Montegue: Origins - Revelations

[Hugo Montegue]

Coromon Headhunter, Ord Ithil

As they reverted from hyperspace, everyone clustered in the cockpit to witness the world that was their destination. Instantly, Vittore wished they hadn't; or at least, he wished someone else had been piloting, so that he could not be there. What was apparently once a habitable world looked more like a nightmare version of Kessel; and that planet was pretty grim to start with. Ominous dark clouds swam around the upper atmosphere, broken only in places by patches of deep, crimson red where the sunlight from the system's star managed to penetrate. Lightning sparked in flashes below, explosions of light rippling across the surface.

Yeah, Vittore mused, piloting the craft along the course his father had indicated. I definately wish I was somewhere else right now.

Hugo had appropriated the co-pilot's seat - a mirror reflection of the terminal at which Vittore now sat - and was studying the sensor telemetry from the planet below with a great deal of intregue. He'd already announced that he was having trouble penetrating beneath the cloud cover with his scans; that didn't exactly fill the elder son with confidence. Still, they'd managed to dredge up a map from an old Republic topographical survey, and with the help of a geostationary satellite that the rescue expedition had placed - ominously warning away anyone approaching the planet - they'd come up with a rough estimation of the colony's probable location. Of course, no one had asked what they'd do if she wasn't there. No one had asked what they'd do if Hugo turned out to just have been driven crazy by captivity, either. But Vittore didn't need to ask. Didn't need to question the plan. He'd been ordered to fly the ship through those creepy looking clouds, and land her in a settlement that was probably - hopefully - there.

"Well, its official," Hugo revealed from his terminal, shooting a glance over his shoulder to his own brother. "The Galactic Republic has been informed of a breach of the Ord Ithil quarantine perimeter."

Victor grunted. "That's reassuring. Think they'll send a Senate Commando to sort out whatever is going on?"

"I was thinking more of a Sector Ranger." Hugo cracked a hint of a smile, but a proximity alert from the console killed it. He frowned, gruffly, eyes turning back in its direction. "We're approaching the upper atmosphere," he advised. "You guys might wanna head back mid-ship and buckle up. We might experience some slight turbulence."

"This is why I hate flying," Amaros grumbled, leading the way out of the cockpit with Amos, Victor, and Cambrio in tow.

Hugo's eyes flicked across to settle on Vittore. The son glanced into his gaze. "You sure you don't want to take her down yourself, dad?"

The smile returned to Hugo's features. "I have faith in you, son. Take us in."

* * *

Though the clouds glowed with their own inner light, it wasn't bright enough to illuminate anything: not this far down, at any rate. Even so, as the figure wandered the surface, he percieved everything. Each surface - every building, every roadway, every statue, bench, withered husk of a tree - was saturated with darkness; with fear, anger, hate and death. He felt every ounce of it in his mind, and it tugged at all his senses. It was like the rancid scent of the planet's rotting carcass.

He stared down at his gut, and the jagged tear through his clothing where hours before - or perhaps days, or weeks; time had lost all meaning here - a great spear of metal had lodged itself in his chest. Now all that remained where the wound should have been was smooth, unmarred and unscarred skin. Through their collective, malevolant power, the clouds had manipulated the Force, and once again torn the sweet release of death from his groping fingers.

Inyos Aamoran had lost track of the passage of time while on Ord Ithil; and it appeared that the passage of time had lost track of him as well. Despite his decade trapped on the lifeless world, his features showed no more signs of age than they had on the day he had arrived. Through their power over the Dark Side, the clouds that kept him trapped here had held him preserved. He did not hunger, or thirst; had no need for sleep; and despite his efforts every day since, they would not allow him liberty. What he had done to warrant such punishment, he could not fathom, and yet he was forced to endure it, unceasing.

Something of his perception of the skies above shifted; a ripple in the disposition of the clouds. Something new - something distinctive, free of the imprint that marked everything else on this world - appeared. A ship; perhaps six souls onboard. A memory triggered from inside his mind. He recalled his first days here; how he had not been alone. How he had been twisted by the Dark Side; and had slain the only other souls on the planet. How had they died, and yet he had not? Was that the first step of his punishment: forced to live with the knowledge of the murders he had comitted? Or was there more to it than that? Were the clouds merely indifferent as to who incurred their punishment, provided it was one person, alone? Or was he simply not allowed to kill himself?

His eyes narrowed. Six souls. If one of them was made to die, then he would know it was possible. Then, he would allow their retaliation to end his own life. And finally he would have the freedom he craved.

* * *

Whether it was through force of will, or will of Force, Vittore couldn't be sure. He'd been flying purely on instruments, and frankly they weren't giving him all that much help. But somehow, they'd managed to settle safely on the surface. As he stared out at the blackness that had painted itself across the viewport, he felt a chill down his spine. This place seemed impossible; the sooner they left, the better.

Controls locked down, he abandoned the bridge to join the rest of the family, assembled in the cargo bay beside the airlock. Victor seemed to be once again scrutinising the colony blueprints they'd obtained, and trying to match up the skyline to the sketchy telemetry they'd managed to scrape off the sensors during their approach. Amaros appeared busy, attempting to work out how to strap as many guns to himself as possible. A much more familiar sight was provided by his brother and father.

"What do you mean, 'stay here'?" Cambrio threw back, a familiar mix of outrage and whine lacing his voice.

By comparison, Hugo's voice was calm; stern, with a slight edge of frustration perhaps, but mostly calm. "I need someone to stay here who can fly the ship. Just in case."

"Amos can fly the ship," Cambrio threw back.

Looking up at the sound of his name, Amos winced. "Uh... I really can't," he offered.

"Son," Hugo cut in, more force in his tone this time. "I need you to do this. Please."

Cambrio's lip quivvered in frustration as he prepped another argument, but with a surge of willpower, he managed to beat it down and silence his intended words. "Fine," he sighed.

Hugo held his gaze for a moment longer, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder to offer a thankful squeeze. It fell away as Hugo turned back to the bay, pacing towards the cargo container where his own gear was stored. "Amaros; Victor; Vittore, with me. Lets gear up and get this done, so we can get off this damned rock."