Private Maelstrom

[Makko Vyres]

Life breaks us. Then we will fill the cracks with something stronger
​

 

[Makko Vyres]

I am sorry​

It was the least that Valery Noble deserved from him. Makko didn't even reach for his comm-unit as he walked through the corridors of the temple. Using the neural implant at the nape of his neck, he did the virtual equivalent of smashing the send button.

The Sword of the Jedi hadn't deserved his reaction for just delivering the bad news. In truth, he shouldn't have dared to speak to her like that.

When Valery had told him that Cora hadn't returned from Thule the frustration had started to percolate.

Then she had delivered even news. Since the retreat, several Jedi had sensed their apprentices and colleagues returning to the Force. Their lives had been snuffed out after the battle, either dying of their wounds or executed by the enemy.

It was at that point that frustration had become hot anger. Before the pressure could break, it had been vented in Valery's direction. He had been unfair, he had been downright insubordinate. Makko had blamed her for not bringing Cora back with her.

She hadn't deserved that. He hadn't deserved her patience.

Makko stopped and slammed a bare fist into the corridor wall. He hadn't even thought about bolstering himself with the Force, but the fact that there was a crack in the wall whilst his fingers were unbroken suggested he had.

The feelings rolling around in his gut would not be stilled. The uncomfortable feeling behind his eyes wouldn't stop.


When he had finished shouting at them, they had calmly explained that they couldn't act. Maybe if he could have felt useful, he could have done something about the way he felt.

Makko had stopped listening to them. They had spoken of scouting missions to understand the scope of what had been done to Thule, of gathering enough information to even know where to strike. Words - and reason - deflected by a wall of impotent rage.

Shaking his hand - even if it had not been broken it had been bruised - Makko returned to his chambers.

He poured himself a glass of water and sat down. Even sitting still, he felt as if he was in motion, on turbulent seas.

If he could have at least known that she was unharmed it might have put his mind at ease. Using the bond that had developed between them had been like walking. One did not think about putting one foot in front of the other. The body simply walked where the mind wanted to go.

The bond had been like that. He did not know how to traverse it, he had simply reached for her and found her. The distance between them had not mattered.

Now he felt nothing.

He had never really inspected the bond or tried to understand it. Makko had never needed to. He placed the glass aside and slipped down onto the hard floor.

It was dangerous to delve into the Force in such an emotional state. Makko took his determination, solid and tangible. He used it to forge those feelings into something else. The heat of his anger turned into a cold edge. He used it to drive himself into the Force, immersing himself in its flow.

The world around him faded into sepia. Makko had never held a strong connection to the physical world with the Force. Instead the minds of those people around him were bright lights. So were the machines he could effortlessly manipulate.

Soon the walls and the room around him faded away. One by one the lights dimmed.

What he found surprised him.

Instead of one bond, what he found was a connection comprised of a thousand little threads. Woven between two parts of a shared history over time without him knowing.

He pictured them as silvery strands of spider's silk. When he plucked at them, they thrummed with their own particular energy. It didn't convey a sound, or an image, but the very essence of a memory.

Makko felt the rolling of thunder. An old thread. He felt teeth clenched so tightly together that the jaw ached, a familiar voice whispering words that turned the stomach across the shell of an ear. More recent. Things he should not have known, but a burden he had tried to lighten.

Live music, so loud that it reverberated through body and soul more than it was heard. The harsh scent of sterile cleaner, the thrum of an artist's needle. A scandalised gasp at a reflection in a mirror.

Makko touched each in turn, but he also drew them together. A few months ago he wouldn't have had the skill to manipulate the Force like this. A few minutes ago he wouldn't have had the determination.

Woven together, the bond was easier to force his presence down. He recoiled in shock when he hit the malevolence at the other side. The Dark Side of the Force. A ritual had been conducted at Thule and it had warped the Force itself. Makko could not pass through it.

She was shielded from him.

A trawler that dropped its anchor didn't know what it struck. In the same way, Makko knew that the bond was still tethered to Cora, even if he could not see her.

She was alive. She was on Thule.

She is alive. She is on Thule. When the time is right. Let me know what to do.​

 

[Makko Vyres]

Made like a Sword; forged in the fires of conflict, hammered into shape by the struggles of life, tempered by self-determination, and polished by self-refinement.
​

 

[Makko Vyres]

UKATIS

SHIELD | ARMOR | LIGHTSABER | DRONES | SHIP
​

Each piece of equipment was meticulously placed on the table. Modular pieces of his Nightshrike armour, spare power packs, a particularly vicious looking flechette pistol. Makko did not feel like being slow and meticulous. He felt as if he had run a marathon. His pattern of breathing stuttered, his skin felt flushed and hot. He wanted to scream into the void.

Acting rashly had punished him over and over. He had almost given up. Someone had pulled him back from the brink. Even then, on Ryloth he had barely slowed down three mandalorians in the caverns and - for the first time in his life - been shot in the process.

Now Ukatis, a world he had hoped never to step foot on again was under threat. One of those strands extending through the endless flow of the Force had thrummed. A strand of spider-silk plucked. She knew too.

Makko couldn’t go into battle expecting victory. He couldn’t take a single step without a chance of falling. That didn’t mean he stopped. He accepted his fears and every experience that had brought him to this spot. He leaned on those around him when he needed them the most so that a stumble did not become a fall. He had learned to layer control over the core of what he was. Galvanised around the solid core of who he was, hammered into shape.

Everything was stowed and double checked. Even a simple mission with Colette had taught him to read briefings thoroughly and this time he had. Makko made his way to the docking bays. Everything had its place. Except for one item. They were travelling light for a special operation without rations.

This time he wasn’t heading into the battle alongside a group of jedi. Standing around a Jedi Shadow Shreev-class stealth ship was a collection of soldiers who did not exist. Special Forces of the Galactic Alliance, their names expunged from any formal records.

“Jedi Knight Makko Vyres, I’m going out with two-section?” he asked, setting his bag down.

“Knight Vyres!”

The group were on their feet, offering salutes. They had no insignia, but they seemed to look to one as their leader.

“What are you orders for us sir?” they asked Makko. They all looked at him.

“Erm…” All the confidence and determination that Makko had gathered was like a light breeze against a mountain.

“Just kidding.”

A ripple of laughter around the group. The section leader slapped his shoulder. Two of them returned to a game of sabacc.

“Go stow your bags, we fly in fifteen. Whilst the army sleeps we’re going in hot and protecting planetary leadership. Looking forward to working with you kid. Just keep your ears open.”