Before - Legends Before the Saga The Northern Frontier

Title: The Northern Frontier
Author: TherenAdarni
Timeframe: Early Kymoodon Era, 14,980 BBY | 520-10R (Timeline)

Prologue
Newcomers
Jedi Fest

Prologue

For the final time, drops of rain fell on an ancient forest on an unnamed world. They tapped lightly on the leaves and branches overhead, before one breached the canopy, striking the up-turned face of the man standing among the roots.

He closed his eyes, letting a few more drops hit his lined forehead, his cheek, his nose, before returning his attention to the younger woman beside him. The hood of the man’s dull purple cloak thudded in his ears as the rain grew heavier. She looked at him expectantly.

“Master?” She asked, the word coming out awkwardly. Her own light poncho was not faring as well in the elements and she clearly wanted to leave.

Master. He had waited so long to be addressed with that title. Though he had always imagined hearing it from a Knight. This company representative, Dira, was merely being polite, not truly meaning the word in the way that an Alsakani Jedi would. Regardless, Var Khoonda took what pleasure he could from hearing his new position recognised.

“Yes,” he said, “I am satisfied. Your teams may begin.”

Dira typed a code into the small device she carried, and an immense roar vibrated through the forest floor, as dozens of huge forestry drones came to life. Though he couldn’t see them now, Var remembered the machines from the tour he’d been given aboard the Dantar Corporation ship Intention. They were mindless, hulking things, and it was hard not to project a sort of malevolence onto them, as if the red painted lines across their hulls were streaks of blood, and the implements they wielded were deadly weapons.

Within moments the first thunderous cracks of wood and the whining of laser-saws echoed through the trees. The damp, musty smell of wild growth was replaced with that of charred wood and sap. Dira’s expression grew solemn, though Var didn’t find it entirely convincing.

This visit to Dantar’s newest project was an odd formality, one that Var assumed was entirely for his benefit. As a Jedi, perhaps Dira thought he would mark the occasion with some sort of rite or incantation, to mourn the loss of an untouched biome. The gesture was appreciated, but unnecessary. Var was here for people, the Republic, those through whom the Force enacted its will. If the guardians of civilisation were to break down in tears over every flood, forest fire, or chemical spill that occurred across the galaxy, the Republic would have permanently collapsed millennia ago.

Behind them, the noise of a shuttle’s engines were added to the din. Turning to face the large clearing in which it had just landed, Var inhaled deeply. As pointless as this excursion had been for him, he welcomed this final respite before the true work began. Mantooine. The temple. A dozen Knights and their eventual students. Then there were the settlers, the corporations, the indigenes, and all of the disputes that resulted from their interactions. The future of an entire region of space had been placed on Var Khoonda’s shoulders.

The strange mixture of eager anticipation and dread left him feeling as if he were levitating several kilometers above the surface, able to see and control far more than anyone else, but simultaneously at risk of a calamitous fall at any moment. This was the edge of greatness. Spreading the light of the Jedi to a thousand new worlds was the pinnacle of what a master could hope to achieve within a human lifespan.

The shuttle resembled a giant metal brick with stubby wings, rounded edges and a blunt nose featuring a large viewport. It was the same vessel that had dropped the pair off fifteen minutes earlier, and despite the ship’s frankly ugly external appearance, the passenger cabin would not have been out of place on a luxury starliner. The room was richly adorned; Var and Dira had access to a range of refreshments, alcoholic and otherwise, and a state-of-the-art holographic entertainment system. Enough to keep them occupied far longer than the five minutes it would take to return to the Intention parked in orbit.

Var entered first. He removed his cloak and turned to face his companion, allowing some excitement to show in his smile.

“Well, Dira,” he said, “this journey has been extremely enlightening. The settlers of these new worlds will be very happy with what Dantar provides them, I’m sure.” Var strode towards a seat beside a starboard window and settled in.

“I’m very glad you think so, Master,” she said, still standing while the door closed behind her. “Is there anything—?”

“No, no,” he said, waving off the question. “Please, sit” he gestured towards the window, “and show me your vision of the future.”

As they rose above the rapidly shrinking forest, the full scale of the drones’ operation became apparent. Dozens of slate grey machines the size of small buildings advanced side by side, leaving behind them a slurry of mud, sawdust, and other organic matter.

Wild Space was being tamed. The Republic was its new master, and the Jedi would be its keepers. Var Khoonda found it easy to be reassured here, on a world with no intelligent life, no precious resources to fight over, and where the only truth to believe was the one presented by one’s own eyes. But without ambiguity and without conflict, a Jedi served no purpose. It was time to set things in motion.

Intention loomed above, and Var considered the twelve Jedi Knights waiting for him. Some were familiar names, for better or worse, while others were entirely unknown. For now, all he could do was hope that they were able to meet the coming challenges, and that the Force would be with them when they did.

 

First time writing fanfic, have posted the above prologue and another chapter elsewhere, so will post that soon too. Constructive criticism is welcomed.

Will hopefully dip my toe into the rest of the fic community here soon. There's so much!

 

And with your drabbles beginning this will be a nice look at Jedi from the past. I love your OC Var Khoonda

 

First of all, welcome to fanfic! We're a friendly bunch over here, and I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay among us.

I have to say before I begin my review that I'm coming into this story era-blind; as a matter of fact I'd never heard of the Kymoodon Era before I clicked on the link. However, you do a great job of sprinkling details here and there that tell me that this is a period when the Republic expands into Wild Space and that what we see here is the beginning of a colonisation project – in all its horror, really, because while there is no massacre of natives, the mental image of a forest being transformed into "a slurry of mud, sawdust, and other organic matter" is not a pleasant one, and the idea that there is some corporation that handles the transformation of the planet has something of a banana republic feel to it.

As for your protagonist Var Khoonda... well, there's something not entirely kosher about him. He repeats many times how he serves the Force, the Republic and its people, how he will "spread the light of the Jedi" and so on and so forth, but he definitely likes power, doesn't he? He enjoys being called "master" even by a non-Jedi, he comes across as rather cold-hearted when he says that he can't "break down in tears over every flood, forest fire, or chemical spill that occurs across the galaxy", he feels that he is on the "edge of greatness", he believes that the "future of an entire region of space" lies with him... Yup, some major red flags there, all perfectly summed up in this sentence:

Lastly, I want to note how well-written and scrupulously edited your text is. That's the zoochberry on the cake when a story is pleasant to read!

I should let you know that I'm not very good at keeping up with reviews (understatement of the century) but I'll make sure to drop you a "like" at the very least when you update to let you know that I'm reading. Looking forward to seeing this story unfold!

 

Hopefully! I really like the idea of building up a headcanon/fanon that is so far removed from other stories. Space for the status quo to flip back and forth several times before stepping on anyone's toes.

Thank you so much for your review! There's not much established about this time period beyond a few bullet points, which is why I was drawn to it.

Yeah, I'm looking forward to developing Khoonda and his Knights further. Don't know nothing about any red flags though, he seems perfectly okay to me

The promise of fanfic is exciting, but I can't decide whether I'd rather be reading or writing at any given moment!

 

Newcomers

Well, Mantooine was certainly no Raxus. Of course, Jarren Darmond didn’t mean that in a derogatory way, but it was only natural to make such comparisons so soon after leaving the world where he’d spent almost his entire life. There hadn’t yet been much time for the young human to adjust, either to his attaining Knighthood or to this new posting half the galaxy away from his native Tion Cluster.

Whereas Raxus Prime was a planet of bustling cities and perfectly manicured gardens and reserves, this place was wild, almost untouched.

He had yet to properly centre himself through meditation after many weeks of space travel, but Jarren could feel the Force thrumming within the mountains and vibrating through the earth. It arced through the soil to penetrate vast root networks, then soared dozens of metres up the trees themselves, before permeating through the leaves and pouring into the bitingly chilly morning air.

Closing his eyes, Jarren then followed the currents—the hum of the universe—in the opposite direction, back to the stone heart of the cliffs on which he stood.

Beneath him, still hugging the mountainside, was the settlement of Laddenah. So far, it consisted mostly of short duracrete buildings; all of them crowded so close together that there was no space for vehicular traffic. It was a maze of alleyways which had been forced to adapt to an uncooperative environment. Mantooine refused to be tamed.

As a result, what had been designed as a utilitarian set of workers’ hovels and small businesses had instead become a genuine neighbourhood. People huddled so close together, united against a hostile planet could hardly avoid it. Here too, the Force hummed and sparked with activity.

Established six years prior by a combination of Republic pioneers and several Core-based companies, Laddenah had initially been intended to host a vast number of ships, once the heavily forested valley below the settlement had been cleared. That plan hadn’t quite worked out either.

Dantar Corp had attempted to loose their monstrous forestry drones on the dense and forbidding landscape, but soon found that even those titans weren’t up to the task. The trees had proved hardier than most of the machines’ implements could handle, and even when they did manage to get through the deceptively tough bark, progress was so slow that the projected five days to completion had been revised to two years.

Instead, the drones had been set upon a much easier target further to the galactic north. The world which Master Khoonda had chosen to visit, rather than wait here for his new Knights to arrive.

Jarren chided himself for that thought. He and each of his soon-to-be comrades may have been placed under Master Khoonda’s authority, but Khoonda was not in turn obliged to babysit them, was he? Being a Knight required self-assurance and initiative, he reminded himself, not bitterness.

No doubt Dantar’s people were hoping to give the Master a more impressive demonstration of their drones than the abortive attempts at deforestation here on Mantooine. Jarren couldn’t quite suppress an amused smile.

Eventually, the lead company in the consortium—Mantell—had exhausted all other options for clearing a landing area for Laddenah. Leaving them with only one choice in their eyes: sustained aerial bombardment.

From what one of the mechanics had said, it had lasted for weeks, and even then the Scar had only been made large enough to accommodate one of the larger Mantell cruisers—a far cry from the planned twenty. Instead of the spaceport, an orbital space station had been established that would receive most of the larger ships; cargo and personnel would then be shuttled to the surface. It had also become the preferred home for the higher-ups in Mantell, Dantar and the rest.

As he reflected on the world’s sudden thrusting into the galactic community, Jarren allowed himself to visualise the way that Laddenah had come together. Not as it truly had—psychometry was not a skill he possessed—but in the way that his mind presented the events to him. He felt connections form between individuals and the strength that they drew from each other. How they built bonds that were every bit as integral to Laddenah as the physical structure of the buildings.

Yet when he saw himself arriving aboard the Jaminere’s Steel four days prior, the network he saw began to grow distant. It was still there, but Jarren himself felt shut out, unable to feel a part of it just yet.

It bothered him, to feel like an intrusion on this environment. Having been born and grown up in the Tion Cluster, he had always felt that he belonged, had a role to fulfill. Here though, things felt so undefined. What little history this civilisation had was something that he’d missed out on, and the rules were still being written. That was his purpose here, he reminded himself. To ensure that the principles of the Republic were upheld. Most of them at least. Some.

Besides, Jarren had seen how many of Mantooine’s inhabitants welcomed the coming presence of Jedi Knights. Already there had been signs of discord among the populace.

The planet itself however… actually didn’t seem to want him present. Nor the settlers. Its hostility radiated from within the shaded green depths beyond the ferrocrete expanse of the Scar, like a wave of malignant energy, and it left Jarren feeling off-balance.

A sudden chill called him back to himself. He shook away the distraction from his mind and the cold from under his skin. Why was he up here again?

Looking around, there wasn’t much of interest this far above the settlement. Very little in the way of plant life was able to persist up here. There were practically no animals, and no one lived in this direction. But Jarren had heard from reliable sources that large quantities of quarried stone had been carried somewhere nearby for reasons unknown. That was something to look into.

He’d spent the last few days making introductions to the various residents of Laddenah: learning where in the Republic they’d come from, why they’d left, and what skills had earned them passage to the New Territories. Most were from the old Core worlds, planets so heavily populated and polluted that there was little need to ask why they had left.

Others, those of the more “alien” species primarily, had hoped to escape: either from a galactic center that was growing ever more humanocentric, or from the ongoing devastation in the Hutt-controlled regions to the East. Others still had simply seen the opportunity for a new start and perhaps, a potential for major profits. These groups, Jarren was finding, did not always mix well.

Who he hadn't found was the single Jedi who had arrived ahead of him. The young Knight had kept an eye out for the typical robes or armour—whether beige and sandy-coloured like his own tunic and cloak, or something more in the Core fashion, that was to say, showy. But to no avail.

Following a rocky path just barely wide enough for two humans to stand side-by-side, Jarren had to wonder how the quarried stone had been moved. There were no tracks to be seen that would indicate a surface vehicle had traveled this way, and he doubted that any of the precious few Mantell repulsor-sleds would have been spared for someone’s passion project.

Eventually, the path widened out to a flat area large enough for a decent-sized complex. And as it turned out, there was construction going on up here; the wooden framework of four buildings surrounded the beginnings of a courtyard, and smooth hewn white stones—each the width of Jarren’s arm-span, and half that in height and thickness—were being carefully placed to form walls.

Not by construction drones either; there were about twenty beings of various species involved in the project, grouped in fours to move the substantial-looking building blocks, each gripping handholds carved into the rock. Despite the chilly morning air, most of the workers’ clothes were soaked with sweat, their faces betraying the difficulty of their labour.

Jarren only recognised perhaps two or three of these people, and was unsure of whether to introduce himself to the others. They clearly had a plan in place, and there was no point disrupting it or inserting himself where he wasn’t needed or wanted.

On the other hand, the power of the Force could assemble these structures far more quickly and with less effort than this strenuous lifting. And if this planet was to be his home from now on, his first impression might as well be that of a helpful and considerate Jedi Knight.

He turned to look at the collection of perfect bricks further back, at the base of another cliff, where someone had clearly been shaping them into their perfectly regular forms—meaning, Jarren wondered to realise, that they had started out even heavier. If this was some sort of community-building exercise, it was an intense one.

Stretching out with his hand and his senses, he grasped the stone with the Force, raising it from the pile.

As he did so, Jarren could feel the attention of the labourers turn towards him. Several humans, a pair of Iridonians, a Nautolan, some furred species that Jarren didn’t recognise… and a huge rubbery-skinned creature that looked like it might have climbed right out of Mantooine’s oceans. It had unexpectedly emerged from behind one of the new buildings, and almost caused Jarren to lose his telekinetic grip in his surprise. Nevertheless, the floating block reached its destination, settling into place with the satisfying sound of stone gently scraping stone.

Unease rippled through the Force, and the builders’ body language became awkward and unsure.

Jarren frowned. It wasn’t that he’d expected cheers and applause, but these men and women seemed distinctly uncomfortable. Many looked to their large companion, apparently their leader.

The sea-mammal-with-legs lumbered casually forward, stopped at the wall, and inspected the newly added piece. Grasping the edges, they heaved the block a few centimetres, making minute adjustments until perfection was achieved. They turned.

“Why did you do that?”

Their voice was unsurprisingly deep and resonant, and although Jarren felt his stomach drop at the question—he should have left well enough alone—he noted that its tone was more curious than angry. There was no judgement that Jarren could sense.

“I’m sorry?” The response could have been a question or a confused apology, Jarren himself didn’t know.

The strange behemoth let out a short breath that might have been a sigh.

“You drew on the strength of the Force, rather than using your own.”

To this, Jarren had no immediate answer. His expectation had been that this being would question his interference in their work, not his relationship with the Force itself.

“The Force is my strength,” he said after a moment, brows drawn together in thought. “Through it, the universe is united in one infinite symbiotic system. Your strength is mine, and vice versa.” Not quite how Cardess had described it to him as a Padawan, but it got the point across.

“Judging by those arms, I think you get far more out of that trade than I do!” A deep honking sound emanated from the stranger at that, reverberating so strongly off the mountain that Jarren’s eyes darted upward to check for any sign of rockslides. Laughter, he assumed.

“My name is Bajja,” they said with a brief inclination of the head. “I appreciate your trying to help… Jarren?” Their tone raised in question.

Jarren nodded and Bajja continued, gesticulating all the while;

“But I’d rather do this physically. I was taught that a monument to the Force must be built with one’s own hands. We may have the secret nature of the universe to discover, but we are still bone, blood and muscle. Can’t ignore that!”

Here was his missing Jedi, then. Jarren relaxed, released his unease as best he could, and removed his cloak. The cold rushed to envelop him, but that would cease to be a concern soon enough.

“Okay then,” he said with a small smile, “where can I start?”

———

Mantooine’s sun bore down from directly overhead, and Jarren found himself almost nostalgic for the morning’s chill. The crew had just about done all they could through physical labour alone, most now resting in the courtyard in what little shade they could find beneath the walls. This was of course except for Bajja, whose towering stature made adding bricks to the higher layers less than impossible.

Bajja was a Herglic, and a male of his species, he’d explained. Over the past two weeks he’d been hunting, digging, lifting, chopping, anything that the Mantooinians had asked his help with. Many of the ones he’d helped were now gulping water from canteens in the slim shadows a dozen metres away.

“That is the purpose of a Jedi. To give to others in whatever way we can.”

Jarren didn’t disagree with the sentiment, but it was hard for him to see how planting vegetables and fixing refreshers fulfilled a Jedi’s role. These were things that many beings could manage. A Knight had more important things to do.

Doubt must have shown on his face. The hulking Herglic glanced back over his shoulder as he made his way to the structure nearest the cliff’s edge.

“Come,” he said. “It’s your turn to explain things to me.”

Grunting, Jarren pushed himself to his feet from the rock on which he’d been sitting. He knew this wasn’t a scolding, Bajja had made clear in their brief conversations that he acknowledged Jarren as an equal, green as he was. Nonetheless he felt nervous.

In the Tion, the Jedi Knights were the martial arm of their community—guardians. A Knight and their Padawans were constantly gauging potential threats, responding to violent crises, and eliminating those deemed enemies of peace for the Tionese. Weapons were worn prominently, as Jarren wore his sword and pistol now.

It was the five Masters of the Tion that coordinated the various Knights and ensured that their work was not in conflict, though this was by no means a certainty. While the Force spoke to all Jedi, it did not always tell them the same things.

Sometimes Padawans disagreed with their masters. Sometimes close colleagues or friends would find themselves on opposing sides of these disagreements. And sometimes, in extreme circumstances, a Knight would have to kill the wayward Padawan.

That would not happen in the New Territories. Especially not to Jarren Darmond.

But this was not for Bajja to know just now, and from what the Herglic had said, a Jedi Knight was more of a servant where he came from. The Force apparently taboo. It seemed ridiculous, but so did the idea of a giant whale-man being a Jedi in the first place.

Jarren stepped through a half-built doorway into the shell of a building overlooking Laddenah and the Scar. Bajja waved him over to one of the few pieces of actual furniture up there, a sturdy looking wooden bench. Sturdy enough to support Bajja, anyway. The older Knight gestured outwards as Jarren sat beside him.

“When you cast your self aside and become one with Mantooine itself, Jarren, what do you feel?” he asked. The low hum of Bajja’s voice itself was soothing.

“I thought you didn’t use the Force?” Jarren answered, unable to keep a note of childish teasing out of his voice.

“We don’t. We let it in” he replied.

Jarren told him of what he had felt earlier that morning. How infinite, ceaseless currents joined all things, and how the people down below were strengthening those connections through their interactions.

“And where are you in all of this?” Bajja asked.

Hadn’t he just told Jarren to cast himself aside? Still, it was an interesting question. Jarren returned his focus to that higher awareness of all things. Through the stone, the trees, the buildings, the people, Bajja… and the void next to him.

“I’m… well, I’m not there,” Jarren heard, and must have said. This was confusing. He’d never sought himself out in the Force before, why would he? He was here. Why would he try to lift himself up by the collar of his tunic, either? It didn’t make sense.

Bajja seemed to expect this answer. “You feel the bonds between others, but you hold yourself separate” he hummed, nodding. “I sense you in the Force, nothing is wrong there. It is more that you are unwilling to—” the coming lecture was cut off prematurely by the growing rumble of engines. A blocky ship, a few hundred metres long and charcoal grey, was rapidly descending towards the Scar.

Within were several bright presences in the Force, shining like beacons towards Jarren and Bajja. The Jedi Knights of the Core were signalling their arrival.

 

Interesting characters. I love how Bajja teaches Jarren something about the settlement

 

Nice introduction to a culture on the cusp of trying to maintain itself while being thrust into the wider worldscapes. I enjoyed Jarren's reflections on what he is and will encounter.

 

Jedi Fest

A harmony of humming energy filled the audience chamber as the Knights of the Core once again performed the lah kai. It was the third such ceremonial display they had performed since reaching the New Territories, and the ninety-seventh that Kessenell Fest had performed in her lifetime.

Four durasteel blades: tinged with pale gold, ocean green, copper and deep blue spun and weaved between limbs, flowing fabric, and each other. Their wielders likewise ducked, stepped, rolled and flipped around the centre of the room, avoiding death or maiming by centimetres with every movement.

The lah kai was one of the Order’s oldest traditions, dating back millennia. Before Kess, tens of thousands of Knights had performed it, and she was sure millions more would do so long after she was gone. It required complete subsumption into the Force of others in the moment of execution, and intense, intricate planning during the days and weeks leading up to it.

In this instance, the planning process had been relatively straightforward. There were only four Jedi here, all with very similar physical capabilities, all being humanoid. Humanoid, Kess reflected, was an odd word to use, given that none of them were in fact human.

Kessenell Fest herself was the closest to that oh-so-hallowed race, being Arkanian in origin. Coruscant was her home however, thank the Force. Well, it had been, before the other Masters had voted.

Her heart almost skipped a beat as she felt her golden blade waver slightly off course. It veered just a little too close to Ittik’s crown of horns when he aerial cartwheeled past. Stray thoughts here were deadly.

Kess’s companions for the past two months were a mixture of species, temperaments, and beliefs. The Caamasi, Napar, was affable and kind-hearted in the manner that made his species so beloved. He had been chosen by the Masters of Caamas to help lead diplomatic missions across the New Territories, despite his spotty record of success. Apparently Napar had rubbed some people the wrong way back in the Core.

In this lah kai, he was portraying her opponent. His movements were smooth and fluid—probably why the viridian glow of his sabre reminded Kess of an ocean. Even in retreat, Napar managed to appear in complete control of the situation. As he hurried backward, his flowing teal and white robes hid his feet so that he appeared to float away.

To Kess’s left, Ittik and Zinn were demonstrating sai manoeuvres. Ittik, the stern Zabrak from Humbarine, leapt over repeated sweeping strikes made by Zinn, a Duros from Corellia. During the planning stages of the lah kai it had been decided that Ittik would perform the more acrobatic moves, as a way of demonstrating that even in a heavy suit of armour, a Jedi could be incredibly nimble. Zinn, relatively unencumbered, acted the brute.

In many ways, the two were similar. Both cared deeply for their worlds and the people who lived there. For them a Knight was a servant, and their temperaments reflected that. Where they differed was in how they performed that service.

Ittik Sard was a highly visible presence on Humbarine’s streets. In their brazen armour he and his comrades were always present before trouble could arise, and when it did, it was over quickly. Humbarine’s Jedi and, therefore, its people, were untouchable.

Zinn Yannata on the other hand seemed to hate being noticed. Eschewing the characteristic robes of the Order, she instead wore a dark trench coat as she travelled between the Five Brothers of the Corellian system, doing her best to help those worst affected by the region’s recent misfortunes. She and Kess had had many long conversations about that situation during their voyage.

Napar was back on the offensive, making precise diagonal slashes as he advanced, while Kess made a show of desperately fending him off. Several times she appeared close to losing her grip on her hilt. But the lack of telltale ringing of steel on steel betrayed the fact that their blades never actually made contact. The lah kai was a Jedi Art in every sense of the word, it wasn’t a sparring match.

Ittik and Kess continued their respective retreats until the four Knights formed a two metre by two metre square. Then as one, they stopped and turned to face the centre with swords at the ready. Their eyes connected; Zinn, Napar, Ittik. To the spectators, it must have looked adversarial, like outlaws preparing to draw and fire. It was anything but. If any of them were to be injured or killed in this exercise, it would be now. Far from a staredown, this was a meeting of wills.

In an instant, the air between them was a whirlwind of energised steel. All four blades spun and twirled at dazzling speeds, though the Knights remained firmly planted in place. Wonder, joy, and trepidation mingled in the crowd, frozen in awe yet turbulent in emotion. The Jedi though, were glacially calm despite the frenzy of swords.

In her palm, Kess felt her crystal sing with pure excitement in the Force. It wasn’t merely channeling her own suppressed feelings; the living stone was drawn to its counterparts, and with each near miss, every instant spent weaving that impossible pattern, the attraction grew stronger and the energy between them built. The audience chamber seemed to have a storm brewing in its centre; if that energy wasn’t released soon, at least one Knight would be walking away short an arm—if they walked away at all.

Just as they had started it, the Knights of the Core ended the lah kai in perfect unity. Each drew their weapon back, as if to strike a killing blow, then swung overhead into the very eye of the storm they had created. The swords connected with the tremendous sound of metallic thunder and a flash of light. It was the most euphonic sound to reach a Jedi’s ears, and for Kessenell Fest that feeling of wonder still hadn’t faded even thirty-five years after joining the Order.

That wondrous tone gradually faded, replaced with restrained, polite applause. Spread around the chamber’s perimeter were dozens of Mantell employees, Republic bureaucrats, and a smattering of Challat senators, the representatives of worlds not important enough to warrant an actual seat in the Senate.

To Kess it seemed a little backwards for them to be performing their own farewell. The four of them had spent the last two weeks in Mantooine’s orbit aboard Atrivis Station, home and headquarters for the administrators of this fledgling society, and she’d enjoyed this first visit well enough. Liaising with officials had, after all, been a constant feature of her days on Coruscant. Many friends had been made over the course of the Kymoodon chancellorship—hints of that old rapport had emerged on Atrivis, too. Even if they were few and far between.

Things had markedly changed in the past four years. Ranz Kymoodon was now dead, and his successor had turned out to be much less receptive to the ideas of the Coruscant Masters. It made for a very difficult situation on the Republic’s capital world.

Whereas the patient and reserved Ranz had engaged “Master Kessenell” and her colleagues in frank conversation, even contacting her for advice on occasion, Callan Horuz was prone to frustrated outbursts when discussion moved in what he deemed undesirable directions. Those he disagreed with were ordered out of the room and replaced by his subordinates. His yes-men.

He was certainly not the first Chancellor to have strained relations with the Jedi of Coruscant; any relationship lasting ten thousand years was sure to have its rough spots. However it had been a jarring shift. Horuz would invite Jedi Knights and Masters from far-flung worlds to discuss galactic affairs, but not those within shuttle distance. Yabol Opan, Caamasi, and of course, Alsakani ambassadors were welcomed. These visiting Jedi would then share any important developments with their Coruscanti counterparts, but it was an occasional source of tension between temples—no doubt by design.

The Chancellor was from Uviuy Exen, a world with strong ties to Coruscant’s ancient rival, Alsakan. Notably, Var Khoonda, the newly ascended Master of Mantooine and former Knight of Alsakan, had been among Horuz’s favourite confidants. He had always been cordial to Kess in their interactions, and she to him, but it still rankled to see their relative positions reversed in the way that they had been. So much time and effort, to now become Khoonda’s vassal. On Kess’s face, a grimace was trying its best to surface. She just barely suppressed it.

She needed to think positively. Mantooine was an unspoiled planet of forests, mountains and oceans, features that Coruscant had all but purged from itself long ago. It would be good to re-engage with the Living Force where it wasn’t bound by the endless steel confines of Galactic City.

On a raised platform, an immaculately-dressed man (Tarjis Yalt, one of Mantell’s missionaries, Kess recalled) began to speak.

“Knights of the Ninth Republic! Oh…” he theatrically checked his cue cards, shook his head, then reshuffled them. “I’m sorry. Tenth Republic!”

A polite chuckle came from the audience and from Napar. The joke was a tradition, dating back to the end of the last Coruscant-Alsakan war four centuries earlier. Until peace had been reached, Alsakan had ignored the Declaration of the Tenth Republic, and had instead insisted that they were in the Ninth. Kess’s skill at feigning laughter had faded in the exertion of the lah kai.

“It has been an immense honour to welcome you to the New Territories. During your time on Atrivis, you have reminded us why it is that the Jedi are so legendary. Your prowess in diplomacy,” he nodded toward Napar, but made eye contact with Kess, “research and investigation,” he nodded at Zinn, “and martial combat,” he gestured to all four Jedi, “are awe-inspiring. With your skills, combined with Axumite ingenuity,” he swept out his left arm to acknowledge the Mantell men, “we will not merely bring civilisation to the north, we will redefine it!”

This time the applause was much warmer. Sword-fighting Jedi were a relic, it seemed. What ignited passions here wasn’t the traditions of the old Republic, it was the promise of freedom, of self-reliance. Kess couldn’t blame them, she supposed. Independence as a concept was practically deified by many Core-worlders. Especially on planets like Axum, the headquarters of Mantell Corp. Nonetheless, the way Yalt described their mission concerned her.

He went on to contrast the New Territories with the Slice, that enormous wedge of space between the Perlemian Trade Route (or Axis, as he called it) and the Corellian Run. For millennia it had been plundered by Coruscant and Alsakan alike. But this time, Yalt promised, would be different.

“Because if history has taught us anything, it’s that the cost of inhumanity is far greater than any amount of credits made in the process.” As he said this, he looked right at the Arkanian, Caamasi, Zabrak and Duros, the irony apparently lost on him.

Yalt wrapped up his speech by heaping words of praise on the Chancellor—with some snide jabs at his late predecessor thrown in. He knew his audience, as did Kess, however it took more effort than she expected not to object to the insults—defending her deceased ally would be counter-productive here. Mercifully, Yalt fell silent and stood aside to allow a clear view of the large screen behind him.

At first, there was nothing to see but the dense cloud that enveloped Azure Titan, the ship chosen to ferry the Jedi Knights and other Mantell assets to the surface. Then, as if in a scripted holodrama, the mists dissipated to reveal the humble town of Laddenah, nestled on a mountainside.

What took Kess’s breath away was not the buildings, but the expanse of deep green spreading beyond the horizon. It would not have surprised her to be told that the trees were a million years old, so heavily did they dominate the landscape. Dominated it, that was, until one’s eyes reached the ugly, scorched forest’s edge, which abruptly became an enormous ferrocrete landing pad—Yalt Spaceport. Named after the father of their melodramatic host.

The four Knights had sheathed their weapons at the beginning of the younger Yalt’s speech, but now their hands returned to their hilts, making contact with the living crystal embedded within. Eyes closed, they projected their presences outwards.

Kessenell Fest poured out feelings of steadiness, security, and the promise of Republic ideals. Zinn radiated hope and prosperity; a better life. From Napar, joy, laughter and peace. And the ever-stoic Ittik projected his pledge to preserve order. Kess did notice though, that there was a slight edge to his presence in the Force. Peeking with one eye barely open, she saw him wince in pain. His wound still nagged at him.

From the world below, two bright lights answered. One with an oath of strength and support, the other with a flickering sense of protectiveness, zeal, but also confusion and doubt. Pann’s Padawan, then.

Kess and her colleagues opened their eyes, bowed, and strode from the chamber to prepare for their introductions.

———​

By the time Jarren and Bajja reached the Scar, the unloading of the Mantell ship was already well underway. Hundreds of dockworkers and drones ferried huge containers back and forth, and in the distance Jarren could see a crowd forming around some of the newly-arrived equipment, which included several repulsor sleds.

Maybe Bajja could borrow some for the temple project. The Herglic seemed to be looking in every other direction, though.

Both Knights were now wearing more formal attire befitting the occasion. Jarren had again donned his sand-beige cloak, which helpfully hid the patches of sweat on his back and under his arms. Hopefully Core Jedi didn’t customarily embrace their new comrades.

Bajja meanwhile, had thrown on a pure white tunic, pants, and a cape of emerald green. It was possibly the first time he had done so, judging by the obvious fold creases.

From within the shadowed depths of the Mantell ship a surprisingly flimsy-looking staircase had emerged—little more than a few railings on one side with steps jutting out. It looked so precarious, Jarren couldn’t help imagining one of the Knights tripping on their robes and falling off the side. A ridiculous and unwelcome thought, but darkly humorous.

There were four of them descending. They were led by an Iridonian wearing heavy bronzium armour, followed by a snouted Caamasi swathed in deep teal, a slim Duros woman in a charcoal trench coat, and the once-Master of Coruscant Kessenell Fest bringing up the rear.

A pale Arkanian, Fest was intimidating even if one ignored her prior lofty position. Dark maroon robes swirled about a tall, lean woman in leather armour worn over the typical off-white tunic and pants. She also wore an easy, reassuring smile.

Fest’s eyes, however, were consistently drawn back to the treeline beyond the Scar. Whereas Jarren’s sense from the forests had been that of malignity and loathing, the once-Master seemed awed. It was understandable, he supposed, considering how little nature was left on Coruscant.

Fest’s mystique was almost broken when Jarren thought he saw her stumble. Something about the trees had seemingly affected her, too. Perhaps his earlier intrusive thought had been a vision, and she was about to fall to an undignified death, and they would need to send back to the Core for a replacement Knight.

No. Fortunately she recovered immediately, and her attention was now most firmly fixed on their small welcoming committee. Beside Bajja and Jarren stood the surface operations managers of the handful of firms represented on Mantooine, as well as the Republic’s planetside representative, a Balosar named Jeen Hals.

Hals was one of the few holdovers from when the Mantooine project had been a Kymoodon endeavour. Where once he was to be given the powers of a governor, under Chancellor Horuz he found himself reduced to essentially being a go-between. It had become common knowledge that the real power in the New Territories wasn’t here in Laddenah, but in the company offices up on Atrivis Station.

Nevertheless the Balosar still had ceremonial duties to perform.

“Ittik Sard! Napar Heq’uuj! Zinn Yannata! Kessenell Fest! On behalf of the Tenth Galactic Republic I welcome you to the colony of Laddenah, Mantooine.”

The words may have been different but Jarren recognised the cue. He drew his sword from its scabbard and raised it high in salute. From beside him he heard a deep “Oh!” followed by the chime of Bajja’s kyber responding to his touch, as he raised his own much larger weapon. The Caamasi grinned, revealing unsettlingly sharp fangs.

Each surf-op manager now took it in turns to welcome the new arrivals, with an obsequiousness inversely proportional to their company’s influence. Sestin Technologies’ man practically grovelled, while the woman from Mantell spoke to the four Knights as equals. Though he couldn’t speak for Bajja, Jarren noticed that he certainly hadn’t gotten this treatment on landing here.

Finally, the Jedi were able to speak.

“Thank you all, it is a pleasure to meet you,” said the Caamasi, Napar, with well-practised politeness. Visibly relaxing, he faced Jarren and Bajja directly. “Especially our new comrades! It’s been too long since we’ve had any non-corpos to talk to!”

A mix of polite chuckles and unamused grunts sounded to Jarren’s left.

“It’s a term of endearment I assure you,” Napar said placatingly. “I will be honoured to properly make your acquaintances tonight, as planned, but for now Jedi Sard, Yannata, Fest and I must become acquainted with Mantooine itself.”

With that dismissal, everyone but the Jedi and Hals shuffled off. It obviously hadn’t been the experience the ‘corpos’ had hoped for, but that would have to wait until Master Khoonda arrived.

“So,” Fest said, “Bajja, Jarren, where’s this temple of ours?”