Montegue: Origins - Revelations

[Hugo Montegue]

Coromon Headhunter, Tythe

By comparison to the Headhunter II, the old Coromon Headhunter looked outdated and antiquated. She lacked the sleek lines and aerodynamic surfaces. She didn't have that aggressive, predatory look. Didn't look fast and formidable; hell, she looked like a lumbering, fat-bellied space dragon, to be honest. That she managed to fly at all was more a feat of miracle than a feat of engineering. But Hugo didn't care. The Coromon was more than just a ship. She was home, and had been for most of his life; and most of his son's lives as well. Her deckplates and her bulkheads had soaked up every precious memory; as he paced along the corridor that ran down her spine, he smiled as his fingertips traced along the walls. He could feel everything that he had lost slowly seeping from her back into him; as if through force of will, the ship was repairing the damage that the Empire had wrought on his mind.

Her memory banks had helped as well. The journey from Lok to Tythe had been relatively short, but he'd had enough time to read through his Journals. Much of his mind still felt full of holes, and while the records had helped to patch over some of them, he had still struggled to decipher Cambria's cryptic instructions; then a literal approach had sprung to mind. He had started from the beginning. Not on Coruscant, nor on Cularin: those had been at the end of his old life. His new life had begun somewhere completely different: on a world called Ord Anor.

It was vague. It was a stretch. But it was the best he had; and he knew in his gut that it was the right next step. The only challenge that remained was convincing everyone else, without making them think he was crazy.

Elroy's voice assaulted him, the moment he stepped into the ship's mess. "Well?" he urged, his tone posessing an anxious edge; Hugo couldn't be sure if he was from desire to continue with their mission, or from a desire to find out that Hugo had found nothing, so he'd abandon this fools quest and take them all home. "What happens now?"

Hugo breathed out a hint of a sigh, a shred of reluctance toying with his brow as he turned his gaze on Elroy. "What happens is that you go home," he said, his voice gentle but with a forceful trace that warned against argument. Elroy's mouth moved in preparation to issue protest. Hugo cut in before the words had left him. "Lok was already asking too much of you. What happens next is -" He struggled for the right words. "Its personal. And its dangerous. I can't ask anyone else to take that risk." He hesitated, and forced himself to confront the disappointment in Elroy's eyes. He offered a brief glimmer of solace. "I need you to get Jo to safety."

"I can help!" she interjected, scorn in his voice. "I'm not afraid."

A chuckle fell from Hugo's lips. "I'm sure you aren't. But I am." A look of puzzlement swept across her features. "Specifically, I'm afraid of what your mother would do to me if I ever let anything happen to you." Jo hardly seemed satisfied with the answer, but reluctantly resigned to it; for now, at least, she offered no protest.

Hugo's eyes switched to the rest of the group, studying them each in turn. "This is about family," he said, with a hint of pride. His gaze took in Jaden, and Amos, and Amaros. "I hope you understand."

"My ship is on Cularin," Jaden stated simply, expertly dodging the awkwardness of trying to compete with such an emotionally resonant sentiment. He glanced in Elroy's direction. "I could use a ride to get back there."

Elroy grunted. "I'm sure we can arrange something, he assured."

Hugo let out a sigh, and nodded. He always hated goodbyes of any incarnation - not because they were emotionally difficult or anything, but purely because they usually wound up being awkward, and no one ever knew quite what to say. "We should make it fast," he went with; a blunt statement of fact. "If those mercenaries saw us leave, it won't be long before they find us here."

Taking their cue, the departing members rose, and slowly filed out of the room. Curiously, Amaros didn't budge from his seat, causing Amos and Jaden to halt in the doorway. Hugo frowned at him. "You heard what I said, right?"

"I did," Amaros stated gruffly. "But if you think a slight difference in genetics excludes me from being family, then I guess you don't know very much about Mandalorians."

Amos killed a smile of pride at his father's skill at crafting a watertight counterpoint. "I guess that means I'm coming with you as well."

"Amos -" Jaden warned, a nervous tone in his voice.

Turning towards his companion, Amos placed a reassuring hand on his shoulders. "I'll be fine," he assured, as best he could. "I'll find my way back to the Rebellion on my own."

Jaden sighed, and shook his head. "No you won't; I will find my way back on my own. The Queen will be on Cularin when you need her."

"You sure?"

The pilot shrugged. "Hey: worst case scenario, I stun the other two and take their ship." He chuckled, but the sound was a little forced. His own hand clapped on Amos' shoulder. "Watch out for yourself."

Hugo felt a twist in his gut as Jaden disappeared from sight, and Amos returned to the table. He wanted to protest, and order them away, but knew he couldn't. And frankly, he could probably use all the help he could get. Still, he couldn't take anyone's assistant for granted. His eyes turned to Victor. "I know things between us have been -"

"I live like a hermit, in the forest," Victor interrupted, before Hugo's sentence had a chance to finish. His tone was sarcastic, but Hugo knew this was the closest Victor would ever allow him to come to being sentimental. Their eyes met for a moment, before Victor glanced away, determined not to be caught engaged in any kind of mushy stuff. "Lets be honest here," he continued, throwing a wry grin in Vittore's direction. "This is the most fun I've had in years."

Cambrio cut in as well, before Hugo could speak again. "And you don't even have to ask us, dad."

The sentiments were almost overwhelming, and if it weren't so vital that Hugo maintain his composure in the interests of leadership, he might have allowed himself to succome. He managed not to, settling instead for a curt nod.

"Like Elroy said," Vittore chimed in, determined to divert an awkward silence before one formed. "What happens now?"

Hugo drew a breath, searching for the best way to reveal what was going on. "Your mother wasn't the only one who had Force abilities," he explained, focusing his attention directly on his sons. "Your aunt, Cambria, had them as well. Not long after I found out about your mother, we fled to Cularin. She followed us; your aunt stayed behind to hold her off, so that we could escape." There was a hint of disgust in his voice. He had forgotten so much at the hands of the Empire, and while before he had tortured himself over those actions for years, now he viewed them with renewed shame. "She died. But she isn't gone. She's somehow out there; her spirit is manifesting through the Force or something."

"Like, a ghost?" Vittore asked, confused.

Cambrio frowned with intregue. "Is that even possible?"

Hugo shrugged. "Apparently so. And she's trying to help, albeit in a very cryptic and Jedi style way." He reached out, activating a holo display at the center of the table they all surrounded. "She said that we should start looking at the beginning. Which, I think, means Ord Anor. That was the first time I tried to hunt something supernatural. I don't know how, but I think we may find some clues there."

Amaros turned uncharacteristically pale as he stared at the star map in front of him. Worry translated onto Hugo's face. "Something wrong?"

"Is," Amaros asked, reluctance in his voice, "There another planet in that system? One called Ord Ithil?"

Hugo manipulated the controls on the display, zooming in on the respective system. A slice through the system's equator magnified; several orbits out from Ord Anor, a new world appeared on the screen. Hugo glanced at the Mandalorian. "Is that significant?"

Nodding slowly, Amaros shared a significant glance with his son. "There is a legend about an old Republic world by that name. The settlement was abandoned after the entire population mysteriously died. Republic rescue parties tried to find them, but they never made it off the surface. Even the Mandalorians tried; the story goes that one of the warriors managed to tell the ship in orbit what had attacked them." He paused, either for dramatic effect, or purely due to reluctance. "He called it je'karta dar."

"And that means?" Cambrio asked.

Another hesitation, before the younger Amos provided the answer. "It means 'vengeful dark'."

Silence fell across the room as they pondered the implications of something that the mighty Mandalorians might be fearful of. Ordinarily, Hugo would dismiss such mythology out of hand, but over the years he had discovered that there was some truth in everything; and when the Force became involved, who knew what something as abstract as darkness might be capable of?

Victor was the one who chose to speak next. A grimace flashed across his features. "Is it too late to back out, and run away like a coward?"

[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."