The Reunion (Salem)

[Kal Strife]

Exis Station, Teedio System.
23:21, Galactic Standard

The flare of light on the edge of the Teedio system was an unimpressive sight. A momentary gleam of cerulean, there one moment and gone the next. And in its wake came a craft, a timeworn patrol ship of a class not seen in the Rim for several lifetimes. It was a silent vessel, broadcasting neither IFF code nor message of greeting, and the scars it bore upon its hull armour might have been enough to convince the casual observer that it was a ghost ship, a relic of an ancient battle that drifted through the eternities, guided only by the will of the Force. Yet a more careful study would have revealed that the vessel moved under its own power, gently sliding through the shadow of the ancient space station at a mere fraction of its' engines' maximum output.

Within the vessel's cockpit, a single figure sat, silent and brooding. Surrounded by empty chairs, he stared at the looming bulk of the station with cold eyes the colour of clouds in a stormy sky. One gloved hand rested on the air of the captain's chair, fingers drumming absently on the well-worn synthleather, whilst the other supported his cheek. In the gloom to his left, static crackled, a burst of meaningless white noise, but he didn't turn his gaze from the station for a heartbeat. A second later, the static was banished by a voice, hard and drilled with a military edge. "Unidentified vessel, identify and broadcast IFF codes immediately. We will not hesitate to open fire if you do not comply." There was no humour in the voice, yet it elicited a smile from the silent figure. A wan, humourless smile to match the humourless voice. Yet he didn't respond, or even avert his gaze from the still growing bulk of the ebon hulled space station. A moment later, an alarm sounded at the vacant sensor chair. A lock indicator, and sure enough the man's eyes could pick out glimpses of massive emplacements emerging and rotating across the entire expanse of hull visible from where he sat. The alarm was still going when the voice cut through the static once more, noting, "I imagine I have your attention now, so I'll repeat. Identify and broadcast IFF codes, or you will be destroyed. Last warning."

The threat - or was it a statement of intent? - had a peculiar reaction from the patrol boat's solitary passenger; he lowered his head, releasing his gaze from the ancient station for the first time since his vessel had broken through the hellish entropy of hyperspace and into the relative calm of realspace. And he laughed, a low, bitter chuckle. Nonetheless, after but a moment he gestured toward the communications panel, activating it with a sliver of focused will.

"Do you really want to destroy me, Clone?" he uttered, his voice a soft, deadly whisper, like a thrown dagger cutting through the night, "Do you think you could? No, better you go running to your master. Tell him... tell him Kal Strife has returned."

 

[Salem Norongachi]

"Thats it," Norongachi said to the clones as fire danced between each of their hands, expanding and then contracting as they sought to bring it under their control. "Fire is like a wild beast, it will never truly be tamed. If you let your gaze stray from it for a moment it will-" One of the clones let out a curse as their small ball of flame exploded and knocked them to the floor. "-turn on you....Get up Hardock, for once in your life focus." He snapped at the clone who muttered obscenities as he picked himself up and then began the exercise again.

Meanwhile in the control room Ghent observed the craft coming into their space, he heard the name and somewhere in his clockwork mind it triggered a memory, a standing order from Omega: Under no circumstances are you to engage [member="Kal Strife"], without my presence. Logically, Kal Strife would be long dead. Unlike he and his brothers the man was not gifted with longevity, but stranger things had transpired recently that all but threw logic out the window.

"Sir," Ghent spoke into a small silver coms device. "I believe you best get to-" The sentence was never completed, Norongachi was already at the door, his face a mask of impassive ice and his eyes fixed beyond the viewport of the control room toward the ship.

"I know who it is..." He said quietly and then took over the coms console. "What time do you call this, Kal?" His voice level and calm.

 

[Kal Strife]

[member="Salem Norongachi"]'s defiant words elicited a low chuckle from the lone figure aboard the patrol boat. Ah, he knew that voice. That slight modulation of tone that marked it as different from the other clones. That absurd tendency to attack with his words when it would be better by far to hold ground and gather information. It was the first familiar voice he had heard in nigh on seven centuries, and he was momentarily perturbed by how it stirred up the memories within the mire of his mind, though he was quick to quash that flicker of bemusement.

"Salem," he murmured inclining his head in unseen ackowledgement of his onetime foe. The gesture was enough to cause the ghostly light of the helm to play across his features, briefly illuminating the faint smile that fleetingly touched his lips, "Come now, are you truly surprised to find me arriving fashionably late?" Fashionably late was, perhaps, just the slightest sliver of an understatement; by his own accounting he was some six-and-three-quarter centuries late for the events he had foreseen, although he was hardly inclined to share that particular piece of knowledge with Norongachi. He hesitated a moment after speaking, considering the situation he found himself in. This, he instictively knew, was a Shatterpoint, a moment in time from which a thousand possible futures radiated, yet he suspected that a great many of those possible futures involved a fiery demise, while still others required that he and the spawn of Omega part as enemies once more. Only in the smallest fraction of those possible futures could the outcome he sought actually occur. Perhaps only in a single one of them.

So he would have to ensure that it was that one which he seized upon.

"But I wonder," he continued after a long moment, the humour draining from his tone, "We have both been cast from our time. All that we have ever known are dead, and the ashes of the empires we fought for have long been trampled beneath foot. So I find myself wondering, is this truly the time for jokes?" Allowing Norongachi a moment to consider his words, the figure gestured idley to the control, his focused will stabbing out once more to silence the gently humming engines. "I know your tractor beams are locked on to my vessel, Salem," he remarked coldly, knowing that it was exactly what he would do if the situation were reversed, "Bring me aboard. Let us speak of the ties that bind."

 

[Salem Norongachi]

Moments seemed to tick by, moments that felt like hours as he waited...waited for the moment when he and Strife would once again dance, as they had done countless times in centuries past. Ghent merely looked on as [member="Kal Strife"] spoke, his voice as smooth and cold as Norongachi remembered it. The joke did little to dissuade the unease resting in his chest, or quell the instinctive rage that the mans very presence brought out in him. Outwardly Omega was stone, hard and impossible to gauge. One slip here, one misstep and he knew that the Corellian could end them all despite how the situation appeared.

"We have both been cast from our time. All that we have ever known are dead, and the ashes of the empires we fought for have long been trampled beneath foot. So I find myself wondering, is this truly the time for jokes?"

Norongachi had faced many men, powerful men of the Force and powerful men of influence but none were as dangerous as the lone human on the other end of the line. He cast his gaze to Ghent and recalled everything he had lost to the mists of time, yes he knew that nothing would ever be the same again but he still had something to lose in his brothers, in Atretes and Emah. "Keep that close to your chest," a voice warned, "Strife will use it against you."

"Take everyone and move them to a secure area. Under no circumstances are you to approach the docking bay." Norongachi commanded quietly and then clicked the send button on the com. "I'm bringing you aboard. I'll meet you in the bay. Lets not shoot each other, eh? I grow weary of pointless conflict." With that he set the tractor beams to guide the small ship into Docking bay 17, one that Strife would be all too familiar with. It was there they had trained under the Darkside Wraith that Norongachi had ultimately killed.

 

[Kal Strife]

Though it seemed that [member="Salem Norongachi"] spoke at least half in jest, his words struck a chord with the Corellian. "A fair request," he murmured softly, inclining his head in acquiescence, "You have my word on it." Having spoken those words, he terminated the connection with a gesture.

A moment later, the Patrol Boat juddered, marking the activation of Exis' tractor beams, yet the violent jolting drew not the slightest response from him. Only when the station grew so large in the viewport that not a speck of starlight was visible beyond it did he move, rising wordlessly to his feet. Without glancing around, he reached out and plucked a long, flowing synthleather longcoat from the back of the vacant navigator's chair. Pulling it on, he spared a moment to ensure it covered the narrow, silvered hilt of his lightsaber - Norongachi had spoken of not shooting one another, it was true, but their encounters in times gone by had taught them both to be wary of such precise wordings - before turning on his heel and striding from the cockpit, his crimson longcoat billowing behind him.

Moving at a brisk stride, he traveled through the cold, empty heart of the patrol boat. Nothing moved there, neither living creature nor droid, and dust lay heavy over much of it, speaking silent testament to how long it had been since last Kal had ventured from those few areas of the vessel that were essential for its running. There were too many memories there, too many ghosts who stared with silent accusation in their lifeless eyes. Once, in the midst of the passenger hold, he paused a moment, lowering his gaze to a dark stain, barely visible beneath the dust. Yet it was clear that now was not the time for mourning old losses, old defeats, and after but a heartbeat he moved on, shaking his head as though to clear the melancholy that lingered in the murky depths of his soul.

Eventually, Strife's path brought him to the docking airlock, where a glowing viridian light indicated that Exis' systems had already established a stable boarding umbilical. Never one to trust too easily, the Corellian stepped across to a nearby terminal and called up a sensor reading of the area beyond the doorway. Pressurised. Breathable. Well, that wasn't particularly surprising; Salem Norongachi was a man in much the same mould as he, and that meant he was hardly inclined to killing an enemy with so impersonal - and frankly unreliable - a method as a sabotaged airlock. Still, it was better to be sure than to be dead. Seven hundred years gave a man ample opportunity to change, after all. Nonetheless, it appeared his concerns were misplaced, and without another wasted moment he turned and activated the airlock, stepping through into the narrow, partially transparent boarding passage beyond. There, separated from the cold depths of the void by only a thin layer of metal, he lingered not a moment, but immediately began the short trek onto Exis Station itself.

Salem, no doubt, would already be waiting.

 

[Salem Norongachi]

Tense moments passed as the docking tube extended to the patrol ship. Norongachi waited at the other end, fingers resting atop the hilt of his bronzium plated lightsaber upon his belt. Aside from himself the stations other occupants were nowhere to be seen, having followed his orders they would be in one of the safe zones, designated in case of attack or sudden depressurization. The less [member="Kal Strife"] saw, the better, until Salem could determine why he had sought him out.

As hard as he tried to relax, to keep his mind focused on the now and the slim possibility that perhaps this time...this time would end differently. If he and the Corellian had been on the same page, the Galaxy would have been a far different place. He thought of Nedjiv then, to the hammer blow that had swept over him through the Force as the combined might of the CSA, New Republic, Sith and Empire had turned the world to slag. They had worked together then, at a distance, and the whole playing field had changed. The airlock door beeped as it cycled and then it opened.

The cold of gaze of Hoth met laser fire green in that moment.

 

[Kal Strife]

As their gazes locked, electricity seemed almost to crackle through the air. The atmosphere, thick with tension, could have been cut with a lightsaber, and yet that cool smile never slipped from Strife's features. A chill breeze, the result of a slight variation in pressure between the docking bay and the docking umbilical, twitched at the edges of his coat, yet he paid it not the slightest heed. Here, now, a moment's distraction could be a death sentence.

"Salem," the Corellian offered by way of greeting, inclining his head a fraction whilst keeping those stormcloud grey orbs firmly fixed upon the searing emeralds of the man who had as often been his foe as his ally, "It's been a long time." An understatement. Perhaps the understatement, but it served its purpose nonetheless in that it opened the path for dialogue. And that was the entire point of his visit to this decaying space station in a backwater sector of the galaxy - dialogue. After all, [member="Salem Norongachi"] was about the only sentient in the galaxy whom Kal had even the most tenuous of links with, and whilst the prospect of remaining anonymous and forgotten had initially appealed, it had soured quickly in the past few months. Besides, a clash of wits could be as stirring as any clash of blades, and there was always time for the latter at some future point.

Stepping forward, the sound of his booted footfall echoing through the cavernous chamber, he stood upon Exis Station proper for the first time in almost a millenium, spreading his arms as he did so that Norongachi might note he held no weapons. "Shall we speak here?"

 

[Salem Norongachi]

The unease that had coiled around his guts vanished as he looked upon [member="Kal Strife"] and that coldness that only a mortal threat could bring out in him fell across his mind. Norongachi did nothing, he said nothing, Kal had come to him and it was up to his old enemy, or was it ally? The line was all too blurred between them, to make the first move in this meeting in another era.

"Salem,"

"Strife," He didn't return the nod, that they weren't engaged in mortal combat for the dozenth time was courtesy enough, he felt.

"It's been a long time."

"Only a dozen or so Empires worth." Norongachi would have swore, at this moment, that it was warmer in stasis. Their gazes never left one another, even as Kal stepped forward onto the space station proper Salem watched, he waited, for a flicker or a gesture or just a breath taken the wrong way. Strife had very little in the way of tells but it would only take a singular misread sign and it would be the old ways come back through the ages. Another wasted moment, in two lives that could do more together than apart.

"Shall we speak here?" ​Strife spoke, arms raised. Norongachi might have rolled his eyes, if he weren't keeping his expression utterly blank.

"Put your arms down Kal," He spoke with a shake of his head. "We both know that if one of us wanted the other dead, we wouldn't need blasters of lightweapons." He motioned with his head up the corridor and with a sickening drop in his stomach took the first step on the road to trust; He turned his back on Kalvin Strife.

"We'll talk in my office." He spoke over his shoulder, letting his boots lead them.

 

[Kal Strife]

Norongachi turning his back was a powerful gesture, and one made all the stronger for the turbulent history the two men shared. Yet it spoke well for the Corellian's chances of actually engaging the other man in dialogue, for it suggested that this ancient rival was willing to set the past aside for the moment in order to speak of a possible future. Or perhaps it was simply that Salem was baiting him, turning his back to present an apparent weakness and thus luring Kal into striking, trusting his reactions to save himself in a foolhardy gambit that would serve only to discard the need for conversation prior to conflict he perceived as inevitable? Certainly, it was a possibility, and Strife would hardly have thought ill of [member="Salem Norongachi"] for thinking the worst, but if that was his intention then he was set for disappointment as the Corellian simply fell into step behind him as they trod the still familiar paths through the corridors of Exis Station.

They travelled in silence, having exchanged all the necessary pleasantries centuries prior. Besides, they were warriors, men of blades and conflict, not diplomats, and words came to neither of them with particular ease. No, it was better to walk in silence, and to save the words for a time when they truly mattered. A time that was surely coming.

After but a few short minutes, Norongachi led the way into his office. It was no small antechamber, though neither was it as large as the offices the two men had occupied during their respective times within the Corporate Sector Authority. A large window - reinforced transparisteel backed by an armoured shutter and an emergency force field generator, if the Corellian remembered correctly - stretched along the entirety of one wall, whilst a single long desk occupied much of the center of the room. A bottle, less than half full, sat in the center of the table, a shot glass beside it still gleaming with hints of the liquor it had contained. Some things never changed.

Stepping past his host, Kal moved across to the window, his steady gaze sweeping across the void in search of anything amiss. It was an old habbit, a testament to a time when much of the galaxy had sought to claim the bounty placed upon his head by the ruling council of the Galactic Empire. Now, however, he spied not a trace of anything suspicious in the space beyond the window and seemed to relax just a fraction. "I always wondered," he remarked, almost to himself, "Why you chose here. There were so many better places, and yet you chose this forsaken place." Pausing, he half turned to fix eyes that, like ice, spoke of hidden dangers upon Salem, before continuing, "I had thought the opportunity to ask you had escaped me entirely, so imagine my surprise when I gain access to the holonet and find your name plastered across it, a Hero of the Confederacy."

 

[Salem Norongachi]

As soon as they stepped into the office he used while on the station Norongachi's green eyes fell onto the bottle of whiskey. The old urge rose in him, like a fire it burned up his insides until a will of iron quashed it, now was not the time to indulge the weakness of a broken soul. Instead he stood before his desk as Strife made his way to the window, although what he expected to find out there in the black was anyones guess. A danger he hadn't accounted for? Perhaps he thought more of Salem than the clone knew, that somehow he had known of his arrival and had planned some devilish plot to finish Strife off once and for all.

No, the words he had spoken before they had met face to face were the truest Norongachi had ever gifted the man; He was tired of the senseless bloodshed, of carrying a past that was no longer there like the ghost of an anchor slung around his neck. They couldn't change who they were or what they had done but some things were better left in a Galaxy long ago.

At the mention of 'Hero' he did roll his eyes, despite himself. There were no heroes, just sentients that lived while others died around them. What he had done that day on Rodia was no act of courage, it was a calculated step to gauge the threats that existed, threats that he would have to take into account for the future if any of them were to survive.

"Hero..." He sneered internally.

"Secluded," He began his response. "Off the beaten path, a foundation which I could build upon once I took over tenure as its caretaker from our mutual friend..." And then he cast his eyes back 700 years, to the blood and the gore, the sacrifices made that were never his own. "Besides, where else could I call home..." He finished, quietly and moved around the opposite side of the desk and stood before the window.

"What of you?" He asked, turning his head to face [member="Kal Strife"]. "One moment you were there, the next you were gone. Not even a 'Thanks for the memories'."

 

[Kal Strife]

Ah, there was the question he had been expecting. It had been inevitable that [member="Salem Norongachi"] would ask it, of course; his presence in the galaxy had caused the death of worlds, of entire empires, and then he had simply turned his back on them, leaving them to their petty squabbles and the ever mounting entropy he had sought to quash. "I sought a darkness that haunted my dreams," he answered, his words leaden, "I thought that in the chaos beyond the Outer Rim, I would find it." Pausing a moment, he turned his eyes back toward the darkness of the eternal night and ran one gloved hand through his hair, before laughing ruefully, "But it seems as though the galaxy has a sense of humour." Oh yes, a truly twisted sense of humour, but a sense of humour nonetheless.

"25 ABY," Strife continued after a long moment, "That is when they arrived. When everything I had worked for became dust." Even after all these years, the admission still hurt; he had failed, and not just failed himself. He had failed every single man, woman and child in the galaxy, and the fact that not a one of them would ever know who to blame made that failure weigh all the heavier. "I suppose I could have returned when they arrived," he remarked, knowing that his companion would surely be thinking that, "Perhaps I should have. Certainly, there were people who called to me. Raine, for one. Aida. Countless others besides, for it seems even genocide is forgiven in the face of a worse evil." Smiling bitterly at that, the Corellian shook his head. It felt strange to speak these words aloud after so long. Painful, with each admission burning his soul like a branding iron, yet simultaneously cathartic.

Strange to think that it was Norongachi of all people he was making his confession to. He'd have laughed if it wasn't so very wretched. Instead, he simply continued to relay his tale, "I fought my war from the fringe of the galaxy instead, drawing allies from wherever I could find them. We were not unsuccessful in our campaign, yet they were legion, and it was but a matter of time before we were cornered upon a dying world. My men fought to the last, but I..." Trailing off, Strife let his thoughts drift back to that fateful day. Could he have foreseen what had occurred? Perhaps, but he had been caught up in his war against the darkness at the time. "As the last of them died, I activated a machine we believed to be a destruct system, intending to take at least a few more of them with me. A last gift to the galaxy, so to speak. Yet it seemed I had been misinformed, for here I stand, alive and well seven hundred years later."

The tale was not the entire truth, of course; a subtle web of half truths and misdirection laced it, for there was much that the Corellian could not trust Norongachi to know, yet it was true enough for the moment. True enough for what he had in mind.

 

[Salem Norongachi]

Salem could only listen, casting his mind back to the year before his long sleep. That date lived on in infamy, so many deaths on a scale that the Galactic War could never match. It was purely luck, that had saved him from the worst of the Vong incursion. At that time he had moved away from the confines and strictures of the powers-that-be and had secluded himself, his army and his fleet in the outer reaches of the Galaxy. They had only had a few skirmishes along the way, before they were betrayed by one of their own.

The mention of Raine and Aida brought a sadness to him. Kind people, gentle people, that he had known all too briefly. They were gone now, dust lost in the mists of time. The Galaxy was a poorer place without them, on that his and Strife could agree. Kal continued his story and Salem said nothing, gave nothing back to the rare admission of fault and show of emotion from the Corellian. He had done his grieving, the past would forever haunt him but he was content to let it remain an echo in the back of his mind.

The tale tapered off. They both should have died but it seemed even all the devils in hell had barred them entry and so they remained, to linger in a new age where worse creatures roamed, the likes of which their own Galaxy would have been ill prepared for. The seconds slipped past them in silence and then a hand absentmindedly retrieved a cigarra from his pocket. He set it between his lips and brought it to life with a thought.

"Why are you here, Kal?" Norongachi asked after letting loose a plume of blue-grey smoke.

 

[Kal Strife]

Having put voice to the words that had weighed heavy on his soul since the ancients had loosen their grip upon him, Strife lapsed back into the cold silence he more frequently offered the galaxy. Even his eyes somehow managed to grow colder, more distant, as he barred the gates that had briefly offered a glimpse into the depths of dungeons where he bound his heart and emotions. He heard Norongachi speak, the familiar voice forming one of the many inevitable questions - "Why are you here, Kal?"

In truth, it was a question that the Corellian struggled to answer even to himself, for there had never been a bond of friendship between the two of them, and though they had stood as comrades-in-arms their alliances had only ever been forged of convenience. Certainly, Kal had no reason to expect the other man to raise even a finger to aid him, yet nonetheless the Force had drawn him here, to this place. To this reunion. Why? Well, that was the question, wasn't it?

Or was it?

Perhaps the real quandry was how he answered the question which Salem posed. Did he admit his uncertainty? No, that was unthinkable; it was too much a glimpse of weakness, particularly given his recent revelations. But so too was a direct lie an impossibility, for he knew that the man before him had once know the art of truth sensing. A partial truth, then, that was the answer. A glimpse of the underlying web that drew everything together. And Kal knew just how to offer that glimpse; with six simple words.

"I still dream of the Shadow."

 

[Salem Norongachi]

Norongachi's head snapped around with such surprise that the cigarra fell from his lips and he merely stared at [member="Kal Strife"], his mind filling with questions that fell over one another to be asked first until his thoughts were a mess that he couldn't untangle. Green eyes seemed to dance with that inner turmoil until he managed to get some semblance of control back.

A boot stamped on the glowing end of the downed cigarra and snuffed its life out, it was impossible. He had killed the Wraith, wiped its darkness from this very station in a fight that he should never have walked away from. No, the dreams...the dreams that brought them all together, in this place, should have ended that day...but, a voice questioned, how would you know? When was the last time you allowed dreams to take you?

Salem had no answer to that, only a plunging feeling in his gut as if he were being sucked back toward that star, his skin blistering and peeling until only black bones remained. No matter what logic told him, no matter what his keen intellect suggested, he knew that Kal was not lying about this. It was written all over the mans face, in his very presence within the Force.

"How?" Was all he could ask.

 

[Kal Strife]

How indeed? That was a question which had occupied the Corellian's waking hours for many a year now, but always the answer had managed to slip away, never coming closer than the very fringes of his thoughts. Close enough to taunt and tease, but never close enough to enlighten. Yet was there any need to burden [member="Salem Norongachi"] with that knowledge? Or to admit such longstanding ignorance to him?

No, probably not.

Still, he owed him a sliver of honesty for the courtesy of this meeting if nothing else, so after but a moment and with the slightest hint of a shrug, he began to speak again. "When the dreams did not fade, I suspected at first that the creature we fought here was not the source of the dreams. I attributed them to another abomination which had cast its shadow over the Force. In time, when I gained access to the Imperial Storehouses, I learnt of the foretelling of the Yuuzhan Vong, and laid the responsibility on them." Scowling, Kal shook his head; everything he had learnt of the Vong during his campaign against them and, later, since his awakening in Wildspace, had shown that to be an impossibility. Not that the Vong weren't an abomination, no, that was not it at all, but they were a void in the Living Force, unable to influence it in the slightest except where they displaced it. For them to have influenced dreams across the galaxy was an impossibility.

That discovery, and the knowledge of what he had forsaken in his chase of a false demon, had cut the Corellian to the quick.

"Obviously," he continued, a measure of bitterness colouring his tone, "I was mistaken. The Vong were no more the source than the Wraith was." Less, perhaps, for at least the death of the Wraith had quietened the nightly horrors for a brief time. "Which leaves only one conclusion."

 

[Salem Norongachi]

Salem nodded, he too had tackled the Vong as recently as a few months prior. They were an abomination, so unclean that even the Force avoided them like they were plagued and he couldn't say he blamed it. That they were behind the recurrence of the nightmares was impossible, although in a Galaxy such as theirs he was loathed to use such a word.

The wheels were turning, trying to ascertain what could be causing Kal's restless nights but too slowly, he wanted to sleep. His entire body felt like lead, his head swimming with static and his vision blurring at random intervals but he was even less inclined to do so now. That he constantly relived the day so many of his men had died was bad enough, feeling the fire of that sun would be infinitely worse. No, he'd mediate when he was done here. That would help in the short term.

"Enlighten me." Norongachi spoke.

 

[Kal Strife]

Turning, Kal regarded [member="Salem Norongachi"] with a speculative eye, arching one eyebrow just a fraction of an inch in silent question. Enlighten him? Now, that was peculiar, for the Salem Norongachi he had known so many centuries previously would rather have faced down an army than admit ignorance. But time could change a man more than any other thing, except perhaps a woman, and perhaps those intervening years had done much to temper Norongachi's impetuousness.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was simply that the man who had once named himself Omega was as perturbed by Strife's words as the Corellian himself was.

Either way, it appeared neither of them wished to draw this out.

"There's something out there," he remarked, indicating the starry void of the infinite empyrean with a slight inclination of his head, "Some... shadowy, insubstantial thing. And it's had hundreds of years to lay its plans against us." Of course, he spoke only in the vaguest of terms, betraying little of what he suspected. Yet Salem was not, for the most part, a stupid man, and it could surely only be a matter of time before he reached the conclusion that it was surely beyond the capabilities of a single creature to torment and befuddle them both across so very many years. "But," he continued after a long moment's silent contemplation of the darkness, "We are perhaps overlooking one question, aren't we? Why, Salem, why is it interested in us? True, we are both strong in the Force, but think back to our own time. Can you not say that there were others of equal powers? And now? From all that I have seen, we are far from alone in our mastery now."

He paused, then shook his head slowly, "So... why us?"

 

[Salem Norongachi]

Why us? He'd asked that question more times than he could even count. It always felt like at every step, in every decision, something was nudging them along; To fight one another, to ally with one another. At first he just assumed that fate was a twisted bastard and that through some quirk of it he and [member="Kal Strife"] were forever destined to play this game of theirs.

But it wasn't just Kal, it was Rani and Izzak, Lazrus and Mertaal. They were all thrown together for better or worse, constantly vying for a place in a Galaxy eternally at war. Norongachi wasn't sure when he'd first felt like his path wasn't entirely his own, it could have been when he'd been freed from Carbonite by Straven and his pirates, or when he'd taken possession of the Hand of Fate, but at some point a niggling feeling had begun to grow in the back of his mind.

He thought he were simply paranoid. Now he knew better.

"Why do men step on insects?" He responded with a cold 'heh', and then gave into his urges and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He sat down on the edge of the desk and crossed his legs, peering out into stars as if they would answer. "Whatever is out there-" He nodded at the darkness of space. "-has had more than enough fun at our expense, I feel. Its time we stopped dancing to its tune..."

 

[Kal Strife]

Once more that cold smile touched the Corellian's lips, and he offered a barely perceptible nod in response to [member="Salem Norongachi"]'s words. Words which were an echo of those that had passed through his own mind in the days since his liberation from the ancient machine on distant Cephelonin, in the very heart of that decaying realm that was Wild Space. Yet those words had not come without questions, questions that had troubled him more than a little.

"We are in accord on our aims, then," Strife offered, betraying not a trace of the relief he felt at that, "But have you given any thought to the how?"

"My assets are dust," he continued after but a moment, thinking back to the army of droids that had maintained his fortified estates, and to the Corevette Eisenstein which had served as his personal transport, "And my allies less than that. " So many allies there had been. Aida Khan. Raine Strife. Rani Churs. Locount Lazarus. Zechs Merquise. Jacen Solo. Each name conjoured up a matching face, and a sliver of regret for the opportunities he had squandered. "I can offer but a fraction of the influence I once wielded," he concluded after another pause, accompanied by a rueful shake of his head.

"What of you? Are there any assets you can lend to our cause?"

 

[Salem Norongachi]

"We need more information." Norongachi began, taking a mouthful of whiskey. It never occurred to him to offer Strife any, he hadn't seen the man for nearly 800 years and before that they had more often than not, been at odds. Some habits were harder to break, it seemed. "You cannot fight an enemy you can't see. We need to know where they operate, how they operate and most importantly; how best to kneecap that operation. Until then, we prepare." As if on cue a flash of light appeared in the distance and the shape quickly became one they would both recognize, it was the Hand of Fate, an Imperial Star Destroyer.

Norongachi pushed off from the edge of the desk and moved a step closer to the window. Emah was early, he thought as his drink rose to his mouth once again. "I have her," He said nodding toward the growing bulk of his flagship. "I also have an army, government backing, a spy network at my beck and call." A grin slid across his face as he turned and looked to Strife. "Funny how things work out, isn't it?"

As quickly as the smile came, it was gone. Yes, he had the tools but how much could he take from the Confederacy before people began asking questions? How many men in places of power did he trust to handle the tasks which he would ask of them? His eyes were still on Kal as he thought and then, you could almost see the realization form in his mind. He didn't trust Kal Strife, as he assumed that the Corellian did not trust him...but if anyone was his equal in matters such as these, it was the man standing right in front of him.

"My description doesn't do it justice," Salem said. "But, join the Confederacy of Independent Systems," He shook his head. "I know, how very original. With your skills and expertise you'll rise quickly, just as I have. Then, we'll be equally prepared to meet our foes, whomever they may be, in battle."