House Troubles (Ongoing Story)

 The Phantom Class starship landed on the embattled planet of Ord Radama, near the city of New Raido - an unlikely place to find a Sith in hiding with the amount of Republic (and specifically Jedi) forces encamped there. However, from the moment he landed on the planet, the agent known simply by the handle 'Riftstalker' had become certain that he was closer to Jocelyn Arren's presence than he had been in months.

That sense of her was jumbled, however. One moment, it was clear, succinct, almost like a beacon, and the next, it was muddled, muted, as though wrapped in heavy gauze. Progress was slow, and it would take days to track down the warehouse on the outer edge of the city.

The warehouse itself had been an early victim of a bombardment from one side or the other in the ongoing conflict, and it had been abandoned since. It had been a shipping company, exporting fine wines that, curiously enough, included one of Jocelyn's preferred reds. There wasn't much left of the hangars and loading areas, but a small administrative area still remained on an upper level, overlooking what had once been the main work space where racks of wine bottles were carefully packed into large crates and secured for shipping.

Rift took his time, scouting the exterior of the warehouse. Sure there were no traps on the outside, he didn't even bother with his stealth field as he climbed through a hole that had formed in the wall from the bombing. He was - as usual these days - wrapped in his carbon black armor, so the shadows allowed him to blend just fine as he made his way through the building, inspecting any left behind crates, and stashing any undamaged bottles in his gear bag.

"I know you're here somewhere. We usually do this the other way with me seeing how close I can get to you, but after so much searching, I'm not really in a game playing mood." He was lying, of course. This was all just another facet of some game he was playing. It was how he got through life.

The closer he got to the side of the building where that administrative area overlooked the bulk of the warehouse from above, the stronger his sense of her through the jumbled, shifting shades of clarity. For the most part, the interior was long undisturbed, dust and debris everywhere, but the thick layer of dust on the bottom-most stair had been disturbed - by a single, small footprint. It was too small for the woman he was seeking, obviously made by a child - one not wearing any shoes.

The rest of the stairs had a uniform layer of dust that the keen agent discerned was too uniform, too even.

Rift's cyborg implants took a scan of the footprint, filing it away for later use if necessary. Then began to scan the rest of the stairs, trying to see if there was anything further that his implants could detect through the very well crafted deception before he began his ascent.

His scan revealed that some of the stairs themselves had been shored up to prevent breakage, the repairs having most likely taken place after the bombing that weakened the structure of the warehouse itself.

Upstairs, the anterior chamber of the management area still held a desk - most likely a receptionist's station - and a couch that might have once been plush and comfortable, but was now missing a leg and all of its seat cushions. The moment he stepped into this room, his physical vision blurred, his thoughts were suddenly confused with a sense of fear and that not-right feeling that often comes from instinctual self-protection in a dangerous situation. Unbidden, thoughts of turning back swam into his mind, but beneath it all, that sense of the Sith Lord's presence became stronger than it had ever been.

There was a closed door opposite the one by which he'd entered, and even as it seemed to become the most terrifying element in the immediate area, the understanding that the woman he sought was behind it came to him in quiet certainty. The question was whether he could overcome the overwhelming fear and desire to turn around and leave.

Ever a professional Rift refused to show the fear that was permeating his being. He had been around Sith all of his life and had even stood face to face with a few just below the Dark Council in terms of power. He would not let this woman's power turn him back.

Stepping forward, he gripped the door closure and pushed it forward to step in, and in doing so, he suddenly pondered that he had never unslung his rifle from his shoulder nor drawn one of his knives. He truly could not bring himself to fear Jocelyn Arren.

The office itself was completely empty save for another couch at the far side of the room. It was in better repair than the one in the antechamber, it's missing cushions shoved haphazardly amid this couch's own.

It looked as though someone had piled black rags in a heap on the right side of the couch, and a growing sense of dread permeated the atmosphere. To part of his mind, death and darkness were represented in that jumble of inky black material. However, for that part of him that could sense the proximity of the Lady of the Sith that he had sworn himself to, this was where his search ended. Jocelyn - or what was left of her - was in this room.

Rift moved directly to the pile of black material on the couch reaching out to search through it. Needing to find something more than another false alarm of her presence.

Before his hand made contact with the material, there was movement, and as his blurred vision cleared, so did the illusion. Curled into a tight ball, tucked under a dark, coarse blanket, Jocelyn Arren bore little resemblance to the fierce, dynamic woman she once was. Her skin was pallid and sickly, and she was feverish to the touch. Her cheeks were gaunt, and her eyes were sunken from malnutrition and starvation.

As he scooped her up from the couch, he could feel her trembling. She was lighter than she should have been, and though she stirred, she didn't seem to wake. One word slipped from her cracked lips in a hoarse whisper, though. It was his real name. She was aware on some level of his presence.

Realizing the state she was in, he wasted no time. His path was the quickest back to his speeder and then back to his ship. He had come under fire from Republic troops during the return trip, and he hadn't even paused a moment; just barreled past until he was able to get her to the one secure location he trusted at the moment.

Once on his ship, he set about diagnosing her, immediately looking to get some fluids into her to deal with the biggest dangers.

The diagnostic program returned grim results. The analysis revealed severe dehydration and starvation. She had a serious infection that likely had stemmed from a weakened immune system, and she was on the verge of multiple organ failure.

The scan of her mind, however, was perhaps more disturbing. Synaptic activity was erratic, and there was significant evidence of deep tissue damage. Immediate restorative treatment was advised.

Though she remained unconscious, he could sense awareness through their Force bond. She knew he was there with her.

With his scans complete Rift set about saving her. He began the intravenous fluids as his droids began to prep the medbay for emergency surgery. His previous specialty in interrogation had necessitated training as both a doctor and a surgeon. He moved to a terminal and began preparing a stim injection for revitalizing and reversing her organ failure. With that finished and injected, it was the issues with her mind that he was now most concerned with.

Leaning down beside her, he whispered into her ear, "If you die on me, I will never forgive you."

Then his droids were wheeling over the equipment that would allow him to correct the physical damage in her mind.

As Rift worked, he could feel her presence gaining purchase through their bond, holding fast to his determination to keep her alive. Throughout his vigil after he completed the surgery, that sense of her remained with him, cementing the bond between them.

It would be nearly a day before her eyes would twitch and slowly draw open, a quiet groan parting her lips as she regained consciousness.

Rift was at her bedside the entire time monitoring vitals and keeping his silent vigil with his only interruptions being to use the fresher. When she finally let out her groan he gave her a smirk and quipped, "About time you woke up, I was starting to wonder if you were going to sleep the entire way back to Kaas."

Another groan when she tried to turn her head toward the sound of his voice. Wincing, she spoke very, very softly. "How long?"

"I found you nearly two days ago." Satisfied with his scanners latest results, he reached over and began removing the diagnostic pads from her skin.

She tried to shake her head, stopped with a wince. "Since Kaas."

"Months."

The pain that filled her countenance had nothing to do with the post-operative ache in her head.

"What exactly happened? You've been missing, Kiabe Eirndeth is dead. Kaldaras hasn't checked in and Ragious is running the Offensive now."

Jocelyn pressed her eyes tightly closed and gingerly lifted a hand to her forehead. "Kiabe is dead?"

"According to Agonar, and if anyone is likely to know, he would."

"Did he say how?"

"No. I do not believe he knows."

"You said Kalloo is missing?"

"Not missing just not checking in. Last I knew he was still chasing that holocron."

Her eyes flew wide as she tried to sit up, panic not only in her voice but permeating the air around her, flowing to him through their connection through the Force. "Which holocron? Where did he go?"

Rift shook off the panic. "I don't know the name, some Jedi relic he read about. Was lost on Taris about 300 years ago when Darth Malak bombarded the planet."

Too weak to actually finish sitting up without causing damage, she wound up leaning on her side, facing him, and reached for his shoulder with the expectation that he would help her stand. The answer, however, brought enough clarity with it to help arrest the rising panic. "Jedi relic...thank the Force..."

Rift kept her from getting up too far, gently holding her down to keep her in the recovery bed, "Are you going to tell me what all that was? And where you've been for the past few months? I've chased you halfway around the galaxy and back."

The expression on her face was response enough. She had no idea where she'd been or what had happened. She let him push her back onto the bed and closed her eyes with a heavy sigh. "Are you the only one here?"

"Other than the droids, yes." When he was certain she wasn't going to try to get up again he took his seat back beside the bed.

She was silent while she tried to organize her thoughts, sort through the haze of what she could recall. When she finally spoke again, there was a glimpse of the composure she was once so adept at summoning. "The first thing I must ask you to do is contact House Arren. Tell them to stay away from the arboretum."

"No need, Lady Qel'rend and Ragious already pacified that problem. Your servants really do not particularly like Ragious, and were quite open lipped."

There was a surge of concern as she opened her eyes to look at him again. "Are they alive?"

"Unfortunately." This time he was definitely teasing her. There was no love lost between himself and Ragious, but he was rather fond of Qel'rend, and he would even begrudgingly admit that Ragious was good for the Empire.

The corners of Jocelyn's mouth tugged upward in what might have turned into a smile had the subject been about anything else. "They found the device?"

"They found something. Ragious took a stasis box with him when he left the estate after pacifying whatever was in the arboretum."

Relief. "We'll need to find the others."

"What do you mean the others?"

"There were three altogether."

"Datacrons? In House Arren?"

"House Arren stores hundreds of archives, but these were never part of that collection. Mistanis wanted them destroyed, but they couldn't be, so she had them buried, scattered."

"I suppose we're not going back to Kaas right away then?"

"We are. This will require assistance."