Knights of the Old Republic: Convict's Dawn/7-9

Chapter 7

The Cerulean Wolf  sailed effortlessly through the sea of silent space. The blue paint of its hull stood in stark contrast to the darkness of space behind it, and it allowed the vessel to stand out amidst the stars, dull moons and other celestial bodies. However, this coloring was a blessing and a curse; this particular Majesty -class freighter was a smuggler’s ship, so the bright coloration was not always beneficial, and often served as a warning to potential targets of the Cerulean Wolf’s  crew.

Unlike its larger counterpart, the Dynamic -class light freighter, the Majesty -class was not designed to participate in heavy firefights, as evident by the vessel’s external damage. The burns of laser fire and the scars of proton torpedoes were visible throughout the ship’s azure-colored, saucer-like shape. Despite its extensive damage, the Cerulean Wolf’s  internal functions were mostly unscathed, allowing its smuggler crew to remain onboard and carry out their duties with ease.

A vicious ringing noise pierced the ears of the ship’s captain, a Human female named Ralina Venli, awakening her from her much-needed sleep. The captain herself had a dark tan, and her bronze ankles dangled helplessly over her admittedly short cot. She opened her blue eyes with great displeasure; she was enjoying her rest, and she found herself already angry at being disturbed. Glancing about, she nearly forgot where the noise was coming from. The captain brushed her long, unkempt ebony hair out of her face so she could see clearly before trying to reach the wall panel that controlled her room’s alarm. To her dismay, she discovered that her arms were too short to reach the controls from her cot. Half-heartedly rising from her bed, the captain covered herself with a dusty old brown blanket for warmth, and hammered her fist into the wall panel, switching the alarm off with a groan of disgust.

Once the alarm had stopped, Ralina stood motionless for a moment. The lack of sound against her exhausted ears was enough to cause the captain to smile. However, it was not long before she realized just how cold she was; the ship’s heating systems were not working optimally, and her white tank top and pair of gray shorts were not keeping her warm. Even the brown veil she covered herself with did not quite provide enough warmth to keep her comfortable.

Returning to her cot, Ralina graciously collapsed back into the cot she was sleeping on, closing her eyes and preparing herself to enter sleep’s domain yet again. Just as the captain was fading into the dreary world of unconsciousness, the alarm started back up again, waking Ralina with a start and causing a fierce scowl to appear across her face.

“Do you think that’s funny, Jon? I will rip out your circuitry!” shouted the captain.

“I would appreciate it if you would not, Captain Venli,” a digitized voice replied. “It is not so much out of humor I do this – though it is very amusing – but rather because you requested it.”

I guess the AI is right,  thought Ralina. Although she did not remember the details, she must have asked Jon, the ship’s automated interface and artificial intelligence, to wake her up when their next target was approaching their location. They were smugglers, after all, and they always had to be ready for their unsuspecting prey. Even so, Ralina lamented that she had to be disturbed in such a manner while sleeping. She did quite enjoy sleeping.

“You’re right,” Ralina muttered. “I guess I owe you an apology, Jon?”

“Not at all, captain,” Jon mused. “I’m sure if I was organic, I would be quite disturbed when I was awoken from my rest cycle. Your circuits don’t quite recharge as quickly as ours do, I hear.”

“Something like that,” the captain replied. Rising from her bed, she scrambled into the small refresher that was conjoined with her room; she was glad that she had her own washroom, although she was not pleased that it had the same color as her room – an ugly brown – and that it had the same cold, durasteel floorboards. “How long ‘til contact?” Ralina asked while she stepped into the sonic for a quick shower.

“Fifteen minutes,” Jon answered.

Ralina acknowledged the fact that she had a tight schedule and decided to hasten her efforts to leave her room. Stepping out of the sonic two minutes earlier than she had planned on doing so, Ralina got dressed inside the refresher before returning to her room. She made her way toward a small red-and-white wardrobe at the corner of her room and pulled out a rough, heavy leather jacket with the insignia of the Republic Navy on the back. Personally, she hated wearing it – it brought up memories that were better left being forgotten – but she had to admit that it kept her warm; besides, she did not have time to be picky. Reaching under her cot, Ralina pulled out a pair of cyan slippers from underneath her bed and slipped them into her cold, lithe feet.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look in the morning, captain?” Jon asked whimsically.

“Yesterday,” Ralina mentioned, although she was distracted, “you tried flirting with me for the past four days, as well.”

“Ah, yes, now I recall.” The AI sounded amused, but Ralina figured that he was just trying to entertain himself. “The crew is waiting for you, you know.”

Ralina ran a brush through her long, black-colored hair with an alarming sense of urgency, tearing through the knots that had accumulated in her long, silken hair. Although she hated the fact that she could not do a better job and make it look somewhat decent, she bitterly accepted the fact that she and her crew had far too much to do with far too little time. A pity.

The captain headed out of the room, grabbing a small blaster pistol that was conveniently located atop a shelf near the door. As she left, she turned and gave Jon her latest instructions: “I’m done. Tell the crew to prepare for my arrival.”

Ralina knew that Jon had heard her, even though the jovial AI made no response. Once she had left her room behind, the captain made her way to the bridge. Traveling across the silent, unoccupied hallways, she smiled each time her soft slippers made contact with the metallic floorboards. ''No clanking noise. Wonderful,'' she thought. It took about three minutes for the captain to reach the deck, which resided on the ship’s prow. Unlike the Dynamic -class freighter, the deck of the Cerulean Wolf  was large enough to support an entire crew comfortably, instead of only housing the pilot and co-pilot.

Once the captain had arrived on the deck, she realized that the crew had not noticed her arrival, and she took a brief moment to examine them. Although they were reliable enough for Ralina and were quite skilled at their respective jobs, Ralina admittedly knew very little about the motley bunch.

Her first mate and pilot was a weighty Shistavanen who was nicknamed Fetcher by the crew. His dark fur and lupine appearance were well known throughout the Outer Rim territories; before he had joined Ralina, he had been known as the Hound of Baskarn and had been in charge of several large smuggling rings. At some point, Fetcher lost his mate and pilot, a female Shistavanen who had served alongside him, to members of the Exchange, who had her sold into slavery and eventually killed. Ralina had assumed that this forced Fetcher to retire from his life of crime, although she had forced him out of retirement after he lost a fortune in a pazaak game to her.

Manda was a female Devaronian who served as Ralina’s navigator. She had been a small-time thief before Ralina found her, barely making a living stealing from Hutts and Exchange agents. Long before she had met Ralina, she had dyed the thick hair on her head, wrists, and legs a magenta color; the captain assumed it was supposed to have some sort of symbolism in the Devaronian culture. She had also pierced her long, pointed ears, although Ralina assumed that the piercings were marks from her time as slave as opposed to a conscious choice.

However, Ralina herself knew very little about the backgrounds of her two other Human officers. Their gunner and weapon specialist, Devlin Cortes, was a dark skinned male with shaggy brown hair who was about thirty-one, seven years older than Ralina herself. Apparently, he was a conman and an interrogation specialist before he joined her crew, but Ralina never confirmed these rumors. Their technician and mechanic, Nikolai Halendot, was the newest member of the crew. A redheaded male about three years younger than Ralina, he presumably had the least criminally-oriented past of anyone on their crew.

Ralina ended her examination of the crew rather quickly. Who they were was not important. Only what they were going to do mattered. “Good morning, crew,” she announced.

“Hello, captain,” each crewmember simultaneously called back.

Ralina nodded politely, acknowledging their greeting. Her feet silently carried her toward the chair that she so often sat in, her captain’s chair, while on the bridge. It was tall and made of metal; it was imposing to behold but quite uncomfortable to sit in. The captain slouched in her seat reluctantly, irate that her chair was uncomfortable and stiff. Manda giggled with delight upon seeing her captain’s face, but a quick glance from Ralina was enough to silence the laughing Devaronian. Once the crew had returned to their work, Ralina activated the ship’s readouts and radar-based tactical display of the surrounding space, both located in the armrest of her seat. Her readouts of the Cerulean Wolf  were littered with yellows-and-reds. She scowled with displeasure.

“Jon, what is the status of the Cerulean Wolf ? What’s your assessment on its remaining strength?” Ralina asked.

“Hull strength is sixty-five percent. Shields are offline. Hyperdrive is stable. Engines have taken extensive damage, but they’ll survive – at least until we get to the next port. Weapons are operational. Anything else, captain?”

“No. Thank you, Jon,” Ralina responded kindly.

“We’re doing much better than I thought we were,” Fetcher noted gruffly, never taking his eyes off of the viewport. “From outside, we could easily be mistaken for a derelict.”

“Indeed,” Ralina replied. “It’s a miracle we survived the encounter.”

“To be entirely fair,” Cortes interrupted, “they were well-armed for raiders. A little too well-armed.”

“I am willing to bet they were supported by the Sith Empire,” Halendot chimed in.

Fetcher snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. The Sith would never willingly waste their time aiding a pack of mad, wild dogs.”

“Umm. Don’t mean to interrupt this lovely chat,” Manda interjected, “but we’ve got an incoming transmission. It’s coming from a private channel, too, so it must be important.”

“Open it up, Manda,” Ralina urged, her voice laced with excitement. It was not often they got these types of transmissions, and Ralina was eager to take another job after this one. After all, the Cerulean Wolf  needed repairs and they needed credits.

Upon confirmation from the captain, a visual hologram appeared amidst the crew stationed on the bridge. It was fairly life-like, although it possessed the characteristic blue tint of all holographic displays. The individual on the other end was a stout, cloaked male, but Ralina could not identify his species due to the poor lighting on the other end of the transmission.

“You must be Ralina Venli,” the individual spoke. “I must say, you’re much less… daunting than I expected,” his voice was distinctly raspy and even Ralina could see the smile that developed on his face.

“Don’t underestimate me,” Ralina shot back, “I could probably take you down. Easily.”

The individual chortled with delight. “I bet you could. But now is not the time for this. I have yet to explain the details of your upcoming mission.”

Ralina smiled ever so slightly. “Why didn’t you say you were the employer? Go ahead, and please try to hurry. Our target will be here soon.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t waste your time,” the figured assured her. “Your will be searching for a Jedi Knight named Yasan Norn. He was captured by Sith forces and taken aboard Luminous Daybreak  after leaving Alderaan several days ago. He is currently being held by Doctor Alrond Bancho, a Sith biochemist and physicist.

Ralina was visibly surprised by the mention of Jedi and Sith. It was not often that their missions involved interacting with the Force-sensitive guardians of the Republic and the Empire, respectively. “Sith?” Ralina asked, still somewhat surprised. “So, that must mean you're a Jedi.”

“Very astute, Ralina,” the Jedi replied. “I like you already.”

Ralina rolled her eyes. “Of course. So, since the Sith are involved, I guess you want us to save the Jedi, then?”

“No,” the character replied quickly, startling the captain. “I want you to kill the Jedi and Dr. Bancho. Then, you are to recover Bancho’s research notes and confiscate any datapads on his body at the time of his death. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Ralina said. She was confused about her employers plan, though, and was intent on figuring out his motives. “Why is a Jedi not rushing to the aid of one of his own? Shouldn’t you be sending a task force to rescuing him instead of us, a bunch of smugglers?”

The figure smiled devilishly. “Now, now, Ralina. No reason to pry. I don’t ask you or your crew what you plan to do with the credits I give you. You shouldn’t have to know what we’re going to use Bancho’s information for or why we’re letting Narn die. What’s he to you, anyway?”

Ralina nodded knowingly. This figure wasn’t a Jedi; he did not even pretend to act like it. His attitude was wrong, and although he gave the captain the same nervous feeling that all Force-sensitives gave her, this one was particularly rubbing her in the wrong way. “Very well,” Ralina feigned innocence. “Where would you like us to deposit the wares once we obtain them?”

“I’ll fill you in on delivery and payment instructions later, Ms. Venli. For now, you just need to acquire the information. Good luck,” he added brusquely before logging out. The terminal and bridge remained silent for several minutes thereafter as each member of the crew pondered over their mysterious contact’s instructions.

Finally, Manda broke the silence. Glancing at her captain, she ensured that Ralina had the same puzzled look on her face as the rest of the crew before speaking. “I don’t trust him, captain. He smells like a rat.”

“A rat that pays good credits, I’m sure,” Ralina reminded her. “Let’s suit up. No point in worrying about it. What he does is none of our concern, and our target is probably on its way toward our position as we speak.”

The captain left her metallic seat, grateful to be standing again, and headed across the bridge, activating a console and inputting the necessary code. Once the password was entered, a door chime rang in Ralina’s ears and she heard the soft swish of an electronic door opening across the hall. She was the first to head into the armory that had opened up in the room parallel to the bridge; it was a cramped room that was no good for anything besides storage, lined with durasteel crates and canisters containing weapons and steel cabinets containing their combat suits. One at a time, starting with the captain, the crew of the Cerulean Wolf  headed for the armory and began to pick out weapons and armor to use in the upcoming mission. Everyone except Fetcher was assigned a tight-fitting, dark gray combat suit and a similarly colored combat helmet with an earpiece comlink which could be attached to the inside of the helmet. Each combat suit was equipped with a shield powerful enough to protect its wearer from about half a dozen blaster shots before expiring. Since Fetcher was too large to use the suit, he settled for equipping himself with an earpiece comlink and a wristband power shield.

Ralina was discouraged when she perused the cache of weapons that they had assembled. Most of their weapons needed to be either retrofitted and have significant parts replaced, or discarded completely; their weapons were smuggled guns from the Sith War and early Mandalorian Wars, so they could not be sold for credits due to their age and waning quality. Nevertheless, Ralina armed herself with a jet-black blaster rifle to compliment her blaster pistol before allowing her eager crew to pick out their weapons. Fetcher and Cortes both took a blaster rifle while Manda and Halendot settled for a single blaster pistol.

“Holen,” Manda murmured to the technician, “these suits seem to accentuate my figure a bit too much. I don’t want the enemy ogling over me while I gun them down; it’s distracting.”

The hapless technician sighed drearily. His attention was focused on cleaning the muzzle of his blaster pistol, but he still responded to Manda’s query. “We’ve been over this. Our suits are nearly three years old. I didn’t even make them! I was still on Coruscant catering to nobles and senators when these things were made.”

“But they’re so embarrassing!” Manda stammered, running her slender fingers down her side. “After this mission, you and I should create some new suits.”

“Oh, Force above,” Fetcher grumbled. “Please don’t let her do that, Halendot. She’ll make them pink. And have silly sayings put on their back. The enemy will be laughing at us, then.”

“What’s wrong with pink?” Manda countered. “And you’d be the only one to get a silly saying, Fetchy. Perhaps ‘Puppy Love’, in purple lace!”

“Now you’ve gone too far!” Fetcher growled, indignant. He hated being referred to as a dog or – even worse – a pup. He started to yell at Manda, telling her how horrible her idea was, but Manda only burst out in laughter about how upset the otherwise-somber Shistavanen had become.

“Captain, what do you think?” Halendot asked.

The captain had been ignoring the jovial banter of her crew, making sure her weapons were in working order; there was no point in dying just because her equipment was malfunctioning. When Halendot specifically addressed her, she jumped, not prepared for the question. “I… um… yes.”

“Yes?” Halendot asked. “So we can get new combat suits?”

Ralina was about to decline his audacious request when she saw Manda’s face, which had lit up with excitement at the prospect. Not willing to discourage her, Ralina nodded, giving her reluctant approval. The Devaronian cackled with glee and pointed one of her slender digits at Fetcher, laughing at him as his face contorted with surprise and fear. While Fetcher chased Manda around the deck, intent on capturing her and giving her a piece of his mind, Ralina and Cortes had changed out of their normal wear and donned the black, form-fitting jumpsuits that the rest of the crew was already wearing.

“Quite the clowns, aren’t they?” Cortes muttered to Ralina.

“Indeed,” Ralina said, smiling. “But at least they can have fun at a time like this. I’d rather not interrupt them, but it seems I have to.”

“Don’t hesitate,” Cortes muttered. “When you need to take action, act. There’s no other way to get through life.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ralina replied. Turning her attention from Cortes, who had gone to replace his blaster’s power cell, to the rest of her crew, the captain gave her first set of orders. “Let’s go, you guys. Stop fooling around. Halendot, Manda, you two are coming with me. We’ll be squad one. Fetcher, you and Cortes will be squad two. You’ll enter the ship ten minutes after us. Jon, lock down the vessel and place it on autopilot until we return. Everybody understand?”

The acknowledgement from the entire crew was loud and instantaneous.

As Ralina applied a studious, last minute inspection to her equipment, Halendot approached her from the left side. Tapping her on the shoulder, Halendot waited for her to briskly turn and face him before he spoke. “Captain, do you want to see the layout of the target vessel before we begin?”

“Of course.”

Halendot scurried over to his desk and procured a small datapad from its drawer. He handed the storage device to Ralina, who placed the small datapad into the visual overhead display so everyone could see its contents. Once the small digital pad was in place, a cut-away view of a standard K20 transport flashed to life before the entire crew.

Halendot motioned toward a small hallway on the lower section of the ship. “This hallway leads from the hangar to the barracks. It is supposed to be a pathway for engine repairs. However, we can use it to make a quick raid against the ship’s defenses. From there, it’s two doors down to the medical ward,” the technician had Jon outline a small room in the starboard section of the ship, “where our target and the information we need is presumably waiting for us.”

“Sounds risky,” Fetcher thought out loud.

“It is,” Halendot returned the sentiment, somewhat worried. “Also, the door to the barracks from the service tunnel do not open without proper authorization. In other words, it would need to be opened manually from the tech room on the other side of the ship.”

“We can handle that,” Cortes assured the captain. “No need for all of us to go down to the tech room.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Manda interrupted. “The two of you are strong – stronger than the rest of us – but we don’t know how strong their defenses are. If you walk into a trap, we’re all in trouble.”

This time, it was Jon who spoke up. “Luminous Daybreak  exiting hyperspace in twelve seconds … eleven seconds…”

“We’re out of time!” Ralina said bitterly. “The transport's coming in right now. Cortes, prepare the ion guns. Disable that ship so we can get into it. Fetcher, fly us in as close as you can; with some luck, we won’t end up too far. Manda, Halendot, follow me! We’re going for a ride.”

As she concluded her brief speech, the Luminous Daybreak  dropped out of hyperspace about eight kilometers away from the Cerulean Wolf. As the bulky, aged civilian cruiser made its way toward Telos, a planet ravaged by war, the smuggler ship sprung to life – it had been resurrected under Fetcher’s guidance. Cortes activated the illegally positioned ion cannons atop of their vessel and fired two illustrious azure blasts at the K20 transports. The first strike hit the front end of the ship, disabling their shields and causing some of its primary systems to fail. The second shot pummeled the starboard side of the ship and created an unexpected and unwelcome explosion, sending engine fuel and fire into the void of space. Although the weapon caused more damage than Ralina hoped, at least the ship had been immobilized. Fetcher flew the ship as close as he could to their target vessel, allowing their hangars to sit in space nearly six meters apart. After a brief starfighter ride, squad one left the Cerulean Wolf  and entered the Luminous Daybreak’s  unprotected hangar.

The three-man squad made its way from their starfighter toward the nearest exit with haste; the hangar was empty, and there was no reason to linger here. Ralina led the way, her blaster rifle at her chest, marching toward the dully-colored doors with an obvious sense of urgency. The passengers of the Luminous Dawn  were no doubt aware that privateers had entered their ship; if they were smart, they would take the necessary precautions to remain safe. Ralina hoped that they would not have to take the lives of any civilians; when they killed innocent bystanders, things always got messy. Although the captain had faith in her crew, she was worried that they might not have the manpower to fight through the K20 transport’s onboard defenses.

The doors that led from the hangar bay to the rest of the ship were sealed tightly, magnetically sealed by an automated lockdown sequence. Ralina and her allies reached the door after a brief, unhindered sprint, and Ralina and Manda sidled against the wall on the right side of the door while Halendot crouched against the wall opposite of them. The captain was panting lightly, her body receiving a workout due to their sprint. However, Manda was practically wheezing, already worn out from their sprint, and Halendot was having trouble standing. I guess we’ll have to focus on physical finesse once we get some free time,  Ralina thought with a smile on her face.

“Do you think you could open this door, Holen?” whispered Manda.

“Probably. Give me a moment,” the technician responded in between gasps.

Turning his back away from the wall, Halendot got to work slicing the door’s electronic security lock. The slicer opened up the security box with alarming speed; Ralina and Manda watched his swift fingers pry about the wiring and alter the circuitry. A small spark erupted from inside the door’s control mechanism, and the electronic doors opened with an elongated groan.

As the doors opened, the trio took notice of the two Twi’lek guards standing across the hall from their location. Unlike them, the two guardsmen were not even wearing any sort of armor or battlesuit. They had spotted Halendot as he opened the door, and they frantically fired upon the trespasser. Although the technician was saved by ducking behind the wall, the laser fire continued on its path and ended up scarring the walls on the opposite end of the hangar. The stream of ruby-colored beams did not stop even after Halendot was safely behind cover, and it was as though the two Twi’lek thought that firing blindly into the air would draw Ralina’s crew out of hiding.

The captain sighed. She knew it was pointless to leave them waiting for too long; their opponents’ blasters would soon run out of power, and then they would have to engage Ralina’s crew in close quarters. The captain considered herself an able melee fighter, but she was worried for Manda and Halendot. They both had a scrawny build and hardly any physical strength.

She decided to prevent any melee combat from occurring by accepting their deadly invitation of blaster fire. Falling forward to the metallic floor, the captain releaved herself to the two Twi’leks, but their blaster shots were too far above her head to hit her. They anxiously attempted to redirect their attack, but it was too late. The captain calmly squeezed the trigger on her blaster rifle and unleashed a single barrage of laser fire toward her targets.

The larger Twi’lek, who happened to be on the left side of the two, panicked when he saw Ralina’s blaster fire approach him. Instead of firing at Ralina, he stood motionless; the captain saw terror engulf his eyes as three well-placed blaster shots bore through his thin tunic and shredded the organs underneath his filmy skin. A gasp escaped the green Twi’lek’s throat before he fell backwards, colliding with the ground and smashing his head against the cold floorboards. His partner stopped firing and let out a blood-curdling scream, piercing the eardrums of the shocked captain. Before either of them could act, Manda maneuvered from behind the walls into the doorway and took two quick shots with her blaster pistol. Like her captain’s shots, the bold Devaronian’s attacks were true. The surviving Twi’lek took both of the lasers without resisting – Ralina even thought he saw him jump into the laser fire – and joined his ally as a lifeless shell on the ship’s colorless floor.

Halendot stood over the captain and smiled as he offered a single hand to help her back to her feet. Ralina accepted the help, and she propped herself up in a single, graceful motion. The captain muttered a quick ‘thank you’ to the young officer; even though his disappointed visage betrayed the fact that he was expecting a more sincere thanks, Ralina was surprised when Halendot did not press the issue. It was unlike him to not speak his mind.

“They do not seem like trained combatants, captain,” Manda confided with Ralina, interrupting her train of thought.

The captain nodded drearily. “No. I don’t think they are. Even so, we have to keep our guard up – carelessness leads to fatalities. And I don’t want any of you dying on me in this mission. Clear?”

Both of her allies nodded swiftly.

Leaping over the two dead Twi’lek corpses, Ralina led the way, careful to avoid stepping on their discarded weapons. No need to get wounds from a weapon shattering upon impact; such sloppy footwork could easily be avoided. The captain groaned as she felt the sweat linger around the back of her neck and over her brow, some even made it to her face. The saltine liquid passed her dry lips, but it was bitter and unsatisfying. She could feel her pulse quicken with her feet; the euphoric rush of battle began to overtake her, and she found herself yearning for more combat, despite her better judgment. Manda must have realized how silly the captain looked – craving a fight – because the Devaronian chuckled softly.

After passing the dead combatants, the party reached the door to the engineering hallway. Ralina opened the unlocked door with a press of the door console, and her two allies stormed inside, hoping to protect their captain from harm. Upon discovering nothing, the squad proceeded down the dimly lit hallway in hushed silence. The three of them made their way through the dark hallway with an unnatural haste; the darkness was foreboding, and none of them enjoyed it. As they reached the halfway point, they stopped abruptly upon hearing the faint pitter-patter of footsteps. The alarming sound of leather against metal.

“There they are! I see ‘em!” a voice shouted.

A red-colored blaster bolt flew by Ralina’s helmet like the voice’s fatal echo – the blast itself missed, but the heat of the projectile was close enough to cause Ralina to flinch in alarm. The captain dove against the nearest wall and scrunched up into a fetal position to protect herself. Her two partners followed suit, jumping from the center of the passageway toward the bland-colored walls. From her position, Ralina could see at least six individuals standing several meters away from them, launching a constant but disorganized stream of blaster fire. The hailstorm of crimson flame ricocheted off the walls around Ralina, and several of them were close enough to scathe her combat suit.

Manda rebounded from the wall she had been standing against; she ended up in the center of the hallway in a crouched, defensive position. Ralina saw several blaster shots dissipate against the Devaronian’s bodysuit as she fired her blaster several times in rapid succession. Although the bodysuits were designed to absorb blaster fire, they were old and the fabric itself – a military-based combat mesh – was beginning to tear and get damaged after years of heavy use. Manda quickly made her way back to her original position as she waited for her blaster to cool-down. Sadly, none of her attacks were successful.

The captain winced as another three blaster shots passed over her head. The captain rolled away from the wall, still staying close to the ground, and fired blindly into the darkness before them. She took several quick shots with her blaster rifle, and in between her shots, she gasped as her opponents’ blaster fire slammed headlong into her covered chest and arms. She felt the heat of the iridescent beams increase the friction against her bodysuit, causing a stinging sensation against the otherwise bare skin underneath. The captain held firm, not yielding to the pain, and her efforts were rewarded when she heard the one of her foes keel over.

“Captain, get out of there,” Halendot insisted, “your suit cannot take that much damage at once. The blaster fire will puncture your suit!”

Ralina ignored the concerns of her associate for the time being. This whole mission would be for naught if she could not defeat these soldiers. How ridiculous would it be if she could not even kill a few hired grunts? Luckily for her, her patience and endurance paid off; another one of her blaster shots hit a target in the distance. A groan was heard from afar and a crash resounded in the dark; one of their enemies had perished.

The blaster fire continued without ceasing. Much to Ralina’s surprise, a blaster shot managed to pierce her combat suit, although it was a small tear, she gasped as the pain shot through her body like a thorn’s sharp prick. At the urging of Manda and Halendot, the captain returned to her former position against the wall – a return to safety.

“Permission to use a fragmentation grenade, captain?” Halendot shouted amidst the blaster fire.

“Granted!”

The technician snatched the only frag on his belt and held the device in his hand for a moment, contemplating on how he would use this harbinger of death. Manda reached out to grab the weapon in an effort to finish the job, but Halendot was faster and he hurtled the projectile through the air with a light toss; the throwing-weapon bounced off the ground several times before disappearing into the shadows of the hall. Ralina and her crew listened with repressed glee as screams and shouts emerged from the darkness instead of blaster fire. Ralina counted in her head. Two… one. A flash of light illuminated the hall for a brief second, and a ball of flame and smoke filled the area before them, sending the disoriented Halendot to his feet in fright. The shrapnel and gaseous aftershock of the grenade’s effects were felt by Ralina, even as she sat curled up against the wall.

Manda was the first to move after the explosion, when the darkness had again overtaken the room and the smoke had become a light haze. She stood up from against the wall where she had been sitting impatiently and made her way toward the dead bodies; she took it upon herself to make sure they were all dead. Meanwhile, Ralina stood up and helped the flustered Halendot to his feet; even though Ralina could not see his face in the dim-light of this chamber, she could guess that his face was rubescent and his eyes were blinking in rapid succession – it was one of his peculiar traits whenever he was perturbed.

“Thank… thank you, captain,” Halendot stammered.

“Don’t mention it, Halendot,” Ralina assured him, smiling with amusement. This situation seemed familiar. “Good work with that frag. Saved us some time and effort.”

“Yes, captain,” Halendot replied. His voice reflected the pride he felt for his accomplishment.

“Captain Venli, are you there? This is Fetcher,” the Shistavanen’s gruff voice was heard through the comlink built into Ralina’s helmet.

“I hear you, Fetcher. What is it?” Ralina answered.

“Cortes and I are approaching your location. We’ve already unlocked the barracks. The entire ship is in a frenzied panic; they are all scattered about, hoping to escape from us. We’ll arrive at the medical bay shortly after you. But don’t wait for us; it seems most of the security forces have ventured in our direction,” Fetcher explained quickly. It was clear to Ralina from his infrequent panting that he was out of breath.

“Understood, Fetcher. We’ll meet up with you there. Don’t die before you reach us,” Ralina teased.

“I wouldn’t dare,” the Shistavanen replied, half-jokingly. “Fetcher out.”

Ralina turned her attention to her two present compatriots. “Let’s go. We should hurry.”

The three of them continued their silent trek through the abandoned hallway, the dark underbelly of the civilian cruiser. From the end of the hallway, Ralina and her allies arrived in the barracks, which they were surprised to find empty. Apparently, all the guards left on the ship were chasing after Fetcher and Cortes. The captain and her allies left the barracks without a word and headed toward the medical ward, which was situated close enough to the barracks that the crewmembers of the Cerulean Wolf didn’t even have to run.

Ralina scanned the door control console to check whether or not the door to the medical chambers was locked. To the captain’s pleasant surprise, the medical room’s emergency lockdown sequence had been overridden. The captain was overjoyed and ordered her two crewmembers to enter the room before her; if there was danger in the room, it was their responsibility to assess and neutralize it. Ralina would enter the room once all threats had been removed.

As the two of them entered the room, they scanned the room anxiously. The room’s walls were a silky white color, although it was striped with several red lines. In one of the farther corners of the room there was a counter where the doctor would hand out medication, and a petite personal computer rested nearby. In the other corner was a medical cot; the individual that was situated in this cot was covered with a white sheet. The fetid odor and the machinery tracking his vital signs made it clear that the individual was near-death. The lighting of the room was poor and it was very difficult to see, but Manda and Halendot could both clearly see a single individual, a female nurse, in the center of the room. She was clothed in a white dress and an equally colorless smock. The nurse was about Ralina’s age; although her hair was a light blond in contrast to the captain’s own dark hair. To the relief of the entire squad, she appeared unarmed.

“Who are you? What do you want?” the nurse cried out in horror.

“Just stay quiet and don’t move,” Ralina replied sternly, entering the room earlier than she had planned. Her rifle was pointed directly at the nurse. Turning toward her allies, she motioned for them to finish the job: “Search the room.”

Her compatriots responded with obedience, and began to scour the room for the data they needed. Ralina cautiously approached the nurse, pointing her rifle at her prisoner at all times. Ralina knew how helpless the nurse must have felt; she was alone in this room, surrounded by supposed terrorists, and there didn’t appear to be anyone to stop them. The captain almost felt sorry for the young woman. As she approached the nurse, Ralina saw something move behind the counter out of the corner of her eye.

“Halendot. Check behind that counter,” Ralina commanded.

The technician quietly acknowledged his captain’s orders. As he approached the counter, a middle-aged man leapt out from behind it, dressed in a white lab coat and armed with a slug-throwing shotgun. He was screaming violent obscenities at the trio of smugglers, and Halendot dashed toward the counter to subdue him. The doctor proved quicker, and he shot at Halendot’s head; the metal slug shattered the defensive visor on the young technician’s helmet and exploded on contact, tearing through Halendot’s comparatively fragile skull.

The captain screamed at the top of her lungs, yelling Halendot’s name as loud as she could in a desperate – if futile – attempt to save the young man’s life. Ralina finished her sprint toward the nurse and wrapped one of her arms around the nurse’s neck, using her as a shield against the doctor. The doctor was about to duck behind the counter for cover, but he hadn’t noticed Manda, focusing on Halendot and the captain. The fierce Devaronian sent three blaster bolts into his unarmored body. The doctor almost laughed with contentment before his body was thrown to the floor at full force, now a lifeless, smiling husk.

Manda dropped her weapon immediately after the doctor had died and ran toward Halendot’s corpse. Ralina choked as she began to sob bitterly; the warm, inviting tears fled from her eyes and snaked their way down her cheeks, mixing with the sweat and grime that had caked her face. She muttered Halendot’s name quietly as she tightened her grip on the nurse, causing her to yelp in pain. At this point, the captain did not know what to think. Had Halendot not said this mission would be dangerous? Had Manda not thought something was amiss? Why did she not listen to her crewmates? Now Ralina had to deal with the death of one of her friends.

As Ralina began to sob bitterly, a man in a thick cloak and drooping hood appeared behind Manda, who was still weeping over the technician’s fresh corpse. Ralina did not even see him enter the room, much less notice him approach Manda. Had he been hiding in the room like the doctor had? Whatever the case, Ralina bit her lip – she was admittedly a bit delirious – as she noticed the gun pointed against Manda’s forehead.

Tell your friend to stand, a voice echoed in the captain’s mind. The captain assumed that this individual was the Jedi they were looking for since he was a telepath. Ralina motioned for the alarmed Manda to stand, and the Devaronian did so without question and without turning around. The captain’s heart was torn; Manda’s face appeared to be the face of a cornered animal, not a sentient being. She looked like she was going to faint at any moment. It was at times like these that Ralina wished Fetcher and Cortes were with her.

Ralina placed the muzzle of her weapon against the head of the nurse she was using as a barrier to protect herself, causing the nurse to weep bitterly. “Release my crewmate,” Ralina demanded. “Or I’ll kill this nurse.”

Manda’s captor cackled with delight. “Why do you think I care about her? She’s useless. You can kill her,” the captor frowned underneath his hood when Ralina did not comply with his request. “No? You dare hesitate? Then I’ll do it for you.”

Removing his blaster pistol from Manda’s forehead, he fired a single shot at the nurse. The blaster shot passed through the nurse’s head and flew into a wall behind Ralina, where it dissipated into nothingness. Manda cried in terror as she saw a blaster bolt fly toward her captain, and Ralina almost abandoned her footing as the woman she was holding stopped crying and dropped dead in her arms – fear was still evident on her face. The captain released the corpse that she was holding and placed both of her hands on her blaster rifle, pointing it at the assassin.

“Let Manda go,” Ralina shouted again. She tried to be firm, but her voice was cracking and she could barely see through the tears. Halendot was already dead. She could not bear to lose Manda too.

“I don’t think so,” the assassin mused. “You see… you’ve already killed Doctor Bancho. I was supposed to protect him. Now I can never return to my employers – the Sith – or they’ll kill me for supposed incompetence. I had to watch the man who entrusted his life into my hands die. How about I end the life of your crewmate? She has entrusted her life to you. We can feel this pain together.”

Ralina cried out for the assassin to stop, but it was clear that he had no intention of doing so. He swiftly diverted his gun from the captain to Manda’s forehead and prepared to pull the trigger. As he prepared to gun down the Devaroanian, a ferocious howl was heard behind the assassin. He turned around to discern the source of the noise, but it was too late; Fetcher arrived and clawed at the assassin, sending him spiraling into the wall. As the killer collapsed near the corner of the room, unconscious, Ralina ran toward Manda and threw her arms around the Devaronian, and they both continued to sob uncontrollably. The two allowed their tears to intermingle on Halendot’s corpse for what seemed like hours until Ralina was able to recover her bearings and rise to her feet.

“Can you two walk? We need to leave.” Fetcher stated.

Ralina nodded first, and Manda replied similarly.

“Despite how very touching this all is,” Cortes said, entering the room, “Halendot died. We have a limp assassin in the room, Jon just informed me that this ship is going to explode at any second and Telos Security is coming to check out our little escapade here. Could we speed things along?”

Ralina swore under her breath. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she knew she had to be strong, or at least put up a façade of strength, for her crew. They deserved that much. “Cortes, you get Halendot’s body and bring it back with us. He’ll get a proper funeral soon; he deserves that much. Manda, are you well enough to travel?”

The Devaronian nodded quickly.

Ralina smiled a weak smile. “Okay, if you say so. You’ll gather the supplies from the doctor. Mutilate his corpse if you feel it necessary, but do it quickly. Fetcher, pull the plug on the individual in that cot – I assume it is the Jedi, since that assassin did not carry himself like a Jedi – and then grab that assassin over there.

“The assassin? Why?” Fetcher questioned.

“We’re going to use him as a bargaining chip. Most of these guns-for-hire are members of the bounty hunters’ guild. We can ransom him for money,” Ralina explained, her eyes alight with a devious glow.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Cortes said, lifting Halendot’s body. “He could kill us in our sleep.”

“We’ll turn Halendot’s room into a brig of sorts,” Ralina explained. “And besides, he needs to pay for what he’s done here. But for now, we need to get out of here. Telos Security is coming and this ship is going to explode like a star, if I understand correctly. Finish your work, and then we’re getting out of here.”

Chapter 8

The hum of the Rocket One  had sent Raen into the realm of sleep upon his departure from his homeworld. He had instructed T1-N7, the astromech droid who had accompanied him on his fateful pilgrimage, to guide the ship directly to Taris. For the first several hours of their trip, Raen had slept in the cramped engine room while Tee One steered the ship through the confines of hyperspace. After an uncomfortable – and tragically brief – rest, Raen returned to the cockpit and took over the job of piloting the ship. When Tee One expressed confusion over its new assignment, Raen allowed it to tend to the ship’s internal systems in the engine room.

During the prolonged journey through hyperspace, Raen bitterly endured the tedium of the flight. He had not showered since the night of his flight from Alderaan, and he smelled like some forsaken hound; sweat, grime, and tears caked his bronze skin and produced a peculiar odor that drove the ex-Sith near insane. His Sith robes had collected pollen and plant particles during his last trip with G’aull, and now his skin felt scratchy and his clothes were generally uncomfortable. Raen bitterly accepted his long string of bad luck as he ensured the ship remained on-course while they were in hyperspace.

After several long days alone in the cockpit, Raen was relieved that the Rocket One  had reached the Taris system. The exiled Alderaanian cautiously allowed the aged vessel to drift out of hyperspace; Raen was surprised that this vessel could even reach Taris. The ship itself was quite outdated, and Raen was convinced that the vessel’s hyperdrive dated back to the Sith War. Despite the fact that it had survived his initial flight, the ex-Sith figured it would be more profitable to sell the ship once the arrived on Taris. Once he took refuge with his relatives, they could provide him with everything he needed.

Raen directed the Rocket One  toward the blue-green orb that was Taris with considerable difficulty. The vessel seemed to travel much more smoothly in hyperspace than realspace. As he approached the planet known as the Coruscant of the Outer Rim, Raen took notice of a small, Republic-owned space station drifting casually in Taris’s atmosphere. Raen deduced that it was recently implemented to defend Taris. The Republic military, under the command of the Jedi General Revan, had recaptured Taris from the Mandalorians several years prior. Raen figured that the Republic was probably worried Revan – now carrying a Sith moniker – might one day return to conquer the world for the Sith Empire. Raen knew that Revan was not so foolish to attack this bastion of the Republic just yet, though. He would wait until the Republic turned a blind eye to the world – like they always did – before the Dark Lord moved in to conquer it and become its warlord in savior’s clothing.

Raen jumped as his ship’s comlink began to blip madly. Apparently, the Republic orbital installation was responsible for monitoring orbital traffic as well. Raen hesitated; he suddenly felt a surge of dark side energy wash over him like a violent current. He was not sure where it had originated from, although it might have been emanating from the planet’s surface. Raen felt his senses become more acute and his perception increased dramatically as the serenade of the dark side invigorated his tired body. ''Is this the power of the dark side? '' thought the exiled Sith. It took several more obnoxious bleeps from the comlink to pull Raen out of thought and back to reality.

“This is Captain Zaen Helax of the Rocket One. I am an associate of the royal family on a diplomatic mission from Alderaan. Please let me by.”

Raen’s introduction was answered by an elongated buzz of static. The exiled Sith sensed that the Republic soldiers in charge of orbital security had heard his message, but he was unsure why they were not responding. Turning around, Raen shouted at Tee One, telling him to ensure that their hull was at full strength; if they were attacked, Raen wanted to make sure that they would be strong enough to flee the Republic’s atmospheric defenses.

The static suddenly stopped. “Zaen Helax,” a monotonous male voice responded. Raen figured that the man had been drafted or was bored to death because he did not sound enthusiastic in the slightest, “we don’t have you scheduled for landing today. And we cannot locate your name on the Galactic Diplomatic Database. Prepare to be boarded.”

“Negative!” Raen yelped. “I mean… that won’t be necessary, officer. I am on a very classified mission for the Galactic Republic and Alderaanian royal family. This comes from the office of the Chancellor himself. If you would like to consult him, feel free. But if you’re charged with exposing a top-secret government operative, you could be charged with…”

“That won’t be necessary,” the soldier interrupted; his voice now contained a hint of worry. “Feel free to pass, Captain Helax.”

“Thank you,” Raen said with a smirk. “You do know that you are sworn to silence, correct? If this information is ever divulged to anyone, you will be promptly executed for treason.”

“We understand, don’t worry,” the soldier replied anxiously. “Taris Orbital Control, out.”

Raen chuckled menacingly after he switched off the comlink. That was easier than expected,  thought the exiled Sith. To be fair, Raen knew his alibi would not last long. Soldiers were loquacious; they would eventually confess his story to their senior officer and he would try to track Raen down. By then, the man known as Zaen Helax would no longer exist and neither would his ship.

He bypassed the Republic defense station and its auxiliary turrets quickly and without concern; Raen no longer feared his enemy’s weapons. Suddenly, his ship began to slow unexpectedly. As the vessel trudged into Taris’s atmosphere, Raen was worried they would not descend fast enough, so he allowed the Rocket One  to accelerate. The ship whined worriedly as its engines struggled to comply with his command. The young pilot could feel the vessel begin to shake violently; the ship threatened to pull itself apart under the additional strain.

“Warning: Engines breached,” an automated voice warned. “Danger: Fuel is flammable and asphyxiation can occur. Utmost caution is advised.”

Raen swore under his breath. He barely had time to react to the warning before a sharp hiss called out to him from the engine room. Raen could see the vaporous fuel that was already lingering in the engine room slowly snake its way into the cockpit. Due to the engine rupture, Raen began to lose control of the vessel. The young ex-Sith covered his face with the cloth of his robes – if he suffocated due to the gaseous fuel, he would die before he reached the planet’s surface. The formerly brown-and-black cockpit began to shift between varying shades of red as the emergency beacons lit up, warning passengers to evacuate the ship. Sadly, Raen did not have that option. As he struggled to regain control over the ship, Tee One emerged from the smoke of the engine room and begin to blip madly.

Raen stared at the droid, his eyes demanding that it silence itself. “What is it, T1? I’m kind of busy. Can’t you make yourself useful and fix that engine leak?”

As Tee One began to answer Raen’s questions, a small explosion silenced the astromech droid. Raen eagerly urged the droid to continue, but he was interrupted yet again. This time, a deafening roar called out to the roguish pair, and it was accompanied by thick, hungry tongues of flame and a dark – nearly black – smoke. The sheer force of the second explosion knocked Raen off of his feet and into the sensor boards, while Tee One was thrown onto the metallic floorboard of the cockpit.

Raen struggled to reestablish his footing. “Tee One, report! What just happened?”

The hapless droid struggled to regain its composure, but its four, short wheeled legs lacked the ability to prop its rotund chassis upright. Raen was irate as he assisted the droid to its feet – he knew it was a useless hunk of metal – and straightened its rotund head. It didn’t help when the droid responded with a cheerful bleep, followed by a series of chimes and whistles, causing the ex-Sith to kick its already damaged body.

“You want me to what?” Raen shouted incredulously.

Tee One responded verbatim in droidspeak.

“I am not going to jump out of the Rocket One. Did that explosion fry your cognitive sensors, you idiotic tin can?” Raen shouted back. “I don't have a jump-pack, and we’re nearly ten kilometers in the air – and descending rather quickly, if I might add. I would rather not become a permanent stain on some poor building in the Tarisian skyline, thank you anyway, T1.”

As though the vessel had decided to respond for Raen’s panicked droid, the Rocket One began to quiver and shake as it rapidly approached Taris’s alabaster cityscape. Raen saw bits and pieces of durasteel get ripped off the ship’s hull as it made its way through the final layer of Taris’s atmosphere. The ship’s cooling systems had failed after the second explosion, and the vessel’s internal temperature was rising hastily. Coupled with the blazing flames that were devouring everything in their path from the engine room, Raen figured that the Rocket One  would not survive its descent. I hate it when I’m wrong,  though Raen. Tee One beeped madly, hoping that its master would take action before the entire ship became a metallic inferno.

“Tee One, go into the engine room! Grab a weapon or two, and recharge your battery as quickly as you can manage,” Raen ordered.

The droid answered its master without saying a word. Instead, it steered its obtuse cylindrical body around and entered the otherwise-deadly flames to gather the necessary items. Meanwhile, Raen tore off the outer layer of his robes and cloak, leaving only the auburn under-tunic and black trousers. The ex-Sith wasted little time in gathering his lightsabers and a blaster pistol and placing them in their respective holsters. He had no other belongings since he had fled Alderaan so quickly. Raen made one last attempt to regain control of the craft. It was not successful. Slamming his fist into the sensor board, Raen angrily made his way toward the boarding ramp, which also served as the ship’s primary exit. The exiled Sith’s instructions to Tee One were actually a distraction to prevent Tee One from escaping alongside Raen. Raen decided that the bucket of parts would only slow him down.

Raen worriedly hammered away at the door controls, and he was visibly alarmed when the electronic doors would not open. After attempting to open the door via its controls several more times, Raen gave up. The ex-Sith was almost hysterical now – he did not think about using his lightsabers – and bellowed at T1. The droid was still in the engine room, and Raen commanded him to utilize the emergency override codes; the droid could input the override protocol and unlock everything in the ship semi-manually. However, the droid did not respond, and the doors did not open. Not good.

Raen ran into the engine room, taking a piece of his tattered robe and throwing it over his face to protect himself from asphyxiation. Using the Force to see through the thick miasma that clouded his normal vision, Raen saw T1-N7 stuck underneath several defunct slabs of piping – the metallic waste collapsed during a subsequent, weaker explosion – while Tee One was centimeters away from the override controls.

“Tee One, how the hell did you get stuck?” Raen called out to the trapped droid.

The droid replied with a melancholy whine. The droid had been caught underneath the metallic weights while trying to unlock the doors for its master to escape; it had never expected to make it out. Raen smirked. This droid would make a faithful servant – or slave – and the ex-Sith decided he should at least try to save it.

“Don’t worry, I’m going to save you!” Raen shouted through the smoke, which was slowly cutting off his supply of oxygen.

Rushing through the smoke and wild flames, the exiled Sith reached the helpless droid without much interference. Raen turned T1’s flattened, coin-shaped head around and opened its rear compartment. Exposing the fragile and vulnerable circuitry, Raen’s thick fingers ran through the wiring of the astromech droid, searching for the droid’s core and memory matrix.

The flames had ensnared the miserable pair now, and the smoke had caused the ex-Sith’s eyes to water uncontrollably. Gagging uncomfortably, Raen attempted to forcibly remove the smoke from his lungs, to no avail. He was getting light-headed, and his sweat was freely flowing from his forehead and arms. Finally, he managed to expel both the core and memory matrix from Tee One, but not without experiencing a powerful electric shock from running his fingers by an exposed wire. Although it caused a lingering pain, Raen was grateful for the burst of energy; he was seconds from fading into unconsciousness, and the jolt had forced him to remain vigilant.

“Warning. Surface contact in 2000 meters and closing,” an automated voice rang out from the cockpit.

Raen cursed his ill luck under his breath and stuffed T1’s vital systems in his bag before abandoning the astromech droid’s metallic hull to burn. Making his way from the rear compartment of the ship, Raen jumped out of the blazing wildfire that had consumed the engine room. Once he was in the cockpit, the exiled Sith jumped atop the sensor board, smashing buttons and switches with his charred boots. Raen used only free hand to ignite his blood red Sith lightsaber blade – his other hand was being used to carry Tee One’s parts – and shattered the transparisteel of the viewport in a single swing. The resulting explosion sent shards of limpid metal across the cockpit – some scarring Raen’s arms and cutting his clothes – and into the skies of Taris.

At this point, Raen could not do anything to stop his descent. The vicious current from outside the Rocket One  swept him off his feet and sent him flying out of the vessel; the ex-Sith found himself several hundred meters above the Tarisian ecumenopolis, diving toward the vast city in a free-fall. From his position in the sky, Raen could clearly see the azure ocean of Taris, its beautiful veil separating the towers of the cityscape – which looked like alabaster blades of grass from his height – from the verdant island cities. In between the ivory-colored skyscrapers of Taris, Raen could see the even smaller speeders and hovercraft flying about the city’s aerial roadways. If he was not struggling to keep himself from going into shock, Raen would have loved to admire the beauteous patchwork that constituted Taris’s skyline.

Raen’s eyes became blurry as he began to approach the ground. His dry eyes could not endure the lashes of the chilling north gale that was whipping him and his doomed ship about. The howling of the wind was temporary interrupted by the destruction of the Rocket One, – which had plunged into a whitewashed tower – causing a titanic explosion of metallic waste and fuel-powered flame. Now it was his turn. There was nothing to slow Raen’s descent, but if he did not figure out a way to hinder his collision with the ground, this entire journey – this entire escape from Alderaan – would be for nothing. It’s time; here goes everything, Raen thought as the concrete of Taris’s vast roadways approached and met him head-on.

***                                                                                                                  ***

“You’re being dropped into the sixth floor of the Deathly Stars apartment complex of the Upper City. You and your squad are in charge of investigating the tenants of room 670. We have reason to believe they are in charge of an illegal weapon-smuggling ring. Violence is permitted, but go easy on the trigger. Good luck, commander. You’ll need it.”

Once the director had given him the objectives, the commander switched off the earpiece comlink underneath his helmet. A man of forty-five years of age, his deep-brown hair was already graying at the edges. Most of his farmer’s tanned skin was covered by green and yellow combat armor – it was standard issue light armor given to all the members of Taris’s Central Paramilitary Unit – that was supported by a light shield. A combat helmet covered most of his rotund face and hooked nose, although his burly chin and lower facial features were not protected since the visor only protected his eyes and nose. In addition to his armor, the commander was equally well armed; he had a pair of blaster pistols on his belt, and a standard military-grade combat rifle was strapped in a specialized holster across his back.

His squad – which consisted of a four units, including himself – anxiously waited in the back of a hoverspeeder; their vessel was weaving its way in and out of midday Tarisian traffic. None of their Human features were visible underneath their full-body suits of armor, sans the lower segment of their faces. Each was armed with their own weapons, although none of them used a higher-caliber weapon than a blaster rifle. The commander thought they were almost like machines, in a sense. They were agents of justice and order, dispatched to deal with criminal scum and terrorist cells throughout Taris’s Upper City.

“You guys ready?” their pilot asked, his voice rich and vivacious. He wore the same armor as the commander’s squad, but he was probably twenty years the commander’s junior.

“Ready as ever, B.,” the commander replied.

“Right,” B. replied, musing over the commander’s play-on-words. “Approaching Deathly Stars in 15, 14, 13…”

The commander could sense that the other three members of his squad had become increasingly nervous. Most of them were rookies compared to him; he had been on more than fifty missions with Taris Paramilitary, while the majority of his squad had only been sent on a few dozen. Clenching his pistol, he hoped that the silence would quell their fears, but it seemed to make them increasingly uneasy.

“Don’t worry,” the commander mentioned, seemingly stolid. “We’ll get through this. Keep close, stay sharp, and it will be over before you know it.”

“May the Force be with us,” one of his squadmates whispered. His dreary mood did not help the already grim atmosphere.

“… 2, 1. We have arrived lady and gents. Have a blast – perhaps literally – I’ll see you for withdrawal,” B. called out. Once he had confirmed their arrival, the rear doors of the hoverspeeder opened up with a shrill whine, and they were greeted by a glass window located about twenty-five meters above the ground, barring their entrance.

The same man who had invocated the Force was the first to rise from his seat. Utilizing his blaster rifle, he shot six bursts of energy in rapid succession, unleashing a barrage of red fire on the crystalline barricade. Once the colossal window had been completely destroyed and its remnants scattered about the floor inside the building, the squad took turns leaping from the vehicle into the apartment itself. Once the commander – the last member of the squad – had leapt from the hoverspeeder, B. took off and left the squad to complete their mission. The two other men in the squad had already gone on ahead without the commander to scout, while the only female of the squad waited for her commanding officer.

“You ready, boss?” she asked softly. The commander could feel her uneasiness, despite her emotionless voice.

The commander smiled. He tried to exude as much serenity as he could to calm her nerves. “Of course. Let’s move, Elene.”

Withdrawing his blaster pistol from its holster, the commander led Elene from their initial position to follow the other two members of the squad. Running through the dimly lit halls of the Deathly Star, the commander himself was becoming worried. The apartment building was too empty; there was not a single resident wandering the olive-green walled hallways, and all the doors were locked. Running down the rough carpeting, the commander and Elene almost missed the turn to room 670, had their other squad members not alerted them to its location. Barely making the last minute turn, the pair joined up with the remaining members of their squad in front of the old-fashioned door.

“Nice of you to join us, Elene,” the less-physically imposing of the pair spat.

“Unlike you, Ulno,” Elene shot back, “I’m willing to follow orders.”

This time the bulkiest of the four spoke up, the same man who had destroyed the window upon their arrival. “Maybe if you would stop kissing the commander’s…”

“That’s enough, you three,” the commander interrupted. “You sound like whining nobles. Do you want me to report you to the director?”

Each of them shook their head, and the commander could feel that they were disappointed in themselves. Pleased that they were not totally lost, the commander kicked the old wooden door open, and the two other men of the squad stormed inside, intent on protecting their commanding officer from harm. The commander prepared to follow them, but Elene grasped at his sleeve.

“Hold on, boss. Wait until Ulno and Klenn give us the green light. We don’t want you going into a trap,” she urged.

The commander removed her hand from his sleeve, shaking his head. He had suddenly donned an aura of professionalism, speaking like a true solder: “Don’t be ridiculous, private. If a commander does not lead from the front, how can he expect his men to follow him?”

Elene was silenced immediately. She did not dare to oppose or impede her commander any longer, and the commander entered the dark room with pistol in hand. Sadly, the commander found the room to be rather anticlimactic. It was a single-bedroom apartment, complete with a petite kitchen suite and an adjoining bathroom. It was almost entirely empty; the dark blue wallpaper and equally dark colored floorboards gave the room a feeling of confinement.

“Sir,” Klenn called out, “I found an emergency door. It doesn’t lead to the bathroom or the neighboring apartment, so it must be some sort of emergency passageway. Permission to search?”

“Granted,” the commander issued. He threw his blaster rifle to the bulky male, urging him to take it for extra firepower. “Take Ulno with you. It might be dangerous. Elene, stay with me and investigate this room.”

“Yes, boss,” Elene replied.

Klenn and Ulno snickered at a private joke between the two as they entered the emergency room and left the commander and his partner alone in room 670. While they were leaving, the commander took note of a computer resting on a nearby metal desk. Taking a seat, – which was rather uncomfortable – he activated the monitor and began investigating the numerous files that were located on the virtual console’s hard drive. While he was busy searching, Elene was still scouting the room, rifle in hand.

“Boss,” Elene called out. “I found a fire escape that leads to the room above us. Permission to climb up there and scout?”

“Granted,” the commander repeated. “Stay safe, Elene.”

“You too, boss. See you on the other side.”

Once she had departed, the commander turned his attention back to the console. Scanning the hundreds of folders was difficult work – especially since very few of them had anything of merit – but he knew that if he did not search each one, he could miss something important. The commander knew B. was the best hacker in Taris Paramilitary, and his skills were very desperately needed here. The commander was not cut out for trudging through month’s worth of useless data and pointless logs.

Suddenly, he found a folder that caught his eye. Weapon shipments. The title of the folder was inconspicuous enough, so the commander opened it. As he attempted to open the file, he managed to catch a glimpse of a small image render of a familiar insignia – the insignia of the Hidden Beks, a swoop gang on Taris – before a pop-up obstructed his view. The folder was password protected, and the commander could not search its contents without it. Before he could begin attempting to bypass the password through brute-force, he heard gunfire from behind the door that Klenn and Ulno had entered.

“Klenn? Ulno? Are you two all right?” the commander asked, turning his attention away from the computer. The fact that this room was controlled by the Hidden Beks worried him. Very rarely did they involve themselves in smuggling rings, and it was even less common for them to be involved in weapon shipments – especially in the Upper City.

The commander abandoned the computer for the time being and grabbed his blaster pistol off the desk before following Klenn and Ulno down the hallway beyond the door. Surprisingly, the halls were much better lit than the rest of the apartment building, and the floors and walls were made of a strong durasteel that were light blue in coloration. After walking for several haunting minutes, the commander was worried; he had not encountered either of his squadmates during his trek down the hallway.

Upon turning his fifth corner, the commander saw three white-armored soldiers. These soldiers were much more heavily armed than he was – they were equipped with military-grade carbines and heavy pistols – and their full-body armor was much stronger than Taris Paramilitary’s. These were soldiers of the Sith Empire. And at their feet lay Klenn and Ulno, dead from the emerald blaster fire. The commander knew this world was controlled by the Republic – even if it did a sub par job – and they would not tolerate Sith on their world. So why were they here, and why were they receiving aid from the Beks?

“There’s the leader!” one of the Sith troopers called out upon spotting the commander. “Gun him down, boys!”

The commander managed to take three quick shots at his opponents using his blaster pistol, but his shots were deflected away from the Sith troopers’ ivory-colored heavy armor. “Damn!” the commander muttered to himself. “Personal energy shields. Strong ones, too.”

Rolling around the corner he had emerged from, the commander managed to dodge the counter-fire launched by his opponents. Unlike his weapon, each of the Sith trooper’s blaster carbine could spray twenty to sixty shots of energy in a period of seconds. By the time the commander had ducked behind his cover, the troopers had already littered the wall near him with the residue of blaster fire. The commander decided that his next attack – if over the top – would save his life; his blaster weapons could not compete with the military-caliber weapons of the Sith Empire.

Calling on the omnipresent Force, the commander drew upon its ethereal power and collected a vast supply of telekinetic energy around his right palm. Jumping out from behind the wall he had been using as cover, the commander barely dodged the initial rounds of blaster fire and extended his arms, – his fingers and arms served as a conduit for the Force and its powerful energy – allowing a telekinetic shockwave to erupt from his hand. The resulting attack sent the three Sith troopers flying into the wall six meters behind them. The commander was surprised how easy that was; he had not called on his Force abilities for nearly two years. But if the Sith were here, then this entire operation was about to get much more life-threatening.

Remembering his last squad member, the commander transferred the power of the ever-knowing Force from his hands into the muscles of his legs and feet. Sprinting at a superhuman speed, the commander raced through the empty, metallic halls and back into the equally empty room 670. The commander dashed up the fire escape ladder that Elene had ascended, hoping he would reach her in time. But his actions proved futile. As soon as he had finished his climb, he saw Elene, bloodied and bruised, collapse against the wall of the storage chamber he had entered. She lost her helmet in combat, and she had the vibroblade of a Sith trooper through her chest.

Her milky eyes had fixed their gaze upon the commander, and blood slowly seeped from her hauntingly pale lips as she struggled to form her last words. “… On the other side, boss.”

The commander shouted in grief. How could he have been so stupid? He did not have time to reprimand himself; the Sith trooper had noticed Elene talk to the commander and whipped around – the commander could feel his fear – before throwing a fragmentation grenade. The last Taris Paramilitary officer jumped back down the fire escape he had ascended, avoiding the blast – just barely – but he landed on his hip, causing a burning sensation to rush through his side. As the grenade’s explosion engulfed the upper room, the commander rushed toward the computer, intent on stealing the valuable data. Tearing the computer’s old-fashioned tower from the wall circuits it had been attached to, the commander threw the metallic box over his shoulder and made a frantic dash out of the room and into the halls of the apartment complex.

As the commander left room 670, the rest of the Sith troopers – nearly a dozen – rushed toward him from the hallway on his right. Sprinting at a superhuman speed, – the power granted to him by the Force – the commander evaded their blaster fire and grip for the time being. Instead of escaping the way he had entered, which would require fighting a dozen Sith soldiers, the commander headed left and ran down the empty halls of the sixth floor. At this point, he did not even know where he was going.

Using his earpiece comlink, the commander attempted to contact B. “This is the commander! Requesting immediately evac, I repeat, I need immediate evacuation!” His message was graciously responded to by the ferocious buzz of static. Blast,  thought the commander. ''Too much interference. I have to get up to the roof. ''

Still running, the commander was forced to avoid three more Sith troopers who had sprung out from behind the pale walls of the corridor he had been running toward. Making a sharp right turn, the commander kicked in the next door on his right and took three quick shots with his blaster pistol before fleeing from the pursuing troopers. Climbing up the rattling metal stairwell, the commander was careful to keep the computer tower firmly within his grip; if he lost it, his entire mission – and his partners’ sacrifices – would truly have been meaningless.

The clatter of his boots against the metal stairs continued for nearly two minutes, passing several barred doors during his ascent. Upon reaching the last door, the commander viciously body-slammed the iron door that was hindering his access to the roof – luckily for him, the door’s hinges had rusted long ago – and it flew open, barely remaining on its worn-down hinges. The commander struggled onto the flat rooftop, gasping for air and sitting down for a brief moment. He was exhausted; his Force-imbued speed sapped most of his stamina.

Clicking his earpiece, the commander tried to contact B. again. “This is the commander. The mission has been aborted, I repeat, the mission has been aborted. Requesting pick-up on the roof of the apartment.”

“Roger that, commander,” B.’s jovial voice chirped. “I’m coming in for a landing.”

“ETA?”

“Damn quick,” B. said cheerfully.

The commander panicked as he heard the clanking noise of the Sith troopers following him up the metallic staircase toward the rooftop. Slamming the door shut behind him, the commander turned around and noticed that B. and his hovercraft were approaching the rooftop at an alarming speed.

“Heard you needed a pickup,” B.’s voice spoke up yet again.

“Yeah, thanks a bunch, B.,” the commander replied. Things were beginning to look up.

As B. parked the vessel atop the Deathly Stars roof, the commander dashed toward the vessel. He did not want to utilize his Force abilities here because no one else in Taris Paramilitary of his Force-sensitivity – plus, he was tired. The Sith troopers managed to reach the rooftop during his dash to escape, and they ferociously smashed the aged metal door, causing it to collapse with a shrill groan. The six of them began to open fire at B.’s vehicle, hoping to destroy it before the commander could escape.

“Damn,” muttered the commander. Activating his comlink, he nearly shouted at the confused pilot. “B.! Fly! Get out of here! If you get taken down, we’re really screwed over!”

B. complied almost immediately, and he began to start the engines of the hoverspeeder. The commander was close to the hoverspeeder now, but he was not close enough to get inside. The jade blaster fire flew by his head and arms as he threw the computer tower into the rear passenger’s window of B.’s vehicle, shattering the clari-crystalline that had protected it. Once the computer was safely inside the vehicle, B. took off, flying away from the roof at an alarming speed.

The commander’s foresight warned him that if he did not escape, the Sith’s blaster fire would kill him. As the hoverspeeder flew away from the apartment roof, the Sith diverted their fire toward the straggling commander. Reaching the edge of the rooftop, the commander made a single Force-assisted bound, and his hands latched onto the windowpane of the rear passenger’s window he had destroyed. He managed to pull himself through the broken window and into the hoverspeeder before his hands – bloodied and ripped up due to the crystalline shards that remained in the windowpane – could succumb to the pain and betray him to the city streets below.

“Good save, commander,” B. praised the worn-out officer. His voice was cheerful, but the commander’s Force senses could tell there was a degree of nervousness in his voice. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, though. I thought for sure we had some Sith jet troopers on our hands!”

“I get that a lot, Bramhon,” the commander replied, panting for air. “The heart attack thing.”

“Yeah, well, try to avoid such heroics in the future,” Bramhon mentioned. “Speaking of, where is the rest of your squad?”

The commander winced as the grief of losing his squadmates returned to him. He had learned to cope with losing agents on these missions – in fact, he had lost a lot of teammates in the past – so the grief would pass soon. That did not remove the ache in his heart for the three agents that he would never speak to again.

“So they’re gone, eh?” Bramhon continued, knowing how to convert silence into words. “Well, don’t beat yourself up, Commander Djan. It was not your fault, I'm sure. Besides, you captured some of their data. The director will be pleased.”

“I’m sure he will,” Djan barked back, holding still seething with the pain of loss, “especially when he finds out he lost three good soldiers to Sith!”

Bramhon chose not to reply. There was nothing he could say. When Djan was in one of these moods, rationality was out of the question. He sighed. The commander certainly was a stubborn one. Nevertheless, Bramhon really did admire him. He was a strong soldier: reserved, collected, and responsible. He did take these losses a bit seriously, though. The pilot’s thoughts wandered from the sulking captain back to his original train of thought. The question would not stop nagging at his mind.

''How could any Human make that kind of jump? ''

Chapter 9

Raen Benax awoke with a start. He felt groggy and did not know where he was – at first, he was not even sure he was alive. Once he felt the pain in his chest, though, he knew that he had not yet become one with the Force. Glancing around, the ex-Sith attempted to figure out where he was. Raen found himself lying atop a broken table with a fanciful logo on the top – probably belonging to some gang of some sort. He figured he was in an apartment because he could see the poorly-painted walls and ceiling – its green-blue paint was tearing in several places and some parts were not even completely painted – and to his left he saw the Taris skyline, complete in all its splendor, through a transparent window. Reaching for his lightsaber, he suddenly realized that the weapon was not on his belt. His hands frantically scanned his belt for his lightsabers or his blaster, and he panicked when he realized that he did not have them.

“Looking for something?” a woman’s voice called out to the exiled Sith.

Raen’s glance diverted from the window toward the apartment door. On the right side of the door, a Togruta female sat against the wall, spinning one of Raen’s deactivated lightsabers in her hands. Raen noticed that she was dressed like an Alderaanian peasant. She wore a white sleeveless shirt beneath a rough leather jacket, and she had a thick black utility belt over her rugged denim slacks. Raen also noticed that she was not wearing shoes, and the Togruta’s red-colored feet were clearly visible.

“Give those back… they aren’t yours,” Raen growled.

The Togruta chuckled softly, and reached into her pocket. She traded Raen’s lightsaber for a lighter, and ignited a cigarra before placing it in her mouth. Blowing a few light puffs of smoke, she allowed Raen’s request to wistfully linger in the air – much like the cigarra smoke – before returning her attention to dazed individual. “I don’t think so. Finder’s keepers.”

Raen was visibly irate, and the Togruta snickered excitedly when she saw Raen’s reaction. The exiled Sith jumped from his makeshift cot atop the table and onto the apartment’s rough metallic floor. The Togruta stood up to meet the charging Raen, but she was now visibly indifferent toward Raen’s rage. Raen met the Togruta head-on, standing before her like a fearsome specter. The Force-sensitive swung his arm, slapping the Togruta across the face and causing her to stumble over. Her horned montrals and head-tails swayed with her battered head, and Raen was content as she staggered before him in pain.

His opponent’s red skin turned a darker shade of crimson. Raen figured that she would try to react violently and fight back; he would have to finish this quickly. Raen clenched her throat with his hand, holding her a few centimeters above the ground. She let out a light gasp before donning a mischievous smile. Raen returned her cheerful – and slightly mysterious – glance with a ferocious glare.

“Give me my weapons, or I will snap you in two,” Raen demanded.

“I was using that,” the Togruta responded, her voice taking a hoarse and irked tone.

Raen hardly noticed that when he had slapped her, she had lost her cigarra. But by then, it was too late. The Togruta’s foot swiftly traveled upward, nailing the exiled Sith in the groin mercilessly. The young Force-sensitive’s stomach heaved violently, and he yelped like a battered hound. Releasing the Togruta, Raen unknowingly submitted himself to the next wave of the Togruta’s attacks. Rushing forward, she kicked him below the belt two more times in vicious succession. Raen’s eyes watered, and he howled with each unrelenting strike.

His cracked voice begged for mercy, but the Togruta ignored him and continued her assault. She sent her lithe fist into his chest once and then elbowed him in the stomach, causing Raen to vomit inside of his mouth. To conclude her attack, the Togruta wrapped her other hand around Raen’s neck, pinching his throat and constricting his air passages. Gasping for air, Raen pleaded for clemency.

“Now then,” the Togruta stated, pleased with herself, “you behave, or I’ll keep kicking you. I’ll leave you alone if you will act like a civilized being. Deal?”

“Yes,” Raen managed to mutter.

“Good,” the Togruta replied, her former, more cheery tone returning. She released the hapless Sith exile, sending him to the floor with a crash. Raen did not care. He was just glad he could breathe again.

Silence overtook the both of them. The pain lingered across Raen’s body, but at least he knew that she would not attack him anymore. He limped over to the nearest chair and sat down, groaning every few seconds. The Togruta had retreated as well; by this point, she had returned to her position by the door and had lit a new cigarra.

“So why are you here, Jedi? We don’t get much of your kind here,” the Togruta mused.

“I was exiled,” Raen managed to say. “I was rejected by the Jedi Order because of my crimes. I am on my own now.”

The Togruta did not appear to take much interest in Raen’s explanation, instead focusing on the cigarra she was using. Standing, she walked around Raen and headed for the window. She stood motionless for several minutes; Raen figured she was admiring the view. The Tarisian skyline was certainly breath taking. The city’s whitewashed towers and apparently organized air-traffic filled the sky, in turn painting a vibrant picture on the transparent window-canvas of their hotel room. Raen noticed that he was getting drawn into the view and quickly diverted his attention elsewhere.

Raen continued. “Why did you save me? I had planned on dying after my descent.”

“I was shocked,” the Togruta muttered. “How in the galaxy did you survive that fall?”

“Telekinesis,” Raen replied curtly. “I wrapped myself in a repulsive barrier and allowed myself to levitate above the ground for a few seconds before my crash.”

Well, if you still want to die, that can be arranged,” the Togruta said, chuckling. She did not appear interested in Raen’s explanation. When the Sith exile shook his head to deny her request, she looked disappointed. “Very well. I saved you because I need your help, Jedi or not.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one here, genius!” the Togruta shot back. “I need an escort to take me down to the Lower City. It’s dangerous down there, and the path to get there is not exactly a pleasant stroll either.”

“Surely you’ve been down there before,” Raen said frankly, “why do you need help now?”

The Togruta hesitated. “I was going to accomplish some business down there. And I’m going to need some… muscle to do so.”

“I’m not your hired hound,” Raen spat. “And I don’t even know you. I’m not helping you with anything.”

“You owe me,” the Torguta reminded him. “Not only did I save your life, but I hid you from the Republic soldiers who were looking for you. Keep in mind: your ship destroyed a building. You probably ended up killing quite a few civilians in the process.”

Raen considered his options. He had felt his strength return to him, so – if it was necessary – he could kill this pest and be done with the entire ordeal. She was tough for someone who was not a Force-sensitive, though, and she seemed to have some skill in combat. Raen eventually decided that it was not worth it killing her here. She was right, he did owe her, but he did not intend on paying her back. Once he had acquired sufficient knowledge of where he was and where his relatives were, this deterrent would be dealt with. For now, he would play along.

“Fine,” he said, reluctantly. “I’ll help you.”

“Excellent,” she said. Turning from the window, the Torguta ran toward the door, smoke trailing her, and opened it in a single, fluid motion. “Well, let’s get going. No time like the present, right?”

Raen sighed, visibly annoyed, but complied with her request. Standing, he struggled towards the door, still limping from the Togruta’s initial viciousness. As he walked out of the door, he took notice of the blaster pistol – the one she stole from him – that the Togruta had placed on her belt. He knew he would have to be careful when he finally killed her. She was armed, dangerous, and she obviously knew how to use weaponry.

“If you’re going to keep my blaster, could you at least give me my lightsabers?” Raen said flatly.

Sighing, the Togruta handed the weapons to Raen. “You’re no fun. Can’t you Jedi survive without your weapons for five minutes?”

“No,” Raen replied, placing the weapons on his belt. “My name’s Raen Benax, by the way.”

“Selias,” the Togruta answered sweetly, “Selias Sittal.”

“Mind if I use your refresher?” Raen said, stopping before he walked out of the apartment. “I’d like to clean myself up.”

Selias’s eyes widened. “Our… uh… refresher doesn’t work. Don’t worry about it – where you’re going, it won’t matter how you smell or look – and just keep going. My work won’t complete itself.”

The exile and his Togruta companion left her room silently, heading toward the entrance of the apartment building. The halls and rooms were similar in coloration, although the hallways of the apartment appeared to be in a much worse shape than the rooms themselves. Unsurprisingly, Raen noticed several Human tenants as he proceeded through the otherwise-boring halls and stairwells of the apartment. However, Raen took notice of each Human who shot him and Selias a passing glance as they walked by them. Some of their expressions betrayed confusion, some pity, and others pure malice. Upon leaving the apartment, – appropriately named the Upper City Bargain Suite – the exiled Sith was annoyed when passersby continued to glare at the pair. Turning toward Selias, he noticed that this occurrence did not bother her at all.

“Selias,” Raen whispered to the Togruta, “why is everyone staring at us?”

“They’re not staring at you, darling,” Selias said, with as little emotion as she could. She tried not to look directly at the Sith exile. “They are staring at me.”

“But why?”

“I’m different. Alien. Sub-human. Freak,” Selias said, her voice becoming more hoarse with every word she uttered. “On Taris, Humans make the rules. Humans are better. Humans are superior. We’re forced to live in the slums and ghettoes of the lower levels of the city while you and your kind hoard wealth, throw lavish parties, and become prosperous in the Upper City.”

“That’s not fair,” Raen shot back, suddenly becoming interested. “If you can afford to live here, and you find yourself so inclined, you should be able to live wherever you please.”

“Oh, you’re so ignorant, Raen,” Selias replied. “That’s not how the galaxy works. We fear those who do not look, act, or think like we do. It’s natural. Don’t you despise me? Hate me beneath your otherwise somber exterior?”

Raen hesitated. It was true; he hated her. Not so much because she was an alien, but because she had become an annoyance and an obstacle. “No, I don’t,” he finally managed to say.

“Nah. You hesitated – I saw it in your eyes. The same look I get from everyone else! You and all the rest throw me ogling glances or malicious leers. But that’s okay. I don’t care. I think the same of you and all your kind as you do of me!” she paused for a moment, pondering her next words. “You hit me. They hit me. I’ll hit you all back. You think we’re trash, but you’re no better than we are!”

Raen was stunned to silence. Despite what he had thought, he truly did act the same as the xenophobic Humans he had been observing on their walk through the Upper City. It was a horrible feeling, and for the first time in a long time, Raen felt guilty. He could not explain exactly why, but inside his chest, he knew that what he thought and how he acted was wrong. For the time being, though, he ignored it. Sentimentality was a weakness he could not afford to inherit.

“Listen, Selias,” Raen finally said. “I don’t know what’s going on here, so I can’t say much. But if you really want things to change, I can talk to my uncle. He’s a powerful individual on Taris – or so I’ve heard. He can help you and your kind. It’s your life, and it’s your right to live here.”

Selias continued to walk as they spoke, and she didn’t say a word while Raen responded. She stayed silent for several minutes even after the exiled Sith had finished. Raen figured that she had ignored his artificial offer to help her, and since he could not gauge a reaction from the silent Togruta, he continued walking. He had taken several steps when he realized that she was not walking with him anymore. Turning around, he was about to shout at her, but he noticed that her face was contorted due to confusion. Even her brown eyes, which normally reflected her cheery demeanor, were hidden behind the smoke of her cigarra.

“You’re an idiot,” Selias finally responded, shattering the silence. “But at least you're an idealistic idiot. Come, we should hurry. We’ve wasted too much time talking.”

Raen’s mouth hung ajar as he took his turn stopping. He was appalled that she had nothing to say but insults. As she walked by him, he found his hands creeping toward his lightsaber hilt, ready to strike her down, but he managed to withhold the urge.

“Are you coming or not?” Selias asked, irate. “If you could shut your mouth and keep those feet moving, we could get this over with much faster.”

Raen ran after the annoyed Togruta and reached her in a matter of seconds. Instead of opposing Selias and her attitude, Raen stayed silent, musing over his next course of action. He knew that Selias was a second-rate citizen; running around the Upper City with her would not make things easy for him. At the same time, she did know much more about Taris than she did, and he had no credits nor had any directions to locate his relatives’ home. For the time being, Raen decided, Selias would live.

As they passed by a street-side medical station, a man bumped into Selias. He was dressed in fine clothes – a scarlet overcoat rested atop his ebony buttoned, sienna-colored undershirt, and a smooth leather belt with a lavish golden buckle rested upon his waist – and appeared several years older than Raen. His eyes were an enigmatic gray color like Raen had never seen, and his light blond hair was neatly combed – prim and proper – and Raen assumed that he was nobility. Traveling with him were several other individuals, all men, dressed in similar attire. When they paid the Togruta no mind, she turned and scowled at the group, intent on creating a scene, but Raen urged her to continue on without causing problems.

Once the pair continued on their way toward the Lower City, they failed to notice the same man who had bumped into Selias run after them. Performing a light jog to catch up with the two, the man grasped Raen’s left shoulder, causing him to turn around with a start.

“Excuse my intrusion, lad, but I noticed that you were traveling with a fine-looking Togruta. If you wouldn’t mind, my friends and I would like to borrow her. We will pay you, obviously, and she will be returned tomorrow just like new,” he said with an eerie smile on his pale, lightly powered face.

Raen’s eyes widened almost immediately. Although his initial reaction was to shove the man’s jewel-adorned glove away from his shoulder, he quickly decided against it. This could be his way to get rid of Selias for good. Carefully removing the man’s hand from his shoulder, Raen was about to accept the noble’s offer when Selias leapt at the man with her vibroblade, threatening to tear his blond hair from his pale face. Raen spat with disgust. He barely took notice of Selias tackle the man to the ground; instead, he turned his attention to the other nobles. Upon seeing their companion begin to get mangled by the Togruta, they each drew their concealed hold-out blasters, intent on defending him. Raen felt their intent and coughed loudly – attracting their attention to him – before reaching for one of his lightsabers. His actions successfully dissuaded any plans of attack they had.

By the time Raen had returned his attention to Selias and the single nobleman, he was surprised to find Selias on the ground and without her weapon. The noble had bested the Togruta, and he had firmly implanted his silken boot against her chest, keeping her pinned to the ground. Her knife was in his hands now, and he was stroking her neck with the blunt end of the weapon. She attempted to bite at his hand, but the aristocrat avoided her fangs and kicked her with his free foot.

“Now, now, don’t be hasty, you abominable beast. You’ll get your chance for things like that when I purchase you from your master over here,” turning toward Raen, the man’s voice changed to its previous upbeat tone. “So, how much are you willing to sell her for? I assure you, if she is harmed, we will pay you double.”

“Help… Raen…” Selias muttered, her voice ripe with fear and agony.

Raen was about to sell her off, but upon hearing Selias’s voice, his mind was changed in an instant. He realized that he had become no better than the Sith he had separated himself from. He was about to sell – and in the process, harm – an otherwise helpless young woman. “Dynatha…” whispered Raen. He had abandoned one woman, and she had been lost forever. Raen would not make the same mistake twice.

The man grumbled. “Whatever are you babbling about? I asked the price for-”

Raen cut him off by punching the man in the face, sending him flying off Selias and into his crowd of friends. Wiping the man’s blood from his clenched fist, Raen glowered at the noblemen as he helped Selias to her feet.

“Let me make one thing clear,” the Sith exile spat. “If you ever treat someone I know like that again, you will be sorry. Now get lost, before I make you.”

The group of rich Humans did not waste time giving any sort of response. Instead, they fled as fast as they could carry themselves, running toward the nearest Republic security office. Raen sighed as they left; he was hoping to carve up any of them stupid enough to challenge him. Turning toward Selias, he was surprised when she embraced him quickly and silently, throwing her bare, red-colored arms around his waist.

“Selias… they’re gone.” Raen stated, not knowing what else to say.

“I… they… Raen… no one has ever done that for me before,” she managed to say, her voice still a bit hoarse and at a whisper. “They were going to bring me away again. No one has ever stopped them. No one kept me from going with them. They just stood by and laughed. Some even went with them.”

“Selias, I’m sorry,” Raen whispered. “I’m sorry you’ve had to been through that. I’m sorry that had to happen. I’m sorry no one’s helped you before. I’m sorry I didn’t help you before.”

She forced a smile. She managed to mutter a quick ‘thank you’ before she steeled herself again. It took only a few seconds, but by then, she had become her reserved, tough self again. Raen was confused; it was almost as if she had become a completely different person. From there, the two traveled in utter silence, reflecting on the events that had just occurred as Selias led the way toward the Lower City.

***                                                                                                                  ***

In the silence of space around Taris, three Sith starfighters were hovering – motionless as the stars – amidst a backdrop of darkness. The vessels’ hulls were petite, possessing a rounded, cubic shape and a gray coloration. Their wings were flat in comparison to the body of the vessels and extended from their hulls on the port and starboard sides. Each of them lay in waiting behind Taris’s Rogue Moon, which effectively blocked their view of the planet and protected them from the wary eyes of the Republic.

Inside the lead starfighter, a Zabrak male was sitting patiently, monitoring his sensor board for incoming traffic. He was not wearing a standard flightsuit over his auburn skin, forgoing the traditional pilot garb for a suit of heavy forest-green combat armor, complete with a personal energy shield and jetpack. The sinuous horns atop his head prevented him from wearing any sort of piloting helmet, so he sat in the confines of his cockpit without one. During his silent scan of the vessels flying in and out of Taris’s atmosphere, he noticed a small, green blinking light on his flight panel, informing him that someone was trying to contact him. One of his men, no doubt.

Flicking the switch that opened the two-way comm channel, the Zabrak pilot spoke first, hoping – for the other person’s sake – he was not interrupted. “This is Gheas. What is it?”

“We’ve got an incoming transmission from the boss. Do you want it relayed?” the chirping voice of a Rodian spoke on the other end of the comlink.

“Of course, you idiot! Redirect it now,” Gheas bellowed.

The comlink was silent for several short seconds, until there was a soft click on the other end. Suddenly, a garbled transmission came through from the other end. “Is this Gheas?” a sullen, wispy voice asked.

“It is.”

“Good. My master’s forces are approaching Taris, like we suspected. While they distract the local law enforcement, you search the streets for him. Search the home of Dandek Benax first. He is rich, powerful, and knows many things about Taris. If he isn’t with him, kill him and move on.”

“We always kill our prey, Lord Preux,” Gheas hissed. “You don’t have to worry about that. The Nova Death Force always succeeds; that’s why we get paid.”

“See to it, then,” Preux responded drearily. “I have prisoners to deal with.” The comlink faded into silence once again, leaving Gheas to ponder on his upcoming mission.

Right on-schedule, two large Quartermaster -class carriers jumped out of hyperspace and headed straight for the Republic orbital defense station. Knowing that his two companions would follow, Gheas grabbed the controls of his Sith fighter and directed the previously immobile craft. As expected, the two other Sith starfighters followed him closely, and the three fighters linked up with the Quartermaster transports, providing them with a pseudo-escort.

“This is Taris Orbital Control on an open channel,” a taciturn, almost bored voice buzzed into the Sith pilot’s channel. “Please identify yourself and state your business.”

The Republic officer would receive no reply. Switching off his comlink entirely, Gheas diverted the trajectory of his vessel, throwing the lithe fighter away from the Quartermaster cruisers. The two other minuscule fighters followed suit, pulling themselves toward Gheas’s starfighter. The Republic space station began to prepare their primary weapon systems as a precaution, and the three starfighters prepared to dive into evasive maneuvers. However, it was already too late for the Republic station. One of the Quartermaster carriers accelerated to its top speed, propelling the vessel headlong into the space station itself. The suicidal vessel tore straight through the Republic station, tearing several gas pipes and energy coils on the way through, resulting in a titanic explosion. Burning wreckage and wasted chemicals were all that was left after the eruption of flame and fuel, and the Sith forces could now enter Taris’s atmosphere unhindered. The remaining Quartermaster and the three fighters began their descent toward the planet’s surface.

Gheas was giddy with excitement. It would not be long now. Within the hour, he would be on the planet’s surface, and he and his company would track down and hunt the Sith fugitive, Raen Benax. He couldn’t wait to savor the satisfaction of murder – of both Raen and a few civilians along the way. He loved his job.