The Ebon Hawk set down in the dusty run down spaceport. Like almost every building in Anchorhead, the spaceport was made of mostly a pale brown sandstone. The ship settled into a circular walled off landing zone, and several mechanics began rushing out to perform routine maintenance on the freighter.

Venar and Bastila walked casually down boarding ramp with the rest of the crew trailing behind. The port official came walking over to them from one of the doorways built into the landing zone wall. He was a green-skinned twi'lek man in a yellow and green uniform.

"Welcome to Anchorhead," he said in Basic, "I represent Czerka Corporation. The docking fee is one hundred credits a day. May I ask what the Jedi are doing all the way out here?"

"We're just scouting nearby systems for a fugitive important to the Jedi Order," Venar fibbed, handing him a credit chip, "we will hopefully only be here a few days or so while we follow up on a lead."

"Very well, Master Jedi," the port official said. "I would recommend stopping by our local corporate branch and speaking to our branch representative. She may be able to provide you with some information."

"Thank you," Venar said with a nod.

As the port official turned and headed back towards his office, the crew made their way to the gateway that lead into the streets of Anchorhead. The streets themselves were mostly just packed down hardened sand. Everywhere they looked they were greeted with pale cracked sandstone buildings. The crew split off into the separate groups and went off to complete their respective missions.

Venar noticed it had seemed like an odd planet for a large wealthy corporation to take an interest in. The people here were simple. Not much in the way of technology at least compared to the Core Worlds. Many different species roamed the streets here, with no sense of hierarchy or social structure. He noted that even the people here seemed to be covered in thin coating of dust. Why would Czerka take such an interest in this place?

The Czerka Corporate Branch Office was a short walk from the spaceport. The building itself was indistinguishable from the rest save for the yellow and green flags draped off the edge of the building. Venar and Bastila walked inside, followed by Canderous, who they had convinced to holster his weapons for the time being. The reception area was modest consisting of a small couch and a desk behind which a single silver protocol droid stood.

"Oh my," said the droid as they approached, "Master Jedi! How can I be of assistance?"

"We'd like to speak to whoever is in charge," Bastila said.

"Oh um, certainly," the droid responded, "I shall page Miss Farris at once!"

A few minutes later, a middle-aged woman came out of the rear office to greet them at the reception area. Her dark hair was pulled up in an unflatering bun and she was clothed in a gray corporate uniform.

"Ah, so what brings two Jedi to this barren rock?" she said unenthusiatically. "My name is Lara Farris, I represent Czerka Corporation and all of its assets here on Tatooine. How can I help you?"

"We are on a mission for the Jedi Order," Bastila explained. "I am Jedi Knight Shan and this is my Padawan, Venar Moonrunner, and our associate Canderous Ordo. We require any information you might have on the dunes and area around Anchorhead."

"I'm afraid any information we have won't do you much good," she responded, "Per Czerka policy, only those with a hunting licsence or a permit issued by Czerka are permitted to venture beyond the walls of Anchorhead... not even Jedi."

"Excuse me?" Bastila said raising her voice.

"Look, if you have any questions regarding Czerka policy I can direct you to our Corporate Headquarters on Coruscant."

"That... uh, won't be necessary," Venar said glancing sideways at Bastila, "Can we purchase a hunting license?"

"I'm afraid not," Lara said, "we've had too many foolhardy citizens getting attacked by sand people or getting lost out in the dunes. Hunting licenses and permits are currently unavailable."

"Surely, there must be a way to obtain one," Venar said, casually moving his hand through the air, summoning the Force to project his will into her mind.

"I'm sorry," she said, "Czerka policy is Czerka policy."

"You have to be kidding!" Bastila protested. Venar silently cursed himself for failing the Jedi Mind Trick. "We're Jedi Knights, we're not some wandering citizens that don't know their right from their left!"

"I told you there is nothing I can do," Lara said, uttering the last few words a bit slower than the rest.

"What is Czerka doing out here if you don't mind me asking," Venar asked. "It doesn't seem like there's much here that a vast multi-faceted company would be interested in."

"There were reports of a huge payload of expensive ore being discovered here in this region," Lara explained. "So we decided to set up shop here and planned to turn a large profit. Turns out the reports were a bit exaggerated. There was some ore sure, but not nearly enough to justify opening a branch here. So now, we mostly trade with the Jawas and occasionally send our sandcrawlers out into the dunes to search for any potential mining sites. Unfortunately, even that has become more difficult lately. The sand people have been venturing closer to the settlement lately. We lost two sandcrawlers just last month to those vile creatures."

"Tell you what," he said, "how about in exchange for unrestricted freedom to venture beyond the city, we will take care of your sand people problem for you. After all, we are Jedi."

"Hmmm..." she thought over the proposition, "That sounds reasonable. We also do have a bounty up for killing sand people. For every gaffi stick you bring us, we pay five hundred credits."

"Has anyone tried diplomacy with them yet?"

"Are you serious?" she asked with a snort, "They're monsters. Though, I did hear there was a protocol droid at the droidsmith's shop who could apparently speak in a sand people dialect. Not that it would help any. Sand people attack on sight without concience."

"Regardless," Venar said, "We will deal with your problem for you, as long as we can explore the dunes."

"You have a deal, Jedi," Lara said, "Though I'd like to remind you that Czerka is not responsible for any injury or damages incurred while undertaking this task for us."

"Of course, Miss Farris," Venar said with a bow.

"Until we meet again, Jedi."

Darth Bandon walked through the halls of the large space station his master ruled from. He had spent most of his training here under Malak, spending grueling hours sparring with special training droids, all while his Master watched with cold piercing eyes. He hadn't spoken to Malak since the assault on the Endar Spire.

It had been over a month since that attack. He had lead the boarding party that had swept the ship after it was disabled. He had carefully planned out the assault beforehand, going over every inch of structural plans for the cruiser. He had been incredibly disappointed when even after all that planning, Bastila had still somehow escaped. The only thing that had made him feel better at that moment was choking off the airways of the two soldiers who had delived the news to him.

What had really raised his ire though, were the two Republic soldiers that had narrowly escaped his grasp through the only remaining escape pod. His blood boiled just at the memory of it. Shortly after, he poured out his rage on the first person he saw; a squad captain come to report his sweep of the ship. He remembered the screams of the man as he had systematically cut the man to pieces one limb at at time, leaving him writhing in pain on the floor. He smiled grimly as he relished the memory.

Bandon walked down the long hallway that lead to the throne room. It was a long grand walkway lined with dark side obelisks that channeled dark power, designed to instill fear into ones not strong enough in the Force to resist it. Bandon channeled that power into himself as he walked, feeding on it, feeling the sense of strength that came over him.

The hallway ended in massive double doors that slid open as he neared, revealing the room beyond. It was a large circular observatory of sorts, with the walls and cieling being made mostly of large viewports, looking out at the empty space beyond. The far side of the room was elevated slighty where the steel gray throne was erected. Bandon noticed in half circles to the left and the right of the room were arranged several bacta tanks. There appeared to be about a dozen in total. The normally transparent tanks had been frosted over, obscuring whatever or whomever was inside.

Bandon walked across the expanse of the room until he reached the foot of the throne and kneeled as his master gazed down on him. Malak slowly rose to his feet. He stared with cold orange-yellow eyes at his kneeling apprentice. He began to walk slowly down to where the young man was doing obesaince.

Bandon's mind began to race. This was unusual. Every time he had been summoned before Malak had always told him to rise after a short kneel. Something had changed.

"Do you know why I summoned you, apprentice?" Malak said with haunting tones.

"No, my lord," he replied. He dared not look up at his master, for fear his eyes burn right through him.

"It has occured to me that you have caused me a great deal of trouble."

"My lord? I don't-" Suddenly, Bandon was seized and lifted up into the air with such force his body jerked violently before he was suspended in the air before the Dark Lord. He felt his throat begin to squeeze shut as the air was drained from his lungs.

"The assault on the Endar Spire should have been a success," Malak explained as his pupil gurgled and choked. "You failed me." Bandon fell to the floor with a thud, gasping for air.

"My lord," Bandon said through gritted teeth, "the men you gave me were incompetent. If they had followed my orders specifically, we would not have lost her."

"From what I heard, you have already punished your men severely. You were their commander. Surely, you share some of the blame."

"My lord, I did everything I could!"

"I grow tired of hearing your excuses!" Malak's voice echoed off the walls of the observatory.

"My lord, please..."

Darth Malak stretched out his hand, holding his pupil in place with an invisible grasp. He could feel his apprentice trying to resist him through the Force, but it wasn't enough.

"This," he said gesturing to the metal casing around the lower half of his face, "was a gift from my old Master. Perhaps it is time I bestow upon you a gift of my own." With that, he made a gesture with his hand, splaying out his fingers. Bandon screamed in pain as the corners of his mouth began to separate, ripping open. Blood splattered the floor as flesh was torn apart. Screams of pain and torment echoed out of the throne room down the long hallway. The screams were cut short when, with a final gesture of his hand, he removed the man's tongue from his body.

"There," the Dark Lord said as he cast the bloody organ to the floor. "No more excuses."

Carth, Mission, and Zaalbar walked into the local cantina. It was a small shoddy place known as the Krayt Den. There were a few patrons scattered about the establishment; a man in a mining uniform hunched over his drink, an odd-looking alien with two heads vying for control of a single glass, two men in Czerka uniforms conversating at the end of the bar.

The trio took their seats a table nearby the two Czerka employees, just enough distance away to not appear to be eavesdropping, but also close enough to be able to do exactly that. Carth watched the monitors broadcasting news from all over the galaxy. There was a brief segment on Taris and how the Sith fleet had finally departed. There had also apparently been a bloody skirmish between Jedi and Sith forces on Balmorra, both sides fighting for control of a large arms factory there.

Carth returned his focus to the conversation between the two men at the bar. They were mostly chatting about inconsequential happenings at work. When the server droid came over, Zaalbar tried to place an order of two full plates of roast galma.

"Big Z," Mission said wearily, "now's not the time to be feeding your stomach. We have important stuff to do."

"Its ok Mission," Carth said, "let the wookie eat."

"Grwwah!" Zaalbar grumbled at Mission in an I-told-you-so sort of tone.

"I'll take a keela on the rocks," Carth said.

Mission ordered a muja juice and the serving droid spun off to fetch their drinks. Carth returned to listening in on the conversations around him. The two Czerka men at the bar had just ordered another round of drinks. One of them was older with graying hair and the other was a younger man in his twenties with red curly hair and a scruffy face.

"Corporate better do something to fix these sand people attacks," scruffy red-head said to the other.

"The only way they'll do anything is if it starts to threaten Czerka's profits," the older man said. "That's the thing about this rock. There is no profit here."

"Then what are we still doing here?"

"I haven't the faintest clue. This rock is dead. The mines are dry. Nothing but sand."

"What about that missing employee?" the red-head asked.

"Which one?"

"There's more than one? I meant the one the sand people took last week."

"Hm. You mean that punk twi'lek kid?"

"Yeah him! If so many employees are being taken by sand people why wouldn't corporate do something about it?"

"Heh. They wouldn't risk a single credit for an employee. Especially Griff. That kid was lazier than a Hutt."

Carth almost didn't catch the relevance of the two mens' conversation. Still, there was still a bit of doubt.

"Mission?" he asked, as she sipped her muja juice. "What was your brother's name again?"

"Griff," she said absently. "Why?"

"Come with me," he said getting up from the table. Mission followed him over to the two men with a puzzled look on his face.

"Hey guys," Carth said in a friendly, I-don't-want-any-trouble tone. "Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear you talking. What was the name of the twi'lek worker who went missing?"

"Woah," said the older man," look, I don't know who you think you are but its not polite to eavesdrop."

"Look, do you know the kid or not?" Carth asked.

"I'm not telling you anything. Corporate finds out we're screwed."

"I'm not interested in Czerka," Carth persuaded, "Look, let me buy your next round." The older man regarded Carth for a moment, then nodded to the bartender.

"Alright, look," he said, "All I know is that Griff was stationed on one of the sandcrawlers when the tusken raiders attacked. That was a week ago. Hasn't been seen since. From what I heard it was the tribe in the Dune Sea just south of here. They're an especially nasty group. He's probably dead by now. He looked a lot like your friend here."

"He's my brother," Mission said, barely believing what she was hearing.

The bartender set two more drinks down in front of the two Czerka workers and held out his hand, motioning for Carth to pay up. Carth reached into his pockets but couldn't find a single credit chip on him. The bartender scowled at him and the two men stood up, cracking their knuckles.

"Look, I'm sure we can work something out..." he said backing up. "Ah great," he muttered sarcastically as the older man threw the first punch.

"So does this mean we get to kill a bunch of sand people?" Canderous asked with an unnerving chuckle as they walked through the sandy streets of Anchorhead.

"Actually I was thinking perhaps trying a diplomatic approach," Venar said.

"Are you sure?" Bastila asked, "From the stories it sounds like they can't be reasoned with."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Look, no one can speak their language," Venar explained. "They must have some reason for attacking the way they do. Some sort of motivation."

"Why can't we just blast them?" Canderous asked. "Its quicker, and more fun."

"We're not killing anyone unless we have to," Venar said firmly.

"I must say," Bastila said carefully, "It seems your beginning to think like a Jedi, finally."

"Is- was that a compliment?" Venar said suddenly stopping in his tracks.

"Surely its not that surprising," she replied defensively.

"I mean... if I'm being honest that might've been the first nice thing you've ever said to me."

"That's not true!"

"Yes it is," he insisted. "It's always 'Venar stop doing that', or ' you're a child', or 'stop smiling its not the Jedi way.'"

"That's- you're- you know I try to be nice and this is what I get?"

"Well maybe if you didn't bestow your compliments in such a begrudging way, and maybe lightened up a bit."

"Maybe if you took things more seriously!"

"Hey," he said throwing his hands up defensively, "I take things seriously. Sometimes. Mostly."

"Hey," Canderous spoke up, "Can you have your Jedi couple's counciling later? It seems we have a fight upon us... finally."

They had come to small town square with various shops and establishments all around. Many citizens were roaming about, however, a small crowd of them began to part as three dark hooded Sith headed their way. They wore dark gray sleeveless tunics, with various crimson tattoos lining their arms. The leader wore a mask that covered the lower part of his face. A short cape hung from his shoulders.

"Well, well," the leader said in a deep voice, "What brings two Jedi this far from the Core Worlds?"

"Ah, you know," Venar said casually, "just enjoying the new vacation spot."

"Looks like we have one of those arrogant Padawans," the leader replied in kind. "Maybe we should show him his place."

"Do try not to provoke them more than necessary," Bastila whispered.

"And if it isn't Bastila Shan," the leader continued. "Malak has been scouring the galaxy looking for you. Surely, he will reward us for bringing you in." The three Sith assassins ignited their lightsabers in unison. The crowd walking around them jumped, startled.

"Everyone get inside!" Venar shouted as him and Bastila ignited their own weapons. "It's not safe!"

"Pitiful Jedi," the leader sneered before him and his men lunged forward, twirling their crimson blades.

Canderous backed up, unsheathing his warblade strappoed to his back. He shot several volleys of blaster fire at the approaching assassin. The bolts were deflected by the lightsaber seemingly effortlessly. The last shot the assassin directed right back at Canderous which struck him in the chest. His heavy Mandalorian armor absorbed the blow, leaving a charred circle on his armor.

The assassin brought his lightsaber down in a powerful chop, aimed straight for Canderous' head. He brought up his warblade just in time as the cortosis metal struck against the energy beam of the lightsaber.