Force Exile II: Smuggler/Part 4

8
He wasn’t awake; he was sure of it. Everything was black and dark, and there was pain. That meant he wasn’t dead, since dead men felt no pain. He couldn’t move though, couldn’t throw off the webs of inky blackness and spears of red-hot pain that coursed through and around him. Then he grew cold, as he didn’t remember who he was. Confusion gripped him and nothing had ever seemed as frightening as the loss of identity with no way of regaining it or breaking free.

Then his memory began to return. He saw a group of children climbing up a row ropes hanging from a high stone ceiling, urged and encouraged by a wizened old green instructor, and recalled being one of them. He remembered hanging from the rope, its dry fibers burning into his hands as his legs slipped and scrabbled on the smooth surface in search of some purchase. He had been younger then, still growing, and with a braid of long black hair hanging down from the side of his head. Sweat had poured down him, the droplets falling off his arms and boots to splatter on the floor below as he and the other apprentices had struggled up the side of wall, dozens of meters into the air, in an attempt to reach the balcony at the top. Others around him were already ahead, swarming up the wall easily, while he struggled. Then he looked down at the dizzying distance below him and he remembered being startled and shocked by the great height he was dangling from. Suddenly, his hands seemed to let go of the rough carbon rope on their own accord and he was falling through thin air, arms flailing, his hand finding and just as quickly losing hold of the rope.

He realized that he was doomed and prepared to have his body parts scattered all over the hard stone floor, wondering if it would hurt much. Slowly, his flight had slowed and then been gently arrested as he floated in the air. He had turned around in mid air to see the aged Master looking at him.
 * “I’m sorry, Master. I’ll try again,” had said his little boyish voice, filled with shame and weariness.
 * “Do or do not, youngling. There is no try,” the Master had admonished him.

The memory faded, replaced by another one.

He was standing in a different room, his eyes scrunched, but not in concentration. He was crying, clutching at the burns he had received in training from a practice lightsaber. He was several years older now, with the awkward gawkiness of adolescence. The tears flowed freely as he huddled in the corner between the side of his bed and the corner of his room, more of shame and embarrassment than actual physical pain. His cheeks burned with the memory of being humiliated in front of his teachers and peers. Then a round face and slender body had appeared around the corner, and he had tried to hide his tears from the new arrival. She was beautiful and about his age, her short dark hair spilling around her ears and cheek as she leaned down.
 * “Hey- Selusda, right- what’s the matter? Are you okay” the girl- Serra- said.

He tried to respond, but once again the memory faded. But he had found his name now, and that simple accomplishment of achieving identity and individuality cheered him.

The memories flowed more freely now and he recalled swimming on a distant planet called Chandrila with a small furry being named Skip, enjoying the sparkling sunlight and the strong flow of the water as he propelled his body through its cool, all-encompassing expanse. While their Masters had stood on the shore, no doubt discussing weighty matters such as the state of the Republic or punishments for irresponsible Padawans, the two had simply regaled in the joys of being in the water. Skip had told him a joke about a Bothan and a cantina and he had laughed long and hard when he heard the punch line. He recalled sitting in the crystal caves of Ilum, clad only in a simple pair of pants despite the cold, meditating on the parts of a lightsaber floating a few centimeters away from his hands, sliding them into place one by one as he was guided by the Force. As the final component locked into place, he had focused the Force energies swirling around him, bonding the weapon together and to himself. Standing and holding the hilt out in front of him, his breath visible in the chilly air, he had lit the weapon and a fountain of green energy had poured out of the emitter nozzle for the first time.

Images of the multitude of Jedi leaving the temple for Geonosis haunted him, the uncertainty of seeing his Master board the craft and leave, his senses choked by the dark side of the Force. The war came back to him in a multitude of images of death and destruction and once again he battled droids of all types and sizes on a Rendili, on Boz Pity, and on Coruscant, his youthful face now rugged and worn from the rigors of battle, the hum of his lightsaber barely noticeable now, so accustomed had he become to its deadly sound. Grief entered his life, grief at the loss of friends and grief for the millions of broken hearts and lives created by war. Then there was calm, a peace washing over him as Master Yoda severed his Padawan braid and proclaimed him a Jedi Knight. That calm had come crashing down not long afterwards, though, in the form of helmeted visages sending brilliant blue messengers of death, their leader the very harbinger of the dark side. There was betrayal, there was abandonment, and there was shame, and he would have screamed until his throat was raw had he been capable of the action. Then he remembered feeling better- someone had come into his life? Saved him? Visions of a family drifted in front of him and images of a light freighter also. He was one of them now and he clung to that thought.

But this newer, pleasant image also didn’t last. To his mind’s contorted sense of time, he had jumped forward, but he was back on Boz Pity and the acrid smell of burning metal filled his nostrils. The sky was dark and a storm front was rolling in. He sensed the subtle disturbances in the air and ground created by approaching battle droids and his hand moved on its own accord, his lightsaber slapping comfortably into his hand and igniting with a snap-hiss. Then the droids were upon him and he gave himself to the battle, his blade leaving long rents and scattered droid parts on the long green grasses of Boz Pity. But for everyone that he destroyed with a telekinetic slap, deflected blaster bolt, or lightsaber slash, two more had appeared out of the ground. Eventually, he had been overcome and had fled to a pile of more defensible ruins, waved on by a Corellian who had mysteriously appeared. There, his crewmates from the freighter and the Corellian he didn’t know came to help him, firing blasters at the droids. Suddenly, though, the Corellian’s face had turned dark. The strange man blasted one of his crew and then pointed his hand to the sky and a lightning bolt shot from his fingers into the clouds before he vanished. Then he saw it, a massive barrage of turbolaser fire from a low-orbiting capital ship burning through the sky towards them, its brilliant light blotting out everything else in his vision. He felt a hand grab his arm, but he couldn’t see it. Then everything exploded into searing brilliance.

Lying on a medcenter bed, Selusda Kraen’s eyes shot open, blinded by the sudden glare of the overhead panels. He threw up one hand over his face and thrashed about, uncertain of where he was. Then he felt a hand grabbing his arm and turned. Rolling over, he squinted against the light to see a light-blue Twi’lek female wearing some sort of light green garment holding his arm, a slightly concerned expression on her face.
 * “It’s all right. You’re fine,” she said, her lekku brain-tails twitching behind her nervously.
 * “Where am I?” asked Selu, his voice hoarse.
 * “You’re in the New Holstice Medcenter. I’m a nurse here,” she replied. “You’ve been here for six hours so far. We had to sedate you earlier for treatment, but you should be fine now.”

Selu sat up groggily, the Twi’lek relaxing and releasing his arm, and his memory finally caught up. He remembered the Mistryl attack and the injuries he had suffered at their hands and trip here on the Hawk-bat. Experimentally, he raised one arm and looked at his hands and then wiggled his toes. Everything seemed to be in working order. Actually, he felt great. Selu quickly rolled out of the bed onto his feet in one smooth motion, without the slightest impediment or pain. He did, however, notice an odd feeling on his backside. Twisting his torso, he glanced over his shoulder and noticed that his medcenter gown was completely open in the rear, giving a great view of the fresh scar ten centimeters above the small of his back. . . and everything else up and down. Looking up, he noticed the Twi’lek nurse giving him a bemused smile and his face flushed red as he realized that she must have had a pretty good view too.
 * “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better,” she said.
 * “Me too,” said Selu, pulling the two loose ends of the gown together. “Would you mind telling me where my clothes are?”

Thirty minutes later, he was fully dressed and signed out of the medcenter, impressed by the swiftness of the healing he had received. However, he was eager to be out of there, as the sterile smell and sight of medical implements reminded him of being shot down on Coruscant and breaking both his legs and the subsequent trip to the Temple’s healing wards. Captain Sei’lar hadn’t expected him back to the Hawk-bat until later that evening, so he decided to wander around the city and explore, as he still had several hours to burn before he called the captain.

As he walked through the streets of New Holstice, Selu considered his last vision, of the man and the trap it had represented, and the more he thought about it, the more he was concerned. He had not used the Force much recently, and his abilities and control over it had diminished over the several months had been inactive. Ceasing his daily meditations and immersion into the Force’s currents had kept him from feeling the pain and grief he carried within him, but it had also robbed him of a powerful ally. Selu knew that the Mistryl would have stood little chance against him had he been as conditioned as he had been as a Jedi. However, this vision was disturbing to him as his nightmares of the destruction of the Jedi Order had been, and Selu still believed that the Force could bring him visions of the future. The possibility that his dream was a Force premonition sent a chill down his spine and he wrapped his jacket around himself. Selu decided to try an experiment and, while still walking through the streets, he opened himself partially to the Force, letting it warp and guide his path. While his eyes and ears registered all the sights and sounds around him and his stomach growled in protest, Selu ignored them for now, as if they were mere suggestions rather than biochemical perceptions and compulsions. He was sure he looked somewhat dazed to the other people on the street, but as long as he didn’t crash into any of them no one paid him any attention.

Striding through a maze of streets, his footsteps slowed. Relaxing out of the flow-state he had placed himself in, he found himself on the outskirts of Holstice City in a magnificent garden filled with plants, trees, and flowers of all kind. Even in the light of the afternoon sun, there was a brilliant blue glow rising from the center of the garden. Selu cautiously made his way along the paths towards the source of the glow, though the hair on the back of his head began standing on end and his skin prickled with apprehension. The path was well worn, though, and didn’t appear hazardous. For some reason, the blue glow captivated his attention and he wanted to learn more about it.

Rounding a corner past a grove of trees, Selusda looked up to see the source of his fascination. A giant transparent cylinder, filled with glowing bluish insects of some kind, jutted into the sky, thrusting out of the landscape and surrounded by much smaller pylons bearing lamps. Selu hadn’t seen anything this beautiful in quite awhile, and it was absolutely dazzling. A small crowd of people had gathered around the cylinder, staring at it. Selu pushed forward into them slowly, trying to get closer to the marvelous light. Leaning over to a nearby spectator without taking his eyes off of the swirling tube of light, he asked a question that had been on the tip of his tongue since he first seen the object.
 * “What is it?”

The human he had addressed, dark-skinned and dressed like a commoner, snorted.
 * “You must be an offworlder to not know that. How could you come to the memorial and not know what it is?”
 * “Memorial? Of what?”
 * “Heh, the Jedi Knights,” replied the bystander, an elderly human. “Our ancestors built this long ago to honor the Jedi for their service to the Republic. A lot of good it did them, or the Republic for that matter.”
 * “What creates all that light?”
 * “They’re memory moths, offworlder. Each one whispers the name of a single fallen Jedi over and over again. They glow real pretty and they’re immortal too.”
 * “It’s amazing,” Selu said.
 * “Too bad it won’t be here much longer.”
 * “What?”
 * “The new government doesn’t like the Jedi much. Something about them trying to take over Coruscant. You came at a good time, offworlder. In a few days, this’ll be so much slag.”

Selu was speechless, finally turning to look at the man standing next to him.
 * “You can’t be serious,” he said.

The other man gave him a strange look, his brow furrowing with confusion.
 * “Of course I’m serious. Why would I joke? That’s why that warship is in orbit. It’s got enough firepower to compel the populace to obey and handle the task of melting this here cylinder. Hey, are you okay there fella?”

Selu was horrified and, stammering his thanks to the man for the information, backed away slowly, his eyes glancing around nervously, expecting to see shiny white armor. It was hardly a good idea to hang around an area that would soon be visited by the Empire when he had a price on his head, but he couldn’t just let the ageless monument be destroyed without some record of its existence. Perhaps he could get a holorecorder inside the cylinder, create a file of the memory moths and their whispering, and then retrieve the recording. Moving towards the front of the crowd, he pulled the compact datapad Sarth had given him from its place on his belt. He devoutly wished he had his lightsaber, but that was back on the Hawk-bat. He would the best he could with what he had.

Casually, he strolled up towards one of the portals by which the memory-moths were introduced into the cylinder, his datapad’s holorecorder programmed to be activated by a burst from his comlink. Even as out of practice as he was the Force, a simple telekinetic trick like opening the portal by triggering the panel required very little effort. Selu purposefully tripped over a Zabrak’s feet and, as he fell forward, sent his datapad on a curving arc towards the suddenly open portal. In mid-fall, he sensed a flicker from the Force and a small dark object came out of the portal. Selu, startled by the faint disturbance, lost control over levitating the datapad and it clattered against the portal’s pylon.

Ignoring the grumbling of the Zabrak about clumsy offworlder humans, he scanned the gathered people with the Force, looking for a particularly strong presence. The object that had flown out of the portal had not been large enough to have repulsorlifts and the burst of Force activity he had picked up had precisely coincided with the movement of the object. Strangely, he didn’t sense any significant concentrations of the Force, which was odd because his subconscious should have registered anyone that strong in the Force to move objects. Slowly standing, he looked around the crowd of mostly humans to see if he recognized anyone, relying mostly on his eyes and memory to provide him with a flicker of recognition. There was a distinct possibility that the individual was a Jedi. Dark-side users serving the Empire would have no need to disguise themselves, or would they?

Selusda suddenly noticed him, a tall dark-skinned Kiffar with yellow markings under his eyes. He was wearing street garb and a long coat, with a hood pulled over his dreadlocked hair. Selu probed him with the Force and had no sense of the Force in the man, though one of his eyes briefly flickered. However, Selu recognized the Kiffar from the Jedi Order: Quinlan Vos, renegade Jedi Master. Vos had turned sides more than once in the wars, but had most recently been aligned with the Republic. It was odd that Selu had no sense of him in the Force- a Jedi Master’s presence in the light side of the Force should have rippled through the area, unless Vos had learned to hide his presence somehow. Selu knew- or had once known- how to camouflage himself with the Force, but had never managed to hide his Force presence beyond merely diffusing and dampening to hide his exact location. Even so, he had never achieved fully masking his presence and especially not in conjunction with other powers such as telekinesis.

Selu moved around the ring of people that circled the monument, following Vos as the Kiffar had recovered his object and turned to stride back towards Holstice City. Selu tried to maintain a discreet distance from Vos, but it was difficult. He wasn’t sure if his best efforts to avoid detection would work, especially on a Jedi Master skilled in infiltration and stealth, as Vos was. Fortunately, the tall Kiffar and his shaggy hair were distinctive enough that he didn’t need to get too close. Following Vos into a seedier section of town, Selu watched as Vos walked into a narrow alley. Knowing that Vos would certainly detect him if he continued after him, Selu drew on the Force to camouflage himself and diffuse his presence as best as possible. The effort and headache it sent through his head nearly doubled him over, but he placed one foot in front of the other, muffling the sound of his boots on the stresscrete pavement, though that little action caused beads of sweat to break out across his brow. Being out of practice was definitely not conducive to using the Force, Selu decided. Cloaking himself had never been this hard before. The alley was dark enough and littered with smashed furniture and other detritus, so Selu relaxed his concealing bubble of Force energy somewhat. He would only appear as a faint blur, so the natural cover of the alley could do some of the disguising work instead of his own mind. He was about a quarter of the way down the alley now, his progress slow, but steady. Looking up, he noticed that where a tall Kiffar had been an instant ago, now there was empty space. He stopped. Where had Vos gone? Selu attempted to track him through the Force, but the queasiness in his stomach told him what trying to add an additional use of the Force to his already full plate of abilities in use would do to him.

Suddenly, a dark hand grabbed his collar and hoisted him into the air. The surprise alone caused Selu to lose his concentration, and he found himself staring into the eyes of an angry-looking Quinlan Vos. Selu swallowed hard, hoping that the reports of Vos’s reliability were true.
 * “Who are you and why have you been sloppily following me?” growled Vos, hoisting the much smaller Selu into the air.

Selu, still getting over the surprise of Vos’s grabbing him, lost his Jedi reserve and hung from his grip speechless, his mouth working but no words coming out.
 * “Answer me,” snarled the Jedi Master, and his arm muscles bulged as he increased the pressure on Selu’s collar.
 * “Master . . . Master Vos . . . I’m Selusda . . . Selusda Kraen.”

Vos frowned, confused, as if thinking, then shook his head.
 * “Jedi Order . . . I was a Knight in the Jedi Order. Plo Koon was, was . . .”

At the mention of the Kel Dor Master, recognition dawned in Quinlan Vos’s eyes and he released Selu, who collapsed on the ground coughing.
 * “He was your Master,” said Master Vos, the suspicion gone from his voice. “I remember you from Rendili.”
 * “Yes, I was,” Selu said.

He had been there, as had Vos, after the Kiffar had been rescued from Asajj Ventress by Obi-Wan Kenobi. Previously, Vos had been believed to be a Dark Jedi, working for Count Dooku and probably still was at that point.
 * “I’d love to stay and chat, Serrasda, but we’re not safe,” said Vos, helping him up and turning to walk off.
 * “It’s Selusda,” Selu corrected. “And I agree, Master Vos.”

Vos turned back towards him.
 * “Using that title also isn’t a good idea. Call me Quinlan.”
 * “Okay.”

The Jedi Master led Selusda through the alley into a rundown apartment building, where he apparently lived, to a small, squalid room, as equally dilapidated on the outside as the inside.
 * “Welcome to my humble abode, Selusda. For now, we are safe.”
 * “Thank you.”

Quinlan waved him to a small chair, while he remained standing.
 * “I sense your curiosity,” said the Kiffar. “I, too, have questions for you, but go ahead.”

Selu, having recovered his composure, looked at Quinlan Vos and decided to cut directly to the heart of the matter.
 * “How did you survive?”

Quinlan’s eyes darkened as he considered the question.
 * “I was burned and badly injured on Kashyyyk by the clones. A Devaronian . . . friend of mine helped me get off the planet and got me here, where I’ve been hiding and recovering from my injuries. It’s been a long seven months.”
 * “Are you still a Jedi?”

Quinlan Vos laughed at Selu’s next question.
 * “How could I stop being one? It’s not as simple as leaving the robes, temple, and lightsaber, Selusda. I may have walked in the shadows before, but I have overcome the darkness. Being a Jedi is something on the inside, and it is who I am.”
 * “Well, I’m not a Jedi anymore,” Selu said. “Every time I’ve used the Force in combat, I’ve slid towards the dark side.”
 * “What?”

Vos’s eyebrows furrowed.
 * “What do you mean by that?”

Selu was taken aback by the sharp tone and harsh look he was receiving from the Jedi Master.
 * “I know the dangers of the dark side,” said Vos. “I’ve been close to it, toeing the very line it represents. I’d be doing your departed Master a great disservice if I let you fall to the dark side. Now tell me- what happened?”

Selu’s resolve initially hardened and he prepared to ignore the Jedi, but the idea of letting Plo Koon down broke through his walls of stubbornness. Slowly, he told Vos everything, about the attack on the Jedi Temple, about the deaths of Serra and Skip, about being led to Sarth by the Force, about the Hawk-bat and his family, and about the Mistryl. By the time he finished his tale, his voice was cracking as he relived each painful experience in his mind as he told the Jedi Master of the story. He knew how poor his choices had been, but admitting them to a Jedi Master reinforced the feelings of inadequacy and failure. He was sure Vos would lecture him sternly and he knew he deserved the berating. He tried to hide the tears of shame and hurt sliding down his face but couldn’t even succeed at that.
 * “I see,” said Vos. “You felt your control slipping, so you cut yourself off from using the Force.”
 * “That’s right,” said Selu. “And look at me- some Jedi I am, can’t even stop a couple Mistryl thugs without nearly getting killed. I was only promoted to Jedi Knight because the Order needed more knights desperately because of the war. Now it’s clear: The council made a mistake. I’m no Jedi, just a silly Padawan.”
 * “Your problem isn’t that you can’t control the Force,” said Quinlan.

Selu looked surprised.
 * “What?” he said.
 * “Your problem is that you can’t control you,” replied the Jedi Master. “Your fear of failure and rejection, your anger at the loss of your friends: those are what have caused you to slip. You’re stronger than you think, young one. The council had a purpose behind choosing you as a Jedi Knight. You were ready. Now, you have to face up to your duty.”
 * “What is that?” said Selusda.
 * “To be the best Jedi you can be. If that means protecting your family, so be it. Here’s a little secret of mine, Selusda: I have a family, a wife who is with child. I would love to be with them again and I would do anything for them. I was even going to leave the Jedi Order for them, but never would I stop serving the light. Too much is at stake.”
 * “How do I be a Jedi when the rulers of the galaxy have tried to kill us?”
 * “You don’t have to go around waving a lightsaber and being a guardian of peace and justice all over the Galaxy- not right now, anyways. It’s a mindset, a way of life. It’s using your power for the light side, for justice, in the service of others. It’s preserving the Order- who knows? You and I might be the last two Jedi left. If we die, who will grow the Order again?”
 * “What should I do now?”
 * “You should start using the Force again. You already know it can help you, and once you control yourself and your emotions, be a powerful ally in battle.”

Selu hung his head again, full of shame and self-pity again. Now he would have to explain his true weakness to Quinlan Vos and once again be humbled by his failure. The fact that he should have been more willing to admit his weakness was also not lost on him either, and he was sure that Vos would remind him of it. Well, there was no point in delaying the inevitable.
 * “I remember everything I see and hear, but this is beyond me. I don’t know how to grow and foster my connection to the Force on my own.”
 * “You’re relying on your senses too much. Perhaps you should just feel-“

Selu cut him off.
 * “What I mean is, Master Vos, will you instruct me more in the ways of the Force? I was never one of the more talented knights and now I’m out of practice and with no guide. I have no way to point me back to the light.”
 * “That’s not true,” said Quinlan. “You have those holocrons you told me that you took out of the Temple.”

Selu realized he was right- he’d disregarded the holocrons completely in his self-pity.
 * “However, some things are better learned through a teacher. I will take you under my tutelage, for now,” Vos continued. “When we part ways, though, you will be responsible for your own destiny.”
 * Elsewhere on New Holstice

Jorge and R’hask were walking alongside a fountain on the outskirts of Holstice City, waiting around impatiently. The sun had begun to set and they had yet to meet their contact.
 * “Are you sure this is the right place, cap’n?” asked Jorge.
 * “It’s where we told to wait for him in the datacard that Neeves gave us on Commenor,” replied the Bothan.
 * “I think that’s him now,” said Jorge, indicating a Gungan wearing a loose red robe walking towards the fountain and them.
 * “Are you Skoors?” asked the captain, once the Gungan was close enough.
 * “Dassen meesa,” said the Gungan. “And yousa?”
 * “R’hask Sei’lar and Jorge Knrr. I believe we have a mutual friend. A friend with a hat, right?”

The Gungan nodded. “Dat wat meesa wass thinken. Yousa comen’ with meesa now, okeydey?” After exchanging looks over the Gungan’s mangled Basic, the two followed the lanky Skoors as he walked back into the city, his periscope eye-stalks bobbing and long ears flapping as he walked. Both crewmen were vigilant, with R’hask keeping an eye on Skoors while Jorge checked their surroundings. It was an old routine for them. You watch the customer, and also watch to see where the customer is going and who he brings to talk with. In a business deal like this, there was a very real chance of things going sour fast. R’hask had a blaster scar on his hip from a shady business deal gone bad before, and he and Jorge weren’t taking any chances.

He led them to a fairly well-sized warehouse where a flinty-eyed human was standing guard, his coat hiding the blaster tucked away on his belt. The Gungan waved his hand at the guard, who opened the door to the warehouse without a single word, just merely acknowledging them with a nod.

As far as locations for business deals went, this was definitely on the lower side of the scale for R’hask and Jorge. Water dripped from the leaky ceiling and stains covered the walls and floor. Containers and storage lockers of various sizes were strewn helter-skelter around the dimly lit warehouse and they appeared to be the only occupants. The two spacers weren’t terribly surprised. In this type of activity, their customers were unlikely to use the well-kept, open to the public type of location that would attract legitimate customers to what was, in fact, a front.
 * “Do yousa have what weesa be needin’?” asked Skoors, once they were safely inside the building.
 * “Yes,” said R’hask. “We have a full load that we picked up from Duro. Jorge, the list?”

Jorge handed over a datacard to the Gungan, then recited the major contents from memory.
 * “One hundred E-5 blaster rifles. Forty DC-15 blaster rifles. 300 concussion grenades. Fifteen E-5s sniper rifles from BAW. Two PLX-1 rocket launchers with four missiles for each. Assorted blaster packs and maintenance kits for all of it.”

The Gungan whistled, impressed.
 * “No-one saw yousen taken all dat, right?”
 * “Of course not. We acquired it through small arms dealers on Duro, salvaged from the planet’s surface, with that cash we were provided with.”
 * “Goodgood,” said the Gungan. “Let ussen get dat offen yousa’s hands and we be gettin’ outa heresa.”
 * “My thoughts exactly,” said R’hask. “The sooner this is over with, the better.”
 * “We’re businessmen. We need to be off to search for other cargoes,” Jorge explained.”

The Gungan bobbed his head in another approximation of a human nod, and led them back out of the warehouse.
 * “Wesa be goin to yousa ship now, okeydey? Yousa be given de goods to ussen and we besa gone muy muy quickerly.”
 * “Sounds good,” said Jorge, though he barely understood the Gungan’s speech.

The two climbed aboard a rickety hoversled that Skoors had retrieved from a small garage adjoining the warehouse and headed back towards the spaceport. Arriving at the Hawk-bat, they quickly transferred the crates and their highly illegal cargo to Skoor’s hoversled, covering them with smelly old tarps that had been lying in the cargo bay of the hoversled. Each container was enough to get them in a lot of trouble with the law and the entire lot would have certainly earned them the death sentence. As they and the ship’s two loadlifters placed the cylinders and crates on the sled, R’hask couldn’t keep his fur entirely free of anxiety-laced rippling and Jorge kept looking around suspiciously. Both men were experienced spacers, but to pull off a gunrunning scheme of this magnitude without getting caught was rare in the Mid Rim. There were enough officials, law enforcement, and regulations to make them more than a little nervous. Of course, the sheer gall and audacity of the smuggling job was what gave it a chance. No one in their right mind would try and smuggle this much weaponry into New Holstice. R’hask and Jorge were counting on that to keep them from being scrutinized.

Once the sled was loaded, Skoors waved them back into the crew compartment of the hoversled. Somewhat confused, they boarded the craft to see what the Gungan wanted, but didn’t have a chance to ask Skoors what was going on before he revved the engine and sent the hoversled off at a fast clip away from the ship. As they left the docking bay, they noticed three descending shuttles flying in, and particularly that they were emblazoned with the new Imperial insignia. A flight of four starfighters, probably V-wings, screamed over the spaceport as they flew cover for the shuttles.
 * “Uh-oh,” murmured Skoors.

Gunning the sled, he got them out of the spaceport quickly, driving them back in the direction of the warehouse.
 * “Why did you bring us along?” said R’hask irritably. “We could have been on our way by now.”
 * “I don’t think so,” said a tight, cold voice on their side. R’hask looked over to see Neeves with a blaster in hand, pointing it in their direction. “You’re not going anywhere until we’re safely off the planet.”
 * “Now Neeves,” R’hask said. “That’s no way to treat someone who brings you expensive and illegal weapons for your little security force.
 * “Probably not,” said Neeves. “We’ve run into a little snag, though. Imperial troops have landed and they’ll soon be crawling through Holstice City. So we’re going to keep you safe until they leave.”
 * “Are dey after ussen?!” asked Skoors, a bit panicky.
 * “I don’t think they are, but I’m not taking any chances,” said Neeves. “I didn’t like the way we were attracting attention on Commenor, so I brought the other two members over here. Captain Sei’lar, I’m sorry to inconvenience you like this, but I know you’re a firm believer in our cause and the necessity of being our guest for a little while is but a small sacrifice to make for you.”
 * “Well, since you put it that way,” R’hask said dryly. “Let me call my other crewman and let him know we’ll be off on an extended business deal.”
 * “Does he know about the cargo?” demanded Neeves.
 * “No,” said R’hask, his fur indignantly rippling along his back. “But he’ll be wondering where we are.”
 * “Fine,” grumbled Neeves. “But nothing funny.”

As R’hask made the comlink call, the hoversled made its way back to the warehouse. The two were “escorted” back by Neeves and Skoors, both with blasters in hand, into the warehouse and then to a dingy cluster of offices and living quarters located along one side of the warehouse and shown into a smallish room with a couple bunks located at the end of a hall.
 * “Refresher’s down the hall on the left,” said Neeves. “We’ll try and make this as pleasant as possible, but don’t do anything foolish. Once the Imperials aren’t so active, we’ll be out of here and you can be to. I’m not sure what they want, but we’re not going to take any chances.”
 * “Thanks for the tour,” said Jorge. “Always nice to have a pleasant host lock you in.”
 * “No problem,” said Neeves, ignoring the sarcasm. “Oh, and hand your weapons over also. I’d hate for you to hurt yourselves accidentally.”

Jorge and R’hask hesitated, but the blaster in Neeves’s hand brooked no argument. They both unbuckled their blasters.
 * “The holdout and vibroblade also,” Neeves continued. “You know what I do for a living and you still tried that.”

He shook his head, as if disappointed in the two. R’hask glowered, but the two handed over the requested items to Skoors, who dropped them into a cloth sack with their blasters.
 * “Later, gentles,” said Neeves.

Closing the door behind him, Neeves left their little end of the hall and Jorge heard the door lock after him. He looked at his captain.
 * “Not good,” he said.

9
Spectre was awake before the sun arose. He, Bwilor, Twone, and Drelve had been on rotating shifts throughout the night on four-hour shifts. Spectre, tired though he was, still awoke early and ran his body through a series of calisthenics and stretches. Twone joined him and the two ex-ARCs worked through a comfortable training regimen. The morning routine kept Spectre sharp and let him know how his body was functioning. It also served as a warm-up drill for the day’s activities. After the previous day’s attack, Spectre was willing to take no chances with a Mistryl attack. One Mistryl had nearly succeeded in kidnapping Sarth, and Spectre did not kid himself into thinking that their escape was much more than luck. The skill that the Mistryl had displayed, by all accounts, was enough to make them a serious threat.

His muscles burning from the exercise, he straightened up from the push-up position and then went straight into a group of agility drills. Twone’s and Spectre’s bodies whirled through the relatively small room as they worked their way up from slow motion into full speed, beads of sweat flicking off of the two men freely. As Twone wound down his routine with some slower stretches, Spectre added one more drill to his: the Jedi Flow breathing routine that Selusda Kraen had taught him on Boz Pity. He had added this unique exercise to his routine after the young Jedi had taught it to him and it had helped him coordinate the motions of his body and the actions in a way that traditional maneuvers hadn’t. He hadn’t used it much since getting out of the army, but he also hadn’t been training at his highest level either. Sinking into the muscle rhythm and controlled breathing demanded by the exercise, Spectre began the exercise. Twone looked at him curiously until he finished.
 * “What is that, ner vod?” he asked. “I’ve seen you do it before.”
 * “It’s a coordination and harmonization exercise that I picked up in the war.”
 * “Does it work?”
 * “Yes, it’s effective. Helps you focus, devote all your energy to your actions.”

The explanation was, from the typically reticent Spectre, a dissertation.
 * “Show me how, then. I could use something like that,” Twone pressed.

Spectre stopped, his rhythm and motions interrupted. He exhaled.
 * “I can’t.”
 * “Why not?” asked Twone curiously.
 * “A jetii taught this exercise to me- said it was a child’s exercise for them. I couldn’t explain it to you any more than I could define the Force they used,” Spectre said.
 * “A Jedi?” said Twone.
 * “Back during the war, on Boz Pity.”
 * “That was the Jedi related to the Kraens, wasn’t it?” said Twone conversationally.
 * “Yes it was,” said Spectre. “And that’s not something I care to bring up much to the family. Probably hard enough for them to hear of his death anyway.”
 * “True. If I heard that one of us had turned traitor, it would be psychologically painful. I imagine it’s similar for people with more ‘normal’ social structures to learn of their relative’s betrayal of the government,” replied Twone.
 * “I meant just the fact that he’s dead, not . . . Twone, do you really think they turned traitor? All the Jedi?”
 * “That wasn’t my concern at the time,” said Twone, the standard nonchalance draining from his tone, distilling into iciness.
 * “Yeah, but it could be now. I’ve thought about it some, and it just doesn’t make sense.”
 * “What doesn’t?” Twone asked disinterestedly.
 * “The Jedi betrayal. There was no way they could have all been plotting a revolt.”
 * “It’s not important,” said Twone. “And what you’re saying is treason.”
 * “Don’t want to talk about it?” said Spectre.
 * “No, I don’t,” Twone shot back sharply.
 * “Why not?” Spectre pressed.

Twone glared at him silently.
 * “You helped kill them, didn’t you? You don’t want to accept that you killed an innocent being without questioning the orders- is that it?”
 * “Yes, I did. I was on Cato Neimoidia when the order came down. One of the Jedi had already killed a bunch of our brothers when he crashed his burning fighter into a staging area. We received Order 66 and proceeded to execute it, thinking we were being betrayed.”
 * “What happened?”
 * “The Jedi figured it out after we shot him once. He tried to hide from us and killed the other three troopers in an ambush. I went in after him alone- used a PLEX rocket launcher to blow the abandoned building he was hiding in, then charged into the rubble. He came at me with his lightsaber and smashed my gun, but he was hurt and I broke his wrist. Once he was disarmed, he came after me unarmed and we grappled each other. I ended up bludgeoning him with a piece of duracrete until he stopped resisting.”
 * “What was his name?”
 * “I don’t remember that much- Jace something. I don’t want to remember.”

Spectre recalled his days with Selusda back on Boz Pity and the name of one of Selu’s friends popped into his mind.
 * “Bairdon Jace.”
 * “Yes,” Twone looked up as if he’d seen a ghost. “That was his name. I was sure he was a traitor at the time.”
 * “Are you still certain now?”
 * “I don’t know,” Twone replied, his voice just barely shaken.
 * “Hey you two,” called Bwilor, poking his green head through the door. “Time to get up and moving.”

The two ex-ARCs stopped their conversation and finished buckling on their equipment belts. The two ate a quick breakfast provided by Bwilor and then reported into the main room after Drelve told them Bwilor and the Kraens were waiting for them there. Several Commenor Securers from Munto were already there, along with Slani Daowot and several other people in civilian garb, though wearing Investigator or Securer badges. The two walked into the room, but remained standing, ready for any possible double-cross or sudden movement.
 * “I’ve talked to my superiors on this matter,” said Daowot matter-of-factly. “We agree in this: the threat to Sarth and, by association, the whole Kraen family has not diminished. Rather, it has increased. It is obvious that the Mistryl will stop at nothing to get at Sarth and we have no idea what their resources are or how many of them there are.”
 * “Right,” said Bwilor. “Munto has a large enough spaceport that there could be hundreds of humanoid female offworlders, which would be nearly impossible to locate or screen.”
 * “My superiors agree with that deduction,” continued Slani. “In response, they’ve intensified the investigation, but they feel more drastic action is needed to protect the Kraens.”
 * “Now wait just a minute-,” said Bwilor, but Slani cut him off.
 * “It’s not your decision, Mr. Bwilor. It’s the Kraens. Now, the department would normally try and get you offworld, but it seems likely the Mistryl would just pursue you and we would have fewer resources at our disposal to deal with them elsewhere. No, we need to deal with them on Commenor, while we have the home space advantage.”
 * “That makes sense. What do you have in mind?” asked Samtel.
 * “We want to relocate you. The Investigative and Security service has a number of safe houses that we use for witness protection. We want to move you to one of those,” said Slani.
 * “What if they are shadowing us?” said Sarth. “It’s all well and good, but if they have means of observing our movements like they did yesterday, it won’t help us.”
 * “These people here are members of the Securers and Investigators. They will pose as decoys, and we’ll have three decoy vehicles and one real one. The Mistryl most likely will not be able to track all of them, and we have other decoys in place in Munto itself. While you pack, they’ll get into their disguises.”
 * “Are you convinced that it’s absolutely necessary?” said Samtel.
 * “My superiors and I are in total agreement on this issue,” affirmed Slani.
 * “What about the house?” asked Lena. “Who will mind that?”
 * “We don’t believe it will be a target,” said Slani. “However, we’ll have two officers and half-a-dozen security droids here at all times to discourage attackers.”
 * “So what about us ‘mere civilians’?” demanded Bwilor.
 * “You can accept the payment you received earlier and be on your way if you want,” said Slani.
 * “If you expect me to just let you government flunkies take over, you’re wrong,” replied the Twi’lek, his lekku twitching.
 * “I expected as much. That’s why the department would be willing for you to continue to provide bodyguard services for the Kraens. We already are using a lot of agency assets in this operation, so your assistance would be appreciated. You’ll work with two of the Securers with that,” said Slani evenly.
 * “Just one thing more, Slani,” said Sarth, placing his arm around Cassi’s shoulder. “What about Cassi? It’s not going to be any safer for her here?”
 * “Miss Trealus will be provided transport to New Holstice to meet up with her captain and the rest of the crew,” said Slani.
 * “I don’t think so,” said Sarth.
 * “I didn’t volunteer to stay behind just to be shipped off again,” said Cassi. “I’ll go with the Kraens.”

Slani looked thoroughly exasperated.
 * “Miss Trealus, please cooperate.”
 * “I’m not going to New Holstice alone,” she replied bluntly.
 * “If she doesn’t go with us, I’m not leaving her,” said Sarth. “She’s in just as much danger as the rest of us.”
 * “Have you contacted Captain Sei’lar?” asked Spectre. “He would probably be interested in this development.”

Slani seemed a bit hesitant.
 * “We tried raising the Hawk-bat, but we received an automated message saying that the crew is out on business. They did make it to New Holstice safely, but we have no other information besides that.”

Slani looked around at the elder Kraens and Bwilor for help, but received no significant support from either group. She considered her options, but acquiesced quickly.
 * “Fine.”
 * “What will you be doing, Slani?” asked Lena. “Have you been assigned to come with us.”
 * “No,” said Slani evenly. “My superiors have assigned me elsewhere.”
 * “And what is that?” asked Sarth.
 * “I will be investigating the Mistryl attacks and trying to track them down.”
 * “Well, be careful,” said Samtel.
 * “Of course,” she said. “The sooner I catch them, the sooner everything can return to the way it was.”

Somehow, her words didn’t quite reassure Sarth, but he didn’t have a chance to voice any further objections.
 * “In that case, we accept,” said Samtel. “Come dear, let’s go pack our things.”

He and Lena departed followed by Sarth and Cassi a minute later, each person heading to their respective rooms to quickly throw belongings into luggage.
 * “Come on, gentlemen,” said Bwior sourly. “Let’s do the same, provided our government minders don’t have any more objections.”

The Durashield employees trundled off to their rooms while the Securers and Investigators applied their disguises and readied the speeder trucks, some marked and some unmarked, they had set up for the purpose of transporting the family.

Slani watched Sarth and Cassi disappear down the hallway into his room with seemingly casual disinterest. Only a barely arched eyebrow evidenced her interest. Then she was all business, giving orders and supervising the relocation with cool efficiency.

An hour later, the various speeder trucks departed from the Kraen home, each headed in different directions. Two of them headed towards Munto, one headed for the flatter countryside, and one journeyed deeper into the Thrunto foothills, journeying for several hours through kilometers of first fields and relatively open land which was succeeded by thick woods lining either sign of the road. It was on this speeder that the Kraens and their companions were being taken to refuge. Finally, the truck peeled off of the main road and onto a series of increasingly more rural and narrow tracks for another hour. Eventually, they reached their destination: A remote safe house owned by the Securers for witness protection.

Nestled into the slope of one of the numerous hills, the house was built into the side of the hill and surrounded by many thick trees. It was out of the way, and for that reason Slani had hoped that the Kraens would be safe there. There was also an escape tunnel through the rear of the house that led through the hill to a secret trapdoor a kilometer away on a different side of the hill. The house was high enough that they could see a gentle stream a little ways down hill, cutting its way through the rugged terrain to join a larger river several kilometers downstream. The trees, however, obscured the home from the view of the speeder track while the slope of the hill and some rocky bluffs provided vantage points to observe any visitors. The seclusion had the additional advantage of making it impossible for the Mistryl to bring large equipment or vehicles without being noticed.

The interior of the house was fairly small, consisting of a kitchen, a dining area, two refreshers, and three bedrooms. Lena, the female Securer that drove them there, and Cassi had one room, Sarth, the other Securer, and Samtel had the other, and the Durashield Securities employees were squeezed into the last one. Looking over the house’s meager furnishings, each occupant unpacked their few possessions and tried to feel at home in the crammed quarters. While Bwilor and the ARCs set up their security and surveillance equipment, along with their Securer liaisons, the elder Kraens tried to unpack and make the safe house more comfortable, knowing that they could be there for awhile.

By evening, Sarth was thoroughly irritated and cooped up, feeling hemmed in by so many people. He was used to living onboard the Hawk-bat, but even shipboard life hadn’t been this crowded. Tired of the tight quarters, Sarth went for a walk along a small path running up and down the side of the hill, followed from a distance by Spectre, who was, as usual, wearing his katarn-class armor and fully armed. The path was fairly easy to follow, despite the heavily wooded terrain. On another day, Sarth might have invited Cassi to come with him, but he desperately needed some time to himself. The rugged and untamed beauty of the woods and the mottled greens, browns, and oranges of nature usually appealed to some aesthetic sense within him, but today they just seemed to looming over him. He walked along the path, following it, but with no real destination in mind. Initially, he didn’t notice Spectre, being too lost in his own thoughts and frustrations.

However, it was not long before Sarth spied the ex-ARC shadowing him out of the corner of his eye, his dark gray armor blending into the evening shadows of the woods. The omnipresence of bodyguards was merely one of the irritating aspects of living in the safe house. No outside communications, aside from Slani’s burst-transmitted messages, were allowed, so Sarth had no idea what Captain R’hask was up to or where Selu was and he wasn’t permitted to contact his captain in any case. Despite all attempts to get along, tempers had flared and nearly gotten out of hand and everyone was nervous about the possibility of another attack. There was also the fact that it was nearly impossible for him and Cassi to find any time to be alone together, something that Sarth felt that he really wanted to do. All in all, Sarth was already not enjoying his stay in the safe house and he knew that it would only get worse. He devoutly wished that Selu, Jorge, and Captain R’hask would return, and he wished even more that the Mistryl would leave him alone. Unfortunately, he suspected that he would not get his wish. As it turned out, he was right.
 * New Holstice

It was relatively late in the evening when Selu parted ways from Master Vos. He had spent the entire day re-training himself and re-establishing his connection to the Force, under the expert watch of Quinlan Vos, who had previously trained Aayla Secura to prominence before the fall of the Jedi Order. Selu was tired, but a healing technique taught to him by Vos had sped up his recovery so that his back did not even ache. The Jedi Master had taught him to speed up the metabolisms of regenerating cells and tissues during his meditations. Selu hadn’t had a lightsaber at all during the day, but the lack of the weapon hadn’t impeded him in any way.

Selu found that the spaceport’s already fairly considerable security was now augmented by white armored stormtroopers and khaki-clad Imperial officers haughtily and thoroughly checking identifications. He stopped before reaching the entrance, considering the impermeability of his identification. Sarth was by no means an expert at forging identichips, but his work had passed every test so far. However, Selu was unsure of how well it would last against an Imperial investigation.

Instead, he decided to test his renewed connection to the Force based on what he learned from Quinlan Vos. Selu left the main flow of pedestrians along the street, ducking into a small alley. Then, taking a deep breath, he centered his mind and let a bubble of camouflage slip over him, concealing him from sight. At the same time, he carefully manipulated the micropockets of air within his camouflaged bubble to generate frequencies to cancel out the noise of his motion. The Imperials didn’t seem to be using infrared or other bio-scanners, which relieved Selu. He certainly knew countermeasures to those techniques, but had no idea of how effective they would be when he used them in conjunction with his camouflage.

Casually, he walked towards the spaceport entrance, gritting his teeth at the site of the stormtroopers pushing around an Ithorian who had talked back to an officer. The injustice galled him, but he could do nothing about it at the moment. Also, there was something else that was bothering him about the spaceport, but he couldn’t determine what it was. Though the effort seemed tiring and the spaceport enormously vast, he maintained his camouflage until he reached the Hawk-bat. Surprisingly, no lights from the interior of the ship were illuminated. Selu frowned, but figured that the captain and Jorge had gone out to explore New Holstice’s nightlife.

Relieved, he let his Force cloak slip away, after first checking to ensure no eyes or sensors were pointed in his direction. Keying in the ship’s security code, the main crew hatch hissed upon and admitted him. The freighter was powered down and deserted, though had an intruder been present, Selu was confident he could take him down. He still remembered the majority of his unarmed combat training in the Hijkata and K’thri combat disciplines, not to mention that he felt more confident in using telekinesis, either directly against an assailant, or in using nearby objects as weapons.

Selu went over to the comm console to check for messages. The first was from a Commenor detective. Selu played it and learned that his family had been moved to a remote safe house on Commenor, but the message said they were safe, so he quieted the small pang of fear that the message had kindled. The second message was from Captain R’hask and Jorge, telling him that they would be away on extended business.
 * “Don’t worry about anything, lad. We’ll call you when we’re done,” said R’hask’s blue hologram.

Selu looked at the image, but there was nothing for it. R’hask’s and Jorge’s ship’s comlinks didn’t respond when he tried calling them. That was mildly surprising, but Selu knew that they had experience in less-than-legal dealing and were occasionally out of contact. Even if they largely dealt in legitimate cargoes, there was rarely enough honest work for them to get enough money entirely through aboveboard means. It was yet another thing Selu had had to come to grips with in his new life as a freighter pilot.

Instead, he wandered to the aft of the ship and heated up one of the meals in the food service unit, eating some kind of Chandrilan fish and sauce dish with a starchy grain paste and dried vegetables. It was not the most appetizing meal he had eaten in awhile, but as he had barely eaten all day, he devoured it eagerly, licking the last of the grain paste from the container before discarding it. The rumblings in his stomach finally silenced, he read datacards on New Holstice and the ship’s log for awhile, but quickly grew bored and restless.

Selu went back to his cabin and retrieved his lightsaber from where it had been hidden by Sarth. Readying himself in the standard guard of Form I, shoulder squared and blade held in front of him, he lit the blade in a fountain of green fire and worked through a series of simple drills and velocities. As Selu progressed through the velocities, he began to weave more and more elements of Form IV into it, controlling the motion of his blade and body so he never collided with a bulkhead or deck while still moving with eye-blurring speed and acrobatics. He moved around as much as possible inside the cramped environment without as much ease of space as he would in an open area, but that was to be expected. Then, he switched to unarmed combat. First, he started off in his Hijkata stances and katas, unleashing powerful kicks, arm chops and punches into the air. As he built up momentum in his unarmed velocities, he switched his style to more of a K’thri emphasis, utilizing jabs and sweeps more often, just as he had switched styles with the lightsaber. Selu did not focus on perfecting his practice of any of the combat forms he was using; his command of each of them was decent- though K’thri and Ataru were his two best forms-but on the transition between them. Dedication to form could hamper one during a fight if he had trouble changing to a more advantageous form, in Selu’s opinion. Tired from his exercises with Quinlan Vos and his own regimen, he took a quick shower and fell asleep in his cabin and slept soundly. Selusda awoke early the next morning. After eating a quick breakfast, he dressed and walked out of the spaceport. Again, he camouflaged himself to get past the Imperial troops, finding it easier to do so when he was rested and more in tuned with the wellspring of the power that was the Force. On the way out though, he heard an officer tell a pair of Duros merchants that the spaceport was closed to all traffic for an indeterminate amount of time. Selu walked on into the same alley before lowering his Force camouflage and then proceeded to a nearby information kiosk.

Accessing the public information banks, he found that, by order of the Imperial government, the Holstice City spaceport was closed and all spacecraft detained until further notice. The reason for the shut-down was listed as due to a search for fugitives from justice and Selu vaguely wondered if they were looking for Master Vos. He hoped not. Pulling out his comlink, he tried Captain R’hask’s frequency again, wondering if the Bothan knew about the Imperial order.

R’hask and Jorge had slept in, knowing that there was no point in being up early. However, they were soon awakened by Neeves, who entered with a comlink in hand.
 * “Get up. There’s a message for you,” he said.
 * “Hmph?” said R’hask. “Tell her that I know she loves me, but I can’t stay on this planet with her.”
 * “Funny,” said Neeves. “It’s your pilot.”
 * “Micor? All right, give me that,” said the Bothan, taking the comlink.
 * “Don’t do anything foolish, Sei’lar” warned Neeves.
 * “Never,” he replied, thumbing the comlink on.
 * “Captain? This is Selu.”
 * “Good morning, lad. Glad to hear that you’re feeling better.”
 * “Where are you, captain?”

At this, Neeves shot Sei’lar a warning look.
 * “Oh, I’m still on New Holstice doing business,” R’hask said glibly. “I’m not sure when we’ll be done over here, but it could take us awhile.”
 * “I see,” said Selu. “Well, we can’t leave the planet anyway. The Empire has impounded everything in the spaceport that can reach orbit.”

It was a good thing Selu couldn’t see the angry look on his and Jorge’s face, thought R’hask. Otherwise, he might have begun to wonder what had made them so annoyed and come to investigate. With some effort, R’hask got his voice back under control.
 * “Hrn. Well, stay with the ship then. There should be enough provisions to last you awhile, at least until we get back.”
 * “And you don’t when that will be, right?”
 * “I’m afraid not. The situation is out of my hands. My buyer is being a little stubborn.”

Any average crewbeing would not have read much into the words, but Selu picked up traces of anxiety and irritation in the Bothan’s tones that seemed overmuch considering the situation.
 * “Well, I met up with someone I used to know so I might stay with him some.”
 * “That’s fine, lad. Just keep your comlink on, and don’t worry- we’ll get back to your family soon.”
 * “Thank you, Captain. Kraen out.”

Selu deactivated the device and then went back to Quinlan Vos’s residence, tucking his lightsaber into an inner pocket in his raddan leather spacer’s jacket and using the Force camouflage to slip by the Imperial sentries again. On the way, he stopped by a small pastry shop and bought a pair of unhealthy looking sweet pastries in the shape of a braided ring. He arrived at Vos’s shabby apartment only to have the door open for him before he could knock. The Jedi Master, unsurprisingly, was expecting him.
 * “Back so soon, I see.”
 * “Well, Master Koon once told me that you got lonely and cranky quickly,” Selu quipped, then stopped short at the memory of his dead Master.
 * “Sounds like something he would say,” said Vos, recognizing the pain that Selu felt. “It’s alright to grieve for the friends you lost, Selu, but you have to accept that death is part of life and move on with your life. Especially in these dangerous times, you can’t afford to dwell in the past.”
 * “Yes, Master,” said Selu.
 * “So, you have felt your destiny is with me, and not on the freighter or with your family?” asked Vos.
 * “My captain is out on business, so I figured I would learn what I could from you while I can,” said Selu. “He’s fine with me staying with you until he returns.”
 * “I see,” said Vos evenly.
 * “Do you not approve of my working on the Hawk-bat?”
 * “Any opinion I have on the matter is hardly important, Selu. The Council chose you to be a Jedi Knight, and you are following your destiny. If that’s on a freighter with a smuggler, who am I to challenge the will of the Force? Anyway, I’ve worked with smugglers before, and while they’re no heroes, they’re not as evil as some law enforcement posters and notices would have you believe.”

Selu opened the bag of pastries he had purchased at the shop and handed one of the sticky rings to Vos. To their delight, the pastries were still warm and melted in their mouths.
 * “This is most certainly not good for my waistline,” said Vos.
 * “In that case, I’ll eat the rest of yours so you won’t suffer,” said Selu.
 * “Keep your hands away from my pastry, Selu,” Vos replied with mock authority.
 * “I was only trying to help you, Master,” Selu said, his tones laced with the trace of indignation that Masters claimed all Padawans possessed.
 * “From your point of view maybe,” said Vos.

After they finished eating, Vos commenced his lessons with Selu. All day, the two meditated and trained, letting the Force flow through them and guide their actions as they harnessed its power. Selu proved to be nearly Vos’s equivalent at telekinesis, though the Jedi Master had infinitely more control over other aspects of the Force. They also trained with lightsabers. Vos, also a practitioner of the fourth form, Ataru, imparted a better understanding of the techniques to Selu through their sparring. It seemed to Selusda that there was so much to learn about the Force, and he soaked in everything Vos said and did. His continual pushing to succeed and thirst for learning did not go unnoticed by Vos.
 * “Why are you so driven today, Selu?”
 * “You mean besides the fact that the Mistryl are probably coming up with a plan to take out my family and I’m not there to help them?
 * “Yes, besides that.”
 * “Last night, I had a premonition.”
 * “What was it about?”
 * “It wasn’t a vision, just a sense of urgency- and danger. There was pain and loss.”
 * “Was there nothing more?”
 * “That was all, except that I felt your presence in the midst of the danger. That’s why I’ve been seeking your aid.”
 * “It appears our destinies are intertwined at the moment then. Come, let’s take a walk.”
 * “Where are we going?”
 * “You’ll see.”

Selu tried to get an impression of their destination from Vos through the Force, but the Jedi Master’s thoughts were indiscernible to him. Vos led them through the nearly empty streets of New Holstice- with nightfall and the presence of Imperial troops; most of the citizenry in this section of town were either frequenting a tapcafe or other business or were in their homes. The normally much more boisterous nightlife had been somewhat diminished by the presence of the white-armored stormtroopers conducting a search for fugitives or galactic criminals of some sort- possibly them. However, the air was cool and the night breeze played softly across their faces. Eventually, their winding steps led them back to the site of the Jedi memorial.

However, Selu quickly noticed that it was deserted and cordoned off, protected by a pair of stormtroopers. A holographic display informed potential viewers that the memorial was Jedi and insurrectionist propaganda and be demolished the next day.
 * “Master Vos—,” Selu said.
 * “Call me Korto,” Vos instructed.
 * “Alright, Korto. Are we just going to let them destroy the memorial?”
 * “Do you see a way to stop them?”

Selu considered that, but didn’t like the answer he came up with.
 * “Well, no.”
 * “The truth is that any action we took would probably lead us to identify ourselves as Jedi, accidentally or not. That would bring down Imperial reprisals on the inhabitants of this world, even assuming we escaped. They would suffer because of us. No memorial is worth that to me.”
 * “I was going to try slipping my datapad into it to record all the speeches of the memory moths and get some holographic images. That was right before I met you.”
 * “Actually, I already did that, but I only had an audio recorder.”
 * “My datapad has a holographic recorder on it.”
 * “Well, go ahead then.”
 * “What about those troopers?”
 * “They won’t notice if you camouflage the datapad.”
 * “Ah, so this is a test.”
 * “Of course. What were you expecting? Blue milk and pastries?”

Selu closed his eyes, concentrating. Thankfully, they were out of sight of the troopers. He created a bubble of camouflage around his datapad, grimacing with the effort required to conceal something other than himself. He then floated the slightly wobbling datapad over to one of the portals where he had attempted to slip his datapad into the previous day. As it was invisible, he had to rely on his Force senses to ascertain its location while propelling it through the air and keeping it hidden. Had he attempted this the previous day, he surely would have failed, but training with Vos had allowed him to regain much of his previous control over the Force.

The datapad floated through the portal as Selu slid it open with a tendril of telekinetic energy. Activating the holorecorder, he let the datapad float through the glowing cylinder of memory moths, recording their beautiful flutter and the names of fallen Jedi that they repeated ceaselessly. Later, he could use a scrubbing filter on his datapad to sort out all the names, though there was a certain beauty to the cacophony of names repeated by the moths. After levitating the datapad through the entire cylinder twice, Selu was quite tired, his whole body trembling with the effort. Gingerly, he brought the datapad back down towards the portal and. . . clunk.

Selu realized that he had forgotten to levitate the portal’s slot open and the noise caused both of the troopers to spin around, blasters at the ready.
 * “Blast,” he muttered.

Vos, who had been standing by impassively, raised one eyebrow.

Selu released his control on the datapad, which by now he couldn’t even see as it was near the portal. One of the troopers was preparing to open the portal to examine the disturbance when suddenly Selu twitched his control of the Force to upset a nest of birds in a nearby tree that he had detected with the Force. Five or six large black avians burst out of the tree, flying low of the troopers and drawing their attention. One of them fired off a blast from his rifle and the avians scattered. By that time, though, Selu had already opened the slot and called the datapad back to his hand telekinetically.
 * “Did I pass?” he asked exhaustedly once they were away, sweat dripping down his face, arms, back.
 * “Yes,” said Vos. “Nice improvisation.”
 * “I thought it would be a good idea to have a backup plan,” said Selu.
 * “Oh?”
 * “I considered using the nest of avians as a distraction in the first place but decided to hold off.”
 * “In that case, well thought out, Selu. Did you get the recording?”

Selu activated the playback on his datapad and a hologram of hundreds of memory moths chanting the names of Jedi shimmered into view on the miniprojector. Both Jedi watched the projection in amazement for several moments.
 * “This memorial is kind of like the Order, Selu. The Sith can try and destroy us and they’ve done a good job so far, but they’re only scattering the embers to create the fire that will come back to burn them.”
 * “Are we those embers, Master Vos?”
 * “Yes, Selu,” said Quinlan. “We won’t be doing the same things as we used to, but we’ll bide our time until the Force bids us act.”

Selu looked back at the distant glow of the memorial.
 * “That means I need to be the best I can be in the mean time so I’m ready for when it’s time.”
 * “Correct. And one more thing Selu: Don’t call me Master Vos. You make me feel like an old gray man.”
 * “You’re not an old gray man? My mistake- appearances can be deceiving,” Selu said with a wry smile.
 * “Plo Koon was right about one thing- you’re certainly a handful,” said Vos, chuckling. “You’ll do fine though, Selusda. You’ll do just fine.”