Star Wars: Old Wounds

By: Aurin Starkiller

(Set hundreds of years after the Battle of Endor...)

Part 1...

Seated in one of the many dark corners of the cantina, the target had appeared as if he had no idea that he was being watched. Or at least, Nom assumed it was a he. Having been on many assignments across the galaxy, Nom had long ago stopped trying to guess the exact genders of the many species he encountered. The target was wearing a dark cloak, which made it all the more difficult to discern anything from his appearance.

He had already hunted down one target on this miserable desert planet, a rebel spy who had thought himself to be safe. But the Emperor had eyes everywhere, and noone could betray him unnoticed. After completing that assignment, he had been ordered to tail another target, but this time was given very little information about who or what was to be the object of his concentration.

Nom hated it when Imperial Command was so secretive about an assignment. The last time they had been anywhere near this secretive about a mission it had ended in an extensive firefight and the deaths of five civilians. Nom was tailing that target through a series of marketplaces when it unexpectedly turned and started firing in his direction. What Command had failed to tell him was that his target's species had a well-developed sense of hearing, enough to hear him draw his weapon from thirty yards away in a noisy marketplace.

At least this new target looked human. It was impossible to tell exactly with the hood of his cloak drawn around his face. After paying his bill, the cloaked man made his way out into the busy streets, his face still concealed from view.

"The target is on the move," Nom whispered into his earpiece comlink. "Requesting permission to pursue."

"Permission granted, Agent Olesa," his base commander replied, "don't lose the target, but keep your distance. Target is classified as armed and extremely dangerous. Seven Sith knights are on their way, let them handle the situation."

"Excuse me sir, did you say that seven Sith are coming for this guy?" Nom asked in disbelief. Very few foes gained the personal attention of just one Sith, but seven coming for merely one individual was hard to fathom. Nom had only heard of a few persons that the Emperor regarded as that dangerous.

"Affirmative, Agent Olesa. Stay out of their way. They will take care of the situation, do not engage under any circumstances."

"Understood, Olesa out." They really didn't have to order him to stay away from the target, anyone who gained the personal attention of seven Sith wasn't someone he wanted to fight anyway.

The desert suns beat down upon Nom, and he briefly wondered how the target could bear wearing his black robes in this heat. The cloaked man moved through the crowds quickly and gracefully, passing by people without their notice. It was almost as if they couldn't see him, even though he undeniably stood out from the crowd he passed through.

Suddenly, Nom heard the ignition of a lightsaber from behind him. A moment later a man in black battle dress charged past him, a red lightsaber burning in his hand. The crowd ran from the Sith knight in a frenzied panic as he rushed towards the target. Other knights soon appeared from the fleeing crowd, the rooftops, and adjacent alleyways. The target finally stopped in the middle of the street, surrounded by the Sith.

Nom Olesa was from a race of humans who had developed slight empathic abilities. Not much, but enough to notice strong emotion. Such abilities had proved useful in previous assignments, but not as much in the current one. Whoever the target was, he extremely disciplined and hid his emotions well. However, the aura of hate and fear surrounding the collective Sith was nearly overwhelming. Feared throughout the galaxy that they ruled, the Sith knights and lords were infamous for their control over the Dark Side of the Force, as well as their prowess with the lightsaber.

The streets were silent except for the hum of the Sith lightsabers. The cloaked man stood still, as if he wasn’t even aware of the foes that encircled him. Slowly, he drew back the hood of his cloak, and let it fall to the ground. His face was surprisingly young, but his eyes looked old, full of pain and memories. Underneath his cloak he wore simple black robes, and a belt with lightsabers attached.

The Sith looked at one another, waiting with obvious anticipation for someone to make the first move. Then, suddenly, the target struck. He spun around, pulling one of the human knights towards him with a powerful explosion of the Force. The Sith landed on a black lightsaber blade, which had appeared in his enemy’s hand as he was flying towards him. The entire feat took only mere seconds, and the rest of the Sith charged forward as their companion’s body fell to the ground.

As the remaining Sith battled the mysterious warrior, small metal spheres fell from his belt. A strange red smoke began to emanate from these spheres, and it became increasingly difficult to observe the conflict. Before the combatants were completely obscured by the smoke, Nom noticed a red lightsaber in the target’s other hand, and that only four Sith remained standing. Nom pulled out his macrobinoculars and tried several settings in an attempt to penetrate the smoke, but to no avail.

"Agent Olesa, this is Imperial Command," his earpiece blared. "Your orders have changed. As soon as you have a clear shot, take the target out."

"Affirmative, Olesa out." Nom drew his customized sniper pistol and waited for a chance to use it.

The sounds of battle were furious, and grew in intensity as it wore on. Then, suddenly, it stopped. The street was eerily silent, and even the aura of hate that the Sith seemed to emit while fighting was gone. Soon the wind picked up and blew away the smoke, revealing the bodies of seven Sith knights lying in the street. The target was nowhere to be seen.

Nom approached the dead bodies cautiously, feeling nauseous and fearful at what he had and hadn't witnessed. The bodies lay there scarred, maimed, and mutilated by their previous battle. Three of them, including the human who had fallen first, were impaled through the torso. Another was separated from its head, while two others were cut cleanly in half. All of the lightsabers were missing.

The last one, an Abyssin, was covered in deep gashes and cuts, and was impaled through the head. This one must have put up quite a fight. Abyssin were famous for their regenerative abilities, and even though it was quite dead some of its wounds were still regenerating.


Part 2...

Ever since the incident, Nom had been shuffled from one intelligence inquiry to the other. They kept on asking him the same questions: What happened? What could he tell them about the target? What did he see?

To tell the truth, Nom wasn’t exactly sure what he had witnessed. He thought he had seen one man go against seven Sith knights and walk away without a scratch. However, his mind seemed to deny the possibility of what his eyes had seen. How could one man take down seven of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy? The feats of the Sith were legendary, how could one man hope to destroy seven? And yet he had seen it happen.

From the many debriefings and reviews, Nom was able to gleam one name, Starkiller. That had been the man, or thing, he had witnessed in those desert streets. He had heard the name before, but only in dark corners and on the edge of a whisper. Nom hadn’t thought much of it before, assuming it was merely idle gossip and myth. Now he was having second thoughts.

He headed over to the computer terminal in his quarters, and typed in a search for the name Starkiller. The terminal brought up an Official Imperial File, with a name and picture to match.

( Starkiller, Aurin. A former Sith knight trained since the age of ten, when he was captured from a fleeing rebel family. Disappeared five years ago after slaughtering a temple full of adolescent Sith with the aid of an associate who was executed after an attempt to flee the scene. Reappeared early this year leading a small group of rebels making terrorist attacks across the galaxy. Responsible for the murder of many prominent Imperial officials. Bounty posted by Imperial Command at ten million credits. Instant two-rank promotion granted for any Imperial official responsible for the capture or death of the individual. )

Nom whistled softly, and tried to find more data on him, but was unable to without a higher security clearance. At least now he understood the panic and urgency he detected in the intelligence officers that questioned him.

“Read anything interesting?” asked a voice from behind him. Nom spun around, surprised to see the very man he had been reading about seated at his table. Instinctively, he reached for his blaster, but was dismayed to find it missing. After looking back up, he saw it on the table next to the intruder.

“How did you get in here?” asked Nom.

“I’ve been here for five hours,” Starkiller said, “I was wondering when they’d get done with you.”

“It’s not me you should be worrying about,” Nom stated, his hand reaching for the alarm button hidden beneath his desk.

“Please don’t,” said Starkiller, reading his movements. “I’d hate to have to kill you.”

“I’d hate to die,” replied Nom. It was then that Nom noticed long burn marks on Starkiller’s robes, gashes in the cloth, and the slight smell of burnt flesh.

“So you were hurt,” he chuckled, “and here was I thinking that you had walked away completely untouched. Do you really think you should be sneaking into Imperial compounds in your state?”

“I can't think of a better place to hide than where it is least expected. I’m going to have to ask you to take a seat now.”

“Why not just kill me and be done with it?” asked Nom, moving to a chair on the other side of the table. He had thought before of leaping for the injured man, hoping to overpower him, but he recalled tales of how Sith could kill a man without even touching him and decided against it.

“Don’t think that I haven’t considered it,” he said, looking towards the window. “What do you know of your past, Mr. Olesa?”

“I was a serial killer on Coruscant,” he said, repeating it as it was told to him, “I was captured by Imperial Intelligence, put on trial, and my mind wiped and reprogrammed for military service.”

“And who told you this?”

“The surgeons who performed the operation, of course,” Nom replied. “Why do you care?”

Starkiller ignored the question, and pressed on with one of his own. “Did you ever think to doubt what you have been told?”

“Occasionally, but never when I was rational. The Empire performs the procedure on many dangerous criminals, and I was able to find several old news reports that validated my violent past. What’s the meaning of all this?”

“The meaning is that you’ve been lied to since that operation,” said Starkiller, “you were not some insane serial killer, but a high-ranking rebel captured and reprogrammed by the Empire to hunt down those you once fought alongside.”

“You’re full of it,” said Nom, incensed by the attempt of this man to poison him with his words.

“Believe what you will,” Starkiller replied, ignoring his anger. “I’m only here because an old friend of yours asked me to come.”

“Really, you’d have me think that Lady Skywalker herself would have me return to her ‘noble’ cause.” Nom spit on the floor in disgust, “you’ll have to make up something a little more convincing if you’re trying to convert me to your suicidal vendetta.”

Starkiller said nothing, but instead slid a small metal case across the table. Nom caught it, and opened it to see a small red pill inside. “What is this,” he asked.

“Something to jar your memory,” Starkiller answered. “Take it or not, I don’t really care anymore.” He slid a small transmitter across the table next, and stood up slowly. “The effects should wear off in about an hour. If you’ve decided to change your mind about my ‘suicidal vendetta’, then give me a call.”

Nom looked at the pill and the transmitter, then back up at Starkiller. However, he had disappeared, and Nom was alone at the table. He tried to make sense of all that had happened. He didn’t want to take the pill, afraid that it was a trick of Starkiller’s twisted mind; or, even more frightening, that he might be telling the truth. However, he was still intensely curious to know why such a man would believe such a thing, and risk coming to the middle of an Imperial base in such an injured state.

He looked at the transmitter, dispelled his fear, and swallowed the pill.


Part 3...

Explosions rocked the compound as the planetary bombardment finally came to a close. The rebel troops holed up in the compound knew far too well what that meant; stormtroopers would soon follow. They barricaded the hallways as quickly and effectively as they could, even using some of the debris from the bombardment to strengthen the barricades.

In the command center, General Nom Olesa stared at the holo-screen in full awareness of the grim nature of their situation. Hundreds of armored stormtroopers poured into the crater left by the Star Destroyer’s planetary bombardment. At their front was a dark-robed Sith, leading the attack.

They had been fighting for as long as he could remember, scurrying just out of reach of the Emperor’s grasp. Olesa had been born into a galaxy at war, embroiled in the hundred-year long conflict known as the Century War. The Sith Empire had finally been able to topple the remnant of the free star systems, bringing the entire galaxy under their domain. For the last twenty years since the war ended, those left who still opposed the Emperor Valerian’s will fought in a small but persistent rebellion. The majority of the galaxy was at peace, forced into submission by the Empire.

General Olesa couldn’t be distracted by the events and memories of the past; he had to evacuate the base. The hundred or so soldiers that survived the initial attack could not hope to stand against such a large force, even with the advantage of their defenses. The dilemma that was presented before him, though, was just how he would do it. The only tunnel they could use for the escape was small and narrow; all of the soldiers would not be able to escape in time.

Olesa would have to leave a group of men behind to delay the Imperials for as long as possible, and to initiate the self-destruct sequence in the base. He would have to make the choice that haunts all combat leaders; he would have to choose who would live and who would die.

He had fought beside these men for three years now. If necessary, he would die with them as well. But it was he alone that could unlock the doors to the hangar hidden on the other side of the half-mile tunnel. The first traps had been sprung by the stormtroopers, now was the time to decide.

“Lieutenant Davenport,” he said, turning to the man on his left, “send squads three and five to the central corridor. Have squad two seal the all of the other corridors. Let’s force them into a bottleneck.”

“That should buy us some time,” Olesa thought. He ordered the rest of the men to the tunnel, and after they went through, turned to the lieutenant.

“Start a five minute self-destruct sequence as soon as squad five falls,” he said, handing the lieutenant the other security key he would need for the job. The young lieutenant grabbed the key, and looked into his eyes.

“He knows,” thought Olesa, “he knows that I’m sending him to his death. But he’ll go anyway, willingly, like a good soldier.” The general saluted the young man, and turned to enter the tunnel. He took one last look at the lieutenant, already preparing the fatal sequence. He then shut and locked the blast door, and shot the controls.

The tunnel was deep underground, and passed under the great lava flows on the surface. The planet was in a constant state of volcanic activity, making it a dangerous and unlikely place for a Rebel base; which is precisely why they chose to build one here. The secret hangar was on the other side of a vast lake of the molten rock, a last resort and their only hope of escape.

“It would be worth the loss of such a fine base,” thought Olesa, “to rid the Empire of so many of its servants, especially that Sith dog that led them.”

As he traveled through the tunnel, he thought back on the long years he had spent in his fight against the Empire. The Emperor’s Sith Lords had been a constant and formidable threat, causing devastating losses to the Rebels wherever they could find them. It would be nice to get some payback.

The legendary Jedi, the ancient enemies of the Sith, were all but extinct. Only Lady Skywalker, the current leader of the Rebels, remained. And she herself was only trained in the basics of the Jedi arts, no match for a Sith Lord.

Just as Nom Olesa reached the end of the tunnel, he heard a deafening explosion. He hurried through the last of the security doors, glad to see that his remaining men had already loaded and prepared the ships. He boarded one of the transports, ordering all ships to take off immediately. The small evacuation fleet soared towards the surface, bursting through the protective shield and hologram that disguised the surface of the facility.

After a few minutes, they were swarmed by a mass of Imperial fighters. The Rebel fighters escorting the escape craft engaged them in an attempt to allow the transports a chance at freedom. One Imperial fighter, however, stayed focused on Nom’s transport, strafing it with blaster fire. After weakening the shields, it swung behind the ship and delivered a torpedo to its engines.

“Damage report,” demanded Olesa, entering the bridge.

“We’ve lost hyperdrive engines,” reported one of the pilots. “Thrusters 2 and 3 failing.”

Without hyperdrive, it would be nearly impossible to escape the Imperial fleet above. Without those thrusters, it would be a miracle if they broke through the atmosphere.

“Take us back,” General Olesa said grimly.

“Excuse me sir?” asked the bridge commander.

“I said take us back.”


The damaged ship made it just outside the hidden tunnel’s entrance before its engines failed completely. It crash-landed softly on the black sand just below. The rebels, Olesa included, rushed out of the damaged ship and began making their way back down into the hangar on foot. As the remainder of his troops went ahead of him, Olesa and the bridge commander of the fallen transport stopped to contemplate their situation.

Fortunately, his transport was the only one to fall before the rebels broke through the atmosphere. He only hoped that his brave friends above would have such good luck getting past the Imperial fleet. He, however, would have to resign himself and his men to fate. There could be no hope for escape now. The Imperials would be landing more troops shortly, and they would have to use the defenses of the hangar to hold them off for as long as possible.

“At least we hurt them,” he thought, looking across the lake at the smoldering ruins of his former base. “At least we took a lot of them down with us.”

Olesa was about to turn away when he heard a startled exclamation from the former bridge commander.

“General look, something’s moving out on the lake!”

Olesa looked to where his associate was pointing, and after a few moments saw a dark shadow moving across the liquid rock. As it came closer he saw a man in dark robes, seemingly walking across the lava. His eyes were as black as the lightsaber that burned in his left hand.

“It can’t be,” Olesa whispered in shock, recognizing the Sith from the holo-display in his former base, “it can’t be!”

The bridge commander sprung into action, ordering everyone to get underground as soon as possible. When he turned back around he saw the Sith flying through the air, landing on him and impaling him with a black lightsaber blade. Before his body hit the ground, the Sith had struck down the two guards beside him and turned to face the General.

Olesa drew his blaster firing two shots at the dark warrior. Both shots were on target, but both were blocked by the lightsaber. The Sith swept the dark blade in a low arc, cutting him off above the knees. He then stabbed the burning blade into his shoulder and left him to pursue the fleeing rebels.

The last thing that General Nom Olesa saw before falling into unconsciousness was the blackened face of the Sith warrior.


Part 4...

Nom awoke from his frightful dream, the flood of memories washing him with despair. He looked down at his legs, relieved to see them still there. It was then that he noticed a thin, almost invisible, scar circling each thigh.

“So the dream was true,” Nom thought, “and the Empire gave me new legs when they stole my soul.”

He had in his hand the transmitter that Starkiller had given him. He had activated it some time ago, not even realizing it until now. The dream remained in the forefront of his mind: the fallen bodies of his comrades, the burning remains of the transport, and the planet of fire.

“Finished with your trip down memory lane?” asked Starkiller from behind him. Nom seethed in anger at his voice, remembering that it was Starkiller who had struck down the remnant of his men. It was Starkiller who took his legs, who gave him over to the Empire to become a monster. With a rage and quickness that surprised the both of them, Nom spun around from his chair and grabbed him by the neck of his robe pushing him against the wall.

“It was you,” he said, glaring into Starkiller’s eyes in his rage. “It was you who killed my men, turned me into a monster.”

“It was the Emperor who turned us both into monsters,” he said, with equal intensity. “It was the Emperor who turned us against the ones we loved, who made us what we were.”

Nom let go of the dark warrior and slumped back into his chair, exhausted. “What do I do now?”

“You have three options,” said Starkiller, leaning on the table. “You can continue in your service to the Empire, you could join with those who still remain from your old rebellion, or you could run and hide from those whom you once called both friend and foe.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make the Emperor pay for what he’s done to me, for what he’s turned me into,” Starkiller replied.

“I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to take vengeance,” he said.

“I never claimed to be one.”

“But you train with Lady Skywalker…” he said, confused at his response.

“I teach her how to fight, she teaches me how to be human again,” he said, looking out the window at the lights of Mos Eisley. “Have you made your decision?”

“I will fight,” Nom stated, joining Starkiller at the window, “but not for vengeance. I will fight to atone for my crimes, in the memory of those whom I have failed in the past.”

“So be it.”