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Legends of Darkover	By : SWOTBWOT Category: Star Wars (All) > Crossovers Views: 3428 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, Star Trek, or Darkover. I am not making any money off this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Legends of Darkover
- 2-Chapter 2
- 3-Chapter 3
- 4-Chapter 4
- 5-Chapter 5
- 6-Chapter 6
- 7-Chapter 7
- 8-Chapter 8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29 & The End
- 1
- 2
Chapter 1
AN: This will be a novel-length work when it's completed. Warning for lots and lots of plot.
Triple Crossover with Star Wars, Star Trek, and Darkover.
List of Canon Characters Appearing:
Star Trek: James T. Kirk, Spock, Leonard McCoy, Nyota Uhura, Hikaru Sulu, Pavel Chekov, Montgomery Scott.
Star Wars: Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Plagueis, Darth Tyranus.
Darkover: Regis Hastur, Danilo Syrtis, Dyan Ardais, Daniel Lawton.
Timeline for Star Wars: About two years before the Phantom Menace.
Timeline for Star Trek: Five years after Kirk first became Captain of the Enterprise.
Timeline for Darkover: A year and a half after the events in the Heritage of Hastur.

-oOo-
The Raptor found prey immediately after its ion hyperdrives delivered the ship to the broad, ever-growing rim of new stars. Lord Plagueis sent out wings of starfighters to explore while he sat in mediation in his quarters. It had taken almost a year of Force Travel to span the gap between the two galaxies, the first–or rather the first known–journey of its kind ever undertaken by the Sith.
Hidden by its cloak, the Raptor lashed out with a tractor beam and dragged the Federation survey ship Intrepid into a docking bay so fast the Intrepid didn't even have time to send a distress signal as its four-man crew struggled to keep from being devoured. Seconds later the Intrepid's hatches were blown off, leaving the ship open to the swarm of grapple droids. Scores of scientists tore into the ship's computers, finding them to be of primitive yet accessible design. The last month had been spent translating and absorbing the huge volume of information from the captured ship's databanks about the new galaxy, its worlds, peoples, and its galactic government, this 'Federation.' However, information concerning Plagueis’ goal, the world of Cottman IV—known as Darkover to its inhabitants--was somewhat scanty.
One captive died in the attack, though the other three were found amenable to stun.
They were also found amenable to torture.
-oOo-
There wasn't much left of the last test subject. Cutting off appendages tended to produce that result.
“Another slice. A half-inch,” Darth Tyranus ordered.
Darth Gladius applied the vibro-knife. It went easily through the skin of the subject's foot, spraying blood and bits of white tendon, buzzing and slipping a little when it touched the metatarsals. Bone dust began to powder the floor, followed by flecks of wet, pinkish marrow. As the lopped-off section of foot struck the floor, Darth Gladius picked it up.
James Wright, the navigator of the Intrepid, was still conscious. He was being held prone in a pressure rack poised above a shock treatment bath. He made no sound, for he'd lost his voice from screaming back in the first week. Tyranus and Gladius had disjointed his arms earlier in the day, then taken them off completely with pincers, cracking and breaking bone inch by inch, finally nipping through the flabby, bruised skin.
“Cauterize,” ordered Darth Tyranus. Gladius applied his lightsaber, producing a thick clog of blackened blood. For some reason Tyranus had not been able to fathom Gladius had chosen to wear clown's paint for the session. His eyes had been made up like daisies and his lips were redrawn with a bright, artificial smile. This was not exactly Sith-worthy, though Tyranus had not bothered to reprimand his apprentice for it. By now the white foundation was criss-crossed with fine sprays of blood, giving his apprentice a far more malign air.
Darth Xiphos joined the two. “The High Inquisitor has not yet given his approval for major damage. He is still gathering data about how to best extract information from this galaxy's inhabitants.”
“He's had a month to construct his methodologies. If he doesn't know how to torture by now, he's never going to learn.” Tyranus smiled without mirth.
The smooth, leather-like mask over Xiphos' face showed no reaction.
Gladius leaned over Wright, dangling the section of foot. He poked out the bloody pieces of bone, stuck his own fingers through, and wiggled the digits jauntily at Wright.
Wright fainted.
Tyranus gave a slight roll of his eyes. Gladius had this—sense of humor.
-oOo-
“Master, we can’t keep on stealing ships like this.”
“Why not, Padawan?”
“We're running out of room,” Obi-wan Kenobi declared. “The Pilgrim is a cruiser, not a transport. We have exactly four docking bays, two of which are holding, as I'm sure you've noticed, very ugly Sith starfighters.” He gave the ship above a look of distaste, glaring at its single menacing porthole eye and rounded wings. “With our own courier vessel we're almost full.”
“We do plan to return a ship, Padawan,” said Qui-gon Jinn from the top of the ladder. He released a cluster of tiny mechanical spy-bugs hardly larger than mosquitos. They flew with an almost silent buzzing to niches inside the starfighter to hide themselves. Qui-gon smiled faintly as he climbed down.
“Also, the Sith will notice if they keep disappearing.”
“That is a more valid point, Padawan. Activate the pilot, please.”
The Sith-made droid shut the hatch as Obi-wan retracted the ladder, and the droid launched the starfighter out of the Pilgrim’s third docking bay. The starfighter’s altered recorder data would show that an ion flare had temporarily scrambled its navigation systems. The Sith would investigate of course. However, the ship would have been missing for less than two hours, unlikely to raise great suspicion.
They'd been following the Sith across the great patch of emptiness for almost a year. Regrettably, the Jedi Council had discovered their enemy's plans too late. The Sith had been gone for almost a month before Qui-gon and Obi-wan were sent after them, and the Jedi had scrambled to get a cruiser outfitted for the journey. As they loaded supplies, Obi-wan kept saying, “Two years? Two years? A year's journey out and a year back?”
“That's with Space Folds, my Padawan; without Folds the voyage would take thirteen years. Bring something to read.”
Obi-wan had brought an entire library. “Why didn't Master Yoda volunteer for this? When you're as old as he is, two years is nothing.”
“Master Yoda told me, 'They are chasing the old story of the Sith. We Jedi also felt the distant Force battle a long millennium ago. Now you have a chance to discover the truth of it as you become the first Jedi to reach a new galaxy.' He did not use these exact words, of course.”
“I still think it's a euphemism for 'Get lost, I'm tired of seeing your faces in the center of the Council ring making excuses for what happened on your last mission.'”
During their journey Obi-wan had taken apart and rebuilt their small courier ship, the Wizard, three times. He'd also read a great deal.
“You were right, Master. I've found The Lord of The Rings to be very entertaining. Note however, that the Fellowship actually had something to do during the year they journeyed, such as kill orcs. Right now I wouldn't mind facing an orc myself, or even a balrog. A fiery, hopeless fight has begun to look very attractive.”
“Be patient, Padawan. We are only a few days from our journey's end, and will have Sith waiting for us.”
“But what Sith and how many?”
All they knew was that The Raptor, a Sith battlecruiser commanded by Darth Tyranus, had left about three weeks ahead of them. After the first few Folds the Pilgrim was hopelessly out of range of any communication updates the Council might send after them.
Now their journey had ended. Obi-wan even thought he had mastered the art of Folding Space, though Qui-gon had yet to let him try it by himself. The Raptor's trail through space had left their enemies vulnerable to tracking. Sith Force Travel left great churning wounds in the fabric of space/time, simple to detect, and these injuries only healed themselves slowly.
Qui-gon's eyes were closed as he sat cross-legged in Floating Meditation, reaching out with the Force. He'd shrunk his Force-presence to a dot and attached his essence to one of his spybugs, waiting.
He was very far away from the Pilgrim now, feeling the vibrating throb of the starfighter's engines. The engines cut out suddenly.
The starfighter's hatch above him felt as vast as the roof of a stadium. Hanger-light from industrial tubes filled the starfighter as the hatch was opened. A mech droid's face popped up over the side of the hull, and peered inside.
“They've taken the bait.” Qui-gon whispered to his padawan. He waited until the mech droid finished its quick inspection of the starfighter. When the droid pilot was summoned to undergo analysis, Qui-gon willed his tiny body upwards, sending commands to the other spybugs to scatter. Hide near the ceiling, in dark places, in vents and around corners, make no unnecessary motions, Qui-gon tapped into his wristcom. He himself hitched a ride on the back of a crew member’s belt and took a turbolift up to the control tower to the Raptor's bridge. It took effort to see through the tiny sensors imbedded in the spybug's eyes, but the Jedi Master managed it. When he found the console for the science station he slipped under the edge and located a repair port he could insert his mechanical proboscis into. Soon, he was transferring the computer's contents to the Pilgrim's databanks.
When Qui-gon lowered himself to the floor, his apprentice said, “The cans of lunch have been opened, Master.”
“Nutrient paste?”
“I’m afraid so. Master Yoda made certain we were well-stocked with it. He has obviously advanced so far in the Force that he is beyond such mundane cares as flavor.”
“Do we still have some of that wholesome squash pulp Master Windu gave us from his own garden?”
“We do, Master, but the saying among the Jedi apprentices is that Master Windu gardens to develop his sense of discipline, and gives away his produce to help others develop theirs.”
“Padawan, I actually like his squash pulp. The Jedi Council also admires it very much.”
“The Jedi Council is known for its manners and if I may be so bold, you for your eccentricities.”
“Truly, Padawan?”
“You chose for your master a man who became a Sith.”
Qui-gon sighed. “Error is inevitable. The important thing is to correct one's mistakes.”    He was still working away on his wristcom even as Obi-wan set a can and a spoon in front of him.
“May I ask what you’re doing?”
“Breaking Count Dooku’s security codes so my bugs can read his data. One of my hobbies as a padawan was hacking them. He had a habit of copying all secure data, even against the orders of the Council. His choice of codes are ones I remember well, and with the use of the Force they open to me.”
“The more you talk about your padawan days, the more you intrigue me. The Council might think otherwise, but I suspect having Dooku as your master was the best training you could have had for fighting the Sith.”
Jinn only smiled at his apprentice and peppered his nutrient paste thoroughly.
Obi-wan tried sugar, grimaced, and followed his Master's guidance with several splashes of hot sauce.
While they were eating Obi-wan heard the computers begin to churn out masses of transmitted data and charged over, spoon in mouth. Qui-gon said they must settle for an overview of what the Sith had learned because they were so far behind. For the next twenty-four hours the Jedi did not sleep. They also discovered whom they were facing besides Darth Tyranus.
“Lord Plagueis,” said Qui-gon with dismay.
Neither of them had suspected the Dark Lord of the Sith would be leading the expedition himself. A moment later Qui-gon drew in his breath. “Leron Kravold is here, under the name of Darth Inculcare.” Master and Padawan exchanged a look. Though obviously ambitious, Kravold had been one of the most admired and respected members of the Jedi. The Council had even offered him a seat.
“It seems his use of Force Stealth was greater than we knew,” said Qui-gon somberly. “I wondered why he rejected the Council's offer. The Jedi teach humility, and the Sith scorn it. No wonder he joined them.”
The computer also named Darth Xiphos. With his strength, Xiphos was certain to become a lord of the Sith, and Master Yoda had been especially disturbed when Xiphos rejected the offer to join the Jedi.
“I do not know Darth Gladius. He must be a recent recruit,” Qui-gon commented. He sighed. “Our objective is more difficult than I expected. One mystery remains. Where did they obtain all this data?”
They sifted further, and Obi-wan was alerted by the strange tone and sudden gravity of Qui-gon's expression. “I've found the source.”
“Master?”
“We're too late. Nonetheless, I can do one last thing.”
Obi-wan sensed a wrongness when he saw the command tapped in on Qui-gon's wristcom.
“Master!”
“It is necessary.”
Obi-wan was staring at Qui-gon in open-mouthed shock. “Master, there is no defense--”
Silent, somber, Qui-gon waited for the judgment to fall from his padawan's lips.
Obi-wan bowed his head. He would not censure.
-oOo-
The communication screens brightened inside Lord Plagueis' meditation chamber. He sat in his chair, dark-robed, his hood hanging down almost to his mouth. Between his two elongated, misshapen hands hung an image, a Force-summoned orrery of seven planets moving slowly around a giant red sun. It was the fourth planet that held his interest. The icy world seemed to pass through time between his fingers, generating incredible bursts of Force.
The Sith lord was reflecting on Darth Bane's holocron. A thousand years before Bane had felt a Force battle so great that time-space itself had been distorted. Visions of Force weapons unknown to the Sith had passed through Bane's mind, along with an image of seven planets. The incredible strength of those weapons had become one of Bane's obsessions. However, Bane’s time was one of disaster, of Sith collapse, retraction, and hiding. There could be no quest for those distant weapons. Despite this, Bane took care that the knowledge would be preserved for future Sith, creating the holocron now in Lord Plagueis' possession.
No hyperdrive of Bane’s time could manage any sort of practical travel between galaxies and such had only become possible in Lord Plagueis’ day with Force Travel. It took great concentration and power to rip the necessary holes in space-time, and Plagueis had spent months lost in the necessary meditation. By now, the image of the solar system with its icy fourth planet was burned into his mind.
Regrettably, his own apprentice Darth Sidious, known as Palpatine, cared little for the notion of this extragalactic quest. Sidious thought it wiser to confine himself to the manipulations of politics while building an army in secret. Lord Plagueis had not bothered becoming angry with his apprentice. Sidious failed to understand that many, many Sith armies had swarmed before. Throughout millennia, these armies only repeated the endless cycle of temporary success followed by defeat. It was time for a new strategy. Quarreling with Sidious about how to achieve the Sith revival had grown tiresome, though it would not do to destroy his apprentice. Training another took years. Instead, he simply recruited Sidious’ own apprentice, Darth Tyranus, knowing the master would feel the sting of the insult.
“Report,” he said to the High Inquisitor on his viewscreen.
“My lord,” replied Darth Inculcare. “The last test subject, James Wright, has died.”
“How?”
“Darth Tyranus and Darth Gladius had been applying a vibro-knife to his foot. When drawn from the shock treatment bath afterwards, Wright was no longer living. A powerful neurotoxin was discovered in his bloodstream, injected from a tiny, needle-like wound.”
Another screen lit at Plagueis' silent command, showing the slightly surprised face of Darth Tyranus. Tyranus noticed Inculcare on the other screen but hid his vexation. He hated the polite, ever-controlled man. Despite joining the Sith, Kravold hadn't even bothered to alter his garments, still wearing his brown Jedi tabard, tunic, and trousers. Kravold had always been one of the golden boys of the Jedi, and a longtime rival of Tyranus'. The pride Tyranus felt on becoming the apprentice of the great Darth Sidious had galled once he discovered Kravold had become the apprentice of the even greater Lord Plagueis.
Among the many reasons Tyranus had turned to the Dark Side (and not at the bottom of the list) was being free to kill Kravold. Upon discovering Kravold inconveniently on his own side again, the irrational, Sithy side of Tyranus’ mind was convinced that Kravold had done it just to aggravate his old rival. The former Count Dooku had actually considered returning to the Jedi just to score off Kravold again, then cheered up when he remembered that the Sith have no code of ethics. With this last casting of icky, Jedi-type thought out of his mind, Tyranus had begun plotting Inculcare’s demise, a death he planned to make prolonged, embarrassing, and of galaxy-wide notoriety.
“I need not remind you, Darth Tyranus, that Wright was our last living captive. Until we take more prisoners our flow of information ceases.”
“Nor should I have to remind my colleague,” said Inculcare, “that I have not yet been able to complete my analysis of the torture-testing experiments. The deaths of Moran in the first week and Shigere in the third have hampered us.”
Tyranus was discomforted. “Our data shows that Federation humanoids have a physiology close enough to our own that our present knowledge of pain should suffice. These Darkovans are supposedly human.”
“In part,” replied Inculcare in tones of smiling acid. “They have a few nonhuman genes from these chieri. We know nothing about this species at all. And what is with Gladius' bizarre appearance, Darth Tyranus? I am not surprised that an apprentice of your choosing would have the mentality of a clown—Qui-gon Jinn comes to mind--but he need not dress like one. One can hardly intimidate others attired in such a manner.”
“It's no more bizarre than dressing like a Jedi for your torture sessions,” Tyranus shot back, giving Inculcare's clothes a sneer. “'Oh, don't mind me,'” Tyranus said, mimicking Inculcare's ever-pleasant tones, “'I'm not really a Sith at heart, and you're not really my victim. Here, I'm buffing your nails until you talk.' Really, Inculcare, you could at least try to set a better example for Darth Xiphos.”
Plagueis raised a knobby hand for silence. “Cease. I cannot afford to lose Sith on this quest if personal quarrels turn deadly. You were all chosen for specific reasons and all my tools are necessary.” His hood turned towards the Raptor's commander. “Mercy, Darth Tyranus?”
“Not at all.” Being accused of mercy was disgruntling. The former Count Dooku had never been that pleasant a man even while a Jedi. They had only to ask Qui-gon Jinn.
“The neurotoxin was probably injected by one of the non-Sith crew,” Tyranus said. “A few persons have security clearances high enough to gain access to the Interrogation Center.”
“I will have Karos Wolfell review the Center's security holos for any intruders,” said Plagueis. Wolfell was the Raptor's political officer. “Darth Inculcare, your assistance may be needed. I have faith that the Sith had no part in this and will not question them.”
Actually, this was nonsense. With two former Jedi staring him in the face—recent Jedi at that--Plagueis was suspicious. It seemed improbable, though. Inculcare was the most unlikely candidate. It went against every scrap of Jedi ethics to torture another just to perfect a disguise. As for Tyranus, he had shown an almost gratuitous delight in injuring the subjects under the guise of training his apprentice Gladius.
Plagueis made a finger-gesture. Another screen lit, showing the battlecruiser's Chief of Navigation, Moran Fadres.
“Fadres, how far is Darkover?”
“Three weeks travel by ion hyperdrive, my lord. But if we have the assistance of Force Travel, possibly one day.”
“Such will be provided. Prepare for one at zero two-hundred hours.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said Fadres.
-oOo-
On another ship a strained conversation was taking place.
“Mercy, Master?”
“Very much so, Obi-wan. We did not have the means to save Wright.”
Obi-wan Kenobi was silent, indicating disagreement.
“A boarding against the Dark Lord of the Sith, two known Sith masters, two Sith apprentices, inside a Sith battlecruiser with a full compliment of starfighters? We should not have attempted it.” Qui-gon spoke without harshness. “We are the only protection this galaxy has against the Sith. If Plagueis succeeds in his objective, we are the only ones who can stop him before he returns home. Padawan, we cannot afford to die now.”
Obi-wan lowered his head in shame. “Master, I find this hard to endure. After a year's journey we have encountered our first form of extragalactic life. Yet what do we do next? We kill him. We resemble the Sith very much in this, and my urge to mourn is strong.”
“I understand, Padawan, but your grief must be short. We cannot allow the Sith to gain their objective. We need allies, Padawan, or we will have a very desperate struggle.”
-oOo-
It was not often that Starfleet's Chief of Operations, Admiral Samir Vaid, gave orders personally. But these were unusual orders, as Captain James T. Kirk soon discovered.
“I regret interrupting your work on the planets of the Tycho Binary, Captain. You are to recall your scientific teams and proceed immediately to the Cottman system.”
“Sir, does this have something to do with the disappearance of the survey ship Intrepid?” replied Kirk. “I understand she missed her last five weekly signal calls.”
“The last known position of the Intrepid happens to be a full three weeks' travel by warp drive away from the Cottman system,” Vaid replied sharply. “You would hardly be our first choice to reach the galactic rim.”
“Yes, sir.” Kirk smothered his annoyance, and wondered about the order.
A century ago the Federation had made one of its biggest mistakes on Cottman IV. The Federation badly needed a spaceport in this region of the galaxy and Cottman IV was the obvious place to put it. Despite a level of cultural development only equivalent to Earth-period medieval, the natives, known as Darkovans, had been forced into joining the Federation. Headquarters claimed it had been impossible to honor the Prime Directive because Cottman's rulers, a telepathic caste known as the Comyn, had discovered the Federation's existence on their own. The culture shock to the Darkovans had been titanic. Unsurprisingly, a lengthy array of 'incidents' had been occurring ever since. All Kirk could think was that the Federation had been a much stupider organization back then.
“The disappearance of the Intrepid--”
Kirk sat up straighter in his chair.
“--is being investigated by the Starship Constitution.”
Kirk slumped a little. So did his crew. In fact, judging from the speed of Chekov's fingers, the helmsman had already programmed in the destination.
“Upon arrival at Cottman IV you are to contact the Legate, Daniel Lawton. Inform him of your presence, then begin a two-day patrol orbit around the planet, conducting close scans for anything out of the ordinary. Report back immediately if you discover anything unusual.”
“Orders noted, Admiral,” said Kirk. “Is there anything in particular we're supposed to be looking for?”
Vaid's posture stiffened. “Starfleet has no more information for you at present.”
A muffled “What?'' was heard just outside communicator range. The ship's doctor, Leonard McCoy, was never terribly respectful of Starfleet's high command.
“Sir,” said Kirk gingerly. “What exactly is our mission?”
“You already have it, Captain.”
“That's all?” said Bones.
“Doctor McCoy.” Vaid's eyes sought the edges of the screen. “I presume that is your protest.”
“Quite right. Can I at least authorize shore leave for the crew?”
“The answer to your question is no, and hell no,” said Vaid firmly. “The Darkovans have been yearning to eject us for a long time. We do not need to give them any provocation. A year ago the port city of Caer Donn burned down. Its construction had been a joint project between the Federation and the Aldarans—the only one of the seven ruling clans friendly to us—and it had been intended as a model city, a new spaceport, and a symbol of cooperation between the Federation and Cottman IV. We do not know who started the fire, how it started, or why it spread so fast, but hundreds of persons died in the flames. The Aldarans blamed the Domains and the Domains blamed the Aldarans. However, we do know the Domains had a reason to destroy the city and the Aldarans did not. Therefore, no shore leave. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Admiral,” said Bones. “My apologies,” he added with reluctance.
“Anything else, sir?” Kirk added. Surely this couldn't be their mission. Any half-assed spaceliner could do it.
“May I ask why the services of a starship are required, Admiral?” queried Spock. Kirk knew this was Vulcanese for what he himself had been thinking.
Vaid's lips tightened. “Captain, do you and your crew answer to the description of, 'A vast ship containing a man with pointed ears and a telepathic mind, a woman of dark skin from a land of endless heated forests, a healer disappointed in love and missing his daughter, a swordsman who is also a lover of flowering things, a navigator from a cold like unto Darkover's, and finally a captain, still young but of surpassing capabilities?'”
“What?” said Kirk after a dead silence from everyone.
“Admiral,” Spock interrupted, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Are you saying the request for us came from the Darkovans themselves?”
“Yes, from the planet's Regent, Danvan Hastur. God knows why. But what the Darkovans want, the Darkovans get, as long as it's not a request to leave the Federation. You're to show up, let them know it, hang around long enough to satisfy them, then return to your previous assignment.”
“But sir, are we being given any mission of substance while we're there?” asked Spock.
Vaid pursed his lips. “Go ahead and scan Lake Hali while you're at it. From a distance, of course. My communication has ended. Admiral Vaid signing off.”
There was another long silence after the image of the admiral faded.
“A snipe hunt,” said Kirk incredulously, “we've been given a snipe hunt. I can't believe this.”
“What makes this a snipe hunt versus a complete and utter waste of our time?” McCoy asked tartly. “Not that they aren't related.”
“Lake Hali on Cottman IV is the classic Starfleet snipe hunt. No one knows what the lake consists of. No one's ever been able to take a sample from it. The Federation's sent three exploration teams and they've all disappeared without a trace. Apparently, the lake ate them. Sensors always fail when you try to use them on the lake, then mysteriously start working again once directed towards other objects. Danvan Hastur only opened up the region to travel by outsiders about thirty years ago, and after the third set of scientists was gobbled down, he banned us again. Even the Darkovans don't know what the lake is and they've had God knows how many generations to stare at it. In Darkovan mythology it's the spot where Aldones, the Lord of Light, fought and defeated Zandru, the Lord of the Nine Hells, and drove his enemy's body deep into the earth.”
“Irregardless of this 'snipe hunt,' as you put it, Captain, I wonder how and why we were selected,” said Spock. “Considering that the Comyn are telepathic, this makes me exceedingly curious.”
“I'm not,” retorted McCoy. “We're being yanked off our mission at the Tycho Binary just because this cranky old man has a funny feeling in his big toe. And who the hell on Darkover would know about us? We've never met the Regent.”
“Could it be Dyan Ardais?” Uhura asked.
At that name, everyone went still.
“Christ, I had forgotten about him,” exclaimed Chekov.
“I hadn't,” said Uhura darkly.
“I hadn't either,” added Kirk. /That primitive little fuck./
-oOo-
This was not the first visit of the Enterprise to Darkover. In the second year of Kirk’s captaincy, Starfleet had ordered Kirk to escort the Darkovan ambassador from the Federation Council in San Francisco back to his home world. The ambassador was 'Being recalled before his term ended on orders of his government.' In a later update this became ‘Being asked to leave,’ Although the correct description, as Kirk learned after Lord Ardais arrived, was ‘Staying one step ahead of the law.’ Apparently teenage boys, brothels, and this particular ambassador did not mix, at least according to the charges filed.
The crew of the Enterprise had been warned that the Comyn were arrogant. However, nothing had prepared them for the pride of the ex-Ambassador. It may have been that Lord Ardais was unusually pissed off about being kicked out of his job, but it soon became clear that Dom Ardais despised everyone not Darkovan, everything about people who weren’t Darkovan, and had a way of letting all those people not Darkovan know about it.
“Excuse me, Mestra,” he had said upon meeting Uhura, “what is your proper address and title?”
“Lieutenant Uhura of Communications,” she replied softly.
“Do you mean someone pays a woman to talk? You Terranan are so amusing.”
Uhura met his eye with a cold stare, and Lord Ardais, staring right back down at her, rapped his breastbone with his fist. (“What were you thinking?” Kirk asked her later. Uhura replied, “‘And someone pays you to be a diplomat? That’s even funnier.' His gesture comes from fencing. It means I scored a hit.”)
When Spock and Chekov arrived for alpha shift after a workout at Vulcan Suus Mahna, Dom Ardais noticed Chekov’s disheveled state and enquired, “So, you are this creature’s doloransiasu?”
“It means whore, right?” Chekov asked Uhura.
“Worse,” she replied.
“Darkovans have a worse?”
“Darkovans are an inventive people, especially when it comes to sex. You should note he used the polite, Casta form of the term. The cruder, Cahuenga form is joderpegarzu. It means you like sexual pain.”
“I don’t know about a culture that has both formal and informal terms for being a masochist. You’d think it wouldn’t matter,” Kirk commented.

Uhura had given a short, sardonic laugh. “Doloransiasu is a formalized relationship with agree-on consent of both parties. Joderpegarzu implies kidnapping, rape, and the use of force to inflict sexual pain on an unwilling captive, in this case male, since the ending is masculine. But it too has its own variation, namely a change in pronunciation that means ‘ravishment, sexual chastisement, and a formal, though forced marriage di catenas,’ though I think only the Dry-towners can legally do that between a man and a boy. Joderpegarzu in both forms is illegal in the Domains.”
By this time Chekov had his head in his hands. “Darkovans,” he groaned. “Twenty-five hundred years on their own and this is what they invent? Thanks for letting me know. I guess.”
But what really set Kirk off was the remark, “So, boy. Are you sitting in this chair of your elders to play at spinning it, or do you have some useful function on this vessel?” For James T. Kirk, that comment--purred directly in his ear—had been too much. Noticing that Dom Ardais spent much time on his sword practice, Kirk challenged him to a friendly match.
It lasted exactly five minutes, ending with an entirely gratuitous backhand swing of Lord Ardais’ pommel that knocked out two of Kirk’s teeth and sent him to the floor in a bloody face-plant. While the teeth were being fixed by Bones, Sulu arrived and offered to get revenge. “I don’t think he’s familiar with Japanese-style swordplay or weapons, Captain.”

Kirk tried to say, “Go for it, Starfleet’s feelings can go suck dick,” but Bones’ instruments, the missing teeth, and his own swollen mouth made it too hard for him to speak. Kirk grunted, Bones grunted his own commentary, and Sulu, reading the exchange perfectly, bowed in reply.
Sulu lasted ten minutes. Though a better swordsman than the captain, it was still a bad idea to challenge a man who could read every move in your mind the instant before you made it, and who could sense whenever your concentration flagged. However, after slamming Sulu to the floor, Lord Ardais raised his weapon in salute, apparently without irony. “You're not as incompetent as your captain,” he said.
“How can the son of a bitch do this?” Kirk complained through his new dentition to Spock. “The man’s a telepath. He has to know the pain he’s causing. Yet he insults people to their faces and seems to relish their reactions. He has to know.”
“According to Starfleet’s private background check on Dom Ardais, the charges filed against him back at the Presidio involved sadism. Previous accusations had been made but not proven because there was no physical damage to the victims involved.”
“Until he got to me. Great. Just great, Starfleet. We’re stuck with a telepathic sexual sadist and whatever other violent behaviors/perversions he’s got for three weeks. Yeah, Starfleet’s pissed at me.”
By the time they’d reached Cottman IV, Kirk had to order an irate Scotty to beam Dom Ardais down properly, not ten feet off the ground or in the middle of Darkover's fat red sun or whatever. After their guest left, the question everyone was asking was, 'Why in God's name did the Darkovans pick that guy to be their ambassador to the Federation?'
Uhura’s answer, 'They couldn’t stand him, either?' appeared to be the best idea.
-oOo-
Three weeks later, Kirk pondered their assignment—he refused to use the word mission, as it gave this business too much dignity--and briefed himself about Darkover while they orbited the planet.
The Cottman system had an elderly, red giant sun, and Darkover was still in an ice age, the only habitable land mass being near its equator. The people themselves were a bit of a mystery. DNA analysis had traced their origin to a colony ship that had traveled through a space-time anomaly, dropping them almost twenty-five hundred years in the past. The Darkovans themselves had forgotten their Earth origins, lost their advanced technology, bred with the native chieri (about which the Federation knew almost nothing—the chieri were as elusive as Lake Hali), and become telepaths from this admixture of alien genes. Darkovans called all telepathy laran, though certain families had specialized telepathic abilities which the Darkovans called donas, or gifts. One could have weak laran coupled with a strong dona, or strong laran paired with a weak or even nonexistent dona.
“Any new developments?” Kirk inquired of his crew.
Spock stepped back from his computers at the science station. “I’m afraid the sensors are refusing to read the target, Captain. Lake Hali is as much of a mystery as ever.”
“Check the sensors for flaws and try to read the lake again. Repeat every time we pass over. Anything unusual on the planet’s surface or in the atmosphere?”

“No, sir.”
“Captain?” said Uhura. “The Constitution has sent us a packet about the results of their investigation. This is both preliminary and unofficial, of course.”
Kirk's pulse picked up at the words, and he pounced on the contents. The Constitution had found ion trails in the vicinity of the Intrepid's last known location. The trails fit the parameters of a spacecraft's exhaust trail--if someone had invented a new type of subspace drive. From the rate of ion dispersion, the oldest trails dated to just a few days before the Intrepid disappeared. Beyond the edge of the galaxy, the trails vanished.
“They warped,” said Kirk immediately. “Somebody's testing a new drive out of sight? Klingons, Romulans? Maybe the Intrepid stumbled across them by accident and was attacked.”
“Possible,” agreed Spock. “But the location of this 'test' seems awkward for such a hypothesis. Both the Klingon and Romulan Empires are large enough to test new drives safely away from any discovery by the Federation. The Intrepid was deep in Federation space. The Constitution also notes that several sets of parallel ion trails leave from a particular point, make broad sweeps, then return to their point of origin. This appears to be the patrolling of several vessels in formation.”
Something about this report seemed off-kilter to Kirk. He steepled his fingers. “Romulans and Klingons tend to be lone wolves. Their ships only mass together when they're getting serious, like trying to start a war.” The Captain was disturbed. The more he thought about this discovery of 'unknown drive' types, the less likely it seemed to be enemies as usual. “If they wanted a fight, the Romulans and Klingons already know where the Federation is located, and it's not at the galactic rim. Nor is the Intrepid an important enough target to merit a massed assault.”
“Captain? We’re being hailed from the planet. It’s a call from the Legate, Daniel Lawton.”
“Put him on,” Kirk said. The two helmsmen perked up a little.
/Maybe we'll find out what's going on here./
-oOo-

The Raptor's conference room screens were lit with the image of Lord Plagueis. Except for a single view of Cottman IV, Plagueis' cowl dominated every wall. Attending the private briefing were all three of the expedition's geological team. Chief geologist Aedge Torqus bowed to the Sith lord, as did his two assistants, Shilla Nelkin and the Twi'lek Natool'kunn.
“I remind you that anything said inside this room shall not be repeated, on pain of torture and death,” said Plagueis. “Torqus?”
“Yes, my Lord.” The hulking geologist lit a holocube, which began to flash images of faceted blue jewels. “Darkovan telepaths own a Force sensitive object called a matrix. These stones appear to be Force amplifiers. The larger the matrix, the stronger the amplification obtained. Very large matrices are used by several telepaths working in conjunction under the central control of a person, usually a woman, whom they call a keeper. Unfortunately, we have found no data from the Intrepid about the geological composition of matrices, but they appear to be akin to the Adegan crystals used in lightsabers, although apparently far stronger. It is our suspicion that the Force weapons used in Darkover's long-ago war were powered by these large matrices. We cannot scan for them until we learn their chemical composition, although it is possible Force users can sense their location from a distance.”
-oOo-
An hour later, this information was ripped from the mind of Shilla Nelkin by Darth Tyranus, causing the Sith lord to sneak a glance at his own lightsaber. It was not reassuring to learn that Adegan crystals might be mere third-rate Force objects. Then again, what might a lightsaber be with a Darkovan matrix crystal? He contemplated this pleasing notion while Nelkin gibbered, a mental wreck from the abuse of Drain Knowledge.
-oOo-
Darth Inculcare used a more polite method of obtaining what he wanted. “Torqus, what did you discuss with Lord Plagueis a little while ago? My apprentice Darth Xiphos said the whole geology team went to have a private conference with him.”
“I'm sorry, my lord, but Lord Plagueis ordered us not to speak on pain of torture--”
Inculcare drew a shock probe from his utility belt and began toying with it. Sometimes people needed a reminder about who he was.
Torqus gurgled and began to talk.
-oOo-
“--these Towers, as they call them, are the main repositories of their telepathic histories and technologies. The most revered among them is one called Hali. Lord Plagueis intends to capture a keeper from Hali and question her about these weapons.”
Darth Xiphos was listening to the recording he obtained from the audiodot imbedded on Inculcare's clothing. It was not a simple thing to plant one on one's own Sith Master, but Xiphos had his capabilities. He made a note to pack his favorite blaster for the trip.
-oOo-
Darth Gladius learned the least of all. Natool'kunn died from the beating Gladius administered while persuading the Twi'lek to talk, and Gladius was forced to learn about the expedition to Hali from Darth Tyranus.
“You leave on the Muur in thirty minutes. You will assist in abducting a native,” Tyranus ordered in his usual terse manner.
“Who commands the expedition?”
Tyranus grimaced. “Darth Inculcare.” Shilla Nelkin was still alive and with her intelligence intact, for Force's sake. You'd think Plagueis would have nothing to complain about, but he'd been tetchy and irritated with Tyranus when Nelkin had reported to medical bay. “The xenobiology and geology teams are going as well.”
“Oops,” said Gladius.
Tyranus shut his eyes for a long moment. “Is Natool'kunn dead?”
“A little.”
“Darth Gladius, there is no 'little' in being dead. This is inconvenient. Try not to kill any more of the scientists, unless they're Inculcare's allies. Lord Plagueis is in a snit.”
“I didn't think Muuns could have snits.”
“They don't. Sith can, and they're very painful—for others.”
-oOo-

Continued in Chapter 2.
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Legends of Darkover