But it?s true, isn?t it?? she persisted. ?All forms of rebellion, all thoughts of going against authority, those have all been done before in various ways.?

?I?m sure some people would argue against that view point,? he pointed out. ?Some would say it?s the execution of an idea that really makes it what it is.?

They sat in silence, but Wythe was used to this. Now that she had entered his world, where this philosophical thought seemed normal, uniform, she was used to breaking from their short but frequent debates and head deep into her own mind to rehash what had happened. She knew it was what she was supposed to do, that Syfer did her the honor of really examining her words and actually thinking of them, but today Wythe just couldn?t concentrate. She laid on her bunk, and let her mind float away from their arbitrary discussion.

Wherever they were going, it seemed that the trip would soon be coming to an end. There was a shifting of tension in Syfer, and almost unconsciously, he had started packing away his things. There were steps outside of their door, and muffled shouts. He still had not told her where they were going, and the ticket had not yielded the information. It bothered her that he was keeping it from her, but she knew he would have a good reason.

They?d been on this voyage for the better part of two days now, and whenever she wasn?t sleeping, she was talking with Syfer, about the happenings of everyday life, her friends on Coruscant, the worlds he had been, and now this absurd discussion of colors. The better part of her was telling her to g

 

Part Eight

A hard, unwelcoming shake woke Wythe from her unconscious form. She snorted as she shot up, hand immediately going to protect her eyes. The hand shook her again, just as hard, and she bumped into the wall. The loud groan of protest seemed to scare the hand, because it backed away. Blearily she squinted up at Syfer, who gazed down at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

?Time?? she managed.

?Time to get up,? he said, voice unfriendly. ?You?ve been asleep for almost an hour. We?re docking in another one.?

It seemed enough time to her to be able to catch some sleep, but there was a hard expression in his eyes.

?We need to talk before we dock,? he said colorlessly. ?Get up.?

Her head hurt, and her eyes were still swollen. The ordeal of the last hour rushing back to her, she wordlessly retrieved her recording-rod and datapad, eyes anywhere but his face.

?No, off the record,? he snapped.

Unused to this cold, uncaring Syfer, she dropped the items.

?Every time we use them,? he said, ?we always have an interruption.?

?Break throughs?? she guessed.

?In your case,? he said. ?Mine was a breakdown.?

?So sorry.?

He glared at her. ?Wythe, let?s get through this, then we?ll talk about what happened.?

?I have a horrible memory.?

?Then get rid of it.?

The sharpness of his voice stunned her, and she curled into a ball on her bed, face down. The fleeting thought of maybe her hurt stopping his tirade did not come to fruition. Instead, he immediately launched into another summary of what they had covered.

?Cam Frie ends up dead in my lawn. I shoot her in the back of the head, which wasn?t a good idea. We want to make it look obvious so the Candalas forces don?t try to muddy up an autopsy. We know her body would be sent to Coruscant. I wanted the Chancellor ? whoever did this to her ? to know I knew. My goal in this is to find out how they figured out where I was, and how they found Cam. Your goal is to get a story.

?Your other goal, which you don?t realize yet, is redemption.?

She was already scoffing at the word before she had processed the sentence, and opened her mouth to protest.

?No, Wythe, be quiet,? he said quietly. ?You will realize that, but I don?t have time for that right now. You have your story already, here. What I need is a reporter.?

?You?ve said that a million times,? she muttered.

?And it?s true. My contact, and you cannot print this ? I?m trusting you here ? is a man named Boyn Vren. He was a commander in the Separatist army when there still was a thing. I met him on Crodai, and my master kept in touch with him. We?re not friends, but he?ll help me.

?I need your press pass.?

Was that all he needed her for, then? Her Sith-stinking press pass? She?d had to go through massive security checks to get the thing, but it had been easy for her. Was this the reason, then, for dragging her along? Just to use her?

?Wythe, I didn?t want to drag you into this,? he said softly. ?Kikerio wanted to help me, but her press pass expired a long time ago. She said I could trust you, and I have. I?m helping you restart your life with this story. That?s where it?s going to have to end. I need you to come with me to speak with Vren, but after that we need to part ways. My path is different from yours.?

Unheated tears were welling in her eyes. ?So was it an act??

His sigh spoke of the weight of the world. ?Our talks, you mean? No, those weren?t an act. I enjoyed them. I?ve been with Daravan for so long I know what he?ll say to anything. I haven?t had another companion in a long time. But this? connection you wanted to feel. You made that up.?

Wythe remembered his eyes when he looked at her as she sobbed, and shook her head. ?No, you?re lying.?

That got him. ?What??

?You do like me. Maybe not? maybe not in the way I thought, or wanted, but you like me. You feel a connection to me. You?re afraid of that.?

This was the first time he had ever seen Syfer speechless, but her small talk stunned him into silen

 

Now I wonder what is going to happen next? You've got me good and curious!

Syfer passed through with relative ease, although there was a moment when the guard inquired to his leg and why he didn?t have a prosthetic.

?Old war wound,? he said, narrowing his eyes at the gray-haired man, who had a scar above his eyebrow. ?Defending my homeworld. I don?t like those thing, they seem to dim the sacrifice.?

The guard smiled at him, and nodded him through. When it came Wythe?s turn, she nervously placed her ID card on the scanner and waited for the explosion that would come, when she would have to hand over the ticket that declared her ?Davra Duil?, Varv?s Duil?s sister.

The originality of these people, she raged as the guard checked her ID. Honestly, something better, if only to ?

?Miss Terin,? the guard said with a tip of his head. ?Go right on through. Welcome home.?

Welcome home?

She passed through the gate on Syfer?s tail, and he led her into the Coruscant night sky.

Can't wait for more!