Four sets of booted footfalls made their way through the blackness. Hugo had decided to think of it as that instead of an eternal night. At night, sounds were amplified; hearing enhanced. But the blackness seemed to absorb noise just as readily as it swallowed light. His fingers gripped tighter around the rifle clutched in his hands. Hopefully it wouldn't have the same effect on the blaster bolts he planned on hurling at anything ahead of them that moved.

Victor had worked out roughly where they were, based on the few buildings in the immediate proximity of the ship that sensors had been able to resolve. That didn't help much: the colony was practically an infinite, invisible haystack, and they had no way of finding their proverbial needle save for stumbling around blindly in the dark.

Well, not blindly. The quartet were relying on thermographics to navigate their way around. Optics designed to convert the infra-red light emitted as body heat were worn over their eyes; torches either carried in hand or mounted to weapons lanced out beams of the same stuff. Mostly those beams were swallowed by the darkness, like trying to shine a lantern through fog, but occasionally they'd catch a glimpse of something: debris, mostly; abandoned speeders; broken shop-fronts; occasional humanoid remains. Something had happened here, all those centuries ago when the stories had first began. But what it might have been, Hugo couldn't begin to fathom.

The only other guide they had was Hugo's gut. Something in the back of his mind drew him in the direction they were currently walking. It could have been anything - nerves; fluke; psychosis; gas - but he liked to think that it was Cambria, somehow. Nudging him in the right direction. Helping him along. It was illogical. It was desperate. But if nothing else, at least it gave him a sense of purpose, and a sense of hope.

You have to save her. Pull her back from the brink of the Dark Side.

Cambria's instructions echoed in his mind, as cryptic and incomprehensible to him now as they had been when she had issued them. How am I supposed to save her from something I don't even understand?

Hugo caught sight of a flash of movement beside him; his eyes translated the synthesised image into Victor's fist, calling for the group to halt. He replicated the gesture for the duo behind him; after a brief five-count to be sure it was recieved, his hand returned to the rifle, holding it ready to fire. "What is it, Vic?" he asked, keeping his voice low and relying on the microphone strapped to his throat to transmit the rest.

"Movement," the response came back. "Dead ahead."

Hugo peered, willing his eyes to pierce the veil of darkness ahead, and afford him a glimpse of whatever Victor had seen. He heard it before that wish was answered: a sound he'd hoped never to hear again; a robotic sigh, tainted with static, undercut by the ominous hum of an insect swarm. A slash of light carved through the blackness ahead. Hugo felt his chest twist at the sight before them: for years after the Clone Wars, it had taken entire squads to track them down, and bring them to what the Emperor described as "justice". But just the four of them?

"Guys," he said softly, throat reluctant to release the words. "Its a Jedi. Run."

* * *

Cambrio's fist slammed into the metal of the locker door; he felt it buckle slightly under the impact, though the material was apparently tougher than it looked, and his hand took most of the damage. The pain was welcome though: it cut through his frustration, allowing him a few moments of clarity. His father clearly had reasons; and for once he'd even made an attempt at explaining them, though the effort had been somewhat half-hearted. Still, that didn't mean Cambrio needed to agree, or even feel any better for it. His fury pounded its way through his feet into the deck as he paced back and forth. A hand snatched something from the cabinet beside him. "Damn it!" he roared, hurling the object groundwards; watching it rebound off the deck plates and impact the bulkhead before deflecting off into some dark corner or other.

A chime cut in; the audio indicator for an incoming message. He snatched the comlink from his belt. "Yes?" he snapped, through clenched teeth. It took a breath to calm himself enough to speak again. "Go ahead."

Amos' voice cut in; the gruff almost monotone somehow conveying the purr of a predatory cat. For a moment, Cambrio wondered at the irony of being aboard a ship named after such a creature. "I don't know what all the banging and breathlessness is about," Amos spoke, "But you might wanna put your pants back on and get back here."

Letting the verbal jab slide with narrowed eyes, Cambrio reached for the controls that would open the hatch of his bunkroom, and began to scramble up the ladder. "Is something wrong?"

"Well," Amos replied, carefully, "I certainly wouldn't describe the two see-through glowing people standing in the cargo bay as 'normal'."

Cambrio blinked, completely at a loss for a response to that revelation. His pace quickened, hand falling to his blaster. "I'm on my way." Cambrio wrenched it free as he cut right, racing around the trio of corners and down the stairs that deposited him on the cargo deck floor. His pistol held ready, Cambrio's eyes flicked briefly upwards, and settled on Amos, on the gantry platform above. He was staring intently at the heart of the bay; Cambrio followed his line of sight.

Amos' description had been accurate: there were indeed two figures standing in front of him, seemingly translucent, and emitting some sort of faint blue light. He took a cautious step closer, searching his mind for any reference in the stories from his father, or the logs he had read, that might identify what they were dealing with. The nearest figure's features shifted; Cambrio felt a tug of recognition in his gut, though he couldn't quite place it. A smile broke onto her face. "Hello, Cambrio."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Mom?"

While he had been perfectly happy adopting a no-to-questions, yes-to-guns approach to this entire situation, Amos found that last statement ramped up his curiousity much more than he was comfortable with. Edging carefully towards the stairs that would lead him down to Cambrio's level, he kept his gun trained on the strange arrivals as best he could. "Mom, as in Emaryn Montegue?" he asked, drawing alongside Cambrio. "Or some other ghostly step-mom type person that nobody has bothered to mention up until now?"

The other figure aimed himself directly towards Amos' eyes, and regarded the pistol aimed at him. "I'm incorporeal," he stated, simply. "Your blaster isn't going to help you."

Amos' eyes narrowed, but confliction darted behind his eyes; recognition, too. His mind searched for the source; settled on the image he had looked at back on Naboo; the man whose face he didn't recognise. "I don't know what that word means," he admitted, "But the gun makes me feel better. Who the hell are you, and why is there a picture of you in my house?"

"You have your mothers eyes." The figure smiled. "My sister's eyes," he added, by way of clarification.

A grunt escaped Amos. "That would make you my uncle. If you were, why haven't I heard of you?"

He shrugged. "I was sent to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant when I was very young; and when you were old enough to know, the Emperor had ordered the Jedi hunted and killed. It was no doubt a secret that your mother felt she could not share with you." He hesitated, seeming almost saddened by that notion. His voice remained calm and confident. "I am Mandan Hidatsa, and I give you my assurance: I speak truly."

Still not convinced, Amos' aim with his blaster wavered only slightly. He shot a sidelong glance towards Cambrio. "What are we dealing with here? Shapeshifters? Psychic projections? Something like that, right?"

Cambrio's brows wrinkled with confusion and contemplation, but his eyes never broke from his mothers face. There was almost wonder in his expression as he considered the possibilities. "Dad said that my aunt was manifesting through the Force, but wasn't able to appear to him in anything but his unconscious state. What if this -" He hesitated, not entirely sure what it would mean. "- is the next step?"

The smile on Emaryn's face grew broader, pride in her eyes. "You're even smarter than I could have wished for, Cambrio."

"Wait," Amos interjected. "What you're describing sounds an awful lot like ghosts." He scowled. "The creepy lifeless, lightless planet with ominous black clouds, and a darkness that sweeps about the place and kills everything in its path isn't allowed to have ghosts. That's just too much." His expression mutated into a frown. "And also; if this is your mother, then doesn't it mean she's the dangerous, Dark Side sister-killing thing that your father and the others left the ship to find?"

Despite having no physical form, Emaryn's mind still conjured the sensation of her heart leaping in her chest. "Hugo is here?"

Reluctantly, Cambrio's blaster rose in response to Amos' words. He's right, his mind whispered, battling against his emotions. She could be dangerous. We have to stop her. Get dad here. Have to -

Mandan stepped forward, ever so slightly interposing himself into Cambrio's line of fire. "The grip that the Dark Side had on her has been broken: I can assure you of that. However -" His voice trailed off, and he cast an ominous glance between the two corporeal men. "If people are already outside the ship, then they are in mortal danger. There is still a Dark Jedi on this planet, and he -" There was sadness in his eyes; his brows contorted into a frown. "When Emaryn was gripped by the darkness, the emotion she clung onto was rage. It made her violent, and dangerous. Inyos on the other hand has clung on to despair. He will not rest until he has provoked your compatriots into killing him."

Amos frowned. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes," Emaryn replied, her voice grave as well. "Especially if any of you hope to make it off this planet alive."

Resolve set on Cambrio's face. "We have to find them; bring them back."

"No." Mandan's voice was firm. "Inyos will kill you, if that's what it takes to provoke your retaliation."

"Then what can we do?" A note of panic rose in Cambrio's voice.

Mandan and Emaryn shared a knowing look. "There is something," Emaryn said softly; reluctantly. "But we are going to need your help."