Force Exile II: Smuggler/Part 3

6
The Hawk-bat roared into Commenor’s atmosphere, quickly disappearing from view due to the overcast sky. Captain Sei’lar wove the ship through the formations until he rejoined the spacebound vector for trading ships and freighters departing the nearby city of Munto, his first mate Jorge aiding him at the pilot’s station in lieu of the usual pilot, Micor. Minutes later, the sky of Commenor was replaced by the void of space as the light freighter moved further and further from the planet.

Once they cleared Commenor’s gravity well, Captain R’hask keyed the navicomputer for a jump to New Holstice. The computer completed the calculations and R’hask activated the hyperdrive, causing the Hawk-bat to vanish into hyperspace with a flicker of pseudomotion. As they flew through the multi-colored dimensional tunnel of hyperspace, Jorge went back to check on their passenger. The Corellian sauntered back to where Selu was lying in his medical capsule in the already-full hold.
 * “How are you holding up, Micor?” he asked.
 * “I’ve been better,” Selu replied from the medical capsule.
 * “That’s what I thought,” said Jorge. “Did you hear about your brother?”
 * “What about him?”
 * “Last night, while you were in Munto being fawned over by doctors and nurses, your brother Sarth was getting a kiss from Cassi.”
 * “Is that so?”
 * “Yep. The captain and I watched the whole thing.”
 * “Good for him,” Selu said. “He told me he liked her. I’m glad to see the feeling’s mutual. Besides, he told me about it this morning.”
 * “Aw, you knew already? Too bad. I got quite a rise out of your uncle earlier when I told him.”

Selu rolled his eyes.
 * “So that’s why you came back to check on me. You wanted to rat out my cousin.”
 * “Basically.”

Selu shook his head.
 * “Get out of here, Jorge. All you do is stir up trouble,” he said jokingly.

Jorge shrugged, grinned, and walked off, heading back to the bridge where Captain R’hask was. R’hask was sitting quietly, staring off into the multicolored vortex of hyperspace, lost in his own thoughts. Spacefaring had been a way of life for him for many, many years, but had recently begun to lose its allure of adventure and freedom. Perhaps it was an instinctual predisposition among his species or maybe he had just worn himself out through years of traveling, but R’hask was finding himself weary of the spacer’s life. He had already tried to ease the loneliness of space by shipping more crew than he really needed to- the Hawk-bat could be run by a crew of three, even with the increased crew necessitated by its modifications, but R’hask preferred a larger crew. They all worked together to make the ship run as best as they could, and it in return was their lifeline, their source of income, and their transportation. Still, there were some things it lacked that R’hask had come to miss about Bothan society. All he had to do was finish this deal- which wouldn’t make any money anyway- and he could turn the ship over to someone else.

However, the Bothan captain was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of Jorge’s boots against the deck as the first mate returned up the corridor connecting the main body of the ship with the bridge.
 * “How’s the patient?” R’hask asked.
 * “In good spirits,” said Jorge. “He doesn’t seem that hurt.”
 * “That’s good,” said R’hask. “Does he suspect anything?”
 * “Not that I can tell,” Jorge replied. “If he did, he’s not in much position to do anything about it.”
 * “Excellent. The sooner this deal is finished, the sooner we can make some changes in the crew lineup.”
 * “What kind of changes?”
 * “Jorge, have you ever thought about settling down?”
 * “You mean like, not being a spacer? Living on a world, maybe finding a wife and a stable job?”
 * “Exactly.”
 * “Nah. Not for me.”
 * “Well, I have been thinking about it,” R’hask said. “A lot more, recently.”
 * “I wondered why you’ve been acting so funny recently.”
 * “Yes, well, I want to return to Bothawui, Jorge. I’m getting too old for this.”
 * “What about the ship? Who will be the captain?”
 * “If all goes well, you’ll take my place.”
 * “Really?”
 * “You’ve crewed with me for ten years now, from when you were an undersized, scrappy whelp, until now. I think you’ll do well.”
 * “Thanks, Cap’n. I won’t let you down,” Jorge promised.
 * “You’ve earned it, Jorge. You’ll be the captain of the Hawk-bat, and all my records, cargo manifests and the ship’s maintenance fund will be yours, as will all the crew contracts. You’ll be the full master.”

R’hask watched as Jorge’s eyes widened as he nodded appreciatively.
 * “That’s a lot of things to chart and keep track of. There’s only thing I don’t like about it.”
 * “What’s that?”
 * “I have to be more responsible if I’m the captain.”

R’hask and Jorge both chuckled.
 * “You’ll be fine, lad,” R’hask said. “I’m sure of it.”

The rest of their short trip continued without incident. While they were still in hyperspace, R’hask and Jorge made sure the Hawk-bat’s laser turrets were fully calibrated and the torpedo launcher port was clean and ready for launch. Unfortunately, R’hask had been unable to find replacements for his highly illegal weapon since Selu had fired off a pair of the torpedoes to deal with some pirates. It wasn’t easy to just go to a nearby weapons depot or starship repair bay and inquire about buying proton torpedoes. Jorge figured the crew would have to go to the Outer Rim or Hutt Space to find that kind of weaponry.

The freighter reverted into realspace over New Holstice. Jorge scanned the system for ships and found the usual freighter and private vessel traffic, along with one particularly large vessel. Fine-tuning the Hawk-bat’s sensor suite, he activated the secondary sensors that Sarth had added until more detail on the larger vessel came in.
 * “What is it, Jorge?” R’hask asked.
 * “Looks like a Carrack-class light cruiser calling itself the Vigilance,” the first mate replied. “Wonder what they’re up to.”
 * “As long as they don’t get in our way, we’ll be fine,” said Captain R’hask. “Activate the passive sensor baffling.”

A unique set of interior hull plating that R’hask had picked up on a stint to Af’El, the Defel homeworld, on a meleenium run lined the cargo hold. The shadowy Defel, rare in the galaxy, but known for their near invisibility, were also expert metallurgists. R’hask had brought them a cargo of valuable bacta and food beyond what the Commerce Guild ships usually did and the Defel had helped him line the ship with defelite, an extremely rare material they made that returned a false signal to passive sensor scans once activated, creating an effect similar to the Defel’s own natural abilities. While a more thorough sensor sweep would penetrate the defelite’s camouflage, it was capable of easily resisting casual inspection while resembling a common durasteel alloy.

Jorge flipped a switch labeled “cargo hold running lights” and the plating activated, concealing the true nature of their cargo. The plating was another secret only R’hask and Jorge knew about the ship, along with its true history. While Cassi, Sarth, and Selu knew the ship as a light freighter produced as a civilian version of a popular MandalMotors design, R’hask had actually converted the Hawk-bat from the Mandalorian gunship designed for the True Mandalorians before their defeat at Galidraan. The civilian spacecraft was a knock-off of the gunship, but R’hask’s modifications had made the Hawk-bat indistinguishable from the light freighter class while retaining some of the military craft’s capabilities. Sarth, while not adept at all aspects of shipbuilding and mechanical repairs as Jorge was, had a startling knack for increasing the energy efficiency and output of the ship’s mechanisms and reactor, boosting its already formidable combat capability with additional energy that was on the wrong side of impossible. Were R’hask or Jorge ever to consider a career of privateering or piracy, the ship would need little modification to handle that role. Jorge and R’hask both knew that the ship’s upgraded power plant could support a lot more firepower, but had refrained from doing so in order to keep the ship within legal limits. Still, no freighter the size of the Hawk-bat would be able to even think about a running fight with a ship the size and firepower of the Vigilance. Captain R’hask, his furry hands on the control yoke of the freighter, brought the Hawk-bat down smoothly through the atmosphere of New Holstice, heading for the medcenter. His fur was rippling and bushing up subtly, a Bothan trait that indicated anxiety. The presence of an Imperial craft might have been completely unrelated to the deal he was brokering, but then again, it might not have been. If it was related to what he was doing, there could be trouble. Carrack-class cruisers were speedy craft that rivaled some starfighters for sublight speed and were sometimes equipped with tractor beam projectors and starfighters, both of which would be trouble if the ship grew interested in the Hawk-bat.

However, the Vigilance showed no interest in the freighter for now, even as it even as it descended through New Holstice’s atmosphere to land at a spaceport near the medcenter. New Holstice was a fairly pleasant world, as far as planets went, with a temperate climate near the medcenter, whose tall smooth buildings dominated the skyline of the landscape. The center, famous throughout the Rim, was the largest complex of buildings in the city and possibly even on the planet. Conveniently located near the medcenter was a modest-sized spaceport composed largely of circular docking bays sunk into the ground. By no means a shabby smuggler’s den, its spaceport was made largely of local permacrete, all decorated in same pale green as most of the medcenter was. As directed by the local control, R’hask set the ship down on repulsors into a round berth in the spaceport, the high walls rising to engulf the ship as it descended to land on the flat permacrete floor. Jorge had commed ahead to the medcenter, and a pair of paramedics was already waiting for them in the bay to take Selu’s medical capsule to the center for treatment.

Jorge and R’hask opened the bay door and slid Selu’s capsule out and into the hands of the medics, who hustled him off after assuring the captain they would call them on their comlinks as soon as the patient was allowed to receive visitors.

R’hask glanced at his chrono. They had almost a full day before they were supposed to meet Skoors, their contact, to conclude their deal. Pulling on his captain’s jacket, R’hask led Jorge out of the moss-draped spaceport, heading for the city rather than the medcenter.
 * “What do we do until we’re supposed to meet our friend?” asked Jorge.
 * “I want to know what that Imperial cruiser is up to,” said R’hask.
 * “So you’re just going to go up to the nearest official and ask?”
 * “No, I’ll do that tomorrow whenever I feel like falling under official suspicion. I don’t know how I’m going to find out yet. I’m still working on that.”
 * “So you’re going to ask the nearest information broker?”
 * “Well . . . I was thinking about it.”
 * “If anyone does, the Car’das Syndicate might know something about it. We could check into it- see if they have any local contacts around.”
 * “That’s as good a plan as any,” said R’hask. “How do we find them?”

Jorge smiled.
 * “Leave that to me.”
 * Commenor

Sarth Kraen sat by himself at a table in the fashionable Munto Core of Cuisine café, waiting. He was supposed to meet Slani Daowot here for lunch as she had insisted the night before, and while a Investigator speeder had escorted him here, accompanied by the reticent Tunroth Drelve, she had yet to arrive. Drelve, completely uninterested in the décor of the café, had found himself a table near the entrance, watching every patron with hawkish vigilance.

The restaurant, while not prohibitively upscale and expensive, was popular among businessbeings in Munto for its efficient service, good food, and flattering décor, designed to be as airy and natural as possible while resembling a garden. Large windows gave the building lots of sunlight, and there were various miniature landscaped beds located throughout the café, with brilliant blooms blossoming from some of the flowers and accentuated with small fountains and waterfalls, while small trees provided shade. Sarth had thought about taking a seat on the first level, but a polished silver serving droid had escorted him up a large flight of stairs that dominated the north face of the building up to a large wraparound balcony overlooking the floor of the restaurant, while a window provided a good view of the street outside. The clouds of earlier that day had broken and now brilliant sunlight streamed down, though the warmth of its rays inside the building was negated by the climate control system nestled in the tables, columns, roof, and behind plants. The dull roar of daily conversation could be heard over the soft sounds of a classical melody played over a hidden audio system as Sarth waited, the sounds of a hundred people talking and trading stories as serving droids took orders and delivered trays of food and drink. Right now, it was nearing the lunch rush, and the droids were taxed by the large number of customers clamoring for service. Dressed in a decently fashionable pair of clothes and fairly well-cleaned up by his mother’s insistence, he didn’t feel nearly as comfortable as he did when in everyday ship’s attire. Plus, he hadn’t slept well the night before, for obvious reasons. Even after the attack had ended, he had only had a few hours of rest, most of which he had spent tossing and turning, unable to close his eyes for long in fear that he’d wake up a prisoner of the ruthless Mistryl.

Sarth settled into his soft upholstered chair as a droid hurriedly rushed up to his table and placed his requested cup of caf on the table and then bustled off to help a pair of unhappy Thyferrans. He had glanced at the holographic menu briefly, and then decided to wait for Slani before ordering. Sarth looked down at his chrono. It was after midday, when he was supposed to meet Slani. His father and mother had been working out security arrangements with Bwilor when had left; by now, they were probably finished and eating by now. He sighed. It was typical of Slani to be late, and apparently service in the Investigators hadn’t taken that out of her. In the mean time, he tried to think of a plausible cover story he could tell her without revealing too much information. As much as they had been friends, or at least acquaintances, or at least he had helped Slani out in years past, he wasn’t exactly sure how much she could be trusted.

Finally, she walked up to the table and sat down. Her hair, while still put up, wasn’t completely contained, with a few curls escaping out of the back, loosening the professional appearance she had fostered earlier. For once, she wasn’t wearing her uniform, having instead chosen a dark blue halter-top knee-length dress that shimmered faintly when the sunlight or glow from the overhead glowpanels hit it. Sarth figured that a fashion expert would have described the garment as classy without being overly formal. Although he didn’t feel any particular attraction to Slani, one part of his mind registered the fact that she looked much more attractive than she had been in uniform. He also noted that she had a sizable handbag with her—probably carrying a blaster, datapad, stuncuffs and other law enforcement accessories—and that she wore a nondescript jacket over the dress, which wasn’t a surprise. She could probably conceal other pieces of equipment in the jacket’s pockets without needing to wear a belt.
 * “Hello Sarth,” she said. “You look nice.”
 * “Thank you,” he said. “Same to you.”
 * “I figured it’d be more discreet for me to appear in everyday clothes rather than in uniform. Tends to attract less attention that way, unlike your Tunroth bodyguard. Though at least he’s at the front booth so people can wonder who he’s watching for. If he were over here, then we’d really stick out like a sore thumb.”
 * “I figured you’d say that.”
 * “Did you now?”
 * “Why do you think he’s over there, Slani?”
 * “I see. Well, let’s eat first. I wouldn’t want to make you tell me what you’re up to on an empty stomach.”

Sarth and Slani both turned their attentions to the menus in front of them. Sarth settled on a local fish and vegetable dish known as nautico, while Slani ordered nerfsteak au Coruscant, grilled rare.
 * “Still favor pricey food, I see,” Sarth said.
 * “I prefer to have my meat fresh and tender,” she replied. “Besides, these are department creds.”

After the serving droid took their order, delivered a cup of caf to Slani, and wandered off, Slani began her questioning.
 * “Sarth, what’s going on?”

Sarth feigned innocence.
 * “We’re sitting at a café and waiting for our food.”

She sighed.
 * “Don’t go evasive on me, Kraen. Why are people attacking you?”
 * “I thought you said you were going to wait until I’d eaten before you started grilling me.”
 * “I did, but I changed my mind. As I said, I like my meat fresh.”
 * “No.”
 * “No?”
 * “No, I’m not telling you anything until I’ve eaten. You can wait.”
 * “Sarth, if you’re trying to get out this-,” she said.
 * “No,” he stopped her. “I’ll tell you what you need to know, but on my time. Logically, you have no option but to accept, because your one other option is to take me into the Investigator station, although I think it’s a bit unorthodox for you to do that dressed as you are.”

Slani glared vibroblades at Sarth, but sat back. Sarth counted it a victory. If Slani had been suitably distracted from her line of questioning, she wouldn’t press as hard, and hopefully she’d even forget some of her questions in between now and when they were finished. However, Sarth didn’t really think he had a chance of that happening. It was a quiet half an hour before the food arrived.

When the serving droid finally unloaded a tray, setting their plates on the table, Sarth was quite ready to eat. The nautico was steaming hot and delicious, seasoned well, and with a thick, meaty fish. Sarth guessed it was imported from some other planet- Naboo maybe? The food also seemed to loosen up Slani some, and they talked about local happenings and exchanged other small talk as they ate.
 * “Good nerfsteak?” he asked.
 * “Yes, it is,” she said. “And your fish?”
 * “It’s delicious. Good choice of restaurant.”
 * “Thank you,” she said, forking another piece of the tender nerfsteak.

Sarth, finishing his meal, sighed contentedly and pushed his plate back. He waited for Slani to similarly finish her meal, which she did a few minutes later. In the mean time, he had been busy thinking of what and how he was going to explain his situation to Slani. It was no use avoiding the topic of the Mistryl, but he had to avoid discussing Selu’s identity at all costs. The only problem was that if he told her about the lethality of the Mistryl, he was going to have a hard time explaining how Selu took down two of these opponents while only being an average former starfighter pilot, particularly given the number and quality of the weapons the Mistryl had possessed. There was also the fact that Slani had to have already examined or read the report on the two Mistryl bodies. Sarth decided that the best way to start was to bait Slani a little bit more, distracting her.

Slani folded her hands on her lap and looked pointedly at Sarth.
 * “Well?”
 * “Are you sure you want to know this?”

She rolled her eyes.
 * “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t, Sarth.”
 * “Ah, so you’re not happy to see me.”
 * “I am happy to see you again, Sarth. I didn’t mean it like that, and you know that.”
 * “Fine. Sorry. You know I’m glad to see you too.”

Inwardly, Sarth smiled. He’d already thrown Slani off of her original line of questions.
 * “Of course. Oh, and it won’t work.”
 * “What won’t work?”
 * “Sarth, I’ve known you for too long. You’re trying to trip me up by distracting me because you know you can set off all my alarms. Don’t deny it. Quit stalling and spill it already.”

Sarth bit his lip. She’d figured him out, and quickly too. He made a mental note to not underestimate Slani again. Apparently, her time in the Investigators had developed her skills at penetrating the fog around an issue. Which was perfectly fine, except those talents were focused in his particular direction at the exact moment when he wanted to fog the issue the most. Perfect timing, he thought.
 * “I trusted you back at your parents’ house, right? I need you to tell me what’s going on now. Look, you know me. Whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, I can help you.”
 * “You can help me? I don’t think so,” said Sarth, shaking his head.
 * “Is that so hard for you to accept? Are you ashamed to take my help? Is that what this is about?”

Slani’s emotions were starting to seep into her previous casually conversational tone. Sarth considered her last statement. Was it just that he was afraid of giving away Selu’s identity, or did Slani have a point? He’d never really considered himself as needing much in the way of help from others, at least not until Selu had suddenly popped into his life a few months ago. Had he gotten to the point where he saw himself as above other people? Thinking about it, Sarth realized that she was more right than wrong. It was time to come clean, while still keeping in mind other considerations such as Selu’s identity.
 * “I’m sorry Slani. I just didn’t want anyone else to get involved.”
 * “Involved in what?”
 * “I’m a hunted man,” he said slowly.
 * “Hunted? By who?”
 * “I used to work at a Republic Science Division laboratory doing weapons research and analysis after I got out of school. It paid well, looked good on my career experience, and helped out the war effort. I started off analyzing warships and starfighters, but after they found out about my talent in computers and droid programming, they put me to work on captured Separatist droid types. My specialty was destroyer droids. One day, I figured out how to decrypt the entire code package that controls them.”
 * “What does that mean?”
 * “It means I could remotely command any droideka I wanted to, as long as it used that basic code framework. It was immensely valuable research, and that’s where the trouble started.”
 * “What happened?”
 * “Someone else had infiltrated my lab. They took my research and drugged me so I couldn’t remember everything. Anyway, that code was so complex that I couldn’t remember all of it anyway. Then they tried to kidnap me.”
 * “Who did?”
 * “I’m being chased by Mistryl Shadow Guards. The only reason they haven’t caught me is because my cousin Micor has been there. He’s ex-military, and he helped fend them off.”

Slani sat back in her chair.
 * “Mistryl?,” she said. “Sarth, I suppose you already know that that’s bad news for you. They’re lethal, and incredibly hard to detect. They also don’t give up easily.”
 * “I do,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to place you in danger.”

At least, that was part of the reason for why he didn’t want to tell her. If she was knowledgeable about Mistryl, she’d know that even ex-military pilots didn’t stand a good chance against them.
 * “Sarth, I appreciate the thought, but you’re so far off, it’s not even funny.”
 * “Oh?”
 * “I don’t need you to protect me or pity me. Maybe that’s how you’ve always felt towards me, but it’s not what I want from you. I can take care of myself, Sarth. And serving in the Investigators means that stopping people like this is part of my job.”
 * “Then what do you want from me?” Sarth asked.
 * “Professionally, I want you to cooperate with the investigation. Personally, I’d like you to treat me like an adult, and not the kid I was when you left for school.”

Sarth considered what she said, and once again, came to the conclusion that she was correct. He had been talking down to her, treating her like an inferior instead of an equal. He wondered if he did that a lot. It was something he had to consider, but at a later time.
 * “Fair enough,” he said. “I can do that, within reason.”
 * “Glad to hear it,” she said.
 * “How’s the investigation going?” he said, changing the topic to keep her from resuming her questioning, at least temporarily.
 * “We’ve gotten some leads, but not too much. We’ve been trying to track the location of the ship they came on. Also, I did an autopsy on each of the bodies. One died of violent trauma from a fall, the other from a razor blade through the sternum. Unfortunately, we haven’t got anything major from them yet- the lab’s still working on analysis.”
 * “You did the autopsy?”
 * “It was late, and I was impatient. Besides, I’m the best one in there.”
 * “That’s good, I think.”
 * “We’re still not sure how many of them there are, or if those were the only two on the planet.”
 * “Is there any way to find out?”
 * “I suppose we could try going door to door and asking.”
 * “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll start tomorrow,” he said facetiously.
 * “For now, my guess as a profiler says that they’ll be cautious. Set back by this loss. They’ll lie low until they launch a more detailed plan, assuming there are still Mistryl on the planet.”
 * “That’s good. How certain are you of that?”
 * “Sarth, I’ve been trained in profiling. Based on what data I have, this is my best guess: they’ll try again, but not immediately.”
 * “So we have time to prepare and set up a defense. And maybe even you’ll catch them first.”
 * “I hope so. Hey, look out!”

Slani lunged across the table at him. Then their world exploded and they both went flying.

Jirnza had sat on the rooftop of the clothing store for longer than she wanted to, peering through a pair of electrobinoculars at the Core of Cuisine café. Clad in a fairly innocuous looking jumpsuit, she had scaled the roof with the aid of her climbing claws and spotted her target, Kraen, a minute earlier. Helsi hadn’t liked this particular idea- snatching someone in broad daylight was generally frowned upon, but Jirnza felt that the surprise alone would guarantee success. If grabbing Kraen wasn’t an option, she could always slip quietly off or she could rattle him somehow. At the present moment, though, he didn’t seem to have a large number of bodyguards with him. There did appear to be a member of the local law enforcement with him, but Jirnza didn’t think she’d be a problem. Local patrollers usually weren’t, and this one didn’t look particularly threatening. She wasn’t wearing body armor or carrying a large blaster, and it was just her. Obviously, the locals weren’t aware of what they were up against.

Jirnza clambered back down the side of the wall, reaching a powerful swoop bike parked in the recesses of an alleyway. She slid a concealing mask over her head to conceal her identity and ran a quick check on her equipment. Everything seemed sound. It was time to go. Mounting the bike, she gunned its repulsorlift engine and roared out into the street. Rather than merely hover half a meter above the ground though, she pointed the swoop’s forward maneuvering vanes skyward and the powerful engine launched the craft into the sky, reaching an altitude of several meters above the ground. She goosed the craft forward, heading straight for the Core of Cuisine’s second floor. Reaching into a back at her side, she pulled out a highly illegal hand grenade and hurled it at the window next to Sarth and Slani as she cranked the swoop into a hard left turn.

The grenade hurled end-over-end through the air until its contact fuse detected the window a meter in front of it. The fuse sent a pulse of energy into the compact detonite core, triggering a detonator, which set off the detonite. A three meter ball of fire and shrapnel burst into existence, turning the window into deadly transparent shrapnel.

Slani had seen the swoop coming out of the corner of her eye, noticing its unusual flight pattern and altitude. Three years in the Investigators kicked in, and she had lunged for Sarth, grabbing him and pulling them both down below the table, just as the grenade detonated. The top floor of the restaurant experienced mass pandemonium from the explosion, with people running everywhere screaming, some cut by flying pieces of grass. Slani couldn’t be bothered with that now. The blast had thrown her and Sarth several meters backward, slamming her painfully into the balcony rail. Something gave in her ribs, and she gasped in pain. No time for that now, nor for the partial deafness she was feeling.

Slani’s right hand darted into the left side of her jacket, and she pulled a small blaster. Peering over the edge of the overturned table, she saw the swoop coming around for another pass. She ducked back, counted to three, and then popped back over the table, blaster in hand. Slani pulled the trigger four times, sending scarlet energy flying at the swoop, which quickly maneuvered out of the way while the pilot returned fire with a heavy blaster. While only one of Slani’s bolts hit the swoop, the Mistryl’s shots all sizzled into the table. Slani, her back pressed up against the table, yelped as the metal superheated and caught her jacket on fire. Sarth, who had just regained his senses, saw the flames rising from her jacket as Slani turned around and backed away from the ruined table. Crawling forward, he pulled the burning and shredded jacket off and stomped on it, extinguishing the flames.
 * “Good, you’re up,” she said. “Here, take this.”

Slani reached down and hiked the skirt of her dress up to her thigh, revealing a hold-out blaster strapped to her leg.
 * “Two blasters?” Sarth said.
 * “No one ever expects it,” said Slani, tossing him the hold-out. “Where’s your Tunroth friend?”
 * “I don’t know,” said Sarth. “I hope he shows up soon.”

The swoop returned for another pass and Jirnza changed tactics, holstering her blaster in favor of a small canister tossed underhand into the shattered window. Sarth suddenly leaped up, grabbing Slani’s handbag from the floor. Slani cursed and fired a pair of shots at the Mistryl to distract her from Sarth’s foolhardy maneuver. Sarth lunged over to the canister, shoved it inside the handbag and sealed it before chucking it out the window. It landed on the ground and the bag bulged slightly as a slight haze came out of it.
 * “Sarth! My comlink was in there!” Slani shouted.
 * “So is the canister.”
 * “What was that?”
 * “Czerka 317-sleep gas canister,” said Sarth. “We tested them at the lab I told you about. Very effective for knocking out groups of people within thirty meters, and it’s perfectly invisible and odorless.”

Jirnza smiled as she brought the swoop around. Soon, the two would be asleep and the scientist would hers. Local law enforcement hadn’t shown up yet, but even if they arrived now, her swoop could outrun anything they had. She’d scoot out of town and then double back to the ship in the evening with her prisoner. Success was hers.

A pair of shots flew by her. Apparently the local law took issue to kidnapping, and Jirnza dropped the swoop’s nose, bringing her out of Slani’s line of fire and sending her skimming along the ground. As she swerved through a group of pedestrians, a massive Tunroth appeared out of nowhere with a sizable kilter battle staff. Jirnza lashed out at the alien with a kick as she flew by, and the battle staff thrust that would have knocked her off the vehicle through merely smashed through her swoop’s controls as the Tunroth staggered from the impact. Drelve wrenched the weapon, and the swoop went out of control, throwing Jirnza off head-first. Mid-air, she released a smoke grenade, blanketing the street with a noxious opaque cloud of red smoke. The landing nearly knocked the wind out of her, but she staggered into an alleyway and disappeared, making her back to the ship via a circuitous route to throw off any pursuit. Helsi would not be pleased.

Sarth and Slani heard the tremendous crash from the swoop and saw the plume of red smoke. Both slowly stood, weapons at the ready. Suddenly, a massive spiked hand appeared at the base of the shattered window. Two blasters were aimed at it, but the following hand and face that followed the first one over the ledge was Drelve’s. The Tunroth, wielding a large battle staff, hauled himself up.
 * “Area secure,” he said.
 * “Is she still alive?” asked Slani.
 * “I don’t know. She ran away,” replied Drelve. “I called the Securers. In the mean time, I will check the lower floors. Stay here.”

With that, the Tunroth went down the stairs, checking the restaurant and its frightened patrons for further threats, staff at the ready.
 * “I don’t know how he’s so calm,” said Slani. “I’ve done this for three years, and I’m still scared whenever I get shot at.”
 * “That’s what Micor is like. Nothing ever bothers him.”

Slani holstered her weapon, and Sarth returned the holdout to her, which she strapped back into place in the leg holster.
 * “You saved my life, Slani,” he said softly. “Thank you.”
 * “Oh . . . it’s nothing,” said Slani, waving him off. “Don’t worry about it.”
 * “I won’t forget it,” said Sarth.
 * “I was just doing my job,” she said. “Are you hurt?”
 * “Just a little bruised. Some small cuts and such, and I’ll have a killer headache tomorrow. And you?”
 * “I’m fine,” she said, but the grimace on her face told Sarth otherwise.
 * “No, you’re not,” he replied. “You were on fire a minute ago.”
 * “True,” she admitted. “I think I bruised a rib too.”

She ran a tentative hand over the injured rib and winced. Sarth reached over and grabbed one of the large cloth napkins from one of the upturned tables, collecting some ice from a glass. Making a small bag out of the ice, he pressed it against Slani’s rib and she gave a slight gasp from the contact.
 * “Hold that there,” he said. “I’ll get another one for your back.”
 * “Don’t worry about it,” said Slani quickly. “It’s not a big deal. Just forget it.”

Sarth, ignoring her, quickly collected another napkin and ice, wrapping it into a pack. Gently, he turned Slani over to check on the cuts on her back she’d sustained from the grenade blast and the burn from the melting table. They seemed to be minor and mostly absorbed by the jacket, but those that had pierced it had hit skin and left small lacerations; her dress didn’t cover her shoulder blades. Sarth started to place his ice pack there and then noticed something: a pattern of small white scars lining the skin of Slani’s back from her shoulders down. There was no way, short of serious genetic alteration, that they were recently created.
 * “Slani, what happened?” he asked incredulously. “These aren’t recent.”
 * “No,” she said, her eyes dropping to avoid meeting his.
 * “Did you get these on the job?” he asked.
 * “No,” came her reply, small and pleading.
 * “Did your father do these to you?”
 * “Yes,” she admitted after a long time, her voice more a sob than anything else. “Please don’t say anything more, Sarth. Just don’t.”
 * “So that’s why you always wore long sleeves all those years. You didn’t want anyone to see,” Sarth surmised.

Crying and shamed, Slani nodded, pillowing her face on his shoulder.
 * “I’m so sorry, Slani,” he said. “I never knew. I never knew how bad it was for you.”

Gathering her in his arms, he held her close to him as she cried softly, pulling the burned jacket over her shoulders to once again hide the marks of abuse and shame. In the distance, the sirens of Securer vehicles wailed, creating an auditory backdrop to the pain and chaos in the shattered café.

7

 * New Holstice

Following his Corellian crewman into a seedier part of the town-which wasn’t bad compared to some of the more polished centers of some worlds he had been to-R’hask watched as Jorge went into several tapcafes, shops, and cantinas, questioning various denizens, usually equally shabby in appearance. R’hask also noticed that most of their clothing sported little bulges where a small blaster or other weapon could be surreptitiously tucked away. Jorge seemed undisturbed by these little details, or the apparent lack of sanitation and hygiene, which was typical of what could usually be found in lower-class spaceports.

Despite their apparent lack of success, Jorge led R’hask from one establishment to another, the surroundings growing steadily worse, throughout the afternoon, often ordering a drink or two at each place. R’hask also noted that Jorge drank very little of what he ordered, though even if he had, the Bothan would not have been unduly worried. He’d seen Jorge drank large amounts of intoxicants and still retain his wits. However, Jorge apparently didn’t want to take his chances this time.

Finally, a horned Devaronian took them to a dank backroom in a shady cantina known as the Spacer Place, saying he had information on Car’das for them. As the rusted metal door slid back in place behind them, Jorge and R’hask noted with no little discomfort that the room was completely darkened, save for a dim overhead glowpanel right above where they were standing.
 * “What is your business here?” asked the Devaronian, his voice a low growl.
 * “I told you already,” replied Jorge. “We’re looking for the Car’das group. Wanted to ask them some questions.”
 * “Are you the law?”
 * “I told you that too. No, we’re freighter crew. All we want to know is how to get in touch with them.”
 * “Perhaps they don’t want to talk to you.”
 * “Perhaps you should get your ears cleaned out,” said R’hask irritably. “Obviously, you know something about them or you work for them yourself. You said you had information, and we want it. Quit wasting our time already.”

There was a clicking sound in the corner and R’hask recognized it as the sound of blasters being drawn and pointed in their direction.
 * “I think you know too much,” snarled the Devaronian. “I think it’ll also be better if we relieve you of your weapons.”
 * “It’s bad idea, but . . . if you insist,” replied R’hask lightly.

The Devaronian, himself armed with a high-powered WESTAR-34 blaster pistol, walked over to Jorge and removed the blaster from Jorge’s belt, tossing it on a dusty table nearby that was barely illuminated by the dim lighting. As he walked over to R’hask’s left side, the captain and mate sprung into action. R’hask quickly grabbed the Devaronian’s arm that had been reaching for his blaster, and bent it up and behind the Devaronian’s back at a painful angle, who screamed as R’hask freed his furry right hand from his hold to draw his blaster and place the muzzle against the Devaronian’s neck. At the same time, Jorge scooped the WESTAR-34 out of its holster, aiming towards the source of the sound of unholstered weapons they had heard earlier.
 * “I think that’s enough fun for one day,” said Jorge calmly. “Why don’t you step out into the light and reveal yourselves.”
 * “Bravo,” said a new voice, accompanied by the sound of soft clapping. “Very well done. Grissak, the lights please.”

The room was suddenly flooded by light, and R’hask and Jorge squinted as their eyes adjusted to the dramatic increase in light. Sitting at the table, flanked by a towering Trandoshan and a short, stocky Sullustan guard, was a brown-haired human male, middle aged, with intense dark eyes, stroking his goatee. He was clothed better than his guards, but not with the obviously luxurious fashions favored by the wealthy, and didn’t appear to be armed.
 * “I believe introductions are in order,” he said. “After all, you’ve been trying to get in contact with my organization all day, and I’d hate to keep you waiting any more.”

His voice had a distinct Corellian accent to it, just as Jorge’s did.
 * “You don’t mean—“ said Captain R’hask.
 * “Yes. I’m Jorj Car’das. You wanted to meet with my organization, right?”
 * “That’s right,” said Jorge slowly, covering for R’hask, who appeared quite surprised. “We did. I’m Jorge Knrr, and this R’hask Sei’lar, both of the freighter Hawk-bat.”
 * “A pleasure, I’m sure. Now, if you can agree to keep your weapons within your holster and stop torturing my associate, we can have a more enjoyable conversation, and Grissak won’t have to tear you apart yet,” Car’das said.

As Jorge reclaimed his own blaster and passed the WESTAR-34 back to its owner, R’hask released the Devaronian from the hold, lowering his own weapon and returning it to his holster.
 * “I wasn’t torturing him,” said R’hask. “Jorge and I were merely teaching him not to search people without first relinquishing his own weapon, lest it be taken from him and used against him.”
 * “I’m sure that’s a lesson he’s well learned,” said Car’das.
 * “I’m sure of it too. So how about that more enjoyable conversation?” asked Jorge.
 * “Oh, certainly,” Car’das replied. “But not here. It’s already dangerous enough here as it is, not to mention uncouth.”
 * “Hence the darkened room and two guards who can both see in low-light conditions,” said R’hask.
 * “Noticed that, did you?” said Car’das. “All I will say is that it was necessary to ensure my safety. I didn’t anticipate trouble from you two, but your persistence was noted in your attempts to search my people out even after hours of unsuccessful searching. Now, if you’ll follow me.”

Car’das indicated a back door out of the cantina and walked through it, disappearing from view temporarily, and R’hask and Jorge followed him out, closely watched by the three guards. The door led out into an alleyway, and the two followed Car’das out. Parked in the alleyway was a respectably sized speeder, with a completely enclosed passenger compartment and its windows tinted black.
 * “Get in,” said Car’das.

R’hask and Jorge exchanged dubious looks, and then climbed into the landspeeder’s back seat as the Sullustan took the pilot’s seat up front, with the Devaronian next to him. The Trandoshan and Car’das took seats in the rear compartment also, sitting opposite R’hask and Jorge. The interior was stylishly decorated, with nerf-hide upholstery on the seats and a small shelf complete with a brandy snifter made from expensive Quarren crystal.
 * “A drink, gentlemen?” Car’das asked.

R’hask and Jorge both declined, though Car’das poured himself a glass of the brandy, swirling it around briefly in the glass before each sip. At a signal from Car’das, the speeder began driving around the city, though the lights of the buildings and vehicles were mere blurs to the occupants of the speeder.
 * “Now, what makes you two so persistent in seeking my people out?” said Car’das, a suspicious gleam in his eye. “What do you want?”
 * “For starters, some information,” said Jorge. “I heard you were better informed than the Imperial archives or the HoloNet news.”
 * “Interesting,” replied Car’das, stirring his brandy. “Information on what?”
 * “We were just curious about some of the uh, shipping patterns over New Holstice and what they were typically like. We’re traders and it’s our first time here, so that kind of information could be useful for future runs.”
 * “Especially information on what the Vigilance is doing in orbit over New Holstice,” said Car’das.

It was not a question.
 * “That could be useful,” said Jorge. “The type of government bureaucracy that we have to deal with plays a big role in our transactions.”
 * “I’m sure it does,” said Car’das euphemistically.
 * “We would be willing to pay for any information,” R’hask said. “We would ask the local commander here, but as of late the Imperial army hasn’t seemed to be hospitable.”
 * “No,” agreed Car’das. “They’re not paid to do that. However, you want information, and I happen to have it, so let’s trade.”
 * “How much are you asking?” said R’hask.
 * “Oh, not much. 300 credits will suffice for that little tidbit, but there’s just one more thing.”

Jorge rolled his eyes.
 * “Isn’t there always?”
 * “It’s not much to ask, but I want to know if any Kiffar try to hire you out,” said Car’das. “And I’d like to know before they leave here.”

Kiffar, native to the Kiffu system, were near-humans distinguished by facial markings applied when they were young. They were relatively common throughout the galaxy, no less than other spacefaring races such as Duros or Twi’leks. It was somewhat strange of a request for Car’das to make, but not an unreasonable one.
 * “Looking for a friend?” asked R’hask.
 * “Possibly,” said Car’das. “Do we have a deal?”

R’hask and Jorge exchanged glances, and R’hask nodded.
 * “Deal,” the Bothan said, his furred fingers deftly slipping into a pouch on his belt and returning with three one-hundred credit vouchers.

R’hask tossed them over to Car’das, who placed them on the shelf next to the brandy snifter. In return, the information broker handed a datacard to R’hask, who pocketed it.
 * “A pleasure doing business with you,” said Car’das as he raised his brandy glass. “Until next time.”

The speeder slid to a stop, and the Trandoshan Grissak opened the door for them. Jorge and R’hask stepped out of the opulent speeder to find themselves in the docking berth for the Hawk-bat.
 * “Evening, gentles,” rasped the Trandoshan, who slid back into the speeder and closed the door. A minute later, it drove off.
 * “Amazing,” said Jorge, impressed. “He knew where our ship was docked.”
 * “I suspect Car’das can learn anything about anything if he wants to,” said R’hask. “Let’s check out this information and make sure it’s worth the price we paid for it.”

The Bothan and Corellian returned to their ship, both unsettled by their encounter with the peculiar information broker Jorj Car’das. R’hask’s fur rippled in a show of Bothan nervousness and Jorge checked his back twice as he walked up the ship’s ramp. For some reason, he was beginning to have a queasy feeling in his gut about this whole affair.
 * Commenor

Bwilor straightened up from planting a perimeter sensor around the Kraen estate near the tree-line. The small discrete device was designed to detect any intruders approaching the house and would signal both his team and the Munto Securers office of the intrusion. That was the last of them, he thought. Shouldering his shovel, he walked across the grassy yard where the Hawk-bat had launched from earlier that day. He, Spectre, and Twone had been busy setting up their detection and surveillance gear since the ship had left, while Drelve had gone into Munto with Sarth for some kind of police interview with Detective Daowot.

In the mean time, Spectre stood watch with Twone at the house, both of them fully equipped in the katarn-class armor that Selu had left them. Bwilor had kept them both busy, so they had had little chance to socialize with each other, or the Kraen family and Cassi for that matter, who had themselves been occupied with straightening the house up and answering calls from concerned friends and neighbors. Spectre didn’t expect an attack immediately, but if one came, he was prepared. And being back in full armor felt good, even if it wasn’t the type he was used to. Selu had also left him a WESTAR-M5 blaster rifle, a weapon he was quite familiar with from his not-too-distant military past.
 * “How come you got the good kit?” grumbled Twone good-naturedly, coming alongside Spectre after finishing his perimeter sweep.

Selu, or Micor, as he was known as, had only had one full set of armor, which he had bequeathed to Spectre. The other set, which had gone to Twone, was nearly complete, except for a helmet. Before he had left, Sarth had quietly explained that the helmet, once used by Mistryl Shadow Guards in a kidnapping attempt along with the rest of the armor, was missing because of a lightsaber blow from Selu that had ruined the headgear. While Spectre and Twone both had WESTAR-M5s, only Spectre’s had the optional (and probably illegal) underslung rocket launcher- there had been only of those.
 * “Because of my incredible wit and charm,” said Spectre.
 * “You don’t have any wit or charm,” jested Twone. “Not that I know of.”
 * “Well, the client’s cousin also fought with me in the wars.”
 * “Fought with you or against you?”
 * “With me. He was a Jedi Knight.”
 * “Oh.”

There was a short silence.
 * “Do you know if they . . .”

Spectre cut off Twone before he could continue on that line of thought.
 * “No. And I’m not going to ask. I’d just as soon not remind them that we or our brothers most likely killed him because he was a traitor. That type of thing tends to sour business relations.”
 * “Good point. Say, anything on the sensors?”
 * “The screen’s not picking up anything,” said Spectre.
 * “Ah well, then I’m going to get some food out of the speeder. I’ll bring you some, unless I get jumped by a group of Mistryl on the way.”
 * “Thanks Twone,” said Spectre.

Not telling him about Selu’s true identity had been a necessary precaution to take, Sarth had told him. Spectre didn’t like it, but Sarth was right in that he didn’t know how the other ex-ARC would handle the revelation. Some things were deeply ingrained in all troopers, like a keen awareness of their surroundings for example. Someone was coming. Spectre calmly slotted a blaster pack into his rifle, preparing himself mentally for imminent combat. However, it was only Bwilor.
 * “We’ve had a bit of a snag,” the Twi’lek said.
 * “What is it?” Spectre asked.
 * “There was an attack on Sarth in Munto by one of the Mistryl. The Investigator he was with and Drelve fended off the attack, but Drelve thinks it was more of a scare attempt than a snatch job.”
 * “What makes you say that?” said Spectre.
 * “Only one Mistryl,” said Bwilor grimly. “A more dedicated and numerous group would have succeeded and a single Mistryl knows better than to attack a well-guarded person in broad daylight.”

Spectre nodded his agreement. Tactically, the Twi’lek’s assertion made excellent sense, unless the Mistryl were really desperate or one of them had gone rogue.
 * “Did they get her?”
 * “Drelve said he thought she got away. He didn’t want to pursue her and leave Sarth behind in case it was a diversion.”
 * “Is Sarth injured?”
 * “No. He only suffered minor injuries. He and the Investigator are on their way back here now, under heavy Securer escort.”

Spectre ground his teeth quietly. He hadn’t even been on the job for a day and they had already been attacked with him helpless to prevent or do anything about it. True, he wasn’t in charge, but this wasn’t the way he had intended to start his career in security. Perhaps he should have recommended a beefed-up security screen, but there was no reasonable way he could have anticipated a Mistryl attack this soon. That alone was enough to frustrate him.
 * “I’m going to go tell Twone and discuss heavier security with him,” said Bwilor.
 * “What should I do?” said Spectre, repressing the automatic urge to add “sir” to the end of each sentence as he had once done whenever addressing a superior.
 * “You get to go tell the family,” said Bwilor cheerlessly on his way out the door of the bedroom in the Kraen home they had appropriated for their use and as a security headquarters.
 * “Lucky me,” said Spectre to the empty room.

Spectre walked down the hall into the main living room where Lena and Cassi had finished their lunch and were sitting and chatting over cups of caf while Samtel repaired the lock that had been damaged in the Mistryls’ entrance. He decided to doff his helmet, noting that the civilians he had encountered during the war had been disturbed by its lack of humanity. There was no way to get around being the center of attention when he entered the room, so he decided to simply announce his news while everyone was looking at him, which they were.
 * “I’ve just received word that Sarth was attacked by Mistryl in Munto,” he announced.
 * “Is he okay?” Lena asked instantly, her eyes riveting on his and her voice filled with alarm and concern.
 * “He’s fine. Drelve and some of the local law enforcement fended off the attack, and he only sustained minor injuries.”

Spectre realized that his statement sounded cold, but he had little other information to pass on. Besides, he wasn’t paid to sweeten the news.
 * “He’s on his way back here now under heavy Securer escort,” he said.

Inwardly, he probably figured that “heavy” escort for civilians didn’t quite mean the same thing that it did back in the army.

Both Cassi and Lena gave audible sighs of relief, and Spectre noted that Samtel seemed a bit more relaxed than he had a minute ago.
 * “What about Slani? How is she?” asked the older man.
 * “Who?” said Spectre.
 * “Detective Daowot. She’s an old . . . friend of the family,” said Samtel. “How is she?”
 * “I’m not sure,” said Spectre. “I haven’t received word of her condition, other than that she’s returning here with Sarth.”
 * “What do we do now?” asked Lena nervously. “They’re still out there looking for us.”
 * “Carry on as before, Madam Kraen, albeit more cautiously,” said Bwilor as he opened and walked through the door in one smooth gesture. “Spectre, Twone, and I will be as invisible as possible while keeping you and your household safe. Her captain”-here he nodded at Cassi-“didn’t hire me just because of our old friendship. Trust me, we can take care of this.”
 * “When will Sarth come back?” asked Cassi.
 * “Any minute now,” said Bwilor.

Sarth and Slani had spent most of the ride in silence, neither one wanting to bring up the attack that had nearly killed both of them, nor Slani's secret history. They had been debriefed by the Securers and given their statements for the official case record. Slani, in uniform once again, had been assigned to bring Sarth back to the Kraen home. Slani still felt raw and emotionally vulnerable from Sarth's discovery, like a protective mask had just been yanked off of her. Thankfully, she was able to maintain her composure now with a steely calm gaze that was practically issued to law enforcement officers when dealing with sensitive subjects. She also knew that while coming off of an adrenaline high was not the best mood for sensible conversation.

Drelve, sitting next to Sarth, was not in the least bit shaken by the attack. The Mistryl’s kick had done little damage to him, and now he was mentally reviewing and replaying the attack to analyze the stalking tactics the Mistryl had used. It might be vital information that could help prevent another attack. Drelve wasn’t sure how to interpret all his perceptions, but Bwilor would be able to. His employer had a gift for seeing the bigger picture through the details and confusion of combat. Another part of him was also still enthralled from the heart-pounding rush that combat had brought him. That sensation would probably last for another hour or so, and Drelve savored it.

Sarth's head was still spinning with a headache, despite the analgesic he'd been given at the Investigator station. He also discerned that Slani was not in a conversational mood, still hurting from the shock of the Mistryl's assault and from having her scars exposed literally. He was amazed that he had never realized or deduced the severity of the abuse she had suffered as a little girl from her father, and a strange sense of guilt flooded through him. The fact that it was his presence that had put Slani in danger at the restaurant did nothing to appease that either. They were both glad when the Securer convoy finally pulled up in front of the Kraen residence.

A few minutes later, the perimeter net that Bwilor had set up picked up a group of vehicles moving towards the Kraen estate, and Drelve called to confirm their identity. The three speeders pulled to a stop in the driveway near the enclosed garage, all of them marked with the official insignia of the Commenor Securers, Munto Division. Several heavily armed officers stepped out of the vehicles, and one of them opened the door on the largest craft to let Slani and Sarth step out, followed by Drelve. Slani and Sarth quickly exited the speeders and went to meet the family, with Drelve following behind. The two humans looked a little shaken, but otherwise unharmed. Drelve was as impassive as ever.

Both of the elder Kraens ran up and embraced their son tightly, tears of relief flowing down their cheeks and onto his shirt. After several minutes, they released him, but Cassi quickly took their place, embracing Sarth tightly, a gesture not missed by Slani.
 * “Detective Daowot,” said Samtel. “Thank you for taking care of Sarth.”
 * “All in the line of duty,” she said. “The Tunroth here was pretty helpful too.”
 * “Then thank you also, Drelve,” replied Samtel.
 * “You’re welcome,” said the reticent Tunroth, who proceeded to discuss the details of the attack with Bwilor off to one side from the humans.
 * “Not a very talkative fellow,” noted Samtel.
 * “No, but an excellent combatant,” said Slani.
 * “I’m glad to see you’re well,” Samtel said.
 * “Thank you for your concern. I just wanted to make sure that Sarth was safe."
 * "Well, thanks to you, he is. We're indebted to you, Detective," said Lena.

Slani jerked a nod towards Cassi. "Who's that?" "That's Cassi Trealus," Lena replied. "She's the Hawk-bat's cargomaster." "Recently, she and Sarth have developed a relationship," said Samtel. "I see," Slani replied evenly, but something in her facial expression stiffened. "Well, if you’ll pardon me, I need to accompany these fine gentlemen back to town.”
 * “Take care, Slani,” said Samtel.
 * “Leaving so soon?” called Sarth, having finally released Cassi from his embrace.
 * “Yes,” Slani replied. “Business to take care of back in Munto.”
 * “Slani, thank you for everything you did today,” Sarth said, at a loss for words.

“You’re welcome,” she said. Slani stepped back into her speeder and, with a curt nod to the driver, the Securers boarded their vehicles and sped off.
 * “That’s strange,” noted Sarth. “She originally was going to check out the security here first.”
 * “Maybe she found confidence in our abilities,” said Bwilor.
 * “Either that or something displeased her,” said Samtel.
 * “Getting shot at displeases me,” said Sarth.
 * “Me too,” said Cassi. “And that goes for you or me getting shot.”

The family, safely and happily reunited, went back inside with Bwilor and Cassi, the former assuring them of their continued safety. Spectre and Twone conducted a short sweep of the perimeter for any intruders or surveillance devices left outside. Spectre had his helmet back on and was filled with a cold anger at his as of yet un-met adversaries.

Want to attack the people I’m guarding? Fine. Bring as many as you want. I bet you’ve never run into an ARC before. I’m your worst nightmare, he thought. Spectre concentrated on the image of a Mistryl Shadow Guard and the thought brought bile up into his throat. The two ex-troopers made very sure that the entire place was clear before returning to their makeshift command center to continue their quiet vigilance. Very sure indeed.


 * New Holstice

Jorj Car’das, having returned to his private office here on New Holstice, waved his aides off and out the room. He had spent the day visiting old information sources, setting up contacts, and, all in all, weaving a web of snares and traps designed to complete his mission to his patron’s satisfaction. In addition to the collection of several thousand credits- a paltry sum indeed- he would now be aware of any Kiffar trying to flee the planet, one in particular. And after what the Imperials had planned for New Holstice, there would be a particular fugitive of interest. He was sure of it.

He had ensured that his usual operatives were augmented by freelancers, and even some of independent freighter pilots, like R’hask and Jorge from the Hawk-bat, were watching for Kiffar. Everything was falling into place just like he had anticipated. Now, all he had to do was make contact and start things rolling.

Reaching into a drawer in his expensive wood desk, he slid open a hidden panel in the back, keying a set of controls there. Looking around to make sure no one else was in the room, he activated the last switch, and the blue hologram of an aging human male clad in the robes favored by governmental officials high up in the Imperial echelons shimmered into view on his desk, a quarter of a meter high.
 * “Car’das. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
 * “Good to see you too, Doriana.”
 * “I’m assuming you’ve found something, otherwise you wouldn’t be contacting me.”
 * “I followed up the leads you gave me to here on New Holstice, and I’m positive that your Kiffar fugitive is here.”
 * “And?”
 * “I’ve set up a plan to deal with him before he can cause trouble and the timely arrival of the Vigilance will flush him out. You’ll have the orders provided, right?”
 * “Of course. The captain knows what to do.”
 * “Good. Then the trap is ready and baited”
 * “What if he finds passage off of the world after you spring your little trap, Car’das?”
 * “I have ships in orbit and spies on the ground watching for that very possibility,” said Car’das.
 * “I hope so,” said Kinman Doriana. “You are sure he’s here?”
 * “No, but my gut instinct says that he is somewhere on New Holstice. That’s good enough for me. I’m not usually wrong, and logically, this is exactly where he would be.”
 * “Your gut had better be right,” replied Doriana.
 * “It is and I am,” said Car’das. “You’ll have your fugitive to present to your master soon enough.”
 * “Excellent. I look forward to it,” Doriana said. “He will be most pleased by the apprehension of this particular nuisance.”
 * “Yes,” said Car’das. “I rather imagine Darth Sidious would be.”