Chapter 12

25,795 B.B.Y.

If there was a major downside to never aging (and there were a few), it was that there was so much time, specifically: time to think. Jamous had had a lot of time for that over the years, and it hadn't done much good for him. Time to think about his parents . . . he should have gone back to visit them, their differences be damned. Time to think about the Force . . . he still had much to learn, even if he hated to admit it. Time to think about the Great Connection . . . he hated thinking about that. Because whenever he thought about the Great Connection, he thought about Lana. And he couldn't help that his brain was kicking a metaphorical dead graussen.

But what had happened all those years ago, had happened because of the Great Connection, in and through the Great Connection. Jamous believed this guilt and drama, this inability to move on from Lana, was not like the hormonal rages of an unstable person. It was more than that. The Great Connection had burned it into him, infused it into his mind and body. It was unshakeable. The whisperings in the night, the feelings of being watched, the nightmares in his sleep: it all had something to do with the Great Connection. Something dark and sinister.

Jamous shook his head and grunted. The nauseous fumes of Nox heated the bubbled enclosure of Halpa City, causing condensation to drip off the glassed ceiling like rain. Jamous stood under the sackcloth awning of a rundown merchant vendor. He held a lit cigarette between his lips as he brooded. Across the teeming crowd of the marketplace, the three Je'daii talked to a merchant. Jamous watched them from underneath his cover from the rain.

He had managed to get them to exchange their customary Je'daii robes for the rags most common on the grifters of Halpa City. There had been no incidents like yesterday since then.

"So not only does Glena seem to be in a sour mood this morning, but so do you," Dol'tren said, suddenly beside Jamous. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't seen the large Twi'lek move through the crowd toward him. "And I'm beginning to think it's for the same reason."

Jamous dropped the cigarette out of his mouth. "You can think whatever you like," he replied, stamping the cigarette out with his boot. He looked up at the glass ceiling of the city. Behind the glaze of moisture, he could barely make out the green, toxic fumes of Nox's atmosphere twirling about in a sick dance. "What did you guys find out?"

If Dol'tren had noticed Jamous's evasion of the question, he didn't give any implication of it. "Two nights ago, the merchant's oldest son disappeared. Not a trace of the child. The merchant took it to the authorities, but they didn't give him the time of day, let alone search for the missing boy."

A sigh escaped Jamous's lips. "First the children of the refugees, and now the children of the city's middle class. This does not bode well."

"Aye," agreed Dol'tren, he watched as Glena and Tork skated through the crowd toward their direction. "And Hyperion most likely has Halpa's authorities in its pocket."

"I don't think we'll learn much else from him," Glena said flatly as she and Tork reached Dol'tren and Jamous. She gave Jamous a stony look, her lips flat. "In fact, I don't think we're going to learn much else from anyone."

It was true. They had spent all morning questioning the denizens of Halpa City about the missing children. The biosphere city's artificial lighting was beginning the transition to midday, and so far, their investigation in the slums and now the merchant quarter, had been fruitless. If anybody knew anything about Hyperion's actions, they weren't willing to share.

"What now?" Tork asked, stepping forward more underneath the awning to get out of the crowd's flow.

"We'll have to do some surveillance on Hyperion's plant," Dol'tren advised. "We're going to have to see if we can find a way in when the time comes."

"I have gone to the plant," said Jamous. "It's locked down pretty tight. Security posted on all entrances with guard towers."

"Hmm," mused Tork. "That security seems overkill for a manufacturing plant."

"I know. And I never saw any children going in or out, just the warehouse workers coming in and out for the day."

The three Je'daii and Jamous melted back in the crowd, following its flow out of the merchant quarter. All the four of them had their hoods up, not only to shadow their faces but also to shelter from the rain. The Hyperion Kinetics manufacturing plant was on the outskirts on the north side of the city. They would cut through the main square of the city's skyscrapers and travel through Old Town, a gangster-ridden slum.

Jamous felt something in the Force, something uneasy. It felt like the churning water of Tython's oceans before a storm. He looked back at the three Je'daii, and from their contemplative faces, he could tell that they too were feeling the same thing . . . Something was about to happen, and the feeling only grew stronger as they got closer to the main square. Jamous tightened the leather strap around his chest another notch, making Delroth's sword snug against his back.

As the junk-filled street opened up into the main square of the city, Jamous saw a rippling crowd gathered in the center of the square. There was a buzz about the crowd: the beings were anxious and restless. Within the middle of the crowd stood a human male on a small platform. He had a hooked nose and pockmarks on his face. As Jamous and the Je'daii got closer, it was revealed that the pockmarked man was not on the platform alone. Three beings kneeled in front of him, bound at the wrists and ankles: a devaronian male, a human female, and a Twi'lek male.

"For too long we've been under the oppression of the Je'daii!" the pockmarked man shouted to the crowd, his voice both gravelly and slimey at the same time. "For too long have they dictated the directions of our lives!"

"What is he saying?" Glena hissed quietly to Jamous, Tork, and Dol'tren. "This is utter nonsense!"

Dol'tren held up his index finger to his lips in reply.

"Queen Hadiya of the Shikaakwan clans has come to liberate us from these foul Je'daii!" the man continued. He paced back and forth on the stage, waving his arms in the air. The gathered crowd began to feed off his malintent. They began to stir more and more, talking amongst themselves.

"This is bad," Tork muttered.

"Before you," the man spread his arms out and motioned at the three bound beings who shared the platform with him, "are Je'daii who came to our city! They incited a riot here in the main square yesterday! Will we allow them to freely walk our city's streets?"

"No!" the crowd shouted back to him in unison.

"What is he doing?" Glena still whispered, but there was urgency in her voice. "Those people are innocent!"

The devaronian male, bound on the platform, attempted to awkwardly turn to face the pockmarked man. "Please, sir! You are making a mistake! We are not Je'daii!" There was a tremor in his voice as he shouted over the dinge of the crowd. "We are citizens of Halpa City! Just like you!" He had the demeanor of a caged animal, his body shaking. "If you would just—"

The poor alien never got to finish defending himself. The pockmarked man pointed his blaster pistol to the devaronian prisoner's head and pulled the trigger. The sound of the blaster going off rang out through the square, bouncing off the facades of the faceless skyscrapers, echoing loudly. The prisoner's face exploded into a red, hazy mist as the blaster bolt spiked through his head, spreading charred brain matter and chunks of skull on those in the crowd that were closest to the platform. The crowd roared in approval.

"This insanity!" Glena cried during the crescendo of the crowd's cheers. "We have to do something!"

"Don't do anything rash," Jamous warned her, "or else we'll be on that stage next."

Glena gave him a fierce look, but she said no more, staying rooted with the rest of them in the southeastern corner of the square.

"Ten thousand years!" the pockmarked man shouted as the crowd quieted. "Ten thousand years have we inhabited the Tython system, when our ancestors were brought here from all over the galaxy! And for ten thousand years have we non-Force users lived under the thumb of the Je'daii! And Queen Hadiya will liberate us from their tyranny!" He pointed the blaster pistol at the human female who began to wriggle and writhe on the platform in a feeble attempt at escape. "Fuck the Tho Yor!" The man's face was red, and the veins on his neck bulged: pure hate flowed out of him.

He pulled the trigger on his blaster pistol, shooting a bolt of energy through the woman's back and out her chest. She made a gurgling noise as the light faded from her eyes, and the last living prisoner on the platform, the twi'lek, began to weep. The crowd roared in approval.

"The Tho Yor, the progenitor of our system," the pockmarked man said in satirical reverence, "the temple ships that brought our ancestors here . . . they will fall!" He raised his fist in the air. "The Despot Queen, our savior Hadiya, will ransack Tython and destroy the Je'daii's Tho Yor temples!"

The crowd raised their hands in the air and screamed in agreement.

Dol'tren, Tork, and Glena all put their hands on their heads. Glena began to stumble, and Jamous reached out to catch her. She pushed his hands away as she found her footing. "Are you ok?" he asked her.

"The hate coming off the crowd, it's so great. I can feel it so strongly in the Force." She regained her composure, but there was still discomfort on her face, as well as the other two Je'daii.

The three of them had not been off Tython very much. It was obvious. These hateful acts reverberating through the Force were something they had not experienced very often.

"Take deep breaths," Jamous advised them. "Find the calm center within you." They looked at him gratefully.

There was another blaster shot, and all four of them jerked their heads to the crowd as it cheered. The Twi'lek lay dead at the pockmarked man's feet. "Death to the Je'daii!" he screamed, lifting both his arms in the air with clenched fists.

The crowd roared with him. Some jumped up and down. A chant broke out among them. It felt like a ringing in Jamous's ears, the word "death" a thud on his eardrums. He motioned with his hand for the three Je'daii to follow him. As a group, they stayed on the edge of the square and ducked into a small alleway at the northwestern corner.

"This is bad," muttered Tork, when they were at the end of the alley. It opened up into a larger street that cut north and south. "I didn't realize how much dissent there was toward the Je'daii, not in Halpa City and not in the whole system.

"Who was that man?" Glena questioned. She glared at Jamous. "Who was he?"

Jamous replied, "I have no idea. I've never seen him before." He pulled a cigarette out and lit it. His hands shook slightly, and he steadied them. "I knew that the citizens of Halpa were not fond of the Je'daii, but a public execution? I've not seen anything like that here since the war started."

"We need to question him," Glena said emphatically. "He needs to be brought to justice for murdering those innocent people."

"The children," Dol'tren reminded her. "We can't forget about the missing children."

Jamous stubbed out his cigarette. "Most of the citizens seem more concerned with the war than what is going on in their city. That probably explains why so many children have gone missing, and no one has said anything about it." He looked from one end of the alley to the other. "But the situation has become more dire. We need to be careful. This city has become a lot more dangerous for you three."

"And you," Glena snorted in reply.

"I'm no Je'daii."

"Jamous." Dol'tren had a sympathetic smile on his face. "You being a Je'daii or not won't matter to these people. If you use the Force, in their minds, you're a Je'daii."

"Either way," Jamous replied. "Let's keep a low profile."

Their journey north through the city was a quiet one. Neither of them spoke, and every face of those walking past them looked like the face of an enemy. The situation had gone sour. If they were discovered, their fate would be the same as those poor souls in the main square. Jamous should have foreseen this, and he mentally kicked himself for not doing so. He had known for months that Halpa City had chosen the side of the Despot Queen and not the Je'daii, but he had made the mistake of thinking the city's citizens would be more passive during the war. It was one thing to manufacture for the army opposing the Je'daii; it was something entirely different to hunt "Je'daii" down in the city and murder them in the streets.

The aesthetic of the buildings shifted as they entered the manufacturing district. The buildings transitioned to a drab gray with no windows. Scratched durasteel walls sectioned off the yards to different manufacturing plants. At the top of most yards' walls was an electric mesh to keep curious onlookers from climbing over.

The Hyperion Kinetics yard was easy to spot if one knew what to look for. It was at the back of the manufacturing district, and it was the biggest yard out of them all. It also had four guard towers in each corner of the rectangular yard. In the guard towers were two security guards each, a collection of humans, rodians, and a twi'lek or two. They all brandished long range blaster rifles, and there were flood lights mounted on the railings of the towers. The gate to enter the yard had a checkpoint booth with a security guard inside, and two more security guards standing on either side of the gate.

As the four of them came up to the Hyperion Kinetics yard, they cut right to walk parallel with the gate. There was a ragged, burlap awning that offered inconspicuous cover diagonally from the gate. They stopped under it.

"That's a lot of security," Tork muttered. Jamous gave them all cigarettes (to look like they were warehouse workers taking a smoke break), and the burly human took it and put it to his lips. "It almost seems like too much security."

"I agree," Jamous said after lighting his cigarette, passing the lighter on.

"Those guard towers look like they could be a problem," Glena said as she awkwardly inhaled in her cigarette. She unsuccessfully tried to suppress a cough, and the other three smirked at her, getting glares from her in return.

There was the sound of an engine, and a large cargo speeder came up the street and stopped at the gate.

"I wonder what's in there," Dol'tren said as the driver of the cargo speeder showed credentials to the security guard in the checkpoint booth.

"I could take a guess," Jamous replied, smoke escaping his mouth.

The gate opened, and the cargo speeder went through. The defense of the yard was very strong. They would not be able to get in during the day, even if they were able to jump over the five meter wall—they'd get spotted by the guards. Night would be the better option, and even then, the flood lights mounted on the guard towers would still pose a major problem. There were eleven guards securing the perimeter of the yard, and who knew how many were inside the walls. If they were spotted, their chances of getting out alive were slim . . . very slim.

Jamous dropped his half-smoked cigarette. "We should get out of here. We'll start to look suspicious if we stay any longer."

They kept walking the direction they were before they stopped and turned right at the adjacent street, back towards the tall buildings in the center of the city.

"We'll go through Old Town to get back to the apartment," Jamous told the three Je'daii. "I want to avoid the main square and busy streets."

"Maybe we should duck into a cantina in Old Town," Tork offered. "See if we pick up any news from the locals as to what's going on."

"Good idea," Jamous replied. "There is a bar in the direction we are headed that many of Hyperion's warehouse workers frequent after their shifts."

As they travelled through Old Town, Jamous observed his surroundings. Giant heaps of trash, junk, and excrement piled up everywhere. Spice addicts and drunkards crowded alleyways and sat on the curbs of the street. They hacked and coughed. It was an abysmal sight; and with the war finally in full swing, it was only going to get worse.

The half-lit, dingey neon sign of Moonwalker Cantina shown before them. It stood out because it was the only lit object on the street. There weren't even any street lights. Jamous looked at the three Je'daii and motioned with his head. All four of them entered the cantina, opening up the scuffed and rusted door and streaming in.

The cantina smelled of piss and beer. It was very dimly lit, and a haze of smoke encompassed the entire room. Music played on blasted out speakers, and there was the low mumble of talking and the clinking of glasses. Aliens of all sorts sat about the open floor, some huddled together and some alone. Those who sat together talked in hushed tones, as if they didn't want anyone to hear what they were talking about. There was a small booth in the back corner that gave the best vantage point of the entire bar. Jamous pointed at it.

"I'll get the drinks," he said as Tork, Dol'tren, and Glena walked towards the booth to claim it as their own.

An old and wrinkled rodian stood behind the bar, and Jamous had to muscle himself in between a burly human and a smelly duros. The duros swore under his breath, and the human gave Jamous a hateful glance. "Give me four glasses of something strong," Jamous told the bartender, ignoring the two patrons on each side of him.

The old rodian grunted and turned around, reaching up for one of the many bottles of hard liquor.

"That's an interesting sword on your back," a voice said to Jamous's left. "Never seen anything like it."

Jamous turned his head toward the direction of the voice and then hid his surprise. At the end of the left side of the bar sat the pockmarked man who had murdered the three people in the main square.

"Thanks," Jamous said flatly. "I found it."

"Sure you did." The pockmarked man didn't look at Jamous. He kept his gaze straight ahead, staring at nothing and taking a sip from his drink.

There was the clack of glass hitting the counter, and Jamous looked back to see the rodian had put out four glasses filled with an amber liquid. He left a credit chip on the counter and muttered his thanks as he grabbed the four glasses. As Jamous turned around to head to the booth, he stole one last glance at the pockmarked man. The man still stared straight ahead, his hooked nose causing an irregular profile in the gloom and smoke of the bar.

Jamous put the glasses down on the booth's table and slid a glass to each Je'daii, keeping one for himself. The three Je'daii appeared to be nonchalant, but Jamous knew they were taking in the entire cantina, watching carefully and listening in on the many different conversations happening all around them.

"The man from the main square," Jamous said, and he took a sip of the drink. It was strong . . . and it tasted like shit. "He's here. Far left side of the bar."

The Je'daiis' demeanors did not change, but Jamous knew they had seen the man. He saw Glena's jaw slightly clench when she saw him.

"We should follow him," she said quietly, but her voice was filled with menace.

"We're not here for him," Tork replied. "We're gathering information on Hyperion Kinetics, remember?"

Glena did not look at him as she replied, "He killed those innocent people. He needs to be brought to justice."

"The children are more important," Dol'tren said, though he kept a constant watch on the pockmarked man.

Jamous studied Glena. She remained inconspicuous, but he could tell: she was going to do what she wanted. He sighed and drank the rest of his drink. It tasted even worse the second time. "Tork and Dol'tren, you stay here. The warehouse workers will be coming through soon. See if you can pick anything up. You probably won't learn much, but at this point, I'll take anything." He looked at Glena. "Glena and I will follow the man from the square if he leaves."

Jamous could see reservation in Dol'tren and Tork's faces, but they said nothing; and a fire burned in Glena's eyes.

Another forty minutes passed when beings of many different races and species wearing Hyperion jumpsuits began to pile into the cramped bar.

"He's leaving, Jamous," Glena said quietly, and when Jamous turned, he saw the pockmarked man shoulder his way through the crowd of new patrons.

Jamous stood. "Let's go."

After they had pushed their way through the now crowded bar, Glena spotted the pockmarked man walking down the way the four of them had come to get to the cantina. She motioned with her head at Jamous, and the two followed him from a distance, trying to look as nondescript as possible.

The man turned on different streets and ducked through alleways, all the while Jamous and Glena followed, careful to stay far enough back and out of sight. The streets were much busier now than they were in the morning, so it was easy to blend in.

The pockmarked man turned left at the end of a long alleyway. When Jamous and Glena peaked around the corner, they saw him walking up to a hooded figure who leaned against the wall near the alleyway exit that opened up into an empty street. The hooded figure saw the pockmarked man and lowered his hood, revealing a twi'lek male. The mysterious twi'lek had scars up and down his face, and his right lekku was missing.

"It went well?" the scarred twi'lek said to the pockmarked man, their voices were somewhat faint from where Jamous and Glena stood out of sight.

"As planned," the pockmarked man replied.

"Here." The twi'lek pulled out a credit chip and handed it to the man. "Your payment. How was the crowd?"

The pockmarked man took the credit chip and slipped into the pocket of his coat. "They were bloodthirsty. It was the biggest reaction I've managed to illicit so far."

It was silent for a moment. "Good," the twi'lek said, breaking the silence. "We will provide you with more people to pawn off as Je'daii. But we need to speed it up. Riots and chaos. To the . . ."

Jamous couldn't hear the rest as Glena whispered in his ear. "They're purposefully inciting hate toward the Je'daii."

"I know," he whispered back. "That twi'lek look familiar to you?"

"No, but that's a Shikaakwan gangster if I've ever seen one."

Jamous held his hand up for her not to talk. "Hold up. Listen to what they're saying right now."

The twi'lek's voice: ". . . and away from the warehouse district, Hyperion Kinetics in particular."

Jamous looked at Glena. "They're connected to Hyperion somehow."

Her eyes shone bright. "It's the Force. It has guided us here."

The two both turned to look back at the pockmarked man and scarred twi'lek, intent on gathering as much information as they could. Jamous and Glena were so focused on the conversation around the corner at the end of the alleyway that they didn't hear the approaching footsteps behind them.

The pockmarked man's voice was faint, but Jamous could still hear him. "Keep the credits coming, and I will—"

"What's this?" a gravelly voice behind Jamous and Glena suddenly called out. They both jerked around to see three burly twi'leks brandishing blaster pistols and rifles. The twi'lek that had startled them was just under two meters, and had dark green, cracked skin. He had a long jagged scar that ran diagonally down his face; his right eye was missing. "Hey, boss," he called out around the corner. "You should end the meeting. Looks like we got some humans who are a little too curious for their own good."

"What are you talking—" Glena shouted at the twi'lek but let out a cry when his meaty hand connected with her face. She fell to the ground with such force that the sound of her hitting the dirty pavement of the alley sounded like it hurt more than the slap.

Jamous mentally kicked himself for not being more aware of his surroundings. He should have known that there might be others patrolling the surrounding area while the meeting took place. The scarred twi'lek with the missing lekku rounded the corner and stopped in front of them. His skin was flushed purple, and there were tribal tattoos across his face. Gold bangles wrapped around his remaining lekku.

Glena weakly lifted herself to her knees and spit out a glob of blood. Jamous bent down to help her up, but she shakedly raised her hand to show she was okay.

"What do we have here?" the scarred twi'lek said with a wicked smile, his teeth were filed to sharp points. The pockmarked man was not with him and nowhere to be seen.

"What should we do with them?" the burly twi'lek asked.

"Take them to the safehouse. Find out what they know." The scarred twi'lek lifted his hood back over his head. "I have more errands to run. I'll meet you there later." He rounded back around the corner and was gone.

"The sword on your back," the one-eyed twi'lek waved his gun at Jamous, "give it to me."

Jamous hesitated. He could kill the first large twi'lek before he would be able to fire off a shot, but there were two more behind him, wielding blaster rifles. And that didn't take into account that Glena was still reeling from the slap to the face that she had just taken. She had only now managed to get back on her feet, and a large black bruise was forming on her left cheek, marring her beautiful features. She could get hit from a stray blaster bolt if Jamous decided to attack now.

Defeatedly, he unsheathed Delroth's sword and handed it to one of the twi'leks behind the burly one.

The big twi'lek pointed his blaster at Glena. "Give me your weapons."

"I don't have any," Glena panted. She looked up defiantly at the twi'lek.

The twi'lek suddenly lashed out, planting a hard punch into Glena's stomach. The strength behind the punch pushed her back against the wall, and she fell to the ground, letting out a cry of pain.

Hot rage sparked in Jamous as one of the other twi'leks bent down and patted Glena down, finding the two short blades she kept sheathed in the small of her back. He wanted to lash out, but the alleyway was too small and cramped. He had to wait.

Jamous bent down and gently helped Glena stand back up. She wheezed slightly, showing that the wind had been knocked out of her. "Are you ok?"

Her eyes watered as she nodded.

The three twi'leks ushered Jamous and Glena through alleyways and streets, deeper into Old Town, until they came across a small, faceless building with a single door. Inside the building was nothing of note: a few chairs and sleep mats. It was dank, dark, and smelled bad. There were two other muscled twi'leks inside when they entered.

"We'll start with the girl," the one-eyed twi'lek said to the now four others. Find out what she knows." He pushed Jamous into the corner of the room and kept his blaster trained on him.

One of the twi'leks that had been in the building already when they had first entered, small with flesh-colored skin and missing fingers, said, "Do we get to have some fun with her once we're done?"

The burly twi'lek with the missing eye smiled deviously and licked his lips. "Possibly."

Another of the twi'leks, this one with light blue skin, started walking toward Glena, who was in the center of the room. "Why wait till after?" he said in a deep voice.

He threateningly drew close to Glena, who seemed to cower back at first but then suddenly shot her hand out with inhuman speed, striking at his face. The blue twi'lek cried out in pain, stumbling backward and falling to one knee as he reached up toward his face. "You won't touch me!" she screamed, holding the blue twi'lek's eye, glistening with blood, in her hand

All the twi'leks, beside the one who had just lost his eye and the one who had his blaster trained on Jamous, swarmed her. She used the Force to push one back hard against the wall. The small twi'lek with the missing fingers rushed her, and she was able to dodge his punch while giving him one of her own.

Jamous used this chance to charge the burly twi'lek with the blaster pointed at him. But this twi'lek was a skilled warrior and a soldier of the Despot Army. He was unphased. Even with the augmented speed of the Force, Jamous was not fast enough. The twi'lek lowered the aim of his blaster and pulled the trigger, shooting a beam of energy into the meat of Jamous's thigh.

Jamous let out a cry and fell to his knees. He looked down at the smoldering hole, rimmed by charred skin and dried blood, in his right leg. He didn't look up in time to see the big twi'lek coming down hard at his face with the handle of his blaster. The pistol whip sent Jamous to the floor.

"Stow that bitch!" the burly twi'lek roared to the other four, and he gave Jamous a thundering kick to the ribs.

Glena had been able to fend off two of the three attacking twi'leks, but the third had taken her down with a full body tackle. They both fell down on the hardwood floor, and the twi'lek rolled on top of her, raining down heavy blows to her face and torso. Glena tried to block as many as she could, but many of the blows connected with sickening thuds.

The pain in Jamous's leg was tremendous. His face throbbed, and his ribs ached. His vision was white with pain. Glena had begun screaming, and he looked up to see the four twi'leks surrounding her, punching and kicking, and tearing at her clothes. The one-eyed twi'lek stood over him, laughing at the scene playing out before them.

Jamous's white vision of pain mutated to that of red rage. He looked up at the burly twi'lek who watched the four, wickedly laughing. Jamous felt a dark power rise up from his stomach and begin to course through his veins. His rage opened up the gates to the dark side of the Force, and he welcomed the oncoming wave with open arms.

The burly twi'lek standing over him suddenly grabbed his stomach and cried out in pain. The four other twi'leks jerked their heads to him just in time to see the one-eyed twi'lek explode into a bloody pulpy mess. The explosion seemed as if it had happened internally, and it flung gore, organs, and body parts all over the room.

All was silent save for the sound of body parts and internal organs slapping the walls and floor, and the four twi'leks and Glena looked in horror at the bloody stump that was once the big twi'lek. Jamous managed to stand back up, favoring his left leg. He was covered in blood and chunks of flesh. "Get your fucking hands off of her," he said in a raspy and menacing voice. He felt as if he had been swallowed whole. The red rage had again mutated . . . into something dark and horrible.

The small twi'lek with the missing fingers suddenly rushed him, but it was for nothing. Jamous reached out with the Force and pulled. The twi'leks fleshed-colored skin flushed pink, and he let out a horrendous scream. There was a snapping sound as the small twi'lek was physically split down the middle with the Force. His howl was cut short as he was pulled in two, and Jamous used the Force to throw the two pieces to either side of the room.

The twi'lek lying directly over Glena was Jamous's next target. He lifted the twi'lek up, and there was a loud thud as the Force pinned the soldier to the ceiling. The twi'lek cried out as blood began to profusely pour out of his eyes, ears, and nose. All of his internal organs suddenly shot out of his mouth like a geyser all over the room. Jamous let go, and his corpse fell down to the ground.

The light blue twi'lek whose eye Glena had taken began to make a break for the exit of the small building, but he had a hard time running across the blood-slicked floor. Jamous lashed out with the Force, crushing the twi'lek's windpipe. His blue skinned face began to turn a deep purple as he gasped for air. Jamous used the Force to lift his suffocating body up and hurled it at the remaining twi'lek. The force of the collision was so strong that it sent them both through the wall of the building, and the snapping of bones harmonized with the rending of durasteel.

All was quiet, and Jamous fell to his knees. He began to crawl across the pulpy mass of internal organs that scattered the room's floor, toward Glena.

"Are you ok?" he asked her when he reached her.

She lay on her back. She was covered in blood and flesh, and her face was badly beaten. When she looked up at Jamous, he saw fear in her eyes. "What are you?"