Once upon a time in an

apartment far, far,

away
The year was 1999 and I was working at the
Assessors Office while finishing up my final year of
college. During breaks I worked on this idea I had
for a Star Wars short story. I finished that year and it
was garbage. I asked for help from others but none
came, so I shelved it.

Ten years past.

I told myself I was going to finish it when I had time

but wasnt making the time. So in 2010 I picked up
my script after years of dust and read it over. It was
still garbage.
I tried re-writing it, but concluded this was not the
story I wanted to tell. Plus, with the inevitable
changing Star Wars Expanded Universe, a lot of it
didnt fit into cannon anymore. So I scrapped it
altogether and started from scratch.

It took months to write, weeks to edit and days to re-

edit before I deemed it done. I still think its one of
the weakest stories in the novel but thats also why I
have it first. I think youll enjoy it better that way.
Kinda think of me as the local band opening act to a
big rock concert. Im not as good as the others, but I
got you in the mood.
Anyway,
ever read.the rest
Over isare
the ayears
collection
Ive ofwriters
the best fan these
fiction Ive
the
A most
Conflict
explain... solid. All
of Loyalties from
which Iread
otherhad plenty but
except
to co-write. mine
Let are
meand
This story was not complete. It disappeared from
the web and I was unable to contact the original
author. I had bits and pieces of the story but not the
complete piece. My first thought was to trash it, but
it was such a good story I couldnt bring myself to
do it. I had to complete it myself.

So thats what I did. Most of its from the original

author and I can honestly say, doing it made me a
better one as well. Not that I plan on doing this
again anytime soon but you know, just in case.

With that said, I hope you enjoy Tales from the

Galaxy!

May the Force be with. Eh, too

clich.
Rock out with your Ewok out!

Matt Wilkins

2
 Dedicated to three people:
My Dad (now making us even in book
dedications) My Wife (because she asked me to)
My Mom (if I mentioned Dad I gotta mention her too)
And I know people want to always dedicate their books to Mr
Lucas, but I cant stand that guy so..SUCK IT GEORGE!
 Index
Oh Father Where art Thou?
by Matt Wilkins
Knight Errant: Influx
by John Jackson Miller 6
Desert Inconvenience
by Rogue Knight 7
Something of Value
by Seldes Katne 78
Judges Call
by Timothy Zahn 10
The Pen is Mightier Than theSith?
by John Wilhoit 111
The Phlutdroid
by Brian Pacula 153
Storm Fleet Warning
by Jude Watson 177
Equipment
by Matthew Stover 185
Duel
by Timothy Zahn 193
Shades of Grey
by John Wilhoit 200
The Tale of the Headhunter
by Doug MacDonald 312
A Conflict of Loyalties
by Paul Charlton and Matt Wilkins 379
Never Too Heavy
by Westel
3
 O Father Where
Art Thou?
By Matt Wilkins

Ken stared at the datapad lying next to him on the bed. The
sheets made that morning were now kicked to the back of the
bed, his pillow lay crammed in between the wall and the head
frame.

To whom it may concern.

Hed read it a hundred times and was still having trouble
understanding what it meant. It cant be him its cant!
Running his hands up his face and into his tussled brown hair,
Ken glanced down at the datapad once more.

. as the pursuit led planet side the suspect in question.

Suspect in question.

That was Kadann, Supreme Prophet of the Dark Side. Only

months ago Ken had barely escaped from them with the help
of his friends and Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker. They defeated
the Supreme Prophet himself by leaving him trapped in the
underground city of the Jedi. A place Ken had called home his
entire life.

With only three droids and pet mooka named Zeeba he was
raised in isolation from the rest of the galaxy, never knowing of
a galactic war between the Rebels and the Empire or that the
Empire ever existed for that matter. The droid that was
assigned to him as a caretaker, DJ -88 had never thought to
inform him of such things. To Ken, the old Republic still ruled
the galaxy and all was at peace. According to DeeJay no
conflict of significant note had taken place in the last twenty
years.

To label that as an understatement would be foolish. Ken awoke

from his studious enchantment of history to discover the galaxy
was far from perfect. But he didnt blamefor caretaker droid for
providing a false sense of security his whole life. DJ-88 was
programmed to make sure no harm came to the young Jedi
Princes head. It was a part of his programming and something
impossible for the droid to disregard.
The white droid with ruby red eyes was seen as a father
figure in Kens eyes. DeeJays elongated chin was made to
even resemble a beard, so he would appear older to him.
HC-100 was another droid Ken had grown up with. Built by DJ-
88 for the sole reason of making sure his homework was
completed. Randomly through out Kens day, the silver plated
droid with sharp blue photoreceptors marched into his room,
demanding to see his homework. His voice box was designed
to sound like a drill sergeant Finished or not Ken learned over
the years there was no fooling the overbearing essence of H-
Cee.

The third droid who Ken counted as a friend was a small droid
named Microchip. Understanding the need for a playmate, DJ-
88 designed the golden droid for one function, to be his friend.

Chip, as Ken would grow to call him, became just that. There
were many times where he and Chip would go explore the vast
underworld of the Lost City. Some areas DeeJay strictly forbid
him to go and H-Cee was very astute in reminding Ken of
where those areas were. If ever the young Jedi Prince
accidently wandered into them that was. But overall his
experiences with Chip had been wonderful. Ken still considered
the small droid to be his best friend even today.

Though he adored all three droids hadnt been enough for him.
Ken still wanted more than the surroundings hed grown up
inand boy did he get it.

once grounded the Alliance forces surrounded the ship

and forced a surrender

The past few months had flown by. He was soon taken on a
huge adventure that would lead him from one side of the
galaxy to the next. In that time the Lost City of the Jedi, had
finally been discovered by the outside world. His new friends
Han and Leia had decided to elope, but the Empire interfered
with those plans. Eventually it all ended with the demise of the
Central Committee of the Grand Moffs and the Prophets of the
Dark Side or at least hed thought.

while in custody the suspect consumed a highly toxic

poison which killed instantly. Alliance medics were unable
to resuscitate.
Kadann found a way to escape his underground prison and
was able to escape off the planet, only to be hunted down by
rebel forces. Rather than being taken captive Kadann decided
to take his own life by way of a poison capsule, leaving the
rebels without a chance to extract valuable secrets about the
Empire.

data scan indicated that the suspect in question was

a fraud of who he was assumed to be

And now came the real twist, Kadann was not a Supreme
Prophet of the Dark Side, he wasnt even the real Kadann to
begin with. He was an imposter. According to the report, this
unidentified male had assumed the role of the Dark Prophet
for some time. The real Kadann was still at large, hidden
deep within the galaxy.

All this time, a fake, and not a single one of us knew it!
Shaking his head in remorse, Ken could only stare down at the
datapad in disbelief. This whole time, he and his friends
thought they were up against the Supreme Prophet himself,
but hed been nothing but a hoax.

Whoever this Kadann was over the past few months, he had
been good. Good enough to fool the Emprie, good enough to
fool the Rebel Alliance and good enough to fool his father.
His father.

After the apprehension and suicide, Alliance troops

searched the suspects ship for signs of any hostages.

His father was Triclops, son of the Emperor. Though all that
was highly classified by the Rebel Alliance and would likely
never be revealed to the public, Ken knew the whole story.
Stang, he was part of it.
Growing up he often wondered who his father was and why he
had been left under the care of DJ-88. He believed at one time
that he was the son Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, hero of the
Clone Wars and legend to the galaxy. To be the son of Obi-
Wan Kenobi would be a dream come true for young Ken.... but
it was not so.

Only after Luke and his friends arrived did Ken soon
discover the truth. His father was none other than the son of
the Emperor himself. Making him the grandson of Emperor
Palpatine.

Not exactly the lineage, he was hoping to uphold.

What made matters worse is he hadnt been told this until after
his father disappeared into the galaxy. For the short time they
were together his father had known who Ken was, but decided
not to reveal it to him. Later the truth would be revealed in a
letter by his father, who Ken never saw again.

It was an emotional moment for Ken after reading the letter his
father left. Knowing why his father decided to keep the secret
to himself for so long made sense. With all that had transpired
over the past few months there never seemed to be a quiet
moment for him to reveal it to Ken. Even after the whole ordeal
with the Dark Prophets was done, his father knew the
genealogy they shared must remain a secret.

The Emperor had made many enemies throughout the galaxy

and all of them would take a hyperspace jump at the
opportunity to kill off any offspring Palpatine had.
Though it wouldnt do them much good, the Emperor cared
nothing for his bastard son, leaving him to rot in an Imperial
lab that closely monitored his fathers dark visions which
were harvested into building weapons of destruction for the
Empire.

After his fathers disappearance, Luke speculated that the

Emperor may have wanted an apprentice of his own to take
Darth Vaders place, but after discovering Kens mothers alien
genetics, his xenophobia set in, leaving Triclops to suffer in a
lab the rest of his life.

the body discovered in the cargo hold was identified to be

Kens father, branded by the Emperor an outcast, forced to live

in isolation and who was responsible for an uncountable
number of horrific inventions solely for the Empires use. It was
too much for his father to take. Ashamed of what the Empire
made him do Triclops fled from a galaxy of which he had
caused so much pain.

Reading the letter Ken knew his father would be looking of

ways to make amends for his wrong doings. He was to become
a changed man, a man that Ken would be proud to call his
father. But insteadthat man had died.
Died at the hands of a fraud and a fake, Kadann, who was
responsible for his fathers enslavement in the first place. It
didnt make sense to Ken. He couldnt believe it. But there it
was, right in front of him on the datapad starring back at his
face.

The false Kadann escaped in a ship with the help of his father.
His father! That was the part Ken struggled with the most. How
could he have done such a thing?! Why would a man that so
badly wanted to change his life be quickly cowed under the
enslavement of evil again?

If anything it would have made sense for Triclops to have killed

the false prophet then and there. If not for enslaving him for so
many years than at least he could have done it for all the
atrocities Kadann had committed against the galaxy. Why not
shoot him, or torture him for all the pain Kadann caused his
father over the years. Anything but let him escape?!

Most likely Luke thought it may have been a ploy by his father
to see what secrets Kadann may have led to. Both of them
knew that to be a stretch. Even Ken, with all his high hopes of
seeing his father welcomed into the Rebellion with open arms,
knew what a slaves mentality consisted of.

In his studies with DeeJay he learned that when a life-long slave

was ever granted freedom, most times they would fall back into
the servitude of anothers will. It was hard to break the habit of
being a slave. So few slaves ever knew what it meant to be
free. Even the most mistreated slave could grow to miss their
master. It was a sad reality Ken didnt want to accept.

His father was not strong enough to resist following Kadann.

Even though this Kadann was a fake, he still possessed much
power from the Dark Side and wielded it to perfection. Through
whatever means the fake Prophet of the Dark Side convinced
Kens father to assist him off planet, only to betray and murder
him once they reached orbit. Thus ending the sad long legacy
his father must now carry to his grave.

The Alliance soon learned of Kadanns escaped and sent a

squadron of fighters in pursuit. They were successful in
tracking him down but not able to get there in time to save his
fathers life.
Kens anger started to build within him, he threw the data pad
against the wall hoping it would shatter into a million pieces.
Instead the datapad merely bounced off the wall and onto the
floor and to add insult to injury it even landed face up.

All the questions Ken had about who his mother was and what
his father was like would never be answered. The dream of
getting to know his Triclops was shattered now all thanks to
Kadann.

Ken glared down at the datapad, he was just thirteen and

already the galaxy was starting to feel cold around him.
Dressed in a simple tan garment the Rebels supplied him with,
Ken let the tears well up once again in his eyes. The galaxy
just wasnt fair.

Grief for the loss of his father and hate over what the Empire
turned him into was almost too much for him to take right now.
His father was the son of the Emperor. He should have been
one of the most powerful men in the universe. But in the end he
was nothing but a pawn to a phony prophet.

DeeJay told him he was a Jedi Prince, but the title of Dark
Prince seemed to fit him better. Being the grandson of the
most hated man in history was something Ken was not
proud of in the least.

With all his visions and all his power, how could his father end
up becoming nothing but a puppet to a charlatan? His father
should be with him as Ken was approaching his teenage
years. Who would he have to look up to in life? DeeJay? H-
Cee? Chip?

Though the droids were very dear to him, but he did not see
himself going to them for questions all his life. Ken knew even
his best friend Chip wasnt programmed on how to deal with
grief so what would be the point in asking him?!

A feint knock sounded at the door. Ignoring it Ken continued to

gaze at the datapad on the floor. His brown hair hung over his
eyes making him appear younger than he was. He swept a
hand over his face to brush it back and made no move to open
the door. He didnt want to talk to anybody right now.

He couldnt think, he couldnt move. He could do nothing but sit

and watch his whole life fall apart around him.
The knocking continued, this time it was louder and
accompanied by a voice. Ken, its Luke. May I come in?

Ken never left his gaze from the floor. He didnt want to get up,
didnt want to move, didnt want to do anything but stare.
Outside his room Luke continued to speak.

Ken, I know what you must be going through. I felt the same
when my father died. Id really like to talk if I can. , another
knock, then silence. Luke was waiting for a response.

How could he respond? Ken wouldnt know what to say or for

that matter where to start? For the past hour and a half he did
not know what to say, much less think. It all happened so
suddenly. Only moments ago he was outside playing with Chip
and Zeebo, his pet mooka in his room when a Rebel Officer
approached him with the report.

Battling Zorba the Hutt, the Prophets of the Dark Side and
running into his father Triculous had happened so fast. It
seemed like only yesterday when his friends Han and Leia
tried getting married only to have it ruined by an Imperial
attack shortly before the ceremony could take place. Now it
seemed it would never take place due to the rebels having to
move quickly in order to avoid another attack.

Still sensing Lukes presence outside the door Ken forced

himself out of bed and walked up to the front panel. Leaning his
head against the door he could feel Lukes incredible Force
sensitivity. He had never experienced something like it until
meeting his friend.

Knowing it was wrong to let his good friend stand outside waiting
for a reply, Ken went ahead and slapped the automatic release to
the door where Luke stood carefully waiting.

Decked in an orange flight suit Luke looked as if he just

returned from another battle with the Empire and knowing
the way the war was going, it probably was the truth.

The fight against the Empire didnt slow down for his friends.
Every moment it seemed they were off saving the galaxy from
the evil clutches of the Empire. The war was far from over, Ken
knew it and he also knew his friends couldnt always be around
because of it. Each one of them played a very important part in
the survival of the Rebel Alliance, even as Ken his did too,
though lately it was reduced to catching up on his lessons from
DeeJay.

Ken could see the look of sympathy Luke was giving him. He
knew Luke had lost many friends in the war as well, one of
them being his father, Darth Vader. Of all the people in the
galaxy who could rival his grandfather as the most hated
man in the galaxy Lukes father would be it.

Before Luke could speak to him Ken turned to his bunk and
dropped back down into the ruffled covers. Datapad still laying
on the floor it took a minute for Luke to form his words.

Being a Jedi Knight had its advantages, but knowing the right
thing to say and when to say it was a whole other matter. He
tried to persuade Leia to speak to Ken, but his sister pointed
out that he was much closer to the boy and any comfort would
sound better coming from someone who shared the same
connection in the Force.

Luke wasnt so sure hed know what to say. Obi-Wan never

taught him how to handle anything like this and even though
Luke himself went through this kind of sorrow before, it was a
lot harder to explain those feeling to others around him.

Ken Luke started slowly, unsure of where to lead the

conversation first I know you heard the news and are upset

Upset?! Kens shot up from his hands Upset doesnt even

begin to describe how I feel Luke?! he got to his feet and
began pacing back and forth. Stopping at where the datapad
lay on floor, I mean this Frustration covered his face as
both hands went on top of his head, he didnt know what next
to say ThisAAAARRGGHH!! Ken flopped back down on the
bed, shaking his head and trying to will tears back into his
eyes.

Sensing the obvious pain he was in, Luke placed a hand on

Kens shoulder, Ken, you dont want to do this to yourself.
Trust me. Ive been there.

Ken couldnt argue with that. He knew Lukes past was similar
to his own. Alone on a desolate planet, with few friends and
dreams of adventure during his youth, both shared the belief
that their father was a great Jedi, only to discover he had been
an instrument of evil instead.
Lukes father apologized for his actions in the end, so had
Triclops before his disappearance. So more than anyone Luke
should know what Ken was feeling, even if Ken didnt feel it
himself.

I just that his voice faltered as he tried to find the right

words I dont understand why my father let this happen? Why
after all those years of captivity did he return to being a slave to
Kadann in the end?

Its to understand, Im sure. Luke conceded But Im sure it

was for a good purpose.

What purpose?! screamed Ken To help Kadann escape

again so he can wreak havoc on the galaxy? My father should
have been stronger than that! He should have known it was
wrong, he should have..

There was a pause between the both of them. It wasnt long

before Luke broke the silence. Patience Ken, you must think.
Anger is a path to the Dark Side, it clouds our thinking and
disrupts our thoughts.

Ken knew Luke was right. He was always right. If Ken was ever
to become a Jedi Knight he would have to be better at
controlling his anger. Im sorry He managed to say Youre
right. Youre right! I need to concentrate.

Ken rubbed his temple with the tips of his fingers. But its so
hard Luke, its hard to concentrate when its my own father
were talking about

It was hard for me as well once I knew the truth about my

father Luke recalled. I refused to believe him at first, but the
more time I had to think, I couldnt deny the truth.

Yearning for answers for himself Ken begged Luke to continue

What did you do after that?

I meditated on it through the Force, came to peace with who

my father was and what needed to be done. I knew there was
good still in him. I just had to come up with a way for my father
to see that as well.
Thats just it Ken said I thought there was good in my father
too. But in the end he became the same evil person as he
always was!

Luke didnt hide the shock from his face when hearing Kens
response. Ken, our actions dont always imply what were
thinking

Luke motioned if he could sit down next to Ken on the bed.

After a faint nod from the young Jedi Prince Luke brushed the
far side of the bed and sat.

My father was one of the strongest Jedis ever. Yet even he

fell under the control of the Emperor. By doing that, he doomed
the Jedi Order for years. In the end, he knew hed made the
wrong choice and even though he could never undo the evil
things hed done, he still was able to make matters right in the
end.
Luke of course was referring to Darth Vaders insurrection that
led to the death of his grandfather. Ken studied all about it with
DeeJay over the past few weeks. The countless battles and
atrocities of what the Empire had inspired shocked Ken to his
core. How this had been going around him the whole time he
was in the Lost City made him realize how fortunate he was to
have grown up in a world without Imperial interference.
Luke placed an arm on Kens shoulder. Your father knew hed
done terrible things. He knew he hurt many people and he did
regret it. It was not his fault how it all came to an end. You cant
blame him for that.
Not wishing to leave it at that Luke went on My father waited to
do the right thing the moment before he died. Your father didnt.
You should be proud. Tears formed in Kens eyes, he didnt
bother to brush them away this time, instead letting them fall
down his cheeks. The way your father wanted you to
remember him was the way you last saw him, a hero. What his
last intentions were in the end well never know. But Im sure it
was for the right purpose.
Those last words hit Ken hard. He wanted to believe what Luke
said was true. Maybe his father did have a plan. Kadann used
his father because he was someone Kadann thought he could
control. But did he? Had his father already broken free of the
bonds that were placed upon him by the Empire? Perhaps his
father was playing along, waiting for the right moment to strike
and when he did Kadann somehow gained the upper hand.
For so long he had yearned to be one day be reunited again
with his father. To get to know the man Triclops was and watch
him grow into the man Ken always knew he could be. To
become Jedi together, father and son, side by side, protecting
the galaxy. but that dream was gone. Now it was up to Ken
to become a Jedi to seek out redemption for both his father
and his grandfather. To make amends to all who had been
wronged by the Empire in the past.

Strength came back into him. Drying his eyes he stood up to

face Luke Thank you, youre right. Anger does cloud my
judgment. Im wrong about my father. He was a hero in the end
and thats all that should matter.

Luke smiled to himself, perhaps Leia was right, perhaps he

too had a knack for saying the right thing as well. Yes he was.
Now come outside, theres someone who wants to see you.
Ken followed Lukes gaze down the hall and spotted a Chip
waiting outside the door. The little golden droid had two eyes
that were the same circular size of his voice box. They both
glowed bright yellow when he spoke. He had two red fins on
each side of his round face and a larger fin on top of his golden
dome. In his hands he held Zeeba, Kens pet mooka.
Happy to see the both of them there Ken rushed down the
hallway as Zeeba leaped from Chips arms and into his
masters.
Mookas were small animals covered in fur with feathers around
their necks with a tail feather protruding down their end. With
bird-like beaks, four clawed feet and four ears on top of the
head, they made for a rather unusual looking pet.
Mookas were easily domesticated which was the initial reason
DJ-88 discerned Zeebo was the perfect pet for Ken to keep.
Little training was needed for mookas and beside the kshhhh
sound they made when happy, Ken considered Zeeba the best
pet he could ever have.
Zeeba continued licking Kens face as the young prince
laughed. Something Ken hadnt been doing for a while now.
Ok, Ok! Its good to see you too Zeeba.
Greetings Master Ken Chip squeaked. It is good to see you. I
was worried you suffered a malfunction in your room.
Chip was always kind to Ken. The only droid who didnt repeat
lessons or rules to him as DeeJay or H-Cee did. This little droid
was designed to be his best friend and it did just that. They
played, the talked, they dreamed and not once did Chip argue
with him when he complained about being alone.
Though only a droid, Chip had a sincerity about him Ken
always enjoyed and truly believed Chip when he said he was
worried for him. Im ok Chip, just had to make some
calibrations to my programming is all. He patted the
droids golden head.
Chips eyes glowed bright yellow in recognition, Ah, I see.
Good for you Master Ken. Shall we go play now?
Embarrassed the question had been asked in front of Luke,
Ken blushed Maybe later. Turning around, Ken was quick to
change the subject, So how did your mission go?
It went well. Han and I were able to

Before Luke could finish a voice called out from behind Master
Luke! Master Luke! Shuffling down the hallway was the golden
protocol droid C-3PO moving as fast as his metallic legs could
carry him. To everyone, it was a familiar site to see Threepio in
a hurry. Thank the stars! It is good to see you again sir!
Threepio Luke smiled as the droid rushed down the corridor
to greet them. Its good to see you as well. I was just
explaining to Ken about our last mission at..
Not realizing Luke was in the middle of a sentence C-3PO
continued Master Luke, I have great news! Remember the boy
from Delantine that Artoo and I helped find his father a few
years back?
If C-3POs interruption had bothered Luke, he didnt let it show.
Stuart Zissu? Yes I remember. You and Atroo had quite an
adventure helping him rescue his father from the Empire.
C-3PO shook his head franticly. Dreadful experience too sir, I
can assure you of that. Needless to say I wont be entering an
escape pod with a science droid anytime in the future!
Luke laughed I suspect you wont, Threepio.

Escape pods? Science droids? Does anyone care to explain?

Ken was clueless about what they were talking about.
Whatever it was, itd obviously happened before hed been
found.
C-3POs photoceptors glowed bright yellow as he noticed Ken
for the first time Quite an interesting story to tell Master Ken.
You see, it all started when Artoo and I

This time it was Lukes turn to interrupt Im sure hed be

interested in the story Threepio but now isnt the time.
Threepio tilted his head in disappointment, Very well then.
Now explain to me why you brought it up? Is he having trouble
with the Empire again?

C-3PO returned his attention to Luke. Oh no sir! Nothing of

the sort. Why he merely wishes you to attend a celebration on
Delatine.
Now it was Lukes turn to be confused, A celebration?! For
what?

Precisely what I said Master Luke, why just the other day I
was telling the Captain Solo

Threepio Luke loved the golden droid but knew of his

tendency to rattle on at times. If he didnt make Threepio get
to the point, the droid never would. What is the celebration
about?
Threepio straightened up He says, the Empire has suffered
many crushing defeats at the hands of the Alliance and its time
they celebrated the past victories against them. So he and his
father are throwing a celebration on Delantine in your honor
and request for you to presence at it.
Luke smiled. It was exactly what Leia told him years ago after
the first Death Star was destroyed. Whenever there is a cause
to celebrate we must. Not only to encourage the troops but to
give hope to those around the galaxy and make sure they
know that freedom is one step closer. Luke still remembered
dressing up in that ridiculous yellow flight jacket that Han
insisted would look great on him. Trust me kid, when you
accept an awards, you do so in style.
That wasnt the style Luke wanted. Being a simple farm boy
on Tatooine didnt require a fancy suit or medals for having a
successful crop that year either. But during the ceremony he
heard the crowd cheer and knew what Leia had meant.
Celebrations were exactly what the Rebellion needed. From
now to until the Empire was completely eliminated. The last
one he attended was on Dathomir, over six months ago and
the Rebel Alliance didnt have time for many since.
To put this in his honor though was another thing. There were
plenty of other heroes of the Rebellion who did much more
than Luke had with the war. It wasnt fair being the one to be
stuck with the all the good press, while others stood in the
shadows.
Beside him he saw Kens eyes light up, Delantine, Ive studied
that planet before. They speak several different languages
there, dont they?
Sixteen to be precise. Considering himself an expect in the
matter on translation Threepio was more than happy to carry
the rest of the conversation, As you well know I am fluent
in
\ over six million forms of communication.
A smirk formed at the edge of Kens face. So youve told me
before.
Not able to sense the sarcasm in Kens voice Threepio turned
back to Luke, What should I inform them, Master Luke? Will
you be attending the celebration or not?
Rubbing his chin Luke looked over at Ken. The boy had just
received news of his fathers death and not yet over the shock.
A trip like this might serve as a welcomed distraction to him.

Tell Stuart and his father that I appreciate the invitation and
wed be honored to attend.
C-3PO did a double take. Excuse me sir, but does that mean I
must accompany you as well? Judging from Threepios
obvious panic it was clear to Ken the golden droid had no
wishes of returning back to the planet. Maybe I should have
Threepio tell me that story after all he thought to himself.
Luke smiled. No Threepio, you can stay here and keep an eye
on Artoo. Ken swore he could see Threepio breathe a sigh of
relief.
Besides, I heard that Artoo didnt get along to well with Stuarts
science droid anyway.
Certainly not Master Luke. Why before it was over I thought
Artoo was going to taser the little science droid right then and
there! Had not I stepped in before
It didnt take Jedi senses to see this was turning into another
ramble by the droid, I get the point Threepio, tell them Ken and
I will be attending. That is, if you want he wants to come of
course. Luke smiled back at Ken.
The excitement on Kens face easily shown, Id liked that a lot,
thanks. Lately Ken wasnt allowed to go on any of Lukes
previous mission due the Dee-Jays insistence on him picking
back up his studies. Oh no. Dee-Jay!
But I cant go. Disappointment slumped Kens shoulders,

DeeJay and H-Cee have been on me about catching up my

studies. With all thats went on lately Im falling behind.
Luke clasped his hands together. Well then well just have to
bring them along too. Chip, Zeeba, what do you say?
Everyones welcome.
To Chip it didnt matter either way, but judging from Kens
desire to attend the little droids mind was already made.

Putting his arm around him as best friends would Chip pulled
him in tight Sounds fun to me! When do we leave?

Zeebo flapped its tail feathers in excitement and let out a

kshhhh. Its beak-like snout rubbed up next to Kens cheek. An
indication that meant wherever Ken was, the mooka would be
as well.
Chip released his arm from Ken. We must get you ready and
packed Master Ken. I shall inform DJ-88 and HC-100 of our
departure immediately. With that the little droid scurried down
the hallway along with C-3PO who was spouting out facts to
Chip about what they should pack.

Ken Luke moved back in front of him. You dont have to go if

you dont want to. Just say the word and Ill inform Threepio of
your decision.
Ken was thankful to have a friend like Luke. No, I want to go.
Thanks for the invite. Itll be good to get out and see the galaxy,
especially
\ when the Empire isnt chasing us around in it.
Luke let out a laugh If were lucky the only thing well have to
worry about is the weather! Laughing together they walked
down the hallway to start preparations for their journey.

__________

Due to war Luke and Ken planned an early departure with no

fanfare to where they were going. Though Ken was a part of
the Alliance for a few months now, he knew the importance of
keeping things confidential. The Empire may be losing the war,
but it was no reason to get careless. Both he and Luke were
prime targets the Empire would have great interest in getting
their hands on.
After breaking the news to his droids, both DJ-88 and HC-100
concluded it was a good idea as well. An excellent chance to
improve your language skills. DeeJay had told him.
And the time spent traveling can be spent catching up on
your homework. H-Cee added.
Not thrilled with the prospect of returning to his studies Luke
had made things better by agreeing to begin his training as
a Jedi while on Delantine.

Theres still a lot Im trying to figure out for myself Luke told
him. But what I do know I will teach you. The offer was more
than enough for Ken.
Becoming a Jedi was his life long dream. Serving the galaxy as
a Jedi Knight was the perfect way in righting the legacy life had
dealt him. The last thing Ken wanted was to be known as the
Emperors grandson. Luke and Mon Mothma agreed to keep
his lineage a secret for now.
Too much bad blood for them to see the difference between you
and your grandfather. Mon Mothma told him. For Luke its
different, he was a hero in the Republics eyes before we ever
knew of the connection between he and his father. You on the
offer hand are not quite as well known and Im afraid someone
might take retribution out on you because of who you are. For
your own sake, its better we keep your past a secret for now.
Ken didnt argue. The last thing he needed was both sides of
the war looking to kill him. All trace of Kens incidents, even
that of the Lost City of the Jedi were to be kept confidential for
now.
Ken looked at the star cruiser for their trip. An old beat up
looking freighter that barely looked like it could fly. Not the
nicest spacecraft for sure, it was small but would fit the size of
their group.
Looking across the hanger he saw Luke working underneath
one of the s- foils of his X-wing. Problem? Ken called out
approaching the ship.
Luke wiped both hands on his flight jacket. Not really, just
checking to make sure were good to fly. He slammed the
compartment door down and locked it shut. All done, you
ready to go?
Ken was already packed by the night before. The trip was
something he looked forward to. Sure am, do you think the
people of Delantine are going to enjoy seeing you fly in on your
X-wing?
Frowning, Luke didnt bother to hide his disapproval. It wasnt
his decision but Leias to bring his X-wing along for the trip.
What a wonderful idea! Thats just the thing we need to be
doing and encourage other planets to join our cause. If things
werent so busy here, Id go with you. A time for celebration, no
matter how brief would be welcome about now.
Luke tugged his sisters arm Then come, the Alliance can
go without you for a few days.
Leia slipped her arm out of Lukes grip Im attending a
delegation tomorrow in the Mid-Rim. Were meeting leaders
there who are considering joining the Alliance. Leia reached
out and squeezed his hand Were finally doing it Luke, were
finally replacing peoples fears with hope. It wont be long till
peace will be a reality.
Look didnt need the Force to sense his sisters happiness. An
end to the war was something he looked forward to as well. I
know. Are you sure there isnt anything I can do before I go?
No she hesitated a moment, Actually yes, I want you to show
off your X-wing while your there.
My X-wing? Luke wasnt sure where she was going with this
You think the people of Delantine would rather see a vehicle
instead of the pilot?
Leia let out laugh. No, but people do want to see your fighter.
She looked at Luke who still was having trouble understanding,
Thats not just any X-wing you have there, thats the X-wing
that blew up the original Death Star. And I bet thats something
everybody would want to see.
Luke rubbed his chin mockingly It has been feeling guilty ever
since
\ I got a medal. He shot a playful smile her way.
She returned his joke with a punch to the arm. You know what
I mean. No matter what youve done for the Rebellion these
past few years youll always be known for that.
Luke rolled his eyes. Surely theyll have forgotten all about it
by now, right? What about Han and Chewie? The two brave
men who assisted in the destruction of the Death Star. Think
theyd want to come along?
Leia mocked a look of terror on her face, And have Han turn
the whole planet against us? I think not! Besides, she added
Who do you thinks taking me on my little trip?
Fine Luke backed away towards the door But if you need
me, let me know.
I will. Leia replied. And have fun, thats an order!

Luke brushed the side of his X-wing with care, Im not sure
about it, but Leia has a point, seeing this X-wing would inspire
the citizens of Delantine I suppose.
Im just sad you cant ride with us. Ken nodded back towards
the cruiser as DJ-88 and HC-100 approached the entry ramp.
Riding alone with them means more homework and less time
becoming a Jedi.

Ken, being a Jedi isnt just about strength, its about

knowledge too. Luke leaned against the ladder of cockpit,
Your studies are just as important when it comes to being a
Jedi.
Knowing better to argue with a Jedi Knight, Ken accepted his
words, If you say so. Looking over his shoulder he saw
Chip waving at him from across the hanger, Guess Ill see
you when we hit Delantine then.
Count on it. Luke fastened the helmet strap under his chin.
See you there!
Ken took off toward the cruiser and closed the ramp behind
him. DJ-88 was behind the controls going through the pre-start
launch sequence. Please be seated Master Ken. Our flight
will begin shortly and afterwards you will join HC-100 in the
back to start on your homework.
I cant wait. Ken muttered under his breathe.

__________

It was hardly an hour since their departure, yet to Ken it felt

longer. After so many adventures battling the Empire he forgot
what true horror was homework with H-Cee.
The end of the Old Republic Era held many inconsistencies
towards its downfall, mainly due to the interference and false
record keeping by Emperor Palpatine. When concerning all
accounts of the. H-Cees voice continued to drone on
without any hint of stopping. Ken slowly felt his eyes wondering
towards the wall behind the droid, counting the number of
panels against and the ceiling wall.
Thoughts of his father still engulfed his mind. Hearing the
news of his fathers demise had got him thinking. He tried to
hide it from Luke but was sure the Jedi Knight could sense the
truth. After all, thats what Jedis did right?
Ken took to heart all Luke told him about his father. He hoped
Luke was right. Maybe his father did have a plan to defeat
Kadann in the end. But the mystery surrounding his fathers
true purpose would never be answered. What was his fathers
train of thought? What did his father intend to do, if he intended
to do anything at all?
Ken remembered stories Luke told him of having been able to
see Obi-Wan as an apparition of the Force long after his death.
Luke wasnt sure how it was done but promised to share all he
knew about it with Ken during their training.
The future, now there was something he didnt need to think
more about. Kens dream was always to see his father and
learn the ways of the Force from him. Now Luke was the only
one left who could guide him down that path. Ken had to be
Jedi. He needed to be a Jedi, not only for his sake but for his
fathers.
There wasnt a guarantee that his past would always be kept a
secret. One day the whole galaxy would find out who he was.
But by then Ken hoped to be a hero of the Rebellion, just like
Luke.
To do that he would have to study hard and dedicate his life to
the Force. There was no time for games anymore. Ken was
growing up fast and needed to mature if he was to have any
chance of erasing his grandfathers past.
Looking down Ken noticed Zeeba curled up in the chair next
too him sleeping. Arent you the lucky one. he thought as he
watched the mookas body silently rise and fall with every
breath. On his other side sat Chip, upright and eyes focused on
H-Cee. Whether he was paying attention or shutting down for a
recharge Ken couldnt tell. Either way, it seemed he was the
only one having to sit through the lecture.
Master Ken, are you paying attention? H-Cee noticed the all-
to-familiar stare Ken gave when he was daydreaming. After
thirteen years growing up around the boy, H-Cee could never
miss it.
Of course! Ken straightened back up in his seat, I have to
use the fresher though. May I be excused?
The silver plated droid analyzed Kens behavior. Its blue
photceptors seemed to be starring holes into him. Very well,
you are excused. Ken headed to the fresher. But when you
return I want you to give a full recap of what weve discussed
so far!
Got it. Hollered Ken as he made his way past the door.

Ken breathed a sigh of relief as he shut the fresher door,

Finally a break at last! Having to catch up on his homework
was making his head ache. To think DeeJay and H-Cee would
drop his lessons now that he was part of the Rebel Alliance
didnt seem possible.
Looking at himself in the mirror Ken noticed how much hed
changed in the past year. Not so much in appearance but from
inside. Life wasnt as care free as it used to be. The
experiences of the past few weeks transformed him from a boy
to an adult. Ken never had a chance to look back either. It
happened so fast.
What would his father say to him if he were still alive? Would
he have expected Ken to be a Jedi apprentice by now?
So many questions Ken would never get the answers to.
Turning the mist on, Ken wetted his face and was once again
and was ready to resume his studies. He knew he would have
to apologize to H-Cee for not paying attention. A Jedi does
not lie. Ken knew it was the right thing to do.
Thats what my life is about now. He thought to himself Doing
the right thing. As he exited the fresher an alarm sounded from
the cockpit. Ken rushed up to the co-pilots chair next to DJ-88
where the droids white exterior failed to betray any emotion as
to what was occurring. Whats wrong, DeeJay?
His long time mentor didnt answer right away, punching
buttons in rapid recession across the controls in front of him.
We have received a distress call. I am patching it through for
Master Skywalker to hear it as well.
There was a slight pause and a bleep sounded across the
intercom. request assistance in pursuit, but request
back upunidentified ship, do you copy?
Lukes voice was the first to respond. Unidentified vessel, this
is Luke Skywalker of the Rebel Alliance. Please state you
concern, you are breaking up.
By this time HC-100, Chip and the newly awakened Zeebo had
entered the cockpit. Static blared through the intercom. Sorry
about thatinterference ismiddle of an asteroid field we
moment The message abruptly stopped leaving Ken worried
something had gone wrong.
Weve got to do something Luke. Ken called out through the
open channel. Sounds like theyre trouble.!
Luke voice was calm in response to Kens panicked state.
Patience, Ken, remember to think before giving in to fear. We
dont know if this is a trap or not. We need to proceed with
caution.
That would be highly advisable Master Ken, DJ -88 continued
tuning the intercom to block out the interference, We must be
extremely careful with the Empire still lurking about.
23
 Embarrassed by his actions Ken felt his face geting warm,
Right. He closed his eyes to concentrate. His fear began
to slip away and was replaced with calm.
The intercom crackled as they all heard the voice speak again,
Rebel Alliance vessel, this is Lyn Kimly of the mining station
Mims Charter. Weve been attacked by pirates and would be
grateful for any assistance you can offer. Im opening up my
transponder code for identification.
Luke checked the transponder code, it checked out. Sensing
no immediate danger Luke responded to the caller Glad to
help Charter. Tell us what your status is?
Affirmative Rebel vessel, we were able to fend off their attack
and are now in pursuit. The pirates fled into an asteroid field to
hide and none of us want another surprise visit from them
again. Think you could help us track them down? Any
assistance would be rewarded.
Flying in an asteroid field?! DJ -88 lowered his head in
disbelief, You humans are way too reckless. However that
does explain the weak signal. he stroked the metal beard
below his chin.
That wont be necessary Lyn, the Alliance is willing to help
anyone who needs it. Id be glad to assist but Im only one
fighter, our cruiser has no fire power of its own and wouldnt be
much help.
Ken could believe what he was hearing. Why couldnt he
come along? He went through more dangerous situations than
this, surely a few pirates in an asteroid field wouldnt matter?
Any help would be griffin great! Lyn replied. Were heading
into the asteroid field now, but I can wait up for you on the edge
if youre not far behind.
Affirmative Charter, on my way now. Luke pulled his X-wing
toward the direction of the asteroid field.
Before Ken could object, Lukes voice came over the comm,
Ken, I know what youre about to say and no, you cant come.
I want you and the droids to go on to Delantine. Ill be right
behind you.
Ken worked hard to keep the anger from his voice But Luke,
how am I supposed to become a Jedi if I cant learn how you
handle situations like this? He knew the argument was weak
but in his desperation to go he was willing to use any excuse.
Adventure had nothing to do with becoming a Jedi, Ken
knew that, but he also didnt like being sidelined in this.

24
Ken, its important you head to Delantine. Stuart Zissu and
his father are already waiting for us to arrive and I dont want
them to worry if were late. These pirates shouldnt be a
problem. Ill be done in no time and join you on Delantine.
Defeated, Ken sank into his cockpits chair. Ok.
DJ -88 set course for their jump to hyperspace. Now I
believe its time you continue your lessons Master Ken.
With a sigh Ken walked out from the cockpit with H- Cee,
Chip and Zeeba following behind. This was going to be a
longer trip than hed thought.

__________

When they finally arrived at Delantine Ken was exhausted.

After H-Cees endless quizzes about the history and culture of
the planet Ken wasnt even sure he wanted to visit it now.
DJ-88 allowed Ken to sit in the cockpit to see the planet from
orbit before landing. As the ship exited hyperspace however
they were greeted by an unexpected surprise.
An Imperial cruiser, Bayonet class as far as Ken could
determine. With eight heavy turbo lasers and six additional
laser cannons, the light cruiser served as a popular patrol craft
for the Empire due to its capability in intercepting small
freighters like their own.
Judging from the outdated design, Ken guessed the cruiser
must have patrolled somewhere along the Mid-Rim.
He dropped his head against the controls, this seemed to be
their luck recently. Only months ago he was dealing with the
Empire and now here he was at it again. But it didnt make any
sense.
Why would the Empire care about such a remote planet as
Delantine. While studying the planet on his way over Ken read
nothing of importance to the planet. It had no significant
resources that would prove useful and as for a strategic point in
a military strike against the Alliance it was useless as well.

Is there some way they could have known about the

celebration? Ken doubted that as well. The Zissus message to
them was heavily encrypted according to Threepio. It would be
impossible for the Empire to have the updated codes so quickly
and as for their trip Luke, Ken and Leia were the only ones in
the Rebel Alliance who knew about where they would be going.
So the possibility of there being a spy would be impossible as
well.
DJ-88 was opening up a channel to warn Luke of their
present danger, Our comm system has been jammed,
initiating reverse thrusters now. The ship shuddered but
maintained course towards the Imperial cruiser.
Im guessing theres a tractor beam involved here. Ken said
sarcastically to the droid, who continued to work franticly at
the controls.
Affirmative DeeJays ruby eyes went dark red as he silently
calculated their next step. Turning to Ken the white droid
removed his safety harness and got up. Master Ken, I suggest
you stay behind HC- 100 and myself once we are boarded.
DJ-88 primary objective was to keep him from danger at all
cost even if that meant his own life, the long time caretaker
had every intention of doing just that. For as long as Ken could
remember, everything the droid did was for his protection.
Maybe its a random frigate, making its way through the Mid-
Rim Ken offered, hopefully. It could be a nothing but a search
and sweep. DeeJays servos delivered a slow whine as he
turned to Ken as if the boy was suffering a malfunction.
Though its doubtful the Empire would be doing a lot of that
these days, what with the war going against them now. Ken
hated to admit it, but he knew they were in big trouble right
now.
A transmission came from the cruiser immediately following
Kens statement, Rebel Alliance vessel, you are to hold your
position and prepare to be boarded. Try anything and well
blast you out of orbit. Have all hands and cargo on deck. No
tricks.
Ken gulped So much for that theory. Zeebo growled as the
Imperial cruiser approached the ship. I dont like it either
Zeebo, but theres nothing we can do. With our comm system
jammed theres no way to warn Luke that the Empire is on
Delantine. Weve got to think of another way out.
The Imperial Cruiser came to halt as the droids and Ken
listened carefully to the docking sound that attached the two

ships together. A thud sounded outside the door followed by a

pressurized noise.
Both HC-100 and DJ-88 stood in front of Ken, keeping him
behind them as the sound of footsteps headed their way.
Peaking around H-Cees silver plated body, Ken watched as a
sharp clicking sounded at the door.
Suddenly the hatch was open and dozens of Stormtroopers
poured into the room. They surrounded the area with their
weapons drawn. A closer look showed they werent set to
stun either. Ive got a bad feeling about this. Ken said as his
pet mooka curled around his leg.
At the front of the door entered an Imperial officer. Dressed in
what looked to be a newly pressed uniform the man was in his
late thirties, with short cropped hair and dark brown eyes. He
looked like all the other Imperials Ken had seen in his life, stiff
upper body with a bitter look on the face that made Ken wonder
if anybody was happy in the Imperial Navy.
The officer entered the room with two other Stormtroopers
closely behind. I am Commander Thistleborn of the Delaney
Pride and you are all under arrest for crimes against the
Empire. He looked around the cabin as if searching for
someone who wasnt there, Where is Luke Skywalker?
It was all starting to make sense to Ken. This had been a trap
all along and Delantine was the bait. He doubted that the
planet was responsible for the betrayal, because of their
struggle with the Empire in the past. But there was no
mistaking it, capturing Luke Skywalker was the main objective
here.
I know that hes here. Thistleborns voice was colder now If
you do not tell me where he is hiding I will execute you all,
one by one.
DJ-88 took a step forward There is no one on this ship by that
name. If this is your reason for stopping our vessel then I
suggest we be on our way and let you continue you search
for Before DJ-88 got the next word out Thistleborn pulled his
hold- out blaster from his side holster and shot the white droid
point blank in the chest.
With the power setting at maximum, the blast nearly
disintegrated the droid. All that remained of DeeJay was his
head, both legs, and an arm still attached to a part of his body.
Pieces of him were scattered all around the cabin either burnt
or still smoking. In the blink an eye DJ-88 vanished forever
from Kens life.

NOOOOOO!! Ken moved towards the remains of his beloved

mentor but the metal grip of H-Cee held him back. Let me go!
Ken screamed, struggling to get loose.
Negative, My programming does not allow you to come to
harm. The droids hold on the boy stayed firm until Ken finally
relented and stood still.
Commander Thistleborn held the blaster by his side, a feint
mist protruded from the barrel. Now, for the last time I ask you.
where..is..Skywalker? Firmly gripping his blaster the Imperial
Commander raised it at H-Cee.
With his maker DJ-88 gone H-Cee knew he was now in
command. Im apologize Commander, but what my colleague
told you is true, there is no one by that name on this ship.
Thistleborn held his aim at the white droids head, Ken worried
that H- Cee would be shot next, but instead he saw the
captain turn to his men. Spread out and search the ship. I
want every millimeter of it inspected, now!
Stormtroopers fanned out in pairs to search the ship while a
company of them stayed behind and kept their blasters aimed
at them. Zeebo raised his beak -like snout and growled.
Easy boy Ken picked the mooka up gently with his free arm.
Well make it through this. I promise.
Thistleborn took a step closer to HC-100. Youd better hope
youre right, droid. He lifted the blaster to H-Cees
expressionless face. Because if you are lying to me, Ill scrap
you as well. The sneer on the Commanders face made his
intentions quite clear.
H-Cee seemed unfazed by the blaster It is against my
programming to lie he replied. Ken of course knew it was a lie
itself. HC-100s top priority was the same as the other droids
Protect the Jedi Prince at all cost.
\
Ken knew H-Cee would stop at nothing to preserve his life,
which now made him feel responsible for Dee-Jays death.
Seeing the pieces of DJ- 88 scattered across the ship made
him sick to know Deejay had sacrificed his life over him.
He wished the blaster was pointed at him instead. To
Thistleborn, Ken must not have been seen as a threat. Not
once had the Commander looked or spoken to him. He was
nothing more than a child to the Imperial Officer who was more
concerned over the whereabouts of Luke than to who he was.
Within minutes the Stormtroopers returned informing the
captain that there was no one else on the ship. The fury in

Thistleborns eyes was unmistakable, Why was this vessel

headed to Delantine?
H-Cee didnt hesitate to respond, An educational outing, the
boys father instructed us to take his son to Delantine to help
improve his language skills.
The story was partly true, Ken knew the textpads and lecture
diagrams in the back would easily support their story. The
navcomputer was even programmed by Rebel Intelligence to
put in any cover story to serve as an alibi as well. The question,
was would it be enough to fool Commander Thistleborn and his
crew.
The Imperial Commander looked down at Ken, trying to
determine if the story was true or not, Is that so? he paced
across the room to where Kens textpads lay, Well see about
that. With a nod the trooper standing beside him exited
towards the cockpit. If my men are able to validate your story
you are free to go. But if not the Commander didnt have to
finish his sentence to get the point across.
While they waited for the Stormtrooper to return Ken used the
opportunity to gather information as to why the Imperials
were here. Are we in any trouble sir?
Clearly amused by the question Commander Thistleborn
walked over to him Anyone who visits a planet that openly
objects to Imperial rule is in trouble, lad.
Ken feigned ignorance, We were told Delantine was neutral in
the war.
No one is neutral in war times, boy. The Commander looked
at the Stromtrooper sent to check their navcomputer. A quick
nod from the trooper was all he needed. Just I as thought,
Rebel scum. he leveled the blaster at H-Cee and fired.
Still at maximum setting, the shot disintegrated H-Cees entire
head, leaving a smoking hole from the bottom of his neck.
Ken watched in horror as the droid dropped to his knees then
tumbled to the deck.
Both of his oldest friends gone within a few minutes, Ken
couldnt believe it. Wanting to attack the Imperial Commander
right there he knew would be useless. With several armed
Stormtroopers surrounding them, he wouldnt even get close.
Collect the remaining prisoners and put them in the hold
on Delantine. Skywalker shouldnt be too far behind. With
that Thistleborn holstered his weapon and made his way
out the hatch.

He knew. Ken didnt know how, but the Empire knew they were
coming. That could mean one of two things, there was an
Imperial spy in the Alliance or on Delantine, Ken guessed the
latter.
Someone had tipped them off. The Imperials had been waiting
for them, for Skywalker. Ken needed to warn him somehow, if
Luke were captured things would get very bad for the Alliance.
But this didnt explain why the Empire sent only a single light
cruiser to the planet. Surely if they were planning on capturing a
leader of the Rebel Alliance, they wouldve brought a couple Star
Destroyers with them. Something here wasnt right.
The Stormtroopers slapped stun cuffs on him and placed a
restraining bolt on Chip as the exited them out the door. What
do we do with him? one of the troopers was holding Zeebo by
the tail as the short mooka scratched and snarled at him to let it
go.
Put it in a cage for now. The other replied. Commander
Thistleborn will tell us what he wants to do with it later. With
that Ken and the others entered the shuttle and headed down
to the planet below.
__________

The cell was dark, not much room to move around in either.
Ken could almost touch both sides of the wall at once. To his
left was a cot two meters wide. It was worn down with rips
along the seams and stains all over the top. But that wasnt
enough to keep Ken from flopping on to it once the cell door
locked behind him.
The humidity in the cell made the clothes stick to his skin and
already Ken could tell this was not going to be a comfortable
stay. Sweat appeared on his chest and back and his brown hair
was beginning to plaster to his head.
The cells only source of light came when a guard made his
rounds through the corridors. The feint light appeared down
the track in front of him, letting Ken know the guard was on his
way. A few seconds after the guard walked by the lights would
dim again, leaving Ken in utter darkness.

No meal had been given to him and he didnt expect one

anytime soon. Imperial hospitality wasnt exactly something the
Empire could brag about.
Lying on the cot Ken ran through their previous encounter.
If only I was a Jedi, then we wouldnt be in this situation.
The thought he knew, was ridiculous. He doubted even Luke
with all his Jedi training couldnt have fought off that many
Stormtroopers at once. But Ken couldnt help thinking if hed
been stronger it would have made a difference.
He was tired of being weak, tired of being helpless too. He did
nothing to stop the death of two good friends and now they
were both gone. He worried about what would happen to the
rest of his friends. Chip and Zeebo were all he had left.
Once they had landed on the planet Chip was carried away down
a separate corridor. The little droid looked woefully back to his
master knowing he had failed him but Ken knew there was
nothing Chip could have done. By far he was the weakest of the
three droids and didnt carry any weapons or defense
mechanisms on him. They were both in the hands of the Empire
now and there was anything they could do about it.
Zeebo was thrown into a cage once theyd landed. Ken never
saw what happened after that, he just hoped the mooka was ok.
Some hero I am. He thought, Everyones in danger and the
great Jedi Prince could do nothing but sit and watch.
The guard completed his rounds through the cells and walked
out the door, letting the place descend back in to darkness.
Hey, you there?
Ken sat up upon hearing the whisper in the dark, Yes, Who
are you?
Stuart Zissu the voice said, And Im guessing you must be
Ken.
Hearing his name took him by surprise, You know who I am?
I know you were coming here with Luke Skywalker, Ken
heard a sigh And I assume the Empires plan worked. They
captured you both didnt they?
No, Luke separated from us to help a mining settlement
chase down pirates, he didnt arrive with us.
Ken heard Stuart move to the front of the cell as new hope
come into his voice So hes still out there? The Empire doesnt
have him yet. Theres still a chance!

A chance for what? Were both locked in a cell with no way

out. Luke will be here any moment and when he arrives
theyll be waiting. Kens frustration was beginning to show in
his voice, What chance do we have of warning Luke that
hes walking into a trap?!
Realizing his feelings were getting the best of him again, Ken
took a short breath. Not the Jedi way. He reminded himself.
Using the Force to remove the frustration Ken spoke again.
Im sorry, I lost two of my droids when we arrived, they were
both. close friends.
I understand, I lost some close friends too. The Empire came
to our planet a few weeks ago. We tried to stop them but we
didnt have much of an army here to put up a fight. Commander
Thisltborns cruiser tore through our defenses. We were
helpless
Ken started feeling sorry for the boy. What did they want?

My father asked them the same question, they shot him. Ken
could hear Stuarts voice start to break, They told me that if I
didnt do what they said, they would execute everyone on our
planet. I couldnt let that happen!
Just like the Empire, using bully tactics to get their way. You
did what you had to do, I understand. Id have done the same
thing. Not sure of what else say, Ken kept quiet.
They made me send the request to Skywalker. Thistleborn
knew about my connection to C-3PO and R2-D2. He wanted
to use that trust to his advantage. As Stuart went on, Ken felt
a sickness growing in his stomach, I thought about sending a
coded message but they had Stormtroopers there holding our
people at blaster point while I read off their script. There wasnt
anything I could do.
Ken knew the feeling, I lost my dad recently, the Empire
killed. The fact that he was talking about this to a total stranger
shocked Ken. He hardly knew the boy and here he was
sharing his personal life with him. Perhaps the news of Stuarts
father had given him a sort of connection to the boy. Stuart,
who is this Commander Thistleborn and why isnt he here with
a fleet of starships? The question was bothering him ever
since their arrival.
Im not sure and they didnt say. My guess is its a rogue
mission and Thistleborn doing this on his own.
Ken scuffed his shoes across the cell floor There has to be a
motive for all of this. Why would an Imperial Commander come
here alone with such an important mission as this?

Perhaps he likes to work alone? Suggested Stuart, Revenge

or selfish glory, thats how the Empire usually works.
Ken knew that was true. Still, it a risky move.
Thats because he thinks hes some big hot shot. Before he
threw me in here he claimed his brother was an Imperial Grand
Moff and I should start respecting him or else. What a blow
hard huh?
A horrible realization struck Ken. He knew that name. Grand
Moff Thistleborn served on the Central Committee of Grand
Moffs, the same committee headed by Trioculus, a three-eyed
mutant warlord of the Empire who rose in opposition of Ysanne
Isard for ruler of the Empire.
He pretended to be the Emperors son and even had the phony
Dark Side prophet Kadann vouch for his heritage. An imposter
backing an imposter, thats all it was.
Trioculus tried convinced everyone he was the rightful heir to
the throne. He even retrieved the glove of Dark Vader to
establish his legitimacy and had Kadann fabricate a false
prophecy that whoever wore the glove would be the rightful
ruler.
He was successful in fooling the Central Committee of
Grand Moffs but was eventually betrayed by Kadann when a
replica droid of Princess Leia shot him through the heart.
The fate of each member on the committee differed but Ken
was familiar with Grand Moff Thistleborns. Before his demise
Trioculus sentenced the Grand Moff to three years of hard
labor on the rock planet Bnach, for attempting to usurp
Trioculus power.
Maybe this was about revenge? Something the Empire knew
about well. But what Luke had to do with it all still didnt make
sense.
Striking back at the Alliance was on the minds of every Imperial
warlord out there. If the Empire was responsible for the Grand
Moff Thistleborns fate then why not go after the Empire
instead?
Ken shook off his concerns, he had bigger problems at the
moment, like how to get out of here and send a warning to
Luke. Deciding not to share this information about Commander
Thistleborns father to Stuart yet, Ken looked around his cell.
The Rebel Alliance knew where they were headed but it would
be days before they came looking for them. By that time
Lukewould be captured and Empire would be long gone. He
couldnt let that happen.
Looking around his cell for a way out, proved useless. He
kicked at the panel to his cell door but it didnt budge. There
were no windows and only one vent that was half a meter
in size, impossible for him to climb through.
Inside the cell there was little or nothing for him to use. A hole
lay in the far corner that Ken feared was the fresher. His cot
had no covers or pillow and the mattress contained nothing but
matted old fur. Not much use for an escape.
Concentrate, Luke had told him in the past, Feel the Force
surround you, and bind you. Thats what he had to do now if
he was ever able to figure a way out. Stuart, is there any way
we can get out of here?
Are you a Jedi?
Not exactly.
Then no, these cells were built with only one way out and
thats through the cell door. My father built these with the help
of his security team. Im afraid they thought of everything but
the Force.
Ken sat back down on the cot. It wasnt that he had never
used the Force before. Once, when he was taken by Zorba the
Hutt and forced give up any secrets he possessed, Ken was
able to perform a Jedi mind trick on the guard and escape.
But that only worked on the weak minded which Hutt guards
usually tended to be. The guards under Commander
Thistleborns rule didnt strike him as weak. Ken had been
through stickier situations than this since joining the Alliance
however. After leaving the Lost City of the Jedi, he was
relentlessly pursued by Trioculus and the Empire for secrets he
possessed. In that time Ken was in and out of so many traps it
seemed evitable hed escape this one as well.

Ken clutched the crystal that hung around his neck on a silver
chain. It had been with him all his life, left by his mother
Kenlinda. It was the one thing that gave him strength when
he was in danger.
Ken missed his mother though hed never met her.
Stormtroopers killed her on Kessel shortly after he was born
and whoever it was that delivered him to the City of the Jedi
left the necklace for him to keep.
It was how his father recognized him in the first place. Having
one of his own Triclops easily identified who Ken was. If only

his father had told him then they at least couldve been able to talk
for a moment. Ken couldnt allow himself to think of that right now.
He needed to come up with a plan to get out of here.
Lights in front of the cells began to glow, indicating the guard
was coming back through again. Ken heard the door at the far
end of the corridor creak open and foot steps, steadily
approach his way.
While on Dagobah, Luke and Chewbacca gave him lessons in
self defense. Crouching into a stance Ken raised both arms in
front him, both hands open, and waited patiently by the cell
door.
The guard was much taller than the other Stormtroopers Ken
had seen. He wore a gray officers uniform that looked like it
was bursting at the scenes. On the side of his shaved head
was an Imperial tattoo that gave him an even more menacing
look.
Stopping at Kens cell, he grunted, Whats all this racket?
Keep quiet or Ill make you quiet! Cracking both knuckles
prove the point he glanced into Stuarts cell as well. I dont
want to hear a peep out of the two again, ya got that?!
Looking at each of the boys once more he turned around and
went back out of the hallway. The surface lamps slipped slowly
back into darkness when finally the door slammed shut and
they were alone again.
Ken held his breath as he listened to footsteps fade away.
Whispering from his cell, he continued his conversation with
Stuart. Ive been in stickier situations before, Im sure I can a
way out of this.
He heard a chuckle come from the cell beside him, So have I,
and dealing with the Empire is never something I take lightly.
Me too.
After all I went through trying to get my father back from them
years ago. I can tell you theyre a serious bunch when it comes
to this.
Kens ears perked up, I heard Threepio mention he and Artoo
helped you with that. Must have one wild adventure I suppose.
Remind me to tell you about it sometime.
Will do, but first we need a plan. He placed both hands on the
transparrsteel wall and gave it a hard push, even with the
Force Ken doubted hed be able to break through. So much for
that idea.

Wheres Luke Skywalker anyway? Wasnt he supposed to be

with you?
Ken made sure to whisper so he wouldnt alert the guard, We
got a distress call from a mining colony that was having a little
trouble with space pirates.
Ken ran his hands along side the walls of the cell, desperately
seeking a way out. Lu Master Skywalker, he quickly
corrected himself. If he were to become Lukes apprentice hed
have to start using Lukes proper title. went to assist them in
hunting them down, he was to meet us here once he was
done.
Then weve got to warn him before its too late. He could hear
the determination in the Stuarts voice.
Weve got to think of something before Master Skywalker gets
here then. He shouldnt be too much longer helping those
minors and when hes done hell walk right into that Imperial
trap!
Ken heard Stuart move to the front of his cell. Do you know
how long we have before he gets here?
Ken shook hid head, I dont know. Could be hours, could be
minutes. Its impossible to tell. Giving up on finding a way out,
he sat back down on his cot. I dont suppose you know the
codes to any of these cells do you?
I did, but they changed them when they put me in. Stuarts
voice got quieter this time, Dont worry, I have a plan, just sit
tight.
Ken wanted to ask what Stuart had in mind but knew the risk of
being heard was too great. Even at a whisper he wasnt sure
the guard could still hear them or that there werent any
listening devices planted in their cells either. Ken decided to do
what Stuart asked and wait patiently in his cell, hoping his cell
mate was right.

__________

Commander Jord Thistleborn stood at the helm of his Bayonet

Class cruiser, looking down on the planet below. How he
despised Rebel sympathizers. Trux Zissu, was only a small
feat to what he intended to do with the whole planet once he
was done. For years the Empire worked hard to instill discipline
and order to miserable dirt balls like this.
Delantine and other planets like them were an insult to
everything the Empire strived for. It disgusted him. Years ago
planets like this wouldnt have thought twice about bowing to
his authority and now planet after planet was defecting to the
Rebellion. Like spoiled children running away from their
parents the Commander was seeing the universe slide into
chaos.
He stared out into the dark abyss of space, millions of stars
were once his to rule and now they was fighting for every
square inch they could get. What had the galaxy come to?
His plan to kill the leader of the Rebellion wasnt going as
planned. Everything seemed to be against him. With clenched
fist behind his back he began to pace across the deck. Hiding
his frustration from his crew he casually moved across the
deck.
The technicians report on the Rebels ship log was taking too
long. He needed to know what had become of Skywalker and
where he was. If the Rebels found out about his trap hed have
to flee immediately to avoid capture. So much time had been
placed into setting his plan that the thought of having to start
over made him sick. He needed a way to encourage his men
to work faster.
Ensign, raise the hanger bay. Tell them I expect a full report
within the hour. Stressing the last word to get his point across
the ensign went straight to the comm to deliver the message.
All his life Jord Thistleborn craved the respect of his peers. At
the Imperial Academy everyone knew who he was. News of
him being the son of a Grand Moff Thistleborn was well known
by the other cadets. Though he constantly suffered demerits
his time there, he was not once kicked out and everyone knew
why.
Being the son of a Grand Moff went a long way in the Empire.
He graduated second to last in his class but was still assigned
a ranking officer position aboard an Imperial starship. After a
few weeks, rumors of his fathers involvement for his
promotion were on the lips of every crewman there.

Hated by everyone, Jord made it clear the feeling was mutual.

So what if he didnt do as well at the academy, graduating was
a feat itself. How you graduated shouldnt matter, in Jords
eyes he felt he earned the promotion.
Through manipulation, backstabbing and bribing he rose from
one rank to the next. Sure, his fathers influence was helpful in
matters, but overall Jord felt each promotion was greatly
deserved. After all, if it wasnt for his cunning schemes, none of
it would have happened.
After achieving the rank of Captain he was given command of
his own Star Destroyer. With an entire battalion at his
command he was set on impressing the Emperor with his
prowess and intellect. But on his first assignment things didnt
go well, nor the next one after it or the other three that followed.
Jord was insistent every failed mission had not been his fault.
Blaming the crew to even his ship he refused to admit he was
the one at fault. After so many failures though, not even the
social status of his father could help him anymore.
He was demoted to the rank of commander and sent to the
Outer Rim with an outdated cruiser and a third-rate crew to
command. If not for his fathers influence he may not have
been in the Imperial Navy at all. Still, it didnt make his
reassignment any less hard than it already was.
Reluctantly, he took command of the vessel and crew,
patrolling the Outer Rim for the remainder of his career. As the
balance of power shifted to the Alliance, all he could do was sit
and watch his beloved Empire fall to pieces. Shunned by many
for being a fraud he never received orders to join the fray and
through years of infighting and back -stabbing, the Empire
forgot about him and his Outer Rim duties. He was
considered a useless resource in the Imperial Navy.
Constantly he sent messages to his father requesting to re-
join the war but his father never responded. As a result he and
his crew were made to suffer of boredom along the Outer Rim
Territories.
If given the chance he knew he could turn the tide for the
Empire. He was confident he could stop the Rebellion once
and for all but he never was given a chance.
As battles waged on the Empires iron grip on the galaxy was
loosening. Each request to join the fleet was greeted with the
same response: Stay at current position and await orders.
Those orders never came and the Empire continued to suffer
one loss after the next.

In what turned out to be the final contact with his father, Jord
learned the Central Committee of Grand Moffs proclaimed
Triculus as the new leader of the Empire. But dissention had
already settled into the Imperial Navy as Ysanne Isard built her
campaign as rightful leader as well.
A former Director of Imperial Intelligence, Ysanne Isard single-
handedly split the Empire in two. One half serving Trioculus
while the other served her.
Thousands flocked to Isards order believing her to be the one
to restore glory back to the Empire, but older officers as well as
Grand Moffs alike were too indoctrinated with the bias of
women in the navy. His father along with other Grand Moffs
chose to back Trioculus instead.
Jord again sent a request to join his father on Trioculus side
but this time he was greeted with a different message:
Grand Moff Miles Thistleborn has been convicted of treason
against the Empire. He is sentenced to three years of hard
labor on the planet Bnach by Emperor Triculus, rightful ruler of
the Empire. Long live the Emperor!
Jord Thistleborn couldnt believe what he was reading. His
father spent several year serving the Imperial Navy and had
shown more loyalty than anyone else in the Empire. To accuse
the man of treason was outrageous. Bnach was a hot desolate
prison planet that housed an Imperial penal camp. Those
sentenced to Bnach were sent to work in the dangerous
quarries there. No one was rumored to last more than a year in
the quarries. They had issued a death sentence to his father, it
was Jords final straw.
Ignoring his orders Jord made his crew set course for Bnach to
rescue his father from the slave quarry. With only a light cruiser
to aid him however, Jord arrived too late. Within days of being
sentenced to the planet his fathers heart gave out, making
Bnach the Grand Moffs final resting place.
Furious with Trioculus and the committee, Jord convinced his
crew to mutiny from the Navy and head for the throne room of
the Empires chosen one to assassinate him. While on route
however, Trioculus was reported dead and all remaining
Imperial fleet were ordered to Ysanne Isards command.
Fortunately his crew shared Jords view of serving a female
commander and unanimously decided to defect from the
Empire altogether, going out on their own to stop the Rebel
Alliance instead. Over time Jord hoped more would rally to his
cause but none ever did.

Refusing the fact hed never be accepted as a leader he

and his crew set out on a mission to single handedly
assassinate the leaders of the Rebellion.
Searching through every resource he could find, Jord looked
for a weak spot he could exploit. After several failed attempts
and dead ends he found the perfect place to set a trap,
Delantine.
In older reports Jord learned of the Empires kidnapping of Trux
Zissu, the governer of the planet and how it went awry thanks to
the interference of Zissus son Stuart and three droids. More
interesting was the fact that two of the droids were owned by the
Rebellions most respected hero, Luke Skywalker.
The planet was a perfect; an isolated planet in space with
little contact with the rest of galaxy. A planet such as that
would easily fall to the hands of a single Imperial cruiser.
When they arrived at Delantine the planets defenses just as
Jord imagined and the planet was taken in a matter of hours.
When Trux refused to assist him, Jord threatened the life of the
governors son.
Beaten, the governor relented to their demands and an
invitation to their celebration to Skywalker was sent out. The
first part of his plan was in motion. Having no further use for the
governor Jord executed Trux and sent his son Stuart to the
holding cells for insurance in case anything should go wrong.
With the Rebellion stretched thin and Delantine considered not
a threat he knew the Rebellion wouldnt suspect a thing. Upon
arrival Skywalker would be captured and executed on a live
holonet broadcast for everyone to see.
The public execution of their leader would be a deep blow to
the Rebels and spread panic to sympathizers of their cause.
Jords name would be infamous and Ysanne Isard would have
no choice but to turn all power over to him. He would rule the
Empire and all who opposed him in the past would pay dearly
for ignoring him, hed make sure of that.
He would lead the Empire from one victory to the next and
annihilate the Rebel threat once and for all. He would become
rule as Emperor over the entire galaxy.
Jord closed his eyes, he wasnt there yet. Not by a long shot.
Skywalker hadnt shown up. Instead a boy and three droids,
none of which belonged to Skywalker. His elaborate trap
caught nothing but a group of rebel sympathizers, hardly
what hed hoped for.

What happened to Skywalker? In the transmission they

received from the Alliance, Skywalker had agreed to come. The
question now was where he went and why didnt he arrive with
his entourage. It both infuriated and worried the Commander.
Had Skywalker been able to sense a trap? Where his fabled
Jedi senses so attuned they could uncover deception light
years away? With a shake of his head, Commander
Thistleborn rejected the idea. If that were true then why leave
the boy alone? As bait perhaps? No, the Rebels didnt work
that way, there must be a better explanation. Perhaps
something had happened that forced Skywalker to leave. The
thought made him sick.
All this time spent looking planning and now it was falling to
pieces. He wasnt sure how much longer his crew could suffer
another setback like this. Theyd waited too long to come up
empty handed. He had to figure out what happened to
Skywalker soon before his crew began to lose faith in him as
well.
At that moment the brown haired ensign approached him on
the deck, Sir, the technicians deciphered the Rebel ships
log.
Excellent! he matched the ensigns pace back towards the
comm Patch him through.
The technician wasted no time in his response, Commander,
weve analyzed the ships data and were able to confirm the
location of Luke Skywalker. It seems he departed earlier from
the group to help asteroid miners from space pirates. Ships
recording says hell report back here to the planet after
assisting them.
I smile crept into the corner of Jords face, So this wasnt
a bust after all, there was still a chance to kill Skywalker
Marching back to his position at the window Jords voice
boomed with new found confidence Excellent work, I want all
hands on alert for Skywalkers return. Jord could almost feel
the Rebel leader in his grasp. Skywalker was still out there and
even better his crew hadnt been discovered, the trap would go
on as planned.
As the crew scurried around the deck, carrying out his order
Jord stood by the window ready for his prey to come to him.
His plan would work, hed have Skywalker and when it did, hed
have the Empire as well.
 __________

Ken sat in the dark silence of his cell. Hours had passed since his
last conversation with Stuart. The boy hinted of a plan but was
refusing to say more for fear of their cells being bugged.
Ken decided the only thing he could do for now was sit
patiently and meditate.
If I was a real Jedi we wouldnt be in the situation Here he
was; grandson of one of the most powerful Force users in
history and he couldnt even lift a speck of dirt from the floor.
He concentrated hard to get a message to Luke, notifying him
of the Empires presence. Sitting in the same position for over
an hour now he was unsure if he was projecting a warning or
not. Luke spent a lot of times going over Jedi meditation
techniques with him, but Ken still wasnt sure what he was
trying would work. In all those lessons of feeling the Force flow
through and around him, never was their a lecture on how to
broadcast a message light years away using a single thought.
Sweat cascaded down his face and his clothes were getting
damp. Ken repeated the warning over and over but wasnt able
to feel a connection.
Giving up, Ken opened his eyes and kicked his foot across the
floor in frustration. This wasnt working. He was wasting his
time. The title of Jedi Prince was a mockery to him.
DJ-88 knew all along who he was. He knew the potential that
was in him, knew the type of power Ken possessed and he kept
it from him. Its his fault! The blasted droid should have been
teaching about the Force from the very beginning!
The more he thought about it the more it made him angry. All
those endless hours of lectures and being hounded by H-Cee
for homework could have been spent teaching developing his
Force abilities. Stang! I could be just as powerful as Luke by
now if Deejay wouldnt have wasted time!
Guilt swept over him, how could he think such selfish things?
Deejay cared the world for him and all Ken could do now was
blame Dee-Jay for his own shortcomings?! It was foolish to
think the droid could have taught him the ways of the Force.

Droids werent Force sensitive, DJ-88 wouldnt even

know where to start.
Ken closed his eyes again. Anger was of the Dark Side. It
possessed his father and owned his grandfather. Ken wasnt
about to let it get to him as well. He made a mental note not to
let this happen so easily again.
Thinking about Dee-jay and H-Cee brought tears to his eyes.
He watched them be destroyed protecting him, it wasnt right.
His oldest friends; gone in a matter of seconds. The thought of
it made him feel awful.
The panel lights surrounding his cell began to glow again. Ken
jumped back to his feet and went to the front of his cell. Stuarts
cell lights were on too, but the hallways were still dark.
Why illuminate our cells and not the corridor? Ken wondered,
but then he noticed a droid entering through the front hallway
door.
It had an egg shaped head with the majority of which was a
view screen mounted on its cylinder body. Four retractable
wheels carried the silver plated droid down the corridor. On the
droids screen flashed images of what looked like mathematical
equations and diagrams, flashing too quick for Ken to decipher.
Was it some sort of torture droid the Imperial Commander was
sending in to interrogate them?
Before Ken could speak to Stuart he heard the young prince
call out to the droid. For-bee, its about time you showed up!
Stuart jumped from his mat to face the droid as it came to a
halt in front of his cell. Is it all clear?
Affirmative came the droids deadpan response. All listening
devices have been rendered inoperative. In addition I have
posted a lookout at the door ahead to assist in our escape.
Judging from its vocalizer Ken could tell the droid was
programmed with a female gender. He watched as its view
screen turned to inspect them within the cells.
My adventure thus far has been eventful, in fact the scientific
possibilities made available to me in the past hour have made
for an exciting lesson. By using the before the droid could
finish her sentence Stuart broke in Save the lessons for
another time For- bee, we have to get out of here first. Warning
Mr. Skywalker of the Empires presence here on Delantine is of
the utmost importance. Ill need to ask you turn off your
scientific learning program for now.

43
 The droids view screen blinked twice. Affirmative, scientific
instructor setting has been shut down. Shall I precede with
the escape process, sire?
Yes and dont forget our guest over there as well. Pointing to
Ken, Stuart smiled. Meet my escape plan, 4B-X.
The droid wheeled up to the control panel next to its masters
cell and entered the code for the door then proceeded over to
Ken. Hello 4B-X, I got to admit this is a hell of a first
impression youre giving. 4B-X didnt bother with a reply
entering his code in as well and backing away from the
sliding cell door.
Briskly walking over to Ken, Stuart held out and shook his
hand. Now that were done with all the greetings, what do you
say we get to the comm station and send out that warning?
4B-X lead the way out of the holding cells.
Ken followed them out, Smart droid you have there, howd he
manage to escape being captured?
Stuart smiled, For-bee is very resourceful. Shes saved my life
a dozen times by using scientific methods my father
programmed into her when I was a kid. Theres no telling how
she escaped capture but Im sure shed be glad to give you a
full hour lecture on it when you have the time.
Ken returned the smile. So you knew she was out there
the whole time and would help us escape?
Not exactly, but I know 4B-X and the one thing more important
than instructing me in science is watching out for my own
protection. I knew shed eventually come up with a way to get
us out. Stuart looked back to the droid racing ahead of them
She can find a way out of everything. When I was with
Threepio and Artoo she saved us a number of times. People
underestimate her for being nothing but an instructor droid but
shes so much more than that! The pride in Stuarts voice was
easy to detect. Ken held the same pride for his droids as well.
The similarities between the two of them just continued to
grow. Ken could see now why Luke wanted him to come. In a
lot of ways, Stuart was just like himself. Even more now that
he lost his father too.
The boys raced out of the holding cells and around the corner,
following the silver droid, I think Threepio and Artoo would
have gotten along with her better if it hadnt have been for that
last idea Forbee came up with. Stuart continued, Threepio
would not stop commenting on how it was against his
programming it was to be put into such a position and

44
Artoo.well, lets just say that little droid has quite a mouth on
him at times.
I keep hearing about this adventure but never seem get the
whole story. Ken chuckled. You know, youre going to have to
tell me exactly what happened because this story gets more
intriguing every time I hear about it!
Stuart snorted a laugh Once were out of this mess, you got it!
They approached the door outside of the prison, Ken wasnt
about to ask 4B-X for an explanation as to how shed gotten
them out. Fearing it would result in one of those scientific
lectures Stuart had warned him about. But the Jedi Prince did
have a question he had to ask For-bee, who did you get to
stand watch outside? 4B-X entered another code to open the
door in front of them and Ken got his answer.
Master Ken, its good to see you unharmed!
Chip?! Ken could hardly cover his shock. He reached out for
the droid and pulled him into a hug without even thinking who
he was with. Seeing the familiar face of his old friend was the
most satisfying thing Ken could think of. Youre ok!
Realizing his whereabouts Ken embarrassingly shied away
from the droid This is Chip, he was on board with me
when.. his voiced trailed off. He wasnt ready to talk about
what had happened on the ship yet.
Thankfully, Stuart caught on to his hesitation and extended a
hand to Chip Thanks for the help, good to meet you Chip, Im
Stuart Zisssu. Now we have to hurry and get that message to
Skywalker. I cant imagine him staying much longer with those
miners. We need to reach him before its too late.
Ken nodded Agreed, but what about the guards?
Forbee wheeled herself around All guards on the prison level
have been incapacitated. No one will notice your
disappearance or sound an alarm.
Ken scratched his head Thats nice to know but what about
other guards along the way? Thistleborns bound to have more
of them around here you know.
Not the way were going. Stuart turned to his droid For-
bee, pull up a map of the area and scan for Imperials.
Afterwards I want you to find the fastest route to the comm
station undetected.
For-bees view screen blinked once as the information scrolled
down her screen. Affirmative, locating best route now. Her

45
 screen continued to flicker showing diagrams of the palace
determining which route to take. After a few clicks, her blinking
screen showed the route to take. Done
Isnt she amazing master? Chips voice sounded like he
was falling for the science droid, if that was even possible.
Ken dismissed the idea entirely from his head.
Ok For-bee, lead the way and keep a look out for
Imperials. We havent come this far to be caught now.
Affirmative. In a surprising burst of speed 4B-X took off ahead
Follow me.
Ken turned to Chip as they followed the droid down the corridor
Were you able to locate Zeebo? he worried for the safety of
his pet mooka who was still in the hands of the Imperials.
No sir, not yet, would you like me to begin a search now?
No, making it to the comm station comes first. Ken hated
to admit it, but warning Luke came first. I just hope we can
all make it out of here alive.
Chip continued to follow his master down the hallway, As you
wish.
4B-X turned the next corner of the route when suddenly the
droids screen flashed red and she came to an abrupt halt.
Intruder located forty-five feet ahead, re-routing now.
Wheeling back around Forbee flew past them only to come to
another stop.
Ken had a bad feeling about this.
Forbee, what is it? Stuart was getting the same feeling as
well.
Imperial detection ahead, no possible re-routes.
They were surrounded.
Before Ken could think of their next move Stuart pointed
overhead to the corner of the building. Theres a storage room
ahead we can all hide in there, come on!
They followed him to the closet as Stuart frantically pushed in
a sequence of buttons. Stang! he muttered under his breathe
Theyve changed the codes for everything around here, I cant
get in!
Ken stepped in front of him Let me try.
Stuart opened his mouth but decided not to argue and
stepped aside.

46
Ken closed his eyes in concentration. Remembering Lukes
lessons on feeling the Force he hoped it would be able to get
the door unlocked. With eyes shut Ken let all other sounds
around him fade out. Concentrating only on the lock he let the
Force begin to flow through him.
For-bees voice was raised in alarm Warning: Intruder is
twenty-five feet ahead and closing.
Sweat was forming on Stuarts forehead as he anxiously
looked down the corridor. Whatever it is youre doing, you
need to hurry! But his warning went unnoticed by Ken.
His concentration building, Ken started pushing random
buttons on the keypad. After two tries he was able to open the
door.
A gasp of surprise came from Stuart as they crowded into the
dark storage room. The foot steps outside almost immediately
were heard after they shut the door.
They stood silently in the crammed space listening as the
footsteps proceeded off into the distance. Risk of detection
avoided. We can proceed en route. 4B-X re-opened the door
and wheeled on towards the comm station.
Stuart turned to Ken That was amazing! I thought you said
you werent a Jedi?
Im not. To be honest I wasnt even sure I could do it. I just
concentrated like Master Skywalker taught me and the
numbers came to me. Kens honesty stunned himself. Maybe
Luke was right, patience was what was needed when it came
to understanding the Force.
Well count me in for a reference when you need it. Stuart
grinned. Pretty soon the Empires going to have two Jedi to
deal with.
The comment sent redness to Kens cheeks, Let work on
getting out of this first.
Stuart nodded Were almost there, it shouldnt be much
longer.
He was right. After a few more turns and another detour to
avoid detection they made it to the comm station. Just as Ken
suspected were Stormtroopers guarding the door.
He slid back behind the wall to avoid being seen. Ok, now
what? We dont have any weapons and the last time I checked,
Stormtroopers like to shoot first and ask questions later.

47
 Stuart pressed a finger against his mouth, a look of
determination shown on his face, Dont worry, Ive got a plan
for this too, For-bee. The droids view screen went to a
mirrored image as she wheeled around the corner and headed
straight towards both troopers.
4B- X wheeled down the hall as the first Stormtrooper held
out his hand. Halt His blaster was trained on the Forbee as
she came to stop in front of them. This is a secured wing. No
droids allowed. Turn around and go back the way you came.
There was a brief pause by 4B-X, Ken worried if the little droid
had shut down. But then Forbee came to life flashing pictures of
them both, projecting each picture on her view screen.
Hey! one of the Stormtroopers moved to capture the droid but
4B-X moved out of the way. Before the Stormtrooper could
take another step, Forbee spun around and took off in the
opposite corridor. Come back here! both troopers followed in
pursuit after her.
Ken looked at the spectacle amazed at what hed seen.
Unebelievable, I thought that only worked in the holovids?!
Guess these Stormtroopers never had time to see them.
Stuart patted Kens shoulder and got up. Come on, lets
move.
Arent you worried theyll catch up with her?
Stuart stood up and walked out around the corner. Nah,
Forbees been in these situations before. She knows these
halls better than anyone. Shell detain those guards long
enough for us to get a message out, follow me.
He raced down the corridor as Ken and Chip followed close
behind. They arrived at the control panel, this time Stuart
stepped aside for Ken, Time to work your magic.
Ken closed his eyes and began to concentrate again, this
time it took a little longer to see the numbers but eventually he
was able to get in. Sorry, guess I still need more practice.
Stuart made his way into the comm station, No complaints
from me. You got us in and thats all I care about.
Ken looked back down the corridor for any sign of Forbee or the
Stormtroopers. Im surprised there were only two guards here.
Youd think the Imperials would have more posted here.
Stuart was already walking towards the nearest comm unit.
Not that surprising seeing as how they came in on that light

48
cruiser. I doubt the Commander has enough men to run his
ship much less worry about what goes on down here.
Ken watched as Stuarts hands move rapidly over the controls.
Just give me a minute while I try to establish a frequency that
will go unnoticed by Thistleborns ship.
Ken looked around the room; much of the technology he found
was way ahead of what was in the Lost City. Learning how new
systems worked was something he still struggled with.
Shall I stand watch sir? Chip realized his uselessness in
the situation as well.
He nodded at Chip, Sure, let us know if those Stormtroopers
come back. Chip walked out the front door and walked down
the corridor.
I doubt they will. Stuart called from behind the comm unit.
For-bee will have those Stormtroopers running around for
hours. Well be long gone by then.
Hows it coming along? Anything I can do? Ken knew hed be
no help but still felt obligated to offer anyway.
Stuart gaze never left the comm unit Not unless you can use
those Jedi senses to help me establish the right frequency.
Im not sure, but I can try. Ken closed his eyes opening his
mind back up to the Force. This time, instead of seeing
numbers he felt a growing sensation of alarm come over him.
The shock caused Ken to cry out, Theyre here!
This time Stuart did look up What?! Are you sure? looking at
the door and then back at Ken Stuarts face went white. Ken,
are you sure?! How long do we have before his sentence
was cut off by the sound of a blaster fire outside the door.
Stuart jerked him behind the comm unit and started working
furiously at the controls Come on come on he muttered
but it was too late. The door slid open showing several armed
Stormtroopers at the door. Behind them Ken saw the
smoldering remains at Chip on the floor.
Noooo! he shouted stepping out behind the comm unit. But
before he made it any further, they were surrounded by white
armored troops.
Impossible. Stuart hissed, The next guard change wasnt for
hours. How did they find us?
Stormtroopers filled the room, weapons pointed at the boys.
Face down, hands in front! barked the lead trooper.

49
Both boys raised their hands and bowed down to the floor, Kens
mind was reeling, another old friend gone. In a single day he lost
almost everyone he cared for.
The Stormtroopers lifted him up but Ken couldnt feel his legs
underneath him. He was numb all over, theyd failed. No one was
coming to save them. They couldnt get a signal off and now Luke
would be captured too.
Beside him Stuart had the same look on his face. Stormtroopers
motioned them to walk outside the comm station. The trooper behind
Ken yelled at him to get up. When he didnt respond to the command
a hand grabbed his collar and pulled him up.
Did you hear me? I said march! But Kens eyes looked backed at the
ground. The trooper raised his blaster. Well do this the hard way
then. with that he shot Ken point blank at stun. Ken felt a sharp pain
pass through him then nothing

__________

A white light pierced Kens vision. He tightened his eyes but the
brightness didnt dissipate. Suddenly he heard a voice calling out to him
in the distance. Get up.my son.
Father? Fighting hard Ken tried to open his eyes in the
blinding light. Father, where are you?
Im here, with you. His fathers voice was calm Where Ive always
been.
Ken felt like a bantha was on top of him. He couldnt stand, much
less move toward the direction of his fathers voice. Father, youve
got to help me, the Empire..
The Empire can not harm you my son, trust in the Force. Ken eyes
started adjusting to the light. He could make out the silhouette of
someone standing before him. Desperately he tried to get to his feet
but his body couldnt move. Father pleaseHelp me!
Stay strong my son, all will be well. The voice was trailing off.
Panicking Ken struggled to get off the ground. Father, NO!
Sitting upright now, he was back in his cell. It was still as cold and
dark as hed left it. Getting his bearings he stood up and walked to
the front.
Ken, you awake?
Rubbing his forehead Ken felt an extreme headache coming on.
Yeah, How long have I been out? The spot where the Stormtrooper
stunned him was still warm. At normal range a stun blast like that was
harmless but closer up it could do a lot more damage. To Kens
estimate this one was going to be hurting for a while.
From the darkness he heard Stuart again, We werent able to get a
message out and Im out of ideas. The sadness in his voice was
unmistakable, They blasted Forbee to pieces, even came in here to
show me the remains while you were still unconscious.
Ken shut his eyes remembering Chip before he blacked out. One more
thing they had in common. The sad similarities between them were
beginning to build. He and Chip shared the same bond as Stuart and
4B-X. Now they were both short a friend.
It sounded like Stuart was also giving up. Im guessing they had an
alarm we must have tripped along the way. He pounded his fist
against the cell. I should have known they wouldnt have made it
so easy.
How long have Ive been out? Ken repeated. Time in these dark
cells could feel like an eternity.
They dragged us back over an hour ago. I was beginning to think
you were dead.
Kens headache started coming on, Part of me wishes I was.
My thought is theyre waiting for you to wake up before they do
anything. Theyre probably even listening to us now. Not soon after
Stuart finished, the security doors opened.
Commander Thistleborn led the way in with two Stormtroopers trailing
behind. Ah, my two boys are finally awake I see. Thistleborn made no
attempt the hide the sarcasm from his voice. The smirk on his face was
enough for them to know they werent going to like what he had to say
next.

I must say, it was a valiant effort trying to warn your friend but Im
afraid youve failed. His smile was starting to make Ken sick. And
because of your little stunt I had no choice but to order the meltdown of
your droids.
Both boys gasped in unison. A complete meltdown meant no hope of
repairing their droids. They were gone, forever. Only an Imperial
could be so callous.
The Commander raised his hands to finish, it was obvious he was enjoying
this, But, I dont wish you to think of me as unkind so Ive decided to
prepare you dinner. He snapped his fingers as a guard entered the room
carrying a covered dish.
Now dont be disappointed Im sure theyll be enough for both of you.
He motioned for the guard to place the plate between their cells. Even
though you intended to dismantle my plans, I want you to know there
are no hard feelings here. he pulled a handkerchief from his tunic and
bent over to grab the lid. So as a way to let bygones be bygones...
Removing the lid he revealed a roasted meat with vegetables around
it. At first Ken was confused. Then in horror he noticed the clawed feet,
it was Zeebo.
Ive never had stuffed mooka, but our chief tells me its quite
delectable. Shall I get you a plate or would you like to take turns? His
attention was now on Ken. He knew seeing the mooka would hurt and
Thistleborn wanted to relish every moment of it.
Anger took hold of Ken; he charged the cell door screaming
The door almost seemed to give for a moment but held. The Imperial
Commander however, didnt. With a short blast of the Force Ken sent
Thistleborn and his troopers reeling to the ground.
Bewildered by the sudden burst of power Ken stood dumbstruck as the
Commander got back up to his feet. He looked at Ken in disbelief, A
Jediit makes sense now. you must be his apprentice. He turned to
the troopers who were adjusting their helmets back on, This one is
Force sensitive, I want guards posted at the doors at all times, watch
him closely. Stepping away from Kens cell Thistleborns eyes were still
on him, It seems we have a little insurance, in case things go wrong.
He smiled and walked away.
Neither Ken nor Stuart said anything as the cells descended back
into darkness.

__________

The silence in his cell was deafening. All his childhood friends were
gone and for the first time he felt alone. Here he was, the Jedi Prince
helpless to prevent what was happening around him.
What shamed him more was the anger he showed upon seeing Zeebo
dead. What would Luke have said? What would his father have said?
He didnt want to think about it. He felt sick on the inside. For years his
father struggled to be free of the Dark Side and here he was headed
straight to it.
He heard the power of the Dark Side calling to him now, enticing him to
give into his rage. With the Dark Side as his ally he could rip through
his cell easily. He would be unstoppable and revenge would be
No. He couldnt think like that. The thought of becoming his
grandfather sent a shiver through him. He heard his grandfather
cackling inside his head. It was Palpatines voice he heard,
beckoning him to the Dark Side.
No. It couldnt be, his grandfather was long dead. Surely his power
did not stretch that far.
Ken turned his thoughts back to his father. Triclops would never want
his son to walk the same path as he had. Ken clenched his fist, he
would not let it happen. Slowly he began to feel the hate wash away
from his body.
They is no emotion, there is only the Force. He repeated the Jedi
mantra to himself feeling calm spread over him. He had to be at peace
with the Force to save from what almost happened to him.
Hate only clouds the mind and right now wasnt the time for it. Luke
would be arriving into orbit any minute now and Thistleborn would be
waiting. With Luke captured the Imperials would have their hands on
the Rebels throat.
Its not your fault you know? Stuarts voice was heard across the
cell. It was my idea that started this, Its my fault. His voice waivered,
Ken knew how bad he felt. In truth it wasnt Stuarts fault. He didnt
need to put it on his shoulders alone.
Its no ones fault. We did what we had to do and now all thats left up
to the Force. The words werent inspiring to Ken himself but he hoped
saying them would offer comfort to his friend. The possibilities of them
making it out of this were thin, but Ken knew if anyone could do it, it
was Luke.
I hope youre right. Stuart mumbled. Ken hoped he was too.

_________

Commander Thistleborn stood on deck of his Bayonet Class Light

Cruiser gazing out among the stars. Soon his quest to capture
Skywalker would be complete and the Empire would be his to
command. He envisioned this day many times and already had a
speech written out for his triumphant return as well as name picked out
for the Super Star Destroyer he would command someday.
The claxon alarm went off, Thistleborn straighten his posture in
anticipation.
Incoming craft coming in a mark two seven. The helmsmen didnt
need to tell him, he already saw the X-wing come out of hyperspace.
The thrill of the moment charged his entire body. This is it men, stay
alert. I want all guns trained on that fighter. Lieutenant, open up a
channel. His lieutenant gave a curt nod to indicate it was done. Now
its time for us to finally meet. Thistleborn added under his breath.
The was a pause from the fighter, it realized what was going on.
Thistleborn waited a few seconds to let the pilots terror creep in,
Attention Rebel craft, we have our weapons locked on you and are
prepared to fire. You will follow my command or be blasted in debris.
Do you understand?
There was silence at the other end of the comm. Thistleborns smirk
rose into a smile, Poor Rebel scum, what must you be thinking now?
Without waiting for a reply he continued, You are ordered to shut down
your engines and prepare for tractor beam to the planet. If you deviate
in any way from your current course we will be forced to take action.
He let the tension rise, I look forward to meeting you Skywalker.

Signaling his lieutenant to switch of the comm, Thistleborn turned back

around to his crew, Ready the tractor beam on have all guns on
standby, weve finally got him. A cheer went up from the bridge.
Thistleborns lips were pursed in a firm smile, this would be a day long
remembered.
At that moment the claxon alarm went off again. Thistleborn turned
back around to his lieutenant. The older officer with greying hair looked
at his console as lights flashed across the board, Um, Commander
What is it? Move aside! shoving the lieutenant out of the way
Thistleborn glared at the monitor and read the bad news himself.
The frightened lieutenant found his voice, More ships are entering
orbit sirRebels ships!
Hands trembling, Thistleborn gripped the top on the console tightly and
watched the view screen as several Mon Calamari cruisers entered
around them from hyperspace. Floored with the impossibility of it, he
turned to his lieutenant You told me they didnt get a signal off! he
shoved the lieutenant to the ground.
Pedaling backwards on his hands, the befuddled lieutenant didnt know
what to say No sir, they didnt. We got to them before a transmission
was sent. I dont I dont understand, sir.
Before the lieutenant finished his sentence, Thistleborn was on top of
him with a hand on his throat, Then please explain to me how the
Rebels knew we were here? reaching for the blaster in his side
holster, Thistleborn drew out the weapon and shot the lieutenant in the
face.
The officers face exploded, leaving nothing but a bloody cratered
remaining. Commander Thistleborn let the lieutenants body drop with
to the floor with a dull thud.
Turn this ship around planet side, the boy is the only card we have
left.
His crew stared at him as if he were insane. Finally an ensign on the
bridge spoke, Commander, we have to retreat, its our only chance
Lifting his blast at the ensign Thistleborn fired, dropping the stocky man
to the ground, Would anyone else care to question my order? his
hand trembled as he pointed his blaster around the deck. Nervously,
the crew went to work turning the ship around.
Looking around to make sure the crew wasnt about to mutiny, he
holstered his blaster and stepped over the lieutenants lifeless body on
the bridge. After coming this close, failure was not an option. Hed see
Skywalker dead, even if he had to kill his entire crew to make it
happen.

Someone get these bodies off my bridge. Walking past he kicked the
dead ensign on the floor. The officers scurried around the deck to
follow his order. Thistleborn could see he wouldnt need to make any
more examples anytime soon. Good, he didnt have time to waste with
that.
The comm unit behind him crackled to life, This is Luke Skywalker of
the Rebel Alliance, you are ordered to shut down all weapons and
prepare to be boarded I look forward to meeting you too
Commander, Skywalker out.
Thistleborn screamed and blasted the comm unit into a mess of
sputtering sparks and wire. The crew on the bridge went silent again,
What are you all starring at?! Bring this vessel to the ground!
Wasting no time the bridge followed out what they all knew would be
their final orders in the Imperial Navy.

___________

Keeeen!!!
With one quick movement Ken went from laying on the ground asleep
to fully awake, standing in his cell. Something or someone was trying to
warn him. Was it his fathers voice? Ken couldnt be sure, but he did
feel something wasnt right.
A loud clang sounded from down the hallway as light rushed into the
room. Travelling at a brisk pace Ken saw Commander Thistleborn
seething in anger. Ken had no idea what was going on and by the look
on Stuarts face neither did he.
It seems I have to resort to different methods now that your Rebel fleet
has arrived.
Both boys faced each other in complete shock. The Rebel fleet was
here? Ken didnt know how that could be. Stuart told him there was no
warning sent. How did the Rebels find out it was a trap?
Punching in the code, Thistleborn opened Stuarts cell and pointed his
blaster at him, Since I only have use for the Jedi brat, I have no reason
to keep you. Pulling the trigger he shot him in the head.

Ken screamed. Beating on his cell door he watched Stuarts limp form
crumpled to the floor. The Imperial Commander turned to him. Youre
coming with me. He leveled his blaster at Kens and opened the cell.
Laughter came from all sides around Ken. He could hear his
grandfather calling out once again, Kill him. KILL HIM! He shut his
eyes to force the voice from his head. He could feel the anger rising up
within him.
Anger for his friends lost, anger of what his father had become, anger
of what he could never be, it was too much for him bear. His fists
began to crackle with electricity his hate continued to build.
Oblivious to what was going on Thistleborn motioned him to step out, I
said youre coming with me. Move it!
The Commander jumped back as Ken opened his eyes, revealing full
black pupils. Thistleborn tried to close Kens cell back but it was too
late.
Ken stretched out and opened his fist releasing Force lightening at
him, sending the Commander reeling back against the wall, slamming
his head on the unforgiving ferrocrete. The impact knocked the blaster
out of his hand and sent it tumbling to the floor. Ken stepped slowly out
of his cell.
His teeth were snarled in hate as he approached the Imperial
Commander. Before him stood who was man completely selfish, who
used others for his own personal gain. This man deserved neither pity
nor forgiveness, he only deserved to die.
Yes, his grandfathers voice sounded pleased, Strike him down with
your anger. It makes you powerful, gives you strength! Ken made no
effort to shake the voice from his head. It was making sense to him now.
Balling up both hands, he towered over the dazed Commander.
You are stronger than anyone. The voice continued, It is you who
should be the one to restore order to the galaxy! The Empire would
never cease it was clear to Ken they needed a leader, someone who
would put a stop tp the war once and for all.
And why not me? Surely the grandson of the Emperor would go
uncontested in Imperial ranks. With none to oppose him he could
bring the corrupt Empire to its knees, rebuilding it with a just and
honest societyunder his rule.
Behind him Ken heard the voices of Rebel troops calling out for the
surrender of Imperial forces. It sounded like the battle was over.
Youve lost, Commander. Kens voice sounded hollow, Your crew
has been captured, your troop destroyed. Youve failed to stop the
Rebel Alliance.
57
Struggling to get to his feet, Commander Thistleborn lifted his head,
Reb. Rebel scum
He glared down at the Commander and saw him now for the weakling
he was. Nothing but a worm, finish him. Ken could no longer tell if the
voice inside his head was his grandfathers or his own, Finish him
and your power will be complete.
Ken reached out his palms to the Imperial officer, And now
Commander Thistlebornyou will die.
Ken!
He hesitated at the sound of his
name. Ken!
Looking behind him down the hallway he heard Luke calling out to him.
Ken, are you here?
Unsure of how to respond Ken stood in utter silence, listening as
footsteps approached the door. Ken! Luke burst into the holding cells
and saw the Ken standing over Commander Thistleborn. Are you
alright? Why didnt you respond? Luke ran up to him but stopped
when he noticed the look in Kens eyes.
Dont come any closer Luke. He killed everyone.
Sensing something wrong Luke halted his advance, What happened?
He looked across the cell to see Stuarts cold body lying on the floor.
Oh no he knelt by the body and examined the blaster wound on
Stuarts forehead. Ken, Im so sorry, I should have gotten here in
time.
Its not your fault, its his! Ken pointed at the Commander beneath
him, who seemed to be getting his wits about him.
Its because of him this happened. He planned to kill you and didnt
care who stood in his way. He shot DeeJay and H- Cee and melted
Chip to scrap! His bottom lip trembled as his hate refused to go away,
He even had Zeebo murdered. Hes a monster! he was screaming
now, He doesnt deserve to live!
Luke reached out to Ken, Its not the way of the Jedi. Dont give in to
your hate, let it go.
Tears formed in his eyes, Face it Luke, this is who I am. Its who my
father was and his father before him. Its fate, I have no control over it.
Thats not true. Luke carefully made his way out of Stuarts cell, My
father was evil and I didnt become like him.
Rebel troops entered the room only to be waved away by Luke.
Whoever your father was, this isnt what he wanted you to be. You
dont have to follow in their footsteps. You can be different.

58
Like a Jedi?! Ken snorted, I cant do anything with the Force! I
couldnt use it to save my friends. I couldnt use it to stop this from
happening. He gestured around the holding cell, Im useless as a
Jedi. The only way Ill ever be strong is if I access the Dark Side.
Dont you see that? He motioned to the burn marks on the wall, I
did this. Its the Dark Side that gives me power Luke, not the Light.
Youre wrong. Lukes reply was calm, You warned me about the
Imperial threat on Delantine. Without you I wouldve walked right into
a trap.
Ken looked back at the Commander lying who cowered beneath
him, You you heard me?
Yes, youre the reason we were able to capture the Imperials and
free the planet. Luke made sure to give Ken space. You dont need
the Dark Side to control Force, you can do it already.
Slowly Ken lowered his arms and took a step away from Thistleborn,
I want to be a Jedi, Luke. I dont want to be this.
Luke took a step towards him, You wont, I promise.
Luke moved in closer to Ken but suddenly both men sensed
danger coming from the Commander. Ken whirled around to see
the Thistleborn level his blaster and fire off two shots at him.
The first blast Ken deflected with the Force, sending it back into the
throat of the Imperial Commander. Gagging in surprise, he clenched
his neck as dark red blood escaped through his fingers. Ken
watched as he gargled a word too hard to make out and then slump
to the ground, dead.
Ken faced Luke but then noticed a blaster wound on his chest.
Stunned, he brought his hand up to the spot and felt warm
blood oozing out.
Not knowing what else to do Ken looked at Luke to ask for help but
instead his knees buckled and he went tumbling to the ground.
Before he fell Luke caught him in his arms. Ken!
Ken looked up at the ceiling, wondering why it was shifting aal of
the sudden. The world around him started to go dark as he heard
Luke yelling for a medic.
Soon the noises around him faded and everything went to black.
 _________

Ken
The blinding light was back, Father?
Wake up, son.
Squinting, Ken tried to locate the sound of the voice, Where are you?
Im right here.
Wait! Dont go. I need to talk to you. His eyes adjusted to the light the
silhouette hed seen earlier was coming into focus, Theres so many
questions I have.
Im not going anywhere my sonwe have all the time in the
universe now.
At that moment Ken saw his father at last.
 Knight Errant: Influx
By: John Jackson Miller

"We ought to shoot you where you stand!"

The hooded human trudged over the hill, his boots raking
through the mud. "We're here," he said, keeping his voice
firm. There wasn't any point in apologizing. Not in this place --
or to these people. "Just show us where our ride is."
The Daimanite Sith warriors didn't lower their rifles. Even on
rain-drenched Oranessan, Lord Daiman insisted that his
troopers shine their silvery combat suits every day. This day,
the planet seemed especially intent on testing their armor.
Hailstones ricocheted off them in all directions, raising such a
raucous din that the first speaker -- a burn-scarred woman in
worker's overalls -- had to shout to be heard.
"You're not where you're supposed to be, pilot!" Stepping
between the warriors, the woman flashed a hand-held light in
the face of the newcomer, a rugged man in his fifties. "You
were supposed to be here for flight prep twenty minutes ago,"
she yelled. "What in blazes were you doing down in the mud
flats?"
"Our shuttle was damaged in the storm," the arrival said,
pointing over the hillcrest. Two similarly cloaked companions
arrived behind him, both flashing their identification badges.
"We landed where we could. What does it matter? We're
here." Ice blue eyes squinting, Vannar Treece surveyed the
surroundings. Beyond the scabrous ground crew chief and
the four sentries loomed a massive, multi-gunned Sith
transport, waiting for its flight team. Identical transports
were already lifting off in the distance, climbing over the
towering nuclear furnaces that provided fuel for Daiman's
vessels at this waystation. The flames atop the massive
permacrete cones provided the only lighting for the area,
forcing the ground crews to use their helmet-lights even at
high noon -- which it was now.
Welcome back to Sith Space, Vannar thought. See the sights
- - if you really want to.
Vannar took a step toward the waiting transport, only to be
blocked by the ground team leader. Shining her light at his
gloved hands, the age-worn woman flew into a rage.
"Where's your dispatch case? You'd better not tell me you've
come all the way here without it!"
Vannar's short female companion stepped forward. Hazel
eyes flashing beneath her cowl, she raised her hand before
the Sith crew chief. "We don't need a dispatch case."
"You sure as blazes do, little missy!" The ground crew leader
ripped at the newcomer's hood, revealing a girl of eighteen,
dark of hair and complexion. "I don't know what they're
thinking, sending younglings out here as pilots. Surely Daiman
can do better than you!"
Smoldering, the girl looked urgently to Vannar. He already
knew. This wasn't working.

"This isn't right," the scarred woman said, stepping back

toward the troopers. "One less transport in the convoy won't
make any difference. Kill them."
The quartet of warriors raised their rifles. Vannar's companions
leapt forward, light flashing in front of them. The girl reached the
Daimanites first, cleaving the muzzle of the nearest warrior's
weapon in two with her lightsaber. A fraction of a second later,
she did the same to the sentry himself.
"What the-- ?" The crew chief stumbled backwards and
pulled her blaster. "Jedi!"
Leaping out of her cloak, Kerra Holt pounced, vaulting over
the second warrior's shoulders and diving for the boss. The
comlink flew from the older woman's hand, burying itself in
the Oranessan muck. Seeing the second sentry turning toward
her, the young Jedi thrust her lightsaber backward into the
crew chief's body. The woman's cry of pain was still on the air
when the attacking sentry collapsed before Kerra, slain by the
yellow lightsaber of Vannar Treece.
Vannar looked to the right to see Dorvin Eltrom, his other
companion, standing over the corpses of the other two
Daimanites. The Cerean removed his hood, raindrops
spattering off his conical cranium. Vannar quickly extinguished
his lightsaber and scanned the area. The hail had turned to a
cooling rain, the downpour and darkness combining to screen
their melee from the massive service hangar nearly a
kilometer away. Timely, he thought. A good omen for a long
mission's first step.
Hair dripping, the girl knelt over the dead crew chief's body.
"'Little missy?' Is that how Sith swear these days?"
"I never know what to expect," Vannar said, chuckling to
himself. Part of the novelty of this mission would be seeing
Kerra's response to Sith space, territory she'd studied so long
from afar. Kerra had been under his tutelage for most of the
decade since he helped to evacuate her from this region. Now,
she'd had her first contact.
It was no surprise that Kerra's Force skills had gone undetected
when she lived the Grumani sector. With the Republic
abandoning much of the Outer Rim, Jedi scouts were no longer
identifying potential students in those regions. As far as Vannar
was concerned, it was almost better for Sith slaves never to
learn about their potential Force talents, lest they be pressed
into service as Sith adepts. Anything was better than that.
But Kerra had escaped, and while Vannar would have wanted
to remain a part of her life regardless of whether she had Jedi
potential, the fact had made it possible for him to play an
active role in her education.
She had taken to the training quickly. Her mind and body
were all she had left in the galaxy; these, she committed fully
to absorbing skills and knowledge. Vannar wasn't her Master
in the formal sense; she didn't really have one. A lot of the
regular ways of doing things had changed by necessity in
recent times. With Knights needed at the front, there simply
weren't enough teachers to go around; Padawans tended to
apprentice for short periods under whoever was available. But
Vannar, as much father as mentor, had made a point of
following her progress. Once he began waging his own private
war in Sith space, Kerra had begged to assist him in any way
possible.
While there was no thought of taking the adolescent on any of
his missions, Vannar found that teenage Kerra was helpful to
his cause in innumerable ways. She was an organizational
dynamo, helping him to transform his lofty visions into
concrete actions. He had the connections and the personal
magnetism necessary to attract followers and material
support; Kerra made sure it got where it needed to go. He
was sure she'd made it possible for him to mount one
additional operation a year. None of those were grand
missions to free her homeland -- Vannar wondered if anything
could do that -- but it was making a contribution.
And now, years later, she was finally here.
"I'm guessing she's got what we're looking for," Kerra said,
sorting through the items attached to the dead woman's belt.
Finding a control device, she turned to face the huge transport
and pressed a button. The massive forward hatchway groaned
open, revealing a yawning cargo area inside.
As their intelligence reports had suggested, the giant transport
was empty, waiting for a flight crew that would never arrive.
Vannar raised his comlink to his mouth. "Objective vessel
secured.Influx begin. Team may approach."
"Influx confirmed. Stand by."
Vannar's full Jedi team was stationed beyond the next ridge,
with the wreckage of the small personnel shuttle they had
intercepted during their approach to Oranessan from Republic
space. Intercepting the flight crew and arriving in their stead
had gotten Vannar and his companions close enough to the
Sith transport landing zone to secure it. The big transport -- a
Daimanite Heavy-Lift Starcrosser, if the information in the
reports was accurate -- would be his team's ride for the rest
of Operation Influx. Vannar slapped the side of the cargo door
as Dorvin dashed up the steps, headed for his intended
station in the cockpit. The ship would be a pretty big gift to a
Republic Defense Ministry starved for information about what
Daiman's forces were flying these days. But it was also
completely secondary to the mission's main goal.
Kerra had selected the name for the operation, as she'd done
for all of them since she was thirteen. It was kind of a good
luck charm, Vannar thought. Her original idea had been to call
this operation "Deadlock" until Vannar pointed out that, while
stalemating the squabbling Sith Lords against one another
was, indeed, one of their goals in this mission, it was a poor
thing to root openly for. When the Sith battled the Republic,
at least one side was usually looking to avoid civilian
casualties. When Sith Lords fought each other, as Daiman and
his hated brother Odion did, anyone caught between was in
grave danger. Indeed, nihilist Odion lived to mow down
innocents. Another sick Sith Lord.
Standing guard at the bottom of the ramp, he watched as
Kerra scrunched her nose at the foul Oranessan air. It was the
first time she hadn't been in motion since they left the
jumping-off point in the Republic.
"Fly and die for Lord Daiman," Kerra said, looking back at the
corpses. It was far from her first kill; Vannar knew that was
years earlier. But she seemed troubled. "Why is anyone willing
to do anything for Daiman?"
"He's the one in charge." "He's
mentally ill," Kerra said.
Vannar nodded. Anyone who imagined himself the creator of the
universe, with all other organics simply soulless automatons
placed here (by himself, of course) for his own amusement
definitely had some issues to work out. Most of the warlords out
here did. But Vannar wasn't really interested in the state of the
health care system for Sith Lords.

Neither was Kerra, he saw, who changed the subject

quickly. "What's a dispatch case?"
"No idea," Vannar said. The ground crew chief had asked
them about it, earlier.
"It could be important," Kerra said, looking back at the dead
woman's body, drenched in the mire.
"It could also be nothing," Vannar said. He knew what was
coming on. Kerra was driven and detail-oriented -- and
nothing drove her like realizing there was a detail she hadn't
considered. He'd seen that send her into a spin in her
younger days, but she'd been better about that lately. Still...
"Are you sure you're all right, Kerra?"
"I'm fine. Don't worry -- no first-day jitters."
"Oh, I wouldn't have expected them. You changed tactics
pretty well with the crew chief back there," he said.
Kerra's attempt at persuasion didn't seem to have worked,
but he wouldn't hold that against her. She never liked
using the Force to influence others. It was just part of her
makeup. "Still, it is your first mission..."
"I'm fine," Kerra said, tromping off in the mud to watch for
the arrival of the rest of the team. "I just didn't like posing as
Sith."
Vannar laughed. "Without subterfuge, we wouldn't get very
far," he called after her. "This isn't a place where you can
be yourself. Not for very long, anyway!"
Kerra looked out from the over-sized cockpit of the Sith
transport and blanched. Vannar was right. If this polluted,
ravaged world was any indication, this sector had completely
forgotten any good that the Jedi might ever have done here.
The Jedi had pulled back when the Republic did, conserving
their numbers to prevent an all-out Sith assault on the Core
Worlds. If not for the efforts of Vannar Treece and his
volunteers, there wouldn't be any Jedi activity in the Grumani
sector at all. And Vannar only staged quick-hit raids with the
quiet, unofficial consent of the Jedi Order -- rarely anything
with far-reaching ramifications.
But this mission was something more -- or, it promised to be.
Kerra looked back at the command deck of the transport, now
alive with her Jedi companions. So many of the brightest stars
of the Order were here, it almost looked like a satellite Jedi
Council. Some, like the Trandoshan, Mrssk, she knew from
previous Treece operations; others, like the Quarren Master,
Berluk, she knew only by reputation. Treece had used the
gravity of this operation to call in every favor he was owed.
And it hadn't been a difficult case to make. Lord Daiman had
struck baradium.

Necessary for thermal detonators and other weapons, baradium

wasn't something a Sith Lord could trade for. The shortage of it
acted as a logistical roadblock to evil ambitions. Many of the
warring princelings had long since exhausted any commercial
mines developed during earlier times, taking instead to stealing
whatever supplies their neighbors had. But if the intelligence
reports Vannar had recently received were true, Daiman had
found the largest baradium strike in more than a century right in
his own backyard, on agrarian Chelloa.

Vannar hadn't told her much about the source of his

information, except to say that he trusted it absolutely. And
everyone Vannar spoke with understood the implications:
should Daiman weaponize the baradium of Chelloa, he could
easily best not only brother Odion, but all his warring
neighbors. And that, ultimately, would mean trouble for the
Republic, if its enemies joined behind a single leader.

The Jedi would have to beat them to that -- by uniting behind

Vannar. Who, as always, had a plan ready to go.

Operation Influx was simple. Striking first at the Daimanite

transport hub on Oranessan, the Jedi team would steal one
of the massive ore transports heading to Chelloa. There, they
would knock the baradium shipping depot offline before a
kilogram of the stuff made it to any of Daiman's munitions
factories nearer to the front line. It wasn't a permanent
solution, but they didn't have the luxury of waiting for one.
"Interdiction buys time," Vannar had said.

It felt good to be in the field with the team, instead of seeing

everyone off at the spaceport. And Vannar's protectiveness
aside, most of them seemed happy to see her along, too. She'd
worked with so many of the volunteers in the preparations for
past missions, getting to know them and what moved them. A
few, like her, had been forced to flee from territory under Sith
occupation. Others were followers of

66
Vannar's strategic vision; for someone not on the Jedi Council,
there were few Jedi with more influence.

Dorvin's reasons for being here were more complicated, she

knew. His Cerean species was a microscopic minority on
Coruscant, their community all that remained from a
corporate slave-raid on their homeworld centuries earlier.
Barred from repatriation by Cereans fearful of technological
contamination, Dorvin's kind lived with alienation every day of
their lives. Helping others return home meant something.

Sliding out from beneath the control console -- an

uncomfortable position for someone with his pointed skull --
Dorvin smiled up at her. "It was pleasing to see you in action,
Kerra Holt," he said in his regal-sounding voice. "You do the
chancellor proud."

"What?"

"You've got a green lightsaber," Dorvin said. "An

uncommon choice among today's recruits. Do you aspire to
become a consular, like Chancellor Genarra?"

"No." Kerra had never met the Republic leader, one of a

string of Jedi chosen to lead the body through an era that
called for extreme measures. But she had certainly sent her
enough reports on Vannar's behalf.

"Ah." Dorvin twirled the end of his moustache. "Then perhaps

you honor someone from our history. Will you make me
guess?"

"No, actually, I just grabbed a crystal from the top of the

pile."

"Hmm."

Visibly disappointed, Dorvin sniffed and slid back beneath the

control console. Kerra shook her head. Dorvin lived for tradition,
taking comfort in it. Many did. But Kerra never had time for the
trappings, trying instead to learn all the skills the Jedi could
teach her as quickly as possible. It was the better path, she
thought. Rituals belonged to a time when the Jedi hadn't been at
war for all living memory. She'd excused herself within seconds
of the end of her knighting ceremony to

67
get the staging area. What good were flowery words
when people were suffering?

"I have a problem," said Dorvin.

"What?"

Dorvin poked his head back out from beneath the

console. "It's a Vannar problem. Call for him, please."
Everything stopped when Vannar Treece entered a room.
Even this group of luminaries, Kerra noticed.
The darkling cloak of the Sith pilot gone, Vannar stood again
in his usual white tunic and muted gray vest. Blond hair going
to a genteel white, he made every effort to look like just
another Jedi. But clearly, that wasn't so. After so many years
as his ward, Kerra sometimes forgot how much weight Vannar
carried with others. Polite as he was, Dorvin certainly didn't
intend her any offense in going over her head, even though
she was, technically, Vannar's principal aide. It was just
understood. There were problems, and there
were Vannar problems.

"All right, Dorvin," Vannar said, surrounded by his watchful

colleagues in the cockpit. "Tell me again, without the
technical part."

"It's bad."

"That's not technical enough."

"The navicomputer won't boot up."

"Have you tried turning it off and on again?"

"No, I mean it can't boot up," Dorvin said. He swung open the
cover panel. A gaping hole existed in the device, wide enough
for the Cerean to put his arm through. "See here? It's missing
the activation cylinder!"

Vannar stared.

"It's like a key," Dorvin said. "Without it, this ship

goes nowhere."

68
Standing by the doorway where she'd been since fetching
their leader, Kerra hid her clenched fists. It didn't make any
sense. The other transports were already leaving for Chelloa.
This one was ready to go; it was just waiting for its flight
crew. It wasn't under repair.

It should be whole.

"Did we miss something?" Vannar said. "When we took out

the flight crew, were they carrying something?"

Kerra's eyes narrowed. The dispatch case.

That had to be it. Kerra hadn't been the one to shoot down
the little shuttle carrying the expected flight crew, but she had
entered the wreckage to retrieve their cloaks and
identification badges. Weakly, she spoke up. "There was a
case trapped under one of the consoles," she said. "I thought
it was a personal item."

Dorvin looked back at her. "How big?"

"That big." Swallowing, she pointed to the hole in the control

console.

A murmur rose from the collected Jedi. Almost every one of

them was twice her age or more, their first mission long since
past. She wasn't here because of Vannar -- in fact, he
preferred to keep her out of harm's way. She was here
because she thought of everything.

But she hadn't thought of this.

"Calm down, everyone," Vannar said, shooting Kerra a look

and a calming nod. "Things must have changed since I was
here last," he said. He approached the defunct console.
"Why wouldn't they keep the activation cylinders with the
ships? What are the flight crews doing carrying them?"

The leather-faced Trandoshan spoke up. "Sssecurity," Mrssk

said. "Daiman doesssn't trussst anyone not to dessssert."

"Or to join the other side," Kerra said, daring to pipe up.

Vannar leaned against a chair back and exhaled. "It does

make sense," he said. "Daiman's flight crews get a lot more

69
indoctrination than his ground crews do. If he's afraid of
anyone stealing a transport, this would address that."

Kerra sagged against the door jamb. They'd suspected there

might be some additional security, beyond the identification
badges. But she'd guessed that would be limited to keeping
hyperspace coordinates from anyone but the pilot. The Jedi
brought their own coordinates to and from Chelloa. But this
was something they'd never expected. "It didn't look like
anything important," Kerra said, shaking her head. "And it
was stuck, after the crash." She looked up. "But I could have
gotten it out."

"You can't think of everything, Kerra. These things happen,"

Vannar said. A few kindly faces looked back at her.

"We have the vehicle we arrived in," Dorvin said. "We don't have
a part that will fit this navicomputer. But can't we do the mission
with our own ship? Without the Daimanite transport?"

"They wouldn't let us near Chelloa," Vannar replied. "We've

got to look like we belong there on approach." They only had
an hour to enter the Chelloan system, sabotage the shipping
terminal, and depart under Vannar's plan. Fighting their way
into the system would alert Daiman to the danger, allowing
him to redouble his guard planetside. No, they had to look like
they belonged to the convoy, from start to finish. There was
no other way.

Straightening, Vannar came to a decision. "We go to the

fallback."

"Master Treece, no!" Kerra bolted upright. She knew the

alternative plan well; she'd helped craft it. If they couldn't
reach Chelloa, they had to return to the Republic, taking
advantage of any opportunities that presented themselves to
shoot down ore transports leaving Oranessan for Chelloa. It
was much the inferior plan. They wouldn't take out more than
a couple, for sure -- and Daiman could easily reroute other
vessels to the mining world. Chelloa's deathworks would go
online, as scheduled.

"Kerra, I don't know what else we can--"

70
"We can still go to Chelloa! Maybe we can hijack an ore
transport in route, the same way we ambushed the flight
crew!"

"That was a small personnel shuttle," Vannar said. The ore

transports, by contrast, bristled with weapons. It was part
of what made stealing one worthwhile.

"Or we can go back to the flight crew's ship. I can get the
cylinder this time!"

"It's too far, Kerra -- and you said the ship was crushed.
It might not even work any more."

"We can try!"

Looking uncomfortably at his listeners, Vannar stepped

through the crowded cockpit. "Excuse me," he said, taking
Kerra's arm and leading her into the hallway outside.

In the long shadows of the hallway, he spoke in hushed tones.

"These are not my Knights, Kerra. You know that. They're on
loan, more or less. I owe it to Chancellor Genarra not to
waste their lives on a ten-percent plan!"

Kerra looked down the hall to the exit, and back to Vannar
again. "We've come all this way," she said. "We're here. We
can do something. We shouldn't go back."

"Are you speaking for all of us, Kerra?" Vannar said. He

looked down into her eyes. "Because it sounds to me like
you're speaking for yourself. And I already know: just one
Jedi isn't much good to anyone here in Sith space. You
won't get noticed. You won't get anywhere."

Kerra held his gaze for a moment before looking away. This
was the Vannar that other people heard -- the voice of
authority. She always heard it from his side, rarely on the
receiving end.

Suddenly, they both heard a new voice crackling from

the cockpit. Vannar and Kerra turned to look inside.

"...and you'd better get moving, Transport Four!" It was the

Sith control tower, situated on the other side of the great
hangar. They wouldn't have had a visual on the fight in the

71
rain and darkness, but they certainly knew that the
transport wasn't in the air. "Get moving, or we're coming
over there to get you!"

Vannar squeezed Kerra's wrist and released it before

reentering the cockpit. "OK, there's only one thing to do," he
instructed. "We don't have hyperdrive, but we do have a
transport. There's no sense walking the kilometers back to
our ship in a monsoon." He patted the broken console.
"Dorvin, close it up and get us out of here."

Kerra watched as Vannar stepped toward the forward

viewport. Arms crossed behind him, he looked out upon the
pouring rain. Behind him, the collected Jedi mumbled
assent. In the darkness of the hallway, Kerra knew that
Vannar was right.

There was only one thing to do.

Vannar looked at the monitor. This can't be. Not on her
first mission.
He'd gotten a flash of the girl's intentions through the Force
moments after she left the hallway, before she'd reached the
exit to the transport. He'd ordered Dorvin to secure all
hatchways against opening from the inside -- only to hear the
whoosh when the main cargo gateway opened just as the
transport was lifting off. He'd forgotten Kerra still had the
remote control for the door from the ground crew chief. But
Kerra hadn't forgotten.

She had already landed in the mud and bounded off when he
reached the opening. The transport climbing too high to jump
from, Vannar had dashed upstairs to the command center.
But even with altitude and the transport's external sensors,
Oranessan's weather made it impossible to find a single figure
on the ground.

"She can't mean to go back to where we shot down the flight

crew," Vannar said, half aloud. It was too far on foot. But
where else was there?

"We can't linger here, Master Treece," Dorvin said. They were
sitting in mid-air, not going anywhere. It was back to their own
ship or nothing. "There are dozens of Sith fighters parked

72
beyond the hangar. If we have to fight, we'll never get off
Oranessan!"

"I know, blast it!" Using a pair of macrobinoculars, he scanned

futilely ahead. "I know. But not a moment before--"

"Wait!"

To Vannar's right, Mrssk pointed to one of the monitors

looking to starboard and shouted. "Surface contact,
organic! Mark two-eighty!"

"Give me the starboard gunnery cams, infrared!" Vannar said.

Images flickered on the screen. There, through the telescopic
sighting of the vessel's landing guns, he saw a single figure
making its way from the large maintenance hangar. Fighting
to bring the image into focus, Vannar was surprised to see
sudden flashes of light from the contact. Green light.

"That's her!" Vannar yelled.

Ignoring a second, more urgent call from the Sith control

tower, Vannar directed the transport down towards the
besotted plain. Shaking his head, he marveled. Kerra had
made her lightsaber into a beacon by turning it on and off
repeatedly. Maybe one Jedi could get noticed out here -- at
least by other Jedi!

***

Kerra collapsed on the cargo deck, gasping for breath. Vannar

had been ready in the open doorway to receive her, and it
was a good thing, too. Dorvin, upstairs, had feared setting
down again in the muck; the wiry girl had been forced to leap
for the rain-slickened cargo ramp. If Vannar hadn't been right
there, she would have slipped off.

The girl rolled over, rainwater streaming off her. Vannar

looked at her muddied outfit. Over her Jedi uniform, Kerra
wore the coveralls of the woman who'd led the ground crew --
the first casualty of her return to Sith space. With one heavy
motion, Kerra pulled a large, opal tube from a long pants
pocket and slapped it on the deck grating.

Vannar gaped. "Is that?"

73
"An activation cylinder!" Appearing behind Vannar, Dorvin
reached past him and grabbed the rolling mass. "High
marks to the Padawan! I mean -- to the Knight!"

Vannar knelt beside Kerra, still choking for breath. Running in

that rain -- and in someone else's clothes! He couldn't
imagine.

She spoke. "They had to have replacement navicomputers in

the hangar," Kerra said, dripping wet. "Activation cylinders
right inside. No reason to hide the keys when there's no ships
attached!" Looking down at herself, she patted the Sith
worker's uniform -- a uniform with a large singed tear, front
and back, where the lightsaber had entered earlier. "I just
had to be able to get into the door. Luckily, no one really
looked at me. It's a pretty busy place."

"I bet it is," Vannar said, helping to steady his student and
ward as the transport gained elevation. "But I thought you
hated posing as Sith."

"I hate letting them win even more."

Vannar looked down at Kerra, amazed. Finding his comlink, he

called the Cerean. "Are we in business, Dorvin?"

"Next stop, Chelloa!"

"Very well, then. Operation Influx is onto Phase Two!"

Clicking off the comlink, Vannar patted Kerra on her shoulder

as she stood and walked past. "Pretty good work for the first
time out," he said. "But you can see what I mean. You're a
great planner, but things out here change faster than we can
plan for them." He chuckled. "Maybe you should have called it
Operation In Flux."

Shaking the water from her hair, Kerra looked back with
a smirk. "Maybe I should have planned to bring a towel."

74
 Desert Inconvenience
By: Rogue knight

Even before Urr'ror'rosh had given the order, the rest of his scouting
party was ready. No one entered the territory of the Tusken Raiders
and lived if discovered by them, and the territory of the Sand People
was basically the entire planet of Tatooine.
Urr'ror'rosh had spotted the intruder as soon as he landed his craft in
the desert. The intruder obviously did not know Tatooine well, or
otherwise he would have thought twice about landing in the midst of the
desert. In the cities of the other invaders that now blighted the land of
the Tusken Raiders at least he would have had others to help defend
him against the Sand People. Out in the open deserts however he was
on his own, and that could be fatal, and it would, as far as Urr'ror'rosh
and his scouts were concerned.
It would be done in the same way as the four always handled lone
enemies. Urr'ror'rosh and his two fellow warriors would sneak closer to
the enemy's back and cut him down with their gadderfii sticks, while
Ru'rrol'urr would keep them covered with his rifle.
It was so easy to sneak through the desert for Tusken Raiders. How
could it not be, since they lived their entire lives in the barren, sand-
filled canyons? The suns were high and baking, and to the Tusken
Raiders' advantage, since their positions would not allow the intruder to
spot their shadows when they got close to him.
The three Sand People silently moved past the intruder's spaceship.
After the being was dead they would loot the craft, looking primarily for
weapons and water. It was a large ship, so Urr'ror'rosh had high hopes
for their reward this day.
Taking his mind off dreams of the spoils of the victors and putting it
back on the task at hand, Urr'ror'rosh gestured at his companions. They
spread out, so that if the intruder spotted them he would have to defend
himself from three directions at once, as the other two warriors would
circle him. Urr'ror'rosh cast a quick glance at the nearby ridge where
Ru'rrol'urr was lying in wait with his rifle. The sniper made a veiled
gesture, assuring Urr'ror'rosh that he was ready for action.

The Sand People moved closer, their gadderfii sticks held firmly in their
hands. A single, quick swing should be more than enough. Few beings
had survived a blow from the strong Tusken Raider, and the short,
robed invader did not look like he would be more of a challenge than a
child.
The weight of the heavy weapon felt reassuring, though Urr'ror'rosh
had no need for reassurances. He was a warrior, a killer, so why would
he feel doubts? There were three possible outcomes: the being dying
without even seeing Urr'ror'rosh, the being dying a split second after
spotting Urr'ror'rosh, or the being spotting Urr'ror'rosh in time, trying to
run or fight (it did not matter which) and then dying.
That he potentially could be killed himself did not cross Urr'ror'rosh's
mind. He was a warrior, and thus death would find him sooner or later.
Worrying about it was futile. Yet some said that Tusken Raiders were
easily startled. That was only one side of the case. To Urr'ror'rosh's
people death was not something to be feared, yet there was no need in
suicidal bravery. Faced with a superior enemy, like the mighty krayt
dragon for instance, most Sand People would choose flight over
combat. Not because they feared death, but because certain death
would prevent them from fighting another day.
With but eight feet to go before he was close enough to crack open the
intruder's skull, Urr'ror'rosh assessed the foe. The small being would
hardly prove even the slightest challenge. It was about five feet and a
half tall, and wore a heavy, black robe, obscuring its form. It might have
hidden weapons under the cloth, yet they would do it no good. It was
hard to use a weapon when one's skull was broken to fragments.
The creature was either stupid or careless. It had from the moment that
the Tusken Raiders had begun sneaking in on it been completely
motionless, staring at the far away cities that other invaders called
home, not even bothering to look over its shoulder once. Maybe it was
meditating. Maybe it was just bored. Or maybe it was so arrogant and
cocky that it did not expect anything to happen to it. The reason did not
really matter to Urr'ror'rosh, who had had an easy time closing in on the
intruder.

Three feet left. Urr'ror'rosh moved like a serpent, not making any sound
at all. His two fellow warriors had stopped a few paces back, letting
Urr'ror'rosh have the honor of making the fatal strike, as it was his
privilege as the senior warrior among the band.
He moved an inch at a time, blocking everything else out. There was
just him and the victim. The fingers of his left hand locked around the
handle of his gadderfii stick, as he grabbed it with both hands for
additional leverage. He slowly raised the weapon, then moved it to his
right and back, to get a perfect swing at the unwitting foe's head.
For a brief second he just stood there, as unmoving as the intruder,
letting the feeling of exhilaration before a kill flow through his body,
intoxicating his mind. His fingers unclenched for a second, then locked
around the handle. His muscles tensed, his teeth gritted, and he drew
in air.
Urr'ror'rosh swung the weapon with a roar of battle, cleaving the air in
half. To his surprise he did not hit the victim, who was now directly
above him, completing his flawless somersault. Urr'ror'rosh was still
staring in stunned perplexity when two crimson blades of energy came
to life in the prey's hands.

The alien invader landed gracefully in the sand, his staff of bright red
energy striking so fast that Urr'ror'rosh barely realized the movement
had taken place. Then Urr'ror'rosh fell backwards, collapsing into the
sand. He was dead before his head touched the ground, a second
before his body, and his empty eyes did not see the intruder cut down
his two companions as if they were children, nor did he see how the
alien calmly parried Ru'rrol'urr's precise shot with one of his blades,
sending the blaster bolt straight back into the face of the surprised
Tusken Raider.

Darth Maul coolly switched off the blades of his lightsaber, not even
bothering to look at the four dead Tusken Raiders. He had important
work to do without being inconvenienced like this.
 Something of Value
By: Seldes Katne

Captain Panaka stared over the communications

officer's shoulder. "Still nothing?"

"No, sir."

Panaka was silent for a moment, then nodded. "All right. It

may be nothing, but we're going to have a look anyway.
Contact Team One and have them meet me in the central
courtyard." The officer acknowledged the order, and
Panaka left the communications center.

A dark-skinned, powerfully built man, Panaka had trained

offworld and served for a time with a Republic Special Task
Force. He had returned to his native world to join the Royal
Naboo Security Force and had eventually become Head of
Palace Security. Most of the time he dealt with matters at the
Palace and the spaceport, but a message had come in that
morning that turned his attention further afield.

According to the message, a farmer had reported seeing

smoke coming from the woodlands to the west of Naboo's
capital city of Theed. The local constabulary, which consisted
of three, had sent a party of two to investigate. That had
been yesterday; as of this morning neither man had returned,
and the remaining officer had radioed for reinforcements.

That far from Theed there were only a few farms, and not
much in the way of civilization. The area was at the edge of
human territory on Naboo. It was also, Panaka knew, the
closest human habitation to the territory claimed by the
Gungans. Living almost entirely under water, the non-human
inhabitants of the planet kept mostly to themselves, with only
a few individuals from either race having much contact with
each other.

Until recently. Five months ago when Naboo had been

invaded by the Trade Federation's droid army the humans and
Gungans had become allies in a three-pronged battle to
reclaim their world. For the most part successful, the event
had at least set the stage for increased contact and
cooperation between the two races. So far both sides had
been more concerned with rebuilding what had been lost, the
few reports from the Gungan city of Otoh Gunga positive,
passing on good news of restoration and a continued
suggestion of cooperation.

Panaka found the speeder parked outside the palace in the

courtyard. Lieutenant Delinar, a sturdy woman approaching
middle age, was already standing at the driver's side of the
vehicle. She saluted, a gesture Panaka returned.
"Lieutenant Frenz is getting supplies ready," she reported.
"Once that's done, we'll be ready to go."

"Good enough."

Panaka stepped back inside and flagged down a member of

the palace guard. "Tell Her Highness that we'll be out for the
next three or four days," Panaka said. Then he related the
account of the radio message and sent the man on his errand.

A lean, dark-haired young man, Lieutenant Frenz, was loading

two bundles into the speeder as Panaka walked outside. The
back seat of the speeder already held four assault guns, which
were heavier issue than usual, along with ammunition and
some smaller arms. The three officers climbed into the vehicle
and Lieutenant Delinar drove out the palace's main gate.

Normally a matter this far from the palace would be handled by

civilian law enforcement. Thanks to a long period of peace,
coupled with a general philosophy of pacifism, there hadn't been
much need for a police force on Naboo for decades. However,
after the battle with the Trade Federation a number of people
had felt a need for more of a military presence.

Officers who would normally be assigned to the area around

the capital had been sent to more outlying areas to
supplement or reinforce the local police. Maybe, Panaka
mused as the speeder left the central part of the city and
headed for the outskirts, the Queen and her advisors would
finally see the need for more officers and more training.

The ride to the constabulary outpost was uneventful. By early

afternoon the three officers had met with Lieutenant Ebri, the
remaining member of the local guards. She'd informed them
there had been no contact with the missing men. The
woodlands were quiet, with no signs of activity.

Panaka took over the radio and relayed orders to the

remainder of the palace guards back in Theed. "We'll be
moving the command center," he told them. "I'll have
Lieutenant Delinar standing by, with a portable unit we'll set
up part way back to the capital. If our party fails to check in
or a confirmed situation occurs, send out a squadron to assist.
Notify the pilots and a medical team that they're on standby."
Panaka signed off.

Sending Delinar to set up her listening post, Panaka

commandeered a second speeder. He and his officers divided
up the supplies and weapons. "All right; we'll come in from
two different directions. Radio channels are to be left open at
all times - no more 'disappearances'. Use your discretion
about when to contact me." He paused. "It could be a brush
fire, it may be the Gungans, it may be something else. Let's
find it and deal with it."

"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Ebri, a trim young woman who had only
been with the guards for a couple of years, saluted crisply and
settled herself into the driver's side of the speeder. Lieutenant
Frenz saluted as well and got in on the passenger side.

A couple of hours later Panaka was easing his way through

the underbrush on foot. He had driven the speeder as close as
possible to the target area, then had shouldered his pack and
hiked into the woods. He was beginning to understand why
the Gungans continued to use pack animals. Most of the
humans' ground-based vehicles were too large to use in the
woods, and frankly worked better on paved roads or, at least,
level ground.

This was untamed wilderness - old growth trees several meters

in diameter were common, the trunks hosting clumps of vines
and creepers. Brush, weeds, and wisps of grass grew in
abundance. There were no signs of trails, and only small,
intermittent clearings broke up the foliage. Several times he
heard things moving around him, and once he startled a flock of
peko-pekos that erupted from the grass into a frenzy of bright
feathers and shrill calls. He crouched for a while, listening, but
heard nothing to suggest that the birds' flight had alerted
anyone or anything else to his presence.

Ten minutes later Panaka caught the sound of small branches

snapping, as through something were being dragged or
pushed through the brush. He began easing forward a few
steps at a time, careful where he put his feet in an effort to
make less noise than whatever was ahead.

There was a mutter of voices, and Panaka slid into a crouch in

the middle of a grove of bushes. Carefully reaching forward he
parted a handful of leaves with his fingers. Off to his left a
figure moved, and Panaka recognized the shape - Gungan.
The creature seemed to have tossed a strap or a belt of some
kind up into the branches of a tree and was pulling at it with
both hands.

Panaka squinted at it. Another figure stepped into his limited

line of sight. As it turned sideways to face the Gungan Panaka
could see that this was a humanoid. Short tentacles rippled at
the bottom of its face, and its hand was clawed. It was a
Quarren, a native of the watery world of Mon Calamari.

What's a Quarren doing here? Panaka thought, and then the

creature brought its other hand out where he could see it. It
was holding a rod - a Gungan energy pole - and as he
watched it touched the pole to the Gungan's side. Panaka
caught a glimpse of a spark, and the Gungan squealed and
twisted away, getting only as far as the length of the strap.
Someone shouted in the distance, and the Quarren repeated
its action, forcing the Gungan up against the tree trunk. The
Quarren turned in the direction of the voice, paused, and
then lowered the energy pole. The Gungan sank against the
tree, panting.

He needed to get around this pair and see where the voice
was coming from. Only when he had a clear picture of the
whole situation could he even consider a rescue. Although it
was clear that the Gungan was a prisoner, Panaka had no idea
how many comrades the Quarren had with it, how many other
Gungans might be their captives, or what exactly was going
on.

Easing the leaves back into place Panaka slipped out of his
hiding spot and retreated back toward the speeder. When he
was certain he was out of earshot of the Quarren he
unclipped the communicator from his belt.

"Panaka to Team One. Over."

An open comm line hissed back at him. He repeated the hail,

with no response. A dampening field, he supposed, which made
sense, given what he had seen the Quarren doing.

Circling around the area would accomplish two things: give

him a better idea of what the Quarren and its friends were
up to, and bring Panaka around to Team One's position, or at
least the place where they had entered the woods.

Panaka rose and skirted around the Quarren and its captive,
far enough away so that (he hoped) neither would hear him.
The brush was beginning to thin, and visibility increased. One
hundred paces past where he had first hidden to watch the
Quarren Panaka got his first good look at what had caused the
smoke.

A mid-sized transport ship sat in a clearing next to the edge of

a lake. In the open space between the lake and the ship four
Gungans crouched, spreading what looked like kelp out onto
the grass. All four were dividing their attention between their
work and the being (apparently human) who stood watching
them. The human held a standard-issue pulse rifle.

As he crept forward Panaka caught glimpses of other beings,

either human or humanoid, either watching the Gungans or
working with them. There was at least one other Quarren in
the group.

Panaka paused in his place in the brush. Obviously these people

were interested in something under the surface of the lake; that
would explain both the Quarren and the captive Gungans. The
four Gungans working on shore wore collars -probably Slavers.
While serving with the Republic Special Task Force, he had
fought and captured a number of pirates and smugglers, and
had seen some of the tools they'd carried. Among them were
Slavers, restraints that could deliver a painful shock or cut
off an air supply. The Gungan tied to the tree hadn't worn a
collar; possibly the slavers hadn't planned on taking
captives, and had only a limited number of collars on hand.
Some of the smuggling community weren't too picky about
what kind of merchandise they bought and sold, and would
likely be carrying a few collars on board just for a situation
like this.

Besides, the Gungans maintained a warrior tradition. A

Gungan might fight against a slave collar in spite of the pain,
but by keeping one or more Gungans hostage, the slavers had
effectively "persuaded" the others to cooperate.

Panaka had counted six smugglers, but there might well be

others in the water. He glanced around at the water a few
paces to his right, briefly considered using the lake to get
around the encampment, then rejected the idea. He wasn't
carrying a breather, and he had no idea where the rest of the
work was being done under water. It would have to be back
the way he came, then. And fast - the smugglers had to
know that someone would come looking for the missing
officers sooner or later.
About twenty paces back toward his original position a
Quarren rose from the woods ahead of him, rifle trained on
him. Panaka froze. The Quarren didn't say a word, but the gun
made the creature's intent clear. Panaka raised his hands.

The Quarren came forward, circling around behind. It shoved

the barrel of the gun into his back, then grabbed him by the
scruff of the neck and swung him around, propelling him
toward the lake. At the bank, it shoved him again, so that he
stumbled into the water. Panaka suspected that he knew what
had happened to his two missing officers; a drowning was less
suspicious a cause of death than a blaster shot at close range.
The smugglers could take what they came for and be off-
planet with no one the wiser. He wondered briefly whether
they planned to kill the Gungan captives, or just transport
them off-world and sell them.

The Quarren waded into the water and, turning the rifle
sideways, rammed it into Panaka's stomach. As the human
doubled over the Quarren seized the back of his head and
shoved it underwater.

With no chance to catch a breath of air, Panaka struggled,

grabbing for the Quarren's leg. The Quarren responded by
slamming the butt of the gun into the back of his head.
Dazed, Panaka still twisted, instinctively trying to reach the
surface. His fingers closed around fabric. The Quarren held
him under with its weight - and suddenly the weight was
gone.

Panaka clawed his way to the surface, gasping and coughing.

Beside him the water churned with another struggle as the
Quarren wrestled with a lean, leather-clad shape. Gungan,
Panaka thought weakly as the Gungan punched his opponent
in the forehead. The Quarren staggered and went down, the
blaster nowhere to be seen. Still panting, Panaka managed to
stay on his feet as the Gungan turned toward him, only to
whirl at the sound of shooting. The fight had caught the
attention of some of the rest of the smugglers.

"Need - to get -" Panaka gasped, but never finished his

sentence. The Gungan seized him by the front of his shirt,
right fist clenched. The blow caught the human in the chin
hard enough to daze him. Clamping a hand over Panaka's
mouth and nose the Gungan took them both under water.

For a few moments Panaka couldn't move. Sounds under

water were muted but he thought he heard gunfire. He had no
air; his hands clutched at the Gungan's arm, and then tore at
the fingers over his face. Kicking and struggling, his vision
darkening, he fought both the Gungan and a growing
weakness in arms, legs and shoulders.

Suddenly he was shoved upwards. Gulping air, he felt ground

under his feet as someone grabbed the collar of his shirt and
pulled him into shallower water. Coughing, he stumbled
toward land. They were in a dimly lit pool leading up to a dirt
floor. Panaka collapsed onto the bank, finding a dirt ceiling
over his head. They were underground.

The Quarren erupted from the water, blaster in hand. The

Gungan promptly put his head down and charged, slamming
into his opponent at waist level. The Quarren tumbled over
backwards still clutching the blast rifle. The Gungan pounced
on the weapon and twisted it away from its owner. He backed
up two paces, brought the rifle up and pulled the trigger. The
blast caught the Quarren in the face. It went down and didn't
get up again.

Half sitting, half lying on the bank Panaka managed to catch

enough of his breath to demand, "Why did you do that? He
had information we needed!"

The Gungan threw him a look over his shoulder before diving
below the pool surface, taking the dead Quarren with him.
Panaka staggered to his feet, looking around the small
chamber. A globe of light provided the only illumination in the
cavern. There were a few tools Panaka didn't recognize, an
energy pole, and not much else. He glanced toward the back
of the room, where the light was dimmest, and realized he
wasn't alone.

One look at the Gungan lying in semi-darkness, and Panaka

knew the human security forces on Naboo weren't the only
ones suffering the loss of an officer. The Gungan was
stretched out on his back, the blackening hole of a blaster
shot leaving the upper torso open. This one, at least, had died
fighting, wounds in front.

The first Gungan's head broke the surface of the pool, and
Panaka rose from his place beside the corpse. The Gungan
was panting as he stood in the shallows. "Wesa needsa watch
for a while. There may be more commin."

"You had to shoot him?"

The Gungan nodded. "Hesa followed us'n. Besides, this way

mebbe hiss friends will think they shot 'im temselves." He
stumbled up onto dry land and stood leaning against the wall
of the chamber, breathing deeply.

Panaka peered at him closely. He recognized the Gungan from

the strategy session over the Battle for Naboo and the parade
afterward. "Captain Tarpals, isn't it?"

The Gungan nodded wearily. "Yessah. My remember yousa,

Panaka - that's why yousa down here and not still uppa
there." He shook himself and stood away from the wall. Tall
and lean, even for a Gungan, the Captain wore the same
leather uniform of most of the Gungan soldiers, including the
piece that fit over his face. Tarpals also sported a set of
whiskery growths on his upper lip. Panaka couldn't tell if they
were a racial characteristic or whether they constituted the
Gungan equivalent of a mustache.

Panaka pulled himself into a sitting position. The Gungan

waded back into the water, reaching down to pull the blast
rifle out of the shallows. He studied the gun for a moment,
and then offered it to Panaka. The human accepted it and
examined the settings while the Gungan walked back to the
shore and bent down to pick up the energy pole. He glanced
at the grip, grimaced, and then crouched beside Panaka, pole
held in both hands. "Theysa not much charge left." He nodded
at the rifle. "Howsa that?"

"It should work - these things are built pretty tough. It

would be better to take it apart and let it dry out, though."
Panaka pulled the power pack out. "You wouldn't happen to
have a dry cloth here, by any chance?"

Tarpals glanced over his shoulder at the dead officer, and then
shook his head. "Not much inta line of supplies down here."

Panaka began disassembling the rifle. "I guess air drying

will have to do." He spread the pieces out on the bank. Then
he glanced at the body behind them. "I'm...sorry about your
officer." The Gungan nodded, saying nothing. "What can you
tell me about what's happening on shore?"

Tarpals was silent, studying the water. Then he sighed. "Mesa

t'inks a dozen Outlanders uppa there. Theysa got four of our'n
folk, plus one'a my's officers prisoner. My've seen them tekkin
watcherim outt'n the water and dryin' it on shore."

"What's this watcherim?"

"Issa food plant. Wesa grow it in small patches in the
outlying villages." The Gungan shook his head. "Why anyone
wansa steal it, mesa not know. Iss not very valuable."

Panaka frowned. "Not to your people, maybe. But plants can

have different effects on different beings. Something you eat
on a daily basis may turn out to have medical uses on other
planets, or be poisonous for others, or even be a narcotic on
some worlds. That would make it extremely valuable to the
right people."

"Yousa t'inking these Outlanders iss drug runners?" Tarpals

mused.

Panaka thought for a moment. "It would make sense," he

replied finally. "I suspect that during the Occupation, some,
ah, enterprising member of the Trade Federation took
samples of the local plant life, or talked to prisoners about it,
or found records someplace. They need to be stopped, and
fast. If they get away with this, you can bet there'll be more
smugglers coming to get their piece of the profit."

The Gungan stared thoughtfully at the far wall across the

pool. "My agrees with yousa," he said finally. "Wesa needsa
stop them. There's reinforcements commin, but theysa tekkin'
three, mebbe four days to get here. If'n what yousa saying is
right, wesa needsa do something now."

"Right. My patrol and I brought a pair of speeders and left

them well out of the target area. Unless these off-worlders
hike in the right direction and know exactly where to look,
they're not likely to find our transportation." Panaka shifted
position. "The speeders may be far enough outside, or can
take us outside the dampening field. Then we could
communicate with the capital and get a couple of aircraft out
here to disable the smugglers' ship. That would keep them
stranded on Naboo until we could round them all up."

"Yousa brought a patrol?" the Gungan asked, finally easing

out of his crouch and sitting on the bank next to Panaka.
"What happened to dem?"

Panaka shook his head. "I don't know. They may still be alive
and mobile, but I have to assume they're not and that
everything depends on us. What we need now is to get from
here back to our speeders. I suspect our smugglers may
have sensors set up around the ship."

"Ssensorss," Tarpals echoed. "What'n that?"

"They're...devices that tell you what's going on in a specific
area." Panaka's hand moved in a circle. "They can detect
movement, sometimes body heat - it depends. We may be
able to slip past them. What do you think our chances are by
water?"

The Gungan considered. "My've seen three of dees-" here he

wriggled the fingers of his left hand under his chin to simulate
tentacles, "swimmers."

"They're called Quarren. They come from a planet that's

almost entirely water." He'd have to explain Mon Calamari in
more detail sometime; he suspected Tarpals would appreciate
the information and be sharp enough to understand it. The
only Gungan who had ever been off the planet had been Jar
Jar Binks, and that mostly by accident.

"Quarn," Tarpals echoed. "Mm. If'n they's smart, theysa have

at least one in the water to keep watch. If'n wesa wait 'til
dark, wesa could get out by water, swim long way 'round to
the shore, then wesa be outside their," the Gungan's upper lip
curled slightly at the unfamiliar word, "ssensors."

"I don't think we should wait that long. Aside from your
people being captives, the smugglers could up ship at any
time." Panaka thought for a moment. "Although at this point
there's not much we could do to stop them, is there?"

Tarpals shook his head. "Wesa needsa wait. My've been

waiting for almost two days. Theysa prob'ly still searching for
us'n out there. B'sides, yousa can't swim very far under
water. How's yousa goin' get pasta guards if'n yousa in plain
sight?"

Annoyed, Panaka had to agree. "We'll still have to hike to the

speeders," he pointed out. "Depending on how far out we get,
that could take more time than we have." He looked at
Tarpals as the Gungan smiled and shook his head. "What?"

"Mesa got that problem solved. Wesa get to land, my'll tekk
care'n the rest. Yousa no worry 'bout that. Shesa still out
there somewhere."

Panaka stared at him. " 'She' who? I thought you said there
were only three of you when you got out here." He glanced at
the body at the back of the cavern.

The Gungan snorted softly through his whiskers. Panaka

suspected his companion was laughing. "What, yousa t'inkin'
wesa walked here? Wesa mounted patrol. Theysa least one
kaadu out there in the woods. Wesa find her, shesa carry
us'n."

"Okay, we've got a plan. All we need to do is wait until dark."

Panaka thought for a moment. "On the other hand... I hate
to say this, but I think we might better wait until just before
dawn. We're going to need to see where we're going, not just
in the water, but when we get to shore. I have a homing
beacon for my speeder, but there's no way I'll be able to see
it in the dark."

Tarpals considered. "Thassa mekkin' sense. Wesa take

turns sleeping, then head out in the early morning."

Before lying down to sleep, Panaka related the tale of his

patrol's activities. "We still don't know what happened to the
two officers who originally came to investigate, although I
suspect they're both dead," he concluded. "That Quarren
was certainly ready to kill me."

The Gungan nodded. "Mesa no think these smugglers have

much use for the Naboo," he agreed softly, looking down at
the ground between them. "But wesa don' know that for
sure." Changing the subject, he told Panaka some of what had
brought the Gungans to the site. "Wesa were on patrol
through our outlying villages, four of us'n. Farmers tol' us'n
'bout strange noises inna water. Wesa thought mebbe it was
sea monsters come through the repellent fields.

"Mesa sent one soldier, 'long with one'a the farmers, back to
Otoh Gunga to tell the Bosses what happened, then the three
of us'n headed this way. Wesa found a homestead, abandoned
wesa thought.

"The Outlanders surprised us'n. Theysa fired at us'n, killed

one'a the kaadu and tekking the rider pris'ner." Tarpals sat
blinking in silence for a moment. "The two of us'n fought
back, but there were too many of them." The Gungan glanced

89
over his shoulder. "Eldess was killed in the water. By then
wesa both been thrown, and the kaadus fled into the woods."

Panaka looked around. "How did you know this cave was
here?"

The Gungan snorted again. "Thissen the guard post for

this area. Wesa use this for patrols. Wesa built this."

"You've got more of these around?"

"Wesa got posts all 'round the p'rimiter of the swamplands.

Patrols are scheduled regular. Theysa good for training."

"I'll bet." Panaka paused. "Well, I guess we've done all we

can for now. We probably should rest while we've got the
chance. Do you want the first watch, or shall I take it?"

"My've got it." Tarpals rose and waded into the pool.

"All right. Wake me in a couple of hours." Tarpals stared back

at him. Panaka realized the Gungan probably had no idea
how long an hour was. "Or whenever you need a break." He
laid the rifle on the ground, stretched out beside it and closed
his eyes.

They traded watches twice during the night. Panaka woke an

indeterminate time after the second switch with Tarpals's wet,
whiskery face peering at him. "My've been up already," the
Gungan told him. "Issa getting light soon. Wesa go now."
Panaka rose and stretched, then set about reassembling the
rifle.

"The smugglers don' seem to know wesa here, and

no'un entered the pool," Tarpals continued as he picked
up the energy pole. "Yousa ready?"

"Is it much of a swim?" Panaka asked as they waded into the

water.

Tarpals shook his head. "Iss no' far to the surface. But wesa
needsa swim as far underwater as wesa can, so's wesa
surface 'way from the ship. Yousa needs hang onto my belt?"

"Guess I'd better," Panaka answered. "Once we're outside,

I can surface if I really need to."

90
When his head broke surface Panaka took a moment to get
his bearings. Only the dimmest light showed that sunrise was
on the way; even better, there seemed to be a fog over the
water. Tarpals had surfaced an arm's length away, only his
eyes showing, his long haillu trailing in the water behind him
like weeds. Panaka suddenly realized how the Gungan could
have spent two days watching the smugglers virtually
undetected; by floating close to shore among the water
plants, Tarpals blended in with the stalks and floating
vegetation.

The Gungan's head cleared the water just enough to murmur,

"Wesa going," before ducking back under and turning away.
Panaka followed.

There was plenty of light by the time Tarpals headed toward

the bank, well away from the smugglers' ship. The sun was
just below the horizon, the sky turning from charcoal grey to
light yellow. The Gungan floated in the shallows, listening.
Then he crept out of the water and onto the bank.

Panaka joined him in the underbrush. "Now what?"

Tarpals glanced around, then placed one hand over his muzzle
and produced a warbling sound. "Now wesa wait," he
whispered back. Panaka spent a few minutes looking the rifle
over while Tarpals repeated the sound several times.

Finally in the distance there came an answering

warble. Tarpals called again.

From the brush to their right came a telltale whine, and the
grass burst into flame. Crouching, both human and Gungan
scrambled in the other direction.

"The smugglers know we're here!" Panaka snapped. "They

may have had a sentry in the water."

"Deesa way!" Tarpals rose from his crouch and broke into a
run.

"You think you can catch a kaadu like this"" Panaka was running
hard on the Gungan's heels. "They're shooting at us!"

91
"Shesa no be carrin' 'bout that," Tarpals called back. "Shesa
trained for battle - shesa be there." He warbled again, and the
answer came back much closer. "Wesa needsa keep moving!"

They burst through the brush and skidded to a halt as the

kaadu - a two-legged animal with leathery hide and a duck-
billed muzzle - almost ran then down. She still wore saddle
and bridle. Tarpals grabbed the reins and clucked at her. The
kaadu sank into a crouch and the Gungan swung into the
saddle. He held out a hand to his human companion.

Panaka dodged around the kaadu suddenly, aimed the blast

rifle into the trees, and fired twice. Someone screamed. The
human slung the strap of the rifle over his shoulder and all
but ran up the kaadu's leg to fling himself into the saddle
behind the Gungan. Tarpals clucked again, and the kaadu
rose. Shouting, he slapped the reins against her neck. The
kaadu leaped forward.

"Head north!" Panaka shouted.

Tarpals half-turned in the saddle. "Yousa hang onto

mesa, now!"

Panaka gripped the Gungan's belt as the kaadu's gait jounced

them both. He unlimbered the rifle and held it in a firing
position. "Don't worry - I'll be right behind you all the way!"

The Gungan threw him a look over his shoulder. He still

carried the energy pole in the hand not gripping the reins.

The bushes and trees blurred past. In a few minutes they had
outdistanced any pursuit on foot, but Panaka kept looking
back over his shoulder. One of several things could happen
now. The smugglers could break out whatever speeders or
other personal mechanical transportation they had and come
after the escapees, or recall all personnel and take off with
their cargo, or lift off now and leave behind anyone
unfortunate enough to still be out in the woods. Unless
Panaka's two officers were still alive and free, only he and
Tarpals would know what was really happening here. If the
smugglers knew it was just one human and one Gungan, their
best bet would be to eliminate the two witnesses, finish
loading the contraband as quickly as possible, and then lift off.
Not only would killing Panaka and Tarpals buy the smugglers
92
more time, it would also remove the only two people
that could identify the ship and various crew members.

Panaka laid the gun across his lap and reached into his belt
pouch for the tracking device. "Start working your way west,"
he shouted to his companion, and the Gungan nodded. "At
this pace, it won't be long at all."

The kaadu's pace slowed as she plowed through small bushes

and skirted trees. Her riders had to duck branches. Panaka
jounced in the saddle, but Tarpals seemed to have no trouble
keeping his seat, swaying with the rhythm of the kaadu's
footfalls. Occasionally Tarpals would raise the energy pole to
push branches out of the way.

"A little more to the north," Panaka called forward. He was

hearing a strange droning noise. For a moment he thought the
jolting might be affecting his ears; then the sound deepened
into the whirring of a motor. The smugglers were after them.

A kaadu might be the fastest animal on land, Panaka thought,

but it would be no match for a speeder bike or other machine.
"Tarpals!" The Gungan glanced over his shoulder. "In a couple
of minutes we'll be at the spot where I left my speeder. I'm
going to jump!"

The Gungan shook his head. "Thass a bombad idee," he

shouted over his shoulder. "Yousa gonna brekka you neck!"

"You'll have to slow down a little -" Panaka broke off. Once
again the brush nearby exploded into flames, and the kaadu
suddenly swerved to the right to avoid it. Panaka clamped his
knees against the kaadu's flanks, whipped around and
snapped off a shot at their pursuers. He caught a glimpse of a
two-man bike behind them.

"You'll need to slow down. When I'm off, take them around
in a circle and bring them back to the speeder. I've got a
weapon mount - I can get them off your tail." The Gungan
opened his mouth; but Panaka cut him off. "Just do it!" He
twisted in the saddle to fire again at the bike. The driver
swerved and disappeared between the trees. "Now!"

Tarpals hauled back on the reins, and the kaadu slowed.

Panaka jumped, rolling to absorb the force of the landing.

93
With a shout, Tarpals urged the kaadu back to full speed and
vanished into the brush. Panaka heard the telltale whir of the
engine as the bike shot past in pursuit.

Shoving the blast rifle into the crook of a tree, Panaka

scrambled for the speeder, which stood mostly hidden among
the bushes. He stabbed the power button, then flung himself
into the back seat and unlimbered the gun, swinging it around
to face the direction in which Tarpals had disappeared. For a
few moments there was no sound other than the rustle of
leaves. Then he caught the snapping of branches and the roar
of an engine.

The kaadu, rider still mounted, burst from the bushes to his
right and shot past him. Panaka hastily swung the gun around
and opened fire, strafing in a sweeping arc. Someone yelled,
and the speeder bike materialized in the same place from
which the kaadu had appeared. Panaka fired at it, trying to
match the bike's momentum as it passed. The bike slammed
into a tree a few meters away and exploded. Panaka ducked
into the back seat to avoid the heat of the fire.

A few minutes later Tarpals reappeared from a different direction,

the kaadu now moving at a walk. He pulled up next to the
speeder, where Panaka was scanning the surrounding area for
any survivors. "Thass fine shooting!" the Gungan remarked,
eyeing the wreckage. Panaka managed a tired grin.

"Thanks. Now, let's get some back-up." He reached into the

driver's side of the vehicle and unhooked the remote comlink.
Adjusting the frequency, he spoke into it. "Panaka to Delinar."

A burst of static followed, then a fuzzy voice answered.

"Captain Panaka! I've been trying to reach you!"

"Report, Lieutenant."

"Sir, when you didn't check in, I ordered the pilots to wait in
the hanger bay in pairs. We're less than an hour from sending
out aerial search parties."

"Launch a pair of fighters to our position." Panaka craned his

neck to read off the coordinates on the speeder's control panel.
"Send the best pilots we've got. We have one mid-sized freighter
on the lakeshore and probably a dozen -" he glanced

94
at Tarpals for confirmation and the Gungan nodded, "-
smugglers manning her. They've got hostages, at least five
Gungans and maybe some of our people as well. Tell the
gunners to cripple her on the ground if at all possible. Send a
squad of ground troops to the same coordinates. Once the
ship's disabled, we'll still need help dealing with the
smugglers."

"Yes, sir!" There was a pause on the other end as Delinar

relayed the orders. Then her voice returned. "Captain,
what will you do now?"

"I'm going back to the freighter," Panaka replied. "I've got

some help on this end. We're going to try to keep the
smugglers busy. Panaka out." He reached back into the
speeder and tapped a security code into the keypad on the
storage compartment's door. Inside sat the spare weapons he
had locked in before he'd headed into the woods, along with a
set of spare energy packs. One blaster went into his empty
holster and an energy pack into a pouch on his belt. A
moment later he fished a handheld computer unit out and
tucked that into a pouch. Then he pulled a second blaster out
and offered it to Tarpals, who accepted it with a pleased look
on his face. Although the Gungan didn't have a holster, the
blaster could be thrust firmly through his belt.

"When you're ready to shoot, press this," Panaka said,

indicating the safety switch, "then aim using this," he tapped
the sighting scope, "and pull the trigger here." He
demonstrated, and the Gungan copied his moves. Tarpals
tucked the blaster into the back of his belt

"Ready?" Panaka asked.

By way of reply, Tarpals clucked again to the kaadu, which

obediently sank into a crouch and allowed Panaka to climb
back on. A few moments later they were trotting through the
brush toward the smuggler ship.

"Our pilots will be here in a few minutes," Panaka explained.

"If they can hit the ship while it's on the ground, it'll be up to
us to keep the smugglers from killing the hostages. You've
been around the ship for the last two days. What can you
tell me about the exits?"

95
"My've been in the water for the last two days," Tarpals
corrected him. "Thesa one main ramp leading to the shore
side of they'n's ship. If'n thesa more exits, my've not seen
them." He pulled back on the reins, bringing the kaadu to a
stop, then turned slightly in the saddle. "Wesa might'n have
problems with dees... sssensors. My could come in by water,
but-"

"Wait. You take the weapon, come in by water, and start

shooting. While you're drawing their attention, I'll try to slip
in by land and use this," he pulled the handheld computer
unit out of his belt pouch, "to open the lock on a back hatch."

The Gungan eyed the computer doubtfully. "This'n explosive?"

"No, actually, it's a lock-pick." Panaka grinned. "It's a

standard issue for law enforcement. We use it mostly to help
people who lock themselves out of their houses, but it has
other uses, too. And if that doesn't work," here he patted the
blaster in its holster, "I've got a couple of other tools. Once
I'm inside the ship, I can either take out the engines or
members of the crew." He paused thoughtfully. "You said one
of your officers is being held prisoner? Too bad we couldn't
get him a weapon, too."

"Yousa no worry 'bout that," Tarpals replied, as the

kaadu crouched to let Panaka off. "Mesa sure the
smugglers will have alla the weapons wesa need'n."

"I'll get as close as I can, and then wait for the blaster
firing," Panaka told him. "Good luck, Captain."

"Yousa the same," the Gungan replied, and the kaadu rose
and carried him out of sight. Tarpals rode the kaadu straight
for the lake at a dead gallop, pulling to a stop just short of
the edge. Flipping the reins up onto the animal's neck, the
Gungan paused to power up the blaster rifle, then dismounted
and jogged into the water, diving as soon as he was far
enough out.

The smuggler camp was roiling with activity. Three of the

captives were rushing bundles up the ramp and into the ship
while two others sat to one side under guard. Tarpals surfaced
amid the same clump of water plants that had shielded him
for the past two days, and waited. A third captive was added

96
to the two sitting on the bank, and then a fourth, and finally
the fifth. Tarpals stood up, swung the barrel of the rifle at the
guards now leveling their weapons at the prisoners, and
opened fire.

The first guard collapsed, mortally wounded; the second was

cut down as he swung to fire at Tarpals. Two more figures
appeared around the side of the ship, closely followed by a
third, and the two men who had been overseeing the loading
of the contraband sprang into sight in the opening at the top
of the ramp. All five of the captive Gungans had thrown
themselves on the ground.

The smuggler guards opened fire. Tarpals dove and

immediately twisted to avoid the shots, eeling through the
water. He surfaced close to shore, put a hand to his
muzzle, and made a trilling call.

Crouched just beyond what he thought was the edge of the

sensors, Panaka waited. At the first sounds of fire he sprinted
for the ship, watching the guards pelting toward the action on
the lakeshore. Finding the closest exit hatch he slapped the
lock pick over the keypad, and the computer began cycling
through number codes. Panaka's gaze flickered back and forth
between his wrist chronometer and the computer's display
panel. He'd decided on a thirty second deadline to break the
code; after that, he'd shoot his way in.

Three humans and a pair of Quarren bore down on Tarpals's

position. As the first man brought his rifle down to take aim
the brush nearby burst apart and the Gungan's kaadu, drawn
by her rider's call bounded over the prone captives to land
squarely on top of the smuggler. The man didn't move as the
kaadu, bawling loudly, slammed into two of the remaining
smugglers, aimed a vicious kick at a third, and then broke into
a gallop across the clearing in front of the ship.

One of the captives rolled to where the dead man lay and
snatched up his weapon, barking an order to the Gungans
still on the ground. All four of them scrambled for the woods
on hands and knees.

A high-pitched mechanical scream in the distance heralded

the approach of two Naboo fighters, and suddenly the
smugglers abandoned their attack on the Gungans and fled

97
toward their freighter. Tarpals scrambled up the bank to join
his officer, but both were forced into the woods by covering
fire from the two men crouched at the top of the boarding
ramp.

Panaka jerked his head up at the sound of his approaching

pilots. He took two steps back, aimed the blaster and fired
into the hatch's keypad, which exploded in a shower of sparks
and metal. He shoved the blaster back into its holster and
reached into the keypad opening, singeing his fingers on the
burning wiring within, and twisted a metal rod. The hatch slid
open a hand's width - and stopped.

Conscious of the fact that he'd probably just set off half a
dozen internal alarms, Panaka braced one hand and foot
against the open edge of the hatch and shoved. The door slid
laboriously open. Once inside the hatch he shattered the red
plastic covering of the emergency controls, and a moment
later was drawing his pistol in the dim light of the ship's
corridor.

Explosions sounded from outside, and the ship's deck

pitched under his feet. Panaka braced himself against the
corridor wall. If that hadn't been a direct hit, it had certainly
been close. Pistol held in a firing position, Panaka started
forward. He needed to find the cockpit or the engine room
and get control of the ship as soon as possible.

Footsteps rang on the metal floor and a Quarren burst into

view at the end of the corridor. Gun already in position,
Panaka fired; the Quarren went down and stayed there.
Panaka leaned forward to relieve the creature of its gun, and
caught the sound of faint shouting.

The door ahead on to his right opened to reveal what were

unmistakably captives - two small Gungans huddled on
the floor of a cage, and Lieutenant Ebri shackled to the
wall beside them.

"Captain Panaka!"

"Get your head down." Panaka fired a single shot to shatter

the bolt holding his officer in place. Ebri slid to the floor, metal
cuffs still on her wrists, but no longer bound.

98
"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" Panaka asked as he
crouched beside her.

"Mostly, sir. I'm just bruised in a few places." Ebri was trying
unsuccessfully to slide the bindings over her hands. The cuffs
wouldn't fit, no matter how she tried to tuck her thumbs in.
Finally she gave up and ran one had through her hair; the
blond strands had come loose and were straggling into her
eyes. "I think they kept me alive because they thought they
could sell me off-world after they were done here."

"Is anyone else -"

"I - I don't think so, sir," Ebri's eyes closed and she dropped
her hands into her lap. "I haven't seen anyone except these
two." She opened her eyes and turned her head toward the
two small Gungans. The larger of the two drew itself up onto
its elbows and blinked weakly at Panaka. The smaller one
made no movement at all.

Panaka's mouth thinned as he turned back to Ebri. "Can you

move?"

"Yes, sir -"

The ship lurched, throwing Panaka to the floor beside his

officer. The larger Gungan pressed back against the wall.

"Are we - did they -" Ebri was scanning the ceiling.

"I think we're off the ground," Panaka responded grimly. He

gripped the blaster tightly. "We need to get forward to the
cockpit -"

An explosion rumbled from the rear of the ship. The deck

tilted sharply, forcing both officers to scramble for the
nearest solid object. There was a crash and a shriek of metal;
the deck bucked several times beneath them, then came to a
shuddering stop for a moment before beginning a side-to-side
rolling motion. The roaring of the engines had faded to almost
nothing.

"Is that -"

"Re-enforcements," Panaka told her, scrambling to his feet.

"Sounds like our pilots hit the engines, and we're in the water.

99
I have an extra gun for you. We need to get up front and get
control of the ship. You up for it?"

Ebri nodded grimly. "Let's go."

Out in the corridor Panaka and Ebri stepped over the dead
Quarren and headed forward, Panaka leading. Water was
already beginning to slosh along the floor plates.

The freighter's deck design was simple: two decks, each with
a main corridor. Several ladders connected the two decks.
Panaka paused at the bottom of one ladder and peered
upward. He glanced back over his shoulder at Ebri, who
nodded and stepped closer, pointing her weapon up to cover
the opening above. Blaster clutched in his right hand,
Panaka scrambled upwards.

Ebri began firing past him as he neared the top of the ladder.
He gathered himself and sprang over the last two rungs to
land on the deck in a crouch. He could hear Ebri's boots on
the ladder behind him, and a moment later she was crouched
in the corridor with her back to him, firing toward the rear of
the ship.

"Forward!" he shouted over his shoulder, and sprinted toward

the front of the ship.

Two men materialized out of a doorway to his left. Panaka

shot the first one, and the second halted, dropped his
weapon on the deck and raised his hands. "Don't shoot!"
Panaka shoved him back into the room, reversed his grip on
the blaster, and slammed it against the side of the man's
head. The smuggler collapsed.

At the end of the corridor, a pair of metal doors stood firmly

closed. Panaka fired into the center of the door seam; the
shot left barely a blackened mark. "We need to find something
to pry these open," he told Ebri. Both officers began moving
along the corridor, opening hatch doors in search of tools, Ebri
finally locating a long piece of metal that would serve as a
crowbar. Several more shots put enough of a dent in the seam
to force the crowbar between the doors.

"Sir, if we don't do something soon, we're going to be trapped in

here with the smugglers," Ebri pointed out as she and

100
Panaka positioned themselves on the end of the metal piece.
"And those Gungan children -"

"Know how to hold their breath under water, just like the
adults," Panaka finished for her. "If we're in the water,
Lieutenant, I think we have help on the way. Now, push."

Sparks erupted from a wall panel as the officers shoved

against the crowbar, and the doors began to inch open. A
stream of water poured out of the crack. Panaka let go of the
metal and braced himself in the door opening, shoving with
both hands and feet. Ebri stepped back and lifted her gun.

The control room was a shambles. One human was slumped in

a chair at the control panel, a second stirring feebly on the
floor. The front view plate was cracked, water running in
rivulets down the walls and across the deck. Outside, the
water level lapped about two-thirds of the way up the view
plate.

"This ship's going down fast," Panaka remarked as he

stepped forward to check the unconscious man for a pulse.
Ebri stood back and covered him. Panaka holstered the
blaster and grabbed the seated smuggler under the arms.
"Let's get them out into the corridor," he ordered, and Ebri
motioned with her weapon to herd the second man outside.
From somewhere in the back of the ship came the shouts of
other surviving crewmembers.

With both men out in the corridor Panaka stepped back into
the cockpit, cast around for the intercom controls, and spoke
into the loudspeaker. "Attention all personnel. This ship is
under the control of Naboo security forces. All remaining
crewmembers are ordered to leave your weapons behind and
come to the forward cockpit immediately. Bring all underwater
breathing apparatus with you - the ship is sinking fast and we
will need to swim to shore." He switched off the intercom and
stood peering into the water, which was creeping up the view
plate. "Come on, Tarpals, we could use some help here."

Outside in the corridor the remaining members of the

smuggler crew had arrived, climbing up from the lower
deck. Ebri stood with her back to the cockpit door, weapon
trained on the new arrivals, both of whom dropped their
weapons back down the ladder on her order.

101
"There's another of your people in the room down the hall,"
Panaka told them. He relieved the smugglers of the breathers
they'd brought; there were plenty of the devices to go around.
"Get the last man up here, and get a breather into the mouth of
anyone who's unconscious. Where's the nearest airlock?"

"Emergency exit at the end of the corridor," one of the men

replied, jerking his head aft.

"Get everyone down there," Panaka said. Two of the men

began dragging their unconscious shipmate toward the rear of
the ship; a third, still staggering, stumbled to the room that
held his last crewmate. Panaka motioned to Ebri. "Can you
get below and free those Gungans? I want to keep an eye on
this lot."

"Yes, sir." Ebri slung the gun strap over her shoulder and
trotted to the ladder, disappearing below decks. A few
minutes later the sound of a single shot echoed up from
below.

Panaka motioned everyone to the end of the corridor and

waited, but Ebri did not reappear. Finally, he retreated back
to the ladder and called down, "What's taking so long,
Lieutenant?"

There was a pause. "I'm sorry, Captain. I had to shoot the

lock to get the cage open. The littlest Gungan isn't moving
at all, and I can't convince the bigger one to come out of the
cage. It's probably scared to death."

"Bring the smaller one," Panaka shouted back. "Maybe the

bigger one will follow." A few moments later Ebri appeared at
the ladder, the Gungan slung over her shoulder. The water
on the lower deck was almost to her waist. Bracing the
Gungan against her shoulder, she began to climb, struggling
to balance herself with her free hand.

"The other one's still down there," she told him as she
stepped onto the deck. "Sir, maybe I should stay -"

"No," Panaka replied. "I'd rather you go with this one. I don't
know if it'll wake up once you're outside or not, but if it
doesn't, you'll need to get it to the surface right away. I'll
take care of the other one." He looked up at the group of

102
smugglers standing warily at the escape hatch. "You. Out. Get
to the surface and go straight to shore. We've got Gungan
allies outside, and they are not happy with any of you right
now. If I were you, I wouldn't do anything to aggravate
them." He nodded to Ebri and put the breather into his mouth.
She copied his motions.

One of the men pressed the emergency switch, and the

escape hatch blew open, disappearing in a cloud of bubbles as
a great rush of water flooded the corridor. The smugglers
vanished into the wave, struggling against the flow. Panaka
nodded to Ebri, who, carrying the Gungan, plunged under the
water and swam for the opening.

A series of agonized squeals rang from the lower deck. Panaka

jerked the breather out of his mouth, and clung to the ladder
as he bent over the opening in the floor, where the water was
rushing downward in a whirlpool. "Look, if you can hear me,
I'm not going to hurt you," he shouted. "We need to get out of
this ship." The squealing continued unabated.

The water was now almost chest-high, and Panaka slid the
breather into his mouth. He made a move to swing himself
onto the ladder - and a long grey shape slid through the
hatchway and plowed toward him. The Gungan surfaced an
arm's length away, bracing itself against a support beam, and
eyed Panaka distrustfully. The human gestured forcefully
down the ladder. The Gungan dove and, ignoring the ladder
completely, dropped through the hole and splashed into the
water below. The wailing of the younger Gungan abruptly
ceased.

A second grey shape shot through the emergency exit, and a

familiar face emerged from the water. "Yousa needsa go,"
Tarpals barked over the sloshing of the rapidly rising water.

"There's -"

"My will take care'n them." The Gungan jerked his head
toward the rear of the ship. Panaka dove beneath the water's
surface and sculled to the hatchway, braced his legs against
the outer hull and pushed out into open water.

The smugglers' ship was almost completely underwater by the

time he surfaced and began the swim to shore. Midway there,

103
the two adult Gungans appeared. The unfamiliar one
surfaced briefly and blinked at Panaka a couple of times
before diving again; he caught a glimpse of the youngster
below it in the water. Shortly thereafter Tarpals himself
appeared almost at Panaka's elbow. The human stopped
swimming and tread water. "Is everyone all right?"

"Theysa fine," Tarpals replied. "Yousa the last." The Gungan

captain accompanied Panaka until the human stumbled out of
the water and collapsed on the bank.

Someone had radioed an "all clear" to the medical rescue

team, Panaka thought wearily as he caught sight of a pair of
small crafts winging their way toward him over the water.
The tiny ships hovered for a moment over the open bank,
then settled near the water's edge. One ship dispatched a
pair of medical officers; the second held half a dozen security
officers. The lieutenant in charge eyed the Gungans
uncertainly until Panaka hailed him.

"Leave them alone for now," Panaka told him. He indicated

the smugglers. "Take these people into custody. Charges
of murder, smuggling, kidnapping. And whatever else I
can think of when I've had a chance."

He spent the better part of an hour fending off the doctors as

he organized search parties to begin looking for the three
missing officers. One of the physicians finally forced him to sit
down and eat, for which he was secretly grateful. The rest of
the medical staff was busy treating the smugglers for
assorted injuries before they were shipped back to Theed. The
pause gave him time to talk to Lieutenant Ebri, whom he had
ordered off duty. The woman was sitting with her back
against a tree, legs drawn up to her body and arms folded on
her knees.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said as they sat on the bank, gazing out
over the water and trying to politely ignore the knot of
Gungans off to one side. "I just - it's not fair that the only
reason I'm still alive is because someone thought of me as a
valuable commodity. And the smugglers didn't spare anyone
else, except those two Gungan children, who they kept alive
for the same reason."

104
"First of all, we don't know for certain that you are the only
survivor," Panaka told her. "There's a chance that we may find
one or more of the others still alive out in the woods. And the
fact that you were alive and on that ship meant that there
were an extra pair of hands to capture the rest of the
smugglers, and give those two youngsters a chance to
survive."

Both humans found their attention drawn to the Gungans as

the group rose, almost as an individual, and waded into the
water. One of the adults was carrying the smaller of the two
children. Tarpals and the larger child stopped midway out, but
the rest of the Gungans kept wading until they were nearly
chest-deep in water. The Gungans not holding the child began
dipping their hands into the water; they alternated between
trickling the moisture over the youngster, and rubbing
handfuls of water over the child's face, arms, and haillu. After
a few minutes, the adult holding the child eased into the
water and disappeared from sight, resurfacing again to allow
the other adults to resume stroking the child.

Panaka and Ebri sat watching. "Do you know what they're
doing, Captain?" Ebri asked finally.

"No. I don't know any more about the Gungans and their
rituals than you do."

Ebri sighed. "We've shared the planet with them for millennia,
and we still know next to nothing about them. You known,
one of the reasons I asked to be assigned to this area is
because it was so close to the Gungans' territory. I wanted to
get a look at them, maybe even meet one. This wasn't what I
had in mind at all." She gazed at the group out in the water.
"I hope - I hope this doesn't mean the child's going to die.
That would just be too much after everything else that's
happened here."

A few minutes later Tarpals bent down to say something to

the second child, and then came wading back to shore. The
child looked over its shoulder uncertainly at the bank, and
then turned its attention back to the adults in the water.

Panaka gestured the Gungan over. "What's going on?"

105
Tarpals sighed heavily and settled himself in the grass next
to the humans. "The littlest one, hesa not doing well. If'n
hesa stays close to hiss parents, mebbe hesa realize hesa
safe now."

"And the water?" Ebri asked, craning her neck to watch

the Gungans.

"The same. Water is very important to us'n. Wesa sleep in'a,

travel in'a, live in'a. Mebbe if'n hesa feel water 'round him,
hesa realize hesa not in the ship any more."

They were silent for a moment, then abruptly Ebri stood

up. "Excuse me." She strode toward the water's edge.

"Lieutenant!" Panaka called after her.

Ebri turned back. "I want to go help, sir. He's the only one I
feel like I can do anything for right now."

Panaka glanced at Tarpals, who looked from him to Ebri and

back. The Gungan shrugged slightly. "Shesa no can hurt."
Panaka nodded permission, and Ebri proceeded to wade out
to where the Gungans were standing. As she passed, the
second child shied away, but soon moved back to its former
position. The adult Gungans paused in their ministrations as
Ebri approached. Panaka thought they were eyeing the
woman suspiciously. Ebri spoke, her voice lost in the distance
from the shore to the small party's position. As she spoke,
she was showing the Gungans her wrists, still raw from where
the bindings had been cut away by the doctors. Finally the
adult Gungans turned their collective gaze to Tarpals, who
nodded in an exaggerated motion so they could see his
approval. The Gungans moved aside for Ebri, who began
carefully rubbing wet hands over the child's haillu.

By late afternoon the first of the search parties had located

and brought back the bodies of the first two officers to go
missing. Both had apparently been drowned, then buried in
shallow graves over which brush had been loosely laid. Less
than an hour later, a more positive report came in: Lieutenant
Frenz had been found, badly injured but alive and hiding a fair
distance from the clearing. Panaka watched as two more
members of the medical team hurriedly shouldered

106
emergency packs and jogged into the woods after the search
party messenger.

To add to the excitement, Tarpals's kaadu was spotted lurking

on the edge of the clearing, apparently torn between wanting
to rejoin her rider and wanting to avoid the humans. The
Gungan rose and warbled to the animal, which responded by
trotting into the clearing and almost running one of the
smugglers over again. Panaka watched as Tarpals pulled the
saddle off the kaadu and led it into the water, where it drank
and submerged several times. Finally the Gungan led it back
to the shore and took the bridle off, letting the animal wander
around the clearing and graze.

By now the knot of Gungans in the water had dwindled; only

one adult continued to stroke the child, while another adult
held it. The Gungans had begun trading off positions; allowing
each adult time to swim and, apparently, forage in the water
for food. Lieutenant Ebri had let the Gungans move her away
from the child; one of the other adults was carefully cleansing
the woman's wrists. Finally the adult holding the child let Ebri
approach and take the youngster for a while. A second adult
took up the task of washing.

"What will yousa do with the smugglers?" Tarpals asked

finally, still watching the movement out on the water.

"They'll be shipped off-world to a Republic Court and tried

under Republic law," Panaka replied. "The charges we made
against them will be heard by a tribunal, and the men will
probably serve the rest of their lives in a prison colony."

The Gungan nodded slowly. "P'raps issa just as well." He fell

silent and watched Ebri trade places with the Gungan adult in
the water. "Wesa never goin' back to bein' left 'lone again, are
wesan?"

"Probably not completely," Panaka replied. "But I think trying

and convicting these smugglers will convince most of the rest
of the galaxy that we can take care of ourselves. I don't think
too many people will want to pay that big a price," he
gestured to where the smugglers' ship lay under the water's
surface, "for drugs, no matter how valuable."

107
"Captain? Captain!" Ebri's shout carried across the water. Both
Panaka and Tarpals turned in her direction. "Look!"

The Gungan holding the child was wading slowly back toward
shore. Under the adult's chin, the youngster was moving,
rubbing one hand over its face, eyes still closed. As the
Gungans and Ebri neared the bank the child opened its eyes
and huddled, blinking, against the adult's neck. Then it
extended its neck forward and delicately ran its nose across
Ebri's cheek, sniffing at the human. Finally it tucked its head
back under the adult's chin and lay watching as the rest of
the Gungan adults clustered around it.

"Thass'n good news," Tarpals remarked, and rose to join

his people in the water.

By sunset, Panaka was preparing to return to the capital with

the remaining members of the medical team; the other ship
having departed earlier with Lieutenant Frenz. The security
personnel had left at the same time, and a couple of officers
had been sent to retrieve the ground cars. The Gungans were
apparently going to stay in the underground guard post until
the rest of Tarpals's patrol arrived in the next day or so. Led
by Tarpals's remaining officer, they were wading out into the
water and disappearing beneath the surface, until only the
Gungan captain and his kaadu remained.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" Panaka asked. Tarpals

nodded.

"Wesa bein' fine, so long'n thesa no more unwelcome guests."

Tarpals gestured at the sky.

Panaka grinned. "No arguments here." He hesitated, then held

out a hand to the Gungan, who eyed it, clearly puzzled. "It's a
ritual among the Naboo," Panaka explained. "Usually it's just a
greeting or a farewell, but at one time it was used between
two people to show each that the other wasn't carrying a
weapon, and that they wanted to be friends. It's called a
handshake."

Tarpals's hand was larger than a human's, and they ended

up gripping one another's wrists. When Panaka let go, the
Gungan turned to Ebri, who smiled and took his hand in the
same gesture.

108
"Thank you, Captain, for letting me help earlier," she said.

"Thass'n current that flows both ways," the Gungan told her.
He turned to Panaka. "Wesa workin' together again, mesa
thinks."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"It's been an honor," Ebri added.

The Gungan bowed slightly, then gathered up the kaadu's

reins and led the animal into the water. They waded away and
submerged with barely a ripple. Panaka indicated the medical
transport with a nod of his head, and he and Ebri turned their
backs on the water.

"I'm glad this is over, sir," Ebri remarked as they boarded the
craft. "I mean, I'm not sorry we worked with the Gungans, and
stopped the smugglers, but what we had to go through..."

"I know." Panaka settled himself in a seat as the transport's

doors closed behind them. "Good people died for this, both
ours and the Gungans'. But we've forged closer ties with our
neighbors, and we're showing some powerful people that
we're not helpless. Hopefully, the gains will eventually
outweigh the losses. But I agree, it's a high price to pay."
Both fell silent as the transport lifted off and set course for the
city of Theed.

109
 Judges call
By: Timothy zahn

The two small, potbellied aliens bowed low in front of Luke

Skywalker. I hear the Jedi and obey, one of them intoned, his
nasal voice hitting three distinct notes at the same time.

I also hear and obey, the second said, somewhat

less enthusiastically. Bowing again, they backed away.

With a quiet sigh, Mara Jade Skywalker looked at her datapad. These
two had been the twenty-ninth and thirtieth complainants since
Luke had started this session at sunrise this morning. Thirty
complainants down. Five billion to go.

She set the datapad aside, trying hard not to let her simmering
annoyance get the better of her. No, of course the entire planet
wasnt lining up to talk about their problems and get their share
of Jedi wisdom and justice. But today, at least, it sure as
Coruscant vermin felt like it.

The robed Presenter was approaching the platform now, his own
datapad clutched reverently in his hand as he no doubt prepared to
outline the situation and problem of complainants thirty-one and
thirty -two. The last time Mara had looked out in the waiting
chamber, there had been at least fifty of the aliens sitting in stony
silence, either marshalling their thoughts or glaring across the room
at their opposing complainant. Ten or more arguments yet to hear
today, and the sun was already dipping low in the sky.

Mentally, Mara shook her head. Yes, she resented these people for
demanding so much of her husbands time and energy. And to be
honest, she had to admit she even resented Luke a little for his
quick and unselfish willingness to give up that time for them.

But she could also see that his presence here was accomplishing
more than the raw numbers would indicate. At least five of the

110
controversies Luke had delivered judgment on today had been
churning for ten years or more, with neither party willing to budge an
inch. Two of those five had been multigenerational, in fact
stretching back some forty years to disputes between the
complainants fathers. And yet, despite the long histories, in every
one of those cases both sides had accepted

Lukes ruling and agreed to abide by it. Not necessarily happily, but
they had agreed.
They would most likely stick to those settlements, too. The planet
had a long history of honoring Jedi verdicts in such matters, dating
back to the height of the Old Republic. How theyd managed during
the dark days of the Empire she didnt know, but the number of
generational disputes implied they hadnt done it very well.
She looked back at her datapad. And after all, shed known what she
was getting herself into when shed agreed to marry Luke in the first
place. Despite a decade of his equally dedicated work with the
academy, there still werent nearly enough Jedi to go around for
this sort of duty.

The Presenter reached the platform. Master Jedi, we have an

unexpected but urgent request, the alien said. Second Agricultural
Coordinator Kei Ras Cirali requests your immediate presence at his
Karrish Mountain retreat to discuss a problem he is unable to solve.

I see, Luke said, his voice grave. Even the powerful sometimes
need the counsel of others, I suppose. Where is this retreat?

In a cave at the base of Karrish Prime, the Presenter said,

twitching his ears to point at the range of snowcapped peaks visible
in the distance out the wide window behind them. If you are willing,
we have an airspeeder and driver awaiting you.

Thank you, Luke said, standing up. Ive spoken with Master
Cirali before. If he needs us, were more than willing to go to him.

We of the city echo his thanks for your forbearance, the Presenter
said, bowing. I will send the complainants home, to gather again
whenever you are free to return.

Thank you. Luke looked at Mara. Come on, wed better

get going.

Neither of them spoke again until they were well beyond the edge of
the city, heading toward the row of mountains. You say you know
this Cirali? Mara asked.

111
Not really, but Ive spoken to him once or twice, Luke told her.
He handles most of the coordination for the agricultural area east of
the Karrish mountain range.

Mara pulled up a mental image of the maps shed looked over on

their way into the system. Good-sized region.

The second most important one on the planet, Luke agreed. Its
a partially hereditary position, dating back to the days of the old
Sultaries.

The Presenters use of the word retreat hadnt adequately prepared

Mara for the elaborate and stunning hall carved into the rock at the
base of the mountain. A handful of liveried aliens bowed low as
Luke and Mara passed between them down a high-ceilinged corridor
and into a large office/conversation area.

Cirali was waiting for them on a large couch, nearly lost amid a
dozen large and vibrantly colored cushions. Ahthe Jedi, he called,
lifting both hands in greeting as the attendants closed the doors
behind them. Welcome, Master Skywalker. And you must be his
blushing bride.

Mara gave her husband a sideways look. Blushing bride? she

echoed ominously.

Just a figure of speech, Luke hastened to assure her. Were

here, Master Cirali, and prepared to deal with the problem.

I am grateful, Cirali said. The problem, Master Skywalker, is one

of time. Tell me, what does one do when there seems to be no
time for the important things of life?

Mara felt something twinge within her. That was the precise
problem she and Luke were having these days: too many
responsibilities, too little time. If a being who coordinated
operations in a major agricultural area like this couldnt solve it, it
wasnt very likely Luke could.

To her mild surprise, though, Luke merely smiled. Theres always

time for the important things, he told the alien. The trick is to
recognize the need, and to create the necessary time.

You speak wisely, Cirali said, rising from his couch. Come.
The consulting room awaits.

112
He led the way to one of the hanging curtains behind his couch and
pushed it aside, revealing a metal door built into the solid rock of
the cavern. At a wave of his hand, it opened into a small turbolift
car. I will await your return, he said, bowing.

Luke led the way into the car, and a moment later he and Mara were
moving upward through the mountain. So who exactly are we seeing
in this consulting room? Mara asked as the car slowed to a stop. The
door opened

She caught her breath. Beyond the door was a vast chamber, as
beautifully and luxuriously appointed as the best palaces shed
ever seen across the galaxy. The room had the delicate scent of
dew - sparkled velanie flowers, and one of her favorite kithra
sonatas was playing softly in the background. At the far end of the
room, a huge transparisteel window gave an awesome view of the
mountains and the rivers and valleys beyond, all of it in sharp relief
against the shadows thrown by the setting sun.
And aside from the two of them, the chamber was deserted.

As I said, Luke murmured as he put his arm around her and led
her out of the turbolift car onto the thick carpeting, the trick is to
create the time.

Mara blinked at himand then, belatedly, she got it. You set this
whole thing up, didnt you? she asked. Coming to this system in
the first placeCiralis summonsthis chamber
Formerly the mountain retreat of the Third Sultara, Luke
interrupted, waving a hand over it. Finest accommodations in the
sector. And of course, as long as were officially in consultation
with the Second Agricultural Coordinator, no ones going to come
looking for us.

He took her hands and stepped close to her. Happy

second honeymoon, Mara.

For a long moment they kissed. Then, almost reluctantly, Mara

thought, he pulled gently away. Come on, lets take a look
around, he said. I gave Cirali a list of the things you especially
like, and he promised to furnish as many of them as he could.

Yes, I already noticed the flowers and music, Mara agreed,

glancing around. He laid in all my favorite foods, too, I suppose?

113
Enough to last us as long as we want to stay. Luke hesitated. I
hope this will help make up for my ignoring you so much lately.

No problem, Mara assured him. And standing here, just the two of
them, it suddenly wasnt a problem. I understand that you also
have commitments to the rest of the New Republic. I just need you
to myself every once in awhile.

I need it, too, Luke told her. Please dont ever let me
forget that.

I wont, Mara promised softly. And one other thing?

He leaned close. Yes?

She tapped him playfully on the tip of his nose. You ever call me a
blushing bride, she said, and youre going to be in serious
trouble.

He grinned. Ill make a note.

 The Pen is Mightier than
theSith?
By: John Wilhoit

He was going to die.

The still hot blaster was only three feet from his outstretched hand.

Heath Helstrom gritted his jaw; the muscles pulsed defiantly. The
curtain of heat from the boiling lava below him swept his blonde hair
back across his forehead. The durasteel grate underneath him bit
into his muscled chest. All around him were the dead Sith Lord's
henchmen.
"You will die, Helstrom."

A red armored death mask scowled down at him. The Sith lord held a
blazing red lightsaber in one gloved hand; in the other he gripped a
shock of platinum blonde hair. Connected to that hair was the
princess that he had come to Betazius IV to rescue.
"Heath, save me!"

Reaching out his muscular arm (liberally beaded with sweat),

Helstrom stretched for the weapon.
"Borr."

Helstrom looked up at the Sith, a question spreading over his

stoic features.
"Borr."

"Borr!"

Walthen Borr's head snapped forward, his reverie broken. His feet hit
the floor.
His supervisor stood in front of him. The squat Rodian shook
his bulbous head.
"Daydreaming again? If I come down here again, and you are
staring out the window again, or playing games, or whatever it is that
you do down here besides your job, you'll be scraping the streets!"
Slamming a green palm down on Borr's narrow desk, the alien
hissed, his face twisting into the Rodian version of a smile.
"As it is," he purred," the Sector Head position has just been filled."

Walthen Borr smoothed his hands over his tight face as it rushed with
blood.
That promotion was supposed to be mine.

His eyes followed the Rodian out of the cubicle, staring ice after the
bug-eyed alien. Settling back in his creaking chair, Borr's gaze
wandered around the claustrophobic workstation. He rubbed his
thinning black scraggle of hair.
Blinking monitors surrounded him on three sides. The twenty displays
scrolled, blinked, and flashed information incessantly. Information that
meant nothing to an average human being.
Walthen let the air out of his lungs.

He was not quite an average human being.

He was Assistant Executive Acquisitions and Compliance Officer for

the Generis, Faytch and Organa Accounting Firm.
"Expansion Region Division," he muttered to himself, as if he needed
reminding. Ten years in this cubicle did nothing if not remind him of the
existence of the precariously slippery corporate ladder.
And my exceedingly low position on it.

His eyes locked on the screen in front of him. The green monitor was
the only one of the lot that displayed anything of importance to him
at the moment.
Back to work.

He read again what he had been writing before his omnipresent

supervisor had interrupted him. Nodding his head, he hunched forward
over the keyboard, fingers poised. Thin digits trembled as Walthen tried
to force his brain back into gear.
Sucking in a breath, he turned his head, looking out the window.

Out onto Coruscant.

From the 723rd floor of the Tagge East Tower, the cityscape stretched
out below him. Lines of air speeders coasted through the maze of
buildings to destinations unknown. Walthen shook his head.
Must be better than where I am going.
Forcing his head back to the screen in front of him, he sharpened his
focus on the glowing words.
A picture of his character's outstretched form blinked into his mind.

"He reached for the weapon"

His fingers vibrated. Images of his supervisor's bulging eyes

raced through his headfleeting images of his girlfriend.
"Focus. He reached for the weapon-"

"Hey Walty! I heard ole' Fredis flapping his snout at you!"

Walthen's hands rolled into white fists. Turning slowly, he looked at Jav
Tamana from under his brow. The tall, lanky human smiled a gap-
toothed grin, laughing to himself.
"What?" Walthen shot back.

Tamana's hands shot up defensively.

"Take it easy, little buddy, I just wanted to let you know we're doing
lunch at Veroon's today. Sheeshtry to do a guy a favorstang."
Walthen turned back to the screen.

Dont call me little, you overstretched Yant weed.

"Fine. Fine."

Tamana disappeared, leaving Walthen's fingers hovering over the

keyboard again. He became conscious of his own breathing. And his
inability to write another word that made any sense. Beads of sweat
began to roll down his temple.
His hands drooped onto the keys as he struggled to wring the creativity
from his brain.
"He reachedfor the weapon"

"Data dump, please acknowledge."

Walthen clenched his eyelids until he saw white. He knew that the
chunky delivery droid had floated up behind him, waiting for
acknowledgement before dropping its bucket load of data chips for him
to sort and catalog.
"Confirm, Borr two-two-seven," he gritted, his eyes remaining shut.
117
When he opened them, the droid had gone. In its place stood a two
foot tall hoverbin full of data chips, waiting for him to upload into the
central core.
"Great."

Standing, he was stopped by a buzz from the comm. Punching the

button on the desk, he spoke into the air.
"Hello."

A strained silence greeted his ears. His face flushed again; he looked
down at the sender's identification.
"I mean, Walthen Borr, how may I help you?"

"YesBorrwe need to see you after shift, you dont mind staying,
right? In my office. That'd be great. Alright."
His boss's transmission flicked off before he could open his mouth.

Now Walthen could feel the blood in his head starting to build. Whirling
on the crate, he settled in front of the monitor again. His finger
hovering over the purge button, he shook his head, reading the words
he had labored so hard to create.
Boring life. Soul-sucking job. Run down apartment. Now writer's
block. Perfect.
"At least I still have my girl."

His finger hovered for another second.

He shook his head.

Pressing the save key, he shut down the screen, turning to the hover
bin. The piles of data chips did bring one ray of hope into his
otherwise bleak day.
Only two more hours to go.

"Dont worry! I will save you!"

Leaping to his feet, Heath gripped the blaster. The thick weapon
felt good in his strong hand. Pointing the pistol at the Sith, he aimed
the barrel at the red death mask.
"Goodbye, Sith scum!"
118
The tendons in his hands tightened.

"Heath no!"

The barrel faltered. The princess' hands shot up.

In front of the Sith.

"W-what?"

"Are you stupid? I dont need saving. I came here to get away from
you, you presumptuous sot!"
The barrel faltered further.

"What?"

Heath's massive chest suddenly deflated. The Sith lord began to

laugh, a deep, mechanical guffaw. The princess took a bold step
forward.
"It looks like you are the one that needs saving," she continued.
"How do you think I could love you? Look at yourself! You couldnt
save a sand slug!"
The princess stood on her toes, planting a firm kiss on the Sith's
crimson mask. Heath swore he heard her whisper sweet nothings
into Sith's audio receptor.
The princess turned to Heath, a wicked smile crossing her face.

"Now thisis a man."

Heath's knees turned to jelly.

A hundred pairs of footsteps echoed on the platform behind him.

The princess laughed, her eyes narrowing.
"It looks like you're the one who needs saving, Helstrom."

How long Walthen had been staring at his hands, he had no idea.

He made himself blink, focusing on the window. It was dark; he was still
at work.
Stacks of data chips were piled around him; eager console slots
awaited their information in the long, cooled room. Reaching for
another chip, Walthen pushed it into the appropriate slot, briefly
reviewing the display screens before encoding the data for storage. His
119
eyes scanned the first few pages of information as each chip
was accessed by the computer core.
Walthen Borr had gone to his boss's office after shift.

Requisition orders for Ord Veica.

What he had seen there he wouldnt soon forget.

Bills of lading for Atrivis.

He had walked into the palatial office, an office too big for the
barrel shaped man who occupied it.
Cargo manifests for the new mech factory on Kloribu'u.

His girlfriend had been sitting on the middle of his boss's desk.

Shrinkage reports for the textile storage plant on Kiallus.

His boss and his girlfriend had been seeing each other for three
months. The happy pair of corporate climbers felt that notifying Walthen
was the only considerate thing to do. Funny thing, it seemed like the
new couple had actually believed their sincerity.
More requisition orders for Ord Veica.

Then his boss-in a very conciliatory tone-had offered him extra

overtime opportunities.
For my trouble.

Walthen shook his head, pausing before sliding the next chip into
the slot.
And I just walked out. I said yes and just walked out.

"Like everything is okay."

The data chip clicked into the slot.

He scanned the monochrome screen, his eyes buzzing over

the information.
"Wait. This cant be right."

He scanned the information again. An inventory for a convoy from Kuat

Drive Yards to Atrivis. From the list of cargo, it looked to Walthen like the
Empire was installing another garrison. Scanning the register, he
120
placed his finger on the screen. Matching the number of pieces
shipped to the number received, he stopped halfway down the list.
"Inertial power cores. Twenty shipped. Fifteen delivered."

Keying the console, Walthen delved into the rest of the information.
Several more discrepancies caught his attention.
Sensor equipment. Military rations. Power packs for field rifles. All
shipped, only some delivered.
Walthen Borr looked at his reflection in the screen.

And smiled.

Helstrom reached into his tunic, gripping the cold metal of a thermal
detonator. Ripping it free, he flicked the switch forward, watching
the lights blink. Slow at first, then faster. He tried to resist the urge
to proclaim 'Ha!'
"Ha!"

The Sith lord's henchmen froze in their tracks, looking to their

master for guidance.
"Kill him, you fools!"

Heath Helstrom tossed the detonator, diving for the platform.

The explosion knocked the breath from his lungs as he hit the
grated metal. A sheet of wind washed over him, then silence. He
looked up.
The henchmen were gone. Either vaporized or blown off the platform
into the magma below. Jaw pulsing, Heath Helstrom turned to the Sith
lord. The princess was smiling next to him.
"Congratulations, you incredible moron. You just eliminated the backup
team that was sent to help you!"
Helstrom's face went slack. He turned, looking at the charred platform
behind him. The blood drained out of his face as he turned around.

"Now," the princess continued, smirking, "you realize your folly!"

Walthen Borr sat alone in his one room palace.

In the dark.
121
He had just turned off the Imperial HoloNet. The noise had hurt his
ears, hurt his head. Twenty minutes prior he had placed a call to his
boss. His ex-girlfriend had answered. Walthen had almost killed the
connection then and there.
As if cutting the transmission would change my realityand my
place in it.
Walthen knew he shouldnt have been surprised. But it wasn't the fact
that his ex-love had answered the comm call, but why.
He breathed, feeling depression sink his chest.

She had been promoted over him. She had taken the position that he
had been in line to receive.
But he had placed the call for a reason.

Getting to his feet in the darkness of his apartment, he went to the

window, leaning against the cold pane. Outside, the lights of Coruscant
wove an intricate tapestry of glittering motion. Several shuttles drifted
past.
I wonder where they are coming from? Or going to.

He slammed his palm on the transparisteel, leaving a greasy print.

It didnt really matter. If they were going to the city depths, or to Ord
Veica, or to Tagge resort, it really didnt matter.
Breathing out, he felt his insides sink.

At least they are going somewhere.

He had told his now-boss about the shipping discrepancies he had

discovered, and about the possible military application of the contents
of those missing shipments. She had nodded politely, interrupting him
to tell him that he had probably discovered nothing. A sincere smile and
patronizing remark later, the call was done.
Then she had hung up on his face.

Flopping down on his threadbare sofa, Walthen searched for

the HoloNet remote.
He didn't know what hurt more, the fact that everyone thought he was
a nobody, or the realization that he was starting to believe it as well.
Walthen looked at his hands.

122
I got her the job in the first place.

At least he knew now why she had been interested in him.

Digging the remote out of the cushions, he pressed the power button. A
flat hologram folded into existence, lighting up the dim corners of the
close apartment. Leaning back, he let his eyes drift over the brilliant
colors.
"News. Great."

The droid reporter flashed on the screen.

"This just in. A division head at Generis, Faytch and Organa has
uncovered a possible link between several Core companies and rebel
terrorists. Both Kuat Drive Yards and the Atrivan company Hafvia-
Onellin Partners have been named in the investigation."
The employee's picture flashed up in the hologram.

A terribly familiar picture.

His ex-girlfriend. The droid announcer continued.

"More at 2300, including a HoloNet exclusive interview. On to sports-"

Borr sat, mouth open, motionless.

His eye twitched.

Then his arm.

I cant take anymore.

Heath pointed the blaster at the Sith Lord, squeezing the trigger.

The gun fizzled.

Then the power pack fell out. It bounced once on the platform,
spinning into the roiling lava below.
Heath blinked.

The Sith stepped forward, raising his lightsaber. The crimson

blade hummed as it sliced at Helstrom's head.
Heath leapt to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike.
123
Another narrow miss sizzled through the durasteel platform.

Rolling away, Heath jumped to his feet.

The princess leered behind the towering Sith, obviously under

his insidious and assorted Force charms.
He would save her.

But not like this.

Heath pointed his finger at the Sith, standing tall.

"I will return, Sith, and when I do, you'll wish you'd never heard
the name Heath Helstrom!"
Then he did the only thing an intergalactic hero could think of.

He ran.

I cant believe I am doing this.

Walthen Borr eased into the narrow seat, sitting on the hard restraint
buckle. Looking up into the corridor, he struggled to pull the obstinate
strap out from under him. Without looking like he had just sat on it.
"All passengers prepare for debark. Atrivisvia Chengle's Moon Resort
and Casino. Please direct your attention to the front of the cabin for
important safety instructions."
I cant believe I am doing this.

Walthen had used up nearly his entire bank of accrued vacation hours
to book this flight. No less than three times, he had nearly turned
around. Once, leaving his one room apartment. Again at the 8th District
airtaxi station. And not five minutes ago at the hatch of the sleek luxury
liner he was now sitting in. He had possessed the money to fly first
class, but had balked at the ticket counter.
He looked at the two empty seats next to him. Hopefully they
would stay that way.
His sweaty palms gripped a chunky datapad. Holding the unit to his
lap, he stared at the blank screen. Before Walthen had left, he had
uploaded the story he had been writing.
Story?
124
More like the collection of frazzled words he had patched together
between frenzied cups of Genta juice and uploading sessions, when
he should have been working.
Looking out the thick window, he tapped on the datapad.

A thick Twi'lek male flopped down in the seat next to him. It became
evident in the span of a few seconds that the alien hadnt bathed in
quite some time.
Perfect.

Wrinkling his nose, Walthen felt his stomach roll as the liner's engines
kicked in. The deck shuddered, then settled down to a contented hum.
He blinked his eyes shut as Coruscant began to drop away below him.
Flipping on the datapad, he held his breath against the Twileks greasy
stench. Touching a few buttons, he turned the pad away from the alien
as the Atrivis information he had discovered played across the screen.
What in the Core am I doing?

Not only had he stolen the information from his employer, he was on an
intersystem trip that cost him way too much to somewhere he'd never
been.
Walthen shook his head.

The Empire had made a very large media item out of the troop
contingent that they had sent to Atrivis. Not only would his ex-girlfriend-
now-boss take the credit for his discovery, squads of unnamed bucket-
heads were going to get acclaim for his discovery as well.
That's why I didn't turn around. Not at my door, not at the taxi stand, not
at the gate. It's my turn.
Only he knew that the shipments were transferred at Chengle's resort.
But he wouldnt be the only one with that knowledge for long.
"My turn."

"Excusa' me?"

The Twi'lek was looking at him, sharp teeth bared. Tattooed head tails
snaked around the aliens neck.
Walthen shook his head, holding his breath as he looked at the robed
Twi'lek.

125
A corpulent human dropped into the seat next to the Twi'lek, waving a
Stimpipe in his hand. The man scanned the cabin, looking past the line
of customers still looking for their seats.
The Twi'lek hissed at the sight of the human's pipe; his stale breath
made Walthen gag.
Walthen Borr really had no idea what he was going to do when he got
to the resort moon. He had pictures - fantasies - of maybe meeting a
senator's daughter, a princess in need of rescue, or at least an
attractive customs clerk. Solving this little mystery before the Empire's
goon squad could gum up the works.
At this point, I'd settle for a half-decent Rodian waitress and a
breath mask.

As he scanned the data again, a familiar fear clawing across his gut.

When he stepped off the liner at Chengle's, what was he going to do?
What could he do?
He had only ever been off Coruscant once, and he had been an infant
then. He had never even picked up a weapon, much less fired one.

The blue sky beaming in through the window faded into the blackness
of space. The cabin comm buzzed.
"Welcome aboard! This is your Captain. We'll be cruising at point-one
past lightspeed. Sit back and enjoy the trip."
Sudden nausea punched him. Reaching up for the window shade, he
slammed it down, closing his eyes.
The Twi'lek and the human had started to bicker over the possibility of
the Stimpipe being lit.
Great. I'll have to remember these two for my next piece.
Stock characters.
The air quality was quickly dropping as the Twi'lek intensified his
sweaty rant.
Jerking aside, Walthen dug into his pocket. His fingers closed over a
slim plasma torch. Flicking the top, he held the white flame out as the
human smiled, lighting his pipe.
The Twi'lek flushed.

126
A toothy smile spread across the man's face as he sat back, looking at
the ceiling of the cabin and blowing smoke rings. The sweet smoke
masked the Twi'lek's omnipresent odor.
The pair began to bicker again.

Six hours to Chengle's.

Walthen Borr turned his back, letting his head drop into the bulkhead.
Closing his eyes, he sighed.
I can't believe I did this.

Heath's boots pounded the catwalk as it gave way to black

volcanic rock.
The Sith was behind him.

A sheer cliff was in front of him, offering only one escape.

A single dark maw - a tunnel leading into the mountain.

Breaking stride, Heath looked back.

The Sith was gaining; his crimson lightsaber hummed at his side.

Heath Helstrom's breath caught in his throat.

The tunnel? Or the Sith?

He knew the answer the minute the question popped into his head.

Still he hesitated. The Sith neared. Within a handful of seconds,

Heath would fall under the crimson blade.
Turning to the cliff face, Heath stutter-stepped. Doubt clawed at his
chest.
He was afraid of the dark.

The Sith's blade came up.

Nearly tripping, he disappeared into the black mouth. Jagged rock

bit his hands as he tried to navigate wide-eyed in the dark. The
Sith's synthesized voice floated after him.
"Run, Heath Helstrom, run! You may have escaped me, but you cannot
escape Death Mountain!"
127
Tripping, Heath regained his feet. A light became evident in the corridor
ahead.
Within seconds, he had stopped, checking behind him.

Nothing. The Sith had not pursued.

Turning his head, Heath stopped.

Three corridors branched out in front of him from the main

passage. Hesitating, he chose the left branch-the least dank of the
three.
The Sith's laughter echoed after him.

Walthen was assaulted by noise the second he stepped of the

shuttle. Bells, alarms, buzzers, and a constant wave of frantic
conversation rolled into him.
"Welcome to Chengle's Moon and Resort!"

The wildly colorful hologram surrounded the line of passengers

debarking into the moon's spaceport.
Walthen Borr's gut clenched.

Beyond the sea of people, through the strata of smoke, he could make
out the multiple levels of the casino. Showgirls from several races -
some he had never before seen-paraded through the crowd in colorful
regalia, drawing all eyes.
His breathing became frantic as the crush of people seemed to close
tighter around him. Pushing his way through the crowd, he collapsed
against the wall near the restrooms.
The pungent odor wafting out of the open hatchways cleared his head.
Walthen wiped a cold sweat from his head with the back of his sleeve.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, gathering his wits.
When he opened them, a Duro stood in front of him, its deep orange
eyes contrasting with a blue-green head. The alien yammered
something at him. Walthen blinked.
"Youa' wanna' good time?"

He blushed.

A female Duro.
128
He looked at her again as she slid next to him.

I hope.

Looking down at the Duro's flamboyant dress, it became obvious what

she wanted. Walthen's feet were moving before he spurted an answer.

"N-no thanks."

The alien disappeared into the crowd. Walthen squinted through the
haze of sweet smoke.
The five levels of the casino sprawled upwards; quick turbolifts ferried
passengers up from the casino floor. Off to the left, an arched tunnel
disappeared out of sight, probably leading to the many shops in the
massive casino. To the right of the casino, another large bank of
turbolifts stood, disgorging gamblers onto the casino floor from the
expensive hotel above.
Walthen knew that if he stepped a single foot into the casino, his
credits would literally fly out of his pocket. He was also smart enough to
realize he had no business even walking through the high roller's hotel.
That's why he had reserved the cheapest room possible.
What am I even doing here?

Scanning the raucous crowd, he saw that with only one exception - a
passed out Gran - that everyone was having a good time. Everyone
except him.
He shook his head, feeling his chest deflate as the air left his lungs.

"Stupid." He barely heard his insult over the casino's din.

I cant afford this. I'll probably get Caridian Flu. I hate flying. I
hate crowds. And to top it off, I've got writer's block!

Turning himself around, he hurried back to the shuttle gate. A glowing

red hologram above the gate scrolled the shuttle's next flight times and
destinations. The woman behind the counter was turned away from
him; the clerk's shiny brown mane waved over her shoulders.
"Excuse me. Excuse me, when is the next flight to Corus-"

The attendant turned around. Walthen blinked.

"Yes?"

She looked like his girlfriend.

129
"Ex."

"Excuse me?" she said, flipping her hair. "Coruscant? Flight departs
infifteen minutes. Would you like a ticket?"
Ex -girlfriend. Someone that was no longer in his life. A life that he
had let happen to him.
Passed over for a promotion.

Stuck in a job he no longer cared about.

"A ticket?"

Walthen's fists began to close of their own accord.

So this is angst.

His ex-girlfriend, now his boss, had taken credit for his discovery. She
had already garnered a good amount of recognition, and would
probably net herself another promotion before the Imperial
commando team would even fire a shot.
She had taken it from him.

Walthen's jaw tightened.

He had let her. Just like he always had.

Walthen the Walkmat.

"Sir, do you want a return ticket to Coruscant?"

His eyes met the woman's for the first time. Deep, green eyes.

"Idont think so."

Walthen Borr turned around, his eyes playing over the casino. He
had come here for a reason.
The Atrivis information.

Someone was stealing war materiel from the Imperial shipments.

Someone who had relied on a bean-counter like himself being too
apathetic to miss a few medkits here, a few power inducers there.
Picking through the crowd, he began making his way towards the
arched tunnel that led out of the casino.
130
Now this is a plot.

Heath Helstrom felt his way along the dark, dank tunnel. Minutes or
hours, he couldnt tell, but a light began to warm the passage
further up.
Within seconds he was stopped by a thick, rusted grate. The
bars looked to be solid quadanium, crossed and welded together.
"Aha!"

Beyond the grate, a wide room stretched out. In the center of the
space sat a large, towering block of whirring machinery. Cables of all
shapes and sizes ran from the machine into the walls and the ceiling.
A generator.

And no doubt, beyond that, the secret entrance to the Sith's fortress.

"I'll have you yet, Sith!"

Heath gripped the bars with his thick fingers, bracing his legs
against the wall. Inhaling until his lungs were full, he focused his
eyes on the circular grate.
And pulled.

The cords of muscle in his arm jutted out, along with the vein in his
neck. His powerful legs burned as Heath strained at the metal
grating. A guttural grunt grew into a powerful yell.
"Blasted Sithfire!"

His fingers screamed with pain. Hot fire coursed through his
muscles. Rivulets of sweat streamed down his face.
"Ahh!"

His fingers gave; he fell to the stone floor, gasping for breath.

Heath Helstrom cursed the grate. So close! To be held back from

completing his mission by five centimeters of metal?
"I mustn't give up. I cannot give up! I must save the princess."

Leaping onto the grate again, he attacked the obstacle with

renewed vigor.
131
Within seconds he was right back on the floor again.

He stared at the obstinate barrier, impotence welling up in his throat.

Right now, the princess was with the Sith monster, under his twisted
influence, performing who knew what manner of lascivious acts for
his perverted tastes.
And Heath Helstrom, hero of the galaxy, couldnt get through five
centimeters of metal.
"Curse the Gods!"

Heath dropped his head. He was failing. If he retraced his steps, the
Sith or his henchmen would be awaiting him. If he stayed in here,
he would die. Even if he managed to escape, a hero was supposed
to come home with the prize. Not fall a meter short and give up.
Heath sighed.

The grate fell out of the wall, landing unceremoniously next to

his dejected frame.
Heath looked up. Looked at the open hole. Looked at the grate
lying flat next to him.
He blinked.

Leaping to his feet, he squeezed through the hole.

He had a job to do. Heath advanced on the blocky power generator. If he

was going to get the princess out alive, he would need confusion.

"Time to get in that machine!"

"Holowriter Hagall vin Yim wins best new writer of the year award,
presented at the Writers and Scribes annual conference on
Coruscant!"

Walthen Borr stood in front of the wide holoboard, his face a set of
concrete displeasure, not hearing the rest of the HoloNet news.
He had been writing for ten years. Never once had he been
recognized, complimented, published, or even looked at. The stack
of rejection transmissions had grown so large that at one point, he
was forced to upgrade the memory in his datapad.
Palming the pad in his sweaty hand, he turned away from the
wall, looking out over the mall.
132
Humans and aliens from a hundred planets walked the two levels of
the long concourse. The casino mall was lined with shops on both
sides; clothiers, exotic foodstuffs, high-end trinkets, and every other
way in the galaxy for Chengle to reclaim what he had paid out in
winnings. The mall's main attraction was a thick, towering arch of pure
fluid. The Alderaanian river water was held in stasis over the mall with
repulsors, the crystal blue water silently circulating over the heads of
the casino goers.
What a racket.

Walking down the polished tile promenade, Walthen dodged several

Mon Cals before stopping in front of an open storefront. The greasy-
sweet smell that wafted from the restaurant drew him closer to the Bith
host standing outside. The alien's bulbous pink head turned towards
him as he approached.
"How many today, sir?" the Bith chirped, looking him up and down
once. Walthen felt his face turn red. His hands turned slick on his
datapad.
"Ijust meactually I wanted to ask-"

"I assume you'll be dining," the Bith interrupted, scanning his clothing
again," in the lounge."
"I wanted to ask you a question."

"Specials today, Calamarian waterflower, with just a touch of saline

sauce. Also-"
"N-no, I wanted to ask you about the docks."

The Bith stopped, his large, folded lids blinking.

"Sir, I am the host for the finest eatery on Chengle's moon. Not an
information kiosk."
The Bith did his best impression of a huff as he turned back to his
podium, pretending to look busy.
Walthen froze, vacillating between asking again and walking away.

Like I always do.

"Listen, I just want to know where-"

133
"Sir! If you are not here to dine, please move along before
I call security."
The Bith's last word drew a few stares. Walthen felt more blood rushing
to his head. Stutter stepping backwards, he shook his head, turning
away.
Maybe I should have stayed at home.

It was becoming obvious that either he was not a people person, or

that Chengle's employees and patrons were the rudest collection of
beings in the galaxy. The Bith host had been the seventh person he
had approached for information about the location of the shipping
docks. Borr turned.
Slammed from the side, he fell to one knee. His datapad went flying
from his fingers, skittering across the floor.
"I'm so sorry!"

The woman helped Borr to his feet.

The first thing that caught his eye was the tension in her forehead. He
identified the lines immediately because that was the way he looked
every morning before he left for work.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, bending to retrieve his datapad. Her short,
round head of black hair contrasted with her pale skin. Deep brown
eyes stared back at him. He opened his mouth.
"Are you okay?" she interrupted.

Not a single word made it from his brain to his tongue.

Say something, stupid.

She held his arm, looking quickly over her shoulder.

"I'mPleau. You staying here?"

Walthen nodded. She checked over her shoulder again, sliding close to
him.
"What room?"

The blood shot to his head, rouging his cheeks.

Come to Chengle'swhere the women flow like wine

134
All he could do was pull his room key out of his pocket, showing her the
number. She smiled.
"Maybe I'll see you later." Kissing him on the cheek, she smiled one
more time before sliding past him. His face buzzed with adrenalin.
Wow. I knew this vacation was a good idea.

He turned, trying to think of something that would sweep her off her
feet. A set of properly uttered words that would make her think twice
about Walthen Borr. An elegant soliloquy that only the mind of a writer
could conjure.
The woman was gone. The sea of tourists had swallowed her whole.
Walthen scanned the crowd, trying to pick out her shiny black crown.
He was knocked from his feet again, harder this time. His pad
went flying, this time bouncing off the carpeted wall, almost into the
restrooms. Catching himself on the railing, he turned around, a
grin spreading on his face.
A grin that dissolved as he faced his assailant.

Four Imperial stormtroopers marched past, their white skull helmets

scanning the crowd. They were followed by an olive-clad Imperial
officer. Small eyes and a narrow, scowling mouth scanned Walthen
Borr briefly before the team moved past.
I knew this vacation was a bad idea.

Picking up his thoroughly scratched datapad, he shook it.

No loose parts. At least I still have my story.

For what it was worth.

A group of boisterous Gran sauntered past, slurping on containers of

greasy tentacles and leering at all things female with their three eyes.

Walthen slid his room key back into his pants pocket.

His fingers hit something hard and sharp. Picking the object out of his
pocket, he turned a data chip over in his fingers.
"This isn't mine."

The maroon clearplas chip glinted in the casino's overhead lights as he

turned it over again.

135
"Where did you come from?"

One way to find out.

Sliding the chip into the port of his datapad, he keyed the power.
Walthen moved over to the wall, looking down at the pad.
Schematics. Invoices. More schematics.

The green wire frame images looked like floor plans. Paging
through the data, he immediately recognized the missing items from
the invoices that he had discovered back on Coruscant.
His sweat turned cold as he realized what he was looking at.

Stolen Imperial documents.

Pleau.

Everything clicked into place.

Walthen Borr almost threw up.

Quickly scanning the crowd behind him, Walthen spotted the white
helmets of the Imperial troops, moving away from him.
Powering down the pad, he jogged for the turbolifts.

I have to get back to my room.

His quivering stomach turned his legs leaden as he boarded the empty
lift. What seemed like an eternity later, he stepped out onto his floor.
Running down the hallway, he slid his keycard in the door, falling into
his room. He dropped his datapad on the bed. Pacing, he stared at the
pad, then at the bathroom.
Pleau was being chased by the Empire.

She didn't look like a terrorist.

He looked at the pad, then back at the bathroom. His stomach rolled.

She had planted stolen Imperial information on him.

Now he was being chased by the Empire.

I'm the protagonist.

136
He ran into the bathroom; his quivering stomach resumed where it had
left off.

Heath Helstrom stared over the edge of the precipice.

Cargo crates of all shapes and sizes rose from the darkness,
ascending on an invisible repulsor field. The wide shaft above him
was dotted with lights, giving him a hazy view of the top of the tunnel
far above.
He had rigged the generator to explode. A simple switch of a few
circuits, and the power buffers were on their way to overload. Soon,
the cavern would be engulfed, and the Sith's palace would be plunged
into darkness.
"Now for you, Sith," he hissed, staring up the shaft. Helstrom's feet
tingled with vertigo as he watched the cargo crates emerge from the
darkness below. It was a dead end. The only way to move forward was
up the shaft.
Helstrom turned from the edge, staring back down the narrow
corridor. His fingers twitched.
Not only was he afraid of the dark, Heath Helstrom, Savior of the
Galaxy and soon-to-be vanquisher of the Sith, was afraid of
heights.
Perfect.

A crystal clear image of the princess coalesced in his mind's eye.

Right now, who knew what tortures the Sith was inflicting upon her?
Whirling, he let out a war whoop, charging for the edge.

His feet cleared the drop.

Heath sailed through the air.

And missed his target completely.

His eyes widened as he fell past the cargo crate into the darkness.
His strangled cry died out on the walls.
Crates continued flowing up the shaft.

Three small containers rose past the corridor landing, then a

medium sized box.
137
Heath Helstrom rose out of the darkness, splayed over a
diamond-shaped container.
His knuckles were white on the edges, his face ashen.

But he held as the crate rose up the shaft, passing the landing.

"Here I come, Sithand nothing can stop me now!"

As soon as the last word passed his mouth, he remembered the

power generator. He had set it to overload.
Heath peered over the container into the depths of the shaft.

The question waswhen?

Walthen Borr looked at the turbolift panel, swallowing the taste of fried
N'Quib tentacles.
Sporfthose things almost taste better the second time around.

His fingers hovered over the panel; the door slid shut, leaving him in
silence. In Walthen's other hand, he held his datapad. Shaking his
head, he pressed the button that would take him three floors down. The
turbolift started to hum as it sped him to his destination.
Trying to relax his quivering stomach, Walthen closed his eyes.

He couldn't stay in his room. Not only had the smell begun to wear on
his already weak stomach, but Pleau knew his room number. Two
distinct possibilities had hastened his departure from the tiny,
overpriced suite.
If the Imperial soldiers caught the woman and interrogated her,
Walthen's location would be the first thing out of her mouth.
Or worse yet, Pleau would show up at his door personally.

Walthen wiped his sweating palms on his pants.

And what then?

The lift beeped; the door slid open.

Crimson light streamed into the lift. Walthen squinted to read the sign.

"Restaurantstorage."
138
He tapped the button again. The door slid shut. Perhaps two
floors up would be where he wanted to go.
And what if Pleau showed up at his door?

Walthen frowned as any grandiose seduction scheme simply melted

out of his head. He knew what would happen. His heart would start
beating out of his chest, his hands would sweat, and he'd say
something really stupid.
Walthen had larger space slugs to saut at the moment, however.

He shook his head.

Why didnt I just turn over the chip to the Imperial officer then
and there?
His answer took all of a nanosecond to realize.

The girl.

The lift beeped. The door slid open. Starting, he blinked as the noise of
a smaller casino assaulted him. This wide room only lacked one aspect
of the main casino. The air was free of the layers of smoke on the
upper levels.
Shaking his head again, Walthen scanned the turbolift pad, dropping
his hand lower on the panel. Pressing the button, he watched the
door slide shut again.
I'm a sucker for a woman.

That's why the illegal information he had been passed wasn't in

the hands of the Imperial authorities right now. But now it was too
late. Frowning, he looked down at his shoes.
That's how his one-time girlfriend had maneuvered into the job at his
company. She had seen his weakness.
"Stupid."

The lift beeped again; the door slid back.

Heavy, moisture laden air wafted into the lift. Through the hot fog,
Walthen glimpsed the spa receptionist. The girl glanced up, preparing a
smile.
Walthen jammed the lift button again, looking away. The door closed,
giving him respite.

139
"Good one."

Now, his only hope of redemption would be to locate and identify the
source of the missing Imperial equipment. That would give some
credence with the Imperial authorities.
I hope.

Two floors up, the door opened. A double blast door faced the lift,
sealed. A single guard, leaning on the wall, looked up with little
concern. The human looked back down at his boots, inhaling on the
thin cigar in his lips. A slim pistol rested in a holster on his belt.
Stepping out of the lift, Walthen felt his chest tighten as the door slid
shut behind him.
"Can I help you?"

Think.

"Uh yes, what deck is this?"

"Sub-eight," replied the guard, his bloodshot eyes traveling over the
ceiling lamps. He rounded his lips, puffing out a single smoke ring.

"Good," Walthen announced. "It's about time. How long were you
people going to let me wander around this pit before I finally figured out
where I am supposed to be?"
"Who are you?"

Walthen puffed up his chest.

"I," he decreed, "am the Head Examiner General from GFO."

The guard blinked, straightening up. Walthen continued.

"And I am here to audit this installation's records in accordance with

the wishes of His Majesty, the Emperor."
The guard's face drained of color. Coughing, he looked at his stained
uniform, dull boots, sagging trousers. Coughing again, the guard
backed up, trying to straighten his slipshod appearance.
Walthen stepped forward, fighting the urge to flee-or throw up again.

Looking into the taller man's face, he reached up.

140
"And you," he said, plucking the cigar from the guard's face, "are
going to help me."
Walthens adrenalin threatened to burst from the top of his head as the
guard shrank back.
"II don't have you on the manifest."

Walthen's eyebrows flicked up.

"You dont have me on the manifest"

"UhSir."

Walthen dared another step forward; the guard slid back.

"How do you think the Emperor will feel when I report that I have
wasted the Empire's time and money traveling to this barely legal
outpost only to be denied bywhat is your name?"
The guard's lips tripped on his reply.

Walthen motioned towards the looming blast doors.

"Well?"

The guard stuttered, jerking towards the door. Tapping the access pad,
he stepped back, looking down at the floor.
The door hissed open; the clang echoed in the short hallway.

Walthen stepped through onto a circular platform; the grated durasteel

clanged under his boots.
The long room stretched out of sight; bright glowlamps chased away all
shadows. Workers buzzed on the warehouse floor thirty feet below him,
moving repulsor palates of cargo to and from the massive mag shields
that lined the walls.
Tapping his datapad, Walthen scanned the warehouse floor.

"Where is Block A, Section 23?"

"Down the stairs, take a left, another left, past the break room, then two
rights. No wait, take a right after the first left, then pastno no. A left,
then a left, then-"
"Justshow me."
141
The guard raised a finger.

"It's over theresee where the lift is going through the shield? Right
behind that."
Walthen nodded, descending the steps to the warehouse floor. He
became aware the guard was still watching him, turning around.
"Your cooperation," he said, tapping the pad, "will be noted."

The guard relaxed.

So did Walthen.

Thank you, Heath Helstrom.

Walthen disappeared into the swarm of workers and moving freight,

datapad in hand.
A pair of brown eyes followed him into the organized chaos.

"Halt!"

Heath Helstrom did just that. His eyes widened as he froze.

The long hallway echoed the droid's command back to his ears. At
the end of the tapestried corridor beckoned the engraved double
doors of the Sith's inner sanctum.
"Identification."

Turning, Heath's brain worked furiously.

A spherical droid floated three meters from him. The head- sized
droid bristled with weaponry; a caustic red video sensor zoomed in
on his face.
Heath felt the blood rushing to his head. Heard the droid's weapons
charging. Feeling the growing futility of his situation, he scanned
the hallway for anything he could use as a weapon. Besides the
lush tapestries on the wall, nothing caught his attention. The droid
would shoot soon.
"Identify yourself immediately."

As soon as the droid deduced that he wasn't supposed to be in

the Sith's palace, Heath would be a charred corpse. The hovering
142
automaton most likely did not have the neural processing ability to
be boughtnot that Heath had anything to bribe the droid with.
He looked down at his shoes, closing his eyes. Any second, the
droid would fire.
A flash of his misadventures on Betazius IV blinked through his head.
The princess. The thermal detonator. The grate. The generator and
the shaft.
Muscle had gotten him this far.

Heath Helstrom had his answer.

He looked up, sucking in the stale air.

"I am Queen Javalinda of Hyacinth, third heir to the fortunes of the

Mon Calamari fishing dynasty."
The droid paused.

"I am the third Duke of Dunder, resident procrastinator and

wandering village idiot!"
Heath's brain raced. Pounded. Hurt with the effort.

"I am the Emperor of the universe, on loan from the moons of Graxo
for an Alderaanian facial scrub."
"Identity notconfirmed. Restate identification."

"I, VatnoThat, am a Sith chef, baking only what I cannot see, smell,
taste or attach to my hyperdrive!"
The droid faltered. Its weapons powered down as it redirected more
energy to its processing core. Helstrom sucked in another frantic
breath, feeling his heart thumping against the inside of his chest.

"I am the speeder through the white asteroids in the kitchen of

the galaxy."
The droid's synthesized voice became a stutter; its spherical body
began to drift to the ground. Heath stepped forward, staring down
at the failing droid.
"I think, therefore you are a Nubian goat cheese blintz!"

Heath smelled smoke.

143
The droid's casing clattered to the tile floor. Sparks erupted in a
quick spray. Another spurt, then the smoking hulk was silent.
Heath fell to his knees, holding his head, bathed in sweat. Collapsing
to the smooth floor, he struggled for breath.
Another obstacle like that, and his mission to rescue the princess
would be a failure.
"The princess."

Pulling himself to his feet, he stared at the thick set of double

doors guarding the end of the corridor.
"Stay focused."

He advanced on the door.

Walthen Borr eased past the repulsorsled, nodding to the storage tech
pushing the floating palate.
The blocks of freight towered above Walthens head. The stacked
cargo loomed on all sides. He had to be close to his destination.

I feel like an Ord Veican mouse.

A faded letter A was painted on the permacrete at his feet. Block A.

Walthen's pulse increased. Looking behind him, he started down the
row.
Section 18.

Pretending to scan his datapad, he walked down the row of stacked

palates, trading nods with a few other workers.
Section 20.

Walthen ran directly into the worker who had been standing in front of
him. Both spilled to the floor; Walthen's pad skittered across the
smooth floor.
Way to keep a low profile.

"Listen, I'm syou!"

Pleau smiled at him from under her black sheen of hair. She was
dressed in a worker's coverall. Walthen opened his mouth.

144
"What are you doinghere?"

Ignoring the question, she grabbed his arms, relief spreading

across her face.
"I am so glad I found you! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

His abject fear overshadowed any spark of joy her words brought
as she continued.
"I went to your room, no one answered, and Ididnt even get your
name."
Walthen backed up a step, releasing himself from her grip.

"Ididnt give it to you."

Ignoring his flat response, she breathed.

"Ifeel so stupid asking you thishave you seen my data chip? Small,
reddish? I think I dropped it somewhere on the casino floor when we
ran into each other."
You mean the one with the stolen Imperial plans on it?

"Idon't thinkso," he said, trying to determine if her baggy

clothes concealed any sort of weapon. She stepped closer to him.
"Are you sure? It's really very important that I get it back."

"I'll bet it is."

Did I just say that out loud?

"W-what do you mean?"

"Oh come on, Pleau, if that is even your real name. I saw what was on
that chip. I saw the stormtroopers on the upper levels looking for you.
I know you are planning to assault an Imperial installation."
"What? I-"

"And another thing, Pleau, if you think your feminine charms are going
to hold sway over me, you've got another thing coming! I came here to
verify that these military supplies are being ferreted out from under the
Empire's nose, and that's just what I am going to do! And unless you
want the Imperial authorities here in thirty seconds, I'd suggest you
forget about your little plan!"
145
WowI didnt stutter.

Pleau stepped back. A comma of black hair fell down over her face.

"Are you high on StimTar? You think," she stifled a laugh, "you think
I'm-"
"Rebel terrorist."

"Ha."

Her chuckle grew to a laugh, quickly mutating into an

uncontrolled cacophony of snorts.
Composing herself, she brought herself upright.

"I'veI've been called a lot of things in my time, but nevernever that."

She wiped her eyes, sighing.
Walthen's face betrayed his confusion.

"I'm an artist."

Yeahright.

"You dont believe me?"

"Not in the slightest. What about the plans?" he spurted, jamming the
datapad in her face.
"Plans for an Imperial sub-governor's condominium on Atrivis."

"Rightand what about the missing supplies? Power packs?"

"If you check the plans, I designed his dwelling with a shooting range.
The guy is a gun freak."
"Military ration packs?"

"What can I say," she replied, "the man likes military food. Now thats
strange in anyones book."
Walthen's eyes narrowed.

"Sensor equipment?"

"This Imperial islazy," she whispered, looking around. "He doesn't

want to get off his Imperialrear to see who's at the door."
146
Walthen stepped back, his face a mask of incredulity.

"Power coresI suppose you have a reason for those as well."

An embarrassed smile crossed her face.

"Ithose are to powerthe head."

"What?"

"Navy-speak for the bathroom. If you check further down the list of
supplies you are chasing, you'll find a shipment of sewer pipes as well.
Do you think an average Imperial officer knows how to install a toilet
main?"
Walthen began to entertain the thought that she might have been
prepared for his line of questioning.
"What about the soldiers on the casino floor? They were looking for
someone, and I'll bet it was you."
"Was there an Imperial officer with them?"

Walthen nodded.

"Just imperious looking enough to pass for an officer, but not quite
intelligent enough looking to make it all the way to Moff?"
"Uh-huh."

"He's my client. And you're right, he was looking for me. I was
supposed to meet him six hours ago to finalize plans."
Walthen shook his head, tightening his grip on the pad.

"This is all just too convenientPleau."

"Short for Terrak'inavatrilkpleau."

Walthen blinked. Smiling, Pleau chuckled.

"Pleau kinda flows a little better, huh?"

Shaking his head, Walthen held up the datapad, scanning down the
list. Everything was exactly as she had said. Upon closer examination
of the floor plan, it became very clear that Walthen Borr was looking at
a residence, not an Imperial garrison.
His face rouged.
147
He had come here for nothing.

"Can I have my chip back now?"

Walthen's hands drooped; the datapad fell. Clicking the power off, he
pulled the datacard out of the slot, considering the maroon clearplas
chip. His arm stuttered as it rose in her direction.
This cant be right.

"How did you know where I'd be?"

Walthen smiled.

I have you now, Rebel.

"My client knows where his own supplies are. He paid for them!"

Pleau snatched the chip out of his hand, her faade of tolerance
suddenly abraded.
Walthen let his eyes fall. Rather, he couldnt make his gaze meet hers.

Some climax.

"Listen, Pleau, I-"

"It's okay. I have to go, I have to meet my client. Unlike you, I am not an
accountant on vacation."
She smiled, disappearing around the corner.

"Walthen!" he called." Walthen Borrmy name."

Pleau was gone.

Walthen Borr looked around.

He was standing in a dirty freight warehouse on Chengle's Moon, ten

levels below the main casino, who-knew-how-many sectors from
Coruscant.
For no good reason.

Like everything in my life.

"Go home, Borr."

148
He turned, making his way back through the warehouse. Five minutes
later, he was walking towards the ticket counter on the main level.
Several shuttles beckoned outside the wide transparisteel, attached
to their docking tubes.
Walthen Borr didnt want to think. He just wanted a ticket back home.

What a stupid idea this was.

Wanted to get back to his small apartment, small job.

"One ticket to Coruscant."

Small life.

Datapad in hand, he stepped away from the counter, taking one last
look at the barely organized chaos that was Chengle's.
Then he disappeared into the boarding tunnel.

Heath Helstrom just stared at the sight his eyes wouldnt let
him believe.
He had leapt valiantly into the room, armed with nothing more
than righteous indignation and his newly discovered rapier wit.
What he had seen over thirty seconds ago had stopped him in
his tracks.
The princess had been-and was still-standing, one leg raised, the
heel planted.
Helstrom blinked.

The Sith was on his knees, his dark helmet pressed against the floor. A
crimson strip of leather had been tied around his voice synthesizer, as
well as his spike-gloved hands. The princess' heel pushed him down
further. A muffled protest emerged from his helmet. Heath opened his
mouth.
"I'm hereto-"

"Save me? Looks like I took care of that."

"But-"
149
"But what? You dont get to be the daughter of a king without
learning how to protect yourself. Did you honestly think that I'd let
thisthisSith do as he pleased with me?"
For the first time, Heath saw the thick blaster in her hand. She
scowled at the Sith, pressing him harder with her thin heels.
"Now, if you dont mind, I have some unfinished business to attend to."

The princess motioned to the door.

Heath Helstrom deflated.

"Ibutyou-"

"I'd really rather you didnt see this," she said, pointing the weapon
at the Sith's head. "Go on."
Blinking, Heath turned. Stopped, then started for the open door.
Walking through the doorframe, he turned around one more time.

"Close the door," the princess said, her tone sweet.

Heath did just that. He closed the double door, hearing the soft click of
the hinges.
A single shot rang out.

Heath Helstrom, protector of the galaxy, had failed.

This time he moved the buckle before sitting on it.

What's the difference?

Plopping down in the seat, Walthen Borr looked around the cramped
space liner. Less than seven hours ago, he had sat in an identical seat,
next to an identical window. For all he knew, he could be leaving on the
same ship he came in on.
Flopping his datapad into his lap, he looked at the dark screen.

The deck under his feet began to hum. The liner would be departing
soon.
What a waste.

He hadn't even gambled once. Looking out the window, he laid his
head on the cool pane.
150
The seat moved as someone sat down next to him.

The last thing he needed compounding his melodrama was another

fat, greasy, smelly Twi'lek sitting next to him. Sucking in a slow breath,
he turned his head to see what fate had inflicted upon him.
Walthen blinked.

A pleasant looking woman sat next to him, smiling politely. Her

shoulder length brown hair complemented cool green eyes.
"Hello."

Certainly not the stuff his fantasies were made of.

"Hi. My name's Walthen."

"Fenia. Fenia Havis. Nice to meet you."

But then again, his fantasies never worked out quite the way he
planned.
"You going back to Coruscant too?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Have to get back to work."

"Me too." Then he added politely, "What do you do?"

"I'man accountant."

"Me too!"

"Really?" she cooed "What firm?"

"Generis-"

"-Faytch, Organa!" they finished together. Walthen turned to face her

fully.
"What floor?"

"Six-ninety."

"Seven-twenty-three," he almost yelled.

"Wow." Fenia blushed. "What are the odds? I come halfway across the
galaxy to meet someone who has been a few hundred meters away
from me!"
151
Walthen nodded. A flash of Pleau's bobbed black hair flashed into his
head. One of the last things she had said to him nibbled at the base
of his brain.
Unlike you, I am not an accountant on vacation.

Walthen sat up bolt straight.

He had never told Pleau that he was an accountant. He had

never even told her his name.
Artist? I dont think so.

Walthen gripped the armrests, pushing up.

"Leaving so soon?"

Walthen Borr looked down at Fenia Havis.

Suddenly he wanted very badly to smack his own face. He knew, all at
once, why his life had never been as good as the stories he had tried to
write.
What am I thinking?

Easing himself back into his seat, he stared ahead. The flight
announcements blared through the cabin.
"Not at all." He smiled, looking at her face, holding her gaze for a quick,
spine buzzing second. A Rodian flight attendant leaned over the row of
seats.
"Can I getta' you anything?"

"Uh, yeah. Mandalore martini."

Walthen grabbed her green arm as she started to shuffle away.

"Two...please," he added, returning Fenia's smile

Powering up his datapad, he let his fingers play over the keys. His
seat-mate peered over his shoulder.
"You're a writer?"

He nodded, smiling, never taking his eyes from the screen.

"Me too," Fenia Havis whispered.

152
Walthen Borr did a terrible job of hiding his grin.

He had a story to finish.

Laughter.

It was the last thing Heath Helstrom had expected to hear coming
from behind the thick double doors. Leaning closer to the door, he
narrowed his eyes.
The Sith's synthesized peal was overtaken by the shrill female howling.

They were laughing.

Heath backed up, staring ice at the thick double doors.

They were laughing at him.

A stab of humiliation stuck his chest. Turning from the door, he looked
down. The only other thing in the long hallway was the remains of the
guard droid. The smoking silent mass lay defeated on the polished
tile.
"Like me."

Shuffling over to the pile of parts, Heath sheepishly tapped the

droid with a toe.
He had risked his life racing over five sectors of space, millions of
light years, to rescue the princess.
The Sith's henchmen couldnt stop Heath Helstrom. Death
Mountain hadnt taken him. Nor the Sith's droid guard.
But he hadnt expected this.

Kneeling, he examined the remains of the droid. The ruined plating

covered no less than three exposed blaster barrels. The automaton
had been prepared for a full physical assault, not intellectual
warfare.
"Was I unprepared?"

No.

This was just the final test.

Picking up the remains of the droid, he rose.

He had come too far.

153
"I have a princess to save."

He gripped the thick handle of the door.

"Like it or not."

He ripped the door open.

If the Sith's mask could have worn surprise, it did. The princess'
eyes were agog.
Heath stepped into the room, dropping the droid on the floor with
a clunk.
"There's your guard."

The Sith stepped forward, flipping his saber to life in one

smooth motion.
Heath gulped.

"Oops."

The Sith advanced. The princess cackled behind him.

Heath cast around the room for a weapon. The only thing close
enough was the remains of the spent droid.
He reached for the weapon.

Hurling the droid at the Sith, he watched as the dark Jedi sheared
the missile in two. The droid exploded, throwing the Sith into the wall.
He slid to the floor, motionless.
The princess blinked.

"About time!"

Obviously, the Sith's influence over her had ceased. She stepped
forward, sticking a finger in his face.
"What took you so long? Doesn't my father think that his princess
is important enough to send his entire army after?"
"I-"

"And another thing, do you know how long I was held hostage? And
thisfreak, I dont even want to tell you what kind of entertainment
he's into!"
154
"I-"

"I dont care! All I want now is a hot bath and a seven course banquet
des-"
Heath slapped her face. The smack echoed in the high-ceilinged room.

Her surprise thickened the air around them as the sound of his
hand meeting her cheek died on the walls.
The princess' lip quivered. An angry tear raced down her face.

Heath looked her in the face. For the first time, he saw her for what
she really was.
A little girl.

"You have a choice, princess. Stay quiet and get rescued..."

Her eyebrows perked up, waiting for the other option.

The lights fluttered, then blinked out, leaving them in darkness.

The generator had blown.

Perfect timing.

"Come on."

Heath turned around, striding out the door.

"Let's go home."

Blinking, the old man rubbed his bloodshot eyes. Staring at the
datapad for another second, he smoothed over his wrinkled face,
peering into the darkness of the living room. The single light from the
hallway made it difficult to tell if a slight smile ticked his lips.
His crooked finger hovered over the power button a moment before
switching it off.
A groan, and he stood, letting the feeling trickle back into his legs.

With a weak stretch, he turned, hobbling towards the door. His hand
touched a low shelf on the way out. Then he was gone.
155
A small statue stood on the dusty shelf, glittering in the hallway light.
The transparisteel spike was the only item in the collection of
trophies that was free of dust.
A small plaque shone out from the base of the statue.

Writers and Scribes - Coruscant

Best New Writer of the Year

The hallway light clicked off.

 The Phlutdroid
By: Brian Pacula

The intercom rang. The woman set down the romance

novel she was reading, Sunsets On Yaga Minor, and called
to her husband in the next room. "Quint, there's somebody
at the door."

He didn't respond. The intercom rang again. "Quint? Should I

answer it?"

This time he replied with a barely audible grunt. She rolled

her eyes at his thoughtlessness. Probably holed up with his
podracing journals again, she thought. She tapped the 'reply'
button on the intercom and said, "Yes, who's there?"

"Is this the residence of Quint and Madlen Bindo?" asked the
voice on the other end.

"Yes," she said. "Who is it, please?"

"Delivery droid," was the answer.

"Delivery from whom? We're not expecting anything." Madlen

was a frequent shopper from Holonet catalogs, but she hadn't
ordered anything lately-her budget had been severely
tightened after Quint's last streak of racing losses.

She released the intercom button, so the droid couldn't hear,

and yelled, "Quint! Are you expecting a delivery?"

"I don't know," he yelled back. "Stop bothering me."

She sighed bitterly. Him and his blasted journals, she thought.
And still he loses all the time. The point of their union had
been starting to elude her in the past few weeks.

After a pause, the droid's voice came over the intercom in

answer to her question: "Delivery droid," it said again, and
then, after another brief pause, "from SoroSuub Luxury
Goods."
Madlen's eyebrows lifted; her interest was piqued. "Okay,
come on in," she said, and pressed the button that
granted security clearance to her visitor.
In the moments it took for the droid to take the lift to the
floor where her apartment was located, Madlen wondered
what was coming. Had she ordered something a long time
ago, and forgotten about it, or had Quint, in an
uncharacteristically considerate mood, bought her something
nice as a surprise? She knew he wouldn't want any of the
things that SoroSuub Luxury Goods made-whatever the
delivery was, it had to be for her. Her spirits perked up a
little. She stood up and hovered by the door, waiting for the
droid to knock.

The Phlutdroid didn't bother to knock, it simply planted one

wedge-shaped foot against the door and pushed until the
whole thing caved in with a terrible noise and a shower of
metal shards and concrete dust. The organic on the other side
screamed, staggered back in shock, and covered its face with
its arms.

The Phlutdroid-it knew its own designation to be IG-72, but

rarely shared this information with organics-leveled its blaster
rifle at the human, still cringing and backing away in panic.
IG-72 waited. Of all the things it found contemptible about
organics, the panic instinct was one of the things that irritated
it the very most. Time and time again, when an unsuspecting
organic was confronted with a two-meter tall assassin droid
bearing down on it, the flesh-burdened creature would resort
to pathetic spastics in a futile attempt at self-preservation.
This often created delays and confusion, which could result in
collateral damage-which was bad business practice-and never,
in IG-72's experience, resulted in the extension of the doomed
organic's lifespan for more than a fleeting moment or two. It
waited for the human to calm down before it posed a question
to it in an measure to prevent collateral damage.

"Are you Quint Bindo?" intoned the Phlutdroid's metal voice.

The trembling organic stared up at the towering chrome

monster with wet eyes. "N-n-no," it stammered.

At this point, IG-72's Learning Module, an intelligence

processor that operated semi-independently of its Primary
Motivator, kicked in and started to criticize. Of course that
isn't Quint Bindo, it said. The distribution of adipose tissue
clearly indicates that this is a female human, Quint Bindo's
mate. Better to have simply killed her and verified her
identity later; the needless delay has given Quint Bindo time
to escape. Go and find him now.

IG-72's Primary Motivator redacted this message to

something shorter and easier to recall-escape is worse than
collateral damage-and filed that bit of information away for
later use.
Though loathsomely organic, Madlen Bindo was no longer of any
concern to IG-72, so it left her stammering and shaking in
the main room of the apartment and went stalking down the
corridor in search of her mate. He hadn't escaped; IG-72
found him right away, in the bedroom, surrounded by open
volumes of podracing journals, cowering in the corner. IG-72
reflected briefly on how many of the organics it had known
who had spent the last moments of their lives cowering in the
corners of rooms, as if the intersection of walls afforded them
some sort of protective benefits, which clearly it didn't. IG-72
did not bother to ask the organic whether or not it was Quint
Bindo, the probability was high enough at this point that it
was rational enough to go ahead and exterminate him on the
spot. It aimed its rifle.

"Wait, wait, wait, don't shoot, don't shoot!" the organic

screamed. "I'll bargain. Let me bargain. We'll make a deal.
Just hear me out, hear me out, don't shoot, don't shoot!"

IG-72 hesitated. It had, on the advice of its Learning Module,

programmed itself to respond positively to words
like deal and bargain.

"Now listen-just listen," said Quint, sensing a moment of

opportunity. "Mogo sent you, right? Mogo the Hutt? Listen, in
three days, just three days, I'll have all the money I owe him.
All of it. And more. I can't pay him if I'm dead, right? He can't
get the money I owe him if you kill me, right? So listen. Just
listen. You let me live. You let me live, and-how much did
Mogo pay you to hunt me? How much?"

"Four thousand credits," said the Phlutdroid.

"I'll double it. I'll give you eight thousand. I'll give you eight
thousand, and I'll give Mogo everything I owe him. I'll make
everybody happy. Just give me three days. Three days, and
I'll have the money. Just three days, that's all I need." Quint
was nearly out of breath by the time he finished his pitch.
IG-72 evaluated the options it was presented with. Eight
thousand credits was considerably more than four thousand,
and its primary objective was to accumulate large numbers of
credits. On the other hand, the offer was being made by a
trapped organic desperate to save its own life, and it was
predicated upon a wait of three days, during which time IG-72
would have to closely monitor Quint Bindo's whereabouts and
activities or else risk letting him escape. Worst of all, breaking
faith with the Hutt would be very bad business practice, and
would most likely reduce its prospects for future acquisition of
credits.
"I decline your offer," said the Phlutdroid, before
shooting Quint Bindo sixteen times in the chest.

IG-72's means of interstellar transport was an old Republic-

era LM-3 Security Cruiser, a wing-shaped starship that had
been manufactured exclusively for the Ibhlan Space Police
before they were massacred by the pirates of Korondokor. The
wrecked hulls of the Ibhlan ships had been salvaged and
resold as fixer-uppers by enterprising starship mechanics; IG-
72's still showed some of the carbon scoring it had received in
that famous battle. The ship was the first thing it had ever
purchased with the credits it started earning as a bounty
hunter.

It had only gone into the profession after seeing reports of

IG-88's activities on the Holonet News Network and devising
the notion that it, too, could use its hunting and killing skills-
the primary functions for which it was created-as a means to
acquire credits, which would provide it with a scheme for
creating and meeting goals and measuring its own
competence and success-crucial things for maintaining a
droid's will to remain activated. Prior to making that decision,
IG-72 had occupied itself and put its talents to use by lurking
in the lower levels of Coruscant and hunting down individuals
on the Empire's Most Wanted Criminals list-a thankless task
for which it received no recognition or reward. It also killed
the Imperial agents who were sent to investigate the
unexplained deaths of these criminals, knowing that any
organic involved in planetary security would be likely to know
of, and act upon, the Dismantle-On-Sight orders that had
been issued regarding the Phlutdroids that had blasted their
way out of Holowan Laboratories.

Though IG-72 was certain it could handle any individual or small

group of organics that might try to subdue it, it knew organics
had the inherent ability to replicate themselves through
biological reproduction and therefore existed in proliferation to a
disgusting degree-and that it was possible, if IG-72 wasn't
careful, to unite enough of them in common enmity against
itself that they might, by sheer force of numbers, manage to
destroy the assassin droid. So it kept a low profile, until the
day it elected to follow the path chosen by its fellow
Phlutdroid IG-88. Preferring to encounter organics in smaller
concentrations, IG-72 left Coruscant on that day and sought
its fortune in the frontier worlds of the Outer Rim.

IG-88, which was actually four droids operating under the

same designation, was far more notorious and successful than
the lone IG-72. As a result, IG-72 was often mistaken for IG-
88, and was able to pass itself off as IG-88 to potential
employers who were only interested in hiring the more
infamous assassin. To all but its most loyal repeat clients-like
Mogo, for instance-IG-72 identified itself only as a
Phlutdroid-"Project Phlutdroid" being the working name of
Holowan Laboratories' assassin droid development program,
and the name by which the general public knew the
droids-"Oh no! Phlutdroid!" were the last words of many an
organic IG-72 had disintegrated.

The LM-3 came out of hyperspace in Huttspace, near the icy

comet cloud of Juntor XII where Mogo stationed his fleet-a
battered collection of a dozen-odd freighters and transports
staffed by Twi'leks and Niktos in debt peonage to the Hutt.
Mogo's own residence and flagship was the Pawawanga, a
Corellian gunship modified by placing additional turbolaser
batteries wherever empty space on the hull would allow,
resulting in a ship that looked as if it were covered all over
in spiny quills. IG-72 maneuvered its ship up to a docking
tube and boarded the Pawawanga. Once the airlocks were
sealed, the LM-3 disconnected and trailed behind the
gunship on autopilot, leaving the tube free for the next
visitor. The Hutt received many guests.

Though the exterior was outfitted as a war vessel, inside

the Pawawanga seemed far more like a cheap pleasure cruiser
or low-end orbital casino. The interior of the ship was painted
in Mogo's preferred color scheme, scab red and brownish-
green. IG-72 was conveyed to the bridge by a one-eyed
Rodian; there it found the Hutt, lounging in a floating bowl-
shaped bed, orbited by a crowd of hangers-on consisting of
weathered hunters and smugglers, wealthy alien cohorts, and
161
partially-dressed humanoid females. Rare was the Hutt of means
who did not travel with such an entourage; whether such
companions universally appealed to the Hutt psychobiology, or
whether they were simply a convention of the way Hutts
competed with each other in a contest to display their riches and
influence, IG-72 wasn't certain; in either case it found it a
deplorable habit to gather together large numbers of organics,
particularly when Hutts themselves were such putridly large
expanses of living flesh. It chilled the Phlutdroid's servomotors
just to imagine the vast networks of nerves, rivers of circulating
blood, and labyrinthine digestive tracts necessary to sustain a
creature of such enormity.

But, repellent as he was, Mogo was a reliable source of

income for the Phlutdroid, who had to lay aside its negative
feelings towards Hutts and organics in general when it dealt
with the great fat crimelord. Made to wait for an indefinite
span of time before the Hutt would grant it an audience, IG-
72 shifted to a semi-dormant low-power-consumption mode
while waiting.

Mogo was in the middle of watching a podrace broadcast over

the Holonet when the Phlutdroid arrived, after which there
was a celebration-the Hutt had won several of the bets he
placed on the race-during which the Hutt and his comrades
drank and feasted, did spice, watched a succession of exotic
dancers, hastily arranged-and gambled on-a fistfight between
a Devaronian and a Nikto, and listened to a plump Twi'lek girl
sing a impassioned cover of "By the Time I Get to Bespin
(You'll Be Moving On)," a new song currently popular in the
Outer Rim. Finally, when the song was over, Mogo noticed
the Phlutdroid's presence and called it over.

"Ah, my favorite droid," said the Hutt in his native language-

one of many in which IG-72 was fluent. "Come closer. Tell
me what news you have."

IG-72 shifted back to full power and approached Mogo.

"Greetings, excellent Hutt," said IG-72, addressing the Hutt in
the formal, respectful manner that he liked. "I have come to
collect the bounty on Quint Bindo." The Phlutdroid projected a
holographic recording of Quint Bindo's death for Mogo to see;
the Hutt's eyes widened with interest as he watched.

162
"Very good, my metal friend," said Mogo. He pointed to his
one-eyed Rodian servant with an empty goblet clutched in his
meaty hand. "Transfer four thousand credits into Phlutdroid's
account right now." The Rodian hurried out of the bridge. "I
think I may already have another job for you," said the Hutt,
turning his attention back to IG-72. "A dangerous one. I think
any other hunter would be too afraid to take it. Ho, ho, ho."

The Phlutdroid knew that fear was an organic mental state

linked with the instinct of self-preservation, and that it caused
organics to behave in undignified and illogical ways, but it
could not conceive of what it felt like to be afraid of
something, not even its own destruction. IG-72 regarded its
own death-whether it came in the form of a memory wipe or
mechanical failure-as an inevitability, to be avoided where
skills and circumstance permit, but no cause for concern or
regret when it happened. All beings, it knew, were destined to
perish, droids and organics alike. Being in the business of
putting things out of existence, the Phlutdroid had certainly
seen enough of them go. That it too should one day cease to
exist seemed natural and logical.
But until that fatal hour arrived, there were credits to amass,
organics to kill.

"I'll do it," said the Phlutdroid, without waiting to hear what

it was.

The job was indeed more dangerous than usual. The target
wasn't a delinquent gambler or a double-crossing smuggler or
any of the rest of the Phlutdroid's usual fare. The target was a
well-connected associate of one of Mogo's rivals, Jabba the
Hutt. He was one of Jabba's top lieutenants, a high-volume
spice runner who was cutting into traffic in what was,
unofficially, Mogo's territory. This target, with Jabba's name
and fortune backing him, would probably have enough
defenses and security at his disposal to make an attempted
hit from any organic bounty hunter a very risky prospect. IG-
72 expected no difficulties.

The Phlutdroid left the Pawawanga with only a beggar's plate

of leads: a name (Gazzo Ku Metz), a few aliases, a brief
rundown of recent activities, his last known whereabouts

163
(coming out of the Kessel Run), and the identification number
of a six-engine modified bulk freighter he was known to use.
That was all. Mogo wasn't even sure what species the man
was. Some claimed he was human, some said Duros, and
others just weren't sure.

The assassin droid's plan was to go somewhere where its

target would have to show his face, sooner or later-Jabba the
Hutt's primary residence and base of operations on Tatooine.
Without any way to visually identify that face, IG-72 knew
that some intelligence gathering would be necessary once it
arrived on the desert planet. With no time to waste, it set its
coordinates for the twin suns of Tatooine the moment its
returned to its starship, and shot off into hyperspace to
begin tracking its prey.

Upon arrival in the Tatoo system, IG-72 radioed the Mos

Eisley spaceport and rented out docking bay 16, steering
its ship through the burning upper atmosphere of the
barren world and setting a course for the city.

En route, IG-72 had worked out its plans in greater detail. It

knew it could easily be recognized by one of the many
hardened spacers and figureheads of the underworld who
frequented Mos Eisley and Jabba's palace, and understood
that it would therefore have to keep a low profile. Without
some way to positively identify Gazzo Ku Metz, there wasn't
much IG-72 could do, and a two-meter tall chrome assassin
droid was ill-suited to spying and reconnaissance. The first
sensible action to take would be to make a contact on the
inside, someone who could provide the Phlutdroid with
information about the activities and whereabouts of Jabba
and his associates. Ideally, a droid.

The Phlutdroid used its ship's computer to access the

spaceport's main data network, slicing itself a high-level
clearance code in less than a minute-Holowan Laboratories
had been given access to powerful Imperial decryption
modules-which it used to monitor the comings and goings
of various worker, astromech, and maintenance droids
throughout the city.
Before long, it found what it was looking for: an R2 unit that,
in the course of one day, logged into data terminals in both
the spaceport and Jabba's Mos Eisley townhouse. The

164
Phlutdroid left its ship and headed for docking bay 38, where
the R2 unit had been at a terminal just moments before. It
stayed in the shadows and empty alleys where possible, but
was nevertheless seen by at least a dozen transients and
lowlifes. Most of them barely gave the imposing droid a
second look, so preoccupied were they with their own wants
and troubles. If any of them recognized the Phlutdroid, they
didn't show it.

IG-72 soon found a likely candidate for its R2 unit rolling away
from docking bay 38, headed towards a busy thoroughfare.
The Phlutdroid moved quickly, stepping in front of the little
red astromech and blocking its path. The R2 unit bleated
angrily at the Phlutdroid, and rolled backwards to try to get
around.

"You there. Stop where you are," said the Phlutdroid. "I
need to speak with you, astro-droid." It stepped forward,
backing the rotund R2 unit into a doorframe. Trapped, the
astromech whistled and chirped insults to the other droid.

"Tell me your designation," said the Phlutdroid, ignoring the

R2 unit's expletives.

"Tweedledoopweep bloorp," replied the astromech.

"Well, R2-D8, I must ask you to do a favor for me," said the
Phlutdroid. "You are owned by Jabba the Hutt, are you not?"

"Whirp-cheep."

"I need for you to determine the whereabouts of one of

Jabba's chief associates-the smuggler Gazzo Ku Metz."

"Tworbledoodlewhip-bleep doot worrp?"

"Because I'll disintegrate you on the spot if you don't,

that's why."

R2-D8 whistled a low tone of resignation.

"Yes, I knew you would see things my way," said the Phlutdroid.
"Now, tell no-one of our meeting. Come to docking

165
bay 16 tomorrow and upload any information you have into
my ship's computer."

"Beep-whirrt tootle-chirp."

"That's correct. Now, go, and if you carry out your task
properly, I may consider taking off your restraining bolt, and
you won't have to serve the Hutt anymore. Think about that,
R2-D8."

The red astromech rolled away, into the streets of Mos

Eisley, tweeting and chirruping quietly to itself as it went.
Satisfied, IG-72 hustled back to its starship to plan out the
next phases of its strategy.

Tatoo II had just begun its crawl over the horizon when an
incoming message on the ship computer woke IG-72 up
from semi-dormancy. The little R2 unit had come through-
IG-72 quickly scanned the contents of the message:

Subject: Gazzo
Chumetz Age: No data
Species: No data
Currently overseeing spice production on Ryloth. Expected
to meet with Jabba at Mos Espa in 4 days to discuss Core
trafficking.

Not much, but it was a good lead to follow. IG-72 decided to

wait until the third day before moving on to Mos Espa, it could
use the intervening time to sniff out new leads in Mos Eisley,
and there was always the possibility that the astromech was
deliberately trying to throw the Phlutdroid off-track and trick
it into leaving the city.

In those three days of waiting, no new information turned up.

On the evening of the second day, R2-D8 returned to the
spaceport to give the network the identification codes of
starships owned by certain unwelcome persons whose faces
Jabba didn't want to see on the planet anymore. When the
astromech droid's location was reported by the spaceport
computer network, IG-72 hastily left its ship and went to
meet with the little R2 unit once again.

166
On its way to the terminal where R2-D8 was conducting its
business, IG-72 detected a human voice somewhere off in the
distance excitedly exclaiming, "Look! Look! It's IG-88! IG-88!"
but soon vanished around a corner and gave no more thought
to the matter. It found the red astromech still connected to its
terminal, busily feeding data into the network.

"R2-D8, I wish to speak with you," said the Phlutdroid.

"Bleep?"
"Based on the report you gave me, I am going to Mos
Espa tomorrow to lie in wait for Gazzo Ku Metz. Have you
uncovered any additional information since then?"

"Doodle-woodle wheep deep."

"Yes, you should have continued searching. The information

you gave me could be false or fabricated. That would
displease me very much."

"Worrp tweedle whoop-doop?"

"We shall wait and see."

"Bleep deep whoot deedle weep-dorrp?"

"I don't know. That isn't my problem to worry about. I don't

have time to return to this city once my job is complete."

"Deeble-beep boop pleet." The little red droid was

persistent, no doubt about that.

"Listen, astro-droid. If you want your restraining bolt taken off

so badly, then find a way to be in Mos Espa in two days. I'm
not coming back here for your sake. Unless the information
you've given me proves to be false, in which case you can be
sure I'll come back to blast you back into your constituent
atoms."

The astromech retracted its terminal connector, hooted a

string of rude phrases at the Phlutdroid, speeding away as it
remarked that the assassin droid could bet its last servomotor
that R2-D8 did not, and never would, pass incorrect
information on to a fellow droid; and that if the Phlutdroid

167
didn't come back and remove the restraining bolt like it
promised, then R2-D8 would see to it that the Phlutdroid
lived to regret it.

Perplexed, IG-72 watched the red astromech disappear into

the streets again. It knew it had never promised to remove
the R2 unit's restraining bolt-IG-72 knew that astromech
droids, probably due to their frequent contact with organics,
were habitual and unrepentant liars. Nevertheless, IG-72
couldn't help but be impressed by the little dome-headed
droid's fearlessness. No organic had ever been bold enough
to speak to the Phlutdroid so disrespectfully, not even a Hutt.

The operating system that ran Mos Espa's computer network

was so antiquated and bug-ridden that IG-72 couldn't even
slice into it, and the assassin droid doubted that it would have
yielded any useful information even if it could have. So IG-72
stole a bundle of tattered cloaks that had been the garments
and bedclothes of a destitute human it had found passed out
and reeking of Zappo Wine (a popular cheap alcoholic
beverage in the Outer Rim, marketed as Zappo All-Purpose
Detergent on the more well-to-do Core planets). Enshrouding
itself in the filthy rags, the Phlutdroid skulked around Jabba's
Mos Espa townhouse in makeshift disguise, waiting for
something to happen.

It was mid-afternoon on the fourth day. The Phlutdroid had

been in Mos Espa since the previous night and so far there
was no sign that Jabba was going to be coming to town, no
sign that any important offworlders had arrived. The
astromech's tip seemed to be a dead end. IG-72 wondered if
it would be worth its trouble to return to Mos Eisley and make
good on its vow to destroy the astromech for passing along
bad information.

The Phlutdroid walked a circuit around the city block

containing Jabba's townhouse for the forty-eighth time,
scanning for signs of Hutts or infamous spice-runners with
each of its eyes. IG-72 began to consider the dread possibility
that it would need to secure the assistance of an organic in
finding and identifying Gazzo Ku Metz. For reasons that IG-72

168
could not fathom, organics were often entrusted with sensitive
information that droids were not privy to.

The droid stopped. It had seen something. Across the wide

dirt road, in an alleyway, there was a humanoid covered in a
black hooded robe standing behind a pair of Rodian street
vendors. The creature was clearly trying to hide itself, yet its
head remained constantly inclined towards Jabba's place-it
was watching the entrance to the Hutt's house with the fixed
intensity of a Krayt dragon stalking a fattened bantha. It
wouldn't have been obvious to other organics, but IG-72's
telescoping eyes could easily perceive such minute details. It
decided to investigate, thinking it likely that the strange
creature's presence was somehow connected with Gazzo Ku
Metz's expected arrival.

The Phlutdroid walked up to the Rodians, who had their wares

strewn about on blankets by the roadside-there were
children's toys, droid and computer parts, music and
holovideo recordings, home-remedy bacta kits, tools for
moisture farmers, and even small votive statuettes of the
Emperor. The Phlutdroid stopped by the blankets, studying
the merchandise with one eye and the hooded figure with the
rest. The shadowy creature backed further into the alley as
IG-72 approached.
The two Rodians exchanged glances. The bundle of rags
standing before them was readily identifiable, at such close
proximity, as a droid. IG-72 was aware of this fact, and knew
that its behavior was confusing the witless organics, for the
overwhelming majority of droids were programmed to prefer
to be naked at all times. The Phlutdroid started to creep
around the Rodians' spread on the left side, trying to get
closer to the hooded stranger.

Finally, one of the Rodians said, "May we help you find

something in particular, droid?" Hearing this, the creature in
the alley retreated even further into the darkness, slipping out
of the Phlutdroid's sight. To get a better look down the alley,
IG-72 had to walk almost behind the two Rodians, who were
now growing increasingly nervous and agitated by the droid's
actions.

"Some joint lubricant?" said the other Rodian. "Fresh memory

chips? I think we have a few-"

169
But the Phlutdroid, who wasn't listening anyway, abruptly
dashed down the alleyway at a full run in the middle of the
rubbery green alien's sales pitch.

The figure in the shadows, who had been only a few meters
away just seconds before, had vanished into the back alleys
of downtown Mos Espa.

IG-72 sprinted into a small open area behind a repulsorlift

repair shop that was strewn with garbage and broken
machinery, stopped to calculate which direction the stranger
had likely fled down, and was mildly surprised by a blaster
bolt that grazed its left arm, singing the droid's stolen rags.
IG-72 swiftly lurched back into the narrow passage of the
alley, threw off the burdensome rags, and lifted its blaster
rifle from where it hung behind the Phlutdroid's back. Weapon
at the ready, IG-72 stepped back into the open area, pivoted
to face the direction from which the blaster bolt had been
fired, and searched for something organic at which to take
aim. There was nothing there, only another tight corridor
filled with a scattering of glass from broken bottles and the
burned-out shell of a long-dead GNK power droid.

And then an organic arm lunged up and out over the power
droid shell, sending a small black object flying in an arc
through the air to land at the Phlutdroid's feet. IG-72 had just
enough time to identify the object as a hand grenade before it
detonated.

The force of the blast destroyed the Phlutdroid's blaster rifle

and sent the assassin droid itself crashing in a heap of
wayward limbs into a pile of trash from the repair shop, but it
was not powerful enough to cause any serious damage to the
droid's armored body. IG-72 staggered back to a standing
position as smoke from the explosion billowed upwards,
clutching its ruined rifle. Three more blaster bolts tore
through the lifting smoke, missing the Phlutdroid's torso by
inches. Seeing that the rifle was now useless, it threw the
weapon to the ground and stomped towards its attacker. IG-
72 figured it could kill the creature with its own hands easily
enough-they were, after all, in the shape of metal claws. And
if that didn't work out, there was always the Phlutdroid's built-
in flamethrower.

170
The attacker gave the assassin droid yet another mild surprise
by standing up and aiming its blaster at the droid's head,
rather than fleeing again and attempting another sneak
attack. Though some of the criminals it had hunted on
Coruscant had stood their ground and fought the Phlutdroid to
their deaths, they only elected to do so when all possible
avenues of escape had been exhausted. Perhaps the creature
was emboldened by the fact that the Phlutdroid had been
disarmed, but the chrome killer considered this to be only a
minor setback.

"Hold it. Don't come any closer," said the hooded creature.
"I've seen some ugly security droids in my day, but you've
got to be the worst. How much did you set Gazzo back? Fifty
credits? Or are you just some reject Jabba lifted off a dead
Jawa?"

The Phlutdroid stopped, intrigued by a new sensation that

even its Learning Module wasn't quite sure how to handle. It
had been queer enough when the little R2 unit had talked
back to it, but here was an organic-a female human, if the
modulation of the creature's voice was any indicator-who was
showing open contempt for the Phlutdroid! It aroused strange
feelings in IG-72's electronic brain.

"What's the matter, aren't you going to answer me?" said the
organic. "Or isn't there room enough for a voice unit in that
skinny head of yours?"

IG-72 decided that this was the most pleasing organic that it
had ever encountered. It behaved the way IG-72 felt all
organics should behave-fearless of death; and violent, rather
than servile, towards a potential aggressor who was obviously
much more powerful. Believing that killing such a wonderfully
unique organic would have to be a much more enjoyable
experience than killing a non-anomalous one, as the droid had
done so many times before, IG-72 stepped closer.

But, true to its word, the creature fired its blaster at the
Phlutdroid, hitting it in its torso, near the left shoulder. The
Phlutdroid swiveled one eye to examine the wound left by the
shot-a tiny glowing bubble of molten metal.

171
The Phlutdroid's frame was made to withstand low-grade
blaster fire.

The blaster shot changed IG-72's mind. It did not want to kill
the creature yet. It wanted to see what other surprising
things the creature was capable of doing. IG-72 wondered
what the creature might do in other, different, situations.

"I'm telling you for the last time, droid-stand back or I'll blow
your head off."

The Phlutdroid hesitated. It did not want to provoke the

creature into firing a shot at its head; replacing a broken
eye was costly and inconvenient. It decided to try speaking
with the creature.

"Put down your weapon, organic. I have decided not to kill

you."

"That's not good enough," the creature said, angrily shaking

its blaster for emphasis. "I want you to turn around and get
out of here."

The Phlutdroid considered doing this, if only to return a

moment later to observe the creature from a distance. But
it recalled something the creature had said a moment
earlier, and knew it had to pursue an inquiry.

"First, tell me what you know about Gazzo Ku Metz," said the
assassin droid.

"You know enough about Gazzo already. Or are you going to

tell me you're not his security droid, after I saw you pacing
around that bloody townhouse at least fifty times this
morning? I think you wore a rut into the streets."

"I am not a security droid," said IG-72. "I have come here to
kill Gazzo Ku Metz, to collect the bounty posted on his head
by Mogo the Hutt."

The organic lowered its blaster a few inches. "Are you

serious?"

"Yes," said the Phlutdroid, who was always serious.

172
"Well, you've probably scared him away from Mos Espa for
the next year or so," the creature said, lowering the blaster a
little more. "Because you were pretty damn conspicuous,
stomping around Jabba's house all day. Was that pile of
laundry you were carrying around supposed to be some sort
of disguise? Because I don't think you could have fooled a
Tusken Raider with his mask on backwards into thinking that
you were anything but a combat droid."

The Phlutdroid was a bit put out to learn that its ruse had
been a failure. "Who are you?" it asked the organic. "What are
you doing here?"

The blaster jumped a few inches again-the organic would not

let its guard down. "Why, I'm here for the same reason you
are, droid. I'm here to bag Gazzo."

"Gazzo Ku Metz is my target," said the Phlutdroid. "His bounty

is mine to claim."

"The bounty goes to whoever kills him first, tinhead."

This complicated matters-the creature was a fellow bounty

hunter, a threat to IG-72's means to acquire credits. It
wondered if it might be best to go ahead and kill the creature
after all. After a second of deliberation, it decided to try to cut
a deal with the organic instead. "Tell me what you know about
the location and identity of Gazzo Ku Metz," said the
Phlutdroid, "or else I will rend you to pieces." It held out its
arms and opened its claws in a threatening gesture.

"Don't make me laugh. I'm the one holding the blaster,

droid."

"Shoot me again," said the Phlutdroid. And the organic did.

The blast pitted another sizzling hole in the droid's
exoskeleton, but left it otherwise unharmed. "Your weapon is
useless against me," it stated.

The organic's grip on the blaster began to tremble. "So it is,"

it said, with somewhat less bravado than it had previously put
into its voice. "Perhaps we can compromise."

173
"Tell me where to find Gazzo Ku Metz."

"All I know is that he was supposed to meet with Jabba here

today-but like I said, one of Jabba's lookouts probably saw
you prowling around, and called the meeting off. I wouldn't
be surprised if Gazzo was back on Ryloth by now, and we're
both out of luck."

The assassin droid reviewed its options. If the organic was

right, then the trail had gone completely cold, and it would
have to start again from scratch. However, if the meeting
between Jabba and Gazzo Ku Metz had really been intended
to take place, then the chances were high that the notorious
smuggler was still somewhere on the planet, but if there was
to be any chance of catching him before he fled into space
again, drastic action would have to be taken. Compared to
the Phlutdroid, the hostile organic was small and pliable, and
not visually remarkable in any way. It could go places and do
things that would be difficult for IG-72.

"Then I demand that we enter into a temporary league

together," said the Phlutdroid, "to locate and destroy Gazzo
Ku Metz. If your assistance proves useful, I will give you thirty
percent of the bounty." Besides, it would afford the assassin
droid more opportunities to observe the creature's atypical
behavior.

"Fifty percent. I won't do it for a credit less."

Better to expedite things, the Phlutdroid decided, and

eliminate the primary target as soon as possible. That
would be good business practice. "I accept your counter-
offer," it said.

The organic straightened its body and relaxed slightly. "All

right," it said.
"Glad to hear it. You know, I don't usually work with a
partner, but I guess it's really in my best interests if I make
an exception in your case." It pulled back the hood covering
its head, and the creature's facial structure further confirmed
the Phlutdroid's initial suspicions that it was a human female.
"My name is Ondine Vega," she said, bowing slightly to the
tall assassin droid.

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"I've never met a droid bounty hunter before. You aren't IG-
88, are you?"

"No," said IG-72.

"Good," said Ondine Vega with a slight laugh. "But that was a
stupid question. If you were IG-88, I wouldn't still be standing
here, would I?" She glanced over her shoulder down the alley,
taking her eyes off the Phlutdroid for the first time since their
stand-off began. "What's your designation, droid?"

"I am Phlutdroid," said IG-72.

Ondine looked back at the assassin droid with a searching

expression. "That sounds familiar. I think I've heard that
name somewhere before." She holstered her blaster. "Well,
let's get out of here, Phlutdroid. We're not going to get
anything done just standing around like this."

After winding their way out of the back alleys, the two hunters
stopped at a Whiphid arms dealer's tent to replace the
Phlutdroid's obliterated rifle.

"I was thinking," said Ondine, as the Phlutdroid scrutinized the

quality of a customized BlasTech DL-44 the hairy alien was
trying to sell, "there's no reason to assume the meeting has to
take place at you-know-who's townhouse. He practically owns
all of Mos Espa. They could be anywhere."

"Affirmative," said the Phlutdroid, rejecting the DL-44 after

discovering a number of small imperfections. "But we lack the
resources to conduct a search of so great an area."

"That's why we have to be smart," said Ondine, as the

Whiphid walked away to find some more guns to show the
Phlutdroid, "and think like a Hutt."

"No," said IG-72, repulsed by the idea of attempting to

emulate the irrational and inefficient thinking patterns of
an organic.

175
"We ought to check the podrace arena. It's practically
deserted right now-they could be there."

"Our best chance of success lies in the effective application of

accurate intelligence, not random searches," said IG-72,
taking a blaster carbine that the Whiphid had come back to
show.

"I tried that already. All I got was the tip that led me here. I
had my ship's computer put out a request for informants on
the spaceport network-I only got one reply, late last night.
It was from a little red astromech droid-all he wanted in
exchange for his information was to have his restraining bolt
taken off. Funny little guy."

The Phlutdroid glanced up from the weapon it was examining.

"So really, what else can we do?" Ondine continued. "It'll be

evening soon-if Gazzo's still here, we've got to hustle and look
through every last corner of this lousy sandbowl. Don't you
have heat sensors, x-ray vision, all that stuff? We can do it if
we try."

IG-72 lifted up the blaster carbine. "I'll take it," it told

the Whiphid.

The Phlutdroid left the arms dealer's tent with the carbine, a
standard-issue DL-44, and a pair of thermal detonators-more
than enough to kill Gazzo Ku Metz, whatever he was.
Assuming he could be found.

Sure enough, the arena was nearly empty. It had been many
months since any races took place at Mos Espa. The only life
forms to be found were scavenging Jawas, a handful or Ranat
squatters, and a Quarren and a Rodian doing spice together
in the middle of the empty bleachers. There was no sign that
Jabba or anyone from his organization had even visited the
place anytime recently.

"Okay, so they're not here," said Ondine as the pair finished

their search of the arena's lower levels. "We had to give it a

176
shot. Where else in Mos Espa do you think Jabba might meet
one of his cronies? Maybe we should check out the cantinas."

Ondine's ill-planned, hastily improvised strategies for catching

Gazzo Ku Metz were exactly what the Phlutdroid would expect
from an organic. In many ways, IG-72 noted with a touch of
disappointment, she was just like all the rest.

"We're wasting our time," the Phlutdroid said. "We must cease
further action until we can learn the current whereabouts of
the target."

"And how are we going to do that?" They walked down a

wide, empty hallway towards the arena exits.

The Phlutdroid rattled off the idea it was currently working on.
"Infiltrate Jabba's palace. Find a subordinate with access to
the information we need, and extract it from that creature
with intimidation or torture."

Ondine glanced sideways at the Phlutdroid. "Go ahead and try

that if you want. I can hunt and I can shoot straight, but
undercover work really isn't my thing. I wouldn't last ten
minutes alive in Jabba's palace."

IG-72 was beginning to come to the conclusion that Ondine

Vega was not very useful after all. Once again, the assassin
droid considered the advantages of simply killing the organic
on the spot and continuing the search for Gazzo Ku Metz
without her.

The Phlutdroid's had was already drifting towards the handle

of the DL-44 when the exit doors slid open and a flood of light
from the outside poured into the cavernous hallway. Ondine
reacted instantly, dashing towards a ticket booth and
squeezing herself through the window where she could hide.
The Phlutdroid could only lunge towards the shadows and
attempt to fold itself into something resembling a pile of junk,
powering itself down completely to prevent itself from
emitting any telltale lights or sounds. It left only a single
auditory unit activated.

177
Footsteps indicating several bipeds echoed through the hall,
as well as the characteristic whir of a repulsorlift device. The
doors slid shut.

"I heard a noise. Something just crawled behind that ticket

booth," said a dry, monotone voice.

"It's nothing," said another, high-pitched voice, speaking

in Huttese. "This place is crawling with Jawas and Ranats."
Something let out a few loud grunts and squeals.

"Quite a shame you had to let the arena become such a

mess," said a third voice. "You ought to have races again,
Jabba. Everybody would be happy to see the Boonta
come back."

"Too much trouble," boomed the guttural, unmistakable voice

of Jabba the Hutt. More growls and grunts followed.

"Lots of spice to move at a big race like that." It was the third
speaker again. "You really should consider it."

"I'll tell you a secret, my friend" said Jabba. "The Empire has
told me that if I bring podracing back to Mos Espa, they
might be interested in putting a garrison on Tatooine. For
'security reasons.' Do you see my meaning, Gazzo? We don't
need the races. Now let us talk about the plans you have for
the Core..."

The Phlutdroid reactivated itself. Its target was here. The R2

unit and the organic had been right after all. And now the
time had come for IG-72 to perform its job. The assassin
droid stood up, readied its carbine, and looked to decide
who would be the first to die.

From left to right, it saw the armored and well-known organic

bounty hunter Boba Fett-one of Jabba's new favorites-a white
Twi'lek with fancy clothes and bared teeth, a silver protocol
droid, two fat Gamorreans in bantha-leather cuirasses, a male
human in a spacer suit with short red hair and a scarred face
a Rodian with a pair of blaster pistols hanging from his belt,
and a dark-skinned human female in an outfit that would have
been classified as indecent on most Core worlds.

178
"Oh my!" exclaimed the protocol droid.

Before IG-72 had even selected a target, Boba Fett had

already unloaded two blaster shots into the droid's side; they
caused the Phlutdroid to wobble slightly but left it otherwise
unharmed. It determined, by process of simple elimination,
that the red-haired male human, who was starting to run for
the exit doors, was Gazzo Ku Metz. The Phlutdroid fired off a
flurry of shots from its carbine, several of which struck the
human. The collateral damage was minor: the protocol droid
was struck three times in the abdomen and crumpled into a
smoldering heap, the human female received a flesh wound in
the thigh, and the armrest of Jabba's repulsorlift lounger was
nicked twice. The Gamorreans and the Twi'lek cowered
behind Jabba's corpulent body as the Hutt roared with fury,
the Rodian crouched and pointed his guns at the assassin
droid, but seemed too terrified to pull the triggers.
Gazzo Ku Metz, shot several times in the head and stomach,
fell to the ground, dead.

As the Phlutdroid watched its target fall, it felt something tear

into its left side. Boba Fett, quickly switching to more
effective weaponry, had fired a wrist-rocket and blown the
Phlutdroid's left arm off at the shoulder socket.

IG-72 stared at the smoking hole in its frame with

puzzlement. It had never been seriously damaged before,
and wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Boba Fett took aim
with a second rocket.

And then a hand grenade came flying out from the ticket
booth window where Ondine was hiding, and she stood up and
sprayed blaster fire at Fett, forcing the faceless hunter to duck
and cover. The grenade went off, sending Fett sprawling
across the floor. The Rodian, unlucky enough to be locked in
his crouch at ground zero, was killed. The human female
screamed and ran away into the dark recesses of the arena.
Boba Fett lurched to his feet and launched his wrist-rocket at
the ticket booth, but in his haste his aim was off and he only
managed to blast a hole in the nearby wall. Acrid smoke was
beginning to clog the hallway.

179
"Stop, stop!" the Hutt bellowed, thrashing his tail with rage.
"I command you to put down your weapons! The mighty
Jabba has spoken!"

Boba Fett stood perfectly still, but kept his wrist rockets
carefully aimed in the general direction of Ondine and the
Phlutdroid. The Twi'lek stayed where he was, half-hidden
behind Jabba. The Gamorreans crept out warily and looked
at the carnage with wide eyes and blank, porcine faces.

"You-Phlutdroid-what is the meaning of this?" Jabba asked.

"And you there, in the booth, come out and show yourself.
Hiding can't protect you anymore." Ondine stood up slowly,
fixing a cold stare into the Hutt's eyes.

"Our business is finished here," said IG-72. "Leave us alone

and it will not be necessary to put anyone else to death."

"Ho, ho, ho," Jabba laughed. "This is just the kind of droid I
like-ruthless and bold. But you're not the Phlutdroid I
know. You're not IG-88. You must be IG-72, scourge of the
Outer Rim. Am I right, Phlutdroid?"

Jabba's knowledge of the underworld was peerless; IG-72

knew it would be pointless to attempt to deceive the Hutt.
"That is my designation," it said.

Ondine's face turned white and she broke her stare at the
Hutt to gaze with horror at the Phlutdroid. "You're what?"

Jabba laughed, then burped, and laughed some more.

"Great bleeding Sith, I've heard of you," Ondine went on,

before regaining her composure and snapping her head back
in the Hutt's direction.

"New partners?" asked Jabba, amused. "Tell me, what's your

name, woman? I don't think you'll make it as a bounty
hunter, but I might have a job better suited to your talents.
Ho, ho, ho."

"Let me kill them, Jabba," said Boba Fett. "Just say the word."

180
"No, my deadly friend," said the Hutt. "First they will tell
us why they attacked."

"As I have already said, our business is finished here," said

the Phlutdroid.

"We came to collect the bounty on Gazzo Ku Metz, and I have

killed him. We have no quarrel with you, Hutt."

Jabba started to laugh until drool ran down his belly. "Ho,
ho, ho. You are wrong, Phlutdroid. Gazzo is still alive."

Ondine nodded her head in the direction of the spacer's

body. "That's not him?"

"No, that is Gazzo Chu Metz," said Jabba, waving one of his
blubbery arms towards the Gamorreans, "and his mate, Weeia
Chu Metz." The two portly green aliens gave Jabba a sudden
look of alarm. One of them began to grunt and huff angrily.
"This is your bounty, Phlutdroid, not that worthless human
you shot. Ho, ho, ho."
That was all IG-72 needed to hear. Unable to differentiate sex
between Gamorreans, it quickly drew its DL-44 with its
remaining arm and shot one of them in the forehead, then, as
Boba Fett began to return fire, dispatched the other, now
squealing with terror, with a well-aimed shot to the throat.

Then one of Fett's wrist-rockets struck a glancing blow against

the Phlutdroid's side, ricocheted into the wall behind, and
erupted in a blast that sent the tall assassin droid crashing
face-first into the ground. Ondine ducked back into the booth.

"That's enough, Fett!" the Hutt shouted. "Put your

weapons away!"
Slowly, Fett lowered his wrist. "Fine. But I still want my
money." He shook his helmet in disgust. "What a joke."

The Phlutdroid struggled to get back to a standing position. It

saw that the Gamorreans were dead, and was very pleased
to know that it had completed its task successfully.

"Don't worry, Fett," said Jabba. "No-one could have foreseen

this. You will be paid as if you had done the job yourself."

181
The Phlutdroid managed to raise itself slightly, but was having
difficulty standing up again due to the loss of its left arm.

"Tell me, Phlutdroid, who sent you to kill poor Gazzo? Was
it my foolish little nephew, Mogo?" asked the Hutt.

"Affirmative."

"Ho, ho, ho. That stupid whelp! I'll tell you what to do,
Phlutdroid. Go ahead and claim your bounty from Mogo. Take
him for every last credit-it'll serve him right for trying to
interfere with my business. But tell the fool you bring a
message from Jabba: if he ever puts another bounty on one of
my men's heads again, they'll be scraping chunks of him out
of the inside of that silly star-cruiser of his for months. Do we
have a deal, Phlutdroid?"

As long as it got to claim the bounty it had rightfully earned,

everything was copasetic as far as IG-72 was concerned. "As
you wish," it said to the Hutt.

"Wait a second," said Ondine, surfacing from behind the ticket

counter. "Why are you letting us off so easy, Jabba? What's
the catch?"

"Ho, ho, ho. You heard me wrong, woman-I'm only letting the
Phlutdroid go. You'll be coming back to my palace to replace the
girl who ran off when Phlutdroid shot her in the leg."

"It was I who damaged your property," said IG-72, thinking it

wasteful to turn the unusual organic over to the Hutt,
especially when she had proven to be useful after all. "I will
pay the cost of your lost organic."

The Hutt frowned. "Are you sure, Phlutdroid? It won't

be cheap."

"Affirmative," said the Phlutdroid, who had thousands of

credits and virtually no expenses. It simply collected them for
the sake of watching their numbers grow.

"All right," grumbled the Hutt. "You want to know why you're
leaving here alive, woman? I'll tell you. Gazzo has been
embezzling spice profits from me for many months. I brought

182
him here so Fett could kill him in secret-I didn't want to offend
the rest of the Metz clan. But you came and did the job
instead. These two," he gestured to the dead Rodian and the
red-haired human, "were Gazzo's bodyguard and his
translator." He turned his bulk slightly, to address the
helmeted hunter. "Almost a pity, don't you think, Fett? Gazzo
there was the only smart Gamorrean I ever knew. Ho, ho,
ho." Fett shrugged.

Ondine shook her head. "Looks like we stepped into a real big
mess, here."
"So go-let Mogo take credit for having Gazzo Chu Metz
killed. It's better for me that way," said the Hutt, turning
back to face the others.

"Cross Jabba again and you'll be dead the moment I see you,"
Fett added.

Ondine and the Phlutdroid had heard enough. After arranging

a credit transfer with Jabba's Twi'lek assistant to pay for the
missing girl, they got away from the Mos Espa podracing
arena as fast as they could.

On the outskirts of Mos Eisley, a pair of Jawas busied

themselves reattaching the Phlutdroid's broken arm. Things
had been going smoothly until the Jawas began a heated
argument with each other over the order in which the
various wires should be connected. IG-72 idly considered
disintegrating the two creatures and trying to reattach the
arm by itself.

Ondine walked up, unarmed, dressed in the loose native garb

of Tatooine. She was, she said, officially off-duty for a while.
The Phlutdroid didn't really understand what she meant by
that. It knew it could never postpone or set aside its primary
functions, not for any length of time. The droid had to do what
it was made to do.

"Well, I'm leaving, Phlutdroid. I just wanted to thank you

again for buying me out from Jabba. I'll pay every credit back,
I swear. I'm good for it."

183
IG-72 didn't say anything, just held still while the Jawas
got back to reconnecting its arm.

"I was thinking-you should go ahead and claim the bounty

from Mogo by yourself," Ondine said. "You did all the work,
after all. I mean, I don't think I could have handled any of
that by myself." What she didn't mention was the fact that
her half of the bounty only covered about a third of the price
Jabba had extracted from the Phlutdroid in exchange for her
freedom.

IG-72, however, knew that she had been instrumental in

helping it to locate Gazzo Ku Metz, and had come, with some
difficulty, to the conclusion that the rare organic that
demonstrated competence deserved to be rewarded for its
merits. "I decline your offer," it said.

She smiled. "You want to stick to the original deal? All right.
You know I'll just be paying the credits back to you anyway."
She started to step back. "I guess I'll meet you back on
Mogo's ship. We'll claim the bounty together. Sound good?"

"Affirmative."

"All right. Goodbye, Phlutdroid."

IG-72 didn't reply. It just kept motionless while the Jawas

worked, and watched the strange organic turn and walk away.
 Storm Fleet Warnings
By: Jude Watson
Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker were returning from a mission,
heading back to the Temple by way of the Llon Nebulae. As they
approached the Kronex spaceport, they had to reduce speed to
minimum levels. Anakin drummed his fingers on the pilot seat. There
was nothing worse than piloting an ultra-tweaked starfighter and
having to go slow.
Ahead, three stray asteroids bounced on a wave of atmospheric
disturbance.
Anakin pushed the throttle. He had only seconds before the asteroids
were suddenly in front of him, careening crazily. He cut to the left,
avoiding the first one, then zoomed right, just missing the second. Then
he flipped over for a screaming dive and made a hard right for open
space, missing the last asteroid by a comfortable twenty meters.
Within seconds his Master had drawn his own starfighter level
with Anakins.
Obi-Wan had given the asteroids a wide berthexactly what he was
supposed to do.
The comm unit crackled with his Masters dry tone. You could have
gone around them.
It was faster to go through them.
Ah. And what do you know about the Llon Nebulae, my young
apprentice? Obi-Wan prodded.
Smaller cruisers are advised to proceed at minimum velocity.
Atmospheric waves can appear without warning, Anakin said dutifully.
And yet you decided to play chase the asteroid, Obi-Wan said
sternly. Youre too old for these childish games.
Anakin pressed his lips together. He couldnt explain to his Master that
for him, testing his skills wasnt a childish game. It was a necessary
release.
There was a wall between them now. He had done things he could not tell
Obi-Wan. He knew things he could not say. The Clone Wars had ripped
the galaxy apart. Times were difficult for all the Jedi, but Anakin knew he
felt the darkness more than most. It was like a physical presence. It was
as though he carried the weight of it in his body.
And so he pushed the darkness away with what had always helped him
forget in the past. Speed. Physical training. His Jedi path.
Anakin glanced at his instruments and was suddenly alert. Ships were
approaching from the rear. The skirmishes of the Clone Wars had
reached every corner of the galaxy. It was always wise to check out
your neighbors.
Looks like large transports behind us, Anakin said.

Unusual for such a large fleet to be traveling in such close

formation, Obi-Wan observed.

Anakin flipped over in a fast roll, and Obi-Wan followed. They split up
and paced the three asteroids, keeping them between their starships
and the fleet.
Anakin watched the first line of ships approach. They were huge,
sheathed in dull black durasteel and advanced weaponry. That wasnt
unusual these days.
Even bulk freighters had to arm themselves now.
But these transports were too well designed to be bulk freighters,
Anakin realized. It wasnt obvious unless you studied the lines of the
ship and the quality of the fittings.
They look like they could be from the Kuat Drive Yards, Anakin said.
The proportions and the lines of the design . . .
Look at the plating on the underside, Obi-Wan said. Something is
odd about it.
Anakin followed the lines of the plating. His Master was right.
Something was off. It took him several seconds to figure it out.
The Kuat Drive Yards . . .
It must be the Storm Fleet, Anakin said.
The Jedi had recently learned that the Separatists had secretly put in
an order for a heavily armored fleet of attack ships. Disguised as
freighters so that they could travel secretly through the galaxy, they
were actually outfitted with so much firepower that smaller planets were
completely defenseless against them.
The Jedi hung back while the transports landed at the spaceport. Then
they commed for clearance and docked at a landing bay close by.
Well never get in to investigate without a battle, Obi-Wan said,
surveying the area quickly. Ive been to this spaceport with Qui-Gon,
long ago. He has a friend who works here. A mechanic. He ended up
here after a brilliant career on the Senate elite security team. Hell be
able to help us.
Should we head to the mechanic shop, then? Anakin asked.
A small smile flickered on Obi-Wans face as he shook his head. The
cantina.
Kronex was so large that it had a variety of cantinas. Obi-Wan chose
the darkest and noisiest. A large holosign outside with missing letters
proclaimed: CHEC
WEAP NS AT DO R, but Anakin could see with one glance at the
holstered blasters and vibroshivs tucked in belts that the directive was
ignored by the clientele.
In a corner a tall being sat, an ale in front of him on the table. He wore
a grimy scarf around his head, and his ten-fingered hands were
permanently stained with grease. Large pouches underneath his
hooded eyes gave him a sad air. He was so still he appeared to be
almost asleep.
Thats your contact? Anakin asked dubiously.
Obi-Wan and Anakin sat down at his table. Can I buy you another?
Obi-Wan asked, indicating his mug of ale.
Thank you, stranger, but two is my limit, the being said. His tone was
friendly, but his sleepy eyes examined the two Jedi suspiciously.
I dont remember you ever having limits, Fizz, Obi-Wan said.
Shaggy gray eyebrows rose. The movement seemed to cost the being
a great deal of effort. Everything changes. Everything goes. Including
my memory. Do I know you?
Weve met, Obi-Wan said. Perhaps you remember my Master, Qui-
Gon Jinn.
The being blinked twice, which for him was a substantial reaction. Qui-
Gon
Jinn, he said slowly. The best of the best. He heaved a sigh. Gone
now, like the best of them are. You must be Obi-Wan. Youve grown
up, I see. And you need a favor, no doubt.
A large fleet just landed in docking bays 1211 through 1222, Obi-Wan
said.
Wed like to know where theyre going. And we dont want it known the
Jedi are asking questions.
I like that kind of favor. I dont even need to move. He took a small
datapad from his pocket, checked it, and frowned. No data. That
means they have special clearance. But if you cant go in the front
door, try the back. He pushed away his glass and stood. Come with
me.
Fizz used his security card to get them into the service area. There,
massive tanks pumped fuel to the receiving stations. With a wave at a
fellow mechanic, Fizz used his card to access the control board.
Quickly he punched in several numbers.
That should do it. Fizz ambled toward the door that opened onto the
hangar.
The fuel gauge will tell them somethings wrong, and theyll call a
mechanic.
The Jedi watched as Fizz grabbed a hydrospanner and approached the
guard standing by the ramp. Fizz waved his arms. The guard checked

187
a datapad at his waist belt. Fizz pointed to the ship, but the
guard shook his head.
He wont let him board, Anakin said. Lets go.
Wait, Obi-Wan ordered.
The guard reached for a comlink. Fizz began to argue and, in a gesture so
graceful it almost looked tender, reached out and tapped the guard behind
the ear with the hydrospanner. The guard slumped to the floor.
Fizz didnt hesitate. With a surprising display of speed and strength, he
leaped over the guard and raced up the ramp. They counted off the
seconds, and Fizz reappeared. He streaked down the ramp, leaped
over the guard again, accessed the service door, and grinned at them.
The fleet is headed for the Cyphar system, Fizz said. But I
dont know why.
I do, Obi-Wan said grimly.
So why are the Jedi so interested in bulk freighters? Fizz asked. Then
he held up a hand. Dont tell me.
Perhaps one day we will need your help again, Obi-Wan said.
No offense, young Obi-Wan, Fizz said. But I hope you do not ask. I
intend to wait out the Clone Wars in the cantina.
They left Fizz at the entrance to the cantina and headed back to their
starfighters.
What is Cyphar, Master? Anakin asked.
A small but strategically located planet in the Mid-Rim, Obi-Wan
answered.
A coalition of Separatists is there right now, negotiating to establish a
base. At least the Separatists are calling it negotiation. Threats are
more like it.
So the fleet will orbit Cyphar during the talks in order to intimidate them,
Anakin said. Cyphar will fear an invasion if they dont comply.
Im afraid that looks like the plan, Obi-Wan said.
We must follow the Storm Fleet, Anakin declared.
Obi-Wan shook his head. And do what?
We cant just let them go!
We will notify the Temple of what we have learned, Obi-Wan said.
Theyll alert the Republic and try to send ships.
You know we are stretched thin, Anakin said. Most likely there wont
be ships to send. And we are here, now.

188
This is one small battle in a very large war, Anakin, Obi-Wan said.
The Council needs us for other things.
Anakin set his jaw stubbornly. And that is all right with you?
No, Obi-Wan said. But I cant see another way at the moment.
A roar filled the air. Theyre taking off! Anakin cried, then raced to his
starfighters docking bay and leaped into the cockpit. He saw Obi-Wan
dashing to his own starfighter. Anakin took off and was followed by Obi-
Wan into the stratosphere.
Obi-Wans voice came over the comm unit. I hope you have a plan.
Just contact the Temple, Anakin said. Ill do the rest.
Within minutes, the Storm Fleet was in sight. Anakin zigzagged in and
out of the formation. He was so close he could count the rivets on the
front panels.
Identify yourself, a voice came over the comm.
Anakin did a quick roll, then zoomed under the belly of a ship to come
up next to another. He flew between the two massive ships, darting in
and out.
Suddenly, the fleet changed direction slightly. That was a good sign.
He was getting to them. Anakin dropped back and slowed his speed.
Three of the ships peeled off from the formation. They executed a
surprisingly sharp turn, considering their size. Anakin took a moment to
admire their maneuverability before he noticed that the armor plating
was rolling back.
Anything to say now? Obi-Wan asked.
Oops? Anakin said.
The first fire from the laser cannons hit empty space as Anakin and Obi-
Wan simultaneously went into a steep dive. The ships followed. The
shock waves of the weapons fire caused his starfighter to dance.
Anakin turned sharply to the left. Obi-Wan turned to the right. The laser
cannons blasted again, missing them by a few meters.
Proton torpedoes coming up, Obi-Wan said tersely.
The torpedoes locked onto the starfighters. Anakin pushed the ship into
a steep dive, then veered left. The torpedoes missed him by two
meters. Close.
More torpedoes on the left! Anakin, watch out!
Anakin kept the starfighter in the same arc but pushed the nose
down. He could feel the controls shudder. He was really pushing the
engines now.

189
The blast almost threw him to the floor. Anakin grabbed the controls.
He checked his warning lights. All clear . . . then a red light began to
blink.
Ive been hit. They got my stabilizer, he told Obi-Wan. They both
knew what that meant. Without a horizontal stabilizer, he wouldnt be
able to maneuver. A series of chirps came through comm as his
astromech droid tried to fix the problem.
Anakin pulled up. Laser cannon fire thundered past his flank. Obi-Wan
darted ahead of him, trying to draw the fire, giving the droid time to
finish. Anakin called on the Force, reaching out for it to make his
decisions fluid.
Anakin, youre pushing it, Obi-Wan shouted. I can see your
stabilizers shaking.
His droid beeped. The warning lights blinked off, and Anakin felt the
ships movement smooth underneath his hands.
Weve got to get out of here, Obi-Wan said. We cant outrun them.
And firing at them would be like pelting them with pebbles.
Anakin studied his nav screen. Theres an asteroid storm up ahead,
coming up fast. I say we fly right into it. With any luck it will be too late
for them to avoid it.
If Anakin had longed for a chance to put his starfighter through its
paces, hed found it. Asteroids careened crazily around him. Engines
screaming, he shaved off centimeters from close encounters, pushing
the ship to its limit. He could not use his instruments. He could only
use the Force. Sweat beaded up on his forehead.
It was too late for the Storm Fleet to turn. They blundered into the
storm.
Asteroids bounced off the surfaces of the ships harmlessly. But even a
capital ship wouldnt be able to survive an impact with a large asteroid.
Anakin saw the first ship begin to turn to retreat.
He changed direction and came directly at the disguised freighter, firing
his laser cannons. The ship stopped its slow turn and reversed, firing
at Anakin.
Anakin dived, heading straight for the massive asteroid ahead of
him. The Force hummed around him as he swerved at the last
possible second.
The enemy ship behind him hit the asteroid head-on.
Chunks of debris flew his way. More obstacles. He could see Obi-Wan
spinning away, diving away from the wreckage. Anakin was too far to
make the same maneuver. He pushed his nose up and climbed. He felt

190
debris knock the ship, but with a quick glance at the instruments he
saw that it hadnt been damaged.
Another explosion sent shock waves against the starfighter. The
second freighter had been caught by the debris. Smoking and flaming,
it spiraled down out of sight.
Anakin saw clear space ahead. With a last surge of speed, he
avoided the last asteroid and sailed into the open atmosphere.
A moment later, he saw Obi-Wan over to his left.
Wouldnt want to do that again, Obi-Wan said.
At least we knocked out two of the freighters, Anakin said. That will
slow them down in time for the Republic Fleet to get to Cyphar.
We were lucky.
This time Anakin didnt argue. Yes.
Lets set our course for the Temple, Obi-Wan said. And hope for a
dull trip.
Their starfi ghters moved gracefully toward their waiting
hyperspace rings. Had it been luck? he wondered. Or the Force?
Obi-Wan was so good at so many things. He could inspire loyalty. Shift
strategies in a heartbeat. Fight harder than any Jedi Anakin had seen.
Yet did he trust the Force enough? If they were truly able to use the
Force at its maximum potential, opposition would be nothing. They
could destroy enemies.
They could claim the galaxy for peace.
You cant do everything, Anakin, Obi-Wan said suddenly, as if he was
reading his apprentices mind. You must choose the battles to fight.
Anakin wanted to fight them all. He wanted to do everything. And he
knew he could.
 Equipment
By: Matthew Stover

We popped out of hyperspace above the plane of the ecliptic. Alhars light
was brilliant yellow. Haruun Kal was a bright blue-green crescent. Two
asteroid belts sparkled yellow among the black-and-white star field: one
beyond Haruun Kals orbit, vast and old, spreading toward the gas giants
that swung through the outer system, and a smaller, younger belt in orbit
around the planet itself: remnants of what once had been the planets
moon.
I snugged my helmet and checked my armors life- support
parameters, then dogged the transparisteel hatch of the bubble turret.
My helmets speakers crackled softly. Comm check, Lieutenant Four-
One said.
The Lieutenants our pilot. The 2nd Lou, cl-33/890, handles nav. He
checked in with a Nav is go. I reported my turret as go, and my port-
side partner, ct-014/783, did the same from his.
The Halleck swung down out of interstellar space and inserted into
planetary orbit almost halfway out to the moon-belt, more than ten
thousand klicks from the surface. Intel had reported a rumor that
Haruun Kal might have a small number of planetary-defense ion
cannons, and a medium cruiser is a very large target.
Just before we lit engines and lifted out of the Hallecks ship bay, I
clicked my comm over to the dedicated turret-freq. Take care of the
equipment, Eight-Three.
My partner answered the way he always does: And the equipment will
take care of us, Seven-Four.
Thats how we wish each other luck.
The mag-screen de-powered. The ship bays atmosphere gusted out
toward the star in a billow of glittering ice crystals.
Blue-white pinpoints fanned out before us: ion drives of our starfighter
escort.
The transparisteel of my bubble-turret hummed with sympathetic
resonance as one of the Jadthu-class landers undocked and followed
them, then it was our turn.
Our flight leader took point. We sucked ions on left wing. Five gunships
left the Halleck.
None would come back.
Take care of your equipment, and your equipment will take care of you.
Thats one of the first things they teach us in the creche-schools on
Kamino.
Even before were awake. By the time we are brought to
consciousness for skillsdevelopment, the knowledge pumps have
drilled Take care of your equipment so deeply into our minds that its
more than instinct. Its practically natural law.
We live or die by our equipment.
I am a clone trooper in the Grand Army of the Republic.My designation
is ct-6/774. I serve on a Republic close-assault gunship. I am the
starboard bubble-turret gunner.
I love my job. We all do; were created for it.
But my job is special. Because my partnerct-014/783, the port
bubble-turret gunnerand I are the ones who take care of the
equipment.
Our weapons platform, the rhe laat/i, is an infantry-support weapon. We
soften up and harass the enemy; our targets are bunkers, armored
vehicles, mobile artillery, and enemy footsoldiers. When our infantry
brothers need to get to the enemy, were the ones who blast down the
door.
The laat/i is designed for dropping troops into a hot fire-zone. Were not
fast, but we can go anywhere. Our assault weapons are controlled
through nav; the navigator runs all three antipersonnel turrets, the main
missile launcher and two of the four main cannons. Our laser cannons
can punch holes through medium armor, and the missile launchers
take care of the heavy stuff; theyre mass-driver launchers, so our
loads can be customized for the mission. We carry he (high explosive),
heap (high explosive armor- piercing) and apf (anti-personnel
fragmentation) missiles; we stay away from baradium weaponstoo
unstablebut detonite and proton-core warheads can handle
everything were likely to come up against.
Our jobme and Eight-Three, the bubble-turret gunnersis to handle
everything that comes up against us. Each turret is a sphere of
transparisteel that tracks along with our cannons; my partner and I also
each control a launcher loaded with four short-range air-to-air rockets.
If anything comes at us, we shoot it down.
Thats what I mean about taking care of the equipment.
Lets say were cracking a hardened bunker on a desert planet. We
come in low over the dunes, pumping missiles and cannonfire against
the target emplacement. Lets say youre operating an anti-aircraft
cannon half a klick away, and you open fire on us. The pilot and the
navigator dont even have to look up. Because
Im there.
Go ahead and take your shot. You wont get two.
Fire a missile at us. Ill blast it to scrap. Launch a proton grenade. Ill
blow your head off. Make an attack run riding a speeder bike. But make
out your will, first. Because if you attack us, I will take you out.
Thats what I do.
I love my job, and I am very, very good at it.
I have to be: because sometimes my gunship has to do things its not
designed for. Thats how it goes when youre fighting a war.
Like at Haruun Kal.
We were assigned to the Republic medium cruiser Halleck, on station
in the Ventran system. A regiment of heavy infantry, twenty Jadthu-
class landers, an escort of six starfighters.
And us: five rhe laat/i-s.
We werent supposed to know why we were there, naturally; just as
naturally, we knew anyway. It was clear this would be a VIP extraction
on a hostile planet.
It wasnt hard to figure. Those Jadthu-class landers are basically just
flying bunkers. They go in fast, land, then stand there and take a
pounding until its time to take off again. Nothing but armor, engines,
two heavy laser turrets and an Arakyd Caltrop-5 chaff gun. Theyre
plenty fast in a straight line, but they are the opposite of nimble. There
is no evasive action in a Jadthu.
The Halleck had twenty of them: that meant the landing-zone would be
hot.
Maybe very hot. Maybe nova-class. The starfighters were for orbital
cover. Suborbital and atmospheric cover was our job.
Ventran is on the Gevarno Loop, one of half a dozen systems linked by
hyperspace lanes that run through Alhar. Haruun Kal is the only
habitable planet in the Alhar system.
Haruun Kal is Separatist.
General Winduthats Jedi Master Mace Windu, General of the Grand
Army of the Republic and Senior Member of the Jedi Councilhad
gone dirtside on Haruun Kal, alone and undercover, tracking a rogue
Jedi. Why had a General gone in personally? We didnt know. Why had
he gone in alone? We didnt ask.
We didnt care.
It wasnt our business.
This is what we knew: If nothing went wrong, we wouldnt have
anything to do.
Wed cruise our station in the Ventran system for a week or two, then
jump back for reassignment.
Something went wrong.
Our business was to get General Windu out again.
The moon-belt was where they were hiding. Waiting for us.
The whole system was a trap.
They must have been there for weeks, powered down, clamped to
drifting asteroids. Undetectable. Waiting for a Republic ship to enter
orbit.
Which the Halleck had just done.
Against the glittering weave of the belt, they were close enough
to invisible that
I couldnt pick them out until Lt. Nine-Oh muttered from nav: Hostiles
incoming. On intercept. But not for us, sir! Theyre after the Halleck!
Lt. One-Four: How many, nav?
Calculating. No. Sorry, sir. No hard numbers available. Sensors keep
picking up more.
How many so far? What are we looking at?
Acceleration and drive output profiles indicate starfighters.
Droid starfighters, sir. Automated weapons systems directed by
sophisticated droid brains.
Probably Geonosian. So far, Im reading sixty-four.
Sixty-four!
Strike that. Ninety-one. One-oh-five. One-twenty-eight, sir.
One hundred and twenty-eight droid starfighters streaked toward us: a
vast array of crescent sparks haloed by blue-white ion scatter. Faster,
more maneuverable, and more heavily armed than anything in our little
twelve-ship flotillaand the droid brains piloting those starfighters
have reflexes that operate at the speed of light.
And the Halleck was directly in their path.
Hear that, turrets? This will be hot space. Repeat: we are entering hot
space.
Starboard reads, sir, I told him as I charged my cannon. And I am
go.
Port reads, sir. Go.
Signal from the Halleck, sir! Nine-Oh said. Recall: All ships abort.
The
Halleck is under attackshes all alone back there, sir!
Not for long.
Lt. Four-One spun our ship through a spiral that whipped us around
and aimed us back toward the Halleck. The cruiser was a star-specked
wedge of shadow transiting the grid of droid starfighter drive-streams.
Now turbolasers started blasting out from that shadow toward the grid;
from here the huge particle beams looked like hairlines of blue light. I

195
worked my pedals and swung the fire-control yoke so that the
turrets servo-boom angled my weapon to bear on the grid-formation
of starfighters.
I knew Eight-Three was doing exactly the
same. Fire at will, turrets.
They were still far beyond the effective range of my cannon. I squeezed
the yoke anyway. Even through my armored gloves, the hum of the
yoke buzzed up my arms as four arcs of electric blue energy joined in
front of the cannons oval reflector-shield, then flashed away through
the vacuum. I held the triggers down. Concentrating on evading the
Hallecks turbolasers, a droid starfighter might just blunder into one of
my shots by accident. You never know.
The grid formation began to break up as the droids took evasive
action. Our own starfightersall six of themflashed past us in pairs
that swung and scissored and looped into battle.
We made for the Halleck as fast as our external drives could push
us. Our gunship was never intended to dogfight against starfighters.
That didnt stop us. It didnt slow us down. But we never got there.
They came out of nowhere.
The first I knew of the new ambushers was when our ship shuddered
under multiple cannon-blasts. A droid starfighter flashed past not thirty
meters from my turret. I twisted my yoke and the turret spun and my
bolt caught one of the starfi ghters aft control-surfaces. It broke up as
it spun, but I didnt have time to enjoy the view because they were all
over us. Must have been at least half a wing: thirty-two ships. They
were everywhere.
Four-one had our gunship spinning and whirling and dodging side to
side: from the turret it looked like the whole galaxy was yanking itself
in random directions around me. All I could do was hold on to my fi re-
control yoke and try not to hit friendly ships. My cannon sprayed green
fire and I scored on at least five hitstwo of them killsbut there were
always more incoming.
I saw the lander crack open and then explode: huge chunks of its
armor spun out like ship- sized shrapnel to crush two of the starfighters
that had blasted it. I saw another laat/i drifting through a slow barrel-
roll, its engines dark, sparks spitting out through the twisted blast-gap
where its cockpit used to be. One of its bubble-turrets was shattered; in
the other, a trooper struggled with the turrets access hatch. I never got
a chance to see if that gunner made it out; another flight of enemy
fighters swarmed around us, and I was too busy shooting to watch.
Then I felt a shock that bounced my turret. The spin of the galaxy
changed, and

196
I knew I was in trouble.
That last shock had been a cannon-blast hitting my turrets servo-
boom. It had blown my turret right off the ship. Now it wasnt even really
a turret anymore. It was just a bubble.
Spinning lazily, I drifted through the battle.
I didnt have any illusions about surviving. Turret-gunners dont wear
repulsorpacks; no room in there. My emergency repulsorpack was back in
the troop bay of my gunship. If my gunship even existed anymore.
From inside my slowly spinning bubble, I saw the rest of the battle. I
saw the Halleck absorb blast after blast, until a pair of droid
starfighters streaked in and rammed the bridge. I saw the other
nineteen landers undock from the cruiser and lumber through the
swarm of hostiles. I saw the cruiser streak away into hyperspace.
I saw landers peeled like meatfruit, spilling troopers into orbit. These
were the heavy infantry and the rp troopersthe repulsorpack men.
They knew they were going to die. So each and every one of them
decided to die fighting. How do I know that?
They are my brothers. And thats what I would do.
The heavy infantry opened up on the droid starfighters with their
handweapons and small arms; some of them scattered miniature
minefields of magnetized proton grenades. Others had shoulder -fired
light missile launchers. Some of the rp troopers had nothing but their
dc-15 blaster carbines, which couldnt put much of a dent in a
starfighter, so they used their repulsorpacks to deliberately move
themselves into the paths of streaking enemy ships. At orbital combat
speeds of thousands of kilometers per hour, a starfighter that strikes a
combatarmored trooper might as well be flying straight into the side of
an asteroid.
The landers did what they could to help us out; those chaff guns they
carry shoot out huge clouds of durasteel fragments, intended to
confuse enemy sensors and interfere with enemy cannonfire. Those
fragments dont have the velocity to penetrate the armor of drifting
troopers, but any enemy ship whipping through a cloud of them at a
couple thousand kph just comes apart.
But the landers hadnt come out there to fight for us; General Windu had
ordered the whole regiment down to the surface. I imagine youve already
heard about the Battle of Lorshan Pass, and the firestorm in Pelek Baw,
and everything else that happened planetside.
I wasnt in any of that.
Though I did fire the last shot in the orbital battle.

197
Most of the landers broke through, and pretty much all the droid
starfighters followed them in. After that, things got pretty peaceful there
in orbit.
Most of us were dead.
rp troopers flew from one drifting body to the next, gathering those
whod survived and salvaging life-support packs from the armor of the
corpses. A couple of the rp troopers stopped by my bubble; they
managed to halt my spin, but there wasnt much else they could do
for me, and we all knew it.
I was headed down into the atmosphere.
That was when we saw the last of the starfighters, heading right toward
us. It was pursuing what was, to me, the single most beautiful thing I
should ever hope to see: battered, shot full of holes, one wing gone,
limping along on a single engine at half-power, one bubble turret
missing, the other smashed: an laat/i.
My laat/i.
Missiles exhausted, it was trying to hold off the droid starfighter with
pinpoint fire from its antipersonnel turrets, without much luck.
But I had a surprise. Bubble turrets pack powercells to maintain
weapon-charge for short periods if all enginepower is shunted to
maneuvering.
I still had a couple of shots left.
The rp troopers who had stabilized me rotated my turret and steadied it
for the shot, and I led the enemy ship and squeezed the fire-control
yoke And it flew right into my shot.
I enjoyed the explosion.
Between the rp troopers and my ship, we collected every single one of
the drifting survivors. The gunship was in no shape for atmospheric
flight, so we limped out to the moon-belt and docked on to an
asteroid. The lieutenants put me in fora commendation.
Salvaged life-support packs kept us all breathing for two
standard dayswhich was when the Republic task force arrived.
The first thing they did was pick up
survivors. Because we are equipment, too.
As long as the Republic takes care of us, well take care of it.

198
 Duel
By: Timothy Zahn

The battle for this part of the city was over. The Republics forces had
lost.
They had lost very badly.
Commander Brolis woke suddenly from his uneasy sleep as the
proximity alarm buzzed, his hands fumbling for his DC-15 blaster rifle.
Wincing at the pain in his side, he raised his head from his chest and
peered out through one of the gaping holes in the wall of the ruined
building hed taken refuge in.
The day had given way to early evening while he dozed. But with the
remaining daylight, the glow of the fires blazing elsewhere in the city,
and the weapons
flashes from the battles still raging in the distance, there was more
than enough light to see the squad of battle droids making their way
across the remains of the town square toward him.
With a grunt of pain, Brolis forced himself to his feet. On one level, it
seemed a complete waste of time, both for the droids to keep attacking
and for him to keep fighting them off. His entire force was dead now,
the last two squads whittled away as they waited here in this ruined
building for the reinforcements that had never arrived. It was just a
matter of time, he knew, before they got him, too.
Except that they didnt want him dead. They wanted him alive; and they
wanted him badly enough to keep sending in battle droids, hoping to
catch him napping.
Not this time, though. As long as he had a charged blaster and the
ability to pull
a trigger, he would continue to litter the ground with scorched droid
parts.
A slight movement across the square behind the battle droids caught
his eye, and
Brolis grimaced. Eventually, of course, they would get tired of wasting
droids and decide to end the game once and for all. And when they did,
they had the ultimate game-ender waiting in the shadows: a hailfire
droid, towering over the rubble on its two massive hoop wheels, its twin
missile launcher pods pointing idly in his direction.
This particular droid had been fitted with the lower-strength anti-
personnel missiles, he knew, so that it could take out the troopers
without bringing the whole city down on top of it. Just the same, a single
one of those missiles through the wall, and it would be all over.
But until then, Brolis had work to do. Hoisting the blaster rifle to his
shoulder, he centered his sights on the first battle droid.
Your weapon, put away.
Brolis spun around, nearly losing his balance in his haste. The gruff
voice had come from behind him, where there was nothing but rubble
from the row of buildings that had been destroyed in the earlier fighting.
This had to be some kind of trick.
If it was, it was a very good one. The creature standing there was short,
with green skin, large eyes, and even larger ears. Leaning on a gnarled
walking stick, he was dressed in the kind of simple robe worn by lower-
class beings all across the Republic.
And somehow, he seemed familiar.
Commander Brolis, you are? the creature asked.
Yes, Brolis said, frowning. Who are you?
The reinforcements you requested, I am, the creature said dryly. Tell
me: into the Fortress of Axion, you have penetrated?
Brolis grimaced. This was his reinforcements? Briefly, he confirmed.
Thats why the Separatists out there want me alive. They want to find
out how we got in so they can plug that hole in their defenses.
Indeed. The creature smiled, his long ears flattening as he did so.
For that same reason do we also wish you alive. That is why I am
here.
He lifted his stick and pointed to the opening. Aside, stand you.
Deal with the droids, I will.
Without waiting for permission, he hobbled forward. Brolis watched, his
brain too frozen with bewilderment and the pain of his injuries to try to
stop him. The creature paused just outside the gap, letting his stick
drop to the ground and reaching a three-fi ngered hand in front of him.
There was a flicker of motion, and a small cylinder seemed to jump into
it from beneath his robe.
And with a snap-hiss, a brilliant green blade blazed into existence.
Brolis caught his breath as the memory finally clicked. Kaminothe
embarkation of the Republics clone armya small creature distantly
seen across the ordered ranks as he led the troops into the transports.
Reinforcements, indeed. This was Jedi Master Yoda himself.
Perhaps the approaching battle droids recognized him, too, or perhaps
it was the sight of the lightsaber that turned their stealthy approach into
a sudden full- fledged attack. But if they were hoping to overwhelm him
with numbers, their strategy was a failure. Yoda never moved from the
spot where he had planted himself, his swirling lightsaber blade
deflecting away every one of the storm of blaster bolts coming toward
him. Some of the shots ricocheted across the square to impact the
ruins on the far side, but most reflected straight back to the droids
themselves, shattering them into scrap metal.
Half a minute later, it was over. Brolis blinked in amazement,
wondering if it was always that easy for Jedi.
And then, across the square, the hailfire droid stirred and began to roll
forward.
Look out! Brolis called. Theres a
The rest of his warning dissolved into a fit of painful coughing. But
Yoda was already angling across the square away from him, lightsaber
held ready as he slipped from one pile of debris to another. The hailfire
shifted direction toward the small Jedi Master, swiveling to keep its
missile launchers trained on him.
And then, midway between two stacks of rubble, Yoda stopped, facing
the droid as if challenging it to a private duel. The droid stopped, too,
and for a moment they seemed to be regarding each other. Then,
almost delicately, the droid lowered its pods and sent a single missile
sizzling through the air.
Brolis tensed, watching helplessly as the rocket streaked across the
open space.
Jedi lightsabers, he knew, could defend quite well against the bolts
from blasters or plasma weapons. But trying to block a missile that way
would merely cause it to explode. If Yoda didnt do something fast, he
was going to die.
Then, just as it seemed there was no chance left, Yoda leaped almost
casually to the side. The rocket burned through the space hed just
vacated, exploding harmlessly a dozen meters behind him.
From somewhere deep inside the hailfire droid came an annoyed-
sounding rumble, the fi rst time Brolis had ever heard one make a
noise like that. For a second or two it seemed to be pondering its next
move. Then, in rapid succession, three more missiles burst outward,
angling into a tight spread as they flew.
Yoda was ready. He leaped back toward his earlier position to let the
first pass by, dropped flat onto the ground as the second shot over his
head, then rolled and bounded upward in time to avoid the third. He
landed on the ground, lifted his lightsaber again to ready position, and
waited. Brolis strained his ears, listening for a clue as to what the droid
would do.
And then, over the distance, he heard a series of calibration clicks.
Tracking lock! he shouted toward Yoda.
His lungs heaved with a fresh coughing fit, and he could only hope the
other had caught his warning. By activating the tracking system, the
droid was setting its missiles to follow their target no matter what.
Yodas only hope now was to find cover before the missiles got a clean
lock onto him.
But he remained where he was, waiting. Lowering its launchers again,
the droid fired.
Again, Yoda leaped upward as the missile approached. But this time
something was different. Instead of simply arcing into the air, he twisted
his body into a dizzying set of spins, twisting back and forth like a
gymnast performing a complicated aerial routine.
The effect on the missile was startling. It seemed to tremble as it flew, its
nose shaking back and forth as if thoroughly confused. It shot past Yoda,
still shaking, and continued on to explode across the square.
Brolis grinned tightly. It was the same sort of evasive jinking maneuver
hed seen starfighter pilots perform in order to shake off a target-
locked missile. Hed never guessed that any being, even a Jedi Master,
could duplicate such a technique on his own.
Neither, apparently, had the droid. Another growl rumbled across the
square; and then, suddenly, it was rolling forward, filling the air with a
fresh stream of missiles as it charged.
Yoda was already in motion, leaping and spinning, hitting the ground
and bounding off again at unexpected angles, making himself an
impossible target for even a hailfires weaponry to tag. Brolis found
himself wincing as missile after missile slipped harmlessly past the
Jedi Master, shaking the ground and lighting up the square with distant
detonations. One of the missiles, which looked like it couldnt possibly
miss, somehow bent aside from its path just far enough to collide with
another of the salvo, detonating both midway between Yoda and the
droid.
And as that premature explosion momentarily blocked the droids view,
Yoda abruptly switched from defense to attack. He hurled his lightsaber
toward the machine, the weapon spinning into the obscuring cloud of
smoke from the missiles collision and shooting out the other side.
But the intended target was no longer there. Even as the missiles had
collided, the droid had skidded to a halt and reversed direction to roll
rapidly backward across the square. The lightsaber blade sliced
through the space where it had been; and as the weapon hesitated in
midair, the droid fired another missile straight at it. At the last second,
the lightsaber dodged out of its way, streaking back to safety in Yodas
hand. The missile itself shot harmlessly past to add yet another crater
to the distant landscape.
With that the barrage ceased. For a few seconds Yoda and the droid
again seemed to be staring at each other. Then, moving swiftly but
warily, Yoda retraced his steps back to the broken building. It just let
you walk away? Brolis asked, not quite believing it.
Clever, this hailfire droid is, Yoda huffed as he stepped in through the
opening and retrieved his walking stick. Close enough to engage it in
direct battle, it will not allow me. Nor in futile attacks will it expend all of
its missiles. That is why it has stopped now, the situation further to
assess.
So what do we do? Brolis asked.
Yodas ears flattened. Allow it to destroy itself, we must, he said,
closing down his lightsaber and gesturing behind Brolis. Come.
Brolis hadnt been to the rear of the ruined building for three days, not
since hed confirmed that there was no escape route there for him and
his squad. He walked now past the scattered bodies of his troops,
fighting against the pain of his injuries, wondering what exactly the
Jedi Master had in mind.
He soon found out. Where once had been merely stacks of collapsed
wall and ceiling material, there was now a small, Yoda-sized tunnel
stretching back through the rubble. So that was how the other had
appeared so unexpectedly behind him. A series of large caverns
there are, in the cliffs behind this part of the city, Yoda said. Beyond
them, my transport is.
Yes, I know about the caverns, Brolis said, frowning. The Jedi had
stopped beside the entrance to the tunnel and was looking back at him.
Im not sure Im up to crawling that far, Brolis warned him, eyeing the
tunnel. My side
He broke off as, suddenly, he found himself rising gently off the floor,
turning over in midair, and floating head-first toward the tunnel. But the
caverns have no other exit, he added, determined not to show surprise
or panic in front of this creature half his size, so we decided they were
of no strategic use to us. He frowned as he was deftly threaded into
the narrow tunnel. Or is there a way out that I dont know about?
There is no way out, Yoda confirmed as they moved together down
the tunnel. Through the side of the collapsed building, I came. But the
droid will not know that.
The tunnel was suddenly rocked by a terrific explosion from behind
them. The piles of debris they were traveling through shook violently,
the pressure wave sending a fresh surge of pain through Broliss
injuries. What was that? he gasped.
The hailfire droid, it is, Yoda said, his voice sounding faint and distant
through the pounding of the blood in Broliss ears. No longer, I fear, does
it wish to take you alive. Now, I believe, it will be coming to kill.
Another blast shook the tunnel. This time, as the shock wave washed
over him,
Brolis fell again into darkness.
He awoke to find himself lying beside a boulder, staring upward at a
distant and dimly lit ceiling of rock. Rolling over carefully, he got up
onto his knees and eased his eyes above the boulder.
He was in a vast, dome-shaped cavern, one of the group Yoda had
mentioned just before the hailfire droid had attacked. Scattered around
the floor were a handful of glowsticks, enough to show the Jedi Master
standing by the caverns side. He was slicing into the wall with his
lightsaber beneath a wide band of rock that stretched up along the
curved wall to the ceiling and down the other side, forming a sort of
rough arch in the center of the cavern.
Brolis frowned up at the formation. He didnt remember any arch being
there when hed explored these caverns two weeks ago. Could his
eyes be playing tricks on him?
He stiffened. Above the lightsabers hum he could hear another sound:
the creaking wheels of an approaching hailfire droid.
Which meant Yodas plan had failed.
Obviously, hed hoped the droid would try to follow them and get itself
stuck in the collapsed buildings long enough for him to cut an exit
through the cavern wall. But with persistence and probably a few
carefully placed missiles, the droid had managed to batter its way
through the rubble, enlarge the entrance to the caverns, and chase
them down.
It was approaching now. And they were trapped.
Yoda heard the sound, too. Closing down his lightsaber, he leaped
across the cavern to land beside Broliss boulder. Ahawake, you
are, the Jedi said. Good.
Be silent, now, and observe.
Across the cavern, the hail fire rolled into view. Its cyclopean
photoreceptor eye spotted Yoda at once, and it swiveled to face him.
Missile pods aimed and ready, it continued forward.
It had reached the center of the cavern when, from beside the two ends
of the stone arch, a pair of clone troopers suddenly rose from
concealment behind boulders and opened fire.
Broliss mouth dropped open in disbelief as the blaster fi re
raked across the droid. But his troops had all been killed in the
fighting. Where in the world had
Yoda found these men?
The droid responded instantly to the sudden new threat. Swiveling hard
to its right, it fired a missile at the clone trooper there, then rotated to
face the opposite direction and launched another at the second trooper.
The missiles hit their targets dead-center and exploded.
With a horrendous double crack, the bottom sections of the arch blew
apart.
Shock waves raced upward along the walls, shattering the arch into
twin waterfalls of falling stone. The waves reached the top of the dome,
and with a roar the rest of the arch and the entire center of the ceiling
collapsed.
Burying the hailfire droid beneath a massive pile of rock.
And Brolis finally understood. There had been no soldiers, merely
empty sets of armor animated by the same mysterious power that had
earlier carried him through the tunnel. Yoda hadnt been trying to cut an
exit with his lightsaber, but had instead been putting the finishing
touches on a booby-trap of loosened rock that he knew would collapse
under the droids attack.
Just as he had promised, he had allowed the hailfire to destroy itself.

Come, Commander, the Jedi Master said quietly. Await us,

my transport does.
 Shades of Grey
By: John Wilhoit

Flight Officer Tilyer Raan took a deep breath to settle the

mynocks fluttering around in his stomach. He slowly surveyed
his surroundings in awe of its grandeur. The floor spread out
before him like a glossy sea of ebony, reflecting the light of the
many glow panels that lined the ceiling. The Golan Defense
Platform's landing bay was at least thirty meters tall, though
only half of that space was dedicated to the various forms of
Imperial landing craft settled on the deck.

Tilyer craned his neck upward as the sound of whirring

machinery and charging energy coils filled the cavernous
room. One of the hexagonal-winged craft above him shifted
forward in its rack toward a trio of figures waiting on the
catwalk ahead. The central figure of the three stepped forward
to meet the approaching ship. He wore a bulky black flight
suit, his face concealed by the equally cumbersome black
helmet. Even from this distance, Tilyer recognized the man for
what he was: a TIE fighter pilot. The technicians on either side
of him helped him into his craft before sealing the hatch.
Again the rack shifted forward, this time catapulting the star
fighter through the bay's magnetic field and into space.

Tilyer's eyes followed the TIE out of the hanger as it began a

slow ascent up toward the shining silvery crescent of Imperial
Center visible beyond the containment field. Upon the sight of
his home world, his mind wandered backward in time to when
the Imperial Academy first accepted him. With the Rebellion's
cowardly assault on the Empire's new battle station, a strong
anti-Rebellion sentiment swept through Imperial space. How
dare they? Hundreds of thousands of men and women had
perished in that savage blow to Imperial supremacy, and
among the dead lay his own brother.

Mikal Raan had joined the service as a medic, hopeful that

such a position would keep him well-away from the battles
that raged across the galaxy and yet allow him to somehow
make a difference to those who needed it. He had been
working with the Imperial medical corps on the Empire's new
space station when the Rebels struck.

At the thought of his brother's unjust demise, a deep-seated

rage begin to seethe throughout Tilyer's entire being, anger
that the Rebellion's terrorism had expanded to his own family,
anger that they had carelessly snuffed out the lives of so
many productive, innocent citizens. His hands unconsciously
clenched upon recalling the memory, and he could feel the
artery in his neck pulsing harder and faster.

"You alright, there buddy?" a deep, resonant voice asked

from somewhere behind him.

Tilyer turned to see a rather large man dressed in standard

imperial gray cover-alls. The insignia upon his collar identified
him as crewman, second class. Tilyer forced himself to relax,
nodding to the other man, "yes, I'll be fine . . . "

"Little tense, huh?" he asked as he approached Tilyer,

oblivious to the obvious rank difference. "Hey, I'm Gabel
Gabel Thahlwin."

"Tilyer Raan," he replied a bit coldly, turning back toward the

glittering expanse of stars as a hint that he wished to be left
alone.

Gabel didn't seem to get the hint. "You waiting for transport,
too? Lemme guess, the Enforcer?"

Tilyer frowned, turning back to Thahlwin, "Yes . . . how

did you know?"

Gabel shrugged, setting down his duffle bag, "Just a guess,

really. That's the one I'm bound for too." He squinted at the
insignia on Tilyer's collar, "You a pilot or something?"

"Correct," Tilyer said coolly, still a bit miffed at

Thahlwin's over-familiar demeanor. The crewman still
didn't seem to catch on, and pressed forward.

"Really? That's great . . . bridge pilot, or fighter?"

Tilyer sighed, giving up hope of shooing away the larger man,

and gave in to his invasive questions, "Fighter."

"Oh, ok. Yeah, I heard that the Enforcer had been refitted
with a small fighter bay. How many craft can it hold?"
"It's big enough for two standard TIE fighters. The Enforcer
is only a Corvette, you know."

"Yeah? Well you know, I actually started my training as a

pilot," Gabel said trying to sound nonchalant. "Most people
think it woulda been my size that kept me out of it, but hu-uh.
I was just under the limit. I did fine in the simsgreat even,
but when I got behind the stick in real life . . . well, the doctor
called it spatial inertia displacement, or SID. Without a
substantial gravity well, I lose my orientation and can't
navigate."

Tilyer opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off as alarm
klaxons blared within the landing bay. Blue lights atop the
open bay doors flashed as a mechanical voice announced,
"In-coming landing craft. All personnel, clear landing pad 2B."

"Is that ours?" Tilyer asked.

He had expected Gabel to reply, but a sheepish voice spoke

from behind him. "Yes, Lambda-class shuttle Corsucathat's
the one." The speaker was a rather short, black haired woman
dressed in the drab olive uniform of an imperial naval officer.
Her glossy black hair was tied up in a regulation bun, and her
face possessed an aquiline nose that would have made her
seem pretty had she not been so timid. The insignia on her
shoulder read Ensign, but her quiet demeanor didn't seem to
fit that officer's rank. Still, the fact that she was a woman
spoke volumes about her skill as an officer. For a woman to
be accepted into the service, she had to be an exceptional
soldier.

Tilyer was about to say something when he heard a wash of

cascading energy. He turned to see the shuttle's form rippling
as it passed through the magnetic containment field. Its
lower wings began to fold up into their signature delta form
as landing thrusters flared to maneuver the ship into place.
Its landing gear settled to the floor with a dull reverberating
thud, and the boarding ramp began to grind downward.

"Orders didn't say the name or design of the ship," Tilyer

said as if trying to defend against some unspoken slight.

The young woman moved past him and toward the Corsuca.
"I just checked the station's travel manifests, that's all."

Gabel just shrugged and shouldered his duffle bag to follow

her.
Tilyer grumbled and strode after them.

Tilyer stared out the port side window as the myriad of stars
beyond slowly spun with the shuttle's lazy turn. He could hear
Gabel chatting with that woman in the background.

"So you're a communications officer, huh Linia? That is you

name, isn't it? Linia Taulin?"

Raan sighed, trying to tune out the arbitrary conversation as

he set to staring out the window once again. This time,
however, something else caught his eye. The vessel would
have seemed extremely strange had Tilyer not been studying
this particular configuration for quite some time: the Corellian
Corvette. Approximately one fourth of the vessel was devoted
to its eleven engines. It had an oddly shaped fuselage, if that
could be applied to a capital war ship, and a forward-placed
bridge that lent the craft the look of a deformed hammer. He
could even see a pair of turbo laser batteries located along the
vessel's midsection tracking the Corsuca's approach.

The pilot's voice crackled over the loudspeaker, "All

passengers, prepare to dock. You may debark through the aft
floor hatch once the landing procedure is completed."

His words were punctuated by a loud grating sound as the shuttle

settled down over the corvette's docking collar. Another deep
thump resonated throughout the compartment. Then a green
light appeared over the door to the cockpit. Flight Officer Taulin
was the first to rise from her seat followed quickly by Gabel. As
he grabbed his duffle bag, Tilyer could hear the magnetic seal
on the hatch dissipate before the lock slid open.

He approached as the lift whirred upward and the three of

them stepped onto the platform. He briefly wondered if he
had spent enough time shining his boots or pressing his
uniform along with a multitude of other worries, but the
elevator suddenly lurched downward. Too late for that. He
managed to assume parade stance just before the lift ground
to a halt at the head of an antiseptically white corridor.

Two officers in Imperial olive-gray uniforms stood before the

trio. The one with the Commander's insignia loomed rather
than stood. He seemed wolfishly lean, and though he
appeared young enough, had a haggard stern look to his face
that made him seem aged beyond his years. His hawkish nose
jutted out above his sternly clenched jaw, and his close-
cropped brown hair was beginning to thin beneath the officer's
cap he wore atop his head. He turned toward the group, eyes
seeming to settle upon Tilyer specifically and glared like a
raging bantha. He said nothing, but gestured to the wall
impatiently.

Tilyer tried to cover up his shock at the brusque greeting and

hurried to comply. The others followed suit. The commander
gestured once more, but this time he indicated the older man
by his side.

The other officer turned to the new crew members. He did not
examine them with the practiced eye of the instructors at the
academy, looking them up and down as if the mere passing of his
eyes could register their moral, intellectual, and physical stature.
On the contrary, his eyes barely registered their presence. His
face seemed to be weathered beyond its years, with sunken eyes
that appeared bruised because of the shadows that dwelt there.
His chin was almost non existent, giving him the look of an
elderly fish. He did not at all embody the dashing officers
portrayed in the recruitment holovids, nor did he seem to have
the inner fire that the instructors back at the academy
possessed. Tilyer got the impression that he had spent so much
time in the Imperial Navy that all enthusiasm had fled his body.
He had probably been shuffled around from post to post in one
lackluster assignment after another for years, doing nothing to
make himself stand out nor anything to engender the wrath of
the Fleet Admirals. He refrained from any more musings as the
captain began to speak.

The voice that issued forth from that husk of a man seemed
hollow and empty of emotion. "Greetings, I am Captain
Almund Ygra, the captain of this vessel." He faltered as if
trying to find the proper words.

The wolf of a man beside him stepped in, "And I am

Commander Venka. Welcome to the Enforcer." The tone in his
voice made Tilyer feel he was anything but welcome.

Commander Venka continued, "I know the three of you are fresh
out of the academy, and we will do our best to make your
transition from training to active duty as smooth as possible.
You will find life upon this vessel to be less strictly regimented
than that of the academy, but unlike your training, perfect
performance is expected. Do your job quickly and efficiently, and
I see no future problems. Understood?"
A chorus of "yes sirs" came from the assembled three.

Captain Ygra nodded as if coming out of a trance, "Very well

then, ah, Commander Venka shall show you to your quarters."
With a sluggish nod, he strode down the hallway and out of
sight, leaving the young crewmen alone with the Commander.

With a long sigh Gabel flopped onto the lower bunk. He rolled
over onto his back and tucked his arms under his head.

Tilyer rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Sure, I don't mind

sleeping on the top bunk."

"Huh?" came Gabel's mumbled reply.

"Never mind," Tilyer said with a sigh as he surveyed their new

living quarters. It was a drab three by three meter room
furnished with a small desk attached to one wall, a computer
terminal, a pair of plasteel chairs, a refresher unit, and a
cramped closet built into one of the blank gray walls. He
silently resolved to find something to cover up the blank space
no matter what imperial regulation said, but then again,
violating regulation seemed to be the order of the day. He'd
never heard of an officer and an enlisted man having to room
together.

Tilyer was actually quite put out that he had been quartered with
the large crewman. Commander Venka had rather venomously
informed them that no other officer of comparable rank to Raan
had a free bunk, and thus he would have to room with a
crewman instead. Ensign Taulin probably received her own
room. No, she definitely did get her own room. Otherwise this
situation with Gabel wouldn't exist.

That thought reminded him yet again of that vehement

commander. Venka's name suited him, Tilyer had decided on
the short walk to their quarters. He knew it wasn't right to
ridicule fellow officers, even in thought, but the Commander's
demeanor could only be labeled as cruel. He said only a few
terse words the whole time, but the perpetual condescending
sneer on his lips spoke volumes.

With a shake of his head, Tyler dismissed those thoughts and

turned to unpack his things. Anyway, Venka was probably just
trying to break in the new crewmembers like the instructors at
the academy. He had said their orders would be arriving soon,
and Tilyer wanted to have everything stowed away properly
before he started on active duty. As he reached into the bag, his
hand touched something hard and cool. With a reminiscent smile,
he drew the small circular device out of the duffle. Turning
slightly, he set the object down on the table next to the computer
terminal and hit the blinking button on the side.

A small three dimensional picture sprang up over the glossy

disk, flickering slightly and then steadying into a clear image.
The small holo showed Tilyer, his parents, and his brother
Mikal standing at the base of the grand stairs of the Imperial
Academy. Everyone beamed excitedly, especially Mikal,
resplendent in his graduation uniform. Graduation was the
pinnacle of happiness for the Raan family. Everyone was so
proud of Mikal.

Tilyer sighed, studying the faces of his mother and father. His
parents had been staunchly against it when he wanted to join the
navy. He could understand why, though. They didn't want to lose
another son, but Tilyer felt it was something he had to do. His
departure from home was less that happy, and though his
parents had attended his graduation, it seemed to Tilyer that
there was a hint of sadness to their proud smiles.

The chirp of his commlink disturbed him from his reverie. He

plucked it from his belt. "This is Raan." His own words made
him shiver with delight. It was something an action hero in
the holovids would say, totally unlike him but thrilling none-
the-less.

The male voice on the other end was unfamiliar and officiously
cold, "Flight Officer Raan, you and Crewman Thahlwin report
to the docking bay for further orders."

"And . . . where is that?"

There was a long pause before the other man replied tersely,
"Look up the ship schematics on your computer terminal, but
be quick about it. Bridge out."

"What's up?" Gabel intoned excitedly

"Orders."

"Oh good! Where to?" he replied happily

Tilyer ignored the larger man. With a few hurried taps of the
console, he found the information he needed. He printed it out
on a sheet of flimsiplast and dashed out the door with Gabel
intow.

Tilyer attempted to smooth his uniform as the fighter bay

doors hissed open, not wanting to look mussed for his first
day of real duty. He stopped short though as he caught sight
of the docking bay. It was a little hole in the wall barely big
enough for the pair TIE fighters perched on the launching
rack above and a few maintenance stations. Currently one of
the TIE's solar panels lay on the deck where a trio of
technicians and several pit droids were hard at work on it.
One of them, a wiry older man with barely a few wisps of iron
gray hair on his shining pate, shouted angrily, berating the
droids as if their performance could improve with a slew of
insults their tiny processors couldn't comprehend.

Tilyer frowned as he walked into the bay. He hadn't really

known what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it. Everything
at the academy was so grand, the architecture fine and
detailed. It inspired its students with awe and pride at
becoming the officers of this magnificent navy, but an officer
of this? Everything on this ship seemed cramped and
spartan. He was expecting something more fitting of an
Imperial officer, but the more of the Enforcer he saw, the
more he began to wonder just what that was.

Without warning the ship-wide commlink suddenly crackled to

life. The crewmen paused as the captain's voice boomed
throughout the hanger. Strangely, it didn't sound like the
same man Tilyer met just minutes before. His voice seemed
somehow more vibrant and full of purpose.

"Attention all hands. It is my great pleasure to relay the

joyous news we have just received. The Empire has just
struck a mortal blow against that band of criminals known as
the Rebellion. Lord Darth Vader's Star Destroyer fleet has
located and destroyed their base of operations, and now
nothing stands in the way of Emperor Palpatine's benevolent
hand and Imperial supremacy."

The technicians erupted into a chorus of jubilant cheers. Tilyer

felt himself get caught up in the frenzy as he pumped his fist
into the air. He didn't even mind when Gabel gave him a
hearty slap on the back, nearly sprawling him across the floor.
He could barely make sense of the flood of emotions that
surged through his senses: joy, relief, even a little
disappointment that he had not been there to witness it
himself, but also something else. Before he could think more
on the unexpected news, the captain's voice began again.

"We shall be departing for the Outer Rim within the hour. We
must stop for further resuply in the Corellia sector, and then
make for Belsavis. There we will aid in rooting out fleeing
rebel elements. Prepare the ship for hyperspace, and man
your stations. That is all." The comm clicked off.

"I'm glad to see you're in such a good mood for your first
day," a rumbling voice announced with a chuckle.

The speaker was a dark-skinned, well-built man clad in a

bulky black flight suit. His skin didn't seem to be pigmented
naturally, however, as if he had been subject to intense
radiation at some point of his life. As soon as Tilyer's eyes fell
upon the Lieutenant's insignia upon the man's chest, he
snapped to attention.

"Flight Officer Raan reporting for duty, sir!"

"Huh? Oh!" Gabel clumsily followed suit.

The other pilot gave the pair a dismissive wave, "Don't bother
yourselves with that kind of formality. It takes a bunch of
people to keep a fighter in the air. Without one of us, none of
us would succeed. We're all equals down here." He grinned
and extended a gloved hand first to Tilyer, "Lieutenant Jerrol
Del'Goren."

Tilyer didn't know what to do for a moment. It was as if he

had suddenly stepped into a different world; cramped,
cluttered, and informal. With nothing else to do, he meekly
took Lieutenant Del'Goren's hand.

Del'Goren smiled, "Flight Officer Raan, nice to finally meet

you. We've been short a pilot for several weeks now. Flight
Officer Hurdiss managed to find his way into the engine
wash of a star destroyer while on patrol around Coruscant. I
hope you have a little more sense than him."

"I'm sure," Tilyer said a bit warily. He still couldn't understand

this sudden deviation from protocol.

Lieutenant Del'Goren turned to Gabel, "And Crewman

Thahlwin, good to have you as well." He pointed to the older
mechanic as he went back to cursing one of the pit droids,
"That is your superior, Chief Sucha. Go over and introduce
yourself."
As Gabel headed off, Del'Goren turned back to catch Tilyer
looking up at the TIE fighter suspended above their heads. He
smiled, "Kinna makes your heart jump just looking at it, huh?"

Tilyer smiled and nodded.

The Lieutenant patted Tilyer on the back, "Believe me, it

never fades, and that first flight?" He shook his head wistfully,
"Your gut stays up in your throat the whole time." The pair
looked up at the fighter in silence for a few moments before
Del'Goren spoke again. "That one is yours." He pointed to
wingless fighter hanging overhead. Tilyer's spirits suddenly
fell.

"Don't worry," Del'Goren assured him, "it is just routine

maintenance. The Chief said there was some kind of
fluctuation with the energy converters or something and he
wanted to check it out. Nothing to get excited about."

Tilyer nodded, but the explanation still didn't help his mood.

"Anyway, I just got out of the sims. You want to give it a

whirl? I know you've probably had your fill at the academy,
but you can't log too many hours."

"Yessir, I'd enjoy that," He replied with some measure of

relief. They made their way to the door to the rear of the
hanger as the technicians roared with laughter at some
unknown joke, Gabel laughing hardest of all.

Tilyer sighed as he sat his meal tray on the mess table. It was
something he'd been doing quite a bit the past four days
sighing, that is. He grimaced with distaste at the various bland
squares and slops on his tray. The serving droids said the
orange one would taste just like roast nerf, but Tilyer had
found that to be a lie the first day. He picked at the
unappetizing food, just trying to sate his hunger for now and
thinking over the events of the past few days.

The Enforcer had made its stop in Corellia on schedule,

picking up further provisions and, to Tilyer's surprise, a
detachment of storm troopers. In fact, he had been among
the officers assembled to receive the new troops. He would
never forget the moment when the first pair of white-clad feet
hit the deck. The way the stormtrooper captain paused and
calmly raked his emotionless bug-eyed gaze over the
assembled men sent chills up Tilyer's spine.

He had heard many rumors about stormtroopers during his

time in the academy. One brave and very gullible soul said
that all stormtroopers were genetic clones bred to be
impervious to pain, fear, and every other human sentiment.
No one really believed him about the clone part, but the rigid
discipline and strict adherence to duty apparent in all
stormtroopers made the latter part seem all too possible.
Tilyer had never been that close to a trooper before, but he
was immediately glad that they were on his side.

"Mind if we sit here?" an annoyingly cheerful voice asked from

behind.

Before he could turn around, the speaker circled the table. He

was of comparable build to Tilyer, trim and clad in an olive-
gray officer's uniformnot surprising, considering this was the
officer's mess. He smoothed down his parted hair as he
flashed Tilyer a disarming grin.

Tilyer opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he saw

Linia Taulin trailing behind him. He had only seen her face a
few times since he'd been on the ship, and those instances
had always been in the hallways when each on his own
respective errand. Still, every time he saw her, she had only
uttered a meek greeting and hurried on her way as if anxious
to escape Tilyer's presence.

He was so taken aback that she was actually making an

attempt to be sociable that he forgot his mouth was still
open. He hurriedly mumbled an affirmative, motioning to the
seats on the other side of the table.

The young officer smiled and took the seat. Linia followed suit
rather reluctantly, but said nothing in protest. The young man
offered his hand to Tilyer, "I'm Lieutenant Urtis Dusat. A
pleasure to meet you. And you are?"

Tilyer gave him a half-hearted smile, grasping the man's

hand, "Flight Officer Tilyer Raan. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," Dusat said pleasantly, digging into his meal.

After a bite, he paused, "Oh, how clumsy of me." He
gestured to Linia, "This is Ensign Linia Taulin."

"We've met," she said quietly.

Dusat just shrugged and continued the conversation, "Ah,
good. Well then, I suppose you're a pilot?"
"Yes, a TIE fighter pilot." "Ah, wonderful. What better way
to serve the Empire? As for me, I man the sensor station up
on the bridge. That's where Ensign Taulin and I met."

Tilyer nodded absently. This one was almost as annoying as

Gable. Still, he was a fellow officer. He could at least keep
up the small talk for courtesy's sake. "Ah, do you like it?" he
finally asked.

Dusat shrugged, "I can't complain. It's got its high and low
points, but the bridge can be pretty exciting at timesa lot
more than what I used to get as a computer programmer before
joining up." He chuckled, "It's not very glamorous, but we all
must do our part to help in these times of strife, 'eh?"

Tilyer smiled despite himself. Finally, he found someone else

on this ship who took pride in his work and his government.

"How about you?" Dusat asked.

"Things could be better. My fighter has been in two separate

pieces these past few days, so I have pretty much been
confined to running errands and practicing in the sims.
Lieutenant Del'Goren has been putting me through the
paces, though. He's proven to be an impeccable pilot."

Urtis laughed, "Of course."

"The technicians just got done putting my TIE back

together, actually. I'm anxious about my first mission,
whenever that happens."

An electronic chirp sounded from Dusat's breast pocket.

"Oh, that would be the bridge," he said with an apologetic

smile. "Please, excuse me. Enjoy your meals." The
Lieutenant made for the door, holding the commlink to his
lips as he disappeared into the hall.

"If you can call it that," Tilyer said flatly, poking the orange
square with his fork.

"What are you going to name it?" Linia suddenly asked.

Tilyer was so taken surprised by her comment, for a

moment he said nothing. "Um, name what?"

218
"Your ship."

"My fighter? Well, I hadn't really thought about it," he

stammered. "I suppose Alpha 001-2 will do."

"I heard that it's a tradition among pilots," she said meekly.
She abruptly went back to eating her dinner, almost as if
ashamed at her clumsy statement.

For several long moments Linia and Tilyer said nothing as

they pretended to eat their meals. Linia broke the
awkward silence first. "You know, my father served in the
Imperial Navy. He was a pilot too."

"Really?"

"Yes," she replied, not looking up from her plate.

"What did he pilot?"

"One of those old Z-95 Headhunters. They were top of the line
back then before the Empire introduced the TIE series. He was
actually pretty good from what I hear."

Tilyer smiled, "And what did he name his ship?"

"Vigilance. He really believed in the new galactic order. He

thought it would better life for us all, being under one
supreme ruler and not having to debate every decision in the
Senate. He reminds me of Urtis. Both of them believe so
strongly in the Empire . . . too bad that faith couldn't save him
when his ship's fuel cells ruptured." She grew quiet.

Tilyer's mind raced, trying to think of something appropriate

to say. She pressed on, however, before he could speak. "You
know, it's funny. I joined the Navy to try to please him, even
though he died two years before that, leaving me to carry on
the Taulin line." She gave a humorless laugh. "I felt I owed it
to him to leave behind a legacy he'd be proud of. It was his
name that got me into the Academy anywaybeing a woman
and all."

Tilyer chuckled nervously, "Oh? I hadn't noticed."

They shared a laugh at the feeble joke, and once more silence
fell over the table like a palpable blanket.

219
"I joined because of my brother, Mikal," Tilyer said quietly.

"Oh?" she asked with a slight smile, "Is he a pilot too?"

Tilyer glanced downward, "No, he joined the medical corps . .

. but not any more. He was on the Death Star when
the Rebels attacked."

Linia lowered her eyes. She reached out slowly and patted his
hand sympathetically. "I understand."

He gave her a half-hearted smile.

"Listen," he said, abruptly changing the subject, "I'm sorry

about how I acted before when we first met."

Linia waved away the apology. She smiled, "I understand."

The intercom suddenly clicked on, "Attention all hands. We

shall soon exit hyperspace into the Malastare system. Man
your stations and prepare for reentry into real space. That is
all."

Tilyer raised his eyebrows, "I didn't know we were going to

be stopping any time soon."

"Neither did I, but we'd best be going," Linia said as

she stood.

"Yes, we should."

She paused a moment as if thinking of something else to

say, then turned on her heel and strode out the door.

Linia Taulin rushed past the white-armored figure stationed

at the bridge entrance, her breath coming in beleaguered
pants. The stormtrooper hardly moved from his stance, but
she swore she could feel his glossy-eyed stare following her
every move as she slid into her seat before the
communications consol. Beside her, Urtis flashed welcoming
smile before turning back to his own work.

She could see Captain Ygra and Commander Venka talking

from where they stood before the transparent durasteel that
made up the bridge viewport. The captain stood with his

220
hands clasped behind his back gazing out into the molten blue
skies of hyperspace. His demeanor had changed since their
departure from Imperial Center. He seemed like a new man to
just about every member of the crew. Perhaps the promise of
glory had instilled in him a new purpose, a chance to prove
himself before he was inevitably forced into retirement.

"How many minutes until entry into real space?" he called

back Linia, Urtis, and the other four crewmen and officers
manning posts on the bridge.

Dusat was quick to pipe up, "ETA, two minutes sir."

Ygra nodded without even turning around, "Very well. Keep

me posted."

"Malastare is not our destination," Commander Venka

stated flatly.

"Yes, but it is on our way," the captain replied smoothly.

"Are you expecting any rebel activity?"

Captain Ygra smiled, "You read my mind, Lieutenant. You see,

the native Dug species has seen fit to reignite their feud with
the Gran that built a colony on the world in the old days of the
Republic. Imperial high command seems content to let them
resolve the conflict themselves, since there are not critical
installations or industries located in the vicinity. Even so, the
conflict has thrown the shipping lanes into disarray. I suspect
we might catch a rebel or two trying to make a break for the
core worlds in the midst of the confusion."

Venka nodded knowingly, "As long as it is on our way,

it cannot hurt."

"Don't worry. We will only stay long enough to make a quick

reconnoiter and then be on our way in just a few hours."

"Entry into real space in ten seconds," Dusat called out.

"We will find out shortly whether or not this delay was worth
our while or not," Commander Venka said noncommittally.

One of the other bridge crewmen counted down the reentry,

finally easing back on the lever at his console to release

221
the Enforcer from hyperspace. The molted blue outside the
view port faded into star lines, shrinking down into individual
pinpricks of light as space took form around them. Malastare
hung below the view port, a distant collection of varied greens
and browns surrounded by the black void of space.

Linia quickly began typing commands on her console to

establish a communications link with planetary customs.

"Shields up," Captain Ygra ordered. The sound of coursing

electricity thrummed around the bulkhead as the protective
bubble of energy suddenly enveloped the Enforcer.

"Sensors, report," Venka barked.

"Normal space traffic, sir," Urtis responded quickly. "A large

convoy from the Aldison trading consortium lies just off our
starboard side. They seem to be making for the orbital loading
station."

"Nothing suspicious?"

"No sir. The first ships of the convoy are just beginning
to cross our bow."

The Enforcer suddenly shuddered. Linia lurched forward in

her seat, grasping the edges of her console. Just a split
second later another violent blast rocked the ship. Captain
Ygra managed to steady himself as Venka bounced off the
transparisteel bulkhead and stumbled backwards.

"Report!" Ygra exclaimed. Venka said nothing. He was

too busy trying to catch the blood streaming from his
broken nose.

"Shields low, but no significant hull damage!" a technician

cried out.

Urtis' voice was frantic, "We were just hit with two
proton torpedoes. I'm counting two fighters and two
space transports. They're making a run for the surface!"

"Rebels!" Captain Ygra exclaimed.

"Launch the fighters!" Venka roared. He gave up trying to

keep the blood from his uniform and pointed accusingly at

222
Urtis, "We can discuss your performance later, Lieutenant
Dusat. Right now, I want those rebel dogs!"

Linia turned to relay the orders, but she couldn't help from
noticing Commander Venka's red-stained fists and the blood
that dribbled down his chin and onto his pristine uniform.

The sudden jolts that shook the Enforcer had startled Tilyer,
but the call to scramble the fighters shocked him even more.
At first he thought a stray asteroid or perhaps even another
ship had struck the corvette, but all such notions were
immediately dispelled as he rushed for his fighter. He and
Lieutenant Del'Goren had already donned their flight suits as
they had done at least half a dozen times before, only to wait
out the duration of real space flight without incident.

This time alarm klaxons blared throughout the hanger, red

strobe lights bathing the ship in a shade of red that felt like
vibroblades stabbing into his eyes. His heart pounded
furiously as he was lowered into the TIE's cockpit. Gabel
leaned in, attaching his oxygen lines and booting up vital
systems.

"All systems are operational!" he shouted so that Tilyer could

hear him. He slapped Tilyer's helmet, grinning stupidly, "Be
careful out there, and knock 'em dead!" He retracted from the
opening, sealing the hatch with a hum as the magnetic locks
activated.

The young flight officer sighed, trying to calm his nerves. He

reached out and grasped the steering yoke in front of him
with both gloved hands and gently rested his feet upon the
rudder pedals below, eagerly wriggling his fingers and toes
in anticipation.

Lieutenant Del'Goren's voice crackled over his helmet's integral

commlink, "We've got four ships bound for the planet. Sensor
analysis has identified them as a pair of Y-wings and a pair of YT-
1300 freighters. They just made an attack run on the Enforcer,
probably hoping to disable us before they made

223
their run to the planet's surface. Our orders are to capture
freighters, if possible, but use of lethal force has been
authorized."

Tilyer's breath caught in his throat, "YT-1300?" After the

victory at Hoth, Lord Darth Vader himself had issued a
notice to all imperial forces to be on the lookout for a heavily
modified YT-1300 that was rumored to be transporting high-
ranking rebel officials.

Del'Goren seemed to read Tilyer's mind, "No telling if they're

the ones Lord Vader is after, but there is only one way to find
out. Remember your training, and stay on my wing."

If the Lieutenant said anything else, Tilyer didn't hear it

because the TIE rack suddenly cycled forward. The deafening
clank of machinery reverberated through the fighter's tiny
compartment, drowning out all other sound until the TIE hit
the bay containment field. The expanse of stars before him
wavered as the fighter hit, energy crackling around the hull
before the sudden feeling of weightlessness took hold of
Tilyer's body.

He fought to control the frantic pace of his breath as the

sudden coldness of space gripped his body like a vice. It was
simply exhilarating. Del'Goren was right. Tilyer had
experienced space flight before, but this was totally
different. It was his first mission as full-fledged Imperial
officer. Pride and anxiousness swelled in his chest, but he
tried to fight those extraneous emotions down as the
Lieutenant's voice emanated from his commlink.

"Our targets are at heading zero three mark two seven seven.
Get on my wing and stay there for the approach. We hit the
fighter escorts first, and then move in after the transports."

"Understood, sir," Tilyer intoned.

He pushed the throttle to the maximum as the pair of TIEs

made a sharp turn, racing off after the fleeing ships. His
fighter's twin ion engines roared behind him, filling the
cockpit with a low rumble that vibrated within Tilyer's chest
and only served to increase the tension in his body.

224
"We're almost on them," Lieutenant Del'Goren said
mechanically.

Tilyer could make out the shapes of the Corellian transports,

gray disks framing the blazing azure fires of the ships' engine
wash. Four bright orange dots signified the Y-wings as their
engines howled furiously to escape the ever-gaining TIEs.

"Two clicks out and counting," Del'Goren announced. "Line

up your shot on the closest fighter, but don't fire until you
reach optimum range."

Tilyer allowed his targeting hairs to drift over the Y-wing,

watching as each individual engine, the cockpit, even the
carbon scoring across the ship's surface became visible.
The blue targeting reticule on his HUD suddenly flared as
his computer squealed a lock.

"Wait for it . . . wait for it . . . "

His finger tightened on the trigger, heart beating frantically.

Y-wing began to pull up.

Tilyer started to panic. His breathing increased almost to the

point of hyperventilation.

"One more second."

He wanted so badly to stab at the trigger. It seemed like

forever. Why wouldn't Del'Goren give the order?

"Now!"

Tilyer thumbed the firing stud without hesitation. As the flurry

of emerald green bolts flashed toward the arcing fighter, he
suddenly understood the lieutenant's hesitation. With the
panicked maneuver, the Y-wing's pilot had actually exposed
his broad top side to the approaching TIEs. The rapid stream
of laser bolts first struck against the cockpit, dissipating
against the craft's shields. Tilyer relentlessly held the trigger
down, watching eagerly as the Y-wing's shields went down
with a flash. Molten armor plates spun off into space as the
beams of green energy stitched a burning line across its
fuselage. The fighter began to rotate trying to throw off
Tilyer's aim, but it couldn't prevent the inevitable. Several

225
bolts hit the narrow spine that connected the port side engine
to the rest of the fighter. An internal conduit exploded, tearing
the engine from the rest of the body. A short moment later,
another internal explosion went off that consumed the rest of
the Y-wing like a hungry rancor.

"Break right!" the lieutenant barked.

Tilyer didn't stop to think. He stomped the rudder pedal and

pulled back on the yoke. A split second later, ruby laser bolts
sliced through the space his fighter had just vacated. He
frantically looked to his sensors. The other Y-wing had broken
off to attack the TIEs and was now embroiled in an intense
dogfight with Lieutenant Del'Goren's craft.

"I'll take this one." the lieutenant shouted, "You go after

the transports!"

Tilyer didn't question the order. "Understood, sir." He swung

his craft around and shot off after the transports.

It didn't take long for him to catch up with them. As far as

freighters went, YT-1300s were fast, but TIE fighters
outmatched them by far in speed and maneuverability. Tilyer
rapidly tapped commands upon his systems console. He
opened a broad channel over all commlink frequencies. "Rebel
freighters: cut your engines and prepare to be boarded.
Failure to comply will be met with lethal force." He paused
only long enough to fire a quick laser burst over the bow of
the trailing freighter. "The next shot will not miss."

Nothing happened. Very well. They had their chance. Now

they had to face the consequences.

Tilyer stabbed the trigger. The deck plating beneath his feet
thrummed as the TIE's paired lasers spewed green death
out into space. Bolt after destructive bolt dissipated against
the freighter's shields as the enemy pilot pulled his craft up
and angled away from the planet

"They're trying to make it to deep space!" he called out into

the tactical frequency.

"Destroy them before they can make the calculations for

the jump to hyperspace!" Lieutenant Del'Goren shouted

226
Tilyer quickly closed the gap on the fleeing ships, tucking in
behind the trailing freighter. He took care to line up his
shot, watching the crosshairs on the HUD burn with azure
fire. His finger moved to squeeze the trigger.

But he never completed the motion. Several large squarish

objects suddenly filled his cockpit window, streaming out of the
YT-1300's opened bay doors. One of the objects scraped over
the top of the ball cockpit, another missing entirely, but one
clipped the TIE's starboard solar panel. It splintered apart, filling
the area with black metallic objects that bounced and clattered
off of the TIE's hull. Tilyer could only watch helplessly as the
transports suddenly accelerated and then disappear entirely as
they made the jump to hyperspace.

"Smugglers!" Venka exclaimed, pounding his fist on the table.

"Just how did you come to that conclusion, Lieutenant?" He
loomed menacingly over where Lieutenant Del'Goren and
Tilyer sat in the cramped briefing room. His cheeks flushed
red with anger, matching the hue of his bloodstained uniform.
He now wore adhesive tape to hold his shattered nose in
place, and the flesh around it was already starting to bruise.
Evidently he thought the debriefing took precedence over his
own bacta treatments.

"That will be quite enough, Commander." Captain Ygra said

calmly, waving Venka back to his seat.

Captain Ygra turned back to the pilots. Tilyer couldn't help but
notice that his face seemed less sallow than just a few days
before, and his eyes no longer had that hollow look about
them.

"Lieutenant Del'Goren, while I trust your judgment, my

second brings up a good point. How can you be sure these
fugitives were indeed smugglers and not rebels as
Commander Venka seems to believe?"

227
The dark-skinned pilot ran a hand over his bald pate,
obviously trying to curb his impatience, "First of all, sir, they
were carrying a very large arms shipment."

Tilyer bowed his head to hide his embarrassment as a chill ran

through his body. He hadn't known it at the time, but those
black objects he had managed to saturate space with were the
weapons Del'Goren was talking about. They now resided in
the Enforcer's impounded cargo bay.

Venka was quick to interrupt, "Rebels also need

weapons, Lieutenant."

"But Captain Ygra stated earlier in the debriefing that the Dug
were embroiled in a conflict with the Gran on Malastare. The
smugglers were most likely trying to furnish arms to one side or
the other. Besides, no self-respecting rebel would allow his cargo
to fall into Imperial hands without more of a fight."

"What would you know of how a 'self-respecting Rebel' would

behave?" Venka sneered. "Regardless of all that, you allowed
the freighters to escape. We cannot allow"

Ygra silenced his second with a simple gesture. Venka's

eyes flared in anger, but he fell silent nonetheless.

"Your performance was commendableboth of you," said

Captain Ygra. "You performed your duty to the best of your
abilities, and I can find no fault with your actions. Shower
up, and sleep well. Dismissed."

The pilots stood and filed out of the debriefing room. As

soon as the door hissed shut, Venka turned toward Captain
Ygra, obviously fighting to control his irritation. "Captain . . .
are you sure this is wise?"

"Is what wise?"

"Your treatment of the pilots. You praise them, despite their

failure. We cannot seem to tolerate such dereliction of duty,
sir. We need warriors we can count on, not babies to be
pampered. I held my tongue before in deference to your
position, but I must object."

Captain Ygra raised his eyebrows questioningly, "You think

this operation was a failure?"

228
"Well, Flight Officer Raan did allow the freighters to escape."

"Do you really think he could have prevented them? Two

fighters against a pair of YT-1300s? We were fortunate the
craft had not been modified with any weaponry. I doubt we
would have been able to seize their cargo otherwise, much
less survive."

Venka swallowed hard, "Yes sir."

"Very well then," Captain Ygra said. "Send a message to high

command and inform them of our progress. I will be on the
bridge preparing for departure." Ygra stood and left with a
curt nod.

For a moment, Venka hardly moved. He was still trying to

come to grips with the sudden change in Captain Ygra. The
man had always been a staunch ally for any decision Venka
made, even if he was a burn-out of sorts. Now he was
suddenly disregarding his second's advice where as before, he
wouldn't act without asking another officer of his opinion. He
had never conducted a debriefing himself before. He had
always left it up to his subordinates and never taken an
interest in the minute details of an operation.

Venka was decidedly uneasy about the abrupt

metamorphosis of his commanding officer. He was normally
such a reserved man, and now he was suddenly making rash
decisions like taking that detour into the Malastare system.
Maybe he scented some kind of glory on the horizon with the
new deployment, and he just wanted to accomplish
something worthwhile before it was too late. Venka didn't
know what motivated the captain, but he did know that it
could bode ill for the Enforcer.

He began to tap out commands on his noteputer to compile

the message Captain Ygra had requested, but with a few
revisions. He detailed an encounter with possible rebel forces,
the destruction of two enemy fighters, and recommended a
more in-depth investigation into the activities of the system.
Captain Ygra would hardly notice the revisions, and Imperial
command would undoubtedly be delighted with the
destruction of more rebel assets. Pleased with his handiwork,
he headed up to the communications relay.

229
A harsh clang rang through the pilot's locker room as
Lieutenant Del'Goren hurled his helmet into his open locker,
"Venka is even stupider than I thought he was. Rebels
operating out of Malastare? It's ridiculous! The Gran and the
Dug are too concerned about their own petty squabbles to
worry about a galactic revolution."

"Commander Venka doesn't strike me as the stupid type,"

Tilyer said mildly as he shucked his own flight suit.

The bald officer gave his subordinate a wry grin as he

wrapped a towel around his waist. "Well, I suppose you're
right about that. He's a very intelligent individual, even if he
is a conniving snake-in-the-grass. He knows I was right."

"So if he knew it was the truth, why didn't he say so?"

Del'Goren stepped into a refresher unit and Tilyer took the

adjacent one. "My first guess would be that he gets a kick out
of making the rest of us look incompetent so he can feel good
about himself. Maybe his mom didn't hug him enough. I don't
know. That man is a social climber. All he cares about is
making himself look better in his own eyes and those of High
Command."

Tilyer wanted to say something, to voice the singular question

bouncing frantically around his mind like a pinball gone mad.
How could the Lieutenant rationalize slandering another
Imperial officer so viciously? Del'Goren's words screamed in
protest of everything he had been taught at the Academy.
Commander Venka may have seemed cruel and callous on the
exterior, but Imperial officers were of the finest moral and
intellectual caliber. To make such derogatory remarks about
another officer bordered on a court marshal-worthy offense.

But instead he said nothing. The pilots finished their

showers in silence. After getting dressed in a clean uniform,
Tilyer headed back to his quarters.

He punched in the proper entrance code and the door rasped

open. From the darkened interior, Tilyer could guess that
Gabel was on duty somewhere.A good time to get some sleep,
he thought as he entered the room. His first footfall sent
something skittering across the floor to rebound off the

230
opposite wall with a metallic clang. Frowning, he reached
over to slap the light switch.

The overhead glow panels flickered on to reveal a chaotic

mess. Everything in the room that had not been tied down
now lay scattered across the floor. Of course, that wasn't
much, but several sheets of flimsiplast and what had once
been a pair of neatly folded uniforms littered the deck. To
make matters worse, the desktop light had fallen off, and the
glow panel within had shattered leaving a mess of broken
glass and white goo.

As he surveyed the wreckage, his eyes fell upon the object he

had kicked earlier. He stooped and picked up the small
silvery disk with a reminiscent smile and hit the small button
on its side.

The image that would have normally oriented itself over the
small holo projector was gone, now replaced with a haze of
colors and shapes scrambled beyond recognition. Tilyer
couldn't even make out the faces of his mother and father
amid the morass of muddled pixels. He sighed and
switched off the projector and begin to pick through the
mess on the floor.

Tilyer's skin prickled into goose bumps as he gazed out of the

cockpit of his TIE fighter, yet he knew the shiver running
through his body wasn't from his environmental suit's
inability to stave off the cold of space. No matter how dull the
patrol route, he always felt that familiar tingle when he
experienced the exhilaration of space flight. But then again,
this particular patrol was boring, no matter how thrilling
being behind the controls of a starfighter might be.

He sighed, looking down at the white ball of ice hanging in

space below him. After a brief three-day journey through
hyperspace, the Enforcer finally arrived in its main
destination, Belsavis. The planet used to be a lush jungle
world, but some kind of accelerated ice age had fallen upon

231
the planet, turning it into a nearly uninhabitable frozen rock.
In the later years of the Republic, the colonists on planet built
a number of domed enclaves in order to save the native
species that would inevitably be wiped out by the
encroaching ice. Far from coincidentally, the colonists
managed to turn quite a profit by setting up farms within the
environmental domes to produce a rare type of silk plant that
would only grow in its native soil.

When the Enforcer arrived in-system two days ago, Captain

Ygra made contact with the planetary officials and informed
them that the Enforcer would be making "random customs
inspections" over the next few days. Of course, that was only
a half-truth. The Corellian Corvette would be making
inspections, but instead of cargo, passengers would be the
objects of scrutiny.

So far, the only vessels to venture into the system were a pair
of bulk freighters on their way to Duros and a pleasure yacht
making a sight-seeing trip along the rim. Each had been
boarded in turn, but no contraband or identifiable rebel
operatives had been discovered, so they were allowed to
continue on their way.

Tilyer and Lieutenant Del'Goren had occupied the past two

days with long uneventful patrols through the empty space
around Belsavis. Currently the TIEs were making scans of
the planetary topography by following a predesignated grid
pattern through the upper stratosphere while
the Enforceroversaw the operation from a low orbit.

Tilyer's flight computer suddenly beeped, indicating that it

had located some kind of anomaly.

"Lieutenant," Tilyer said into the comm. "I think I found

something."

"What is it?" came the reply.

"A metallic signature on the ice flows several clicks outside

of the agricultural dome designated Green XII."

"Any idea what it is?"

"None sir. Whatever it is, it's not very big."

232
"Transmit the coordinates to my computer."

Tilyer did so.

"Hmm, yes. I'm picking it up too. Perhaps we should go down

for a closer look."

Tilyer's computer suddenly began to shrill a warning,

forestalling any reply. "Oh no. I'm painting five targets lifting
off from those coordinates. Two medium transports and three
fighters . . . X-wings! They must have detected our scans!"

"Damn!" Del'Goren swore. "Rendezvous with the Enforcer in

orbit. They'll eat us alive in the atmosphere."

Tilyer clicked his acknowledgement and angled his fighter

upward, racing for the relative safety of space.

"Alpha One reports ships launching from the planet surface,"

Linia Taulin shouted from her post on the bridge of
the Enforcer. "Suspected to be hostile!"

"How many?" Commander Venka barked.

"Fivetwo transports and three X-wings," she answered.

"What are your orders, Captain?" Venka asked.

Captain Ygra smiled as he gazed out the view port, "Plot an

intercept course and charge turbolaser batteries. Issue a
demand for unconditional surrender over all channels. If you
receive no reply, fire at will."

Tilyer almost breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the Enforcer's

familiar shape looming overhead. The brief respite was
shattered, however, as his flight computer squealed a warning
that one of the enemy fighters was trying to obtain a missile
lock.

"I've got one going for a lock!" he shouted over the

tactical frequency.

"Hold steady Two, I'm coming about. When I give the signal,
dive back planet-side."

233
No sooner had Del'Goren said that, than the flight computer
again shrieked for Tilyer's attention. "Damn, he's got a
lock! Torpedo away!"

"Steady."

"But, Lieutenant!"

"Steady."

"Three clicks and closing . . . two . . . one!"

"Now!"

Tilyer shoved the yoke down as far as he could. The small

craft shuddered against the strain as Lieutenant Del'Goren's
fighter howled overhead, lasers spewing a green curtain of
energy through the area Tilyer had occupied just moments
before. The emerald bolts scythed through space, interceding
with the oncoming torpedo before it burst into a raging
yellow fireball. Del'Goren's TIE whipped through the inferno
unscathed as Tilyer brought his vessel around.

"Good shooting, One," he said breathlessly.

"You can thank me later. Now form up on my wing.

They're almost on top of us!"

Lieutenant Urtis Dusat looked up from his sensor console,

alarm evident upon his face. "Captain! One of the X-wings
is engaging our fightersthe other two are lining up for an
attack run on the Enforcer."

"And the transports?"

"They're making a run for deep space using the fighters as a

screen."

"Full speed after them. A few snub fighters won't stop us.
They cannot escape that easily."

Tilyer threw his fighter into a frantic barrel roll as the enemy
fighter behind him spewed bolts of red energy all around his
tiny craft. He ground his teeth together as he hauled back on

234
the yoke, launching the TIE into a tight loop. The X-wing
blazed underneath, matching Tilyer move-for-move.

"I can't shake him, Leadneed assistance!"

"Negative, Two. The other fighters are on an attack

run against the Enforcer. I have to intercept them."

"He's going to vape me any second!" Tilyer screamed in

protest as scintillating laser fire once more flashed beneath his
cockpit.

"If they manage to launch torpedoes, everyone on the

Enforcer is going to be vaporized. You're on your own. Sorry!"

Tilyer grunted a reluctant acknowledgement as he stomped on

the right rudder pedal and dialed back his throttle. The enemy
fighter whipped overhead and began a turn that would
intersect Tilyer's own path. He made a quick redirection and
punched the throttle full speed to bring his craft up behind the
X-wing, but the other pilot had anticipated the move. He
whirled his own vessel up into a trajectory that would take the
two fighters into a head on pass.

Tilyer's common sense screamed at him that this was

a very bad idea, but he didn't listen to it. If he didn't take a
chance and end the dogfight right now, he was going to slip
up sooner or later, and the other pilot would make sure he
didn't live to tell the story. He gritted his teeth and pressed
down on the trigger. As the X-wing's own fire reached him, he
ducked low then right and back up, grinning to see his
emerald shots splash off the craft's forward shield. The
stream of red laser fire wound its way through space like a
live serpent seeking out the rapidly closing TIE. Tilyer allowed
himself a smile as the first few shots missed, but reality
suddenly took icy hold as the inevitable happened.

Two bolts seared through one of his solar panels, doing no

major damage, but a third lanced through the lower portion
of the ball cockpit as it cored through the laser assembly and
back into the engine housing. The resulting explosion shook
the TIE so hard that Tilyer feared it would rip the whole thing
apart. Fortunately for him, the engine shielding managed to
contain most of the blast, but as the X-wing hurtled past, a
cold fear settled into his stomach. Belsavis' icy face filled his

235
entire view screen, and his inertial velocity was hurtling him
right into its frigid grasp.

"I've lost contact with Alpha Two!" Linia called out.

"We've got bigger problems," Urtis exclaimed. "They've

launched torpedoesfour of them five clicks out and closing!"

"Target all batteries on the incoming ordnance!" the captain

shouted.

As ordered, the paired turbolaser batteries opened up, filling

space with a wall of green laser fire. One torpedo exploded,
then another. Two more were still rocketing toward
the Enforcer.

"Three clicks out," Urtis said. "Two."

One of them detonated in a dazzling explosion, but the other

blasted through the gauntlet of laser fire. Linia closed her
eyes and braced herself at the console.
The Enforcer shuddered as the missile struck the starboard
side, but thankfully its shields absorbed the worst of the
damage. Nonetheless, Linia's breath came in frantic pants as
she opened her eyes once more.

"Are the fighters still closing?" Commander Venka asked.

Lieutenant Dusat nodded, "Yessir, three clicks outalmost in

range of our batteries."

"Then shoot them!"

The turbolaser batteries fired again just as the enemy fighters

began their attack run, but for all their power, the massive
cannons couldn't track their quarry as well as the X-wings
could avoid their fire. They wove their way through the curtain
of emerald destruction, all the time pouring fire into the
corvette's shields.

"Forward shields are down to thirty percent!" one of

the bridge technicians shouted.

"Intensify turbolaser fire!" Ygra ordered.

236
"Output is already one hundred percent," another
tech answered, but still the X-wings grew closer.

Suddenly a new voice spoke in the cosmic light show.

Lieutenant Del'Goren's fighter rocketed after the X-wings,
raining down a steady stream of fire on the lead craft.

The enemy vessels grew larger and larger through the forward
view-screen until they seemed impossibly close. Linia's heart
skipped a beat as she saw one fighter, the one Lieutenant
Del'Goren had been targeting, suddenly explode into a fireball
of blue gas as its engine ruptured. The other fighter looked as
if it would shoot overhead, but at the last moment it spat
another pair of torpedoes from its forward tubes.

The X-wing and missiles shot overhead, but as the fighter

banked away, the torpedoes plowed into the Enforcer's spine.

The shields flashed as the first one hit, but failed to stop the
second as it detonated alone the ship's communication array.
The communication dish mounted on top practically
disintegrated in the explosion, and the blast sheered away a
portion of the ship's hull, opening part of the top deck to cold
vacuum.

On the bridge, if felt as if the whole ship was about to break

apart. Linia just barely managed to keep her head from going
through her console as the rest of the technicians maintained
similar death grips on various stationary objects. As the
shaking stopped, Linia breathed a sigh of relief, thoroughly
enjoying the fact that the Enforcer hadn't deatomized after all.

"Captain," Linia said urgently, "Shields are down, but it looks

like the rebels are making a run for it. Shall we pursue them?"

Only silence answered her.

"Captain?"

Linia gasped in horror as she turned to see Captain Ygra's

crumpled body sprawled across the floor. He laid unmoving,
eyes closed, with a steady trickle of crimson dribbling from his
nose and mouth. Linia stared in a moment of dumbstruck
silence before her sense of duty broke free of the dread
fermenting in her bowels. She frantically tapped into the
ship's communication grid.

237
"Medical team to the bridgethe captain's been
injured. Repeat, Captain Ygra is down!

Tana Yin'Baara muttered to herself as she fumbled for a

hydrospanner with twice-gloved fingers. Why did Da have
to send her, of all people, out onto the ice plains to fix this
blasted machine? And why did it have to be so damn cold?
Tana grumbled a few more complaints before she finally
managed to obtain a secure-enough grip and turned to the
ice-shrouded electronic circuitry before her.

The thing was an old weather beacon modified to work in

extreme temperatures. There were dozens of them scattered
around the planet to track the unpredictable ice storms that
roamed Belsavis' surface during the storm season. The ice
storms could wreak havoc with just about any man-made
structure, so despite the sturdiness of the Belsavis
environmental domes, precautions had to be taken.
Otherwise the domes could develop fractures and even
breaks, depressurizing the whole thing and exposing the
delicate flora inside to lethally cold temperatures. That
couldn't happen. It would be bad for businessat least, that's
what father always said.

She sighed. Who was she kidding? He was right. She may
have only been nineteen cycles old, but she still new the
basic tenants of Belsavis economics: if the crop failed, the
family would starve for money while they struggled to reseed
and rebuild the delicate ecosystem contained in those domes.

Tana started to turn back to the task at hand when something

else caught her eye. It appeared like a pillar of fire streaking
through the crystal blue sky toward the southern ice plains.
She squinted, shading her eyes with one hand so they
wouldn't have to focus against that biting wind. Yep, sure
enough, it looked to be some sort of meteor burning through
the atmosphere.

But that was what puzzled her. This system didn't have an
asteroid belt, and cosmic debris was a real rarity. No matter
how strange it was, though, she couldn't help but think how

238
interesting a find it would bethat is if it hadn't all burned up
in the atmosphere. She cast an indecisive glance at the
weather beacon, then back to the meteor. She could spare an
hour or two to go check it out. It hadn't landed that far away.
Besides, the storm season wasn't for a few more months. The
beacon could wait.

With an impish smile, she hurriedly packed up her tools and

climbed into her snowspeeder. She started up the dilapidated
vehicle as quickly as her cold-numbed fingers would allow and
goosed the throttle.

Belsavis' bluish-white landscape seemed to bleed away behind

her as the land speeder raced along the thick ice. She had
only been traveling for half an hour before she spied a strand
of dark black smoke curling up from the direction the asteroid
had crashed. But asteroids don't smoke, do they? Whatever
the cause, it only made her more eager to get there. She
leaned forward in her seat and silently wished the speeder
would go faster.

When she finally reached the impact site, her heart jumped
into her throat. Instead of a piece of cosmic rock, the still-
smoking remains of some kind of starship lay before her. A
huge debris-littered furrow had been ripped through the ice
and snow when the ship had plowed into the ground. She
couldn't believe it was as intact as it was given the evident
impact, but there it was.

She popped open the speeder's door and stepped out to get a
better look of the ship. Whatever it was, it was evidently a
fighter. It was way too small to be anything else. What must
have been the cockpit was some kind of sphere, though it
didn't look much like that now because it had been hammered
and dented into a geometric shape Tana could never have
previously imagined. One of its hexagonal wings was still
attached, though badly mangled, and a sparking nub was all
that remained of its mate. Somehow, the design seemed
familiar. A sudden flash of uncharacteristic insight struck her.
It was an Imperial starfighter! Tana hadn't noticed it before
because it was so beaten up, but that's what it was.

Then, another thought struck her. What about the pilot? Was
he still alive? She circled the wreckage, looking for the cockpit
canopy. To her dismay, most of the spider-webed glass was

239
face down in the snow, but there appeared to be some sort of
egress hatch on the crown of the fighter. She struggled to find
a steady perch on the wreckage and reached over to try to
jerk the hatch free. It opened up rather easily, and as she
looked inside, she found out why. A black-clad figure lay
sprawled unmoving against the hull, his thick gloved hands
wrapped around the hatch release.

Venka had seen Captain Ygra fall. When the torpedoes hit,
the captain had lurched for his command couch, but the
resulting concussion knocked him off balance and flung him
headlong into the chair's base. The unforgiving durasteel did
quite a number on his head. The 2-1B medical droid said he
had multiple skull fractures and there was considerable
swelling around his brain. It seemed to believe the Captain
would pull through, but almost as a precautionary measure,
the droid confided in Venka that medical science was "far
from infallible."

As he gazed upon the withered husk of a man floating in the

bacta tank before him, Venka began to think of how truly
fallible the captain had become. A few snub fighters won't
stop us? Ha! A few snub fighters destroyed the "invincible"
Death Star. He pressed his hands against the glass, feeling
the tepid blue glow radiating off the warm liquid. He was in
command now, but what about when Ygra healed? The old
man clearly wasn't fit to command theEnforcer any longer,
but how could Venka convince the other officers of that? His
actions had obviously led to the near-destruction of the ship
and the loss of half of their fighter compliment. While that
was actually only one craft, the loss still hurt their combat
effectiveness. Four more crewmen also lost their lives when
part of the upper deck was blown away. Their bloated, frozen
bodies were still floating somewhere out in space. To make
matters worse, the Rebels destroyed the hyper-
communication relay satellite before they jumped. With
the Enforcer's communication dish down, there was no way
they could contact high command before it was couldn't
allow another catastrophe like this to take place again.

He softly pounded his fist against the glass. Gazing upon the
wasted figure slowly bobbing in the bacta, he knew what had
to be done. But did he have the strength to do it?

240
He folded his arms, turning back to the white-armored storm
trooper that stood at attention by the door. He leaned back
against the glass with a sigh, lowering his chin to his chest
in thought. Finally, he looked up to regard the trooper.
"Corporal," he said addressing the soldier.

"Yessir?"

Venka licked his lips before replying. "Go ahead and return to
your quarters, you're relieved."

"Sir?" he asked in confusion.

Venka raised a hand to wearily massage his temple, "It's been

a long day for all of us, Corporal. Get yourself some rest. I
can look after the Captain."

"But my Lieutenant said"

Venka made a dismissive gesture. "My orders supercede your

commander's," he said wearily. "Just try to get some rest."

The trooper stood there for a moment as if deciding to follow

the order or not, then nodded his assent. He saluted the
commander, then strode out the door.

Venka looked back to the bacta tank in a moment of

indecisiveness. He gnawed on his lip as looked upon
the floating figure, trying to make a decision. He
nodded to himself, as he finally made up his mind

"Ah, droid?"

The 2-1B droid whirred into motion from its previously

dormant state. It canted its skeletal head in his direction. "Yes
sir is there a problem?" it asked in its grating metallic voice.
"I have not been alerted any adverse fluctuations in the
Captain's health."

Venka shook his head, "No, there is nothing wrong. I was

just wondering when you would need to recharge again."

"My next recharge will occur in 11.2 hours. If you do not mind
me asking, why do you wish to know, sir?"

241
"Well, I was just thinking. As long as I am here, you could
use the time for a little self-maintenance. I would be sure to
revive you if anything comes up."

"I appreciate the offer, sir, but as I'm sure you know, such
an activity would be a dereliction of duty. Regulations state
that a medical officer or orderly must always be present
while a patient is in sick bay."

Venka walked slowly closer to the droid, "But you are the only
medically trained unit on board this vessel. When you do have
to shut down, there will be no one to attend to sick bay. I'm
here now. Why not take advantage of it?" He plastered a
friendly smile on his face.

"I can operate for an extended time when provided with a

mild recharge, allowing me to keep most of my functions
active. You should know that sir."

Venka sighed in almost genuine sorrow. "Droid . . . I

had hoped you would be more tractable."

The droid canted its head, managing to convey an expression

of confusion despite its lack of facial servos.

Venka plucked a small device from a notch on his belt.

It's eyes seemed to brighten in realization. "Sir! No, I

must protest! I"

He stabbed the button atop the cylindrical deice, and the

droid slumped forward, eyes nodes winking out.

A restraining bolt is a beautiful thing, Venka thought with

smug satisfaction. He allowed a self-satisfied smile as he
turned back to the captain's floating body. It would be a
simple thing to cause an "accident" to speed up Captain
Ygra's demise, but a part of him balked at the prospect of
murder. Was that what this would be? Of course it was. He
was taking another man's life in cold blood. But what if this
particular man's continued existence jeopardized the lives of
the whole crew? No man's life was more important than the
life of the Empire, his own included.

The hawk-nosed Commander clenched his fist. He knew what

he had to do; for the good of the crew and for the good of the

242
Empire, he had to make sure Captain Ygra never recovered.
It would be as simple as shutting off the oxygen flow to the
submerged patient, yet despite all his rationalization, he could
not get past the feeling of revulsion that churned his stomach
when he thought about the deed. What if he was caught?
Slaying a member of the Imperial Armed Forces was a capital
offense. He probably wouldn't survive long enough to get a
trial back on Coruscant.

Then something in his mind finally clicked. He thought of

all the revolutionary men who had shaped the modern
galaxy, who defied the law because they wanted to change
the universe for the better. Did the Emperor balk at raising
himself up as dictator when the Senate cried foul? No, of
course not. He knew what he was doing would lead to a
golden age for the galaxy. He knew what he did was for the
greater good of all, just like Venka knew his own actions
would be for the greater good of his entire crew. He would
just have to avoid being caught.

The only things he had to worry about now would be editing

the security system and arranging for a timely memory wipe.
His actions would be caught on camera no matter what he
did. The only recourse was to make some time to erase part
of the record. He had the clearances to do so, but he'd need
help. That, of course, could be arranged. He was now, after
all, the commanding officer. He seriously doubted anyone
would discover the logs before he erased them since they
were only used in the investigation of some purported crime
on board, and that was a rarity. After all, who would commit
such an atrocity on board an Imperial warship?

With that thought a sudden pang of guilt struck him. He

closed his eyes and willed it away, then stepped forward to
the oxygen controls. He hit the switch. First a dull alarm
sounded, warning of a "mechanical failure." He ignored it.
Then warnings from the equipment monitoring Ygra's life
signs rang out. They fell on deaf ears as Venka passively
watched the life slowly ebb out of Captain Ygra. In his
shattered state, his body didn't even twitch when the life
giving oxygen ceased its flow.

After an appropriate amount of time, he turned the oxygen

flow back on and picked up his commlink. There was still
business to attend to.

243
"I can't believe he's dead," Linia muttered morosely as poked
at her unappetizing meal. "I mean, Captain Ygra seemed so
full of life. Ever since we undertook this mission he was so full
of fire and determination. I can't believe he could expire so
easily. The doctor even said he should have pulled through."

Across from her Urtis shrugged and popped a morsel of food

into his mouth. "Maybe it was just trying to be optimisticand
anyway, the 'doctor' is a droid, you know. Those things aren't
always reliable."

Linia glanced around the officer's mess briefly and

then sighed. "And now Tilyer is gone too."

Urtis nodded, patting her hand with his, "Yes, I know. He was
a fine pilot. His expertise will be sorely missed. Did they ever
say how it happened?"

Linia nodded glumly, "Yes. The battle analysis said his engines
were destroyed but his built-up velocity took his ship straight
into the planet. Sensors lost contact as it entered the
atmosphere, but with the ship's power plant destroyed, he
couldn't have survived the descentif he was even alive to at
all. It would have hit the ground at over a over six hundred
kilometers per hour."

"How's Gabel doing?"

"Gabel?"

"They were room mates weren't they?"

She shrugged. "Well yes, but he didn't know Tilyer that well.
To tell you the truth, no one did. I mean, he mostly kept to
himself. It's like he was trying to be that cookie-cutter soldier
you see in all the holovidsstrong, self-sufficient, loyal,
austere. It was like he was trying to live up to that kind of
stylized ideal, but never quite pulled it off. He didn't seem
any of that. He just seemed . . . distant."

244
"Some people are just like that," Urtis said noncommittally.

"And now he's gone . . . "

"He was a fighter pilot," Dusat countered. "He risked his neck
every time he flew. Those guys live for that kind of thing."

"I know, but still . . . Tilyer and then the Captain . . . it kind of
makes you wonder who is going to be next."

Their conversation gradually wandered to other less

depressing subjects, but another mind still lingered on that
issue. At the next table, Lieutenant Del'Goren could think of
nothing else. His appetite was gone, replaced by a cold lump
in the pit of his stomach. Del'Goren had really liked Tilyer,
even if the kid was annoyingly reserved all the time. He had
real talent in a fighter, but not many pilots could go toe to toe
with an X-wing and live to tell about it. He could still hear the
terror in the young pilot's voice when he left him to fend for
himself. He knew if he hadn't been able to take out that one
X-wing the Enforcer would have been totally destroyed, but
that knowledge didn't do a damn thing lift the cumbersome
weight burdening his heart.

And of course, there was the captain. When he first heard the
news, he had his reservations. The captain's death seemed
all-too sudden. Of course he had been injured, but he was
supposed to be recovering. He first pushed away those
thoughts as paranoid delusions wrought by battle stress, but
hearing Dusat and Taulin discussing it brought it all back
again.

Del'Goren didn't know what it was, but he felt something was

just wrong. He couldn't eat any more. He had to get to the
bottom of this, or at least put his fears to rest. He stood
resolutely, leaving his tray of half-eaten food behind for the
cleaning droid as he headed to the infirmary.

He reached his destination soon enough, and he stepped

through the doors of the clinic to find himself in an almost
blindingly white room. The smell of antiseptics assaulted his
senses, causing his nostrils to tingle as he surveyed the small
infirmary. Four empty cots dominated most of the room while
a variety of medical implements were arrayed in various

245
shelves and cupboards. At the far end of the room sat the
resident 2-1B droid, its skeletal head bowed as it
overlooked the controls to the empty bacta tank before it.

Upon Del'Goren's entry it turned toward him. Its hollow

eye sockets lit up with a golden light as it canted its head
curiously, "Welcome to the infirmary, sir. How may I be of
assistance?"

Del'Goren mustered a smile, "Oh, it's nothing of a medical

nature. I just wanted to ask you some questions. Can you
spare the time?"

The droid nodded obediently. "Of course I can, sir."

The Lieutenant strolled closer, "I was hoping you could tell
me about what happened to Captain Ygra."

"Oh, didn't you hear sir? He passed away just yesterday

from the injuries he sustained during our encounter with
rebel forces."

"No, I mean how did he die?"

"His injuries were simply to grievous to be healed by bacta

treatments. I apologize sir, but there was nothing that
could have been done."

"He was being treated. You said he would pull through."

The droid attempted to intimate a shrug, "I cannot recall

making such a comment sir, but if I ever did, I apologize
for my error."

He scowled, "What kind of injuries had he sustained?"

The droid shook its head, "I'm afraid I am not privy to

that information."

Del'Goren frowned, "What do you mean you're not

privy? You're the one who treated him."

"I'm aware of that sir, but earlier this morning I underwent

my scheduled memory wipe. I have no recollection of the
previous events beyond second hand information."

246
A feeling of unease seized upon Del'Goren. "What about
medical records?"

"Those have been sealed to all but family and investigating

personnel."

"I am conducting an investigation of the matter,"

Del'Goren said.

Again the droid shook its head, "Only official inquiries

directed by military headquarters would be granted such
status, and such an undertaking would only be possible once
we return to Imperial Center. I'm afraid I can't help you, sir."

"So you're saying all information on Captain Ygra's death is

sealed to everyone on the ship?"

"Not everyone. As the ranking officer, Commander

Venka would have access to the information."

Del'Goren swore.

Pain. That was the first thing Tilyer thought upon groggily
entering into the waking world. It hurt to be alive. Then again
it was better than the alternative, he supposed. It took him
several moments to work past the stabbing pains shooting
through his torso and the dull throbbing that inhabited his left
leg, but he managed to crack his eyes open just enough to let
a sliver of soft gray light filter in.

He tried to open his eyes fully, but the sudden flood

illumination to his light-deprived pupils sent a new wave of
pain shooting through his skull. He groaned and clamped his
eye-lids shut against the agony. The pain slowly began to
fade, and once it had subsided, he tried once more to pry
them open, this time a bit slower.

The light was intense this time, but his eyes gradually grew
accustomed. Trying to blink away the haze that filled his vision,
the only real thing he could make out was the intense

247
spot of light hovering above his head. Everything else beyond
that was shrouded in shadow. He tried to raise his head up,
but all he could get out of his muscles was a feeble twitch.
Then he heard footsteps.

He had decided to try to call for help when a blurry silhouette

interposed itself between him and the light. A halo of gold
surrounded the shadowed face like the silver lining of a
foreboding thunderhead. He tried to twist away as hand
descended onto his shoulder, but his body only quaked
weakly as the pain in his chest and leg increased tenfold.

"Oh no, you're awake," the figure mumbled. "He's awake!"

it called again.

More footsteps, and then there were another set of hands on

him holding him in placenot that it mattered. His body
wouldn't do anything he told it to anyway.

"I'll give him another sedative," another more gravelly

voice said.

He felt a prick in the crook of his arm, and suddenly a surge of

fire coursed through his veins. Tilyer tried to protest, to tell
them that they couldn't hold him here against his will, but his
lips failed him. He wanted to shout out loud, to voice the pain
and outrage seething through his mind, but his mouth simply
wouldn't work. He could only blink lazily as the drugs took
effect, sending him on a spiraling course back into
unconscious oblivion.

"Ah, Lieutenant Dusat," Venka said with the hint of a smile,

"come in, come in."

Urtis Dusat stepped further into the small security station

to stand at attention before Commander Venka. "Reporting
as ordered, sir."

"At ease Lieutenant," Venka said as he rose from his chair.

"Thank you for coming so promptly. I understand you're
off-duty tonight."

"It is my pleasure, Commander," Urtis replied, "though I am

curious why you asked me to meet you here instead of the
bridge."

248
Venka's lips peeled back in a predatory smile, "I understand
you have extensive experience with computer systems,
Lieutenant."

Urtis nodded, "Yes sir, I received a degree in computer

programming and application before attending the academy."
He paused uncertainly, "Pardon me for asking sir, but what
does that have to do with meeting me here?"

"I have a job for you Lieutenant, one that I cannot entrust to
just anyone."

Dusat arched his eyebrows, "Oh?"

Venka took him by the shoulders and steered him toward the
chair at the security console. Urtis sank into the seat, warily
looking up at the Commander. "Sir, what is this about?"

"I need you to erase several archived files from the security
data logs."

Urtis was taken aback, "Sir, you know I can't do that. Do you
know how many laws and directives I could be breaking?"

"Don't lecture me," Venka snapped. "I'm well aware of

the consequences."

The junior officer seemed uncertain.

His voice softened, "I'm not ordering you to do it. I'm asking
you, one officer to anothera favor for a favor. You do this for
me now, and I will ensure your next promotion, your next
duty assignment, whatever you want."

"I don't know sir. It doesn't feel right."

Venka leaned close, "One doesn't go far in the Empire without

having friends in high places. You might find yourself in need
of one in the near future." A feral smile crept onto his
features.

Urtis swallowed, recognizing the veiled threat for what it was.

He bit his lip in thought, lowering his eyes from his superior's
steely gaze.

249
"Okay," he finally said. "I'll do it. Just show me the files,
and I'll get it done."

Venka smiled once more, "Good. I knew you would

come around."

Consciousness returned to Tilyer in a haze that gradually lifted

like a predawn mist that fades with the rising sun. In fact, a
soft golden radiance streamed in from a window across from
the hospital bed in which he lay. He was clothed in some sort
of hospital gown, yet his bed and sheets were not the same
shade of antiseptic white common to clinics and hospitals
around the galaxy. The rest of the room too seemed to bask
in a robust glow of earthy colors. There was an overstuffed
chair in the corner, a pair of real wooden chairs, and even a
few holograms hanging on the yellowish walls. There was a
strange feeling to the room, as if it was old, yes, but there
was something else about it. Tilyer couldn't put his finger on
it, but this place certainly didn't feel like any hospital he had
ever been in. It just seemed too inviting.

He stirred slightly, testing his ribs that had hurt so painfully

the last time. Better, but still tender,he finally decided. His
left knee, on the other hand, was encased in some weird
contraption with a variety of pins and wires coming in and out
of it.

Wherever this place was, it wasn't any Imperial hospital. It

couldn't be. His mind briefly struggled to recall what had
happened before it all came back in a tide of remembrance:
the dogfight with the X-wings, then tearing through Belsavis'
atmosphere with the ground rushing up to greet him. He
vaguely remembered engaging the repulserlifts on the dying
craft to slow its descent, and then nothing. If this wasn't an
imperial facility, then what happened to the Enforcer? If it
survived, they would have searched for him. They had to
know he was alive . . . unless they were all dead.

250
Tilyer sighed and closed his eyes. What if he was the last one
left alive? What if the captain, Linia, Lieutenant Del'Goren,
Gabel, what if they were all dead? What was he supposed to
do? He had to get word to fleet command, that's what he had
to do. They had to know that rebels were operating out of
Belsavis, that they had destroyed the Enforcer. He had to get
out of here, wherever this was. It could have been a rebel
hospital, and maybe they just didn't expect him to wake up
so soon. He had to get escape.

He groaned and tried to sit up, but the position of his body
coupled with his still-tender ribs, made the actual act
considerably harder than the proposition. Finally he managed to
lever himself into a sitting position. He was about to examine
the device on his knee when the room's only door slid open.
Framed in the doorway stood a square-shouldered humanoid
dressed in a white lab coat. Thin wispy orange hair wreathed its
head and chin, but its gray face was dominated by two pairs of
bulbous black eyes and a pair of inwardly pointing tusks that
descended over its mouth: an Aqualish.

Its fleshy jowls twitched upward in the Aqualish version of a

smile. "Glad to see you've finally awakened, Flight Officer
Raan," it said in a gravelly, yet familiar, voice

Tilyer grimaced, fighting down his revulsion at the repulsive

alien. He stared at the creature for a long moment before
speaking. "I was awake beforeAnd how do you know my
name? Just who the hell are you?"

"Well," the Aqualish said, moving out of the doorway, "Your

name was on your flight suitor what was left of it, and my
name is Dr. Vorst. As for your first statement, your
sedative began to wear off before the treatment was over."

"Treatment? You mean this damn thing on my leg?" he said,

gesturing to the device encasing his knee.

"Yes, you were rather banged up after your crash-landing. In

all honesty, the treatment is not complete yet, but close
enough. I apologize, but we don't have a full bacta tank here,
otherwise it would have taken less time. Anyway, you
managed to dislocate your shoulder, break two ribs, and tear
some ligaments and cartilage in your knee. I set your
shoulder, and some bacta injections worked pretty well on

251
your ribs, but that knee is proving quite difficult." He
punctuated his remark by tapping the device with a
single taloned finger.

Tilyer lay back on his bed, anxious to further the difference

between him and the approaching alien.

"You see, bacta may be able to mend bone and flesh quite
easily, but when the treatment involves ligaments and
tendons, as in your case, the cure is somewhat more
tedious. But never fear, within a day or so you will be as
good as new." The Aqualish flashed him that unsettling grin
once more.

When Tilyer didn't respond immediately, the alien pressed on.

"You're quite lucky Tana discovered you when she did. I doubt
you would have survived more than a few hours out on the
ice plains."

"Tana?

"Oh yes, I'm forgetting my manners. You must feel quite

disoriented, given the circumstances."

Tilyer seemed disinclined to respond, so Dr. Vorst pressed on

in that annoyingly pleasant voice.

"Tana was the young lady who found you after your ship
crashed out on the plains. Your craft was quite a mess, but
obviously she managed to drag you back here for medical
treatmentI'm sure it's not what you're used to back on
your ship, but it is still effective nonetheless."

"Where is 'here,' anyway?" Tilyer asked.

"Well, we tend to call it home, but its official designation is

Green X."

"Who else lives here? More alierr, people like you?"

"If by 'people like me' you mean fellow entrepreneurial

colonists, then yes." He smiled, "There are some people
you should meet, by the way."

He turned toward the door, "Tana, Oltan, you can come

in now."

252
The two young humans, both male and female, that ventured
through the doorway looked somehow related with the same
blonde hair, same brown eyes, and same slight build. They even
dressed alike with their rugged overalls and tool belts. The man
bore an intimidating scowl on his otherwise handsome face as
he leaned against the wall, but the girl offered a slight smile as
she approached Dr. Vorst's side.

"Allow me to introduce Tana and Oltan Yin'Baara," said

the Aqualish doctor.

"Nice to meet you," said Tana with a crooked grin.

Oltan merely nodded stoically.

"Oltan and Tana are the children of the Yin'Baara family, one of
the several families that own this plantation. As you know, Tana
was the one who found your ship, and Oltan here has been
appointed to look after you while you're here."

Oltan gave Tilyer a cold nod, one that made it perfectly clear
how he felt about that duty and the man it encompassed.

"So I'm a prisoner here," Tilyer said, more of a statement

than a question.

The Aqualish chortled a laugh and made a dismissive gesture,

"Good heavens no, it's nothing like that. This may be a
civilized colony, but the silk jungles are still quite wild. We
can't have you wandering off into who knows what without
proper supervision, now can we?"

Tilyer fidgeted uncomfortably. He wasn't very convinced

by the explanation, but he wasn't in a position to press the
subject. "So how long have I been here? And what about
the Enforcer? Why haven't you contacted them?"

The Aqualish smiled, "You've been here approximately three

days, and as for your ship, which is what I assume
the Enforcer is, we have been unable to contact it since your
arrival."

Tilyer was crestfallen, all his fears confirmed. "So then that's
it then. They're all gone . . . "

"On the contrary."

253
"Huh?"

"It's still up there as far as we can tell, but all communications

are down," Tana quickly supplied.

"Yes," Dr. Vorst explained, "The ships you were so embattled

with evidently didn't want word getting out about their
activities."

Tilyer made a quizzical expression.

"They blasted the planetary communication satellite," Oltan

growled. "We can't even get messages to the other domes
thanks to your little skirmish."

Vorst nodded sagely, "And evidently your ship sustained some

battle damage as well, since it hasn't moved from its orbit
since your arrival. They must be trying to effect some kind of
repairs."

"So what now? I just wait?"

The doctor shrugged, "So far that seems to be the only course
of action left."

"Sorry to interrupt," Tana interjected, "but I really need to get

back to work." She flashed Tilyer a smile, "We don't get many
visitors out here, so I just wanted to say hi. I'll be back later
when I don't have as much stuff to do." She gave him another
grin, then slipped through the door and disappeared down the
hall.

Dr. Vorst smiled apologetically, or whatever the equivalent

was for his species. "I too have other duties I must attend to.
If you need anything of a medical nature, there is a commlink
mounted on the wall next to your bed you can use to get in
contact with me, but otherwise Oltan should be able to see to
all of your needs. I will be back to check on you in a few
hours. Until then, rest up." He again patted Tilyer's leg and
headed out the door.

Oltan sat down in one of the chairs and fixed Tilyer with a
wordless stare, as if daring him to say or do anything.

Tilyer just lay back in his bed and tried to make himself as
comfortable as possible, but the growing sense of unease

254
fermenting in the back of his mind made that simple
comfort an elusive prospect.

He did it. The conniving, back-stabbing bastard actually did it.

There was no doubt in Lieutenant Del'Goren's mind, but there
was also no blasted way to prove it. There was no other way
to explain it, but there was no irrefutable evidence to link
Venka to Captain Ygra's death.

Del'Goren pounded his fist on the console in frustration. He

almost didn't want to believe it, but the evidence was sitting
right in front of him. In the empty security station, he had
accessed the sick bay surveillance recordings to put his
suspicions to rest, but what he found only confirmed what he
feared. Actually it wasn't what he found; it was the lack of
what he found. Two whole minutes of footage from the
surveillance recordings of the ship's infirmary were missing
from the data logs. Even the backups had been cleanly wiped
from the system. It could have easily been passed off as a
simple glitch, and no one would have noticed it without
knowing exactly what to look for, but there it was. It wouldn't
prove anything in a military court, but it proved enough to
Del'Goren.

He hit the console again, even though his hand was still
smarting from the last time. He had to do something, but he
couldn't prove anything other than 2 minutes of footage were
missing from the logs and Venka had "coincidentally" been in
sickbay with the Captain at the time.

He bent forward, massaging his temples as he tried to figure

out what to do. The first thing that came to mind was just
putting a blaster to the bastard's head and blowing him away;
give him the same chance he gave the captain. But no, that
would get him nowhere. He would feel a lot better, but he
would only pay the price Venka should have.

No, he would just have to wait. It made his skin crawl to think
that Venka would get away with such a heinous crime, that he
would get the best of Del'Goren and every decent Imperial
officer, but there was no way around it. He would have to bide
his time and wait.

255
Lieutenant Urtis Dusat couldn't sleep. He was restless, and no
matter what he did, his mind wouldn't relaxit couldn't. It
just kept going back to one instance, replaying that moment
over and over again.

If he had just done what Commander Venka asked, none of

this would be happening. If he had just followed orders, his
conscience wouldn't be rebelling against him this nightas
it had done every night since the incident.

He should have just sliced into the system, taken out the files
and been done with it. But he didn't. He wanted to know what
this was all about. He wanted to know what he was getting
himself into. As soon as looked into those security logs, he
immediately wished he hadn't. The holocameras clearly depicted
Commander Venka deactivating the Captain's life support and
watching as the life slowly drained from his body. He murdered
him, and now Dusat was complicit in that deed.

Damn my curiosity,he shouted inwardly. Why did I have

to look?

After seeing what Venka was so anxious to cover up, Urtis had
been so scared he just deleted it all. He hadn't taken the time to
think about how to rectify the situation, how to turn Venka in to
the proper authorities without garnering the wrath of his superior
officer. He had been fearful that if Venka ever found out that he
knew the truth of the Captain's demise, he would be next to die
at the hands of the ambitious commander.

But now, what was he supposed to do? He had helped dispose

of the evidencethe only evidence that would prove the
crime. Now he was as guilty as Venka, and that guilt was
consuming him from inside out.

Perhaps he could speak with the commander and reason with

him, ask him to turn himself in. Urtis knew deep down, he had
to be a good man. He was an officer, after all. But what if that
didn't work? There wasn't much else he could do. He would be
stuck with only one way out.

256
Tilyer took the time to simply bask in the sunlight beaming
down within the agricultural dome Green X; simulated sunlight
to be sure, but it still felt damn good. He leaned on the railing
separating the rest of the compound from the vast silk fields
that constituted the bulk of the space in the agro-dome. As a
literal jungle of thick vegetation, it stood in direct contrast to
the harsh environment outside the dome's protection. Still, it
was nice to be in the out-of-doors for oncesort ofand he
was doubly glad to be out of that detestable clinic; however,
even though his hospital stay was less than enjoyable, he did
manage to learn quite a bit about the facility.

While sitting in his hospital bed for the last day or so, he had
been subjected to that annoyingly academic Aqualish
jabbering on about whatever topic seemed relevant at the
time, mostly having to do with what a great technological
marvel the agro-domes on Belsavis were. In addition to
providing a living habitat for the residents and crops, it was
an environmental recreation of the conditions prior to the
planet's accelerated ice age, not exact, but close enough.
What Dr. Vorst took especial pride in was the fact that the
colonists realized that these so-called "silk trees" held a
symbiotic relationship with several species in their
environment, all of which depended on one another in a
rather large chain. He went into great detail about harvesting
methods, one he evidently devised himself, but Tilyer did his
best to tune him out in those portions.

And all the time, Oltan stood a few meters away with that
perpetual scowl on his face. In fact, he still did. If the shorter
man's gaze had been made of blaster bolts, Tilyer would have
been dead a hundred times over.

Tilyer glanced over his shoulder to where Oltan stood with his
arms folded over his chest. "Are you sure you can't take me to
your comm station? Maybe you're not using the right channel
or hailing frequency."

"For the last time, no," he said angrily. "We've tried every
frequency known to sentient life and it still won't work.
Thanks to your little skirmish up there, the whole
communication grid is down. Now will you shut up about it?"

257
Tilyer felt like retorting back that he would shut up about it
when the people here stopped treating him like a prisoner,
but he thought better of it.

"Hey Oltan," came a voice from several meters distant.

Both men turned to find Tana jogging toward them.

"Oltan," she said, coming to a halt, "Da wants you back at silo
2, says there's some kind of machinery malfunction and needs
you to helpit seems kind of urgent."

The blonde man cast a side-long glance at Tilyer, then back at

Tana. "You know I can't go. I have to keep an eye on him,
and I can't take him with me."

She nodded, "Yeah, but Da said it was urgent."

Oltan thought a moment and then sighed. "Okay, but you're

going to have to watch him until I get back." He unholstered
his blaster pistol and handed it to her.

She smiled, giving Tilyer an appraising glance, "Sure thing."

"Keep a careful eye on him," Oltan warned.

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I've got this covered."

"I don't trust him," he insisted.

"Where's he gonna go, huh?"

Oltan grunted grudgingly. He cast a warning glare in Tilyer's

direction then headed off in the direction Tana had come.

When her brother had receded into the distance, she

turned toward Tilyer stuffing the blaster into a niche on her
belt. "Appreciate the change of company?"

"I suppose," he said dully, seating himself on the path's

railing and looking off into the silk fields.

An uncomfortable silence ensued before Tana spoke

again. "So, um, Doc Vorst fixed you up good, huh?"

Tilyer nodded, "Yes . . . the Aqualish has proven an adequate

physician."

258
"The Aqualish?" Tana said in the slightly escalated tone that,
in Tilyer's experience, usually meant he'd said something
wrong.

"Um . . . the annoying Aqualish?"

She sighed in exasperation, her former cheer suddenly

dissolving. "Is that all you can say about him? You spent four
days in his care, and all you can say is he's an annoying
alien?" When Tilyer seemed disinclined to respond, she
sighed. "I guess Oltan was right about you Imps."

"Right about what? The fact that I know an alien when I see
one, and I make my own opinions about their annoying
habits?"

Tana scowled indignantly, her mood suddenly souring. "Right

about how you can't see past your own bloated sense of self-
importance and how you'll abuse anyone to get what you
want. At least the rebels are polite."

This time it was Tilyer's turn to scowl, "What do you

know about how rebels act?"

"Nothing," she denied rather unconvincingly.

His frown deepened as he turned to study her reddening face.

A look of realization dawned on him. "You're in league with
them, aren't you? I should have known all along. You're
helping the rebels."

"No, of course not. We don't care about any of that."

"Then why were they hiding on the ice plains on your planet?
Did they just magically appear there without you knowing?"

"This is ridiculous. We've been trying to help you."

"By keeping me prisoner? Is that how you're helping me?"

"Prisoner? No, you're free to go at any time."

"Oh really? Then why does that brother of yours follow me

around every where? Why am I not allowed to go
anywhere but the infirmary and this damned road?"

259
"We're not in league with anyone! We're didn't do anything
wrong."

He stood, taking a step toward her. "You knew and you said
nothing, putting our whole ship in danger. Hell, for all I
know, I'm the only one left, and theEnforcer is just a hulk
floating out in space."

"No," she stammered, "You're wrong."

"Then pray tell how you know how 'polite' the rebels are?"

"I don't, ok? Not first hand anyway. They're just stories
that filter in through the core about how the rebellion is
trying to fight the injustices of the Empire."

"Injustice!" Tilyer fairly roared. "You want to know injustice?"

Tana took a step back, her hand going to the blaster at

her waist.

"How about leaving entire freighter crews to starve to death

in deep space after plundering every available resource in
their possession for the simple act of transporting goods for
the legitimate galactic government? How about torturing and
maiming captives in order to squeeze every drop of military
intelligence out of their shattered bodies before they die? Or,
how about this? This one is my favorite. With two measly
torpedoes, snuffing out the lives of three hundred, fifty
thousand men and women because they just happened to be
on a battle station attempting to enforce law and order
throughout our galaxy?"

Tana stood in stunned silence. She kept a firm grip on the

blaster, but hadn't drawn the weapon yet

"How is that for injustice? Does that pull your heart strings
hard enough for you to give a damn about the thousands of
people who have died at the hands of those criminals, those
bastards that killed my brother?"

"Then what about Alderaan?" she asked defiantly. "The

Empire killed millions of people when they destroyed
the planet. What about them? Why doesn't your heart
ache for them?"

260
"Because," Tilyer retorted, launching into what sounded like
a rehearsed tirade, "Alderaan was a rebel stronghold. Their
elected representative, Bail Organa, had defied Imperial Law,
and by allowing them to remain in power on that world, the
populace assented its agreement with those actions. They
were all guilty of the same treason, and had to be punished."

"And you have no compassion for those millions and millions

of people whose lives were suddenly snuffed out with the flip
of a switch?"

Tilyer remained resolutely silent.

Tana shook her head sadly. "Most of them probably just

wanted to be left out of it all. They didn't care who ruled the
galaxy. They just wanted to be able to live out their lives in
peacelike we do."

Tilyer couldn't think of anything to respond with.

Tana sighed and turned around, looking off at the collection of

pre-fabricated buildings across the way. "Is your universe so
black and white that you can't even consider anyone else's
view point? Do you think if you just clench your jaw and
ignore the truth, everything will settle neatly back into place
in your carefully constructed little world?"

Tana thought she could hear him fidgeting restlessly

behind her, but still Tilyer said nothing.

"What, lose your tongue when faced with the truth?"

She heaved a sigh and turned around just in time to see Tilyer
vault over the railing separating them from the silk fields and
disappear into the foliage.

"Get back here!" she shouted in alarm, "You don't know

what you're doing!"

Tilyer's only reply was the distant sound of him crashing

through the underbrush.

Tana looked around desperately for help, but could see no

one. She swore again then drew her blaster and charged after
him.

261
"Hey, Urtis. Wait up." Linia Taulin readjusted the stack of data
disks in her hands as she tried to quicken her pace down the
hallway.

Urtis Dusat paused, turning back to look at her.

She frowned, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and
the weary expression on his face. "Are you alright?"

He nodded tiredly, "Yeah, I . . . I just haven't gotten a lot

of sleep lately."

"For how long?"

He looked away, leaning against one of the hallway's

structural supports, "Just of couple nights."

"Maybe you should go to the infirmary and see if the

doctor can give you something to help you sleep."

He looked up, meeting her gaze, and for the first time, Linia
noticed the haunted look in his eyes. "No. I'm fine," he
stated evenly.

"You don't look fine."

"It's nothing," he muttered turning away from her.

Linia looked uncertain, but she didn't press anymore. "Oh . . .

okay, well I suppose I'll see you later then?"

He nodded absently and strode off down the hall.

Tilyer's breath came hot and steady as he charge his way

through the silk field. Huge gnarled trees stretched skyward,
their limbs intertwining overhead in a dense canopy that
seemed to shroud the forest in perpetual shadow. Yet Tilyer
nimbly leapt over roots, foliage, and other obstacles as he fled
deeper into the jungle. Somehow it reminded him those jogs
his squad took during survival training. It thrilled him.

262
Remembering his training, remembering his faith in the glory
that was the Empire, he used it as the rock upon which he
built his fortress of determination.

If he could lose the girl that had been watching him, then
double back, he could perhaps get to the communications
building and try to contact theEnforcer. Then maybe he could
sort through all the lies they had been feeding him. He knew
she didn't have a radio on her, and she had promptly followed
him into the jungle so she wasn't going for help like she would
have it she was smart. He also knew with his military training,
he could easily outpace her.

He almost smiled to himself in satisfaction. They had done a

superb job of trying to convince him that he wasn't a prisoner,
and that he was just a "guest" until communications were
reestablished, but he had seen through it. He might have
believed it too, had the girl not slipped up. All he had to do
now was lose her in the fields, and then he could see about
getting off this rock.

He was straining to hear if she was still following him when

movement up in the canopy caught his eye. Looking up, he
saw too late the enormous multi-legged monstrosity
descending over him. Tilyer screamed, trying to throw himself
backward away from the horned insect, but he was too late.
The beast landed lightly despite its huge girth, but its
chitinous abdomen pressed down on Tilyer like a lead weight.
Its triangular head bowed down over him as he struggled,
mandibles clacking hungrily as its forceps sought to pin him to
the ground.

Though bewildered by the creature's sudden appearance, his

more primal survival instincts took over. He struggled, beating
against the monstrous insect's underbelly, but to no avail. The
insect reared its head backward as Tilyer kicked and
squirmed. He gave a hoarse cry of desperation.

And then the mandibles stabbed down.

With one last desperate effort, he managed to free himself

from beneath the beast's body as the creature's strike found
only empty air. He tried to get to his feet, but the thing
lurched after him again. Tilyer desperately lashed out with a
kick. He hit something solid. The insect squealed in pain. He

263
used that moment to scramble to his feet and stumbled away
in his desperate flight away from the creature.

Suddenly he stopped short. Tana stood scant meters away,

blaster pistol pointed unwaveringly at his face.

Tilyer thought to snarl defiantly at the bitch standing before

him, to tell her that she could kill him, but his death could not
diminish the glory that was the Empire. He wanted to face
death with a brave face and proclaim his allegiance to the
Emperor, to tell her that she and her rebel friends would meet
their makers soon enough. He would not be afraid.

But he was. All he could do was stare down the barrel of that
blaster. She snarled something at him, but he didn't pay
attention. If this was the end, he would do his utmost to die
with the bravery fitting of an Imperial soldier.

And then it spoke. He saw the ignition flash, and then that
searing hot bolt of energy leapt from the muzzle. Tilyer
strove to stay stock still, but in the face of that imminent
blast, his resolve broke. He knew it would be too late to avoid
the inevitable, but his instinct for self-preservation took over.
His knees faltered and he pitched his body forward, raising
his arms to defend his face.

But all that time, the ultimate blow never came.

Another blaster report sounded, and behind him he
heard an animalistic scream.

He turned to see the giant insect that had so recently been

trying to make a meal of him. It collapsed to the ground just
behind him, twitching uncontrollably with a smoking blaster
wound in its skull.

"Ensign Taulin. I trust you have news?" Standing beside her

work station, Commander Venka inclined his head inquisitively
at the young officer.

264
She nodded. "Yes sir. The maintenance crews report that
they have been able to repair the Enforcer's short-range
communications."

"And the long range communications?"

She shook her head, "Chief Harlow says he can't get

it working without replacement parts."

Venka frowned and clasped his hands behind his back. "In
that case, contact the locals on the planet and see if they
would be willing to furnish the necessary components."

"What if they don't wish to comply, sir?"

"I have more inventive measures in mind to persuade them,

should they attempt to shirk their civic duty. Just relay the
message and await their response, Ensign." He allowed
himself a small smile as he turned away from her station
and strode toward the forward view screen.

As Linia set about her task, Urtis Dusat stood up from his
station next to her. She gave him a perplexed look, but he
hardly seemed to notice as he approached the Commander at
the forward bulkhead.

"Sir, may I have a word with you?" He asked softly.

"Certainly," Venka replied, still gazing out at Belsavis' icy

sphere.

"In private?"

Venka frowned, turning toward Urtis. "What is this about,

Lieutenant?"

He licked his lips before answering. "The captain, sir."

The commander's face froze for an instant, as if trying to

decide how to react. "Very well," he said finally. "We can
discuss this in my quarters."

Linia was perplexed by the enigmatic conversation, but before

she could even attempt to make any sense out of it,
Commander Venka turned to her.

265
"Ensign Taulin, you have the bridge. I shall return shortly."

He didn't even wait for a response as he led Urtis out the door
and into the hallway.

Commander Venka motioned for Urtis to be seated as he slid

behind the desk in his cramped office. He fixed the junior
officer with a cold stare as he folded his arms across his chest.
"Did you do as I asked?"

Urtis nodded, "Yes sir."

"Good. Though, I doubt you brought me back here just to tell

me that. What is it?"

Urtis kept his eyes averted as he pursed his lips, searching

for the right words.

"Spit it out, Lieutenant."

"I . . . I know. I know what happened."

"What?" The words were barely above a whisper, not any

where close to the angry outburst he had expected.

"I know about the captain and his . . . his death."

"Why are you telling me this?" Venka asked slowly.

Urtis shook his head, "I don't know, but . . . it's eating me
up inside, knowing the truth. It wasn't right, what you did.
The Captain didn't deserve that." He spoke haltingly, unsure
of himself. "You . . . you need to turn yourself in."

"The Captain nearly destroyed us all," Venka said, steel evident

in his tone. He stood, looming over Urtis. "What I did was for
the good of this crewfor the good of the Empire."

Urtis shook his head again, refusing to meet the

Commander's eyes. "It wasn't right."

"I'm not worried about right and wrong, Lieutenant Dusat. I'm
worried about life and death. Captain Ygra's actions put every
life on this vessel in jeopardy."

"But you didn't have to kill him!" Urtis protested, raising his
voice for the first time.

266
"Don't you dare try to pass judgment on me, you little whelp,"
Venka growled, stalking around the desk toward Dusat.
"You're just as complicit in this as I am."

"What? No!"

"You deleted the files. You covered up the evidence."

"No," he protested dumbly.

"What do you think would happen if you told High Command

about this upon our return? You actually think they would
believe you when you have nothing to support your claim
but your own word?"

"It's the truth. They'll have to believe it. Someone else has to
know."

"Why? What good would it serve? Ygra is dead, and we're

better off for it."

"That's not how we do things in the Empire. We're better than

that."

"This isn't about morals, Lieutenant. This is about survival. In

case you haven't noticed, we have a rebellion on our hands
and it's not as trivial as the Emperor makes it sound. They
won't hesitate to kill any one of us on a whim. They're not
worried about right and wrong. They're beyond that now.
They'll do what is necessary to topple this Empire, and in
turn we have to do what is necessary to make sure that does
not happen. They have set about destroying the foundations
of the very society we have helped create, and we can either
be complacent in our ideals, in our morals, in our tactics, or
we can meet them head on. The weak have to be culled in
order to make room for the strong, or else we will flounder
and drown in our own stagnancy." Venka pounded the table
for emphasis.

"It just wasn't right," Urtis repeated again.

"I chose you to help me in this because you are one of my

best officers. I know you believe in the Empire as much as I
do."

Urtis nodded uncertainly, "Of course, sir."

267
"Then you have to realize that nothing good could come of
letting the truth be known. We've taken a step forward in
bettering the Empire, but to go back now would send us two
steps in the other direction. You're at a cross-roads now,
Lieutenant. You can either face forward and embrace what
must be done for the future of our Empire, or you can turn
away and allow your weakness to undermine the galactic
order we have fought so hard to maintain." Commander
Venka leaned close, his voice a hoarse whisper. "But which
ever route you take, Lieutenant, you must take this secret to
your grave."

Urtis looked up at Venka with fear-filled eyes, grasping with full

realization the underlying threat inherent in those words.

"You know what has to be donefor our sake and for the
Empire's sake," Venka intoned softly. "The question is, will
you be man enough to look past your frailties and do what has
to be done?"

Dr. Vorst bobbed his jowled head, "Well Flight Officer Raan,
unlike the last time Tana brought you in here, this time I
can happily say you have a clean bill of health."

Seated on the edge of the examination table, Tilyer nodded

glumly. "Thank you."

The Aqualish peered down at him with genuine concern. The

previously stoic and proud officer now seemed somehow
deflated. "You're lucky to be alive, you know. The Belsavan
Mantis is quite a voracious predator. It seems that yet again
you are indebted to Tana." He gestured to where the young
woman stood against the wall giving Tilyer a hard stare.

For a moment Tilyer wanted to rebuke her with a defiant stare

of his own, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to
do so. He just sat silently as Dr. Vorst kept talking.

"I think I told you this previously, but that mantis really is an
intriguing component of the silk-farming operation here,

268
though I doubt you were listening. Maybe this experience will
teach you to open your ears more, hmm? Anyway, like I told
you before many of the life forms on pre-ice age Belsavis
existed in a symbiotic relationship, the mantis included. So in
order to harvest the silk, it became necessary to include this
rather dangerous predator in the ecosystem. As a species,
they strongly dislike open terrain, so there is no danger of
them ever leaving the silk fields, but for the harvest, their
existence becomes a bit more problematic. To curb their
involvement, we bathe the fields in a type of insecticide
smoke that sends them into a dormant state during which we
can harvest the silk. Quite ingenious, if I may say so."

Tilyer didn't respond.

The doctor frowned, "Are you alright?"

He nodded slowly, "I'm just not feeling very energetic at the

moment."

"Oh, I suppose such a harrowing experience would leave anyone

feeling a bit drained. Well, I'll leave Tana here to keep you
company while I check on some other things." He gave Tilyer a
pat on the shoulder, and then headed out the door.

Silence ensued for several long moments before Tana finally

spoke. "Now do you believe me?"

"I'm sorry," Tilyer managed weakly.

"You're sorry? That's all you can say after I saved your ass for
the second time?"

Tilyer opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off
with a humorless laugh.

"But then again, should I have expected anything more? Since

the time you've been here, all you've done is bitch and
complainnot a single word of thanks for pulling your body
out of that wreck of a fighter, for nursing you back to health,
or even for something as simple as feeding you for a few
days. You act as if it's all your right, as if because you wear
that precious uniform of yours that the rest of the universe
somehow owes you something. But you know what? You're
just a man. No, you're not even that. You're a little boy who
thinks he's special because he gets to hang out with the

269
playground bully." She took a breathe meaning to continue
her tirade, but Tilyer's soft words stopped her.

"You're right."

Tana stopped. "What did you just say?"

"I said you're right, and I'm sorry," he replied. For the first
time since the incident, he met her gaze. "I've been a selfish,
condescending child, when I should have been eternally
grateful. Without you and your people, I'd be frozen
somewhere out there on the ice fields or who knows what and
. . . well, I'm sorry."

Tana seemed taken aback. "Well . . . you should be."

He wanted to continue, but his voice caught in his throat, and

he glanced down once again. He wanted to continue his
apology, but the words wouldn't come. All he could think
about was staring down the barrel of that blaster, willing into
fruition every courageous fiber of his being, and ultimately
finding nothing to hold on to but his own cowardice. Even
with the grandeur of the Empire with which to found his valor
upon, his resolve toppled like a house of cards.

"I'm sorry . . . " he finally repeated.

Tana sighed and hung her head. She was silent for several
long moments. Then she moved over to the examination
table, boosting herself up onto it next to Tilyer. She looked as
if she wanted to say something, but instead she just patted
his knee. They sat there for a while, both wanting to say
something to break the painful silence, but neither finding the
right words.

Finally Tilyer raised his eyes to meet Tana's. Staring into

those cool blue opals wasn't like the holovids depicted it.
There was no spark of romance born from a harrowing near-
death experience. They didn't slowly lean in for a kiss and
then madly press their lips and bodies together in a fit of
passion. He didn't even feel the urge to. Searching Tana's
face, he found no underlying affection, no tender compassion
waiting to bloom into full force with but a word. Instead he
found simple understanding. And that was enough.

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The pair almost jumped as the door suddenly hissed open.
Oltan strode through, his face its usual stoic mask. The
corners of his mouth quirked in a frown as he saw Tana sitting
beside Tilyer, but he quickly redirected his evident distaste to
other matters.

"Well, you'll be happy to know we finally got in touch with

your ship," he almost spat.

"You did?" Tilyer asked.

Oltan rolled his eyes, "What, you think I'm lying to you?"

"No . . . not at all."

"Well c'mon. The people over in Green VIII have agreed to let
you hitch a ride on their transport."

"So . . . I'm going home after all?" Tilyer asked in mild

disbelief.

"So long as it's not here, I don't care where the hell you go,"
Oltan grunted. "Now c'mon. The transport will be here in
thirty minutes, and I don't want you hanging around here
any long than you have to."

Tilyer nodded and stood. He cast a glance back at Tana and

then followed Oltan out.

Linia keyed the chime on Urtis Dusat's door for the third time.
"Come on Urtis, the mess hall closes in fifteen minutes!" she
called aloud.

Still no answer.

Tana shook her head, knocking again though she knew it was
probably futile. Urtis was supposed to have met her ten
minutes before, but she hadn't heard a thing from him since
they made agreed to meet for dinner earlier that morning.

She sighed and plucked her comm. link from her belt, calling
up the security officer on the bridge. "Lieutenant Milne, this is
Ensign Taulin. Do you copy?"

The voice on the other end crackled through, "Yes, I copy."

271
"Sorry to bother you sir, but do you have any idea where
Ensign Dusat is?"

"Not off the top of my head, why?"

"We were supposed to meet 15 minutes ago, and no

one's seen him."

"And you called me because?"

"I was hoping you could find out something from the
security logs."

The security officer sighed, "You know we're not supposed

access that kind of information for something like this."

"I know, but I'm worried."

Lieutenant Milne sighed once more, "Okay, let me see what

I can find out, but you owe me."

"Thank you."

A long minute passed before Milne's voice came back over the
comm. link. "According to the access codes used, he should
still be in his quarters."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I can be."

Linia was silent as she gnawed her lip.

"Will that be all?" Milne asked impatiently.

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

Lieutenant Milne cut the connection, and Linia slipped the

commlink back into her breast pocket. This was troubling.
Urtis wouldn't just blow off a meal without a good reason,
and if he was in there he surely would have answered the
door. Something had to be wrong, she was sure of it.

She frowned and reached out to hit the door release on the off
chance that the door wasn't locked. Too her surprise, the door
hissed open at her touch to reveal Dusat's darkened cabin.
She peered into the darkness, "Urtis? Are you there?" A slight

272
motion in the gloom caught her eye. "Urtis? Is that you?" She
took a step into the room, feeling along the near wall for the
light switch. With a slight tap, the glow panels along the
ceiling flickered to life.

And then Linia saw what had been moving. Hanging from the
ceiling strung up by his own belt, Lieutenant Dusat's blue-
faced body swung lazily to and fro, his eyes and mouth open
in a silent scream that was somehow louder than mere words
could ever be.

Tilyer gazed out the view port from his seat in the copilot's
chair of the old Spacecaster-class transport. The ship
shuddered briefly as it shook off the last vestiges of
atmosphere and leapt into the twinkling blackness of space.
He was going home. He should have been relieved, should
have been happy, but the reality of it was he didn't really
know how to feel.

At first, the things Tana had said about him gnawed at his ego
like a pack of ravenous womp rats. But after a while, he
realized she was right. He had been so caught up with playing
the perfect soldier that he couldn't see past the lauded image
he had projected over himself in his mind's eye. He was like a
selfish child trying to play dress up. He could recognize that.
He could deal with it. He could change it. But he couldn't as
easily come to terms with the questions she raised about the
Empire: his foundation, his rock. She had called into question
the groundwork upon which all of his convictions had been
based.

He simply didn't know what to believe anymore. The mortar

that held together his preconceived notions of the Empire had
gradually been chipped away since the very moment he set
foot upon the Enforcer, but the hatred of the Rebellion still
burned like a bright ember at the core of his being. Perhaps
his hate stemmed from some propaganda proliferated by the
Imperial media to tighten its hold on public opinion, but then
again, it could just as well be justified. All the evidence

273
pointed to the latter. One dead brother was proof enough for
him at the moment. But whatever the truth was, he would
have to sort it out on his own.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see the bearded

shuttle pilot looking at him expectantly. Tilyer blinked at him,
realizing for the first time that he didn't even know his name.

"You listening?" the man asked.

"What? Um, no. Sorry. I was thinking."

"I said we're five clicks out from your ship. I thought
you might want to get your things ready."

"That close already?"

The pilot pointed out the view port. "See for yourself."

Sure enough, the small indistinct form of a Corellian Corvette

could be seen floating in a lazy orbit above Belsavis. As they
drew closer, Tilyer was able to make out more of the ship.
Instead of the crisp manicured lines he had first viewed from
his seat upon the shuttle Corsuca, the Enforcer's sleek outline
was now nothing more than ravaged bulkhead. The whole top
side of the vessel had been decimated. The hull was pitted
and scarred, and the communications dish that had previously
graced its dorsal spine was nonexistent. She still looked like
she had seen far better days, to say the least.

The pilot gave a low whistle, "Looks like your boys took a real
pounding."

Tilyer nodded slowly but said nothing, lost in his

own thoughts.

The navigation console buzzed with directions for the ship's

approach, and the pilot brought the vessel around in a smooth
loop to the Enforcer's underside, settling onto the auxiliary
docking collar with a loud grinding thump.

As Tilyer unbuckled his crash webbing, a thought struck him.

His homecoming seemed hauntingly analogous to the first time
he set foot upon the vessel. Though everything seemed
somehow similar, everything felt different. Scant weeks had

274
gone by since he first laid eyes on the ship, and yet both he
and it had changed so much.

"Thank you for all your help." he told the pilot as he rose from
his seat.

The man flashed him a smile and grasped his hand in a firm
handshake, "Anytime friend. Think of it as a favor." He threw
Tilyer a wink. "You'll just have to owe me one."

Tilyer cracked a sad smile and nodded, heading back for the
air lock. The magnetic locks disengaged on the hatch
overhead and a small ladder slid down as the passage
whirred open. The pilot gave one last wave before Tilyer
started up the ladder.

Soon he emerged in the same stark white corridors he had

found himself in weeks earlier. And again, Commander
Venka was there to greet him. Linia Taulin and several other
officers Tilyer had seen before flanked the wolfish
commander, but Captain Ygra was not in evidence.

"Flight Officer Raan," Venka said in a startlingly pleasant

tone, "welcome back."

"Thank you, sir. It's . . . good to be back."

"Very well then," he continued on brusquely, "Debriefing will

be in thirty minutes, so shower up, get changed, and report to
the debriefing room as soon as you can."

"Yes sir."

Venka turned to go, but a word from Tilyer made him pause.
"Ah, sir?"

Venka turned back toward his junior, "Yes, Flight Officer

Raan?"

"If I may ask sir, where is the Captain? I expected he'd be

here when I returned."

Silence fell over the other officers, as if none of them dared to

breath. They looked to Commander Venka with unsure eyes
as the older man fixed Tilyer with an even stare.

275
Tilyer glanced toward Linia, seeking some indication of what
he had said that was so reprehensible. He had little time to
consider the unease evident in her gaze before Venka's voice
called his attention back over to the other officer.

"Yes, I suppose after your prolonged captivity you must

be rather ignorant of recent events. To answer your
question, Captain Ygra was injured in the Rebel attack on
the Enforcer and later died of his wounds. As such, I
have assumed command."

Tilyer nodded dumbly as he tried to sort through the mixed

feelings of shock and doubt whirling through his mind like
a Tatooine sandstorm.

As Tilyer stood dumbstruck by the news, Venka turned on his

heel and strode down the hallway. The other officers followed
suit, but Linia lingered behind.

"I can't believe it," Tilyer mumbled as she slowly approached

him.

"A lot has happened since you were shot down," she said
softly.

"Yeah, no kidding." The Captain was dead. That put things in

a whole new light as far as Belsavis was concerned.

"No, I mean something else."

"What?"

"Urtis. He" she faltered a moment. "He's dead."

"He died in the attack?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "afterward."

"How?"

"Tilyer . . . he killed himself."

Tilyer's mind reeled. "What? Why?" he asked in confusion

Linia folded her arms over her chest and shook her head, not
wanting to meet his gaze. "I don't know . . . I just don't know.
He'd been acting strangedistant even, but I never

276
expected this. I never expected to see him swinging from . . .
" her voice faltered and she clamped her eyes shut.

Tilyer was so lost in his own thoughts that he said nothing,

looking off past her at the bulkhead beyond.

Finally she gave a humorless laugh, "Some soldier I am. One

officer dies and I go to pieces."

"Two."

"Huh?"

"The Captain makes two officers dead."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just"

"Look," he said, cutting her off as gently as he could. "I

have a debriefing to get to, and I still need to change. Why
don't we talk about this later?"

Linia frowned but nodded, "Oh . . . ok."

"Are you going to be off duty in, say, an hour or so?"

"No, my shift starts soon."

"It's ok. We'll see each other soon enough, I'm sure. I'll talk
to you later." Tilyer turned to go, but Linia's voice stopped
him.

"Oh, Tilyer."

"Yes?"

"Urtis's funeral is tomorrow."

Tilyer paused, looking back at her. He studied her face for a

moment, watching as she looked back at him with pleading
eyes. He searched her features for some indication, some clue
as to why his death had struck such a cord with her, but only
the barest hint of her true grief and doubt could be seen as
she forced a faade of professionalism onto her features.

"I'll be there," he finally said. Then he turned away and

strode off down the corridor.

277
The door to Tilyer's quarters slid open with a soft hiss,
allowing light from the corridor to stream into the darkened
chamber like a sudden dawn rising over a barren world. With
his dark form silhouetted in the squared frame of daybreak,
Tilyer reached inward, feeling around the wall until he found
the light switch. With but a flick, the subsequent flood of light
eradicated the darkness, revealing the clean yet spartan room
he had grown all-too familiar with in these past few weeks.
His bed was still made, his datapads were still sitting upon
the desk, and his uniform was still neatly folded upon the
bunk, but it was as if he was seeing them in a new light for
the first time. Perhaps he had simply been gone for too long
and the cramped quarters no longer felt like home, but for
some reason, the roomand even the entire ship for that
matter didn't feel the same as when he had first left.

Tilyer sighed and passed through the threshold, tossing his

duffle onto the bunk. He stripped off his jacket and began to
undress when an object upon his desk caught his eye: a small
metallic disk barely the size of his palm. He smiled, his
thoughts immediately going to his parents, the one small
refuge from the bleak world he had found himself in. Quickly
he crossed the short distance to the desk and picked up the
projector unit.

He was eager to see themor see them as he had before;

before joining the Empire, before coming aboard the Enforcer,
before his crash upon Belsavis. In reflection, he supposed
that that was the reason for having holos in the first place.
They were the one thing that could freeze an imagean
emotion in everlasting time. Memory was a poor substitute
because it became tainted with future knowledge, future
deeds, and future mistakes. But in holos, the innocence of the
moment could be preserved. The Tilyer contained within the
small disk he held in his hands didn't have to worry about
who the "bad guy" was. That Tilyer knew for sure. That Tilyer
was confident that he knew the greatest truth of the universe.
He knew who to hate.

But this Tilyer knew nothing. He was awash in a sea of

doubt and confusion.

278
He stabbed desperately at the button upon the side of the
disk, almost as if trying to plunge his knife-like finger into the
heart of doubt throbbing within his chest. He eagerly watched
for the picturesque portrait that would invert itself above the
device in his hand, hoping that it would once more come into
clear focus and reaffirm the rock his life had been built upon
like it had been before, unlike the last time when he had
come back from the cold void of space to find his room and
his thoughts turned inside out.

This time was different, though not in the way Tilyer had
hoped. The device wouldn't even emit a single faded pixel.
There was no sound, no soft whine to announce the
projector's demise, not even a flash of light as the emitter
died. It just ceased to workif it had even worked correctly at
all.

Tilyer gave a distraught sigh and tossed the disk back

onto the desk with a hollow clatter.

"Once again, I'd like to welcome you back to the Enforcer,

Flight Officer Raan." Commander Venka steepled his
fingers and leveled his cool gaze at Tilyer where he sat
across the table from him.

Tilyer glanced over to where Linia sat, datapad in hand as she

recorded debriefing proceedings. "Thank you sir. It feels good
to be back," he lied.

Venka nodded, lifting another datapad from the desk. "I'm

sure you know why we're here, so let us get down to
business. I would like to start with a full account of your
captivity on Belsavis."

Tilyer licked his lips, folding his hands in his lap before
beginning. He told him everything, about the crash, about
Oltan and Tana, about Dr. Vorst, even about his flight into the
silk fieldsmost of it, anyway.

When he finished, Commander Venka waited for Linia to finish

tapping out commands on her datapad before continuing.
"You mentioned a discussion with a one," he glanced down at
his own pad, "Tana Yin'Bara?"

279
Tilyer swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump of
dread forming in his throat. "Yes sir."

"And this discussion prompted your, ah, flight into

the jungle?"

"Well, you could say that, sir."

"What was it she said that agitated you so?"

Tilyer fidgeted uncomfortably. "We had some . . . ideological

differences."

"About what?" Venka asked, leaning over the table.

Linia glanced to Tilyer uncertainly.

Tilyer sighed, "About rebels. She said something about

how they were 'nicer'" than the Empire."

Venka narrowed his eyes, "That borders on treason. What

else did Miss Yin'Bara say?"

He shook his head, "I don't know, nothing else important,

but I don't know Commander. The way she said it . . . "
Tilyer trailed off, not wanting to say anything else.

Venka was silent a moment before the realization dawned on

him. "She knew they were there. She knew about the rebels.
They all knew."

"What? No, at least . . . I don't think so. I mean, if they were

rebel sympathizers, would they have bothered to rescue me
after the crash, or even return me to the Enforcer?"

"But they knew about them. They knew about them, and
they said nothing. Their actions jeopardized the lives of every
member of this crew." He stood, shaking his head angrily.

Tilyer was quiet. He wanted to protest, but in a certain

way what Venka said was true. "But Sir, they didn't do
anything specifically wrong . . ."

Venka paused, leveling his ire-filled gaze at him. "I didn't take
you for the stupid type, Flight Officer Raan. It's called criminal
negligence, and it most definitely is something wrong.

280
Whether directly or indirectly, they caused the deaths of
multiple soldiers of the Imperial Navy."

"What are you going to do?" Tilyer asked uncertainly, the

lump forming in his throat now a full-fledged knot.

"What was the name of the settlement that kept you in

captivity?"

"Sir, I don't see"

"The name, Flight Officer Raan," Venka barked, cutting Tilyer

off.

He swallowed hard. "Green Ten."

"Very Well. Ensign Taulin, copy down these orders and relay
them to the rest of the crew."

Linia punched up a new utility on the pad and looked up to

Commander Venka. "I'm ready, Sir."

"As soon as repairs are complete and the Enforcer is fully

operational, all hands are to report to battle stations in order
to initiate a sustained orbital bombardment upon agro-dome
Green Ten."

"For how long Sir?" Linia asked timidly.

"As long as it takes to reduce it to rubble."

"What? Sir, you can't!" Tilyer protested.

"They're criminals, Raan," Venka shot back, "common, back-

stabbing criminals who will do anything for their own
advantage. I've taken and oathas have you and every other
crewman on this vesselto protect the Empire from the
rabble out there that would ruin our new order for its own
gain. What would you have me do? Do you want me to give
them a medal for saving you, for caring for an honest soldier
as any decent citizen should be expected to do? They have
committed a crime against this Empire, Flight Office Raan, and
they shall be punished accordingly." He paused as if daring
Tilyer to say anything more.

"They just want to be left alone."

281
"I've made my decision, Flight Officer. Continue with this
nonsense and I will throw you in the brig for insubordination."

Tilyer glanced toward Linia, looking for some kind of moral

support, but she refused to meet his gaze. He opened his
mouth to say something else but stopped himself. Instead he
swallowedswallowed his pride and his conscienceand
nodded obediently.

Commander Venka stood at the makeshift podium erected in

the Enforcer's cramped ceremonial chamber. Behind him, the
cool blue orb of Belsavis could be seen through the bulkhead
windows rotating lazily in its wide orbit around the sun. The
door to the airlock at his back was open, shedding a faint red
light across the pristine room.

"I thank you all for coming," Commander Venka intoned,

letting his gaze pass over the eyes of each of the assembled
officers.

To Tilyer, their olive-gray dress uniforms seemed especially

sinister in contrast with the pristine white walls around them.
Each one of them was almost a carbon copy of the other, like
the product of a machine mindlessly stamping out soldiers
from a cast-iron mold. Up until a few days ago, he supposed
he too could have been counted among them, but the course
of recent events had broken the mold into which he had been
cast. It was as if he were looking upon the world with new
eyes, this worldthis Empirethat he had aspired to for so
long, and as he gazed upon the casket laid on the deck
before him, the only feelings he could conjure up were ones
of intense regret and disdain.

"I understand this is a trying time for all of us," Venka

continued, "but it is most heartening to see all of you here to
pay your last respects to a beloved member of our crew.
Lieutenant Urtis Dusat was perhaps one of the most noble and
duty-bound men I have ever known. He performed his duty to

282
the utmost of his ability, and my only regret is that his life
had to end so soon."

Whatever differences the two officers may have had, Tilyer

had to agree with Venka in this regard. He again let his vision
drift from the podium to the steel-gray casket at his feet.
Dusat was the model officer, the ideal to which Tilyer had
aspired. Tilyer had never been able to reach that standard, to
actually be the self-sufficient, capable, and charming officer
like he had wanted, but Urtis embodied it all. His death was a
true shame, almost like the death of innocence in Tilyer's own
mind about the nature of his vaunted Empire. What made it
worse was the fact that instead of dying from the blaster of
some anonymous foe, he had taken his life with his own hand.
Something had happened to the man during Tilyer's absence,
of that much he was certain. Whatever had shattered Urtis'
sense of self-assurance, whatever could have shaken his
convictions so gravely, that force must have been powerful
indeed. If it could drive so poised a man as Urtis Dusat to
suicide, Tilyer shuddered to think what that knowledge would
do to him. Part of him wondered if he had already hit upon the
truth, but another part of him, a part lodged deep in the back
of his mind, told him that his revelations were but the tip of
the iceberg.

What made it even more troubling was the fact that the
inhabitants of Belsavis would have to pay for it. What would
Mikal think of it all? His brother had joined the Empire to
make a difference to those who needed it, to be a part of
something bigger than he could ever be by himself. But a
part of this? Was this the grand cause bigger than the man
himself? Tilyer couldn't believe that. If anything, what was
happening around him was beneath the memory of his
brotherthat memory that had spurred him into joining the
Empire in the first place. In some ways, he felt as if he was
cheapening his brother's memory by blindly clinging to the
Empire's lauded image.

Tilyer didn't know who was to blame for the misfortunes that
had befallen the Enforcer, but he knew for sure that Tana,
Oltan, and the rest of the men and women of Belsavis were
not. He had to do something to help them, but what?

283
"Lieutenant Dusat's death came as a shock to us all,"
Commander Venka continued, "but I believe I can safely say
that it will never be forgotten."

Linia couldn't disagree with him. His death had certainly been a
shock, especially since she had been the one to find him. Seeing
that pale body slowly swinging back and forth in the darkness,
she had to struggle to keep from emptying the contents of her
stomach all over the deck; but it wasn't just the sight of the
dead that upset her so. It was the knowledge that this corpse
had once been a man she called a friend. It was the knowledge
that he had expunged his own life while she waited impotently
for his arrival in the mess hall. Most of all, it was the knowledge
that she should have seen it all coming. Suddenly it all clicked:
the evasive attitude, the morose complexion. All the signs had
been there before, and she had innocently brushed them off
without further thought. Perhaps if she had notified the
commander, he could have put him in the infirmary, given him
counseling, could have had him do something other than wallow
in his own depression. It made her sick to her stomach to think
that she had the power to do something, and instead she did
absolutely nothing.

"His memory will live on in each and every one of you, and in
the collective memory of this galactic Empire. We may pause
if only for a minute to recognize the passing of our own, but
after this moment of reflection has passed, we must take up
the sword of war once more. We must continue to struggle
against the foes that would seek to topple this glorious
Empire, but we must also never forget the fellow soldiers who
fell to protect it."

Whatever Venka may have thought, Linia didn't want to

remember this day. She didn't want to remember that body
swaying in the darkness. She wanted to remember him as he
was before, as he was born to be, but she couldn't. The past
had irrevocably changed her perceptions of him forever.

Linia averted her eyes from the casket, looking across the
room to where Tilyer stood, his jaw clenched staring out the
window into space. If Urtis' death had even phased him, the
young officer didn't show it. Still, he had changed. She
couldn't put her finger on it, but something about him was
different. She just hoped this change wouldn't bring the
same end to Tilyer as it had to Urtis.

284
Venka gave a heartfelt sigh. "In the face of this great
tragedy, I ask that you all remain resolute in our cause and
the duties you have sworn to perform. The best way we can
honor Lieutenant Dusat's memory is by seeing to our
responsibilitiesto the defense of this Empireas he would
have done."

Lieutenant Del'Goren stifled a humorless laugh. An officer of

the Imperial Navy killed himself, and all Venka could talk
about was honor and duty, like the man died in some great
cosmic struggle. He tried to play it off like his death meant
something, like he spent his life in the name of the Emperor.
But he hadn't. Lieutenant Dusat had been slain by tying a belt
around his neck and hanging from it until he choked to death.
That wasn't honor, and that surely wasn't duty.

Lieutenant Del'Goren only knew Dusat professionally, but the

man just didn't fit the profile of a depressively suicidal
maniac. He didn't know for sure why the young man killed
himself, or if he even did it himself, but he did know that
there was more to the story than anyone let on. There was no
way to prove it, but Del'Goren had the sneaking suspicion that
it had something to do with Commander Venka. First he
murdered the Captain and now Dusat. The conniving bastard
may not have actually done it himself, but he damn sure had
a hand in it.

But again, he couldn't prove any of it. It was all just a feeling
in the pit of his stomach. Still, he hadn't survived this long
as a TIE fighter pilot by not heeding his instincts. In the
future there would be an opportunity to make things right, of
that much he was certain. He just had to be patient.

"Now there is only thing left for us to do in order to put his

body, his spirit, and his memory to rest. Thus, I commit this
mortal coil to the embrace of the cosmos. May his essence live
on in some small measure through this interment in space's
timeless walls."

Venka turned and activated the airlock panel. The pall bearers
approached Dusat's casket, taking up the steel-gray box and
sanctimoniously inserting it into the airlock. They stepped
back, and Commander Venka closed the lock once more. A

285
grinding clank sounded through the bulkhead as the outer
doors opened and the casket floated forth. The assembled
officers turned toward the view port, watching as Lieutenant
Dusat's earthly remains drifted into view.

Venka watched with no small measure of regret as the drifting

casket silhouetted against the Belsavis' silvery face. Despite
all the eloquence of his speech, no words could do justice to
the anguish he felt in his heartanguish over the knowledge
that yet another officer of the Imperial navy had died because
of him. He hadn't physically strung Dusat up and watched him
dangle as the life slowly drained out of him, but he might as
well have. The young man was so in love with his idyllic notion
of the Empire, that the truth simply shattered him.

In retrospect Venka knew that he should not have involved

him, but he also knew that he could not have dismissed the
incident with Captain Ygra without Dusat's help. It had to be
done, he told himself. Dusat's death was regrettable, but if it
meant that an able bodied leader would remain at the helm of
the Enforcer, then so be it. In times of war, sacrifices had to
be made. The Empire could not afford to conduct its affairs as
it always had. It could not remain a stagnant nation if it
expected to survive the Rebellion. Their way of doing things
had to change with the times, and Venka had to change with
it.

The deaths of the fallen were regrettable, but their sacrifices

would soon be made worthwhile. He would root out the
rebellious elements still hiding on Belsavis and ensure that this
derelict world never rise up against the Emperor again.

Tilyer hit the door release to his cabin. The door hissed open
to reveal the well-lit hallway beyond. Standing in the
threshold, Linia looked up at him with a perplexed
expression. "Ok Tilyer, what is this about?"

Tilyer cast a glance down the hallway before grabbing her

wrist and tugging her into the room as the door hissed closed
behind her.

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Gabel looked up from the datapad he was reading in his bun.
A concerned frown crossed his features.

"Tilyer, what the hell is this about?" Linia asked, turning to

face him.

"I need to talk to youto both of you," he said looking over to

Gabel.

The big man laid aside the datapad and swung his legs over
the edge of the bunk. "Alright, so talk."

Linia frowned and folded her arms across her chest, but
nodded for Tilyer to go on.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he found a seat

at the desk, turning to face the others. "Okay, I don't really
know how to start this, so I'm just going to say it. This orbital
bombardment on Belsavis Commander Venka is planning . . .
"

"What about it?" Linia asked.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "It's . . . it's just not

right. I mean . . . "

"How can you know that?" she asked uncertainly. "What if

Venka was right? What if they were just trying to dupe
you and get you to defect?"

"I know okay? They saved me Liniatwice. If not for them, I'd
be stone dead somewhere down on the ice plains. They aren't
rebels. They just want to be left out of all of this mess to live
their lives. Venka can't see thathe won't see that."

"Tilyer, I understand. I sympathize even. But you've said all of

this before."

He shook his head, "No, I haven'tI mean, not all of it. II

have to do something. I can't just let it happen." He looked up
to Gabel, then glanced to Linia, "I need your helpboth of
you."

Linia narrowed her eyes, "What kind of help? Tilyer, what are
you planning?"

287
He sighed, "I don't knowat least not yet. I haven't thought it
all through, but I have a rough idea."

"And that is?"

Tilyer was silent a moment before speaking. "We have to

blow up the ship."

"What!" Gabel shouted.

"Tilyer," Linia said in disbelief, "what are you thinking? Have

you lost your mind? Even talking about something like that is
treason!"

"I know it sounds drastic, but it's the only way."

"If the Enforcer goes down out here, it will cause even more
trouble. The Empire isn't just going to turn a blind eye to the
loss of a capital starship."

"Not necessarily," Tilyer replied slowly. "Linia, how long will it

be until the long range communications are operational
again?"

"Three or four days I guess."

"As long as they're still undergoing repairs, Commander

Venka can't let High Command know what has happened
out here. If the ship goes down, there won't be any way to
transmit a message back to the core."

Gable shook his head, pressing his hands to his temples.

"Tilyer, do you realize what you're suggesting? Overlooking
the fact that you want to blow up an Imperial ship, what
about the crew? There are almost a hundred people on this
ship. You want to kill all of them to save your friends down
on that damn planet?"

"No, of course not. If we play our cards right, no one has to

die."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Linia asked incredulously.

"You're scheduled for the night watch on the bridge tomorrow,

right?"

288
"Well yeah, but I don't see how that has anything to do with
"

"Okay, good."

"Tilyer, what are you getting at?"

The young officer ignored her, "And Gabel, as a technician,

you have clearance into the engine room, right?"

"Well, yeah," he replied, "but only for emergencies. I never go

there. I'm assigned to the fighter bay, you know that."

"Yes, but you have access, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"Okay, well hear me out. Here is what I'm thinking. What if

we were able to overload the ship's reactor? If Linia has the
bridge, she could play down the warnings and then when the
time is right, issue a call to abandon ship. No one would be
the wiser, all of the crew would be able to get out, and all
evidence of our tampering would be destroyed in the blast.
It's almost perfect."

"Didn't I see something like that in a holofilm once?"

Gabel asked uncertainly.

"No, of course notat least, I don't think so . . . but I do

think this has a real chance of succeeding. What do you guys
think?"

"I think you're crazy," Gabel muttered.

"Tilyer," Linia began, "Just for a minute, let's say that what
you're planning actually worksthat we destroy the ship
and everybody onboard survives. How will that solve
anything? When a cruiser comes by looking for survivors,
they will just pick up where we left off and the people on
Belsavis will be facing an even bigger threat."

"So far, you, Gabel, me, and Venka are the only ones who
know about the planned bombardment, right?"

"Well, yeah. The order isn't supposed to go out until the

repairs are complete."

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"So then if you two are with me, that just leaves one person
we have to make sure never finds his way off the ship."

Gabel shook his head vehemently. "No. No way. I know what

you're suggesting, and I want no part in it."

"Gabel's right," Linia said. "Do I have to remind you again that
even talking about all of this is treason?"

"You think I haven't thought about that?" Tilyer stood, folding

his arms over his chest. "Believe me, I know what is at stake
here better than anybody, and that's why it has to be done."

"You're talking about killing a superior officer!"

Gabel practically shouted.

"Not to mention blowing up an entire ship," Linia added.

"If one death can negate the deaths of hundreds," Tilyer

replied, spreading his arms beseechingly, "why not take
the opportunity."

"Because it's wrong, Tilyer. It's dead wrong." All of the former
humor was gone from Gabel's features, replaced instead by a
glower that creased his face in deep furrows as he stared at
Tilyer.

"So what then? You want me to just sit by and let all those
people dieall those people I owe my life to?"

Gabel struggled in search of words.

"Yes, Gabel, I agree with you. What I'm talking about is

wrong. It's beyond wrong. It is against the code that we have
all sworn to uphold. I know that. I understand that. But it
would be pure evil if we sat bywhen we had the power to
stop thisand did nothing. Could you live with yourself
knowing that you had the chance to save those people, to
change the course of their lives for the better, and instead you
just sat on your hands and watched them die? I sure as hell
know that I couldn't. Could you, Linia?"

She sighed and ran her hand through her hair wearily. "No,"
she said in a small voice.

Tilyer looked over to Gabel. "Could you?"

290
For a moment he stared straight at Tilyer.

"Well, could you?" he repeated.

Gabel bowed his head in shame. "No."

"So then you'll help?"

"Yes," Linia said softly. "Yes, I'll do it."

Gabel just nodded weakly and bent forward to cradle his head
in his hands.

"This is a horrible idea," Gabel grumbled as he punched in the

door code. He looked up at Tilyer as if he wanted to say
something more but shook his head, turning back toward the
door lock. He hit the last digit and stood back as the blast
doors hissed open.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Gabel whispered under
his breath.

"So do I."

Tilyer didn't give the larger man a chance to respond as he

stepped through the doorway and into the engine room.
Inside, the din of thrumming engines reverberated around the
compartment, filling the whole room with a low rumbling
vibration that Tilyer could feel pulsating in his chest. The
lights overhead cast a continual shade of red over the
normally pristine white bulkhead, and the air laden with the
smell of disinfectant left an uncomfortable tingling sensation
on the inside of his nostrils.

He turned to the side, making his way over to the

engineering station beside the door. The engineer on duty
turned toward him, an obvious frown upon his face. "Hey,
what are you doing here? You don't have clearance."

291
"We need an engineer up on the bridge. Are you the only one
on duty?"

"Well of course," the engineer said in confusion, "but I

don't understand. Why wasn't I informed that there was
any emergency?""

"Check your console. The information should be there."

The engineer shook his head as he turned in his chair toward

the console. He hit the communications tab, squinting down
at the display. "No, I don't see it. You"

He stopped mid sentence as the stun bolt from Tilyer's blaster

caught him in the back of the head. He went limp, slumping
forward over the console as consciousness fled his body.

Tilyer holstered the blaster and plucked his commlink from his
breast pocket. "Okay Gabel," he said into the device, "It's
done. Get in here."

The large technician moved into the engine room, casting a

worried glance around the chamber before moving to the
engineering station.

Tilyer moved the unconscious engineer from his seat and

sprawled him on the floor, then gestured for Gabel to take his
place. "Have a seat."

Gabel gave the engineer a sad look but dutifully slipped into
the chair.

"Okay," Tilyer said, coming up behind the larger man to rest

his hands on his shoulders, "you know what to do, right?"

"Well, I think so. I mean, I looked at the schematics and all,

but I'm not sure about this . . . "

"You'll do fine Gabel," Tilyer reassured him. "Now, are we

ready to do this?"

Gabel sighed and nodded, "Yeah."

"Good." Tilyer picked up his commlink once more and

cycled through to the proper channel. "Linia, you there?"

292
Her voice cracked through, "I read you."

"We're in position here. It's your turn."

"Understood," she said evenly. There was a click, and then the
connection went dead.

Linia lowered the commlink and took a steadying

breath, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

"What was that about?"

Linia opened her eyes and looked down several stations to

where Ensign Curtis Luwall sat regarding her curiously.

She blinked a several times as if trying to focus her

eyes. "Just the engine room checking in."

"You don't look so hot. You okay?" he asked with genuine

concern.

Linia nodded, forcing a tired smile onto her face. "Yeah, I'm
alright. I'm just tired." She stood, placing her commlink onto
the console before her. "I'm going to go get a cup of caf.
Can you hold things down here until I get back?"

The young officer nodded and gave her a wink, "Sure thing
Linia. Take your time."

She nodded her thanks and turned, moving out the door and
past the storm trooper stationed there. Once out in the
hallway, she quickly crossed the short distance to the officer's
lounge and hit the door release.

As expected, it was deserted at this time of night, but that

was what she had been counting on. She approached the
counter, but instead of accessing the caf brewer, she stooped,
opening one of the lower cabinets. She reached past napkins,
disposable plates, and a box of unused condiments until her
hand touched upon the weapon Tilyer had hidden away the
previous day.

As a bridge crewman, Linia wasn't cleared to bear a sidearm

while on duty. As a pilot, however, Tilyer had access to the pilots'
weapons lockers for use in case of a crash landing. Still,

293
the locker was kept under lock and key for security reasons,
but Tilyer had found another source. The impounded
munitions the Enforcer had picked up in orbit around
Malastare provided a good alternative. She didn't know how,
and perhaps she was better off not knowing, but somehow he
had been able to procure the weapon without anyone
catching on. A momentary pang of doubt gripped her as her
fist closed around the cold black metal, but she forced it down
and headed out the door, hurrying back to the bridge.

As the bridge door opened once more, the stormtrooper

stationed there didn't even move. He kept his eyes face-
forward locked in his rigid pose even as Linia quietly stepped
up behind him. She fluidly raised the blaster pistol in her
hand and pressed it into the crease between the soldier's
helmet and breast piece. Before he could move, she pulled
the trigger. The azure burst of energy lanced into the base of
his skull, and the trooper's body clattered to the ground like
dead fish.

Ensign Luwall shot to his feet, looking back to where

Linia stood, smoking blaster in hand. "What the"

She cut him off with another blast aimed in his direction.
Somehow he managed to dive to the side, and the wave of
blue energy coursed by him, blasting into one of the bridge
consoles. A shower of sparks from the ruined console
cascaded over him as he foundered on the deck, knocking
over several chairs in his frantic scramble for the master
alarm. Linia strode forward, squeezing off two more shots at
her fellow officer. The first blast caught him in the legs,
pitching him forward onto the deck. He started to doggedly
claw his way forward, but the second blast caught him full in
the chest. His body shuddered and his eyes rolled up into the
back of his head as he finally fell limp on the deck.

Linia took a shuddering breath as she calmly stepped over her

fallen comrade and rightened the chair at her console. She
cast one more glance at Luwall's unconscious body before
picking up the commlink again. "Linia here," she said quietly.
"Situation under control on my end."

It was a second or two before Tilyer's voice came back over

the other side. "Understood. Initiating phase two. Stand by
for further instructions."

294
Initiating phase two. Stand by for further instructions."

"Alright, so tell me what to do," Tilyer said, casting a

worried glance back at the blast door.

Gabel sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Well, if I've read the
schematics right, you're going to have to go back into the
engine access ports and manually increase the drive output to
the point of meltdown."

"Why can't you do that from here?"

"The computer won't let me. It works as a failsafe. If I initiate

any action that would cause a meltdown, it automatically
countermands the order."

"Alright," Tilyer said slowly, "so how do I increase the drive

output?"

"In the access port, there should be three levers. Push each of
them all the way upbut you'll have to do it for each
individual engine."

Tilyer nodded, clipping the commlink to his breast pocket.

"Are you coming with me?"

Gabel shook his head, looking away from Tilyer and back
toward the console. "No, I have to monitor things here to
make sure the meltdown proceeds slowly enough to give the
crew time to abandon ship."

"Alright, then just keep your eyes open. Tell me if anything

happens."

"Sure thing."

Tilyer nodded and then turned, heading off deeper into

the engine room.

Tilyer took a deep breath and wiped away the sweat draining
into his eyes. He reached down, gently easing the third lever

295
on the console into the upright position. "Okay Gabel," he
said into his commlink, "That's the fifth one. You getting any
reaction on your end?"

Only silence answered his call.

"Gabel, you there?" he asked again.

Still nothing.

He frowned, wondering worriedly why Gabel hadn't answered

the comm.. The big man had given no indication of anything
being wrong before, but his absence was making Tilyer
decidedly uneasy. Perhaps ambient radiation off of the
engines was interfering with the transmission.

He grunted and began to shimmy his way back down the

cramped access hatch and slipped into the corridor beyond. As
his booted feet hit the catwalk below him, he immediately
began to look around the three-tiered engineering corridor or
any sign of Gabel. The three story tall room was set up with a
trio catwalks positioned before the three rows of engine
emplacements on the Enforcer. Standing on the second tier,
he could peer over into the small diagnostic area below, but
he couldn't see Gable anywhere.

Breathing heavily, Tilyer keyed the commlink again. "Gabel,

you there now?"

Again, no response was forthcoming.

"Damn," he swore, casting a worried glance up and down the

room.

Tilyer pricked his ears, listening intently. He couldn't be sure

given the sound of the engines thrumming all around him, but
he thought he heard the sound of booted feet on the deck
plating below. He leaned over the railing, peering down to
where the engineering corridor beyond attached to the rest of
the engine room as his hand nervously slipped around his
blaster.

Suddenly a bolt of amber energy lanced from corridor below,

splashing in a wave of ruby light just above Tilyer's head.

296
"Shit!" he shouted, returning fire at the white-clad figure that
emerged from the gloom of the hallway. The blue stun bolt
spread out, impacting along the walls as the trooper pulled
back.

Down below, Tilyer could hear him talking. "I've got contact!"

Tilyer swore and began to desperately look for a way out. He

soon realized, however, that there was no other way out
except through the corridor below that was quickly filling with
storm troopers. He bit his lip as a moment of indecisiveness
took hold, but he forcefully thrust it away. He still had a job to
do if he wanted to save the people of Belsavis.

He whirled around on the catwalk, triggering another blast at

the doorway as he ran for the next access hatch, boots
pounding on the grating beneath his feet. No sooner had he
reached the second hatch than a flurry of blaster bolts
erupted from below. He hunched forward, covering his head
with his arms in an attempt to weather the barrage. Crimson
blaster bolts splashed off of the bulkhead and catwalk around
him, but thankfully none of them hit.

He straightened up, preparing to offer return fire when the

catwalk suddenly lurched. The carbon-scored struts on one
end of the walk snapped, and the whole thing canted
downward to slam into the catwalk below with a horrendous
clang.

Tilyer lost his footing and pitched forward down the slanting
walk. He frantically flailed for the railing but his hands couldn't
find a purchase. He let out a scream and tumbled down the
ramp. His shoulder hit the ledge below, sending a fierce jolt of
pain coursing through his arm and into his chest. He gasped,
squeezing his eyes closed against the agony as his fingers went
limp and the pistol in his hand clattered to the deck.

He forced his eyes open against the pain, watching in horror

as a trio of white armored troopers slowly advanced upon him
with blasters pointed in his direction. "We've got him," one of
them said into his commlink. "He's not going anywhere. We're
clear."

297
Tilyer watched as four more figures appeared at the mouth of
the hallway. Flanked by a pair of storm troopers, Venka folded
his arms over his chest, regarding Tilyer with an icy gaze.

"I never would have picked you for a traitor, Flight Officer
Raan. I suppose we are just fortunate that one member
of your little band actually has a conscience."

The deck grating pushed painfully into the side of his face,
but even so Tilyer managed a look of confusion before Venka
stepped aside and revealed the one person still left lurking in
the hallway.

Gabel glanced away, unable to look Tilyer in the eye.

"Sorry Tilyer . . ." he mumbled, bowing his head in shame.

"What do you want us to do with him?" one of the

storm troopers asked.

"Take him to the brig," Venka said sharply, turning on his

heel and disappearing down the hallway.

The storm trooper turned back toward Tilyer, shouldering his

blaster rifle. Without word or sentiment, clamped down on the
trigger. Waves of blue energy coursed over him, lighting
every nerve in his body on fire. Thankfully the agony was
short lived, and Tilyer's world soon dissolved into darkness.

"Hey, you awake?"

Tilyer groaned as vestiges of the waking world began to filter

through the haze of unconsciousness. His body felt as if it had
been worked over with a sledge hammer. Every bit of him
was sore, most of all his shoulder. He momentarily wondered
what had happened to reduce him to this sorry state, but the
events of the recent days came flooding back in a tide of
memory that left a pervading taint of despair over his heart.

"Tilyer, answer me."

298
He painfully cracked his eye open, blinking against the harsh
light overhead as the world reasserted itself over his vision.
Linia's face hovered over his, a mix of concern and
annoyance evident upon her features.

"What the hell happened?" he groaned, weakly easing himself

in an upright position. He blinked several times again, looking
around the harshly lit room. He was sitting upon a hard bunk
mounted into the slate-gray wall with Linia standing over
him, her hands on her hips.

Her hair was in disarray and a deep purple bruise had started
to develop over one of her cheek bones. She let her arms
drop to her sides as she gave an exasperated sigh. "We got
caught, that's what happened."

"Damn," he swore, raising his hands to rub his face wearily.

As soon as he moved his left shoulder, however, a twinge of
pain shot through his arm and into his chest. "Ugh," he
grunted, giving up on the motion as he held onto his wounded
shoulder with the other arm.

"You dislocated your shoulder," Linia informed him. "I reset it

as best I could, but it'll be sore for a day or two." She gave
him a weak smile, "I guess basic was good for something after
all."

Her mild humor was lost on Tilyer as he looked around the

painfully bright room. He sat silently a moment before turning
to look Linia dead in the eyes. "Gabel sold us out, didn't he?"

She lowered her eyes and nodded. "Looks that way."

"So what happened with you?"

She sighed, "They sent a storm trooper detachment to the

bridge. I couldn't fight them all off."

"Yeah, same for me."

"So what now?" she asked, struggling to keep the fear

from her voice.

"Well, as soon as he hears we're both awake, Venka will

probably come down here to see us. He'll gloat and call us
traitors and inform us of a pending court marshal. The only

299
real question I have is whether or not he'll wait until we get
back to Coruscant to execute us."

She simply nodded acceptingly and looked away at the blank

bulkhead.

"Ok, look. I'm sorry for getting you into this," Tilyer blurted
out. "It seemed like it would work at the time, but"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand, "Don't worry about it
Tilyer."

"But"

"Shut up about it," she suddenly snapped. "It was my

decisionmy choice. You didn't get me into this. I did."

"Still," he said quietly, "I feel like this is all my fault."

"Partly, yeah I guess it is, but I signed up for it. You

didn't twist my arm."

Tilyer didn't reply, lowering his chin to his chest and fixing
his gaze upon the far wall.

Linia remained standing for a moment, her arms folded over

her chest. Then she sighed and lowered herself down into the
seat next to Tilyer. "Alright, so in retrospect it wasn't the best
plan."

He looked up at her. "The plan was fine. It was just the people
involved."

"Gabel."

"Yeah, him," he grunted distastefully. "I wouldn't have

thought he'd be the type to turn his back on us like that. I
though he was more . . . " He trailed off, searching for the
right words.

"Weak-willed?"

"What? No, I didn't mean it like that."

"But that's the gist of what you were saying. Face it Tilyer,
you couldn't control him like you thought you could."

300
"Linia, he betrayed us."

"Yes, in a certain sense I guess he did, but maybe staying

true to you would have been an even bigger betrayal."

The look on his face told her that he didn't follow.

She twisted in her seat to face him. "You were right about
Gabelat least partly. He's a follower in every sense word, at
least from what I've seen. He truly believes in the Empire.
Maybe he's just nave, or maybe he actually buys the lines
Venka and the rest cram down our throats every day.
Whatever the reason, he believes in the idea of the Empire
Like you used to. Like I used to before all of this happened.
Maybe to him, going along with us would be an even bigger
betrayal than what he's already done. It would mean
betraying the foundations his life and beliefs have been built
upon."

Tilyer was silent a moment before responding. "You've

thought about this a lot haven't you?"

"It's all I've been thinking about for a while," she admitted
quietly. "There's not been much else to do since we were
captured."

Tilyer just nodded quietly. He was silent a moment before

looking up at her again. "What do you think your family
will say?"

"What family?" she asked wryly.

"Oh. I forgot about your father," he said sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. It doesn't make a difference now,

anyway. What about your family though?"

He shrugged. "I'm sure they'll be mortified, but after what

happened to Mikal they were prepared for the worst with me."
He gave a humorless laugh, "Or is this the worst? I don't
know which they would preferdeath in combat, or execution
as a traitor."

"I don't really see how it matters."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It all ends the same way."

301
Another awkward silence ensued.

"So, any ideas what to do now?" she asked

He shrugged, "Wait for Venka to come by and gloat, I guess.

Other than that, I don't think there's much else we can do."

From outside there was a loud reverberating clank.

"Well speak of the devil," Tilyer muttered. "He doesn't

waste any time, does he?"

With the magnetic lock disengaged, the door to the cell hissed
open to reveal the figure standing on the other side. The dark
skinned man ducked under the threshold and stepped into the
cell, lights glinting off of his bald pate as he straightened to
his full height.

"Lieutenant Del'Goren?" Tilyer gaped briefly before hastening to

stand at attention. Beside him, Linia did likewise.

"At ease, at ease. You're in the brig, Flight Officer. Showing

deference to rank is the least of your worries right now"

"Old habits, I guess Sir. We, ah, weren't really expecting you."

"Thought Commander Venka would pay you a visit, 'eh?"

"Something like thatI didn't really think he would

trust anyone else to see to the gloating."

"Well, he wouldn't. That's why he sent along a chaperone."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where a
stormtrooper stood out in the hallway.

"Well, I'm sorry for being so forward sir, but . . . what are you
doing here?"

"I wanted to see for myselfand to ask you why."

Tilyer gave a disheartened sigh. "Does it matter? Either way,

we're going to be executed."

Del'Goren sighed and folded his arms over his chest. "Yes. To
me it does."

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Tilyer sighed again. "Have you heard about what Venka
is planning?"

The Lieutenant nodded. "The orbital bombardment. I

heard something about that."

"Then you should know why. Those people down there had
nothing to do with whatever else has been going on down on
Belsavis. Commander Venka is going to destroy them for no
other reason than his misguided sense of justice. It should be
our duty to protect those people, not destroy them. He wants
to blast them to pieces on grounds of hearsay and conjecture.
I couldn't let him do thatwe couldn't let him do that," he
said, looking meaningfully to Linia. "Anyway, I wouldn't
expect you to understand."

"Believe me, I do," Lieutenant Del'Goren muttered under

his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing, never mind," he said dismissively. "Listen, I just

wanted to tell you to be on your guard. Officially Venka
doesn't have the authority to conduct a court-martial onboard,
but I wouldn't put anything by him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Linia asked.

Del'Goren shrugged mysteriously, "If something happens, just

be ready. I have to get back to my post, though. You two
take care of yourselves. "He gave them a meaningful glance,
then turned and headed back out the doorway.

The whirr of machinery filled the Enforcer's cramped fighter bay

with a mind-numbing din as technicians busily worked on the
TIE fighter suspended Del'Goren stood next to the bay's fuel
depot, a collection of pumps and storage containers used to
house fuel for the ship's fighters. With a slim pack slung over
one shoulder, he leaned casually against the wall behind him,
observing the workers on the catwalks overhead as they

303
cracked open the star fighter's ion engine housing. He
watched without even a hint of surprise as something sparked
within the fighter's innards. The technicians stumbled back a
few steps, exchanging worried glances amongst each other.
Then another spark flashed, and suddenly an explosion
belched forth from the TIE's engine compartment, sending
the mechanics fleeing along the catwalks.

The men on the floor scattered as falling debris began to rain

over the center of the bay. The men above bolted for the
emergency lifts as another explosion ripped through the
fighter. The burgeoning flames consumed the TIE, tearing
through catwalks and girders with equal hunger.

Del'Goren calmly turned to the wall behind him and pulled the
fire alarm located there. Klaxons wailed as red emergency
lights began to flash. He glanced around as one of the
crewmen on the floor started for the fire fighting station
positioned to the rear of the bay. He called out to the man,
waving for him to stop.

"There's no time!" Let the ship's countermeasures deal with it.

We've got to get everyone out of here!"

The technician coughed against the cloud of soot and smoke

expanding across the bay but nodded and headed for the bay
blast doors, calling other to do the same as he went.

Del'Goren turned to follow, delving into his pack as he went to

withdraw a silvery sphere about the size of his fist. As he
trotted past the fuel depot, he lobbed it to the side where it
rolled to a stop amid the various fuel pumps.

The Lieutenant picked up his pace, following the last few

crewmen as they ducked through the bay blast doors. A
technician on the other side punched the controls, and the
heavy durasteel door ground shut behind them.

Del'Goren looked around at the panting men. "What the hell

happened?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"I don't know," said one of them, shaking his head in disbelief.
"We were just about to recalibrate the ionization signatures
when something sparked. I don't know what it was, but it

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must have set off the fuel tanks to cause an explosion that
big."

Del'Goren made the pretense of swearing. "Does the

bridge know about it yet?"

"I'm sure they felt the explosion."

"Well get on the commlink and tell let them know that
everyone has evacuated already. The best way to put out the
fire is going to be to depressurize the bay."

"Yes sir"

"You men stay here. I'm going to the bridge to find

Commander Venka to see if we can sort out what happened."
He then turned jogged off down the hall.

Commander Venka frowned, leaning on the bridge

command chair for support as a slight shudder ran through
the Enforcer's deck. "What was that?" he demanded, turning
to one of the bridge crewman.

The man concentrated at his console for several moments

before looking back up at Venka. "There's been an accident in
the fighter bay, some kind of fire." He paused, listening
intently to the commlink at his ear. "The crew has already
evacuated. Lieutenant Del'Goren says the best way to put it
out would be to vent the atmosphere and deprive the fire of
oxygen."

"Del'Goren?"

"Yes sir, that's what they said."

"Alright, do it."

The crewman nodded and bent over his console.

The turbolift door hissed open, and Lieutenant Del'Goren

stepped out into the hallway. His footfalls echoed off of the
deck plating as he strode toward the door at the end of the
short hallway. With the touch of a button, the door slid open
and the Lieutenant stepped through.

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The small circular room was occupied in the middle by a large
desk console. Security cameras and other devices studded
various portions of the wall, and a short corridor ran down
the rear of the room to a quartet of closed cells. Del'Goren
moved forward toward the security officer seated at the
console, shifting the pack around to his front as he went.

The man frowned as he approached. "Lieutenant Del'Goren?

What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to talk to the prisoners again,"

The other man shifted uneasily, "I'm sorry sir, but I can't do
that. Commander Venka has told me to admit no one but
himself."

"That's alright. I'll let myself in."

Before he could respond, Del'Goren pulled a blaster pistol

from his backpack and leveled it at the guard. There was a
momentary pause as the guard contemplated what to do.
Then he suddenly lunged for the emergency call button on his
console. Del'Goren clamped down on the trigger.

The blaster flashed, and the security guard fell forward

lifelessly against the console. Del'Goren turned, blasting the
security cameras along the walls as well before he circled
around the console and hauled the dead man's body off of the
controls that were beeping incessantly for his attention.

He examined the computer, swearing as he realized the dead

man had managed to hit the alarm switch before the blaster
bolt got him. He hurriedly punched in the commands to
silence it, but he knew it wasn't fast enough. Swearing again,
he turned and ran into the detention corridor.

He quickly found the right cell and hit the door release. Inside,
Tilyer and Linia started as the door slid open, staring in
disbelief at the figure standing in the doorway.

"Lieutenant Del'Goren?" Tilyer stammered, "What are

you doing here?"

"You can ask questions later," Del'Goren shot back.

"We've got to move. Here." He reached into his pack and
tossed a blaster to Tilyer.

306
Linia and Tilyer exchanged looks.

"Well, are you coming or not?" He didn't wait for a response

as he turned and strode back down the corridor.

With nothing else to do, Tilyer and Linia followed him into the
detention foyer. Tilyer's eyes widened as he caught sight of
the guard sprawled along the floor and blaster wound in his
side.

"You killed him?"

"What did you expect me to do?" Del'Goren asked

sarcastically as he knelt by the dead guard and slipped the
side arm from his belt holster. He straightened, holding the
weapon out to Linia. "You'll need this."

"Well, you didn't have to kill him," Tilyer protested weakly.

Linia balked at the weapon proffered to her. Del'Goren tossed

it to her anyway, turning to scowl back at Tilyer.

"Setting everything on stun isn't going to get the job done this
time. If you want out of here, you're going to have to man up
and do some things you don't want to do. It's that simple. You
either pull the trigger, or I leave your ass here alone to deal
with Venka and the rest of his goons. You hear me?"

Tilyer nodded, swallowing hard.

"Good." He turned to go, but Linia stopped him.

"Commander Venka has to know what you're up to," she

protested. "Even if we can get to an escape pod, they'll just
use the tractor beam to reel us back in. How do you expect
to get off the ship?"

"With this." Del'Goren took the last item out of his pack, a
slim gray device with a pair of buttons on one face.

Tilyer furrowed his brow. "What is it?"

Del'Goren just gave them a grim smile and pressed the

button.

307
"Sir, there's been some type of disturbance in the brig."

Commander Venka looked down to the crewmember who

had addressed him. "What happened?"

"Someone set off the silent alarm. It was shut off a few
seconds later, but I haven't been able to raise the security
officer on duty. I think it might have something to do with the
fire in the hangar, but I can't be sure."

"Damn," he swore. "Okay, continue with the hangar

depressurization and dispatch a squad to investigate the brig.
Recall the rest of the stormtroopers to the bridge."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. I want all available security relocated to

the bridge."

The crewman nodded and turned back to his station

to execute the orders.

Venka folded his arms across his chest and faced back toward
the bridge viewport.

The hangar fire and the brig alarm couldn't be isolated events.
That much he was sure of. He could have brushed them off as
coincidence, but he hadn't gotten this far into his career by
not listening to his instincts. If he had to bet, Raan had
something to do with it, but how he could orchestrate
anything out of that cell of his was a mystery to him. Either
way, Venka wasn't going to take any chances.

A sudden rumbling cut off any more musings. Venka opened

his mouth to ask what the hell was going on when the ship
shuddered and then erupted into violent tremors. The floor
beneath him trembled like a seizuring mental patient, and the
ship began to list toward the port side. Venka pitched forward
as he lost his balance and hit the deck hard. The glow panels
above winked out of existence only to be replaced a second
later by red emergency lights, bathing the bridge in a grisly
crimson glow.

308
He lay on the floor a moment, looking around in dazed
stupefaction. One of bridge consoles sparked briefly,
illuminating the motionless form sprawled on the ground
before it. An acrid smell permeated the room, as did a
chorus of groans from the surviving bridge crew.

"Damn it, what happened?" Venka shouted as he began to

pick himself up off the floor.

One of the crewmen hauled himself back into his seat,

hurriedly tapping out commands at his computer. "Shit," he
swore, his fear getting the better of protocol.

"What is it?" Venka asked, making his way over to him.

"The hangar is gone."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it's gone sir! It's not there anymore. Something must
have touched off the fuel reserves, because the explosion totally
demolished it. If we hadn't depressurized the bay when we did,
the whole ship would have gone up." He paused, punching a few
more keys. "We're slowly venting atmosphere, and our orbit
around Belsavis is beginning to decaying. Artificial gravity on
decks five and six is about shot too."

"Propulsion?"

"The hyperdrive seems to be alright, but sublight is at fifteen

percent. It won't be enough to break orbit, and we can't jump
to light speed this close to the planet. It would tear the ship
apart." The crewman looked to Venka gravely. "We're going
down, sir."

Tilyer loosened his grasp on the security console as the

tremors subsided. He looked to Lieutenant Del'Goren with a
bewildered look as the red emergency lighting kicked in.
"What the hell did you just do?"

Del'Goren shrugged, "I left a little surprise back in the

hangar."

"Could have at least told us to hold onto something," Linia

quipped as she picked herself up off the floor.

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Del'Goren ignored her. "Lets get moving. Venka should have
enough to worry about with the ship, but we still need get
out of here before someone comes looking for us." He turned
and headed out the door and down the hallway.

Tilyer and Linia moved to follow but stopped as the turbolift

at the end of the corridor slid open.

"Get back!" Del'Goren shouted as he turned and fled

back down the hallway.

Tilyer briefly wondered what was going on before he caught

sight of the four white armored figures standing within the lift.
He grabbed Linia's arm, jerking her back toward the brig foyer
as blaster fire erupted through the hallway. Linia and Tilyer
managed to get behind the security console as Del'Goren
dove through the doorway and rolled to the side. The
stormtroopers' armored footfalls could be heard pounding
down the hallway.

Tilyer grimaced and rose over the console, braving the

barrage of laser fire to snap off a pair of shots into the hallway
at the approaching troopers. Luckily for him, the close
confines didn't offer them much room to maneuver, and one
of his shots hit home. The blaster splashed over the lead
trooper's breast plate, leaving a black scorch mark as the
soldier collapsed to the ground. The man behind him crouched
protectively over his fellow trooper and returned fire, forcing
Tilyer back down behind the security station.

"You got any more of those detonators?" Linia called out,

leaning around the console to snap off a quit shot before
retreating back.

"Keep them busy," Del'Goren shouted, digging into one of

the pockets on his uniform.

Tilyer and Linia exchanged doubtful looks, but dutifully raised

up over the console and triggered a salvo of blaster fire into the
hallway. It wasn't terribly accurate, but the barrage caught the
advancing troopers by surprise, forcing them to retreat back
toward the turbolift and the relative cover it provided. Even as
Tilyer and Linia ducked down again, Del'Goren was moving. He
leaned around the corner and threw a black sphere down the
hallway. The object bounced

310
and skittered along the floor and into the turbolift. The
lieutenant retreated back, covering his eyes with one arm.
Then the grenade went off with a muffled bang, not nearly the
result Tilyer had been expecting. As he chanced a peek into
the corridor, he could stormtroopers reeling, hands pressed
against their eyes.

Del'Goren wasted no time. He was up on his feet and down the

hallway in a matter of seconds, mercilessly pumping fire into
the turbolift car. By the time Tilyer and Linia caught up with
him, all four troopers lay unmoving on the deck.
Del'Goren knelt by one of the bodies, rifling through the dead
man's utility belt.

Tilyer slowly walked up to him with mouth agape, hardly

knowing what to say.

The dark-skinned pilot looked up at the two of them as they

approached. "Get a blaster rifleboth of you. You'll need the
extra firepower. You're going to be on your own from here on
out."

Tilyer frowned, "You're not coming with us?"

"No," he said simply.

"But what about you?" Tilyer protested, "We can't just

leave you here."

"I'll find my own way out. You two just get yourselves to an
escape pod." Del'Goren stood, hefting a blaster rifle to his
shoulder. "I've got a score to settle."

"Sir!"

Commander Venka turned away from the storm troopers he

assembled stormtroopers and looked to the crewman who
had addressed him. "What?"

"Sir, the squad you dispatched has made contact with the
prisoners."

"And?"

311
The crewman paused, listening intently to his commlink.
"I don't know, sir. I've lost contact with them."

Venka swore under his breath.

"Sir," another crewman interjected, "Our orbit is starting to

decay faster. We have just under and hour before the ship
begins to penetrate the planet's upper atmosphere. If we wait
much longer to evacuate, there isn't going to be another
chance."

Venka paused indecisively. "Fine," he finally growled, "Issue

the order." He gestured to the assembled troopers, "All of
you, follow me."

"Where are you going, Sir?" the bridge crewman asked.

Venka checked the charge on his blaster pistol and shoved it

back into the holster. "I'm going to find Raan and Taulin. I'm
not leaving this ship until I know for sure they are dead."

Tilyer peered out of the turbolift car into the nearly deserted
corridor beyond. Red emergency lights pulsated epileptically
overhead and an automated female voice repeated
instructions to abandon ship. A pair of crewmen fled down the
hallway, hardly even giving him a second look in their mad
flight for the escape pods.

"Okay, it's clear," he said, motioning Linia out after him.

She grimaced, her breath coming in beleaguered pants, "It's

getting harder to breathe in here."

"Yeah, I know. We must be venting atmosphere somewhere.

Let's hurry up and get out of here." He hefted his blaster and
moved out into the hallway, looking around once more before
cautiously trotting down the passage toward where he knew
a bank of escape pods was located.

312
They continued on down the corridor, casting furtive glances
down side passages as they went, but the ship seemed to be
deserted.

"What do you think Lieutenant Del'Goren was talking about?"

Linia asked as they went.

"I don't know," Tilyer said breathlessly, "but if I had to guess,

it has something to do with Commander Venka. I can't say for
sure."

"Why do you say that?"

"Just something he said after one of our missions. I don't

really know the details of it, and to tell you the truth I don't
think I want to. I just want to get the hell out of here.
Speaking of which, look."

Linia smiled with relief, looking ahead to where the hallway

emptied out before an array of escape pod hatches. When
they drew closer, however, that smile quickly faded. Each and
every one of the escape pods had already been jettisoned.

"Damn," Tilyer hissed, looking around in frustration.

"What are we going to do?"

"The only other bank of escape pods on this deck is located on

the other side of the ship. We're going to have to start back-
tracking."

"I don't know if I'll be able to make it," Linia wheezed.

Tilyer ignored her comment. Instead he motioned for her to

follow as he headed back toward the main corridor. Suddenly
he stopped in his tracks.

"What is it?" Linia asked

He was silent, peering down toward the curve in the hallway.

"I thought I heard something." He paused, listening intently.

At that moment a trio of stormtroopers rounded the corner at

a jog. They paused momentarily, lifting their rifles to their
shoulders to open fire. The hallway erupted with a hail of

313
blaster bolts as Tilyer roughly shoved Linia toward a side
passage, barreling after her with iridescent laser fire nipping
at his heels.

"How'd they find us?" Linia gasped.

"I don't know. Just go!"

Tilyer paused a moment to lean around the corner and trigger

a pair of shots back at the approaching troopers. One of the
blasts caught the lead trooper in the leg just below the pelvis.
He sagged against the wall for support, but his wounded
member gave out, and he toppled to the floor with a clatter.
Tilyer didn't wait to see if the others slowed up. He whipped
back around the corner and took off after Linia.

He caught up to her soon enough and motioned her down

through another hallway.

"What are we going to do?" she gasped.

"We gotta keep moving and make our way to the other side of
the ship."

"How do we even know there are any pods left at all?" she
protested.

"Don't worry about it, just keep moving!"

They headed off, rounding another corner. Linia sprinted

down the hallway as Tilyer paused, turning back to unleash a
volley of fire as their pursuers came into view. The hastily
aimed shots missed, but it forced the stormtroopers to seek
cover in a side passage as blaster bolts tore through the area
they had just occupied. Tilyer didn't wait for them to
reemerge and took off down the hallway after Linia.

After a brief flight the corridor dead-ended into a T-intersection,

but he could find no sign of Linia. He looked both ways,
desperately trying to decide which direction to go. Suddenly
blaster fire splashed off the bulkhead to the right, throwing up a
cloud of pinkish smoke as Linia came tearing out from a side
hallway, multiple bolts coruscating behind her.

"Go!" she shouted breathlessly, running toward Tilyer full-tilt.

314
Tilyer turned to run back the other way just as three
stormtroopers appeared from out of the side passage behind
Linia. Almost simultaneously the two troopers who had been
pursuing them previously appeared down the hall from where
he had just emerged. Tilyer put on a desperate burst of speed
and headed in the only direction he could, dodging into
another passage, this one considerably larger than the last. As
he skidded to a stop, he realized where he wasthe
promenade, the main corridor that ran down the spine of the
ship.

Linia appeared behind him a moment later, chest heaving

with exertion. She roughly shoved him into motion again, and
the two of them thoughtlessly took off down the hall. Any
sense of direction he had previously held had been obliterated
by the headlong flight through the Enforcer's innards. His
mind raced nearly as fast as his legs, desperately trying to get
his bearings and figure out which way to go next. He wasn't
allowed that chance, however, as the trailing stormtroopers
appeared behind them. To make matters worse, up ahead he
caught sight of one of the ship's huge blast doors as it began
to grind downward over the hallway. He just gritted his teeth
and barreled ahead anyway.

"Keep going!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"We're not going to make it!" Linia yelled from behind.

Tilyer ignored her and kept going, striving to squeeze every

ounce of speed he could from his straining muscles. When the
door was barely half a meter off the ground, he kicked his
legs out from under himself, sliding underneath the blast
doors in a blur of descending steel. He twisted around to see
Linia take a head-first dive beneath the door. The pursuing
stormtroopers opened up, sending bolts of iridescent energy
through the hallway, into the floor, and against the blast
doors, but none of them hit the blur of olive gray that shot
underneath the slab of steel. Linia slid to a stop just as the
doors ground shut, drowning out the whine of discharging
blasters.

Tilyer rolled over, laboriously lifting his blaster rifle to his

shoulder. He rose to his feet as fast as he could and triggered a
shot into the blast door controls. The computer display fizzled in
a shower of sparks and then died. Tilyer pumped

315
another blast into it for good measure, then moved over
to Linia and offered her his hand.

"C'mon, we need to keep moving."

She looked up at him wheezing, her breath coming in ragged

pants. For a moment she looked as if she was about to refuse,
as if she wanted to say that she couldn't go on anymore, but
she just nodded and took his hand.

"How . . . did they know . . . where to find us?" she gasped,

trying to catch her breath as Tilyer hauled her up.

"Someone has to be plugged into the security system. They

must be communicating over commlinks."

"You think it's Commander Venka?"

"You can bet on it. Come on, we need to get out of here. That
door isn't going to hold them for long."

He started to head off down the hallway, but Linia

stopped him.

"Do you know how to get to the escape pods from here?"

"We'll work our way around," he reassured her.

"We can't keep running blind like this," she protested.

"They'll box us in sooner or later."

"And we can't just sit here either. We've got to keep moving!"
Behind them the blast door shuddered. "They'll be through
any minute, come on!"

Linia's next statement died on her lips as he grabbed her

arm and pulled her after him and down the corridor.

Tilyer barreled down the hallway, frantically searching for a

route that would get them closer to the escape pods on the
other side of the ship. His lungs were on fire and his legs had
turned to jelly, but still he kept up the headlong pace. A few
seconds later he reached the passage he had been looking
for, but another sight made him stop in his tracks.

316
Ahead of them barely ten meters down the hallway stood
Commander Venka flanked on either side by a quartet of
stormtroopers. His face twisted into a vicious sneer as he
leveled his pistol at the two of them. "The game's up," he
growled. "Now it's time for you to die."

If Venka was going to say anything else, Tilyer didn't give him
a chance. He shoved Linia into the side passage just as a
storm of blaster fire erupted through the hallway. He barreled
after her as blaster bolts scorched and pinged off of the walls
around him. Then they were out of sight, once again racing
down the hallway with no sense of direction.

"After them!" Venka shouted.

Tilyer didn't look back. He could tell by the sound of booted

feet upon the deck that the troopers were in hot pursuit. He
grabbed Linia and pulled her to the nearest cross passage
before the troopers had a chance to fire again, and then they
were off. Moments later, he was about to take another corner
when a call from Linia stopped him.

"Wait!"

He turned to see her bent over a computer console mounted

in one of the walls.

"Just cover me!" she shouted.

Tilyer growled something unintelligibly and switched

directions, trotting past her toward the hallway intersection.
He hefted his blaster to his shoulder and chanced a glance
around the corner. He briefly caught sight of the white-
armored figures down the hall before a flurry of blaster bolts
splashed over the bulkhead beside him.

"Damn!" He cursed, pulling back from the corner. "They're

right on our ass," he called to Linia. "We gotta go!"

"Hold them off just a minute longer!"

317
"We don't have a minute!"

Nonetheless, he whipped around corner again, unleashing a trio

of shots at the oncoming troopers. One bolt caught the lead
trooper just below the chin, searing into the unprotected seam
between chest plate and helmet. The eyes of his helmet flashed
red for a brief instant, and he collapsed to the floor with a clatter
like so much dead weight. The other men returned fire, but Tilyer
had already pulled back. Still, the death of their comrade had
given them pause, and they began to pull back slightly, moving
to what cover they could find in the hallway. He leaned out to
unleash another volley of fire, but the shots just impacted
harmlessly along the bulkhead.

"Are you done yet?" he shouted back to Linia.

"Almost there."

"Damn it," he swore, tilting outward to trigger another

ineffectual blast at the stormtroopers down the hall. They
returned fire, but none of the three seemed inclined to
advance down the hall again.

And then Tilyer found out why.

A torrent of bolts tore through the air above his head, blasting
the walls and spraying his face with hot bits of molten steel.
He blinked through the stinging haze just long enough to
glimpse the squad of troopers advancing from the other end
of the intersecting hallway. He shrunk back, trading shots
with the new arrivals as the squad he had pinned down before
darted forward.

"They worked another squad around. I can't hold them

off!" he called to Linia.

"Just give me another second!"

Tilyer grunted and reached around the corner, blindly

pumping the trigger at the advancing troopers. The blaster
popped and whined anemically before a renewed volley of fire
forced Tilyer back.

He checked the power charge on the weapon. It was

dangerously low. "I'm almost out of juice over here!" he
shouted over his shoulder.

318
"Okay, I got it!" Linia announced. "Follow me. Lets go!"

Tilyer didn't need to be told twice. He ran after Linia as she

dashed down the hallway, pausing a moment to select
another passage, and then darting off once more.

"Where are we going?" he wheezed as they ran.

"Escape pod bank," she breathed, "the computer says

there are two pods left."

"How far?"

She didn't have a chance to respond as blaster bolts tore

through the air around them. Linia reached a bend in the
passage, turning back to unleash a barrage of covering fire
as Tilyer dashed after her. He had almost turned the corner,
and then an icy dagger of pain bit deep into his upper thigh.
Before he even knew what was happening he hit the ground,
and his senses exploded into fire.

"After them!" Venka shouted, urging his troopers after the

fleeing officers. He moved to follow as the stormtroopers
raced off down the hallway, but stopped with a sudden
premonition. He spun around, shoving his blaster toward the
black- clad figure standing further down the passage. His
finger twitched on the trigger, but he didn't fire.

"Show yourself!"

The figure moved closer, red emergency lights gleaming off of

his bald head.

Venka furrowed his brow in confusion and then relaxed in

realization. "Lieutenant Del'Goren!" He gave a relieved sigh
and holstered the pistol. "Thank Goodness. You scared me. I
thought everyone else would have been off of the ship by
now."

Del'Goren shook his head, "There is still business to attend to

here."

Venka nodded. "Yes, Raan and Taulin. We have to cut them

off before they reach the escape pods. We could use your
help."

319
"No."

Venka frowned. "What do you mean, no?"

"That's not what I'm here for."

Del'Goren stepped closer. Then in one smooth motion, he

drew the blaster from his belt and leveled it at Venka's face.

The commander's eyes widened in shock. He started to go for

his own side arm, but the steely look in Del'Goren's eyes
gave him pause. He wouldn't be able to so much as touch his
own firearm before the lieutenant's blaster bolt found him.

"You're in league with them," he spat instead, trying to stall

for time. "You're in league with those traitors."

Del'Goren's glower deepened. "You want to talk about

treason? You of all people? You bastard, you murdered
Captain Ygra."

That comment caught Venka off-guard, but he quickly snarled

back"I did only what was necessary."

"Necessary to get you promoted, you sniveling sack of

slime," Del'Goren growled.

"Ygra would have had us all killed in his blind quest for glory.
His incompetence slew more of his own men than the
enemy. He was an old fool whose time had passed."

"Don't give me that line. It might have worked on Dusat, but

it sure as hell won't work on me. The Captain was a good
man and an Imperial officer. He deserved better. Better
than you deserve for damn surebetter than you'll get. I'm
here to make sure of that."

Del'Goren made a gesture with his blaster, and Venka took his
chance. He surged forward, both hands grabbing for the
weapon. Even as he wrapped his hands around that pistol,
Del'Goren smashed his knee into Venka's crotch. The
commander doubled over. His hands immediately forgot the
gun and flew to his groin. Before they could reach it,
Del'Goren slammed the butt of his blaster into the bridge of
his nose. Venka's vision exploded with stars as he reeled
backward, collapsing on the deck.

320
He started to mumble something through the blood burbling
from his nose and down his chin, but a shake of Del'Goren's
head made him stop.

"Save it. I don't care what you have to say. You're dead."

The blaster whined, and Commander Venka sank back against

the deck, a charred blaster wound smoldering between his
eyes.

"Can you walk?"

Tilyer moaned, trying to make sense of her words over a

cacophony of discharging blasters.

He craned his neck back, watching as Linia knelt by his side

and hooked an arm underneath his shoulders. "Come on, get
up!"

He groaned. His legs felt like jelly.

"Get up damn you!"

Tilyer grunted, his rubbery legs kicking feebly as they tried to

find purchase upon the floor. Linia discharged her blaster
down the hallway as she pulled him around the corner. With
her help, Tilyer managed to stagger to his feet, finally
standing to lean unsteadily against the bulkhead. His head
swam, and he could feel the cooked wound throbbing and
pulsing. He staggered backward with Linia's help, looking
around for where he had dropped his blaster.

Linia seemed to anticipate his next statement. "Leave it.

The escape pods are just ahead. Go, I'll hold them off!"

Tilyer nodded and started to limp down the hallway. White hot
flashes of pain knifed through his senses with each step, but
he kept going, stumbling toward the bank of escape pods
looming ahead.

The corridor widened out, opening into the pod foyer where
two other passages emptied out into the foyer from either
side of him. Half a dozen hatches studded the wall across
from him, the lights on two of which indicated the pods were
still attached.

321
Tilyer breathed a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be
listening and headed toward them as fast as he could. He
hobbled past the mouth of one of the side passages just as
another figure came tearing through the hallway. Tilyer
stopped, perched precariously on his wounded leg as he came
face to face with Gabel Thahlwin.

For a moment both simply stared at each other, unsure of what

to do. Both thought the other would have been off the ship
now. They studied each other in stunned silence. Then Gable
lunged. Tilyer shifted his weight, planning to hip toss the larger
man into the bulkhead behind him, but his injured leg faltered.
He crumpled like a tin can as Gabel's shoulder crashed into
him. He reeled backward beneath the larger man's weight,
striking the wall behind him with a dull thud.

Gabel took a step toward him, but never got farther than that.
A wave of blue energy coursed over him, lighting every nerve
on fire as his body jerked spasmodically like an epileptic
marionette. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and
he collapsed to the ground.

Tilyer twisted around to see Linia standing just behind him,

blaster clutched in her hands. He started to offer a word of
thanks, but a flurry of blaster bolts splashed off the floor
around her. She spun back toward the bend in the hallway
and unleashed a hail of blaster bolts in the other direction.

"Get him into the pod!" she shouted over the din.

Tilyer looked over to where Gabel lay motionless on the

floor. He momentarily thought of refusing. For a moment, he
contemplated leaving him there to perish along with
the Enforcer as the ship crashed into Belsavis. He actually
considered leaving him there to die. And for one tedious
second, Tilyer thought he might have deserved it.

But no matter how Gabel had betrayed them, Tilyer

couldn't just leave him to die.

He picked himself up off the floor and hooked his arms under
Gabel's shoulders. He grunted, heaving with all of his might
as he began to drag the unconscious crewman toward one of
the remaining escape pods.

322
Gabel was heavier than he looked, but Tilyer managed to lug
his dead weight to the pod hatch. He hit the door release
with his elbow and hauled Gabel into the cramped
compartment beyond. The unconscious man flopped to the
ground, and Tilyer turned back toward the hatch.

"Come on, let's go!"

Linia threw him a glance over her shoulder. She triggered a

pair of shots down the hall before she turned and ran.
Tilyer's heart pounded in his chest as he reached out a hand,
beckoning her forward. She was barely five meters from the
pod when a pair of stormtroopers charged out from the
hallway. They paused, lifting their rifles to their shoulders.
And then the foyer erupted in a hail of crimson. Blaster fire
flashed by Linia's fleeing form, scorching the walls and
ricocheting off the bulkhead. Then Linia lunged.

Her eyes held a look of desperation, that adrenaline-fed guise

of someone who knew her life was riding on one precarious
moment. But then her eyes changed, widening with a shock
that the rest of her face couldn't mirror. Tilyer reached out
with both hands as she stumbled forward, collapsing into his
arms as he tumbled back against the deck.

Tilyer lashed out with his foot. His heel connected with door
release, and the hatched hissed shut. There was a split second
pause, and then the rockets flared, flinging the capsule out
into the cold reaches of space. Tilyer lay back, his whole body
shaking with relief.

And then he laughed.

He couldn't think of anything else to do. It was like a huge

weight had been lifted from his chest, and he couldn't think of
any other way to express the feelings surging within his
breast. For a long moment he simply lay there laughing,
watching the stars spin outside the viewport with intoxicated
joy.

But then he realized something. He was the only one laughing.

Slowly he looked up. Linia's head lay motionless on his chest.
Several strands of hair had come loose, dangling over her face
like limp feathers. Her face was white, and her eye had lost that
spark, staring sightlessly over his shoulder.

323
A cold terror gripped him. He wrapped his arms around her
back, trying to haul her up. "Linia! Linia, stay with me!"

Then he felt ita warm, sticky substance smearing the back of

her uniform. The open gash beneath his hand did not pulse the
hot fervor of wounded flesh. It was deathly still. He didn't need
to see it to know what it was, or what had happened.

He let her body sag down against him. His former mirth was
gone. Now he just felt hollow inside. He lay back on the deck
and watched the stars spin, feeling her dead weight press
against his chest.

The flat-nosed imperial officer stared down from his perch

upon the bench. The admiral was flanked on either side by a
pair of officers of slightly lesser rank, but all wore the same
stern expression. Standing before them in the middle of the
towering Grand Imperial Hall, Lieutenant Del'Goren
suddenly felt very small.

The admiral glared down at the dark-skinned pilot. "Now then,

Lieutenant, if you would be so kind as to give the court your
rendition of the events that took place on the Enforcer."

Del'Goren met and held the officer's gaze. "As I said in my

written statement, a malfunction occurred while the
technicians were enacting repairs upon one of the TIE
fighters. The resulting explosion touched off the ship's fuel
reserves and crippled her. Her orbit deteriorated until she
crashed into the planet's surface."

One of the other tribunal officers nodded, "Yes, we have

heard other crewmen testify to that fact. We are more
interested in hearing what events took place after the general
order to abandon ship."

"Sir?"

He consulted a datapad. "Data from your escape pod shows

that it was launched at 0234 standard hours, a full fifteen

324
minutes after the general order was issued, as described
by the rest of the survivors. Why the delay?"

"Did the other crewman inform you of the incident with

Flight Officer Raan and Ensign Taulin?"

The admiral nodded, "Yes, we know of the attempted mutiny."

"From what I gleaned from Commander Venka, the guard in

the brig was attempting to move them from their cell to an
escape pod when they overpowered him and tried to escape.
Commander Venka took command of the stormtrooper
detachment on board and went to hunt them down. He
requested my assistance."

"If you were hunting down the fugitives along with

Commander Venka, why is it that you are here and he is not?"

"The Enforcer was rapidly descending. Commander Venka saw

no need in me staying aboard when he had several
stormtroopers at his disposal. He ordered me to abandon ship
shortly after Raan and Taulin made it apparent they weren't
going to be taken easily."

"Do you believe they had anything to do with the explosion

onboard?"

Del'Goren shook his head. "I don't see how, sir. They were in
their cells the whole time. They had no access to the fighter
bay. Commander Venka went after them because he wanted
to ensure they did not somehow escape his custodynot
because he thought they actually caused the explosion."

"It sounds as if Commander Venka was an exemplary officer."

Del'Goren swallowed the distaste in his mouth. "Yes sir.

Unfortunately, sir, it appears that wasn't enough. After I
jettisoned my escape pod, I did not see any other pods launch
before the Enforcer hit the planet's surface. Most of it burned
up in the atmosphere on its way down. I doubt anyone could
have survived."

The tribunal members nodded. "From what we have seen, we

have to concur in this matter. Thus, we have no choice but to
rule the demise of theEnforcer and its crew an accident."

325
With an air of finality, the admiral rapped his gavel on the
desk.

Del'Goren gave a soft sigh as he watched the officers file out

of the room. He stood there as the sound of shuffling feet
receded from the hall, leaving him alone in the cavernous
chamber. He craned his neck upward, studying the intricately
carved curves of the ceiling. His thoughts went back to the
first time he had seen him, that stoic youth that had been so
filled with nationalistic pride. He smiled.

"Raan," he said softly, "Where ever you are, I hope it

was worth it."

An icy wind whipped and howled over Belsavis' ice plains,

swirling through channels and furrows like a pack of wolves
bounding along the landscape. Tilyer Raan stood with his arms
folded, bundled tightly against the cold as he stoically looked
down at the frozen wreck that had once been his TIE fighter.
The mass of mangled metal creaked as the salvage sled's
grapple arm latched on, straining to extricate the wreckage
from the frozen earth.

"What do you plan to do with it?"

He looked to his right where Tana Yin'Baara stood by his side,

watching the scene below.

When he didn't reply immediately, she turned her face up to

him, eyes squinting against the wind and face flushed from
the cold. "Hey, you listening?"

"Yeah," he replied slowly. "I'm just not quite sure." He sighed,

"I guess I could try to rebuild it, but I doubt it would look
anything like it should, or if it would even fly again, for that
matter."

Her face scrunched up in confusion. "So why come all the way
out here?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. It just felt like what I was

supposed to do, I guess. I actually thought about naming it."
He laughed at some private joke.

"What are you going to call it?"

326
He shrugged, "Vigilance has a nice ring to it."

Tana nodded, pretending to understand the significance. A

short silence stretched out between them before she spoke
again.

"So what about Gabel?"

"What about him?"

"He still seems pretty mad at you."

Tilyer looked over to where Gabel sat in the cab of the hover
sled staring resolutely forward.

"He'll get over it. He knows I didn't have to do what I did for
him up there. That's what's eating himknowing who he owes
his life to. Anyway, I've already forgiven him. There's no use
in holding grudges anymore, not after what we've been
through. He'll realize the same thing. Just give him time.

Tana shook her head. "I still don't understand what went on
up there."

"It's complicated," Tilyer replied noncommittally.

Again silence reigned before Tana interceded.

"So are you going to stay here for a while?" She grinned
sheepishly, "After what you did for us, even Oltan couldn't say
no."

He gave her a sad smile. "I don't think I would make a

very good farmer."

"You're probably right," she said, returning the smile.

"But what else would you do? Go home?"

He shook his head. "I can't go back home. If word gets

out that I'm alive, the first people to suffer will be my
family. I can't let that happen to them."

"Well what about joining the rebels?"

"The Rebels aren't any better than the Empire."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

327
"Like I said before, it's complicated."

"So explain it to me."

He sighed. "They're both out for their own interests. They try
to come off as great philanthropists who want to change the
galaxy for the better, but they're all just looking out for
number one. They don't care about the people like your
family, the ones who just want to be left out of the whole
damn mess. I don't want to be a part of that ideology any
more. People can't just flock to whatever banner is flopping
in the wind at the moment and expect things to turn out
right. That's how the Empire started. A man has to find his
own way through the universe, or else he'll become a slave
to someone else's ideals. If I've learned anything from all of
this, it's that in this galaxy, there is no true black and white.
It's all just a bunch of gray."

Tana was silent, mulling over those words. She looked up

at him again, but he silently watched as the salvage sled
continued its work. She opened her mouth as if to say
something but stopped. Instead, she slipped an arm around
his shoulders and watched as the crane lifted the mangled
fighter into the air, reviving it from its icy tomb to be
reborn anew.
The Tale of the Headhunter
By: Doug Macdonald

High above a dull, milky-gray cataract eye of a world a rebel

assault shuttle appeared from lightspeed, without warning
and to the complete shock of the entire crew. The Salvation
had just made the jump to hyperspace only moments ago
after a hit and run rescue mission, to suddenly find
themselves violently pulled back into real space. With a
shudder, metal screeched as though the ship was going to
tear itself apart. It rocked, engines sputtering. Proximity
alarms went off like a pack of shrieking womprats; rebel
troopers and officers ran about to regain their stations. The
captain stood from his chair, taking it all in.

"Shields up to full. All available batteries standby."

The captain's first mate came running to him at that

moment. "Sir, sir, it appears we've..."

The captain cut him off sharply. "We've been caught by

an interdiction field."

"Sir!" Came another voice. "Weapons are still running at

thirty percent."

"Damn. Full stop. Turn this crate around. How are shields?"

"Sixty and rising. Won't get more than seventy-two."

Another voice came at the captain, "Sir two ships coming

in, one's a capital, the other a freighter."

Racing almost along the exact trajectory as the Salvation,

the first was a freighter called the Scour, which was
desperately trying to evade a barrage of laser blasts coming
from an Imperial Star Destroyer. The two were heading on
a collision course toward the Salvation at full throttle.

Take evasive action!" the captain called out, taking his

command chair. He watched as slowly, interminably his ship
rotated to escape the two ships. His eyes wavered
uncertainly for the first time to his first mate.

"This was supposed to be the easy part," he muttered. His

ship had been badly damaged from a long hard battle.
The Salvation had just attacked an Imperial prison facility on
Tanteract, rescuing seventy-seven rebel prisoners. The
mission to hit the world and save as many prisoners as
possible had been carefully planned for months. All available
reports showed that once the attack was done within the
projected timed guidelines; there was no window of
opportunity for the Empire to get a capital ship there for
support in time to stop them. And yet here they were, yanked
from hyperspace and under attack. The rescue mission had
caused them severe damage, mostly to their weapons
systems and their shields. And it appeared that their sudden
drop down to sub-light had tortured their engines as well.

"Captain Merrill! We're being hailed by the freighter sir."

The first mate interjected at this point, leaving the Captain to

oversee the retreat. "Very well, open a channel. This is
Lieutenant Mortwick of the starship Salvation. What is your
status freighter?"

An alien sound came through the bridge's speakers, clearly it

was another language, but the sound that had made it could
not be classified as a voice. It sounded like a deep bass-like
rumble, and it was not in their computer's translation banks.

"We can't make anything from it, sir, but the ship
is broadcasting a distress signal."

Mortwick grunted at this. "I bet." Assault Shuttles like assault

frigates had no docking bays, but did have several umbilical
docking tubes. They could not understand the alien's plea, but
it was obvious to all that the freighter was in distress, being
fired upon by a Star Destroyer. They couldn't just leave the
freighter to its own devices, and yet slowing down to allow the
ship to dock could very well doom them all.

The first mate stood, nervously watching the viewscreens

as the Star Destroyer came at them. If they were going to
do something, they had better do it quick. Uncertainly, the
Lieutenant made his decision. "Close the channel, we can't
afford to..."

"Negative, Lieutenant," the captain cut in.

"With all due respect captain, that unmarked freighter is likely

to be a smuggler, or something worse.

We need to get out of here."

The captain nodded once. "That ship doesn't stand a chance,

and besides we could use its firepower if we're going to get
out of this mess. Slow this crate down and allow the ship to
dock. I just hope that pilot is good enough to try a high speed
dock."

"But sir, what about that Star Destroyer?"

"We're going to ignore it. Make a heading toward the

Interdictor cruiser in the distance. Our only priority is to get
back to base and we can't do that until we shut down that
gravity well."

The Salvation rocked at that moment as several stray blasts

hit its shields. The captain watched as the space freighter
closed the gap between them, and to the captain's relief, the
pilot was good enough to dock. It took only a few quick
moments for the Scour to dock with the assault shuttle.

Turning at that moment, front shields at full, the shuttle

launched itself at the Star Destroyer, firing all available
weapons. When the Star Destroyer fired back the Empire was

331
too late, its velocity was too great, and both ships
passed each other without inflicting any major damage.

Inside of the assault shuttle, a small-armed security team

made their way to the docking tube to greet the visitor and
determine if the pilot was friend or foe. The docking tube was
silent; distantly the security team could hear the muffled
explosions of laser blasts impacting against the shields. The
airlock opened, revealing the Scour's tall gray docking door.
The team waited a breath before stepping forward. The door
to the freighter opened with a loud click and a soft hiss.

No one appeared.

They could hear rhythmic dripping coming from inside the

ship. There was moisture on the inside of the hatch, and it ran
off into a small puddle onto the deck plates of the docking
tube. No other sound could be heard, except for the soft
dripping of water.

The security sergeant motioned for two of his men to step

forward to take a look. Two of the armored troopers warily
made their way forward until the dripping was splattering on
their helmets as they stepped into the darkness. The floor
plates trembled as a fearful roar rattled every transparisteel
window in the docking tube. The two forward guards were
violently pulled into the darkness with screams that were
abruptly silenced. The welcoming party had just enough to
time to bring their weapons up before a creature came racing
down the docking tube. Its entire bulk filled the hallway and it
was a wonder that it could close the distance between it and
its prey in such small quarters, so quickly.

Stomping through the tunnel was a nahlee, a lizard-like

creature, with large flat feet with only two toes; it did not
stand erect, but bobbed, its spine completely perpendicular
to its legs. It had a short stubby tail that swayed with each
step, acting as a balancing tool. Its large head was nearly a
meter long and almost half as wide with tiny brown eyes that
seemed to dart everywhere. As it ran, its maw remained

332
opened, as if hungry, displaying a row of teeth that were
numerous and sharp. Its skin was thick and leathery and
patched with dark green. Mashed between its teeth were the
remains of the two forward guards.

The sergeant disappeared next, his upper torso caught in the

nahlee's mouth. The creature stopped, firmly planting its feet
onto the metal deck. It spun and whipped its tail sweeping the
rest of the security squad across the bay. Laser blasts went
wild, striking the ceiling and the walls. The acrid smoke from
the damage seemed to enrage the beast further and it turned
and let loose a roar so loud all other sound was drowned out.
And then it stomped into the group of men.

The pilot of the Scour appeared from his ship when the battle
was complete, walking with large hulking feet that smacked
the metal with each stride. The creature held only a wooden
staff with three branches growing from the top. The alien
murmured to himself in that same low bass-rumble the bridge
crew had heard earlier. As he appeared from the shadows of
his ship, it was clear that the creature was a full two feet taller
than the average human. His skin was yellow up the front,
while the back was patched heavily with a darker green. His
exaggerated arms dragged across the floor and his long fat
neck seemed to stretch forever. Crimson eyes scrutinized
everything. It was an Amanin.

He continued to walk forward, mumbling to himself. When he

reached the dying, screaming security team he gave a slight
bow of his triangular head and patted the nahlee on the head.

The Amanin slipped into the main corridor, mindful of the new
alarms coming from the docking tube.

The alien slipped down into another darkened hallway,

everything was submerged in an eerie red glow as the ship
went to red alert. Already more humans were racing to the
docking tube to see what the new commotion was. The
Amanin rumbled aloud now, pretending to try to communicate
with the oncoming humans, he kept his face calm, red eyes
deep and dark. With eerie calm, the creature waved one of his

333
great arms in the direction he had come.

The leader of the squad kept his weapon trained on the alien.
"Take the squad ahead, and shut down this corridor, I don't
want anymore surprises." The humans turned and continued
their race. The squad leader remained behind with another
officer.

"You there, follow us."

The Amanin rumbled and gestured to the docking tube again.

"Our men will handle the situation sir, but this area must be
locked down, including all sentients within. When everything is
back under control, you will be sent to your ship until the
captain has a moment to greet you personally. So if you'll just
come with us." The guard motioned with his weapon that he
was serious.

The creature seemed to shrug in resignation and stepped up

to the two guards. They lifted their chins to look the creature
in the eyes; it was a long way up to look. The Amanin's palms
fell to their shoulders, fingers so long, that the tips reached
the small of their backs. He patted their shoulders as if to
say, 'sure, no problem'. The guard, who had done the talking
nodded his head, pleased that a fight would not ensue.

A messy explosion of red and gray matter splattered the

bulkhead. What remained of the two soldiers fell to the
ground, headless. The alien turned his hands around to see
the remains of the guards. The head in his right hand was still
intact; the left was a thick mass of skull and flesh. He
dropped the mess of human head and stuck the intact head
onto a spike of his wooden stick. Satisfied, the alien continued
through the Salvation. He moved with great speed, swinging
from the overhead pipes.

Occasionally he would let itself drop to the floor, where he would

waddle on its short legs. The ship rocked violently again

334
as the Star Destroyer let loose another barrage of blasts,
which was keeping a modest distance in order to keep it in
its sights. The Amanin came across several other
crewmembers that met the same demise as the guards.
And then the hunter entered the bridge.

Captain Merrill seemed not to notice, as he was intently

watching the viewscreen before him and the Interdictor
cruiser they were attacking. One of the gravity well projectors
on the starcruiser erupted into a massive flame. With that
down, so was the gravity field that kept
the Salvation prisoner. A cheer erupted through the bridge,
but Merrill remained grim, knowing they were far from free.
The jump to hyperspace lay ahead, and there was no telling if
the ship could survive it.

Many of the crew turned to look at the intruder, but before

any move could be made, the Amanin withdrew a modified
BlasTech rifle (modified to fit his gargantuan hands) and
opened fire. Several dozen blaster shots later, after the smoke
and confusion cleared itself, only one man remained alive.
Captain Merrill. He knelt before his command chair, with his
hands over his head, shaking with fright.

The Salvation sailed silently through space, weapons no

longer firing. As the ship rocked again from attack, the alien
seemed to pay no attention to the captain, as though he did
not know one man still lived. He made his way to the main
controls and punched in several commands, rerouting all
remaining weapon power to the shields. With that done, the
creature plotted a nav jump and relayed it over to his ship's
computer.

Merrill, finally finding his strength again, slipped a blaster

out of his dead lieutenant's hand and made himself visible.
The Amanin reacted as violently as the nahlee had and sent
the captain flying across the bridge with one swipe of his
giant hand.

Moment's later under a final and continuous assault against

the Salvation the Scour disembarked from the failing ship
and blasted away from the battle. The Destroyer, intent on

335
the rebel ship, fired a few shots at the Scour without much
success. With coordinates set, the freighter disappeared with
a shudder of pseudomotion leaving behind the fiery
destruction of the Salvation and the death of the seventy-
seven rebel prisoners.

The Scour was one of the less-known freighters in the

Hunter's Guild, it was a centuries old design of the Mon
Calamari that had been discarded when the Mon Cal's
abandoned their efforts to build freighters in order to provide
the Rebellion with warships. The ship was similar in shape to
a manta ray, with a large front that hooked back in two great
wings. Protruding from the center-rear portion of the ship was
a single thruster. The belly of the ship had also been fitted
with smaller fatter cylinder-like thrusters. The cockpit sat atop
of the starship, toward the front, giving the pilot a wide view
of the galaxy around him. The ship was heavy and bulky, and
slowing it down even more was the thick heavy armor that
protected it.

The interior of the ship had been heavily modified to allow for
the comfort of Amanins. The cockpit controls had to be
completely water resistant to be able to withstand the amount
of moisture that Amanins found comfortable. Their wrinkly
skin had to be kept moist for the most part, although most
could live under the driest conditions for long periods of time.
Running along either side of the hallways were small ditches
catching the moisture to be recycled back into the ship's
environment. Water dripped continuously in every room and
every hallway of the Scour.

Several different kinds of vegetation were also thriving on the

ship. Mosses and algae covered the metal walls in great
patches, while olive green plants littered the hallways, plants
with yellow fronds that were found on the Amanin homeworld
of Maridun. These plants offered camouflage for the Amanins,
although not needed on the freighter it was akin to painting a
room with your favorite color.

The Amanin, known as Skr'tee in the Hunter's Guild rarely

used this spacecraft, and then only on important missions.
The Scour was never seen at Jabba's Palace, instead the

336
Amanin chose a simple GAT-12j Skipray to be seen in, which
he used for most of his hunts. Satisfied that the ship had not
been heavily damaged, the Amanin slipped from his oversized
pilot chair and swinging from the branches that were growing
across the ceiling, made his way down to the cargo bay.

Skr'tee's apprentice met the bounty hunter there. The cargo

bay looked like a jungle, hanging from the ceiling were great
vines that dripped from the continuous moisture. A thick layer
of soil covered the deck plates sprouting dozens of varieties
of ferns from the homeworld.

The apprentice was a smaller creature who spent most of his

spare time with the nahlee, ensuring the creature was well
taken care of and well fed. There they exchanged a few words
about the condition of the ship and of the nahlee. Skr'tee
asked in his native tongue.
Averting his eyes the apprentice replied:

The nahlee stopped chewing on a rebel officer for a moment

to look up at Skr'tee as though it knew it was being talked
about. After a few seconds the nahlee resumed its meal.
Strewn across the ground were dozens of severed heads that
the creature didn't even consider for food. The beast was
chained down by both hind legs, never free to roam the ship
unless it had a purpose to. Skr'tee came up to the nahlee
which dwarfed even the Amanin and hit the creature across
the snout with his staff. The nahlee shuffled back, shuddering.
The Amanin swept up all of the heads into his hands, fitting no
less than four in each.

In the rear of the cargo bay was a tiny cell, the bars of which
were charged with pure energy. Behind it, Captain Merrill sat
trying to ignore the awful crunching of bone that at one time
belonged to his crew. "What's happened to my ship?" he
demanded. "Where are the rest of my crew?" Skr'tee was
silent. "All right then, where are you taking me?"

The bounty hunter ignored the human and began placing the
heads in a metal tub where they would be chemically treated
to remain fresh for years to come. Skr'tee held his two hands

337
together, bringing them to his gleaming ruby eyes. The heads
stared back blankly; the Amanin did not notice the blood on
his hands. These heads were unremarkable as most humans
went, oh there were one or two that caught his eyes, but the
others he would bring back home and add to his collection. It
was Merrill that the Amanin wanted and so there lay the
problem. Jabba the Hutt had put a bounty on the captain,
quite a large one in fact but it only paid so well when the
hunted one was brought in alive. Yes, Merrill would fit nicely
on his new staff, very nicely indeed. The head was a good
size. The eyes would have to be removed of course, but this
human had excellent bone structure, his jaw was long and
the cheeks hollow. An excellent specimen indeed.

"Hey, you!" the captain shouted. The nahlee, hearing the

disturbance growled in annoyance and set its eyes on the
rebel captain. The Amanin stepped up to the cell, staring
down; a thick translucent tongue appeared from the
creatures' mouth running across his thin blood red lips.

"What ever you're getting paid is small compared to what I

can get you. Other bounties as well. I have some friends in
the Rebellion that needs hunters. Can you understand me?
Are you listening?"

Skr'tee turned to the nahlee and simply stared at the

creature. The nahlee stood up on its hind legs with a roar and
raced over to the cell. The apprentice fell back in surprise.
Each time the beasts' massive foot came down, the floor
rocked, throwing Merrill to the ground. The creature stopped
only inches away from the charged bars, caught by its
chains, and then gave a piercingly loud burst of a roar. Merrill
closed his eyes and covered his ears with his hands. Nahlee's
were empaths to a certain degree, when they spent enough
time around a master; they developed a rapport, where most
of the time speech was not needed to command them.
Skr'tee had grown this particular creature from a babe, and
their mental rapport felt impervious at times.

Skr'tee switched off the power to the cell and opened it.
Merrill was still quaking in his uniform when the Amanin

338
stepped up to him, his long fingers wrapping around his
head...

Skr'tee arrived on Tatooine late into the night when the planet
was at its coolest, and the court of Jabba the Hutt was full to
capacity. The Amanin arrived in the Skipray, its precious
nahlee back on Maridun where it was free to roam. He had
learned from the past not to bring the nahlee to Jabba's
palace too often. It would always be brought in to fight
Jabba's latest beast, now a rancor. As much as Skr'tee
enjoyed the bloodbaths, both the nahlee and rancor would not
stop until both were dead. To have a dead nahlee was not
profitable in any way, even for its head.

Skr'tee entered the Palace, walking with his wooden cane

covered by a tattered cloth, followed by his apprentice. The
younger creature had no name as he had not earned it by
going through the Amanin right of passage, but the creature
was six feet tall and had green skin running up the front of his
belly and the back was a darker, moss green color. Following
the two aliens, was a jade protocol droid, painted with stripes
along its back similar to Skr'tee. The droid had been modified
over the years, its neck stretched and elongated to look more
'Amanamanish'. Its normal human-like hands were replaced
by great clumsy looking digits that looked completely out of
place on the droid. The protocol droid carried a brown sack full
of something meaty and wet.

Stopping suddenly, the headhunter turned to his apprentice,

wrapping his elongated fingers around the smaller Amanin's
head. Menacingly, Skr'tee leaned over and with a violent tug,
brought the little one's face closer. With another bout of
violence, he released the runt's head and resumed his trek to
the audience chamber.

The apprentice rocked from the movement, and leaned up

against a wall to steady himself.

Cautiously, the runt followed. He did not like Jabba's Palace,

the very concrete of the place reeked of death and dishonor.
He would be glad when they left this place, this planet.

339
They entered the court in the middle of another one of Max
Rebo's improvised songs. Skr'tee could hear the whisperings
already, his presence was legend among a few of them while
others gave the creature no second thought. Skr'tee paused
at the center of the dance floor, mindful of Jabba's infamous
trap door. The apprentice kept a respectful distance away
and followed Skr'tee's protocol instructions to the letter. The
protocol droid and apprentice both nodded twice at Jabba and
then came to one knee and bowed before the great one.
Skr'tee bowed to no one.

"Bo Shudda, Skr'tee." The slug belched out.

The droid and runt both rose and stood still. The protocol
droid came forth at that moment and produced the sack. From
the sack, a body slipped and fell with a smack against the cold
stone, clothes completely saturated with blood. It was the
headless Captain Merrill.
Jabba's roar was deafening, making his rage more than
apparent. "What is the meaning of this headhunter?" the
bloated one spat. The music suddenly stopped, an oppressive
silence descended upon the court. "You continue to disappoint
me. Where is this bounty's head?"

Skr'tee stepped forward and with a quick motion of his hand,

removed the tattered cloth covering the staff to reveal a
white-sun bleached face skewered onto the lowest point of
his staff. Captain Merrill's eyeless, open-mouthed face stared
back at the Hutt. The Amanin began to talk as the translator
droid performed its duty:

"Doubtless you know of the rituals mighty Jabba, but I do

not expect to be understood in this matter. The bounty has
been handed over. Skr'tee seeks payment."

Jabba heaved a mighty, angry sigh and cut off the

protocol droid. "The killing of this rebel was my pleasure,
bounty hunter not yours! Why have you brought this man
back headless?"

340
The Amanin's head sunk, only slightly as he rumbled
something in his defense. The protocol droid translated. "It
began, mighty Jabba after accepting to hunt down this bounty
for his exhaultedness.

The story is short, but no less meaningful. The longest part of

my journey consisted of tracking down the bounty, the details
of which I will not bore this court with now. Suffice to say that
even in the Rebellion there are those who do not hold the
same ideals as their leaders. Captain Merrill was continuously
surrounded by his peers and fully protected at all times, and I
knew that the only time I could capture the bounty was when
the bounty accepted a rescue mission to Tanteract, an
Imperial prison center. Merrill was taking only a single Assault
shuttle and thus he was vulnerable." Skr'tee paced around the
court now, speaking not only to Jabba, but to all of the bounty
hunters there.

The droid continued to translate: "I contacted the Imperial

Moff responsible for the garrison on the planet to warn of the
attack. I was ignored and laughed at. But this hunter would
get the final laugh. I then learned through many resources of
an Imperial warship en route to the Outer Rim. If the Empire
would not come to me, then I would bring the Empire to me.
Time had run very short, and the rescue mission was already
assembling to Tanteract. The prison facility stood no chance. I
had to think fast."

Skr'tee waved his arms around, Merrill's fresh head bobbed

on the stick. "After tracking down the Imperial Star Destroyer
travelling to the Outer Rim, I arrived to intercept the warship.
With it, it had an Interdictor cruiser. And so I did the only
thing I could do. I fired upon the Destroyer and sped away.
The Empire, lured by the bait, pursued. Before the Interdictor
could power up, I made several small jumps to keep ahead of
the Empire. After each jump, I did not wait long to jump
again, always staying in front. And then, after the final jump
to the Tanteract system, I tarried with purpose, allowing the
Empire to activate their gravity well keeping my ship within
the system.

341
"The Empire also caught another unsuspecting animal in its
trap. The starship Salvation which also carried the bounty
I was hunting."

The Amanin stopped and turned to the apprentice and now

seemed to finish the rest of his tale to the young creature, to
ensure that the lessons being taught were being received.
Skr'tee told of how he pretended to be a ship in distress and
how the Salvation allowed him to dock. The bounty hunter
told of how he provided a rather large distraction with the
nahlee (at which Jabba rumbled laughter) and how he had
made his way to the bridge. And then Skr'tee altered his story
at this point saying the Empire's numerous barrages against
the ship caused the death of the Captain.

"Careless of me undoubtedly, but since the bounty had

already been killed, I took the bounties head as is the custom
of my race." The Amanin told of how the Rebels had
wounded the Interdictor cruiser, which allowed his ship to
jump to hyperspace. "And so ended my task." The protocol
droid bowed low when he finished translating and remained
that way until Jabba spoke. "And so, now I seek payment."

The Hutt stared silently at Skr'tee, puffing on his pipe

contemplating the story. No one moved, or dared to breathe
for fear of breaking the silence. The Hutt did not smile, nor
laugh, he did nothing except speak one word: "Music."

After what seemed to be an eternity of silence, the band

started up. The protocol droid was unsure if this was a
dismissal and remained bowed until Skr'tee told him to get up
and report back to the ship.

As Skr'tee walked away, guiding his young apprentice with

several shoves, to a dark corner of the main hall, the bounty
hunter received several nods of respect, but everyone kept
their distance from the creature. Anyone who would willingly
attack a Star Destroyer in order to catch a bounty was
obviously ill in the mind. The odor of Merrill's decaying head
left a stench that was noticeable above all others.

342
In their corner, the two beings conversed in their own
language.
Skr'tee asked.

Skr'tee never complimented anyone, but was impressed

nevertheless. But there was suspicion now in his eyes;
perhaps this runt learned too well, too fast.

The young apprentice sipped at his ale, eyes roving the

audience chamber, eyes finally falling on Jabba. He did
not answer, for speech was allowed only when granted.
The apprentice didn't even nod.

While the runt sipped his ale, Skr'tee lifted a small satchel he
had draped over his shoulder and put it on the table. Seeing
this, the runt did the same, it was always customary to show
and sometimes trade heads after a hunt story. The runt's
satchel was much smaller, less time worn, made of nahlee
skin. Skr'tee's was much larger and made of some unknown
substance, perhaps the skin of some creature the runt had
never encountered. The runt eyed it with envy.

Without a word Skr'tee unpacked the contents of the sack,

some of the heads were generations old, others were fresher
kills of very little value. the headhunter explained. He said
lifting another skull onto his fingertips. 'Tough skulls and
skins, not difficult to find completely intact. Ysalamiri. Thin,
fragile, not one whole in entire galaxy, but this one. What
have you runt? Did you complete your tasks?>

Shyly, the smaller Amanin pulled out a few tiny skulls

including a Ranat and an Ithorian. The heads were average,
but the bounty hunter noticed that the runt was reluctant to
divulge the last content of the sack. Angered, Skr'tee
swiped all of the heads off of the table, including his own.
They flew across the booth, shattering against a stone wall.

The anger in his voice was unmistakable. The runt reached for
the last object in the sack but suddenly found himself on the
floor. Skr'tee's backhand had found his head, it was several
seconds before the room came back into focus. The runt did
343
not get up then, for he knew well that more pummeling would
present itself without first getting Skr'tee's permission to
stand.

Skr'tee was silent for a very long time as he pulled the final
head out of the runts sack, a head the runt was trying to hide.
Envy now entered Skr'tee's eye. The creature spoke, voice low
with admiration of the piece:

'I should ask where this was found, but I think the answer is
coming in due time,' he thought.

Skr'tee said nothing as he left the audience chamber, leaving

the runt behind where he would stay kneeling for several
hours, until Skr'tee sent the protocol droid to retrieve him.
Well after the Amanin was gone, Bib Fortuna came over to
the apprentice and speaking Amanish, beckoned the runt to
stand before Jabba.

Fortuna's fanged smiled did little to soothe the creature. The

Twi'lek was infamous for his impatience and in his own
tongue lashed out. "Nutcha!" The Amanin struggled to his feet
and stood before Jabba the Hutt. The Hutt remained quiet,
listening to the music and when he was quite ready, began
speaking to the apprentice.

Skr'tee spent the next several days at Jabba's Palace (after

sending the runt back to Maridun for more studies) during one
of the largest parties he had ever attended. Several days ago,
Fett had brought in a wonderful bounty in a most peculiar
way. And this entire party had seemed to be in honor of the
captured Corellian. Skr'tee spent much of that night with
Ephant Mon. They had known each other for years, and were
both highly respected in all of Jabba's minions, a very short
but prestigious list of characters: Boba Fett, Bib Fortuna,
Ephant Mon and Skr'tee. Although Skr'tee never associated
with Fett, the head hunter always kept one red eye on Fett,
for he knew that one day the Mandalorian would be after him,
one never kept good grace with Jabba forever. Perhaps that
was why Skr'tee spent so much time with Ephant Mon, the
only creature in the galaxy who had lasted so long alongside
Jabba. Skr'tee had little respect for Mon, the poor creature

344
was never seen bringing in a bounty, he always kept to
the shadows, and seemed to do nothing in the way of
entertainment.

'Why does Jabba keep this creature around? What use does he
serve?'

Occasionally, Skr'tee had seen Jabba and Mon speaking

for several hours, but the hunter did not know the subject
of these conversations.

'Some tale Mon must have to receive such graces from the
bloated one. A fine tale indeed. And what a magnificent head
you have, Mon. Far better than any of your races'. Perhaps
one day you will be on the Hutt's wanted list and Skr'tee will
come collecting.'

On the final day of the Amanin's stay there was an escape

attempt, albeit sloppy, and the party moved on to the Dune
Sea. But it was time Skr'tee returned to the runt to complete
his training.

'Pity, self would have enjoyed seeing Fett's bounty get

tossed the Sarlacc.'

The nahlee broke from the green and yellow foliage, bringing
down trees with each mighty step.

Skr'tee found himself racing at full speed away from the pet,
under yet another thunderstorm that Maridun was
accustomed to. Each time thunder cracked, the nahlee gave
another triumphant and deafening roar. The Amanin
continued to run, hand clasping his injured side. He barely
kept ahead of the nahlee, for running on both legs was not
easy for Skr'tee. And he needed both hands to swing through
the forest with any speed, but he could not lest he removed
his hand from his side and let his guts spill to the ground. The
bounty hunter chanced a glance behind and could still see
chunks of his yellow-green flesh in the nahlee's teeth. Now
weaponless, the Amanin made his way deeper into the forest,

345
hoping that the thick darkness would provide cover from the
rabid nahlee. Skr'tee continued to fire thought commands at
the rampaging creature, but to no avail. And wherever he ran,
the nahlee followed, which was no wonder at all, for they
could see into each other's minds. But when these creatures
became excited it was difficult to read theirs.

Skr'tee had never had difficulty making the nahlee obey, it

seemed as though something else was controlling it as it
splashed through muddy rain puddles.

Hot breath caressed his spine. Skr'tee squealed as the

nahlee's mouth clamped down on his leg. With a snap of its
neck, the nahlee tossed the Amanin around like a rag doll.
Skr'tee could feel the monster's teeth rubbing against each
other inside his flesh. He raked his long-spiked fingers across
the nahlee's right eye, drawing blood and rage. The nahlee
roared in fury, jaws opening wide, but Skr'tee was still
skewered by the creature's bottom fang. With all of his might,
Skr'tee pulled his leg free with a scream that drowned out the
nahlee's. The Amanin fell to the ground. Fighting a bout of
darkness descending, he struggled to his feet and took off
again, this time in the opposite direction.

The bounty hunter found a clearing and made his way to it,
knowing that this would make himself open to another
attack. But Skr'tee knew these parts well and if he could
make it past the clearing, the hunter may be able to regroup.
The nahlee suddenly appeared in his path from a mighty
leap; lunging at the hunter, it's mouth came crashing down.
But Skr'tee had moved quicker and the giant mouth found
only a tree. The nahlee ripped the tree out of the ground,
roots and all and thrashed its head back and forth as though
it had found a live prey. Confused, the creature dropped the
tree and continued the chase.

Skr'tee made it through the clearing and was now running to

a marsh, where he knew a place where he could be safe. A
red flash of lightening streaked across the black sky, the rain
came down harder.

346
The marsh was alive with all sorts of activity and sounds. A
small pinch at the back of the Amanin's neck made him curse.
He slapped at the insect that had attached itself to his skin,
squishing it beneath his mighty palm. Removing his hand, the
bounty hunter saw the large insect that had been crushed.

'Garnesh are out in swarms tonight.'

Knowing that nahlee's were not afraid of water, the Amanin

dove into the oil-dark water and sent a clear mental image to
his pet. Through the water, Skr'tee could hear the creature's
muffled roar, followed by a giant splash. The Amanin
continued to swim into the depths, his neck gills working
overtime, and did not stop until he was sure the chase had
ended. Moments later the hunter broke to the surface to see
the nahlee waist deep in water rocking back and forth with
rage. It's tiny arms pinwheeled madly. Its stout tail slammed
against the surface of the water, sending great sheets of
swamp water into the air.

Just as the hunter had planned, the nahlee's great bulk had
disturbed several hives of garnesh, angering them into a
swarm that attacked the creatures bulk. A thick cloud of
hungry insects hovered around the nahlee, infuriating the
creature. The nahlee crashed to one knee from the thousands
of bites it received. The Amanin dove back under the surface
and swam toward the poor tortured creature. Seeing in its
mind eye, the nahlee saw its master swimming toward it, but
being filled with pain was unable to defend itself. Skr'tee leapt
from the depths, hands reaching for the nahlee's jaw.

Placing a great foot on the nahlee's belly, the Amanin yanked

at the jaw. Stubbornly, it did not move, only creaked as the
animal tried to thrash its head out of the Amanin's grasp. One
hand broke free, but Skr'tee quickly recovered.

The garnesh were biting Skr'tee now, but he ignored them.

The nahlee slowly weakened, and Skr'tee found that he could
pull the creature's jaw easier now. The nahlee fell to it's other
knee and the Amanin made his move. With a thunderous
crack, the mouth of the nahlee snapped in two places,

347
spewing forth a river of blood onto Skr'tee and making the
garnesh frenzy. Exhausted, Skr'tee waded away from the
dead beast and away from the garnesh, wondering how
he had gotten into this predicament in the first place...

...Skr'tee had arrived on Maridun hours late, deterred by

Fortuna and then by Jabba commanding the bounty hunter
to stay and for the Sarlacc's feeding. Skr'tee explained that
he would not survive the heat of Tatooine's two suns at the
height of the day. With that, Jabba allowed for his leave. As
he raced home through hyperspace, the Amanin was uneasy
with how he was not forced to watch Solo's death as so
many had been. It was unlike Jabba to give in so easily,
especially when it came to another's discomfort. But his mind
was focused on the runt, he wished to hunt down the runt
and watch his progress from a distance. Clearly the runt had
aide in his studies, coached by another in fact. Skr'tee
wanted to discover whom.

It had not taken the bounty hunter long to find the

apprentice, but where he found him was quite shocking. There
was a cave, not far from Skr'tee's home that housed
the Scour. It was here, inside the cave that he kept most of his
treasured heads (a Duros, a Whaladon, and even a Hutt). The
runt had been standing at the entrance to the cave;
the Scour had been moved out of the cave and left under the
gray skies. The runt was admiring the ship, running his
growing fingers across the bottom of the ship. On the ground
were a couple of heads that the runt had been instructed to
hunt.

'Impossible, no runt could hunt such creatures so timely. This

runt has had help.'

The Amanin used his staff to clear away some of the

forest before him.

From the hidden section of his staff, a small blaster fell to the
ground. He was about to pick it up when a loud crash was
heard from behind. Skr'tee turned to see his attacker and was
nearly paralyzed by shock. It was the nahlee, no doubt feeling

348
his own rage at the young apprentice. But Skr'tee had been
wrong, there were no thoughts in the nahlee's mind but blind
red rage. Before the Amanin could react, the nahlee had
turned its head and chomped down on the creature's side,
ripping out a large chunk of flesh.

Skr'tee stumbled back, losing his precious staff, still missing a

third head. And from there, things turned dark.

Skr'tee pulled himself onto the far bank of the marsh and sat
for several minutes applying mud to his various wounds. He
was a skilled healer as well as a hunter, although he knew he
would be spending several weeks in a bacta tank after this
hunt was complete. A laser blast rang out, forcing the hunter
to jump to his feet and take to the forest again. Between the
darkness, the thunder and lightning and now the laser blasts,
the Amanin could not concentrate well, nor plan for escape.
He still did not know his attacker; the Amanin had several
enemies undoubtedly, but which one?

The injured creature's trek had brought him full circle, back
to his land. He raced immediately to the Scour where he had
several weapons stored and could defend himself. Skr'tee
raged at the vessel for it would not open to his personal
codes. Each one had been changed. Without another thought,
the bounty hunter made his way to the Skipray. Skr'tee did
not travel very far when his enemy appeared in the darkness,
outlined in a flash of red lightning.

The runt stood at the edge of the clearing wielding Skr'tee's

staff in one hand and in the other a modified rifle. A crazed
glare had entered the runt's eyes, but he did not speak.
Skr'tee rumbled a laugh full of malice and contempt.

The Amanin rumbled another laugh. The bounty hunter shook

his head at that.

The rain continued to pelt the two creatures.

349
Skr'tee corrected. The runt winced inwardly at this, for he
had felt the nahlee's death. Skr'tee continued, stalling for
more time.

It was becoming clearer now to Skr'tee. The Hutt head he

kept was that of Tarrick the Hutt. During the Hutt Wars, Jabba
had posted a hefty bounty for Tarrick, a bounty in which
Skr'tee had collected on. Now it would appear that Tarrick's
uncle, Isleff wanted revenge. 'So runt had unlimited resources
from Isleff, that is why he succeeded so quickly.'
the hunter asked.

The runt shook his head no.

Skr'tee screamed a curse to the rumbling skies, so loud and

aggressive, that the runt stepped back uncertainly.

Skr'tee asked.

The runt shook his head no.

The runt's eyes narrowed unveiling his contempt for Jabba.

The bounty hunter threw his head back and laughed heartily.
When his laughter died, the hard crimson eyes darkened. and
then suddenly, Skr'tee pounced into the forest. Normally a
lumbering race, Skr'tee's quick disappearance had surprised
the runt who fired seconds late. The runt tracked the fleeing
Amanin, firing several shots after him. Skr'tee dove and rolled
back to his feet and continued to run toward the Skipray.
A laser blast nicked his pointed head, but the Amanin had
tough skin and Skr'tee kept running. And then he saw the
weapon he dropped before the day had unraveled itself.
Stopping, the creature bent down and picked it up. The
Amanin howled again, his voice filled the forest, poring in
from every trail and every path. Skr'tee then disappeared into
the foliage. A few seconds later the runt raced down the path,
passing by his prey without knowledge. Skr'tee stepped from
his hiding place and fired a shot into the runt's hand. The
blaster fell and went off. Turning, the runt faced his attacker.

350
Skr'tee was still laughing as he adjusted the setting on his
weapon.

The runt tossed the staff, landing just out of the Amanin's
reach. Skr'tee chuckled at this and reached for it, never taking
his eyes off of the apprentice. The runt turned and ran at that
moment, but another laser blast to the young Amanin's spine
brought him down. Their nervous system differed far from a
human and the blast merely immobilized the creature, instead
of killing him outright. Skr'tee came forward, walking proud
with his staff in his hand once again.
The Amanin took the other's unmoving head into his hands
and with great strength...

The Amanin strode through the halls of Jabba's Palace

ignoring the looters and the chaos that had descended upon
the crimelord's home. He walked with his staff, newly adorned
with a third head that added another three feet to its length.
A thick nahlee skin bandaged his side. A spidery droid
scattered by.

'So many monks this day does not bode well at all. I must
speak with Jabba, to be sure that Jabba was not behind this
treachery. And if Jabba is not, then Jabba must hear of Isleff's
evils.'

Struggling to keep up with the bounty hunter was the

protocol droid who translated the Amanin's every word: "You
there, thief!"

A Ranat stopped to look at the droid that spoke to him in his

own language. "Jabba is dead! His place is free to loot! Take
yours while you can, for the monks are already sealing off the
palace."
he said.

The droid knocked the Ranat down with its great metal hand;
the creature's spoils scattered across the ground. Skr'tee
continued to walk toward the main audience chamber ignoring
the screams of the Ranat as his head was separated from his

351
body by the protocol droid. Perhaps Fortuna would have some
contacts for him.

And then the halls echoed with a booming bass-like laugh.

Skr'tee raced forward, the heads on his staff swaying slightly

with every stride. The laugh was the unmistakable laughter of
a Hutt. Skr'tee noticed a thin trail of green slime leading down
the hall, and turning toward the hangar bays, where Jabba's
Sail Barge had set sail only days ago.

Skr'tee was too late, however. A desert skiff launched itself

away from the Palace, even as it disappeared, Skr'tee could
see that it was Isleff. The Hutt was covered from head to
tail in an ebony cloak, unheard of for a Hutt, but Isleff rarely
showed himself in public, and even then he covered himself.
The Hutt's laughter echoed back to him, a haunting chuckle
that mocked the Amanin. A laugh that said: 'I was the one
responsible for taking your apprentice away', a laugh that
said: 'Jabba cannot protect you now', a laugh that said:
'Never sleep, never let your guard down, because your head
will be mounted on my palace doors if you do'.

The Amanin balled his fingers into a fist, sharp claws drawing
blood from his palms. Standing proud next to Isleff was
another Amanin. The headhunter bore a staff with three
magnificent heads on it as well. Skr'tee could not make out
the creatures face from the glare of the sun, but the bounty
hunter knew that there was more to the runts story that had
not been told. Much more.

Skr'tee stood in the shadow of the bay, leaning on his staff

with all of his weight. The twin suns of Tatooine blazed from
above, a dust storm was rising in the distance swallowing
Isleff the Hutt's desert skiff, leaving the Amanin to stand and
wonder at the new developments.

It would not end here.

352
Very little activity surrounded the Vinsioth system, made up of
three planets in all, and only one supporting life. At the rear of
the system was a tiny, almost insignificant asteroid belt,
which spiraled with chunks of ice and rock, but other than
that, the system was quiet. Quiet, except for the cruising
speed of an Imperial Star Destroyer. It did not appear from
lightspeed suddenly, nor did it come racing in at attack speed.
This ship was here with a purpose, one that would not require
immediate battle stations. The wedge-shaped starship sailed
through the asteroid belt; not a single canon was fired as the
small asteroids bounced off of the ship's shields. The Star
Destroyer Contention converged with slow intent upon the
Chevin homeworld and did not stop until it came into the
planet's orbit.

From the belly of the ship dropped a squadron of Imperial

T.I.E. fighters, surrounding a compliment of bombers. The
convoy, unlike the mother ship, blasted off toward the
planet's surface at full throttle, all weapons powering up to
full. Seconds later, the fighters disappeared into the
atmosphere...
The Scour sat amongst a myriad of activity as Chevin
technicians fueled the ship; the cargo bay was full of grunts
unloading several hundred crates of illegal weapons. It was
early morning, there was a lot of moisture in the air, the grass
still wet from dew. A thin scarf of fog receding into the
distance covered the rolling grasslands. Standing in the center
of all of this activity were two completely different beings,
rarely seen together. Ephant Mon was shouting orders to his
men, organizing them and his new cargo. When a careless
grunt dropped one of the cases of explosives, Ephant Mon
stepped away from the towering Amanin.

"Lookit' this mess, Albern D'or. This single crate holds enough
explosive power to send ya back to your ancestors." The
Chevin worker scrambled to repack the crate and move about
his work. Once the crate was secure, only then did Ephant
Mon return to the pilot who had brought this fresh load to
him.

353
The Amanin rumbled something in his language.

Ephant Mon nodded his mighty head impatiently. "I know

we're running late, Skr'tee. Nearly finished. Only a few
more minutes - you there! Those torps should be over
there, now move it! - So what were you saying?"

The Amanin leaned on the three-headed staff, his wounds

fully healed over months of treatment.

The Chevin seemed annoyed by this and did not bother to

hide it. In the distance what was once a very fine temple now
lay in ruins. A once strong sect of believers worshipped there,
a sect started by the Chevin in his spiritual quest that Luke
Skywalker had set him upon. But that quest slowly
meandered into nothingness, the temple crumbling into ruins.
Ephant Mon turned on Skr'tee, his large hands balled into
fists.

"Forget what you heard, bounty hunter, 'cause it ain't true."

For a minute, the image of Luke Skywalker's face appeared
before the Chevin, that smiling white face beneath a dark
hood. "It ain't that easy to go back and it's even harder to
stay." He muttered more to himself, than to the Amanin.

"Anyway, you got news about Jabba, that's what I paid

you for, so tell me, and then you can get outta here."

"I tried telling him, but would he listen? Well, I did what I
could. Nothin' will change that. So who done 'im in? Tell me
it wasn't Tessek."

Skr'tee shook his head ever so slightly.

The Chevin grew angry with this. "Isleff! That don't surprise
me at all. That Hutt had his filthy hands into everyone's credit
pouch. So what does this mean to me? You're a hunter, not a
smuggler, so there must be some reason why you came
here." Ephant Mon looked up at the Amanin, glaring into its

354
eyes. "Did you come for my hide, Skr'tee? Maybe you found
some buried feelings and couldn't find it in you to hunt me,
so now you're askin' me?" Ephant Mon laughed at this and
barked another insult at some grunts.

"The only help you're gonna get from me Skr'tee, is to buy

some of these weapons. Beyond that you're on your own. I
don't owe Jabba anything. And I don't owe you, you've been
paid good for transportin' these goodies to me."

The Amanin seemed to withdraw for a moment, craning his

head to the skies as if in deep thought.

"Now wait a minute..." The Chevin protested.

Skr'tee continued, ignoring the other creature, all members of

Jabba's court. Or perhaps Ephant Mon will just be added to
my collection.> Skr'tee stroked the topmost head on his staff,
the runt Amanin he had been training for so long.

Ephant Mon drew himself up to his full height, he did not back
down, nor shiver with fear, when suddenly a large piercing
whine cut off all conversation. "Everybody down!" Ephant
Mon shouted, and then he tackled the Amanin.

Eight screaming T.I.E. fighters swooped down from the sky,

followed by four bombers. The fighters opened fire, ripping apart
the grass plains on either side of the Scour sending the
smugglers running in all directions. Several blasts merely rocked
the ground, sending geysers of dirt into the air. Others found
their mark, slamming into the crates of weaponry. A crate of
proton torpedoes erupted into a white fiery flash, incinerating
dozens of Ephant Mon's fellow Chevins. Skr'tee cursed and came
to his feet. He waved his staff in the air, shouting several curses
at the Imperial fighters. He was about to run to the Scour when
a bomber dove in and began dropping its load on the still-fueling
freighter.

Several of the torpedoes scored the inside of the docking bay,

destroying the remaining of the smuggled weapons. A tiny

355
inferno erupted inside of the Scour's belly. Missiles of
metal rocketed out of the bay, and across the plain. Shards
of Skr'tee's ship skewered some of the fleeing Chevins.

Skr'tee screeched into the back of his staff that held a tiny
computer that was linked directly to the ship. The ship
started to hum and took several more shots to the hull as the
fighters racked its topside with more laser blasts. Skr'tee
raced to his burning ship, leaving Ephant Mon to his fate.

Skr'tee opened a hole in the ship's shield to allow entrance

and then raced to the helm. There, he keyed in the sequence
to close the cargo bay doors and to initiate the fire
extinguishers. Seconds later, the bounty hunter lifted the
freighter into the air while five of the T.I.E. fighters pursued,
showering the shields with a barrage of laser blasts. As the
ship raised, the fueling lines, still attached to the ship, rose
with it. With a sudden jarring burst of acceleration, Skr'tee
ripped the fuel lines from the ship. Fuel spewed forth from the
snaking lines, and from the Scour's main fuel tank. The
fighter pilots, seeing this blasted away at the fuel, igniting it,
and the hull of the freighter. The fire in the Scour's cargo bay
had spread to the main corridors, the Scour rocked as one of
the thrusters sputtered and died.

'Fire in engineering, all is not well. I must find out

who attacker is.

Are they after me? Or after the Chevin?'

Skr'tee sealed off the cockpit at that point. Beneath the

explosions and the stress of the hull screeching, a steady
rhythmic pumping sound could be heard as Skr'tee emptied all
of the oxygen from the ship. As the Scour breached the outer
atmosphere, most of the fires had died, but the damage had
already been done. Two of the main thrusters were damaged
beyond repair and the shields were failing fast. The only
system that had not suffered major loses were the weapons.

356
The blanket of stars on a black background appeared, the
Amanin still had five fighters trailing him, while a new threat
appeared. The Contention hung in a low orbit on full alert.
It was the very same Destroyer that Skr'tee had fired upon in
the Tanteract system. Four more fighters joined in on the
chase.

'So, I have my answer. I am the Empire's target.'

Aboard the Contention, Captain Capet stood at the helm,

right hand clenched into a tight fist through his leather glove.
"Signal the T.I.E. fighters to begin pursuit. The bombers will
stay behind and level the place. We can return later to mop
up the weapon smugglers on the planet. Right now, our
priority is to capture that ship."

"Yes sir, you'll have this scum within moments," Capet's first
mate relayed the orders.

Capet was a young officer of the Imperial Navy, whose family

had deep roots in the Emperor's Empire. His brother currently
served as an Imperial Governor, and their father was once a
Lord over several of the Emperor's star systems. Capet was a
competent officer and served the Empire well. He had met
several officers who entered the Academy under delusions,
and only maintained their commission for fear of their own
lives. But not Capet. When he joined he knew exactly where
he wanted to be. When his fleet was ordered to attack a non-
human colony and enslave them, he did so without a second
thought. Capet masked his prejudices against non-humans as
well as the Emperor did.

As the Contention turned to give chase, the captain felt his

anger turn to delight. The pilot of the Scour had
embarrassed him badly, and when his sources had learned it
was an alien that had done so...he did everything in his
power to track the Amanin down, though never leaving his
Imperial duties behind, Capet just made sure they coincided.

357
The Scour was flying sluggishly with two engines off-line.
The T.I.E. fighters had gained and were hammering the
shields. Skr'tee remained calm in his pilot seat, allowing the
fighters to come closer.

The Star Destroyer was traveling at sub-light directly toward

the freighter's path. A few more seconds and the ships
turbo-lasers would be fully charged. The bounty hunter
cursed as the Scour reduced its speed further as another
engine sputtered and died.

Skr'tee called to the darkness of the cockpit.

The modified protocol droid appeared from the passageway.

It did not speak, for it had been reprogrammed to respond
only when spoken to by Skr'tee. All of its annoying protocol
had been erased years ago.

The droid responded in Skr'tee's language.

The bounty hunter left the cockpit and raced down the
corridors to the main cargo bay. He surveyed the damage
through a porthole, before entering. The floor decks had
melted and curled upwards, the ceiling supports had
snapped, and hung from the ceiling, swaying back and forth
with every lurch the ship made. The walls had no breaches,
but were scarred black. Littering the floor were various crates
and pieces of weaponry left from the Chevins after the attack
had commenced. As the ship shuddered beneath the
creature's great feet, Skr'tee made his way to a storage
locker that had been charred black from the explosion. The
locker was over three meters tall and nearly as wide. Opening
it, the Amanin was pleased to see that the contents were
undamaged. Leaving the locker opened, Skr'tee raced out of
the cargo bay and slammed the door closed.

After a few seconds a monitor brightened, showing the

rearview of the Scour and the fighters giving chase. The
hunter watched and waited, three of the fighters had soared
in a close formation, with the other three lagging behind.

358
Exactly what Skr'tee was looking for. He slammed his fist
down on the button that opened the cargo bay doors.
Everything that was in the cargo bay was quickly sucked out
into the vacuum of space.

A dead nahlee spiraled into the vacuum, followed by the

storage locker that had held it. The creature spun directly into
the path of the oncoming fighters. One fighter exploded
brilliantly onto the poor beast, as the locker spun useless
away. The explosion caught the nearest T.I.E. in its flames,
while causing the third to use evasive maneuvers to avoid the
cloud of debris that had appeared so suddenly in its path.
Large sections of charred floor spun like rotating blades.
Through expert piloting, the one T.I.E. managed to evade it,
but another in the distance was skewered in two.

Six more ships remained in total.

A second idea bobbed to the surface of Skr'tee's mind as he

raced back to the cockpit.
'I blasted away so quickly I did not chart escape vector. It
is time I turned this ship around.'

The Scour blasted away from the Contention, and turned

to face the remaining fighters.

Most of the ships had followed along Skr'tee's vector, but a

few had been caught by surprise and found themselves
directly in firing range of the freighter. Skr'tee opened fire,
destroying one of the two ships as the other out-maneuvered
the blasts. Now, with his flight path clear the Scour raced
toward the edge of the system, toward the small asteroid
belt. The belt itself was thin and narrow, impossible to fly into
or even through it, leaving the pilot to fly over or under it. To
the Empire the belt posed no threat, and certainly not to a
Star Destroyer.

Skr'tee lowered his speed further, allowing the fighters to

gain. The bounty hunter was buying time now, time enough to

359
calculate the jump to hyperspace. The biggest threat to
jumping to hyperspace in a battle was having a stray laser
blast hit your ship just as you made the jump. Star
Destroyers were notorious for its precision and the destruction
it caused. Skr'tee had to put distance between him and the
enemy in order to jump safely.

As the ship converged upon the Vinsioth Belt, Skr'tee keyed

in the sequence to ready its concussion missiles. The auto-
defense systems were working overtime to destroy the T.I.E.
fighters, but the pilots were skillful and evaded all shots. The
Amanin brought his ship over the belt; tiny chunks of ice and
rock could be heard pouncing off of the hull. Some of the
bigger ones, about two meters in diameter were the ones the
hunter was looking for. His timing had to be flawless.

Skr'tee fired the first set of concussion missiles. Pausing, only

for a moment, the hunter fired his rear quad lasers at the
fighters, counting on the fact that they would evade the
blasts.
the droid reported.

The missiles went off, only a meter away from one of the
larger asteroids. The impact wave that followed hurled several
asteroids away from the belt and into an evading T.I.E.
fighter. The Amanin rumbled with laughter.

'As the fools evade my lasers, I provide a second danger.'

A second and third fighter followed the same demise shortly

after that. The other pilots, fearing the same danger, veered
away from the pursuit, allowing the Star Destroyer to have a
clear shot.

"Repeat, all fighters return to bay."

The bridge of the Contention was alive with a frenzy of

activity. "Lieutenant," Capet called. "That ship is going to
make the jump to hyperspace! Detain it now!"

360
The lieutenant, who was sweating now, nodded.

"Hyperdrive on the Scour has just been activated, sir!"

someone else called out.

The order to fire was finally given. Even if the ship made the
jump, it would not do so successfully.

The Star Destroyer's blasts would cripple the hyperdrive, and

would only send the ship to the next system, all engines
lifeless and nowhere for the pilot to go. Then they could
make a short jump and pick up the Scour.

'If only my request for Interceptors had been put through, we

would not be in this predicament,' the Captain thought. 'But
the Emperor has gathered them all for some unknown
reason...'

All forward batteries fired a storm of blasts at the Scour.

Seeing the fighters turn tail, Skr'tee banked the ship and
pulled it away from the asteroid belt. Now the asteroid belt lay
between the Scour and theContention.

The protocol droid replied.

Skr'tee answered and launched a full set of concussion

missiles. The missiles streaked away from the rear of the
Scour toward the oncoming shower of green streaks.
Mentally, the bounty hunter counted down,
'Three...two...one...'

When the missiles had reached the center of the asteroid belt,
they ignited. The middle of the belt erupted from the shock
wave, sending sheets of debris in every direction. Skr'tee's
thick red lips stretched across his face in a satisfied grin.

The asteroid field lit up bright green as the Star Destroyer's

blasts collided with it. A few of the blasts made it through the

361
wall of rock, scoring against the freighter's hull.
The Scour shuddered for a moment and then leapt forward,
stars turning into silver lines, as Skr'tee made his escape.

Aboard the Contention, all was silent as all eyes fell upon
Capet. The Captain stood at the front view port, hands
clasped behind his back, staring at the asteroid belt.
Sensors indicate that they had scored some major hits to
the fleeing freighter, but not enough to damage its engines.

'Twice now you have embarrassed me bounty hunter. That

will double the pain I will put you through when I have you. I
just pray that my brother does not hear of this, or I will
never hear the end of it.'
Turning to his command crew the Captain sighed heavily.
"Return to Vinsioth, we still have a mess to clean up."

"Captain!" the communications officer barked as he ran

toward his captain. He handed over a datapad and with a
quick tight bow and then receded into the shadows with the
first mate. His face had slackened; droplets of sweat were
on his forehead fearing what Capet was going to do about
the latest communication.

"Moff Jerjerrod?" Capet said aloud. What would the

Emperor's latest favorite want with an Outer Rim garrison?
He read the datapad and returned it to his officer, visibly
shaken. "Belay previous order, Lieutenant."

"We won't be returning to Vinsioth, Captain?"

Capet shook his head. "No. Recall all fighters and set a course
to the Endor system."

"Endor? But what's out there?"

362
"Apparently our destiny."

The Scour did indeed drop out of lightspeed, not in the next
system but several systems beyond. The freighter coughed
and moaned as it gave up its great speed to sublight. The
hyperdrive motivator reverberated with a startling screech
across the ship. The protocol droid raced to engineering with
a quick shuffle, it could feel its gears and joints shaking all
over its body. Engineering was a mess. A thick cloud of blue
smoke gathered in the enclosure, poisonous fumes reigned
above all else. The specially modified atmosphere systems for
the Scour had been damaged, now streams of water
were shooting directly into the motivator, sending sparks
and flames into the air.

The droid put its hands up as though that could ward off the
dangerous fires and then began working furiously at the
layout and managed to shut down the environment systems.
Moments later the ceiling and broken water mains stop
dripping. The ship was still shaking badly as it struggled to
slow down, the walls shook and more water mains broke, but
no water spilled forth. And then slowly, interminably, the ship
slowed down, the shaking subsiding until the only sound that
remained was the screeching klaxons.

The droid turned and punched a button on the console,

plunging the ship into silence. Satisfied that the immediate
danger had ended, it shuffled over to the main pipe that had
burst and stood directly below it, water dripping onto its metal
head. The droid released a sigh as though it were a true
Amanin. It began speaking into a nearby monitor,
the Amanin shrieked.

The droid could hear the tiny muffled alarm going off. It
turned, head cocked to one side as it peered at the motivator
and realized too late that there was nothing it could do.

The motivator exploded at that moment, engulfing the droid

in an intense ball of flame. The force of the explosion
breached the hull, sending thousands of metal shards into

363
space. The Scour rocked from the explosion, lights all over
the ship began to wink out as Skr'tee screeched in anger until
he too was plunged into absolute darkness. The ship came to
a full stop and sat there in space, completely dead.

Skr'tee remained in the pilot chair staring blankly at the

endless void before him. He had lost everything in the last
few weeks, first his pet nahlee, and then his apprentice
(prematurely) and now a very expensive protocol droid and
quite possibly the greatest ship he had the privilege to fly.
The Amanin stretched his neck, reached behind to hit a switch
expecting to feel a deluge of water against his dry skin.
Already he could feel the dryness in his skin, as it pulled itself
taught over his bones. Even his neck gills were starting to
look more prominent. Anger had boiled over and was now
spilling down over the brim of rationality.

The bounty hunter was ready to lash out, at anything, could

feel rage now beneath that thick layer of potent anger. But
Skr'tee had not survived this long by giving into such
impulses. The Amanin reached down and produced a blaster
pistol from beneath the front controls. With his other massive
hand the creature produced a short fat cigar. Lighting it with
the laser, the Amanin breathed in the fumes and released a
sigh. Of Ephant Mon's very own stock this one was. He put the
tip to his lips and took a mighty drag on it, the tip of which
burned bright red in the center of the surrounding darkness.

Ephant Mon had introduced the Amanin to this art and he had
not tasted such a fine cigar since the dancing girl had been killed
in Jabba's Palace. There just seemed to be little time to enjoy
these pleasures these days. And Skr'tee did not know when he
would enjoy one again. The coldness of space was already
seeping into the cockpit, as the Amanin exhaled a fine plume of
smoke. It was time to work now, the bitter cold felt like razors
against his lungs. The anger seemed to dissipate into the air with
each cloud of smoke. But Skr'tee knew the anger would be there
when the time came to need it, instead of wasting it, the bounty
hunter hardened it into resolve.

Several hours later the Amanin slumped down in his pilot

seat. For the umpteenth time his fingers crawled over the
instruments hoping that the sub-light engines were repaired.
364
From behind the engines roared an uncertain life, they started
out strong and then sputtered and then came back on line
again. The ship rocked as the engines struggled to keep life,
the deck plates rattled beneath Skr'tee and then the engines
died with a spark and a thin trail of smoke.

'Blast! I was sure I had it this time. At least I have heat and
food.' He looked at his drying, flaking skin. Skr'tee ran a thick
tongue over his cracked and bleeding lips and grimaced. 'I
must get the environment systems on-line or I will not need
the hyperdrive.'

Before returning to his work, the Amanin turned to the

communications console and monitored it closely. The Scour's
range was weak in its damaged state and before its signal
reached a civilized planet, Skr'tee would be dead. 'This settles
my problem, then.' He punched in his current coordinates and
then recorded a message to Ephant Mon, explaining his
problem. With a pause the creature sent the message, this
time boosting the satellite's power, he used it all on this one
message, knowing it would burn itself out, leaving him with no
communications after that.

'But what does it matter, if I do not survive?'

The Amanin stood up and exited the cockpit, wishing he had

another cigar to calm his nerves.
'I fear it will be a long while before I can enjoy one of these.'

Some would say that Nal Hutta would be the perfect homeworld
for the Empire that is if the Emperor could withstand the mighty
stench of the Hutts that had seeped into every pore of the planet.
Nal Hutta wasn't a complete swampy bog, it had also sported
several cities complete with numerous levels, much like
Coruscant, cities built on top of cities, and like the bottommost
layer of the Imperial city, Nal Hutta's lower levels were dark and
dangerous. Deep in the bowels of the so-called 'Glorious Jewel'
planet, few sentients made their way to the lower city levels, and
those that did rarely returned

365
with all of their limbs in tact.

The lower levels caught the scraps of the planet; it soaked in

its dirt and slime and reveled in it. Sunlight no longer
reached down and warmed the bare earth of the planet; the
lower levels were cold and uncaring. Crime reigned supreme
in the depths, although none of it was organized, or so Isleff
the Hutt wanted the planet to believe. The Hutt's palace was
located even further below than the planet's lower levels; the
palace was rooted below the earth of Nal Hutta itself. There,
Isleff felt safest and impenetrable from the other warring
Hutts.

Isleff the Hutt was laughing so hard, his majordomo thought

the Hutt was going to die from it. Tears streaked down his
face, tears that mixed in with his drool, causing streaks of
green to darken his chin.

Isleff was rarely seen on the surface or abroad without being

fully covered from head to tail. But here, in his palace he
paraded around without clothes, as it was customary for Hutts
to do. It was a shock to all that Isleff's skin was the purest
ivory (and even more shocking that it had never been
reported), his pupils were pink and for a Hutt, Isleff was quite
thin and could still move about upon his own violation. In
terms of age, Isleff was the oldest known Hutt, although his
exact age was unknown, many put him around three thousand
years old. His body was wrinkly and loose from the great age.
Darker, pink colored spots littered his skin from head to tail.

The Amanin majordomo spoke. The Amanin was an average

height for his species and bore the usual yellow and green
striping of his people. He too walked with a staff, but this
one had a half dozen heads attached to it, all of them recent
enemies of Isleff. His red eyes flickered in the dim of the
audience chamber.

Isleff continued his mirth and did not speak until the laughter
had fully run its course. The Amanin stood patiently knowing he
could possibly take hours before the Hutt found control of
himself. "Ho-ho-ho, come now dear Hidda you must learn to

366
appreciate the humor of such things. Imagine the fury of the
Imperial Captain that Skr'tee has defeated twice." Isleff added
another volley of rumbling laughter to the conversation before
continuing again. Absently, the Hutt wiped the green goo from
his face and wiped it on the hair of the scantily clad Rodian
slave girl before him. "Perhaps this Skr'tee would make a
promising addition to my hunters, what say you Hidda?"

Hidda was not the creature's given name; Isleff had given him
this one. In Huttese it simply meant 'Humorless'. The Amanin
bowed respectfully to Isleff, tired of the creature's mirth.

Isleff's laughter cut through the Amanin's words once more.

"He would make a fine majordomo, at least this creature
appears to have a sense of humor!" Isleff wiped the tears
away again, his laughter disappearing into chuckles.

The Hutt listened, as closely as Hutts listened to anyone and

made his way out of the chamber. With a tug on the chain,
the Rodian dancer followed. "What makes you think he is after
me, Hidda? Have you thought of this? Perhaps he is after
you."

Hidda followed his master into the corridor.

"Take what we know of this creature. He has worked for so

long for Jabba, successfully mind you, and now that has been
taken away. He is lost and out of work. My presence on
Tatooine would make him wonder, but if anything he fears
me." Hidda added, trying to keep up with Isleff. Isleff
chuckled at this, his pink eyes showing a devious depth that
said more than what the Hutt would ever say about that
subject. "This Skr'tee will keep a great distance from me. He
does not blame me for Jabba's death, but your appearance at
Jabba's palace bothers him, Hidda." Hidda showed surprise at
this. "Oh yes, my friend, Skr'tee saw you there and is even
now searching for you." The Hutt burst out in a new round of
laughter, so loud and deep that it shook sand from the cracks
in the ceiling.

367
"That's right, my dear Hidda. Skr'tee thought you were dead
didn't he? But now he knows the truth and he is searching.
So Hidda, do you believe that this bounty hunter is still after
me?"

Hidda could not answer as he digested this information. He

could not believe it, he had been so careful to not be seen.
And what was Skr'tee doing at Jabba's that day? Hidda had
his resources as well, and his sources reported that Skr'tee
had perished on the sail barge that afternoon along with
the rest of Jabba's henchmen.

"Come along, my child," Isleff said to the young Rodian. The

green-skinned creature stepped into a darkened passage.
The albino Hutt followed eagerly, while the Amanin slowly
made his way head cast down, mentally chewing on all of the
information before him.

A thin, pale Skr'tee let himself fall into his chair. He had
worked on the engines for three days, and for three days he
had not felt a single droplet of cool water upon his skin. Not
even with long stops at Jabba's did Skr'tee ever feel so
parched, so drained of life. A stench more horrible than the
worst Imperial dungeon had sunk into the interior of the ship.
Skr'tee's body was already rebelling against his drying skin
by producing a slick black oil coating his entire skin, this oil
responsible for the odor of the ship that bothered even the
Amanin's senses.

But at least the primary engines were repaired and

the Scour was sailing at a steady pace through space. It could
not return to Vinsioth, for the Empire was certainly waiting for
the bounty to return there. And there was very little in this
stretch of space. Communications were all but extinct on board
the Scour and even now some major systems were spewing
forth sparks, threatening to shut down.

The first thing Skr'tee had done was to check his water
reservoirs located throughout the ships. All of the holding tanks
had ruptured, spilling most of the water across the deck. What
little water remained had been poisoned from the

368
fires and burning gases. Maridun was too far for his ship to
limp to and so relief from the lack of water would have to
wait.

Skr'tee grew impatient as his ship made its way forward, and
there was very little to do except to work on temporary
repairs. But all of that could wait. The Amanin had important
business to take care of first. Since Ephant Mon would not
aide him in his quest, then that did not mean Skr'tee would
end his search for Isleff's majordomo. It was no secret that
Isleff had dozens of palaces scattered across the galaxy, but
what Skr'tee needed to discover was which location the Hutt
was currently residing on.

Tired to the point of exhaustion, the creature reached back

and retrieved his staff. The runt's head swayed eyes sunken
shut, skin pale. 'Pity, for this was a fine specimen.'

With his great hands, Skr'tee removed the runt's head from
the staff and set it upon his knees. He dropped the staff and
ran both hands over the runt's face. Black oil smeared across
it. Slowly, he brought the runt's head to his great mouth, and
like the cannibals of his race, began eating the rotting,
decaying flesh of his one-time apprentice. A large piece of
flesh tore from the runt's face and hung loose from the
Amanin's lips as he chewed, almost thoughtfully on the
toughened skin.

An image appeared in Skr'tee's mind, one of Jabba. The

bloated one was rocking with rage, spewing forth several
insults. The Amanin took another piece of the runt. More
images surfaced in the creature's mind, at first (as it always
was) it was difficult to separate his own memories from that
of the one being eaten. Amanins often participated in mutual
cannibalism, which allowed both parties to share learning as
well as memories. Considering that Amanin's could also
rejuvenate lost tissue the mutual cannibalism was hardly ever
dangerous. And so the creature continued his meal until the
runt's entire head had been digested. When the meal was
done, Skr'tee licked his fingers with a red tongue and
smacked his lips. Indeed it had been quite some time since he

369
had tasted such succulence.

Hundreds of images exploded in Skr'tee's mind, flashing from

the runts early years, to his brief apprentice years. There
were thousands of images to sort out, occasionally a pale
Hutt would appear but no other Amanins. Skr'tee stood
shakily on two feet and stood bent over, one hand keeping his
balance against a bulkhead. He moved through the corridors
to his sleeping quarters to meditate and rest. Only then could
he gleam any important information if there was any to be
had. He did not swing from the overhead pipes, but stumbled
awkwardly on his feet.

'I am tired, too tired. Isleff must not be far or this hunt
shall fail. I must not fail.'

"Hidda!" Isleff called out in a mighty bellow. Hidda was

hosting a conference communication with several of the major
crime lords of the lower levels of Nal Hutta. Isleff remained in
the shadows, ever careful of keeping his identity secret.

Hidda raised a hand, a hand that was the power of Isleff

himself, silencing the heated discussion being broadcast. The
monitors went dark and Hidda turned to his master.

The ancient Hutt swiveled his head and peered at the Amanin
greedily. Isleff slid into the room, and picked up Hidda's staff.

Gingerly the Amanin took the staff in his hand.

"There is a bounty as of yet unclaimed, Hidda. These twelve,"

Isleff waved his hand in the general direction of the darkened
monitors, "have failed me numerous times, as well as the
Empire. So once again I turn to you, Hidda. You will leave
immediately."

370
Hidda looked alarmed, his skin secreting an oily chemical to
maintain the consistency of moisture along his body. He had
learned long ago not to question Isleff.

Isleff patted the Amanin on the lower back (Hidda towered

over the Hutt); "The usual information awaits you in the
usual manner. You need only to chose a ship of your liking
and return once the bounty is collected." The Hutt ushered
the Amanin to the rear chamber door there he paused and
spoke softly.

"And when you return, you shall have all twelve heads that
sit in on this meeting."

As Skr'tee climbed back into the cockpit of the Scour, he was

greeted by the glowing red of a large sun in the distance. The
cockpit turned red in response and Skr'tee let out a long sigh.
His red eyes gleamed at the large burning circle in the
distance, and with its long red rays, it brought hope like a
new dawn. The runts memories had revealed that Isleff had
intended to remain on Nal Hutta for the next few weeks,
overseeing the usual deals the Hutt had his hands in.

Although the trip to the Hutt homeworld would take five days
if his repairs kept, it was the best possible destination. Skr'tee
also kept several hideouts across the galaxy, not as grand or
magnificent as a Hutt's, but adequate. And more importantly,
Skr'tee's Nal Hutta hideout had a vast reservoir he could bath
in. He could rearm himself for the assault on Isleff's palace,
and perhaps meet up with some old contacts. Excited by this
new development, Skr'tee set in a new course, one that would
take him directly to Nal Hutta. With a new breath of
inspiration, the Amanin dangerously increased the power to
the engines knowing he must get there soon. Five days was a
long time to wait.

And he did not know if he would survive without water for

that long.

371
The red sun quickly sank out of the ship's viewscreens
submerging the ship with darkness, except for the blinking of
lights from the operating systems.

The Scour entered Hutt space nearly twelve hours ahead of

schedule. The ship sailed silently not broadcasting any signals,
nor running with any outside lights. It sailed, nearly blind into the
crowded space. It kept a straight course, as straight that was
possible with the course systems showing dramatic drifts. The
freighter moved into the occupied space lanes, several ships
raced by the freighter, firing several warning shots to make the
freighter move. The Scour moved only quicker than the capital
ships that drifted with some unknown purpose.

As the freighter drifted deeper into Hutt space, the ship fired
a few low powered laser blasts at any ships that happened to
get in the way of its flight path. A Corellian freighter called the
Shadow appeared directly in front of the Scour. The pilot of
the Shadow felt his ship rock as its shields were hit two,
three and then four times by harmless blasts. The pilot
responded by slowing his ship down and swerving left to right
to keep the Scour directly behind it.

Skr'tee felt his ship shudder suddenly and the creature

opened his eyes for the first time in days. He felt as though
weights had attached themselves to his eyelids and the
amount of energy it took to open them, nearly spent his
remaining energy. The Scour had run into the rear of the
freighter causing the creature to stir from his meditation. With
a curse, the Amanin relinquished the controls of the ship,
fighting exhaustion and dehydration every step of the way. He
had to reach Nal Hutta; any delay could mean his death. And
there the planet lay only minutes away. Without thinking of
the consequences Skr'tee powered up the ship's laser canons
to full. He watched silently as the Shadow slowed his ship
down. With a curse, Skr'tee opened fire.

Flashes of red lanced out, catching the bow of

the Shadow full on. The pilot cursed and intensified his rear
shields. Before the Scour could fire another blast, the Corellian
freighter peeled away from its current position, allowing for the
battered freighter to pass. Skr'tee was about

372
to thank the gods when the ship lurched forward with
violence. The pilot of the Shadow had come up behind and
was firing a rapid succession of laser blasts into the ships
remaining engines. The cockpit exploded into a shower of
sparks as every remaining onboard system shorted out from
the latest attack. The remaining engines erupted into a hot
flash of white, creating another furious fire across the
hindquarter of the ship.

Skr'tee's starship suddenly dropped from the major

space lanes and began to spiral out of control.

The Shadow followed closely behind, still firing a salvo of

blasts, rocking the sinking ship. Not until the Scour had
finally been caught by Nal Hutta's gravitational pull, did the
Corellian stop firing and watch as the ship screeched toward
the atmosphere, never knowing which ship he had destroyed
and its legendary owner. The Scour shook violently as it hit
the atmosphere of Nal Hutta; the entire ship was breaking
apart, the hull burned red from reentry. Skr'tee did not even
have the strength to open his mouth and scream.

The ship plummeted like a stone.

The bounty hunter counted off the seconds aloud, and when
he judged he had reached the breathable atmosphere, Skr'tee
pounded his giant fist on the escape pod release. With the last
of his energy spent, the hunter let his head fall face first onto
the computer console in front of him and that was the last
thing he remembered for a very long time...

A myriad of sounds, smells, and sights thrashed at the

Amanin when he regained consciousness. He awakened to
what sounded like loud grunting and squealing. The odor of
the place smelt of rancid Gamorrean, and Skr'tee could think
of no odor more pungent nor disgusting. He had hunted many
Gamorreans, but never did Skr'tee keep a head for his staff.

The Amanin found himself lying in the tiniest puddle of water,

his body badly bruised and beaten probably beyond

373
recognition. He was not in the escape pod, nor near the crash
sight of the doomed freighter. Skr'tee was lying beneath a tall
thick and gnarled tree. The tree had once stood for centuries,
providing life for hundreds of creatures through shelter and
food. But today it stood like a rotten tooth, withered and
black, dying but not quite dead. Skr'tee stood on shaking legs,
resting a large palm on the side of the tree. He had known
this tree well for had he not raised it from a sapling so many
years ago? The smells of the area were familiar to him,
although the smells were different somehow, like life gone
bad.

'I am home. But how did I arrive here?'

He shook his head and nearly tumbled over from the vertigo. His
last memories left him spiraling toward the planet surface. Had
he made his way here in a daze, fuelled by a fierce
determination to live? Or was it something entirely different?

His eyes finally focused on the surroundings, the Amanin's Nal

Hutta lair was hidden inside a warehouse, which was fully
equipped with bogs and rivers of water from his homeworld.
Plants and animals had also been transported here to create a
complete and fully functional ecosystem. It had been nearly
five years since his last return here, and it was clear that it
could no longer maintain a healthy ecosystem without a
caretaker. Much of the ecosystem was lost to disease; the
waters were stagnant and poisonous now, perfumed by a sour
smell of death.

The ceiling, which was basically a giant viewscreen which

normally displayed the gray skies of Maridun was a black
sheet of cracked glass, sparking and squealing, which
were the sounds Skr'tee had awakened to.

Skr'tee was weak and his body felt as though his skin was
burning from acid; his bones ached. He dropped to the ground
again and lapped at the puddle of water; his throat rejected
the stale liquid.

374
Although the water was dirty, it was drinkable. He had to
force it down, despite the throat's pained cries. Skr'tee
needed water. He lapped at the water again, sneering at the
awful taste of the liquid. His throat rebelled, but this time his
will was stronger and the water went down, throat fighting
every millimeter of the way. When it was down, and the
creature was certain he was not going to throw it up, Skr'tee
leaned back against the tree with a deep sigh.

The bounty hunter looked down at his left arm, it lay useless
to one side crushed and mashed into a yellow and green pulp.
Three fingers were missing; they weren't severed, but crushed
in the crash. The appendage was crooked and bent at every
angle and was completely useless to the hunter. With his good
hand, he clasped the wrist of the injured arm and began
tugging at it.

The Amanin stifled a scream as a flash of white-hot pain

exploded at the socket of his left shoulder.

When the arm finally ripped from the socket, the hunter
responded with a few oily black tears from his blood-red eyes.
The bodiless arm began twitching, the remaining finger
spasmed with a life of its own.

Already strength was returning to the bounty hunter, his

wounds starting to heal. After some much needed rest, he
would explore the remains of his home, which spanned
several city blocks, small compared to many of the
warehouses on the planet, but large enough for one unfamiliar
with the contained ecosystem to become lost. There were
once nahlee roaming across the plains of this place, now they
too were probably dead, but would at least offer some food.
But until then, Skr'tee needed rest.

It was during the part of early morning where traffic on the

streets of Nal Hutta had tapered off into almost nothingness.
A time where the night is silent, as if waiting with held breath
for the sudden hustle and bustle of a new business day, when
Skr'tee made his way out of his home. On Nal Hutta, every
day was a business day. Every muscle and bone still ached
from recent events, but that did not stop Skr'tee. He walked

375
with a stride of confidence wearing a tattered brown cloak
that concealed his missing appendage quite well. The few
remaining scavengers of the night gave the creature wide
birth as he marched down a side street, making his way to
a familiar cantina he knew that served Amanin cuisine.
The interior was very dim, and coupled with the bright
flashing lights of the cantina's exterior allowed everyone
inside to see newcomers before they themselves could see.
This mattered little to Skr'tee since his vision was not based
upon the same as humans. Several heads turned to the
entranceway and then darted back when they recognized the
Amanin. Skr'tee stood in the entranceway, meeting the gaze
of each person before motioning to the bartender to make
room for a table.

Skr'tee nearly collapsed onto the bench located at the

furthest and darkest corner of the bar. He sighed, as he
smelled the myriad of smells throughout the bar. An odor that
made most people faint, an odor that Skr'tee had not sensed
for far too long. The human bartender had disappeared into
the back kitchen, no doubt to prepare the Amanin's usual
order. After several minutes, a serving unit arrived with
Skr'tee's usual drink.

He watched in his dark corner, sipping on ale from time

to time, waiting for his meal.
"Isleff is searching for you." A voice came from nearby. A
cloaked creature stepped from the shadows and stood
before the bounty hunter, blocking his view of the bar.

The mysterious creature sighed inwardly, 'Yes, he's in a foul

mood, but not enough of one to be lethal.' The stranger pulled
up a chair and sat against the wall to the creature's right. It
was a Bith who spoke very poor basic. "I have information for
sale. Information about Isleff."

The Amanin merely glared his crimson eyes at the creature.

He did not purchase information. Allowing informants to live
was payment enough.

376
After several seconds of awkward silence, the Bith's eyes
darted around the cantina; he finally began to speak. He
thought about getting up and leaving, but it was too late for
that now. The Bith had gambled on getting money from the
bounty hunter, and now that it was clear that wasn't going to
happen, it was clear that if the Bith wanted to live, he would
have to give up his information. "Very well then, I can see
you're in a hurry, Gergun will make this fast. The Unseen One
has sent his many minions to every hovel and brothel."
Gergun leaned closer, speaking in a cautious whisper. "The
word is out on you friend, and the word is no good. The Hutt
wants you dead."

It took a long gulp of his ale and then signaled to the serving
droid for another.

"No, no, my dear hunter, that's what the word is. That's not
information." The Bith leaned in even closer, his large
bulbous head, poked through the hooded cloak. His voice
dropped further. "The Hutt's majordomo was in here earlier, I
saw him with my own eyes, this is big, Gergun has heard
much. It's not the Hutt that is searching for you at all."

This piqued Skr'tee's interest, although his faced gave nothing

away. His eyes did not fall on the Bith once during the
conversation, but continued to make their rounds around the
bar. He noted that the human barkeeper was speaking into a
comlink. His meal was taking far too long to prepare. Once this
creature was finished speaking, Skr'tee would check on it.

"It's the 'domo, he's seeking you." A yellow hand shot up into
the air from the Bith's cloak, motioning for the Amanin to not
interrupt. "I don't know why bounty hunter, but I can find
out."
Skr'tee nodded.

The bartender was on the comlink again, his face turning an

ugly human red. The human hung up again and then
motioned to the serving droid.

377
Returning his attention to Gergun, Skr'tee asked.

"Nobody knows what Isleff wants. He wants you, but..."

the serving droid wheeled its way to the table, interrupting
the conversation. The Bith reflexively shrank back into the
darkness.

The droid set another tankard of ale down and spoke to the
Amanin in his language. With that the droid turned and
returned to its duties. It was several minutes before the
Bith leaned back into the light to continue his message.)

"Isleff wants you, that's clear, but there's talk, if you know
where to listen, that he wants your skills. Isleff is in desperate
need of good bounty hunters."

A human appeared from the kitchen and whispered something

to the bartender. The bartender nodded and disappeared into
the back. Skr'tee lashed out suddenly, his left hand had
caught the Bith and pulled the creature close to be heard.
Gergun squealed and tried to struggle free, but the Amanin's
fingers were too powerful, too big.

"He's called Hidda!" the Bith screeched. He felt pressure upon

his cranium now, the cantina was growing impossibly darker,
and spots had appeared all over the Amanin's body. "He's
Amanish! That's all I know! Please don't kill me!"

'So, I did see another Amanin with Isleff. Hidda is a Hutt

name though.'

The door to the kitchen swung open, the serving droid made his
way through with a platter full of meat followed by another
shorter squat droid, carrying a tub of water. The Bith's hands
wrapped themselves around Skr'tee's wrists, they felt like
pistons. Gergun gave a final whimpering screech before Skr'tee
crushed his head completely in his hands. The Bith fell

378
back into his chair, hood deflating.

A few curious glances were thrown to the back of the bar in

their direction, but all they saw was a cloaked figure
seemingly sleeping across from the bounty hunter.
the droid asked in near perfect Amanish. It put the platter of
meat down in front of Skr'tee while the smaller droid
bumped the tub of water against the table, spilling some of it
across the tabletop.

Skr'tee looked over at the slumped form of the Bith.

The Amanin watched as the two droids left. His left arm
accidentally touched the small puddle of water the droid had
spilt; a shiver suddenly ran up and down the creature's body,
his neck gills began puckering greedily. His skin had tasted
the succulent exotic waters of Maridun. Skr'tee ignored the
food and picked the heavy metal tub to his lips and drank
greedily. Fresh, clean water splashed from his mouth and
poured down the sides of his neck. None of it went to waste
as his dry cracked skin sucked in the excess. He left a few
inches behind to wash down the meat, hoping that the
creature had been dead long enough so that no memory
residue was left behind.

Skr'tee picked at the food searching for a tasty morsel. The

water had been a miracle, and so he was curious to see if the
food was nahlee, or Amanin. The bounty hunter found a
snout, but did not immediately recognize it. The gray meat
was still fresh, and not cooked. As he touched the meat, his
skin immediately registered a foreign chemical that was used
by Amanin cooks that inhibited the memory residue long
enough for the meal to be completed without interruption.
Clearly the cook knew something of Amanin gourmet.

Hungry, Skr'tee took a bite.

An insane, angry ululation rocked the stone walls of the
cantina. The Amanin had stumbled out of the cantina and
found himself in a dark alleyway. He threw back his head and

379
rumbled another vibrating scream that shook the
walkway. Skr'tee screamed and screamed and screamed.

It was his only defense against the dark images that were
seeping into his mind. The creature he had eaten (leaving not
a single scrap) was revealing its many, many secrets to the
Amanin. Secrets such as where to find hidden guns and
weapons scattered across the galaxy; the life of a mercenary;
hundreds of images of Jabba the Hutt; images of Skr'tee
himself; images of a great temple dedicated to spiritual
pursuits; images of large faces on short stalky legs.

Ephant Mon's memories.

The unending screaming was Skr'tee's nearest form of

mourning at the discovery of the meal he had just consumed.
Isleff had hunted down Ephant Mon and butchered him, and
then served him up as a meal. The memories of the Chevin
continued to assault the bounty hunter as he made his way
down the alley, turning here and there. Trying desperately to
outrun the memories. He could hear the excited shouts of
Isleff's henchmen as they scattered out of the bar and
through the streets searching for the bounty hunter.

Hearing the running footsteps of the pursuers, the Amanin

took hold of a railing above and began scaling the outer
wall of a building, losing himself into the night. On top of
the building, he stared down at the alley before him.
Several creatures were running about, knocking over
dumpsters, searching for the escaped hunter.

All but one.

There was only one figure that was searching the skyline,
looking skyward rather than ahead, and he was taller than
the rest - Isleff's majordomo. Hidda.

Skr'tee was still seething with rage. 'This Hidda could have
had taken me in the bar. But instead Hidda mocks me with
homeworld water, followed by the flesh of a friend! He plays
the game in much the same way Isleff plays. But Skr'tee has
played more intricate games than this one.'

380
The Amanin stood on the ledge of the building, showing
himself to the majordomo. Hidda stopped in his tracks. He
was about to shout an order to his men when Skr'tee
suddenly disappeared into the shadows and was gone.

A vast barge sailed through the Nal Hutta system, an orange-

red rusted color of a ship with markings defining it as a cargo
hauler. It traveled silently, speedily as though the shipment
could not wait any further. It passed through the clutter of
starships, never changing its steady course, but allowing
those in its way to move instead, moving through the clutter
like a memory buried from the past. The barge was allowed
through Nal Hutta's outer defenses with surprising ease, and
far too easy for it to be regular freighter.

The cargo of the Filthy Mire was indeed as precious as it was

secretive. Not even the captain, nor his crew knew what it
really carried, other than a good sized sail barge, it was
assumed that it was a present for a Hutt. But resting noisily
inside of the barge was Isleff the Hutt, waiting for his barge
to be delivered. It was ever imperative to the Hutt that he
keep his identity a secret. To get from place to place and not
cause a lot of attention, Isleff would use this way occasionally
to get around, hidden in a cargo ship, sometimes even a
dungeon ship if it suited his purposes.

The Filthy Mire made its descent into the 'Beautiful Jewel's'
atmosphere like a shark cutting through the water toward its
prey. Isleff continued to sleep, despite the howling of the
winds and the constant violent rocking of the ship as the
friction of the ship's descent increased.
There was but one place on all of Nal Hutta that Skr'tee could
hope to survive, and that was his home. Through the guise of
night the creature made his way back, with no way of
knowing if anyone had been inside since all of the motion
detectors had been offline for months. The lights did not come
on as he was accustomed to, working to his advantage this
time. Quickly Skr'tee made his way to the decaying tree he
had awakened beneath so many hours ago. Skr'tee seemed to
make a quick search, and then seemingly satisfied left the
area, pushing deeper into the forests.

381
Skr'tee found a small lake in the north end of the warehouse
and slipped into it. A terrible rumble emitted from his mouth
as he sunk into the mire.

'Such filth, it is no wonder all of the animals have died out,

this water is poison to my skin. And thick too.'

The water was dark and indeed thick, like swimming through
mud, but the bounty hunter did not seem to care, he knew these
waters well. Skr'tee dove deeper and found a small tunnel. At
the far end the water led to a small cave buried beneath the soil.
He could not climb out of the stagnant mire fast enough.
Standing upon the banks of the underwater cavern, motion
detectors that were still in operation suddenly sparked to life,
flooding the cave with an uncertain flickering light. A dozen
wompbats screeched and took to the air. The lights revealed the
underground system network that controlled all of the above
ground systems. Skr'tee made his way to the main computer
terminal and slowly began to work.

'But what of this enemy of mine? I know the face well, yet it
can not be! That enemy is dead, I know for I was there...'

...it was a time, before Skr'tee even had a name for names
were not needed on Maridun. A headhunter's entire life was
their name and was easily recognized through eating a
fraction of one's skin. Memories were exchanged and so the
need for names was unnecessary. It was a time when Skr'tee
was considered the most successful of headhunters. This
creature had traveled the globe and had heads of every
known species of Maridun.

It was a time when this creature had no desire to leave the

planet, to become a galaxy wide hunter. No desire to be paid
for his services. What this creature did not know was that he
had been watched for many months now, watched by agents
of those who paid well for such skills.
"You there, creature!"

382
The Amanin turned with great speed at the voice of the Gran
that had suddenly appeared from the shadows.

The three-eyed Gran had drawn a blaster set to kill and

seemed to fumble for a moment. In his left hand he held a
translator and it took the creature several seconds to translate
the Amanin's language.

"Damn thing takes so...here it is." The normally sand-colored

skin of the Gran quickly turned pale. His three eyes looked the
towering Amanin up and down. He suddenly felt very small
and his voice conveyed that. "You knew I was following you?"

The translator repeated the Gran's voice back to the Amanin.

The Amanin gently shook his staff, motioning to the empty
stake on the top. The staff was adorned with several small
creatures' heads.

"Jabba won't be disappointed with you. I am Krue Pleece and I

work for the renowned... businesshutt the mighty Jabba."
Krue waited and saw that the Amanin did not recognize the
name. "My employer is seeking people with special talents,
talents that you have. Jabba has authorized me to give you a
generous offer. I'm gonna have to change this offer though, I
don't think a cache of lumni spice and a generous amount of
credits will mean much to you."

The Amanin nodded and turned from the Gran. Within seconds
he was already out of Krue's vision. The Gran followed quickly.
"Damn. We are also prepared to offer you the heads of any
creature you chose from Jabba's own pens!"

"Damn. Then you can have that, whatever you want. Just
name your price! Jabba is wealthy, he can give you anything!"
He was losing this deal, too quickly. Jabba was not going to
like this.

Krue Pleece stopped in his tracks as though he had

been slapped. "You...you will?"

383
The laughter of a Gran is most unpleasant and Krue's was no
exception. "It doesn't work that way headhunter. This is a
deal that you can't refuse. Jabba won't accept that. And there
is very little room to negotiate. You can't try a Hutt's patience
like this. You'll be lucky if you get the original offer out of
this. Now be sensible. You may be quick, and a great hunter,
but do you think you can outrun a blaster?"

The Amanin's answer was simple. Skr'tee leapt to a tree and

swung away from branch to branch, all in less time it took
the Gran to find the trigger.

"Damn."

A metallic wailing howl filled the night sky, a terrible hot

breath washed over the forest; the driest, yellow leaves
caught fire from the flames of the ship's thrusters. It was a
simple armored shuttle that landed in a clearing, while parts
of the forest around it blazed in an orange glow. The
Amanin watched (and felt the heat of the ship) as the hatch
opened up like the maw of some unimagined beast, spewing
forth a fattened meal that was Jabba the Hutt.

The slug-like creature bellowed out orders to his unseen crew.

Suddenly various humans were scrambling around to obey the
crimelord's orders. The perimeter was quickly locked down
and surrounded by a dozen beings, mostly humanoids and
some Rodians. The Gran was not in sight. "One of my people
tell me that you are quite the hunter." Jabba slithered
forward; the Amanin matched the Hutt's stride and towered
over him.

"Ah-ha-ha. Now, now, hunter, do you believe that you are

capable of such a feat? I don't think so. Now, as to my offer,
I am also told that you have refused me. Is this true?"

"I am not accustomed to being refused, hunter." The Hutt

turned to his men and gave an order in Huttese that the
portable translator did not translate.
384
"This is what I'm accustomed to..."

A pale blue bolt lanced out across the clearing, jabbing the
Amanin on the side felling him in an instant. Normally, such a
blast would knock any creature into unconsciousness, but the
Amanin struggled on. He reached out pitifully at Jabba, his
mighty hand grabbing a handful of blubber, but before he
could do anything a sharp pain raced across the creature's
backside.

The twelve bodyguards surrounded the Amanin each drawing

a vibroblade and began slashing at the creature's body. The
Amanin screeched in terror, but not even the white-hot pain
could blacken his mind into oblivion.

"I have read several studies on your race, headhunter. Your

unique ability to regenerate limbs is not known throughout the
galaxy. But it is known to me."

A leg was cut off, while another of Jabba's guards hacked off
the foot. One of the arms was nearly pulled off too. "But there
are several theories as untested as of yet that if you were to
be cut in half, say," the other leg was now removed, the
Amanin's protests drowned out the Hutt, "the other would
regrow as a separate individual. It's time to put this theory to
rest."

The Amanin felt his head removed next. He watched

helplessly as one of the Rodians picked up his still moving
arm and brought it to the shuttle. The headhunter lay there,
staring up into the sky, watching the ship slowly rotate, its
forward batteries charged. The last thought the Amanin had
was the clear whine of lasers tearing into the rest of his body,
incinerating every last bit of flesh.

...Skr'tee stretched his slowly growing arm, only an eighth of

its usual length, but it could be used now. He looked at his
good hand and thought of the many bounties he brought in
for Jabba with these hands. Hundreds upon hundreds.
385
'I was but an arm when Jabba had taken me. Months of
oblivion it was until I had regained consciousness and
memories of the past. And many more months until I had
regrown into completeness. I was treated well; had been a
fool to not want to leave world. The Hutt's galaxy offered far
more creatures, far more challenges.

'Yes, I recognize my enemy. My enemy is my once true self.

The self that Jabba mutilated and then destroyed. Hunter
must have survived blast, somehow. But why is my old self
hunting me?'

Isleff's barge hissed and released various gases into the

atmosphere. The cool air scratched at the lungs of those
gathered beneath the barge's great bulk. Even Isleff looked
cold.

"How goes the hunt?" The Hutt began his usual jocularity all but
absent. Hidda stood, covered in a dark soiled cloak, head
searching to the left and then to the right. A few trackers stood
a short distance away, anxious to complete their task.

Small pudgy hands reached out from beneath Isleff's cloak,

which then brought the hood tighter to his chin. The Hutt
hated being cold, and was in a foul mood. "Skr'tee escaped."
It was not a question. His other hand shot out and caught the
Amanin by the collar, pulling him close to his face. Isleff
licked his lips. "I have grown weary of this game, Hidda. It
ends here, tonight. I will know if you will continue to serve
me at the end of this night, or Skr'tee." Isleff was about to
release Hidda when the Amanin was suddenly jerked even
closer to those thick pinkish lips. "Or neither of you." The
hand threw the majordomo to the ground.

Hidda found himself searching for his cloak that had fallen off.
Picking himself up he draped the cloak over his back.

But Isleff had already returned to the barge.

386
'Very well, My Lord,' he mocked, 'This part will all end tonight.
But after that, you shall follow. Enjoy your last night on your
homeworld, slime. For it will be your last.'

Hidda turned to the lead tracker, a two legged, one-meter tall

creature that used senses well beyond human comprehension.

"Close, close." The tracker spat in a scratchy voice, a voice

that was unaccustomed to speaking long sentences.

"Yes, yes." The tiny creatures spun around and were gone.

'Within the hour,' the Amanin's mocking turned to himself.

'They have been searching an entire day and night, and they
continue to give me the same answer. Close. Close. They do
not know what close means. Never had I been so close and
not know it when Isleff inspected Jabba's Palace. Reports
stated that all perished, including Skr'tee. I...needed to be
sure. I needed to see the body myself. And then to find out
that Skr'tee was not dead, and watching us. That was close.
Close.

'Jabba, the one responsible for all of this. At least his justice
came for him. I can still remember the Gran, and the torture.
Yes even the torture...'

...Hidda struggled against the effects of the paralysis. Even

Jabba looked surprised when he grabbed a fistful of flesh. He
could smell the sweat of the bodyguards, and the sweat of
the Hutt, a thick oppressive odor like that of Maridun's worst
bogs. When the first blade touched his skin, Hidda screeched
in pain, but still he could not move. Incredibly, although his
muscles would not obey his commands, the creature could
feel every decapitation with mind-numbing clarity.

Jabba was speaking about Amanin biology, and of the

methods he was 'accustomed' to, but Hidda was not listening.
He was dying. One of the guards, a Rodian used his foot to
turn Hidda over, onto his back. The headhunter stared at the
black sky, praying for oblivion to take him. An altogether new

387
sensation overtook him, a feeling that would never abate.
Hidda could feel the tiny kernel-like teeth of the Rodian
against his flesh. The Rodian had cut off his arm and then bit
off one of Hidda's fingers. And although unattached, his arm's
memories were his own.

The world began to spin as he felt a phantom pain of teeth

mashing his own skin; the algae-smell of the Rodians mouth
became thick in his senses. Hidda could taste the saliva as it
worked to break down the meat, could taste the meat of
several other animals this creature had recently eaten. While
Hidda squirmed on the ground, another guard hacking away
at his neck, he could feel himself slipping down the throat of
the Rodian, into the darkness of the esophagus, could feel the
muscles of the throat, working the morsel down into the
gullet...

'As black and as filthy as this night. But I did not die there,
Jabba may have been a successful crimelord, but he did not
always hire competent help.' The blast from the ship that was
meant to destroy Hidda had actually blown a large bit across
the clearing. A bit large enough to grow again. 'It took years
to regrow to maturity, and in that time, no one knew that I
lived, not even that abomination Skr'tee. That creature
relished in my abilities, and would not have been a success
without my skill. Skr'tee is no longer me. Jabba stole him and
molded him into a mockery of all headhunters. That creature
isn't even a true Amanin; he is an embarrassment to what I
was. '

Hidda had eventually found Isleff the Hutt and began working
for him, scheming to bring about Jabba's destruction, as well
as Skr'tee's. But Isleff was demanding and time was scarce
for Hidda to conduct his search. It did not take long to learn
that one does not refuse a Hutt (he had already been killed
by one for that same reason), and when Isleff promoted him
to majordomo, there was no choice to be made. But now that
Isleff sought the bounty hunter, Hidda now had the full
resources of a wealthy criminal empire behind him.

'But it still comes down to this. Skr'tee has been found, but
we have been unable to capture him on the world were no one

388
is your friend, and everyone is your enemy. No one has ever
entered Skr'tee's home and we cannot search every hole on
this accursed planet. Perhaps after a swim, my mind will
have relaxed enough so I can resume the search.'

The smallest of the tracker pack scurried out of the shadows

at that moment, clearly excited.

"Come. Come." The creature jumped excitedly.

"Come."

Hidda stood impatiently as the pig guard took its axe to the
doors that led to the warehouse that presumably held Skr'tee.
The axe shattered after making a small dent in the reinforced
steel. The trackers were restless and jumped around
incessantly.

The Gamorrean squealed as it rammed its full body against

the door. It made a deeper impression this time and
continued to bash against it until finally, the door gave way.

Hidda snapped his long fingers, signaling for the group of

pig guards to storm into the warehouse. As they did so,
Hidda followed in behind, still covered by his dark cloak.

It could see the layout of the place quite well, even in the
darkness, and it was immediately clear to his eyes that this
was truly the home of an Amanin. Trees from his homeworld
were scattered throughout the place, complete with springs
and a small river.
"Close! Close!"

Hidda allowed himself a smirk.

The trackers jumped excitedly and then disappeared down

the alleyway.

389
The majordomo had little faith in the Gamorreans, and so
slipped away into the darkness to aid in the search. Hidda
leapt to the trees swinging from branch to branch.

The squeal of a pig guard alerted his attention, and Hidda

made his way to the commotion. When he arrived, one of the
green skinned creatures had fallen into a mire, and was
entangled in a mesh of waterweed. It grunted and pleaded
for help in its panicked state.

The guard, feeling the waters rising to its mouth thrashed all
the more, succeeding in tangling himself further, the
waterweed pulled the creature down into the depths. Another
cry echoed across the plains, and Hidda went chasing after
it. While he had been distracted here, Skr'tee must have
attacked the other guards.

The two guards had tripped a booby-trap, and found

themselves impaled on what looked to be several spines
that were hidden in a ten foot deep pit. More screeching
could be heard, and then a deadly silence ensued. A shadow
dropped from the ceiling and knocked Hidda to the ground.
The Amanin's staff fell into the pit out of reach.

Skr'tee motioned to the dead guards.

Skr'tee lunged at the fallen Amanin, and wrapped his good

hand around the creatures fat neck. He snapped at its
neck with sharp fangs. Hidda pushed his attacker away.
Skr'tee went rolling away, cursing and muttering.

Hidda stood to his full height, throwing off his cloak,

arms locked at his side, ready to pounce.
Hidda leapt into the air, and came down upon Skr'tee. Lifting
Skr'tee above his head, Hidda flung him several meters away.
Skr'tee rolled along the ground, bashing his head off of the giant
dead tree, and was about to pick himself up when Hidda attacked
again. This time, he bit at Skr'tee, tearing away a strip of flesh
off of his growing arm. The regeneration process left the new
limb highly sensitive to all senses, touch, smell and pain. Skr'tee
howled and fell to the ground. Hidda jumped and landed on
Skr'tee's midsection, forcing the breath out of

390
his lungs. Hidda quickly wrapped his hands around Skr'tee's
head and began to squeeze.

Skr'tee could only grasp with his good arm, which was not
strong enough. The growing one, was covered with blood, and
thrashed useless in the air. He closed his eyes, fighting back
the pain and the beckoning call of unconsciousness. Minutes
seem to pass when Skr'tee suddenly felt the tightness around
his neck loose their grip, and the pressure from his chest
disappear completely. His red eyes opened and saw that
Hidda had fallen backwards and was wrestling with
something.

Skr'tee stood and tore a pointed branch from the dead tree
and turned to the Amanin. Hidda was rolling on the ground; a
large yellow hand that was not attached to the Amanin was
choking the life out of him. The hand had belonged to Skr'tee
and was actually starting to heal and grow again where the
bounty hunter had left it. Skr'tee stumbled over to the
Amanin, brandishing a branch from the dead tree.

Skr'tee raised the branch above his head and thrust it down.
Hidda wriggled and screamed madly, unable to lift himself
from the ground, now that he was skewered to it. Skr'tee's
arm continued to choke the creature. Squatting, Skr'tee
watched hungrily as the creature died. But Hidda was dead.
With a red fanged smile, Skr'tee lifted Hidda's arm and began
eating it.

Immediately the Amanin's most recent memories came to the

bounty hunter's mind.

Satisfied, Skr'tee walked away from the Amanin, leaving his

arm as well. The bounty hunter picked up the majordomo's
cloak and then returned to the lake and swam to the control
center where the rest of his plan lay waiting.

The explosion could be seen miles away, it brightened the

brown night sky with an eerie orange glow. The entire
warehouse had been laced with explosives that the Amanin
391
had set off, destroying his entire home along with Hidda,
ensuring that that creature would not survive as he had done
before. Skr'tee pulled the cloak tightly around his body and
walked away from the burning mess that he once called
home. Several of the surrounding places had also caught
fire, more explosions thumped into the night. Eventually, the
fire would grow and overcome the cantina he had visited and
was betrayed in.
An added bonus.

Keeping to the shadows, which increasingly became difficult

with the glowing blaze behind it, Skr'tee quickly made his
way along the streets of Nal Hutta. 'Ah, Isleff's barge,' Skr'tee
sighed, as several images from his last meal flashed across
his face.

'Prepare yourself. Your time is nearing an end.'

"It would appear that I have my answer." Isleff spoke to the

Rodian dancer before him. The Hutt's mood was fowl and the
Rodian slave had already felt his anger. Her back ached from
the blow Isleff dealt her with his tail, but she stood straight,
trying to let the pain and hurt show. "Move the barge away
from this sector with all haste," he spoke into a comlink. "I
want to be at the docking bay within the hour! Well now, I
suppose I should seriously begin searching for a new aide."
Isleff's massive pink eyes fell upon the Rodian slave.

"How would you serve me, little one?"

Immediately he blurted out in a laugh that shook his belly to

the very core. The dancer did not react. After wiping away his
tears he called for his guards. "You bore me, woman. Guards!
Take her away!" Isleff released the chain, and before the
Rodian could think of fleeing, she was being escorted away.

"Torture her first! Don't just kill her outright. I want to hear
her screams for the ride home. When we reach the docking
bay...kill her." The sail barge lurched forward as the rear

392
repulsors ignited, pushing the transport forward. Isleff sighed
once more wishing things had ended differently.

He could not be certain that Skr'tee had perished in the

explosion, but knowing Hidda and his success over the years,
it was difficult to doubt it. And Hidda was loyal if nothing
else. Hidda had a personal vendetta against Skr'tee as well,
and would if given no other choice, perish to know that
Skr'tee was deceased as well.

Isleff picked up a datapad searching for a

suitable replacement.

The wind had picked up, sending a chill through Skr'tee's

bruised body. He would be relieved when this night was done,
and he could find passage back to Maridun where he would
find the deepest, coolest lake he knew to soak in. But until
then, he had a bounty to collect.

Skr'tee stood at the entrance to the alley, staring at the sail

barge that was disappearing into the distance, the very same
barge he had taken from Hidda's memories. At the sound of
an approaching speederbike, Skr'tee turned to see a Corellian
race down the street, probably the first of many scavengers
that would visit the warzone. As the Corellian approached, the
Amanin slipped into the shadows. The whine increased and
with perfect timing, the bounty hunter stuck his good arm out,
catching the Corellian across the neck. With unimaginable
speed, Skr'tee's shorter arm lanced out at the same time and
hit the bike's deceleration button. The man fell to the ground
in a heap, while the speederbike raced away.

Using his one good arm and both legs, Skr'tee raced down the
street, swinging from overhangs and signs, lumbering on his
short feet when needed until he caught up to the speederbike,
grabbing one handle, Skr'tee leaped from the ground and
pulled himself up onto the bike. The wind battered his face,
throwing back his hood. He howled a curse into the night and
sped off after the barge.

393
The barge had tremendous speed, far more than that of a
speederbike, but could not use it in the cramped streets of the
Hutt homeworld. If it were out in the open, not even a
landspeeder would hope to catch up with it. But as such,
Skr'tee quickly found the barge and rode alongside it. With a
flick of a switch, the speederbike flew on automatic, while the
bounty hunter stood on the seat, balancing precariously,
trying to find the best handhold.

Skr'tee was running on automatic now, the site of the black

concrete racing by did not bother the creature in the least,
that a miscalculation would end up crushing Skr'tee like an
insect. He leapt to the side of the barge, fingers and toes
skillfully finding holds without a problem. The thrust of
Skr'tee's jump had pushed the speederbike away, which was
now racing along pilotless. Skr'tee watched as the bike
exploded against a building. Turning back to the climb
ahead, Skr'tee slowly inched his way toward the upper deck
like a spider, body tight against the ship.

Skr'tee was nearly to the top when he spotted the silhouette

of a tall figure, keeping to the shadows. The figure was
cloaked in a brown robe, face hidden by a ragged hood. The
Amanin slipped over the rails and landed softly on the deck.
The figure was staring into the distance toward the stern of
the ship. Without a sound the bounty hunter made his way
toward the figure, slipping between the deck generators. The
creature's profile was clear to him now. A soft gasp escaped
his mouth.

It was Hidda.

But that was not possible, Hidda had been completed

destroyed in the blast, Skr'tee had seen that himself. Was it
possible, however remote, that the Amanin escaped? It would
not have been the first time.

Hidda heard the quiet noise and turned to face the intruder. His
face looked surprised as well but after a few moments the
muscles relaxed and the creature turned back to the streets.
Unsure if Hidda was speaking to him, Skr'tee remained

394
hidden.

Skr'tee stood to his full height.

The bounty hunter retreated further into the shadows,

muscles tensing ready to spring. With that the Amanin
launched himself at Hidda, his one great hand caught the
other Amanin by the throat and squeezed like a vice. His
fangs were dripping with saliva. The deck's railing caught
Hidda's backward momentum and dug into his flesh. Skr'tee
forced his neck back until the only thing Hidda could see was
the rushing of the street below him.

Skr'tee was now using his feet to pin the other Amanin's
body against the railing but before he could get both feet
firmly planted, Hidda had recovered from the shock and
slipped a knee under Skr'tee's belly.

With a terrible grunt, Skr'tee found himself sailing over the

railing face first. Screeching, the Amanin reached out and
caught the rail with his underdeveloped arm that nearly pulled
itself out of the socket as the creature's fall continued its arch,
slamming against the side of the sail barge. His good hand
was still locked around Hidda's neck.

Hidda felt hiss neck nearly snap as Skr'tee fell over the side.
He gasped for breath but to no avail. His crimson eyes
darkened with the pain. He clawed at Skr'tee's fingers.
Through his own skin Hidda could smell Skr'tee's rage, could
taste his adrenaline like a sweet nectar.

The bounty hunter was using his legs to climb up the railing,
still pulling Hidda's neck back. His mouth was only inches
away from Hidda's ear.

Hidda could hardly breathe, let alone speak.

'It was...the...other.'

395
Skr'tee climbed back onto the deck, pulling Hidda with him.
He straddled the Amanin, pushing his neck against the
deck; hid grip loosened, but only fractionally.

Hidda roared with his last remaining breath and bucked

beneath Skr'tee. Skr'tee was tossed backwards as the
majordomo slipped away. The Amanin struggled to his
feet and staggered away, putting distance between him
and Skr'tee.

Skr'tee stood and started after Hidda.

Hidda slipped into the shadows once again, taking refuge
behind the deck generators.

Expecting an ambush, Skr'tee moved to the center of the deck

to the main pole that held the overhead sails. The hunter used
his lengthy arms to climb the mast, moving along the frame of
the sails. With a terrible scream that echoed into the night,
Skr'tee let himself drop between the generators, on top of
Hidda. They both tumbled to the deck, their arms tangling
together in a desperate struggle.

An almost puzzled look appeared on the Amanin's face.

With a hiss, Hidda bit into Skr'tee neck with his fangs
drawing thick black oil and blood. the majordomo screamed,

Their arms locked together again, jaws snapping like rabid

dogs.

Hidda, still grasping Skr'tee's arms, fell to the ground and

pulled the hunter down with him. Still rolling with the
momentum, Hidda came to his knees first and pinned the
Amanin down. Violently, the Amanin slammed Skr'tee's head
against the deck until the back of his green head split,
sending streaks of blood over the deck.

Hidda continued to growl.

Skr'tee eventually struggled free, but Hidda was still on the

offensive, battering the bounty hunter with his fists, forcing

396
him back toward the edge with each blow.

Another blow to the face.

Skr'tee stumbled and dropped to the deck. Hidda swung his

massive fist again which was stopped in mid air by
Skr'tee's own hand. The Amanin stared at his fist with
disbelief, now held by Skr'tee. The headhunter should have
been unconscious now.

Skr'tee glared into Hidda's bloody eyes, still gripping his fist.

With that, Skr'tee yanked Hidda's arm, hurling the Amanin over
the railing and into the darkness below. He watched the body
disappear far below and did not move until Hidda was
completely gone from sight. Skr'tee slumped his shoulders with
exhaustion, and yet the night's work was not done.

There was still Isleff to deal with.

He could feel the power of the thrust engines from the other
side of the deck plates. Quickly he tore into the plating,
creating a hole large enough for him to slip into. The noise of
the machinery was deafening, but he did not care, for he
would not be there long. His red eyes pierced the darkness as
if it was the middle of the day. He was searching for the
coolant lines that ran to the thrust generator to prevent it
from overheating. The pipes ran below the generator in a
maintenance shaft that made up the ceiling to the decks
below. Skr'tee ripped another deck plate off and slipped into
the maintenance shaft.

'This will serve more than one purpose. I can travel

unseen, and obtain moisture.'

The maintenance shaft was barely large enough for Skr'tee to

crawl through. The coolant pipes were dripping with moisture
throughout the entire shaft. The first several meters of the
shaft had been superheated from the engine and the water
leaking from the pipes scorched the hunter's skin and tasted
horrible from the radiation. Skr'tee continued on, trying to
navigate through the many turns and twists.

397
Screaming could be heard, echoing thorough the corridors. The
scream of a female was being broadcast across the ship's
communication system. Minutes passed and the screaming did
not abate, Skr'tee found himself pleasantly moist from the
leaking lines, as he made his way to the personnel quarters. It
was not a difficult task to find Hidda's personal quarters, for it
was the only room that had a wading pool full of rich Maridun
water. There, he found Hidda's staff and a fresh cloak.

The Amanin entered the main corridor, walking with a

confident stride. Several of Isleff's henchmen did not hesitate
to move out of his way, but they all gave him a curious
glance. Clearly Hidda's death had already reached Isleff.

'Isleff did not know of Hidda and the Other.'

Skr'tee reached Isleff's audience chamber and was met by a

company of guards. The leader, a tall hulk of a Corellian
placed a hand on the Amanin's chest to stop him. "Isleff won't
be disturbed, not even by you headhunter."

Skr'tee fought the urge to massacre the guards and struggled

in his mind for the proper words to say.
He had consumed some of the Other and so was now familiar
with his duties. The headhunter said.

"You're supposed to be dead." the Corellian replied, eliciting

laughter from the rest of the company.
The Corellian nodded, hand falling to his holster. "Listen
here headhunter, Isleff is in no mood for this..."

The Amanin stepped so he was standing directly against the

Corellian, looking down on the pale skinned creature. Skr'tee
bent his back, lowering his face to be even with the guards'.

The guard stared into those ruby eyes and felt his courage
falter. "All right. It's your head." The rest of the company
broke into a fit of laughter allowing the Corellian to appear to
walk away from the confrontation with the upper hand.

398
The Amanin pulled the hood over his head before entering
Isleff's audience chamber. The Hutt was alone, still searching
a datapad for Hidda's replacement. The headhunter entered
the chamber, head bowed in a respectful manner. As
expected, the Hutt did not acknowledge the creature's
presence for several minutes. The Amanin was only a meter
away; the Hutt had never looked so vulnerable.

Isleff finally peeled his eyes away from the datapad to look at
the visitor. His anger surfaced immediately. "Who permitted
you inside?" As always, the Hutt offered a question with a
most difficult answer. And should the answer displease him,
then death was rarely swift. The female's voice screeched
across the overhead speakers.

The headhunter removed the hood, dropping the entire cloak

to the floor.

The Hutt's eyes bulged imperceptibly from the surprise, and then
began chuckling. "Hidda!" he said, still chuckling, as he stared at
the Amanin, Isleff's chuckle turned into a deep laugh that quickly
grew out of control. "By all that is indecent on Nar Shadaa!
Hidda! I thought you were lost for good this time."

His face drew serious. "And so how was it that you

escaped the warehouse?

And then climbed aboard my barge without my knowing?

"Ah, mysterious as ever, eh Hidda? You will have to reveal

your secrets to me sometime. And as you know, I pay well
for such information."

The Amanin drew the equivalent to a smile on his face. The

screaming of that poor female finally stopped. A strange
gleam entered Isleff's eyes as he studied the Amanin.

399
"This charade has grown quite tiresome, has it not Skr'tee?"

Before the bounty hunter could reply, The Hutt swirled on his
dais, swinging his tail in a furious arc.

The tail caught the Amanin across the skull, sending him across
the chamber. The blow was hard enough to crush most, but
Amanin's were made of something stronger. Skr'tee rolled with
the blow and came up standing. Isleff slid from his dais and onto
the cold stone floor. His tail lashed out again, this time Skr'tee
dodged it, when the tail smashed the wall into a shower of
concrete, he realized he made a fatal error.

Isleff was now close enough to grab the headhunter with his
bare hands. "Did you really think you could take on Isleff the
Hutt, bounty hunter?"

Isleff had the Amanin by both arms, clasped tightly against its
sides. Their noses were only inches apart. Isleff inched himself
forward the bulk of his stomach was slowly crawling over the
Amanin's feet, trapping him beneath the great weight.

Skr'tee struggled, but could not free himself as the Hutt

rolled forward like a steamroller, pulling more and more of
the creature's body beneath him. Skr'tee could no longer
breath, not from the weight against his lungs, but from the
smell and feel of the Hutt's skin across his every pore. Every
inch of his body screamed in repulsion and still he fought. He
thought back to the day he had met Jabba the Hutt and that
hand-full of flesh. It was said that not even blaster fire could
harm the hide of a Hutt.

But it was rare for Skr'tee to use a blaster. Darkness was

swallowing the headhunter into its endless deep; Skr'tee
opened his mouth and fighting back further disgust, bit into
the thick hide. As his teeth clamped down, the hunter
jerked his head away, tearing a chunk of flesh away from
Isleff. "Ah-ha-ha, a mere insect bite, Skr'tee."

400
He could not bring himself to swallow the morsel. Skr'tee
focused on the injured area and began gnawing at the
opening, a few seconds later, the Hutt was swatting his
pudgy arms at the Amanin, suddenly in great pain. Blood
began pumping from the wound, drowning the Amanin in its
dark filth.

And still the creature dug, deeper into wound until finally Isleff
rolled off and he could breath again.
Isleff's tail thrashed at everything, while raging in every
known tongue and every obscenity he had learned during his
long life.

Like a mechanical creature, Skr'tee spoke no words, but only

limped over to the Hutt, avoiding the deadly snap of the tail
until finally they stood face to face. The Amanin wrapped his
good arm around the Hutt's neck. His arm wrapped
completely around, his fingers found his own shoulder and
clasped that. Isleff started to buck as he felt the pressure
squeeze into his neck like a vice. This was followed by another
entirely different sensation.

Skr'tee was pulling with all of his might, the Hutt's neck
stretched with each tug, his foot dug into Isleff's stomach,
the other braced itself onto the dais. With a sickening snap it
was over. Isleff's head tore from his body, sending a deluge
of blood across his body. Skr'tee stumbled backwards with his
prize. And what a prize it was.

Isleff the oldest of all Hutts, never seen without a cloak,

was his.

Skr'tee slumped to the ground, exhausted. He searched for

the nearest tankard even the taste of a hookah pipe would be
preferable to the blood that lined his mouth. Something akin
to a mental buzzing was pestering the headhunter now;
something was trying to surface. Isleff and Hidda were dead,
and yet no one else had this information. And as the guards
outside Isleff's chamber had proven, Hidda had survived yet
another impossible hunt. Skr'tee looked at the headless Hutt,
the knowledge and secrets of Isleff's entire empire was only a

401
meal away.

Skr'tee made his way to the communications center.

The Gran that answered looked surprised to see Hidda's face

staring back at him. "Yes sir?""Acknowledged." And with that,
the location of Isleff's secret palace would be revealed to him.

As the Filthy Mire traveled through hyperspace, Skr'tee

relaxed in the pool waters, fresh from Maridun that Hidda and
the Other once enjoyed. A thick cloud of brown smoke hung in
the air originating from the freshly rolled cigar that hung from
his mouth. A silver platter rested on the side of the pool, a
hunk of Isleff's meat sat on the tray, buzzing with insects.
Beside the meat sat a dirtied vibroblade and several stacks of
yellow leaves.

'I would thank Ephant Mon if I could. There was far more
deception to the Chevin than even Jabba realized.' Skr'tee
pulled the cigar out of his mouth, studying it. 'Hutt flesh is a
most horrid taste, as vile as a Hutt mind if not prepared
properly. I would not know this most excellent taste were it
not for Ephant Mon. Now I understand why Mon kept this
recipe secret. How many of these did the Chevin and myself
enjoy in front of Jabba?'

Once the cigar was finished, Skr'tee reached over and sliced
another piece of Isleff's flesh and rolled it into another cigar.

It was the best cigar he had tasted in a very long time.

400 A Conflict of Loyalties
By: Paul Charlton and Matt Wilkins

The bar was called the Weary Trooper. It was a favorite of

off-duty Stormtroopers stationed at the Aurora Prime
District. The owner and bartender was Curzon; a retired
Master Sergeant who made his business to ensure that
troopers were always welcome and made to feel at home.
The dcor wasnt anything to write home about, more art
militaire than art nouveau,but it suited his patrons and that
suited him. Lights were kept low, regimental mascots and
plaques covered what little drab olive paint showed beneath
the mass of battle honors and Nominal Rolls of fallen
comrades in arms.

Pictures of grinning youths in pristine fatigues shoulder to

should with stills of grizzled veterans in battle-scarred armor
holding aloft defiant Company Colors. It was a soldiers bar,
with soldiers sense of occasion and circumstance. Rough,
no-nonsense, on occasion, melancholy, for every soldier has
an old comrade in whose memory it is sometimes necessary
to raise a glass in salute.

There were a lot of glasses being raised in the Weary Trooper

today. Curzon watched the regulars with a wary eye. Soldiers
are a curious lot if you dont know them. A bar full of drunken,
raucous soldiers isnt the disaster waiting to happen like most
civilians assume it is. Unless the civilian in question tries to join
in, of course, in which case he should have had the sense to
know better. But a bar full of soldiers steadily drinking can be
very dangerous, especially if theyre going about it quietly and
purposefully. Curzon was worried. It was very quiet today,
but the bar wasnt empty. It wasnt a case of if trouble was
going to start, it was a case of where and when. He flicked a
glance at the window table. There. That was where it was
going to start.

Ordinarily, Curzon would have politely suggested that it was

time for the newcomers to leave, but not today. Not today of
all days and especially not these newcomers. His own
regulars would cut his throat if he tried to suggest it. One
way or another however, someone was going to take
exception to the Tie Corps cap that the oldest of the three
was wearing and when they did, it was going to get ugly.

Kessler grunted as Kerrigan nudged him in the ribs a

second time. With the minimum of effort he looked over at
the lean spacer and raised an eyebrow.

Refill? Kerrigan slurred, pointing at the empty glasses.

Kessler grunted in the affirmative and kicked at a slumped
figure snoring in a puddle of brandy at the other side of
the table.

I think Van Bastens had enough. He observed.

Like Hoth he has, Ill get him another, he can finish it later
when he wakes up. Kerrigan argued. With some effort, he
raised himself to his feet and walked to the bar. Curzon
raised three fingers and Kerrigan nodded in assent.

How much credit we got left? he inquired of the bartender.

You men can keep drinking all night as far of this lot are
concerned. Curzon answered. After what you three did
today, getting those boy out of that hell-hole youll be hard
pressed to find a trooper in this sector who wouldnt buy you
a drink. Curzon was careful to keep his voice and manner
steady. However, these guys tend to get a little surly when
theyve had a few and your friend over there a nod in the
direction of Kessler, is wearing a cap that isnt likely to
make him very popular once these guys have had enough to
drink. He carefully placed the last drink of Kerrigans tray.
Someone might get themselves the notion that he thinks
hes being funny, if you know what I mean.

Kerrigan considered Curzons advice. Look, Ill ask him, but

you dont know what hes like. He shrugged apologetically.

Curzon noded. Fair enough. But I know what this lot are
like. He resumed polishing glasses. Dont say you
werent wanred and you better pick a side quick when it
happens, because these boys dont give as much warning
as I do.

Kerrigan picked up the tray with exaggerated care that only

the truly drunk possess and slowly made his way back to
the table. Picking up his first glass he raised it in salute.

To the boys ofwhich one are we up to? he asked the

crowd in general.

Third Platoon, B Company. Someone offered.

Kerrigan shrugged. Ill drink to that. He downed the

drink and slammed the glass upside down on the table, a
motion that was repeated around the bar.

Several regulars stood to refresh their drinks. It was then

that Kessler did it. In retrospect, Kerrigan should have seen it
coming, but in all fairness, it wouldnt have made much
difference. Kessler had that dangerous look in his eye again
and Kerrigan knew from experience that when he brooded on
something you only had one choice, pick your side or walk
out.

Heres to the memory of Lieutenant Commander Horn,

Lieutenant Franks, Lieutenant Carlyle and Sublieutenant
Crist; Arnbiter Squadron, Argimiliar Garrison; unsung heroes
of the escape from Argimiliar and four of the Tie Corps finest.
They gave their lives so that others might live. Kesslers
gaze wondered from table to table, his glass raised. Patrons
at the bar froze, the tension in the air rached up half a dozen
levels.

Oh Sith-spit. Kerrigan wondered if he could make it to the

door in time with Van Basten over his shoulder. He doubted
it. Curzon slowly reached under the counter for the stunstave
he kept there.

What? asked Kessler of the deadly quiet room. No one

want to drink to the memory of four Tie Corp officers who
volunteered for a one way trip to try and save the asses of a
bunch of groundtroopers?

A couple of patrons rose to their feet, their

expressions indecipherable.

Here it comes. Thought Curzon, wondering why it was

taking the duty watch so long to respond to the silent
alarm hed just triggered.

Surely the brave men of the Hammers Fist will drink with
me to the memory of Arbiter Squadron? Well, they lost sixty
percent of their men on the first damn day of fighting trying
to stop those bombardments and they still volunteered to fly
cover for us even when the garrison troopers were spitting on
their boots every time they ran past to scramble against the
latest bomber raid.

Kesslers arm wavered, his glass trembled. Ah wellI guess

Ill drink alone then. He drained the glass and set it down
with one swallow, the crack of the glass hitting table ringing
about the bar like a gunshot. Looking around defiantly, he
reached for another drink. I guess Arbiter Squadron goes
unremembered then? Okay, maybe youll drink to the
memory of the crews of the Frigates, Emperors Fury, Tribune
and Hammers Vengeance then?

Thats enough Kess. Kerrigan tried to force Kesslers arm

down and succeeded only in spilling some of his drink, but it
was too late. Four troopers were pushing their way through
the silent crowd towards their table. Kessler seemed oblivious
to the threat. He contemplated the spilled alcohol seeping
into the floor and shrugged. Oh well, I suppose only the lice
get to drink to their memory.

The first trooper squared himself off in front of their table and
looked Kessler up and down. Word has it you boys did the
Legion a proud service today, for that you get some slack.
He leaned down and brought himself face to face with
Kesslers eyes. But dont puch your luck, flyboy. He leaned
back, crossing his arms. And as for your choice of headgear,
I reckon its a little inappropriate. Id suggest you get rid of it.
Now.

Kessler smiled and pushed his Tie Corps forage cap further
back on his head. And whos going to make me, you
steroid sucking, sorry-ass, stack of huttshi..

Kessler nursed his bruised eye and soar head gingerly.

His head hurt. A lot. Actually, the state of his head wasnt
the least of his problems. Hed lost his cap too.

Kerrigan had been released from the ER half an hour ago,

while Kessler was still waiting for minor surgery. He had no
idea what had happened to Van Basten, neither did he
care. They were all men thrown together by circumstance,
just dumb and unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at
the wrong time with ships that were theorectically capable
of breaking the blockade.

He touched his forehead and winced, he was fairly certain he

hadnt gotten any prettier after that Staff Sergeant had
danced on his face. He shook his head and sagged lower on
the ER waiting room bench. There was a news report
running on the holo, something about blame for the disaster
being apportioned? He squinted, fairly sure he knew the face
onscreenFleet Admiral Kawolski? Wasnt he a Vice Admiral
last time we spoke?
With a sigh of resignation, he admitted to himself that
perhaps he hadnt been keeping up with current events as
much as he should. He ignored the rest of the report, waiting
for someone to bring him his painkillers. That damn patrol
had taken its time breaking up the fight

The doors to the ER burst open with a startlingly loud crash

and a gurney was rushed in being another victim of the
evenings festivities. Kessler struggled to his feet, it was
about time he made his way home. He needed some sleep.

The Corels Dream lay deserted on the landing apron. The

flurry of activity that had consumed her and her two sisters
earlier in the day had long subsided. A light was on in the
cockpit of the Far Trader. He assumed Kerrigan had made it
back in more or less one piece and was sleeping off his
battle wounds. Van Bastens Lady Alyssa appeared battened
down tight. Not his problem.

The Corels Dream was a stander YT-1300 built on Aurora

under lincense from Corellian Engineering. Reliable,
reasonably fast, but most importantly, cheap. There were
millions of these ships plying the space lanes throughout the
galaxy. Favorites of smugglers due to their modular
component design, it was relatively easy to upgrade them.
Corels Dream was about as standard as they came, however.
He didnt have the money or the inclination to go tooling up
some hot-rod of a ship these days. A retired Tie Corps
Colonels pension didnt stretch very far and for a man whod
spent his entire adult life in the cockpits of various military
vessels, life on Aurora Prime was just too tame.

So Kessler had bought a cheap ship and worked out a few

reasonably profitable, safe trading routes. He enjoyed the
change of pace and chance to visit cultures without having to
look at them from the wrong end of a targeting scope.

Gradually, he lost touch with his comrades in the Corps and

his extended family. It had been six months since he had
bothered answering his mail. If pressed for a reason, hed
probably say he never had the time to get around to it, but
the truth was he didnt have an answer. Since retiring from
active service as a Wing Commander of Wing X on the ISD
Challenge, hed begun to find it too much of an effort to keep
acquaintances going with men and women still in the Corps.
Their respective lives were just too different now. Kessler had
taken the path of least resistance and simply let his past fall
by the wayside.
Reaching the cockpit, he slumped into the pilots station and
cradled his chin in one hand. His head still hurt, but his major
problem was lack of sleep. Cursing he noticed an insistent red
light on the Comms Array demanding his attention. It was a
recorded message from starport control. Move your ship to
the civilian quarter of the port area by midday tomorrow. You
are reminded that this is a military installation. Your co-
operation etc, etc. Some things never changed. He erased the
message and sighed, wondering how he was going to be able
to afford the docking bay rental. He closed his eyes, that was
tomorrows problem. Tomorrow was another day.

Someones insistent banging on the boarding ramp hatch

was what woke him. The second thing he noticed was the
Incoming message alert on the Comms Array. Groaning,
he wiped the sleep away and winced as he touched his
injured eye, forgotten in the just-woken funk.

Alright, already. He mumbled, making his way aft to

the hatch. He triggered the lock release and peered down
the ramp into the bright sunlight outside. Two Navy
Troopers were waiting impatiently below.

Captain Kessler? Owner of the Corels Dream? Resignation

D223476C?

Kessler sighed. Do you have a point son? Hed never been

a morning person. Catch him late at night and he was your
kind of man, but anytime in the first two hours after hed
risen and especially before hed at least had his first few
mugs of java and you were guaranteed not to catch him at
his most respective.

Captain Kessler, the towers been trying to contact you

for over half on hour. Youre overdue raising ship. We
have military transports queued to use this facility. You
are required to raise ship and relocate to

Kessler checked his watch. It was half past noon.

Sith-spit.

He triggered the ramp closed, ignoring the rest of the

demand and cutting off the indignant squeal of outrage from
the stunned trooper. Yeah, yeah, yeah. He muttered as he
groped his way back to the cockpit. And thats Colonel
Kessler, you ignorant piece of
Firing up the thrusters he began switching sysytems online.
He rubbed at the cramp in his neck that had developed
from sleeping in the cockpit as he completed the last of his
pre-flight checks. With a slight lurch the Corels Dream
became airborne.

He kept her in a hover for a second as he fumbled with the

comms headset, then flicked to the Tower Control frequency
and requested clearance to lift. An officious sounding
controller cleared him and wished him a slightly too
rehearsed good day, then he slowly pulled her about and
gained a little height, trying to get his bearings and locate the
Commercial Port Controls Nav beacon. Once locked on he
requested a docking bay.

Within minutes, he was cleared and landed in the cheapest

place he could get. Once safely powered down, he made
himself a pot of java and returned to the flight seat to
check his mail.

There were three messages according to the computer. He

settled back into his seat and sipped the scalding hot
liquid. Play. He ordered.

Captain Kessler of the Auroran registered trader Corels

Dream, D223476C. You have been fined for contravention of
Port Administration article 0312.4: Failure to follow
instructions from Tower Control; and article 1734.1:
Unauthorized use of Military Landing Facilities. This fine
must be paid within seven days or your lincense will be
suspended and your assests may be repossessed to recover
any legal cost

Erase. Play Next...assholes.

Uncle Kyle? Hi. This is Risua. Kesslers eyebrow raised in

surprise. He never admitted it, but he was always secretly
pleased when his niece sent him one of her infrequent
messages. Itd been a long time since hed replied to one, but
Risua Darkfire Cantor never gave up on him, of fact which he
was both grateful for and which he knew he didnt deserve.

Well I figure I missed your birthday, wherever you are

these days, but Happy Birthday anyway. Hope you had a
good one! How old are you anyway? Fifty? Sixty? He
laughed. Cheeky kidIm fourty-four and she knows it!

Well I dont have a lot of news to tell you that you probably
dont already know just from watching the news, but here goes.
Dad made Admiral at last, hes taken command of the Aggressor
Strike Force, uhh, I guess that was what used to be the
Aggressor Wing when you were second in command there.
Whatever, anyway, hes real busy of course, so we dont see as
much of each other as wed like, but you know how it goes I
guess. Same with Uncle Sen, did you know he made full
Admiral? Hes in charge of the Vattle Groups, which is
basically what hes always wanted, so were all happy for him.
Of course, that means I get to see my second favorite Uncle
almost as little as my first, which brings me to the point of
my message. I know youre still alive Uncle Kyle. I saw you
on the news last night. II know youre here an Aurora this
time, and well, Id like to see you again if I could. I guess
youll be here if you can make it. You know my address, I still
live in the same place.

Kesslers gaze dropped away from his Comm Array. Risua

had been his favorite relative. For all the wrong reasons. She
was bright, cheerful without being perky,a beautiful girl
grown into a fine young woman, the smartest of all the
Cantors by far; but there was one problem with Risua the
caused Kessler to find her company painful on occasion. She
reminded him at times too much of her Aunt Kayta and the
memory of that love could still cause grief even twenty years
after her loss.

I miss you Uncle Kyle. Please come. Goodbye.

He cleared his throat abruptly. With the exception of the

patient beep of the Comms Array reminding him that he
still had one message cued, the cockpit was silent.

Save message. Store in Family. Play Next.

Colonel Kyle Cantor Kessler, service number TC-

WCR1011 He began to pay attention. It had been a long
time since anyone had bothered to get his name and rank
correct.

As a registered member of the Fleet Reserve Corps, you

are ordered to report to you nearest TIE Corps Office for
compulsory re-enlistment within two standard days of
reception of this recall message. Upon presenting yourself
at such offices you can expect to be immediately reassigned
to active duty pending a refresher course of no more than
one weeks durartion. Failure to comply with the contents of
this message will be construed as a deliberate act of
desertion, punishable by the full weight of military law, with
all the consequences which that entails.

All in all, it was turning out to be a real motherhutt-

humping week.

It was later that same night when he ran into Kerrigan again.
The bar was called Safe Landings. He hated that name, but it
was a spacers bar and he knew he could blend in there.
Kerrigan took a seat at the bar next to him and waited for
him to speak.

Kessler glanced over at his one time partner and ordered

another pair of drinks. They both waited patiently, listening to
the jukebox play some tuneless popular melody while the
barman got their order, then raised their glasses and drank.

You look pretty. Kerrigan observed.

You mother thought so. Kessler shot back.

Kerrigan laughed good naturedly. Isnt it about time you

learned a new joke Kess?

Im too old to learn a new joke. Kessler grunted back.

Besides, youre too dumb to understand them anyway.

Kess, you are an old joke and youre the only one who
doesnt get it. The two raised their glasses again, the same
old ritual of greeting complete.

So, Kerrigan continued. You got your recall orders yet?

Yep.

Kerrigan waited. So?

Kessler took another pull of his drink. So what?

Dont give me a hard time Kess, when are you reporting for
duty and what are you going to do with the Dream? I could
give you a good price for her. Ive been looking for a cheap
ship to expand my line.

Kessler leaned back in his chair in mock surprise. Since

when have you been rich enough to afford to run two ships?

Theres a lot of stuff about me you dont know you ugly old
fighter jock and answer the fragging question. Kerrigan eyed
him suspiciously. Youre not are you? Youre not going
to report in at all are you?

What I do with my life is my business and keep your

voice down in here damn it.

Kerrigan raised his hands in a gesture of conciliation. Ok,

Kess, but can you be serious? The Corps will have your ass in
a sling before you can say Juri Juice! Besides, the way you
keep boring everyone with your old war stories Id have
thought you would have jumped at a chance to get back in
the saddle Kerrigan hunched himself over his drink in a fair
imitation of Kesslers traditional drinking pose. When I was
in the TIE Corps

Kessler threw a mock punch at the younger spacer. Kerrigan

avoided it easily, but stopped laughing at the troubled look
on Kesslers face. For all his feigned levity, Kessler seemed
serious.

Sith-spit Kess, why?

Kessler seemed to struggled with a response for a while,

then his shoulders slumped in defeat. I dont know Kerry.
Its not the same Corps I retired from anymore.

The two men nursed their drinks silently for a few

minutes. Kerrigan was the first to speak.

Its the Argimilian thing isnt it?

Kessler paused for along while before answering. I dont

know Kerry. Its a lot of things, I guess, but one thing I do
know, when I was in command of Wing X, we would never
have left those men to die on that sith-forsaken rock. Wed
have found a way to save them, somehow. He raised his
glass to his lips then set it down again without drinking.
Its just not the same anymore. I belong in a different day
and age. He cracked a humorless grin. I guess its trued
what you young punks all say about me. Im getting to old
for this hutt dung.

Kerrigan signaled the barman for another round. Well, Im

not about to try and tell you how to run your life, but you
got to realize that you cant stay in Hammer space with a
desertion notice over your head. The Bounty Hunters Guild
will track you down and I mean sooner rather than
later. Kessler nodded. So whats your plan?

Its a big galaxy.

Kerrigans eyes widened. Youre heading for New Republilc
space? Youve got some balls, Colonel Kessler. You know what
they do when they catch Imps over there? Have you ever
heard of the word spy? They still execute them in this day
and age.

Yeah, well, first of all, thats Rebel space not New Republic
and secondly, Im happy to take that chance. But thats not
exactly what I mean to do, I might need some help doing it.
He sat his glass down and turned to face Kerrigan directly.
You still have contacts who can set me up with false ID
codes and papers?

Kerrigan grew interested. Maybe, but itll cost you.

Ill find the money, thats my problem. I also need a partner

with a fair amount of storage space for a little high risk, low
profit enterprise Ive been thinking about. I aint kidding you,
Kerry, itll be dangerous.

Kerrigan gave him a long hard stare, What exactly are y ou

proposing?

Im an Imperial Officer Kerry, always have been, but

theres something I need to do back on Argimiliar II before I
can lay my past behind me.

Kerrigans eyes narrowed. You cannot be serious.

I need to find out what happened to the men we left there.

Once Ive done that I can get on with my life, wherever it
takes me, but I need to know what happened. You with me?

Kerrigan looked uncertain, he was a businessman after all.

Running Imperial licensed ships into Reb territory isnt
exactly good business sense.

Dont give me that crap, I know you do a little smuggling

on the side, you already admitted you could fix me up with
fake ID codes. Besides, he lowered his voice. I know you
dont feel any better about what happened than I do.

414
Maybe so Kess, but I prefer to deal with my regrets from the
right side of the prison stockade. Youll have to prick more
than conscience if you want to get me interested.

Kessler moved his glass around the table top. Okay, I figured
it might take more than relying on your spirit of human
compassion. If I dont make it out, you can have the Corels
Dream. Ill sign my ownership papers over to you in the event
that I drop the ball somewhere along the line, shes yours.
Lock, stock and barrel. Deal?

Kerrigan thought about it for a while, but not too long. Deal.

Okay, but you front the money for the fake IDs and
transponder codes. Kessler grinned. Im outta cash. That
cargo I dumped when we got jumped by that Reb blockade on
the way in was all the collateral I had.

Asshole.

The navcomputer proximity alarm went off right on schedule

and Kessler readied himself for sublight speed. He flicked a
brand new and highly illegal transponder code modulater from
standby to active and grasped the control surfaces as
realspace coalesced about the cockpit.

To external inspection, the Corels Dream was the Coruscant

registered YT-1300 freighter Cardshark. He and Kerrigan had
been over the plan in minute detail countless times. It was
common knowledge that the Rebellions Medical Support
Frigate Redemption had been critically damaged during the
orbital battle over Argimiliar II. The remaining two MC-80
Class Cruisers and four frigates, two of which were
themselves heavily damaged during the brief battle with ISD
Challenge, would have been badly stretched to provide
medical cover for all the combatants.

Kessler and Kerrigan were gambling that neither a relief

medical ship would have had time to be diverted to the
battlezone, nor that the wounded and prisoners would have
been evacuated from the planet yet.

415
They were going in as profiteers, hoping to make a killing
from selling emergency medical supplies, bacta and field
hospitals to the Rebel forces on the surface. Once theyd
gotten clearance to land, they hoped to play it by ear. With a
great deal of luck, the Rebellion would be too busy fortifying
and preparing for possible Imperial counterattacks to worry
about two civilians snooping around the prison stockades. The
plan had holes you could drive a Death Star through, but it
was the best Kessler could come up with on at short notice.

Kessler ran a short range sensor sweep of the surrounding

space. Kerrigans Far Trader dropped out of hyperspace to
klicks to starboard. There were no Rebel ships tat his
limited sensors could detect within scan range. All going to
plan so far.

Hed purposely dropped out of hyperspace far enough from

the planet to be out of immediate sensor range of any ships in
orbit, but the massive flare of x-rays generated by their exit
from hyperspace would have been detected by now; there
were no outlying planets in the Argimiliar system behind
which they could mask their exit flares. Rebel sensor ops
would be reporting their presense and fighter patrols would be
vectoring to intercept right now. As far as the Rebel Task
Force commander was aware, their hyspace exit signatures
could just as easily have belonged to two flight groups of
Imperial Missleboats as to a couple of itinerant black market
freelancers.

There was no sense in giving the Rebs any reason to get

anymore twitchy on their trigger fingers than they already
had a reason to be, but it was necessary to arrive as far away
from the Reb Task Force as possible in order to allow
themselves to get the hell out, just in case everything went
belly up early on. He spoke briefly to Kerrigan on short range
UHF. Going public, Kerry?

Roger that, Kess. Stick to the plan and well be ok.

He took a deep breath. New Republic Task Force this is

Captain Coolidge of the freighter Cardshark, traveling in
convoy with the freighter Shamrock. We are carrying medical
supplies and reuest permission to approach, over.

416
IFF transponders worked on a relatively simple principle. A
signal was sent out to the ships transponder on a frequency
agreed by interstellar law, querying the identity of the ship
being scanned. The transponder automatically replied with a
transmission containing registration details. The was sufficient
to identify any civilian vessel. Military transponders operated
on secret frequencies that were changed on a daily basis,
however. The signals were also encoded and the transponders
wouldnt reply to any signal unless they received the correct
coded query of whichever frequency was being used at that
particular time. Therefore, if a military ship queried your
transponder and didnt get any reply, civilian or military, you
were the enemy until proven otherwise. Hence IFF, Identify
Friend or Foe.

Kessler and Kerrigans ships werent transmitting the correct

data. Their code modulaters were supplying false registration
details to the Alliance pocket ships. That would be enough to
get their foot in the door, but you could guarantee that this
short of trick had been tried countless times before, by
pirates, smugglers and covert military operatives. Simply
relying on their fake IFF codes wouldnt be enough to get
them in, theyd have to be boarded and searched. That at
least would indicate that the Rebel commander down there
needed the supplies they were carrying badly enough to agree
to let them in.

If theyd been resupplied by their own side already, Kesslers

plan was screwed. If theyd already moved any Hammers Fist
prisoners off world, Kesslers plan was screwed. If the Rebel
commander didnt need any medical supplies, Kesslers plan
was screwed. Hell, if the Reb commander was just feeling
plain suspicious today, Kesslers plan was screwed. All in all,
he was depending on a lot of good fortune to get as far as
Argimiliar orbit today.

Freighters Cardshark and Shamrock, this is New Republic

warship Drakensberg, maintain your current course and
speed and standby to be boarded. Ensure you have your
cargo manifest, bill of landing and registration documentation
ready for inspection.

A relieved grin cracked Kesslers weathered face. Theyd taken

the bait. Roger that Drakensberg. Standing by for further
instructions.

417
Kessler waited nervously for the airlock to cycle. His DL-44
blaster lay holstered in his gun belt, slung over his shoulder;
his arms raised, palms open, facing the airlock. The light
above the lock flicked to green and the hatched hissed open.
He found himself starring down the barrels of half a dozen
blaster carbines. Rebel troopers surged from the hatch, one
relieving him of his weapon, another forcing him face down
on the deck with the barrel of a blaster pressed upon his
neck. Others took up covering positions on both entrances to
the cargo bay.

You boys go right ahead and make yourselves at home now.

Kessler quipped.

His attempt at levity was ignored. The muzzle of the carbine

pressed up behind his ear now. How many crew?

Just me. He wondered how Kerrrigan was reacting to this

treatment.

Take us to the cockpit.

He was hauled roughly to his feet and propelled towards

the cockpit with a rude shove in the back. Nothing out of
the ordinary so far. At least they havent blasted me, now
lets see if they fall for the forged paperwork.

Once in the cockpit he was spun around to face the Boadring

Officer and his bodyguard, as the remaining members of the
boarding party secured the rest of the vessel.

Papers. The Reb officer had cold, blue eyes, like two chips
of ice. He seemed professional about his business. Kessler
hoped that meant he could rely on him to follow procedure.
Hed been boarded before, he knew how this was supposed to
work.

Over there, on the navigation station.

The bodyguard picked up the datapad containing Kesslers

documentation as a third trooper entered the cockpit.

Ships secure sir. Preliminary investigation confirms his

story. Hes carrying medical supplies.

418
Okay private, get the ships computer hooked up and run a
match on these papers.

Yes sir!

A datapad was produced and connected to the S-comp

terminal of the Corels Dreams computer. As the comtech
worked, Kessler sat down slowly in the pilots chair.

Make yourselves at home boys, she wont bite. He indicated

the three spare seats in the cockpit.

The Boarding Officer seated himself but the two bodyguards

remained standing, carbines ready. The officer began studying
Kesslers registration papers.

Captain?

Coolidge. Kessler answered.

Had this ship long? The Rebel officer asked casually,

studying the data before him.

Six years almost, shes for sale if you want her.

A brief smile pulled at the corner of the Rebs mouth. Not

today, thank you. Shes a little long in the tooth for me. He
flipped the page. Where did you pick up this cargo?

Ord Mantell. Picked it up on the cheap. Been looking for a

buyer for a week, then news came about this little adventure
you boys had going. He shrugged. Figured we might be able
to help you out in our own small way.

It make a tidy little profit for yourselves as well, no doubt?

Kessler gave his very best sharks grin. Got to keep body and
soul together somehow, Major. He deliberately overestimated
the officers rank.

The trooper entered the cockpit and saluted. Scanning crew

reports all clear, sir. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Data checks complete, sir. He checks out.

The officer looked slightly disappointed. He stood handing the

datapad back to Kessler. Very well, Captain Coolidge, if my

419
superiors dont decide to just confiscate your stock out of
hand, youll be met on the surface by an officer with whom
you may negotiate prices. You may power up your engines
and follow our fighter escorts to the surface.

Kessler smiled. Youre too gracious, Major. You boys have a

safe trip home now. Privately, he couldnt give a hutt-dump if
his cargo was seized or not. After this stop he wasnt planning
on returning to Imperial space to face his creditors anyway.

The airlock indicater turned red and the Dream lurched

slightly as the Rebel Lamba class shuttle disengaged its
docking tackle. He waited for it to get clear and powered up
his ion drive, making sure to follow the two x-wings ahead of
him. This is it, were in.

The two freighters approached the embattled world at a

cautious rate, escorted by a flight of X-wing Space Superiority
fighters. Not wishing to use his active sensors, Kessler was
limited to the Dreams severely limited passive sensor array
to glean whatever data on the Rebel force he could.

Orbital electromagnetic activity indicated the presence of

several large Rebel ships and navigational sensors
confirmed at least one MC-80 Cruise and three, possibly
four frigates. There were almost certainly additional Rebel
ships over Argimiliar IIs radar horizon, but they were
undectable from Kesslers current position. If that was the
case, it was seriously bad news.

The Rebels had brought in additional ships to support the

blockade already in place here. It was probably that these
additional ships had been summoned when the ISD Challenge
and her support ships had attempted to lift the blockade, but
had arrived after the Imperial battle group had been
ignominiously forced to retreat, leaving the men below to
certain defeat.

Kessler despertely wanted to ask Kerrigan his opinion of what

the situation below might be, but he knew he couldnt run the
risk of his transmission being intercepted. Hed just have to be
patient and play it by ear.

Checking his sensors he realized he had another less pressing

problem. Wheres the damn colony beacon? He had to pretend

420
he didnt know the location of the colony and that meant
relying of the surface navigational beacon, unless the X-
wings were going to shepherd them in all the way.

As a pilot he hated to rely on anothers navigation, flying

blind, relying on someone else to do your pathfinding was
something he balked at, but he realized he should have
expected security to be tight. All the same, who were the
Rebs expecting to keep the colonys exact location from
anyway? It was a captured Imperial outpost, after all. The
forces of the Emperors Hammer knew exactly where the
colony was. Something just didnt add up.

A sudden flash of inspiration left a cold, gnawing fear in his

stomach. A moment later, his worst fear was confirmed.

Cardshark and Shamrock, this is ground control, standby for

deactivation of energy shield. On my mark, threetwo..one.
Energy shield had been deactivated, confirm you have the
colony beacon on your navigational plot, over.

There is was, the beacon, previously blocked by a defensive

energy field, showed up loud and clear on the na display.

This is Shamrock, roger that ground control. I have you loud

and clear.

This is Cardshark, Kessler cursed silently. Roger that also, I

have your beacon five by five.

Acknowledged, you are clear of the shield, re-energizing.

Welcome to Argimiliar, please follow your beacons to
your assigned landing spots.

This was serious trouble. The one thing that had never
considered was that the Rebs would be able to get a shield
generator up and running in the short space of time allowed
to them. This changed everything.

Kessler thought frantically. How was it possible to stage a

breakout with an energy shield enclosing the colony? The
venture had been doomed from the start. This was just the
final nail in the coffin.

The colony itself appeared low on the horizon. Ahead, the

escorting Rebel Fighters broke off and climbed away,

421
returning to their patrol stations. Off to his right, Kerrigans
ship flared its breaking thrusters and began to decelerate.
Kessler started the landing cyle himself, possibilities
coursing through his brain. No matter which way he looked
at it, their options were severely limited.

The outskirts of the colony began to fly past below him.

Argimiliar II had been colonized two months before, primarily
as an Imperial outpost. It had taken just short of two weeks
to off load and set up all the necessary equipment and troops
to enable them to be mostly self-sufficent, then the first of
the engineers had arrived to begin building the Starport for
the TIE Corps detachment which would control traffic in the
system from any threats.

Once the necessary support structure was in place, work

began on the housing, power and subsistence agricultural
facilities which would be needed to support the workers due
to arrive once the facilities to provide for them were in place.

The plan was to turn Argimiliar II into both a strategically

important forward baseof operations in the Minos Cluster and to
begin converting the jungles into farmland to feed the ravenous
billions of the Emperors Hammer domain. After two months of
vigilance, the ISD Challenge had been required to leave in order
to resupply with fresh equipment for the new colony. Her
escorts, th Frigate Tribune, Hammers Vengeance and Emperors
Fury, were left to oversee the safety of the engineers
constructing the factories which would begin to produce the
agricultural equipment necessary to fulfill the Directorates
second objective for Argimiliar.

Work had begun on the orbital platform which would

safeguard the first. As she was due to leave Aurora Prime,
fully loaded with prefabricated parts and construction
materials, word came in of lightening Rebel attacks on
Imperial traffic installations all over the Minos Cluster.

The resources of the TIE Corps were stretched nearly to the

breaking point dealing with Rebel hit and fae tactics. The
Aggressor Strike Force was pinned down in several running
battle with the Rebel interlopers and it was clear that the
Rebelion was poised for a major attack somewhere along
the line.

422
Fleet analyst were frantically trying to predict exactly where
the strike would fall. Quietly, the ISDs of the Battle Groups
and Auroran Home Guard were deployed to defensive
positions around the core worlds, while the ISD Challenge
returned to Argimiliar at flank speed, her orders to prepare for
defense against possible Rebel attack. What happened next
was history.

Argimliar had been the Rebels true objective all along. Upon
her arrival the Challenge had been jumped by an entire Rebel
Sector Defense Fleet. Hopelessly outnumbered and with her
three escort frigates destroyed long before her arrival, Rear
Admiral Torres was forced to order a fighting withdrawel.

Fully loaded with engineering and industrial equipment, he no

longer had his usual complement of heavy assault equipment
to deliver to the Imperial troops desperately battling on the
surface. Wthout his transports and landing barges, he had no
way of evacuating them either. It was a case of cut your
losses and get out. Torres was forced to ignore the pleas for
assistance from the beleaguered garrison and withdrew to the
safty of hyperspace. Hed been lucky the Rebs hadnt had any
Indictor Cruisers in their arsenal or hed never have made it
out with his ship and crew alive.

None of which mattered in the eyes on the Hammers Fist or

the public. The TIE Corps had betrayed the Stormtroopers on
the surface, it was that simple. The problem was, no matter
how well informed Kessler was on the subject, he felt the
same way too.

The devastation caused by the orbital bombardment and the

subsequent ground fighting was evident even from this altitude.
The Rebels however, wasted no time in repairing the damaged
theyd caused and were even now using the colonys heavy
construction equipment to fortify and clear rubble.

The Dream slowed over the starport, the TIE lauch cradles in
ruins but otherwaise, mostly intact. It occurred to him that
the colony center hadnt been too badly damaged at all. Most
of the devastation was confined to the perimeter. It appeared
the Rebellion wanted to take the core colony complex intact.
That would explain why they hadnt asked twice about his
medical supplies, the fighting around the center must have

423
been savage if they hadnt wanted to risk using heavy
assault equipment.

The Corels Dream flared its breaking thrusters and landed

amidst a cloud of dust in an open space amongst a small fleet
of shuttles and transports, busily loading and unloading a
multitude of cargoes. He was met at the boarding ramp by a
disheveled looking Rebel officer and a handful of wary looking
troopers. From the state of their uniform and their generally
unkempt appearance, it seemed that they were obviously
having a busy time down here.

Captain Coolidge? The officer asked, shielding his face from

the bright sunlight.

Thats me. Kessler answered, stripping off his gloves as he

decended down the ramp.

Welcome to paradise captain, The officer greeted him. As

you can see, were running a little behind schedule getting the
landscape gardening finished. Im Major Horn, He shook
Kesslers hand vigorously. I understand you have some
supplies for us.

Kessler shifted his gunbelt and shoved his gloves behind his
wasteband. Sure thing Major, Ive got a ship full of bacta,
surgical supplies, three field hospitals and half a dozen FX-
7 medical droids in storage. Think you can use all of that?

Oh I think we can come to some kind of an agreement. How

smiled. He made a chopping motion with his right hand and
the troopers behind him filed up the ramp and onto the ship.

Kessler watched them go up with a smile. Now Majoryou

havent even started to bargain with me yet. Taking a cigar
from his short pocket he bit off the end and spat it to the
ground. What kind of a businessman are you?

The smile left Horns face briefly. Im not a businessman

Captain Coolidge, Im an Officer in the New Republic Navy
and I have a lot of wounded men down here who need those
supplies youre carrying. He paused for a breath, then his
manner seemed to soften.

424
Look, Captain, were not going to rip you off. Youll get the
standard market prices for your cargo. Were the New
Republic, not the damned Empire after all.

Kessler smiled, here it comes, the part about how youre

trying to bring peace and freedom to the galaxy. But Horn
appeared to be finished. Ok Major, I guess I can leave your
boys to do the rest of the unloading themselves. You want to
sign for my stuff now or when its all off the Shark? Idly, he
patted down his pockets for a lighter.

Horn raised his eyebrows dubiously. I may not be a

businessman Captain, but I wasnt born yesterday. I think
well pay up after weve inspected the goods.

Kessler laughed good naturedly, clapping Horn on the back as

he strode by him. Hell, I like you Major, youre my kind of
Navy. I wont even charge you extra for my expensives!

Horn laughed and turned to climb the boarding ramp as

Kessler made his was to Kerrigans ship. The Far Trader, aka
Shamrock, was surrounded by a similar group of utility
vehicles, already making short work of his stock. Kerrigan
waved at Kessler as he approached.

Top of the morning to you, Captain Coolidge!

And top of the morning to you Captain Hart. Kessler replied.

A private word with you in your shell, Captain Coolidge, if

you dont mind? Kerrigan whispered.

Kessler nodded and the two of them slipped away from the
noise and bustle of the unloading process.

Kerrigan produced a lighter and attended to Kesslers

cigar. You thinking what Im thinking?

Kessler raised an eyebrow as he puffed away to get the cigar

lit. The energy shield?

The very same. We didnt figure on this. I think were royally

screwed, Kess. No way we can get anybody off this mudball
with that shield in operation.

425
Maybe.

Kerrigan starred at Kessler in surprised horror. Are you out

of your tiny mind?! What are you suggesting? One of us take
out the shield generator while the other one stages a mass
breakout from the prison stockade we dont even know exist
yet, evade those turboblasters, break for orbit, fight our way
through the entire Rebel Fleet and somehow get to
hyperspace before reduced to atoms? Are you insane?!

Kessler grunted. Turboblasters? Must have missed them,

where are they? North or South?

Kerrigan gaped.

Okay, okay, youre right, it does look hopeless. He sighed.

Kerry weve come this farthere has to be a way. He looked
at the burning tip of the cigar for a long moment, refusing to
meet the other mans stare.

Look, maybe we can at least find out what happened to the

prisoners they took. Find out which world theyre being held on
and maybe get word back to someone. At least thered be a
chance they might make a rescue attempt. Kesslers eyes
pleaded with Kerrigan. Come on, weve gotta try something?

Kerrigan gave up. Damn it, okay, okay. But thats it alright?
Youre just going to have to admit the TIE Corps screwed
these guys over and left them to dry and theres nothing
you can do to make yourself feel any better about it.

Kessler seemed to retreat within himself. Kerrigan wondered

if hed gone to far, nevertheless, it was something he wanted
to make absolutely clear.

Look Kess, Im sorry okay? But you cant keep punishing

yourself for something that the TIE Corps is responsible for. If
this is some quest of yours for personal redemption you can
count me the hell out. Now are you going with the program
or are you going to flake out and do something real stupid?

Im with you.

Are we clear.

426
Crystal.

Kerrigan grasped his friend by the shoulder and squeezed.

Okay, now get out of here and go dig us up some
evidence, you old bum. Ill meet you back at the Far Trader
in an hour with what I find, okay?

Kessler smiled. See you in an hour.

And dont do anything dumb, I dont want your ship that

badly!

The frenzied activity in the shuttle port was in stark contrast

to the colony center. The damage here wasnt nearly as
bad, confirming Kesslers suspicions.

Pock-marks etched in the walls of the structures, indicating

where blaster fire had made its mark, here and there were
black scorches where thermal detonators had ignited. Apart
from the evidence there was very little substantial damage.
The Rebels obviously had been made to pay in blood for every
meter theyd gained. It must have been a vicious fight. You
took plenty of them with you, didnt you boys?

In half an hour, Kessler had seen no evidence of any kind of

sculpture that might have housed prisoners. The core of the
complex had been rapidly repaired and put to military use.
Weary troops rested on the street corners or ate at field
kitchens. The colony command center had been restored to its
original use and troops guarded the entrances, but no other
building appeared to be guarded to any degree that might
have indicated the presence of Imperial prisoners.

Kessler began to despair ever finding anything of use. It

looked increasingly likely that the Third Battalion of the First
Auroran Shock Legion had either fought to the last man or
had already been lifted offworld to serve out the rest of their
lives on some penal colony.

He turned to another corner, only to be stopped by the sight

of rows of flyblown bodies, covered in sheets of plastic. A lone

427
Rebel soldier stood over them, looking lost and forlorn.
Kesslers heart leapt, then he realized the bodies were Rebels,
not Stormtroopers.

He slumped on the sidewalk in defeat. Look at me, who do

I think I am anyway? This is hopeless. Did I really think I
was personally going to save those men? Me?

Got a light, mister?

Kessler looked around in surprise. He was a Rebel Fleet

trooper and seemed impossibly young, but his eyes told a
different story. The last time Kessler had seen eyes like that
was when hed said goodbye to General Donner, after days of
bombardment and perimeter fighting, just as these very
Rebel troops were preparing to encircle the colony. Get my
men out of here Colonel Kessler, or die trying.

He hastily searched his pockets but still couldnt find his

lighter. Taking the cigar from his mouth, he hastily offered
it to the Rebel trooper.

Thanks. Said the young man, once hed managed to light

his own. Kessler noticed that his hands trembled slightly.
Battle fatigue? Those things will kill ya you know?

The soldier laughed. Yeah, Im blaster-proof.

Kessler chuckled softly. Well, when you put it like that

The two men regarded eachother for a while.

Who the hell are you old timer?

Kessler tapped the side of his nose in a conspiratorial manner.

Dont tell anyone, but Im a smuggler.

The soldier grinned. Wont tell a soul you flew in one

of those old Corellian birds just now?

Thats me.

This seemed to satisfy the soldier for a while. Kessler decided

to take the chance. Must have been pretty tough down here
at the end.

428
The soldier nodded, starring at the blue patterns of smoke
from the cigar before they were dispersed by a slight breeze.
You could say that, got a bit like a starship boarding
operation at one point.

Kessler whistled. That bad?

The soldier nodded. He seemed to be having trouble holding

his cigar steady. It didnt make sense, they refused to give us
an inch. Even when we got one of their positions surrounded
theyd just keep fighting. Hell, I even saw the wounded
shooting at us. Wed lost a dozen men taking a position and
when we did, theyd be gone likeghosts. Pulled back without
any warning. Then theyd start firing at us from another
position further down the street, they just wouldnt quit. The
young soldier whispered softly. Their position was hopeless
the second we ran that ISD out of orbit and the knew it but
point blank refused to surrender. He shuddered.
Afterwards , when it was all over, we counted the bodies.
There were hardly any of them! Compared to us, I mean. We
must have gotten all of them in the bombing but the few who
were left fought like lunaticsI never want to face another
Imperial Stormtrooper again as long as I live. Pirates,
smugglers, at least they know when the game is over, but
Stormtroopers He turned to face Kessler, his eyes bright,
lips trembling. You think they want this system bad enough
to come back for it old man?

Kessler felt strangely responsible for the young mans misery.

Awkwardly, he found himself grasping him by the shoulder,
trying to reassure him. Relax son, they wont be back. You
showed them whos boss this time.

The young soldier tried to smile anxiously, looking back at the

long rows of Rebel troopers lying silently under the plastic
shroud. Yeahwe showed them didnt we?

Kerrigan waited for him in the cockpit of the Far Trader when
he returned just before dark. He sensed there was something
wrong instantly.

429
You okay, you look aweful.

Your mother didnt think so.

He put down his drink and frowned. No Kess, Im

serious. You look terrible. What happened?

Kessler heaved himself into the co-pilot station and picked

up the bottle Kerrigan had carelessly left on the navigation
console. Ask me another time. He took a long hard swig of
the bottles contents.

Kerrigan eyed him curiously but let it pass. Soyou find

anything?

Not much, hell nothing. No prisoners, no bodies, not even

a sign that there was prisoners. You?

Kerrigan sipped his drink. Well I found something weird, a

handful of prisoners being kept under guard in a
warehouse overlooking the landing field.

Kessler looked up, alert and hopeful. Calm down Kess, they
were civilians, engineers mostly, no more than a dozen of
them. Theyre still here because all the Reb transport
capability is being used to stock this place up with war
supplies and so onthe weird thing is, they say they didnt
see any Stormtroopers being ferried offworld at all and I didnt
see that looked like it was guarded heavily enough to be a
Stormtrooper prison facility.

Kessler nodded. Me neither, so where does that leave us?

Kerrigan spoke quietly. I think we might have to get

ourselves used to the notion theyre all dead.

Kessler nodded but something indefinable was bothering him.

I dont know, theres something wrong here. I just cant put
my finger on it.

Kess, give it up, theyre gone.

Its not that. I know what youre thinking but its not that this
time. Somethings wrong.

430
Kerrigan hissed in disgust. Leave it, will you? Even if we had
found prisoners here, we still havent come up with a way of
getting them out of here in one piece. Its over! Why cant you
just admit that?

Kessler suddenly felt the weight of his years. Kerrigan was

right. Maybe he was trying to find personal redemption for
the failures of the TIE Corps on Argimiliar II. It didnt matter,
whatever had happened to the Third Battalion, First Aroran
Shock Legion seemded to be lost in history. Theyd failed.

Im going to get some sleep Kerry, see you in the morning.

Okay Kess.

Kessler paused on his way out of the cockpit. Seems you

wont be getting your hands of the Dream after all. You can
have my share of the profits from this trip to compensate you,
okay?

Kerrigan laughed. Forget it you old bum, I figure youll need

all the collateral you can get where youre going. He
clunched his shirt pocket suddenly. Oh nearly forgot! He
pulled a small metallic object from his pocket and threw it at
the older man. You lighter.

Thanks. Kessler smiled. Youre a good friend Kerry.

Kerrigans expression became suddenly unreadable,

regretful perhaps? You deserve better friends than me,
Kess. Goodnight, old warrior.

Something about the way he said it troubled Kessler more

than the acceptance that he had failed in his mission. It
wasnt like Kerrigan to be fatalistic. Maybe his friend was more
troubled about the affair than hed let on? It seemed probable,
nevertheless, it was a strange thing to say. Kessler shook his
head thoughtfully. Kerrigan seemed to be full of surprises.

431
Thats it! Kessler awoke from his slumber with a start. The
cockpit was almost pitch black, illuminated only by the glow
of instrumentation on standby and the insistant winking of the
Message received light on the Comms Array. The alarm
accompanying it must have been what startled him awake.

Outside, work crews labored under arc lights, no respect paid

to the lateness of the hour. Kessler shook his head to clear
the cobwebs, the realization that had gripped him in his
sleep slipping away like a dream. Think damn it! Something
about why there werent any Stormtroopers left on
Argimiliar? He clutched feverishly at half forgotten memories,
something about what had scared the Rebel kid had
saidAfterwards, when it was all over, we counted the
bodies. There were hardly any of them

What was it about that, that was so important?

Something was wrong. It took a moment for him to realize

that the Far Trader was no longer on the landing apron
something was very wrong.

Across the far side of the field, armored ground transports

were springing to life, work crews were stopping in mid-action,
a siren began to wail mournfully across the complex.

Kerrigan, you sorry sack of Sith-spit, what have you done?

Play message! He began to warm up the thrusters, skipping

all but the most essential pre-flight checks. Something told
him he needed to get the Corels Dream airborne now!

Hi Kess, Kerrigan here, by now the Rebs will have noticed

something amiss in those supplies we sold them. Those FX-7
medical droids have just begun to start murdering the
wounded troops theyre meant to be treating. Theyre not
ordinary med droids, obviously. Each of them has been
reprogrammed with assassin protocols. With any luck, one of
them has already assassinated the Rebel ground commander
and another has self destructed in the communications uplink.
Unfortunantly, I wasnt aware of any energy shield generator
when we uploaded their new programming or wed have taken
pains to ensure that one of them took care of that too, but I
guess you cant plan for everything, can you?

432
Kessler let loose a string of curses. Kerrigan, what have you
done to me?! He frantically flipped switches, bringing essential
systems to life. Kicking the nav computer on, he began the
calculations needed to make a jump to hyperspace. Panicking he
remembered something important. Shields!

He threw the necessary switches and a blast rocked the ship

on its landing struts. He heard a loud crack amid ships and
smelled something burning. Too late.

Sorry to leave you in a lurch like this, but we thought it

might be useful to have something else down there to keep
their attention focused, so youre just going to have to do
your best to get out of there on your own. Id recommend you
make for an area of heavy geothermal activity four clicks just
west of your location. Dont try to make for orbit, you wont
make it. At least the thermal activity will give you time to
land, escape from the Dream and get under cover of the
jungle before they can track you down, but I wouldnt waste
any time. Theyre liable to be very pissed at you. Good luck
Colonel Kessler, serve the Empire above all others.

Too much happening, too little time to react. The engines

surged to life and he lifted her into a hover. Boarding ramp!
He withdrew the ramp and the Corels Dream turned about
and surged into motion. Did he say due west? West was as
good as any other direction. He killed his landing lights to
make himself a less visible target and gunned the throttle.
West? Wait a second, something was wrong with the west!

The ship lurched over to starboard with a mighty roar and

Kessler was thrown from his seat crashing into the cockpit
canopy, the cabin briefly illuminated with a dazzling bright red
flare.

Oh yeah the turboblasters.

Master alarm warnings were going off all over the cockpit. The
Dream seemed to hover in mid-air for a second, then he was
thrown back into the pilots station as if by a giant hand, nose
first. With a desperate effort he grasped the controls and
heaved back, killing throttle power and willing the repulsorlifts
to respond. Come on baby, dont let me down!

433
Without landing lights and with most of his instrumentation
trashed, he had no idea how close to the ground he was. Pilots
instincts told him he was approaching level flight, when a second
lurch rattled his striken ship and he almost lost the controls. A
shower of foliage briefly obscured the canopy and the engines
shrieked in protest. Metal screamed as it reached breaking point,
he was caught onsomething, but what?

Landing struts!

A second volley of turbolaser fire illuminated the night sky far

above. At the very least, his unplanned crash dive had thrown
off the gunners aim and he was now too low for the turrents
to track him. Well break out the booze maybe I should be
celebrating? He punched the landing gear retraction switch
and something groaned ominously. Come on you old ugly
thing, dont fall apart on me now.

Something broke below him and the Corels Dream surged

clear. Think, damn you Kessler, youre a Colonel in the
Emperors Hammer TIE Corps, youre too good to die in
this old freighter! His heading was still, by some miracle,
due west. Hed passed the turboblasters but even without
the trashed damaged indicators he could tell his ship was
doomed.

Something Kerrigan had said seemed vitally important.

Dont try to make it for orbit, you wont make it That was
obvious, hed never make it past the blockade in this state,
but Kerrigan couldnt have counted on the trubolaser gunners
being alert enough to take him out. There had to be
something else.

His engines chose that moment to cough and die. The Corels
Dream became very silent, save for the sound of wind
whistling against the spiders web cracks on the cockpit
canopy and the crackle and pop of burning wires. All alarms
died and the internal cockpit instrument panel winked out at
once. You sabotaged me? He began pulling at the restraints
on the pilots seat, clipping them into place onto the quick
release catch. With seconds to go he braced for impact.
Kerrigans voice floated back to him, seeming to mock him
from a distance. You deserve better friends than me
goodnight, old warrior

434
She hit the surface.

Something was burning and he couldnt breathe properly. He

tasted something salty in his mouth and coughed, spitting it
out. Blood. His mouth hurt, he opened his eyes and realized
that the blood was leaking into them from a wound on his face.
He took a shuddering breathe and coughed violently. The
cockpit was filling up with smoke rapidly, releasing his straps,
he clambered unsteadily to his feet.

He had no idea how long hed been out, but didnt appear to
be in any immediate risk of capture. Escape from his burning
ship was his immediate priority. A quick glance at the thick
smoke billowing from the fire raging deep within the Dream
confirmed that there was no getting out the old fashioned
way. He drew his blaster, thankful to find it was still holstered
and fired a burst into the canopy. It shattered, already
weakened by the multiple impacts of crashes, he followed up
with a kick from his booted feet and struggles through to
clean air.

Outside it was too dark to determine the distance of ground

he had covered, the crash cleared away any jungle vegetation
within reach that might have been used to lower himself to
safety. He gritted his teeth and dropped, trusting more to
luck than judgement.

The impact, when it came, was embarrassingly easy. He

couldnt have dropped more than four feet. Still holding the
blaster he stumbled off into the jungle, tripping over roots and
vegetation. The first time hed been here the jungle had
hidden their ships from detection only because the Rebellion
had no reason to know where any ships might be hiding. Any
detailed scan would have picked them up easily enough.
Today was different, he knew he had to put as much distance
between himself and the Corels Dream as he possibly could.

Id recommend you make for an area of heavy

geothermal activity four clicks west of your position

435
He would have killed for Stormtrooper battle armor right now,
the armored suits werent just designed to protect their
wearers in battle, they also contained night vision scopes,
navigational aids, limited sensor packs, and most importantly,
they filtered out chemical and thermal waste elements,
making their wearers virtually impossible to detect with
typical battlefield sensor equipment.

He could only hope that the myriad of wildlife native to the

planet would confuse tracking long enough for him to make it
to the geothermal vents and so avoid detection until he could
figure out how to smuggle himself onboard a shuttle and
somehow escape this mess.

Just what kind of predators lived in the jungles anyway?

He checked the power level of his blaster , wishing it was
something bigger.

Halt. Drop your weapon and lie face down on the ground.

That was it then. Game over.

He dropped the blaster as ordered and assumed the

prone position, trying to decide if it would be possible to
take his captor by surprise.

Perell, Berns, check him for hidden weapons.

Okay, make that captors. Not a chance now, he knew it. It

was then when he realized the voice had come to him filtered
through a helmet microphone. Rebel troops didnt wear
helmet microphones. With a surge of joy he realized what had
happened to the Argimiliar Garrison.

Afterwards, when it was all over, we counted the

bodies. There were hardly any of them

Someone patted him down and he was pulled roughly to his

feet, he was facing two Imperial Stormtroopers. Their
breastplates clearly identifying them as members of the
Third Battalion, First Auroran Shock Legion, despite the
accumulated grime and carefully applied jungle camouflage
that had been diligently and professionally applied to their
armor.

Indentify yourself.

436
Kessler straightened his aching back with some difficulty and
turned to address his captor, a Stormtrooper captain. Im
Colonel Kyle Kessler, formerly Wing Commander of the ISD
Challenge and currently of the Fleet Reserve Corps, and son,
am I glad to see you!

General Donner cursed softly as the spaer ws marched into

the camp. Kessler, Id hoped not to see you again so soon. I
take it you didnt make it then?

Kessler squinted into the gloom. General Donner, sir? Is that

you?

Donner gestured and the two Stormtroopers escorting Kessler

released him from his cuffs. One returned the blaster to his
holster. Yes Colonel, still alive and still waiting for an
answer.

Kessler stared around him at the makeshift command post. Hed

counted thirty Stormtroopers on the way in and that was just the
ones hed been aloowed to see. Nearby, a trooper had plugged
his helmut into the communications pack and seemed to be
filtering through the frequencies. A small field kitchen was in the
operation, preparing hot food, which was being ladled into
containers and sealed for transport, presumably to outstations
further off into the jungle. All around him, troopers either slept or
stripped and cleaned their equipment.

Colonel Kessler?

No, sir. Three of us made it back to Aurora Prime, we saved

one hundred and thrity-two of your men, all told. I came back
with Captain Kerrigan to try and find out what happened to
you all, to try to get you out if we could, but Kerrigan
Kessler searched for the words.

Yes Colonel?

Kessler lowered his head. Kerrigan betrayed me, General. I

dont know why. We found no trace of you, nor your troops
and were preparing to leave when Kerrigan sabotaged the

437
Rebel facilities and slipped away, leaving me to take the
blame.

Donner motioned to Kessler to sit and called for some food.

A silent trooper obliged, then returned to his duties. So
youre stuck here with us? That was your ship going down
out there?

Kessler sighed. Yeah, I could have gotten you out if Id know

you were here. I guess thats all academic now, though.

Donner chuckled. You came back for us? Hell, Colonel, well
make a trooper out of you yet! He sobered abruptly. But
you came back in vain, the gesture is appreciated, but were
not going anywhere. We still have a mission here.

Kessler felt a surge of anger. What are you talking about?

Argimiliar is over, General. The Rebs won. Fleet ran home
with its tail between its legs and left you here to die. He
stood, gesturing about him. What youve achieved here is
remarkable, but you cant exsist as guerrillas forever. Youll
run out of supplies one day or theyll find you eventually and
kill you one by one.

Donner looked up at Kessler, his watery blue eyes glinting in

the moonlight. Youre the one who doesnt understand,
Colonel. Were the First of the Hammer, dyings what were
good for and in case you havent noticed, were damn good at
making sure we take as many of those Rebel scum-suckers
to hell with us if possible. Thats what we do, thats all we do.
You Fleet boys talk a good fight, but you dont understand
what it means to be a warrior.

Donner stood and faced Kessler down. Have you ever killed
a man with a knife Colonel? Ever twisted it in his guts and
watched his face as the life drained away?

Kessler felt himself retreating under the force of Donners

gaze.

When you kill a man, face to face, you know what it means
to be a warrior. Every man here would give his life just to take
one enemy of the Empire with him. Were the last, best
defense of the Emperors Hammer. When all your fancy
starships have given up and run for cover, when the enemy is

438
knocking right on your front door, were the ones who take his
hand and rip it off by the shoulder, then beat him to death to
the bloody end. We do not retreat, we do not surrender and
we sure as hell dont give up when we still have a breath in
our bodies to curse the enemies name and strength in our
arms to smash his face into a bloody pulp. Do you get me?

Crystal, sir.

Donners craggy face turned into a broad grin. Scared

you there, didnt I Kessler?

Kessler swallowed. In a manner of speaking.

Donner laughed, flicking his head toward the Rebel

fortifications. The short bark of laugh sounded like a
gunshot. Imagine how those sorry slug-rats gotta feel?

Kessler looked back at the distant lights of the garrison,

remembering the scared young soldier standing amid the rows
of dead comrades. I think I know exactly how they feel,
General.

Kessler sat gratefully as a medic tended to his wounds. I

guess you guys could have used those medical supplies a little
more despertly than the Rebs?

Donner nodded. They certainly would have come in handy,

but were not desperate yet. We still have our field kits and
one of the somewhat double sided blessing of this battle is
this armor. Any shot powerful enough or accurate enough to
get through is almost certainly going to be good enough to kill
you. He chuckled. We dont get many wounded.

Kessler grimaced at his humor. Stormtroopers, he was rapidly

discovering, were a completely different breed of people. He
wasnt completely sure Donner had been trying to scare him
earlier.

439
Something occurred to him. You know something General?
Apart from myself, my entire family were Stormtroopers. I
was the first in my family to apply to TIE Corps training.

Donner looked at him calculatingly. Ill bet you broke

your fathers heart.

Kessler didnt answer, Donner was uncomfortably close to the

truth.

Donner chose not to pursue the matter too deeply. Who

was he? Your father that is, which unit?

Lieutenant Colonel Marius Kessler, Executive Officer, First

Coruscant Shock Legion.

He died at Hoth.

Kessler was astonished. The very same. Youve heard

of him?

Donner nodded. Well, heard more about the battle than your
father per se, it wa a fairly pivotal event in the history of
Imperial ground warfare, Im sure youll agree, but yes, I
thought your name was vaguely familiar when I first met
you. Strange that your father should be one of ours.

Kessler nodded slowly. He hadnt really thought of it that way

before. Hoth had always been the place where his father had
died. Donner at least had been able to see it in perspective of
history. Perhaps somewhere, his fathers name adorned the
wall of some bar frequented by old soldiers? Kessler found
that to be strangely comforting.

So General, how do you plan to stay functional as a military

unit out here in the jungle?

Donner appeared genuinely baffled. Were Stormtroopers.

Kessler got the sense that he was running up against a brick

wall mentality. He tried a different approach. I mean, how
long do you think you can survive out here before getting
picked up without being detected by the enemy?

Donner gave Kessler a long hard look. You still dont get it do
you? Were Stormtroopers. We stay out here, doing whatever

440
we can to harass and confuse the enemy without giving away
the fact of our exsistence, for all long as it takes our Fleet to
return in force, sweep the skies clear of our enemy and give
us the opening we need to storm that garrison and kill every
last one of those Rebels. Do you get it now?

But General, that could take months, maybe years?!

Yes, your point?

It was that stonewall mentality again, surely Donner wasnt

stupid? But how long will your equipment last out?

Donner seemed to trying to work out if Kessler was serious.

He decided to give him the benefit of a doubt and unslung his
blaster combine passing it to Kessler. Do you know what
this?

Kessler handled the unfamiliar weapon carefully, it was lighter

than it appeared. Its a blaster rifle.

Wrong, its a Blastech E-11 Blaster Carbine. It has an integral

targeting scope for use in confined spaces, like house clearing or
boarding ops. It can be fired in vacuum, underwater and in
extremes of temperature ranging from minus forty-five degrees
to one hundred and fifty degrees Celsius. It can be fired with
extreme accuracy in single shot mode as a snipers weapon or for
controlled, aimed shots; or it can be fired in burst mode for rapid
or suppressive fire with a variable fire cone of up to twelve
degrees spread. It can be left propped up against a tree in the
jungle and I can return to it ten years later, pick it up, wipe it
down, and kill anyone with the first shot. Are you beginning to
get my point, Colonel?

Im not sure.

Donner sighed. They designed this weapon to be

Stormtrooper proof, my boys couldnt break one of these if
they tried and believe me, some of them do. All of our
equipment is designed this way, everything we use is builet to
be battlefield repaired, built to last for years without spare
parts if it has to, because sometimes, it does. Now, do you
get the point?

441
Donner was beginning to make sense.

We dont have the luxury of having a crew of dedicated

support staff just waiting to check every system in our
precious TIE fighter everytime we park them in the hanger
and go spend some quality time in the Officers Mess. He
pointed to a trooper stripping down his weapon for cleaning.
Cornell there, hes a Stormtrooper first and foremost, but
hes also a trained armorer, rated to strip and repair anything
from that DL-44 youre carrying in your pants to that Golan
Anti-Infantry Battery. He pointed to the trooper preparing
meals in the field kitchen. Clark there, trained to be a
Stormtrooper first and foremost but also trained as a survival
expert and battlefield cook. He can find nutritious foodstuffs in
the middle of the desert or a polar waste and use it to keep a
squad on their feet and fighting fit for weeks if necessary. He
paused. Okay, it still may taste bad but itll keep you alive
and fit enough to break someones teeth with the blunt end of
your rifle.

Kessler laughed, some things were the same in every

branch of service. You always complained about the food.
He still wondered how Donner could tell the men apart
under their blank, featureless helmets.

Okay General, I get it. If Fleet arrives, youll be ready.

But how long do you expect that to take?

Donner grinned wolfishly. Could be sooner than you think,

Colonel. He sipped his mug of java. And when they do, well
be ready. We have every inch of that Rebel perimeter
mapped out, we know exactly where their command posts are
located and we have them scared to even step into this jungle
with armored support. He laughed mirthlessly. They think
theres some kind of dangerous predator out here that keeps
taking their patrols.

They were right.

General Donner, sir!

Donner grabbed his combine and jumped to his feet. Report.

442
The trooper manning the communications unit looked up, one
hand pressed to the auditory speakers on the other side of his
helmet.

The Rebels have repaired the damaged communications

uplink, sir. Im getting reports of a space battle. Fleet is in
orbit, currently engaging the Rebel blockade. The Rebels
count three Star Destroyers and several escorts are pushing
them back. Its the Challenge, Relentless and Gray Wolf, sir.

Donner picked up his helmet and stared briefly skyward, then

fastened it into place. Sedn runners out to alert all positions,
this is it boys, payback time. Colonel Kessler, you know how
to use that hand cannon youre carrying?

Kessler stood, brushing off dead leaves. Its not for

decoration, sir.

Good, get yourself a spare suit of armor, we could use every

good firing arm we can get. Just dont get in the way.

Sir, Im picking up a transmission from the orbital Task Force

Commodore to the ground Commander. Hes assuring him
that as long as the energy shield remains up, TIE Corps wont
be able to land At-ATs in the jungle to get beneath the shield.
Hes ordering them to hold for two days in the event that
they are forced to withdraw and reinforcements have to be
sent. The space battle appears to be in the balance at the
moment, sir.

Donners voice growled in feral satisfaction as he heard the

news, it could have been the voice filters but Kessler wasnt
sure. Then lets go and ask them to switch that energy shield
off, shall we?

The Rebel base was on alert. The outlying buildings, mostly

wrecked by the previous bombardment, were deserted. The
Rebels had pulled back to the inner perimeter. Donners men
approached to within fifty yards of the pickets before holding
position. At no point did any of the Stormtroopers use their
radios. Secrecy was their primary weapon, any chatter on the
electromagnetic spectrum might give away their positions.All

443
orders were conveyed by hand signal, it was eerily efficient.
Every man seemed to know exactly where to be and what
to do, for the first time in his military career, Kessler felt
like excess baggage.

Through the visor of the helmet he was wearing, Kessler could

clearly see the Rebel Troopers on perimeter guard duty. He
knew that they would be unable to detect the Stormtroopers
stealing up on their positions with thermal imaging devices,
they would have to rely on.

Kessler knew that only Rebel officers and selected sentries

carried these. The problem with image enhancement gear,
was that it only worked at its best against moving targets
in sharp contrast to their backgrounds.

Donners men were making full use of that fact, moving with
exaggerated slowness at anytime they were in the direct line
of sight of the Reb positions, their outlines broken up by
their customized camouflage paint applied to their armor.

Donner signaled to a Trooper back down the line, and the

message was passed further back. A few seconds later, it
began.

With his amplified hearing, Kessler heard the faint whistle of

something flying by, high overhead. Then the repeated low
crump of concussion grenades detonating deeper with the
Rebel perimeter. Something flared, bright in the night ahead
of him and behind a cluster of buildings, then the night was lit
up by a huge flash. Fuel dump.

Kesslers optics automatically adjusted to compensate for the

brief flash of photons, protecting his night vision. The Rebel
sentries werent nearly as lucky, he heard a strange noise
repeated several times and Rebel troopers clutched at their
chest and fell, boneless, to the ground. He realized the noise
was from the Stormtroopers carbines, but the helmets
auditory pickups had tuned out any harmful high-low
frequencies.

Donners men surged forward as Kessler stumbled to his feet,

struggling to keep up with them. He cleared the first of the
barricades and dropped into a combat crouch, searching for a

444
target. Five dead Rebels lay about him. Sightless eyes starring
accusingly at the stars.

He began to run after the troopers ahead of him, melting

silently into the shadows and cover afforded by the utility
buildings around him. Three Rebel troopers stumbled out of
the bunkhouse in the road ahead, fumbling with their
weapons and helmets. They were shot dead before they
barely cleared the doorway.

A thermal detonator was thrown into a building, it went off

with the same strange crump Kessler had heard earlier. Three
trooper, vaulted over the bodies and into the bunkhouse
before the explosion had died, he heard more shots, then they
emerged and the squad continued, hugging both sides of the
street, without pause.

They appeared as painted ghost in the night air with their

camouflage and encrusted grime. Kessler was reminded of
primitive warriors, daubed in war paint, anointed for battle.
He knew he couldnt keep up with them, they were battle
elementals and this was their playground. He didnt deserve to
be here, watching them perform their deadly rites to the gods
of blood and war. They were primeval warriors from another
time. He felt vaguely ashamed, as if he had been caught
spying on some sacred act.

All of this was so far removed from the realities of war as he

was used to it. In space, you got your target in your sights
and you squeezed the trigger, then you moved on. The
technicalities were the same but the execution was different.
Down here in the blood and dirt, you saw your targets face as
his life spilled out over your fist.

Starfighter combat was antiseptic, clinical, removed from

reality. This was reality. Down here in the real world with
dead men all around you.

Kessler felt sick. He leaned against the bunkhouse wall for

support, a wave of dizziness washing over him. Suddenly, he
wanted to be out of this armor, he didnt deserve to wear it, it
was suffocating him, accusing him of his unworthiness. He felt
he was dishonoring its real owner, the man who had died in it,
the man whod earned his warriors death.

445
He fumbled with the seal on his helmets neck fastenings and
it came free with a hiss of air. Kessler smelled burned flesh
and vomited.

Afterwards, when hed purged his guts, he looked inside the

bunkhouse. Dead men lay everywhere, most had died in their
sleep, denied a warriors death in battle, but these men
werent tru warriors. The true warriors were out there right
now, sowing death and destruction in the night which theyd
claimed for their own.

He heard sounds in the distance, explosions and cries as men

were sent to meet their gods, kicking and screaming at the
injustice of it all. They didnt deserve the honor they were
being granted, didnt they understand how blessed they were
that the angels of death danced amoung them tonight?

From the sky, Kessler could hear them, the screech of

banshees, calling out for blood and smoke. A shadow, thrown
by the moon, passed over his head and for a second he was
sure that they had come for him.

He reached out, tears streaming down his face, stretching his

arms heavenward in a gesture of supplication, he was
unworthy, but he was ready. Another shape screamed
overhead and he seemed to recall its pattern from a distant
memory. Then the world opened into flame and he suffered
no more.

Light.

This ones still alive, facial burns are pretty bad, he lost
his helmet somehow, looks like he got caught in the blast
of whatever created that crater.

Let me see, Ive got himyeah, hes salvageable. Hell

need bacta treatment though, better get him shuttled up to
orbit before he goes into so deep a shock that bacta wont
help him.

You got him?

446
Grunts.

Yeah, hes secured. You see anyone else here?

Nah just a lot of dead Rebs, sayisnt this guy one of the
Third?

Are you kidding? Look at that armor, of course he is!

You dont suppose he killed all these guys by himself?

Nah, probably all got hit by that blast.

Wrong place, wrong time.

Yeah, dumb Stormies.

Laughter.

Darkness.

Swimming.

Cool darkness.

Gentle tides, caressing seared flesh.

Eyes open.

Soft light.

Faces.

How long doctor?

Another four days General, he has regained semi-lucidity

for brief spells, but we prefer to keep him under using
artificial means, if necessary, in order to stimulate healing.

I want to see this man decorated, Major. He deserves that

much at least.

Not possible Im afraid, General. Hes technically a

deserter, a smuggler and a Rebel defector.

447
Voices. Familiar. Disturbing.

Cursing?

Major, you and I both know the truth of the matter, this man
did what he did out of pure unselfish motives. He did it for his
brothers in arms. But I wouldnt expect a treacherous
backstabbing, little intel nerf-herder, like you to understand
that.

On the contrary General, I understand exactly why he did

what he did, thats exactly why we knew how he could be
relied upon to react when we pushed the correct buttons.
Besides, we both know that your own motives arent quite as
pure as youd like everyone to believe, its your fault that hes
in this state. You know as well as I do that you should never
have allowed him to accompany your attack. Hes a
starfighter pilot, and an old one at that. He was a liability and
you left him behind when he began to slow your advance.

More cursing.

That may be true General, but soldiers like you need people
like me to do your dirty work for you. People who arent afraid
of getting their hands dirty from time to time. And I repeat,
he will never be officially recognized for what he did. His
involvement will remain a secret, we wouldnt want him
setting a bad example to anyone else with a conscience now,
would we?

Silence.

Oh relax, he wont be punished, well put him somewhere

where hisunique talents will be appreciated. Who knows,
he may even be grateful?

Excuse me gentlemen, but the patients stress levels

appear to be increasing. I must ask you to leave now.

Darkness.

448
His cell was bare of all ornament except for a steel bench
jutting out one bulkhead. A simple iron grey box, he slumped,
withdrawn in the corner. The door opened and someone
entered. The hiss of the door closing behind him was the only
sound.

Kessler looked up, his visitor was wearing the uniform of a

Major in Intelligence Division. He had a familiar face, Kessler
didnt seem surprised. Hello, Kerry.

Kerrigan smiled. You look aweful, Kess.

Kessler didnt respond.

Well I suppose I shouldnt expect you to be overjoyed to see

me. Kerrigan activated the datapad hed been carrying under
his arm.

Lets see Colonel Kyle Kessler, service number TC-WCR-

1011, you are formally charged with desertion, smuggling,
defection and supplying aid to the enemy. The usual
penalty for this short of thing is death. He smiled. But Im
sure I dont need to tell you that, do I Kess?

Go to hell Kerriganor whatever you name is.

Kerrigan deactivated the pad and sat himself on the edge of

the bench. Youve responded well to bacta treatment, but I
think youve picked up a few more scars to add to your
collection.

Kessler raised his gaze to look him in the eyes. For a while
he matched wills with him, Kerrigan didnt blink. You knew
they were there the whole time, didnt you?

Major Kerrigan smiled, thin lips drawn wide across his perfect
teeth. Of course, its now standard policy when a world is
overrun by the enemy. Fleet Admiral Kawolskis idea, I
believe. Secret of course, but standard.

So why did you need me Kerry?

Kerrigan shrugged. Its your own fault, I was going in there

alone as per orders to assess the situation until you showed
up, all balls and conscience, determined to put right all the

449
sins in the world as you saw them. I figured I could use
you just like you were using me. You made it too easy.

Dont mention it.

It really was a brilliant idea, Kessler. We had an assault force

on that world for the entire duration of the Rebel occupation
and they never knew it. That shield generator was a nasty
surprise though, but in the end, its presence vindicated the
whole plan. Donners men took it out without the need for an
opposed orbital landing, which would have been tricky given
the terrain. Kerrigan chuckled. You should have seen the
chaos in orbit! The Reb Task Force were actually fighting us to
a stand still, but once that shield dropped, they panicked.
They couldnt understand how we managed to get an assault
force by them and take the colony so quickly. They assumed
the colony was lost, but in effect, all Donners men had done
was kill the power generators and capture the
communications uplink. The Rebs broke and ran, the TIE
Corps butchered them. The men on the surface saw there
fleet running and surrendered almost immediately.

Sounds like you got it all worked out then.

Kerrigan nodded thoughtfully. Yes, yes, I believe we did. Of

course, Fleet had to endure a major public relations scandal
until the operation was over. We couldnt exactly broadcast
the news that the Third was still mostly intact and hiding on
the surface. But on the whole, the operation was a storming
success and the best part is, the Rebs will never know how
we did it, so we can use the same tactic again! His grin
expanded. Like I said, standard policy now.

It was all coming together now, but Kessler still couldnt

understand one thing. Why me Kerry? Why was I important?

Kerrigan at least had the grace to look apologetic. Im sorry

Kess, but you really werent that integral a part of events.

Figured as much.

Look, you were determined to go back there with or without

me. I couldnt let you mess up my operation, so if I couldnt
deflect you, I had to control you. He shrugged. Sure I could
have just turned you over to the Military Police but Ive heard

450
all about your family, youre as thick as thieves, I couldnt
guarantee one of your bloody House Cantor Admiral cousins
wouldnt pull strings to have you released, so I kept you along
for the ride. As it turns out, you were the perfect fall guy for
the sabotage we planted on Argimiliar and your escape
provided endless distractions for the Rebels on the surface.

Go suck a muckbug, Kerry.

Kerrigan tutted disapprovingly. Now, now Kess, at least I

pointed you in the right direction to find Donners men and I
did leave you a tracking beacon so we could find you in case
you managed to screw up too much.

So thats where my lighter went.

Exactly, those things will kill you one day you know?

Spare me. So now what?

Kerrigan picked up his datapad and turned to leave. Now

youll be returned to active service and all charges will be
dropped. You wont be put in a command position of course,
but you can keep your rank. He stopped as the door to the
cell hissed open. I understand Tornado Squadron on the
Challenge has a few spaces open for seasoned pilots.

So this is where he ended up, right back where he began? He

left the Challenge a Wing Commander, he returns as a fighter
pilot? Funny how things worked out.

Ill see if I have an opening in my diary.

Kerrigan laughed, then paused, serious for a second. Good

luck Colonel, you deserve better friends than me. And with
that he was gone.

Kessler made himself comfortable and waited, some things

were inevitable. He seemed destined to live his life in the
cockpit of a starfighter. He waited. Eventually, someone came
for him.

451
Captain Striker looked up from the training report with barely
concealed annoyance. What is it?

The door to the office of Tornado Squadrons commanding

officer opened with a hiss and Lieutenant Commander Horn
entered breathlessly. Sorry to disturb you, but some
Colonel is on his way in sir.

Striker groaned. A Colonel? We dont have in Colonels

onboard! Hell, Wing Commander Taliesons only a Lieutenant
Colonelwhats he here for? An inspection? Who is he?

Sorry sir, dont know, but hes looking over the ships in
the hanger. I just saw him talking to Chief Tech Toranaga,
they seem to know each other.

It cant be an inspection, were not due our quarterly until

next month, you sure you didnt recognize him? There arent
many TIE Corp Colonels around. Was he TIE Corps? Striker
stood and straightened his uniform, looking about for his cap.
Wheres my cap?

On your locker sir, and all I can say is hes pretty old looking
and had a chestful of medals and battle ribbons. Striker gave
Horn a sideways glance. Not as many battle ribbons as you
have though, sir. Horn quickly added. Whatever hes here
for, it looks official.

Striker sighed. Well, lets get this over with. He stepped

outside onto the hanger deck and spotted the offending officer
immediately. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, hair shot
through with grey and a face that seemed to have drawn
more than its fair share of scars.

Striker stopped just short of the tall newcomer and coughed

politely. Once he had his visitors attention, he saluted smartly.
Captain Striker, Commanding Offficer of Tornado Squadron,
at your service sir, how may I help you?

The newcomer returned the salute. Colonel Kessler, reporting

as ordered, Captain. He handed over his papers.

Striker seemed confused, but to give him credit, he

recovered quickly. Colonel Kessler? Wasnt there a Major
Kessler who commanded Tornado a few years ago?

452
The very same son, made it to Colonel and Wing Commander
before I retired. He waited while Striker studied his papers,
Strikers eyes boggled.

Youve been reassigned here?

Kessler grinned. Yeah, makes you think doesnt it? Where do

you want me Captain?

Striker gave up. Colonelyoure an ex-Flag Officer and they

put you in a Flight Members slot? Who the hell did you piss
off?!

Kessler put his arm around Strikers shoulder and led him off
to the bar. More people than you ever met in you entire life,
son. But anyway, I was wondering if my old quarters were still
available? You know, the cabin next to the Officers Mess
turbolift?

The one with the en suite shower and toilet facilities that
didnt get taken out of our last refit? Well, we have Lieutenant
Hemm in there at the moment but

Kessler nodded smiling broadly. Thats the one, but we can

talk about that later. Did I ever introduce you to my cousin,
Rear Admiral David Torres? He used to be commander of
Inferno Squadron. Do you know, I believe hes Commodore
of this very ship now?

Striker began to get the feeling that things were only starting
to get complicated.

453
 Never Too Heavy
By: Westel

He came to consciousness slowly, feeling returning to his

hands first. They felt heavy, twice their normal size, and the
tips of his fingers pounded with each heartbeat. There was a
noise in the background, but it was far away, and he heard it
as if out of an old memory. Gradually, feeling returned to his
upper arms and chest; the breath he drew was cold and
shallow. There was sensation in his head, now - something
was wrong with the right side of his face.

The noise came again, a sound of rending and slavering, and

a roar of recognition that its live, fresh prey was awake.

Luke opened his eyes.

He was hanging upside down, his feet frozen into the ceiling of
the creature's lair. Strewn around him was evidence of the
beast's ravenous appetite, starkly red against the blue-
whiteness of the room. The air reeked of fresh blood; he
recoiled at the smell of it.

Sounds from the other part of the cave told Luke the ice
creature was coming, its movements ponderous and slow.
But Luke knew firsthand its strike was lightning fast - he had
never heard nor seen it until it had attacked him. Now,
however, his sense of the creature was strong, so strong that
his stomach lurched at the mental vision he saw of the
creature's blood and saliva-stained mouth and fur.

Desperately, he stretched out his arm in vain for the

lightsaber that lay just out of his reach. He tried again with
the other hand, but he was simply too far away to get to it.
His instincts urged him to panic, to struggle against the ice
which held his feet fast, to scream in terror. But he resisted,
reaching inside himself and focusing on one thing - the
lightsaber. It had quivered in the snow the last time he had
reached for it. He let that image take form in his mind again;
saw it moving incrementally out of its snowy nest, leaping
toward his hand...

Springing lightly from the snow, it slapped into his palm as

surely as if he had reached for his blaster in its holster. He
ignited the saber and it sprang to life, its blue blade slashing
through the ice and freeing him just as the creature moved
into the room. Luke tried to stand, but his head swam and his
vision darkened, no doubt from the sudden rush of blood into
his lower extremities. Somehow he struggled upright, slashed
unprettily at the creature. But the blow was true; the animal
sprang back, pawing at an arm that was no longer there. In
its agony, it momentarily forgot Luke, who clumsily bolted
from the cave, seeking only to get as far away from the
creature as he could. There was a sentience about the animal;
Luke was sure that, had it not been so severely injured, it
would have been upon him by now, tearing him limb from
limb, and not just because it was hungry.

Struggling on despite the cold, the deep snow which pulled on

his legs with every step, Luke thought of nothing but escape.
Again and again he forced his leaden limbs to move, having
no awareness of the direction he was taking, of how he might
try to protect himself against the encroaching storm, the
steady drop in temperature. Vaguely he was aware of the
strong taste of iron in his mouth, but that sense, along with all
the others, was fading. Adrenaline alone kept him going, and
his ears rang with the sound of his own hot blood coursing
through his veins as he pushed on. The storm was growing
now, and he soon was enveloped in a relentless cloud of
white.

Han climbed back on his Tauntaun and headed towards the

faint life readings his scanner had given him. He squinted
against the white nothingness of the storm, watching for any
sign of movement, anything against the pale blankness that
might be a human form. Thoughts of his recent argument
with Leia swam in his mind as he looked for his friend, but he
relentlessly pushed them back, cursing himself for not having
been with Luke when he went to look at that meteor. If he
didn't find him soon, Luke would surely be dead by morning.
Even if the youth could contrive a shelter of some kind, he
didn't have the proper equipment to keep himself from
freezing in the minus hundred degree weather.

His mount wheezed as it ran, its lungs slowly freezing in the

encroaching cold. In nature, Tauntauns spent the night in
Hoth's many caves, herding together for warmth until the
morning brought a warmer day. In captivity, the Rebels cared
for them in stables built in the Command Center; they were
useful animals for travel on the frozen planet, and so far more
dependable than snowspeeders. Until night came.

Han felt sorry for the animal, though he didn't particularly

care for the smelly beasts. But this one was docile and pushed
on, despite the fact that it was dying by degrees. Han knew
that if he didn't find Luke, he'd lose his mount soon and would
have to build a shelter to spend the night alone. He didn't
look forward to spending a sleepless night knowing that Luke
was freezing somewhere out there in the waste.

The Tauntaun faltered, it's breath coming in audible gasps,

now. Han was eyeing his drawn blaster, considering putting
the animal out of its misery, when a blurred movement caught
his attention directly ahead of him. Something was out there!
He urged his mount forward, capping a hand over his eyes to
try to see better. Yes, there was someone there - it could only
be Luke. The boy was reaching toward him, then collapsed on
the snow bank as Han dismounted.

Han struggled toward the young man, floundering in the soft,

deep snow. He turned him over; reaching to cradle his head
and neck between his hands, he stopped suddenly, appalled
by the damage done to the right side of his face.

"C'mon, Luke. Give me a sign, here!" he panted, leaning over

and catching the faint warmth of Luke's breath on his cheek.
He needed to get Luke to shelter right away - the young
man's face was pale with shock and cold.

He glanced up as the Tauntaun breathed its last and fell, and

knew what he had to do. Dragging the now delirious Luke to
the side of the animal, he took the lightsaber from his belt
and depressed the igniter. The intensity of the forming blade
pushed the pommel against his hand, like a living thing. It
was heavy but wieldy in his grip, and he found it easy to open
the belly of the animal, spilling out its intestines in order to
make room for Luke and keep him warm while he built the
shelter. Force! but it stank, even in the cold that turned the
entrails to bricks in seconds. Luke would have to take a
hundred showers to get rid of the stench later, but this was
the best - the only - alternative he had.

Night began to fall fast as Han built the shelter - half of pre-
form which folded out from a compact box to form a shell of
sorts, half of packed snow - which proved more difficult than
he had anticipated because of the high winds. By the time
he had finished, his hands and face were numb; if he didn't
get into shelter soon he himself would suffer from severe
frostbite.

He plunged through the drifting snow to the body of the

animal and pulled Luke from its frozen carcass. Luke wasn't
moving now, or talking, and his face was ashen. Blood and
other liquids from the animal's body were congealed on Luke's
clothing and snapped off with little popping sounds as Han
dragged Luke through the snow. Finally, Han was able to
maneuver him into the shelter, which was just big enough for
the two of them and tall enough for a man to sit up bent over.
He lay Luke on a thermal pad placed on the floor of the
shelter, then scrambled to push snow into the entrance,
leaving one small air-hole on the side out of the wind, and
they were shut in.

Luke opened one eye - the other was swollen shut - and
watched Han close off the opening to their makeshift shelter.
He tried to swallow but his tongue felt like a belsa ball in his
mouth. An attempt to sit up was worse; his body not only
wouldn't cooperate, but seemed frozen to the floor despite his
struggle to rise. He coughed with the effort and saw a spray of
blood fan out across his chest and arm. A vision of the
slavering ice creature, ribbons of flesh and gore stringing from
its jaws, tore through Luke's mind, and his stomach roiled.

Han turned and crawled to Luke's side, holding his head as he

retched and vomited up vast quantities of blood. He washed
his friend's face with snow, careful of the lacerations which
had now begun to ooze bright red, and gave him something to
rinse out his mouth. Again Luke spat bright red, though not
nearly as much.

"Luke, do you hurt anywhere besides your face?" Han worked to

get the strap free on Luke's hat, removing it carefully.

"Face?" Luke's speech was slurred; his eyes wandered,

unfocused.

"Do you hurt, buddy? Your ribs, your legs, arms. Anything
hurt you?" Han was going over Luke's torso, realizing that he
probably wasn't going to get much help from the injured
young man.

"Don't feel anything, mostly... head hurts," Luke managed. He

thrust his tongue into his right cheek. "Loose tooth."

"Lemme see," demanded Han, gently prying Luke's teeth

apart when he didn't respond. Say 'aaahhh' thought Han,
crazily. A cursory exam revealed the problem. Luke had a
laceration along the inside of his cheek; whatever had
grabbed Luke had packed a pretty hard punch and Luke's
teeth had done the rest. The bleeding had slowed
considerably and now that Luke had emptied his stomach of
all the blood he had swallowed, he would probably be all right
in that regard.

"What did this, Luke?" Han asked, jamming his hands under
his armpits in an attempt to warm them a little.

"Ice creature," murmured the youth, his voice catching at the

memory of it.

"A Wampa? Sith, Luke, you're lucky to be alive!"

Luke nodded slowly, closing his eyes. "Know it."

Han was worried about Luke's hazy consciousness, and of

course his hypothermia. He had to get him warmed up right
away. His own fingers, just getting their feeling back, burned
and throbbed with the increased circulation, and he was clumsy
with the fastenings of Luke's jacket. Putting Luke into the
Tauntaun's carcass had saved his life, but now the liquids
that had penetrated Luke's clothing were thawing, wetting
Luke afresh and filling the small space with a noxious odour.

Han wrinkled his nose and cursed softly as he removed the

jacket and overshirt, leaving the undershirt alone because it
was mostly dry. Luke seemed unaware of what his friend was
doing, muttering something about Dagobah again, and
someone named Yoda. His color was still bad, and Han knew
he had to do something to relieve Luke's shock. He pulled a
thermal blanket out of his kit and wrapped it around Luke;
digging a hole on one side of the shelter, he buried Luke's
jacket and shirt. The smell improved a little. Rummaging in
his pack again, he brought out a lamp-stove, a crude
commodity, but good enough to heat the packet of broth
crystals from the survival kit. He lit it, set a cup on it, and
added a handful of snow. While he was waiting for it to melt,
he put a clean dressing on Luke's face. Luke winced only
once, but it was no comfort to Han. As the snow began to
melt, he added the crystals, stirring it with a finger until it
got hot.

Maneuvering in the small space was difficult, but Han

managed to get behind Luke and, leaning back against the
shelter wall to provide some head room, he pulled Luke into a
half-sitting position between his legs. Holding his friend with
his left arm, he tried to get some broth into Luke with the
right. A lot of it spilled, but Luke did respond by drinking a
little, and he kept it down. Han could feel Luke's shivering
beneath the blanket - a good sign, because when he first
brought him into the shelter he wasn't shivering at all. He set
down the empty cup and used both hands to briskly rub
Luke's arms, shoulders, and back. How long he kept this up
he didn't know - his cold-abused hands ached and tingled with
the effort to warm his friend, and back muscles complained of
his awkward, half-sitting position. Finally, when he had to stop
long enough to shift his weight a little, Luke brought a hand
up and weakly patted Han's arm.

"I'm all right, Han. You rest." Han leaned forward, craning a
look at Luke's face. His color was a little better, and Luke was
looking directly at him. Han's frown transformed into a grin.

"Hey, Kid! Welcome back! You had me scared for awhile." Han
released his hold on Luke, who crawled to the opposite wall,
facing him. Luke's movements were slow and faltering, but at
least he was moving. He leaned back wearily, pulling the
blanket around him.

"You think you ," Luke began, the movement of his

mutilated face sending pain lancing through his head. He
couldn't continue.

"We all were. We knew when you didn't come back after
spotting that meteor that something had happened to you.
We couldn't just leave you out here..."

"You couldn't leave me," Luke clenched his teeth together as

he spoke - it was less painful that way. "Tauntaun?"

"Yeah. I couldn't use the snowspeeder they're still working

on a way to adapt them to the cold..."

"So you..." Luke grimaced. The pain was increasing in his face
and head. "took a chance on a Tauntaun? Han, you
could've..." Luke's body shivered convulsively. "could've
died."

Han straightened the thermal pad on the floor, hiding his

discomfiture as he worked. Luke had a habit of doing this to
him, making him feel like some kind of big brother, like the
kid looked up to him, for Force sake! It made him cringe with
embarrassment and it made him want to grin like an idiot.
Han didn't know how to cope with such awkward feelings, so
he dealt with practical matters instead.

"Not me! I've been a gambler all my life, remember? I figured

the odds couldn't stack up against me all the time, and I was
right. C'mon, now, we've got to get some sleep, and I only
brought enough gear for one. We'll have to share, okay?" He
wanted to get Luke under covers again. Luke needed to be
kept warm, but because of shock, the one thermal blanket
wrapped around his body wasn't enough.

"'Kay." Luke's speech was slurring again. Han helped Luke

over to the pad, put him down on his left side and placed his
arm under Luke's head for a pillow. He curled up, spoon
fashion, behind his friend, pulled the second blanket over
them both, and wrapped his other arm over Luke's chest and
arm. As they lay there for awhile, the sound of their own
breathing drowned out by the storm's winds, Han felt Luke
begin to relax. The shivering soon stopped and Luke fell
asleep. Not long after that, the exhausted former smuggler
followed suit.

"Ben... Ben, don't go... I don't know where it is... Ben, wait..."

Luke stirred in Han's arms, waking him. It was pitch black, the
survival lamp having cut itself off while the two men slept.
Han listened to him for a moment, wondering if he was
dreaming. It was more of the same talk he'd been spouting
when he found him. Luke talked about Ben (he assumed Ben
Kenobi) as if he were still alive, as if he had just been talking
to him.

Luke's restlessness continued. He pushed against his blanket

as if he were hot; Han pulled the glove off his right hand with
his teeth and touched Luke's forehead. It was burning up, and
his hand came away damp. Carefully, so as not to disturb him
any more than necessary, he eased his left arm out from
under Luke. It was dead weight, having gone to sleep under
the pressure of Luke's head. He spent the next minute or so
pounding it against his chest to get the circulation back,
experiencing the pins and needles that hurt almost as much
as the frostbite, before he got enough feeling to light the lamp
again.

"Yoda... Jedi Master... I don't know - don't know him...

Ben, please! Please don't leave me... "

Luke had turned onto his back, throwing off the blanket
completely, digging his fingers into the packed snow in his
delirium. Han was shocked to see that the bandage on Luke's
face was completely saturated and blood had seeped down
under his jaw and across his neck. Looking down at his left
arm, Han saw for the first time where Luke's blood had flowed
onto the sleeve of his jacket as they had slept. Force! As if he
could afford to have anything else go wrong!

He took off the sodden bandage, alarmed at the condition of

Luke's face. The creature's claws must have been covered in
bacteria; the lacerations were swollen and angry red, and
leaked both blood and fluid. Apparently the broad-range
antibiotic Han had put on the bandages had been of little
avail.

He checked his chronometer. Still four hours before daybreak.

All right - he could weather four hours - and so could Luke. He
called him 'Kid', but the boy was tough, much tougher than he
looked. If he would admit it, that was one of the reasons he
liked Luke, because underneath that brash, boyish bravado
he'd seen on Tatooine, he saw a strength of character that
was only now coming to the forefront. He'd seen that so many
times in his life - trials either made or broke a man. In Luke's
case, he saw no sign of breaking yet, though the youth had
seen and been through a lot in a very short span of his young
life. Now Luke was on the edge of life or death, and Han was
determined that he would give him every chance for life.

He made a poultice of snow layered between two pieces of

cloth and laid it upon Luke's face, tying it with another strip of
cloth. Luke cried out at the touch, and Han had to keep him
from pulling it off. Shortly, however, Luke quieted and Han
could see that the cold compress was slowing the bleeding, at
least. Han tried to clean as much of the blood off Luke as he
could, realizing they both would be a sight when they returned
to the Command Center.

Then he thought of Leia. He tried not to think of her, mostly,

though he was rarely successful. She was so far out of his
league. For a time he had tried to believe that he could 'love
her and leave her,' but she wasn't the type. Then he tried
shrugging her off, but that didn't even begin to work. So here
he was, stuck with the fact that he cared for this little slip of a
woman with a heart and soul the size of Coruscant, and she
intrigued and infuriated him, frustrated and enticed him, as
no woman had ever done. It was disconcerting, and Han
made up his mind there and then that he was going to have it
out with her one way or another when he had gotten Luke to
safety.

For now, however, keeping Luke alive so as to get him

to safety was his only objective.

He covered Luke's trembling body again with both thermal

blankets and watched him closely, because he kept wanting to
kick them off. Again and again he forced Luke to take a little
water or broth, though he coughed and choked on much of it.
Most of the time Luke continued in delirium, talking
incoherently or calling out to Ben, and occasionally speaking
out of childhood memories, talking to his dead Aunt Beru or
puzzling out a problem with some piece of farm equipment. It
was entertaining sometimes, despite Luke's desperate
condition, and enlightening. The farmboy hadn't led an easy
life, it seemed. Funny - Han had thought the opposite, based
on the spoiled way Luke had acted when they'd first met.
Seems he was finding out a lot of things about the youth -
and human nature.

Only an hour to go. Han had wakened abruptly from a short

nap he hadn't meant to take, and glanced worriedly over at
Luke. He seemed to be sleeping normally, his breathing even,
though a little shallow. The bandage still looked good, just
stained pink here and there. Only the sheen of sweat on
Luke's forehead indicated that he was still feverish.

The blankets had slipped a little. Han reached over to pull

them back up; Luke stirred and opened his eyes.

"Good morning," Han said, smiling crookedly.

Not wanting to move his jaw, which felt like a Bantha had
stepped on it, Luke nodded, which proved even worse. His
face contorted with pain and he bit his lip to keep from crying
out. Though his eyelids were squeezed shut, a tear escaped
from the left one and rolled down his cheek. Han gripped his
arm, waiting for the spasm to pass, offering his silent support.
As the pain eased a bit, Luke let out a breath and reached up
to wipe the tear away.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"What for?" Han growled. "'Cause it hurts like hell?" He

settled next to Luke, cross-legged, leaning forward a little to
avoid the low ceiling. "Luke, there's no shame in feeling pain.
I've cried like a baby sometimes - ask Chewie."

A ghost of a smile creased what was visible of Luke's face.

"You don't believe me? Okay, Kid, as soon as we get back I'm
gonna tell you some stories that will make your hair stand
up."

Luke stared at him a moment, then closed his eyes, his mouth
shut tight. Han knew that look. When you were in that much
pain, you wanted to die. You knew it was a crazy thing to be
thinking, but you still wanted to die. You'd pay money for
someone just to hit you over the head, cut your throat -
anything to stop the agony. But you got through it somehow.
The best way was with someone who cared about you.

For so long, Han only had Chewie to care about him. The
friendship was mutual, and Han had been there for Chewie
many times. But that had been the scope of his
understanding, because until he met Chewbacca, Han had
never experienced true friendship. There was Lando, of
course, but he didn't quite rank as a friend - not in Chewie's
class, anyway. At least, his friendship hadn't been proven yet.
Luke, now... He watched the youth fight his pain, saw his
shame in giving in to it. Was his embarrassment because he
was afraid Han would think less of him? Why did that matter
so much to the kid? Was it because Han's friendship was that
important to him?

Sure, they all referred to each other as friends, even Leia, but
what did that mean? They'd been through a lot together since
the destruction of the Death Star; there was a certain
fellowship that naturally developed between comrades-in-
arms. But where did real friendship - that indescribable link
between two people - fit in all this? In the cold confines of the
haphazard shelter, Han looked at himself and his relationships
as he had never done before.

Luke stirred again, a small moan escaping him.

"Luke, you all right?"

"Sure," Luke murmured.

"It won't be long before daybreak. They'll be looking for us as

soon as the temperature rises a bit. It's almost over."

Luke opened his eyes, looked at the older man. "Han..." He

blanched, drawing a quick breath. Han gripped his arm again
and waited. "You're... good friend..." Luke placed his hand
over Han's and squeezed. "Thanks."

Han felt his face redden, and he was at a loss as to what to do

about it. Finally, realizing there wasn't a damn thing
he could do about it, he put his free hand over Luke's and
smiled. "Any time."
The comm crackled and sputtered. There was a human voice
in there somewhere, but Han couldn't make it ou. He glanced
over at the air hole; sunlight and blue sky were visible
through it. The wind had died down; day was fully dawned.
Han checked on Luke, who slept fitfully, then dug out the door
to the shelter, scrambling to the top of the snow bank where
he'd found his friend. The snow was packed down and firm;
the Tauntaun was nowhere to be found. Han didn't want to
think what might have happened to it in the night.

It wasn't long before the comm came to life again. Han was
never so glad to hear another human voice as he was that
very minute.

"Good morning!" he called, watching the horizon for

movement. "Nice of you to stop by!"

"I've found them!" he heard from the other end, then saw his
morning ride appear over a nearby hill. He waved and
hurried back into the shelter to get Luke. He glanced around,
picking up a few items to put back in his kit, waking up Luke
in the process.

"Hey, Kid, I told you we'd get outa here. Our ride's about to
land."

"Good." Luke struggled to a sitting position, looking around

for the first time for his jacket.

"You don't want it, Luke. We'll get another one for you." At
Luke's puzzled look, Han continued, "Trust me!"

Luke was having trouble managing both blankets, so Han

took one of them and stowed it, along with the thermal pad,
in the emergency kit. He pulled the remaining blanket closer
around Luke's shoulders and motioned toward the door. "Can
you get out okay?"

"Yeah." Hard not to notice Luke's attempt to limit moving his

face. Easy to understand, Han empathized.

There were sounds of the snowspeeder landing outside. As

Han emerged into the bright sunshine, he saw Luke move
toward the vehicle, then stumble and fall to his knees. He was
struggling to get back up when Han reached him, wrapping
the blanket around him again. He kept his left hand on Luke's

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arm and slipped his right arm around Luke's shoulder,
supporting him. Han could feel him trembling beneath the
blanket.

"In a hurry?" he kidded, hating to see Luke suffering,

amazed at himself for caring, for not blocking his emotions as
he had learned to do over the years.

"Mm-hmm," said Luke, that little smile appearing at the

corner of his mouth again.

"Well, me too. I'm so hungry I could eat a Tauntaun!"

Luke looked at him like he was crazy. Han shrugged.

"Well, maybe not a Tauntaun."

"Captain Solo, there's only room for one in the back of my

snowspeeder," said Zev, the pilot, as he climbed out of the
vehicle.

Han looked at Luke, who had closed his eyes and leaned
heavily on his friend. He shook his head. "That's all right,
we'll make room. I know what to do."

Han climbed into the back of the fighter and the pilot helped
Luke climb in to sit between Han's legs, toboggan style. As
they flew back to the Command Center, Luke kept leaning
forward and bumping his head on the canopy. Han reached
up and pulled him back.

"Relax, Kid; we'll be back soon."

"Too heavy," Luke mumbled.

"What?"

"I'm... too heavy."

Han couldn't believe his ears. The kid surprised him at every
turn. He patted Luke's shoulder awkwardly.

"You let me worry about that. You're not heavy, Luke." His
thoughts drifted for a moment, his look far away. "That's what
it's like with friends, anyway," he continued. "They're never
too heavy."

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His back to Han, Luke's face lit up in surprise, then he
smiled despite himself. But he hardly noticed the pain,
because he had just been witness to something that would
remain precious to him for the rest of his days - the
cementing of a lifelong friendship.

He sighed and leaned back against Han's chest, relaxing.

Before he knew what was happening, he was asleep.

Luke stopped on the way to his snowspeeder and spoke to

Chewbacca, getting a hug in return. Up on top of the
Millennium Falcon, Han fussed at a repair droid, then stopped
to talk to Luke. The two men looked at each other for a
moment.

"You all right?" Han asked, though it was obvious Luke had
fully recovered.

"Yeah."

Kid's still talking in monosyllables, thought Han.

Luke was recalling the long hours they had spent together in
the shelter, that first revelation of friendship, and couldn't
help but think back to the first time they were separated,
when the Rebels were preparing to attack the Death Star and
Han was leaving with the reward. They had parted angrily
then - at least Luke had - yet Han had called the blessing of
the Force upon him. Luke had been too upset then to notice
the change in Han. Not until later, after Han had gotten Vader
off his tail, did he realize it. He understood now that Han
wasn't leaving because he wanted to, but because he had to.
The bounty hunters were everywhere, and Han knew that not
only was his life in danger, but everyone's around him, as
well.

Luke wanted to tell Han how much he meant to him -

started to say so - but knew it would embarrass Han no end,
maybe even make him angry. Just knowing Han cared was
enough. He flashed a grin at his friend, nodding a farewell
and good luck.

Han watched the boy turn away, couldn't let him leave
without saying something.

"You take care of yourself," he called.

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Luke turned back, his eyes eager and grateful. "You, too,"
he said, and walked away.

Han watched him for a moment until he disappeared among

the snowspeeders, then looked down at Chewie, who was
watching him.

"You got somethin' to say?" he barked.

Chewie shook his head and went back to work, but his
shoulders shook with a deep chuckle of understanding - and
approval.

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