Force Exile IV: Guardian/Part 3

5
The cross-shaped starfighter hung in the pitch-black emptiness of space. Emblazoned with the insignia of the Rebel Alliance, its external appearances belied the true allegiance of its pilot. At least, what those allegiances were supposed to be. As it turned out, they were growing increasingly complicated with every passing nanosecond.

Hasla exhaled heavily as she slowly grasped the lever that would accelerate her B-wing into hyperspace on the final leg of the jump. She stared at the glowing numbers that her navicomputer had spit out, coordinates that would take her to a location in deep space commonly used by the Yanibar Guard for discreet rendezvous. That was the destination prescribed by her mission, the end to her infiltration of the Rebel Alliance. However, she could not bring herself to pull the lever. Her comrades in Ice Squadron would need her skills. She could not just abandon them-they were counting on her for their very lives. The more she thought about it, the more conflicted she became. The faces of her squadmates in Ice Squadron flashed through her mind, filling her with doubt and uncertainty. They would be going on to Abridon for the raid on the Imperial shipyards there. They would be expecting her to be there, would be surprised when she didn’t revert from hyperspace with them. Would it throw them off rhythm? Would it cause the deaths of some of them? The nagging questions filled Hasla’s mind, and she was suddenly much less certain about pulling that lever. This was the first time she had seriously contemplated disobeying a direct order from Yanibar Guard Intelligence, but now, here she was. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the distractions, but to no avail. She tried opening her mind to the Force, immersing herself into its currents for guidance, but no immediate revelation was forthcoming.

She was startled out of her introspection by the crackling of her comm unit, snapping her back to reality.
 * “Ice Eight, are you going to jump or not?” drawled Ice Leader, a Corellian male. “You’re the last one left.”
 * “Uh, yes, sir,” she said, caught off guard and scrambling for an excuse. “I was just double-checking the coordinates.”
 * “Okay, Eight,” Leader replied, chuckling. “Just making sure you were awake.”

Hasla stared guiltily at her navicomputer, hesitating for a second, and then dialed in the other set of coordinates she’d been sent by Ice Leader. She knew that the Rebels would need her skills in battle. Intelligence could wait. She could explain away her failure to make the rendezvous, placate them by sending a secure transmission containing the B-wing plans and manufacturing information on a solo flight away from the base. Maybe even an update on the latest Rebel activities. The important thing was, she wasn’t going to the meeting point. She was going to Abridon, with her squadron.
 * “Yes, sir,” she answered Leader, doing her best to keep her voice even. “Jumping in three, two, one . . .”

The starlines elongated and then resolved themselves into a whirling tunnel of light as Hasla’s B-wing achieved superluminal velocities, bound for Abridon with the rest of Ice Squadron.
 * Obroa-skai
 * “Come along, dear, we haven’t got all day,” Milya said with just the right amount of haughtiness.
 * “Yes, madam,” Selu replied with the longsuffering expected of his role.

For once, he was thankful for the heavy costume he was wearing, long heavy robes in shades of red and purple, along with a sizable collar and a towering hat that Selu had immediately pronounced as utterly ridiculous. Lugging two sizable pieces of luggage in either hand, he had effected a dull expression befitting his role. Milya, on the other hand, seemed to delight in being the center of attention, clad in form-fitting cream-colored leggings and a matching expensive-looking jacket decorated with spangles and trimmed with fur-and featuring a plunging neckline. She strode confidently down one of Obroa-skai’s streets, heading towards one of their information centers, her matching cream-colored boots clacking on the walkway as she walked. Their personas were just as disparate from their actual personalities as their clothes were from their daily attire on Yanibar. Milya, supposedly a member of Kuat’s ruling merchant class, had become insufferably haughty, the very pinnacle of spoiled behavior and impatience. She treated Selu like he was an uncooperative pack animal, barely tolerating his presence. For his part, Selu played the role of a telbun, expected to defer to his mistress constantly and put up with her mannerisms. In Kuati society, telbun were considered barely human, a means to allow the aristocracy to further their own bloodlines. As such, Milya had no problems with verbally abusing him at every occasion, which elicited winces and looks of sympathy for Selu from onlookers, as well as maintaining a healthy distance from him, as if his very presence was distasteful. After a while, though, she noticed her erstwhile companion had fallen behind.
 * “I said come along,” she snapped, whirling on Selu with eyes blazing from irritation.
 * “I’m sorry, madam,” Selu replied dutifully. “I’m coming.”
 * “Well, do it faster,” she shot back. “You wouldn’t want me to get cold, would you? If I get cold, I’ll sulk, and that wouldn’t be fun, would it?”
 * “No, madam,” Selu said, shuffling along a little faster. “I’m coming, see?”
 * “I suppose so,” she sniffed.

They made their way through the chilly streets of the Obroan city, and Milya’s sharp tongue drew several looks of pity from passersby for Selu. The wind was funneled through the streets in between the buildings, blasting pedestrians with icy gusts and providing another excuse for Milya, alias Delanna Siostrenn, to vent her spleen on the hapless Selu.
 * “Look what your slowness has caused,” she berated him sharply, showing him her shivering hands. “I told you we should have called for a speeder.”
 * “Yes, madam,” Selu replied humbly. “I’m sorry, madam. You were right.”
 * “And next time, make sure there’s some warmer clothing laid out for me,” she added, completely ignoring him. “I won’t be caught dead walking around this place without my nerf-leather gloves.”
 * “As you wish, madam.”

And so it went, up until they reached the information center, where an elderly librarian urged Milya to be quieter, a request that she reluctantly acceded to. Even after they were settled into their secluded research alcove, sealed off by privacy screens, they maintained the charade. There was no place, other than the Hawk-bat, that they trusted to be secure enough to allow them to drop their assumed identities and speak to each other without the façade. Neither of them had lived this long by being less than cautious nearly to the point of paranoia.

Long hours were spent in the claustrophobia of the information center, running queries through massive databases in search of the mysterious species that Milya had seen in her vision. However, as they had pessimistically predicted, there was little to go off of. For one, Milya’s vision had been rather vague, and they had no names of worlds or species to use as search parameters. For another, they had to conduct their search without setting off any alarms. Selu more than once devoutly wished that he had access to the Jedi Archives of decades earlier, as he would have had far more access and the aid of Jedi librarians to help with his search. In this case, though, it was just the two of them.

Eventually, though, bleary-eyed from staring at the screens and projections, they called it a day. Milya needed very little effort to affect a grouchy attitude, while Selu too was exhausted. Slowly, they made their ridicule-filled way back to the hotel-the finest on Obroa-skai. Entering their suite, Milya conducted a thorough sweep for listening devices and thankfully, found none. Apparently, a Kuati noblewoman and her telbun were not objects for Imperial curiosity. Still, there were other forms of listening devices that were not so easily detected, so Selu and Milya maintained their charade.
 * “Well, that was certainly interesting,” Milya said drily as she bit into the ribenes they had ordered from room service. “Long boring hours spent in an information center enduring your company.”
 * “I’m sorry your search did not turn out as well as you were hoping, madam,” Selu answered dolefully.
 * “No matter. We’ll try again tomorrow,” she sniffed. “Do try and get it finished, though. I would like to be off this unsightly planet as soon as possible.”
 * “Yes, madam,” he replied.

The meal was largely eaten in silence, though, with an occasional comment or sharp remark from Milya. Once they had finished, though, Selu brought out a small cylindrical device and set it on the table.
 * “Is that what I think it is?” Milya asked him.
 * “Yes, madam,” he replied, flicking a switch on it.
 * “How thoughtful of you,” she said in her normal voice. “A dead zone generator. One of YGI’s favorite toys.”

Dead zone generators were a technology developed by Kraechar Arms and based off of a Bakuran field generator that prevented eavesdropping. Dead zone generators went a step further, scrambling signals and sound waves in a five meter radius. In all of YGI’s experiences with the devices, nobody had yet to penetrate the scrambling of the dead zone generator.
 * “That’s right, my love,” Selu said without any trace of the telbun’s dullness in his voice. “I would have showed you that earlier, but I wanted to keep any eavesdroppers placated with mindless conversation.”
 * “Of course,” Milya agreed. “And what did you have in mind now that we’re afforded our privacy?”
 * “Well,” Selu said, gently clasping her hand in his and pulling her close to him. “This is a very nice hotel room. Rather reminds me of our honeymoon on Bespin. I thought we might relive some of those experiences.”
 * “As long as you don’t mean fighting Dark Jedi,” Milya said, kissing him lightly.
 * “That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Selu said with a smile, reaching for the clasps on the front of her jacket. “Allow me to demonstrate.”
 * Tierfon Base

Hasla Almani filed into the briefing room with a vaguely perplexed look on her face, in the midst of the other ten pilots of Ice Squadron-Neezl had been lost over Abridon. Other pilots from other squadrons were there also, at least two others, and she caught sight of the Rogue pilots she had met the other day. Janson waved and tossed her a smile as she walked in and sat down. The briefing call was rather unexpected, though, given that it was occurring only a few hours after they had gotten back from Abridon. They’d already been debriefed on return and already they’d been called in to discuss the next mission? Something was up. She knew it.

To her surprise, the officer conducting the briefing was none other than General Madine, one of the Rebellion’s most celebrated heroes. She hadn’t even known he was on Abridon, and his presence meant that their mission was of grave importance. The stern, bearded man had once been an Imperial storm commando, despite his nondescript appearance and rather smallish stature. Upon his defection to the Rebellion, he had proved himself again and again, earning his title as a high-level officer and an expert in covert operations.
 * “Welcome,” he said. “I’m General Crix Madine, and I’m here to tell you that you all are at the spearhead of . . . well, some crucial times for the Rebellion. I know you’re tired from your raid on Abridon. Good work, there, but we have a number of new priorities. I’ll spare you the niceties. It’s going to be dangerous, hard missions from now until I say so. But know that what you’re doing is critical to the Rebellion’s war effort.”

A wave of murmuring swept through the assembled pilots, but Madine swiftly cut it off.
 * “These missions you’ll be undertaking are of such importance that we’ll be taking a number of unconventional security precautions. You’ll be moving out shortly, boarding ships that will take you to your strike zones. All shore leaves and off-base passes are canceled and any and all transmissions you send will be monitored. Surprise is crucial to our efforts, and we’ll need to be absolutely certain the Empire doesn’t catch on to what we’re doing. Now, our first strike will be against the planet of Bespin. After they took it over, the Empire placed a garrison there, but it was recently hit by Black Sun mercenaries, so it’s been fortified. Our job is to guard a number of cargo ships in to the Tibanna gas storage tanks . . .”

Hasla sat through the rest of the briefing paying only minor attention to Madine. She would catch up on the rest of the details with her squadron. She was more concerned about figuring out what the Rebellion was doing and how to get that information to YGI. If something important was in the works, they would want to know, expect her to report on their doings. However, Madine’s security precautions would make it difficult for her to get off a transmission, and her disappearance now would surely make the Rebels suspect that she was a traitor, jeopardizing their plans. Since those plans almost certainly included striking some major Imperial target, she was even more reluctant to abandon the Rebels now. Not to mention that they could certainly use her skills behind the controls of a B-wing.
 * “Hey, you okay?” a voice asked her.

Startled out of her introspection, she looked up to see a brown-haired human of average stature standing in front of her. Somehow, he looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him in her startled state. Glancing around, she realized that the other pilots were filing out of the briefing room; she was the only one still sitting.
 * “I’m fine,” she said. “Just thinking about the mission.”
 * “Little tired too,” he suggested. “Don’t worry. We all are after Abridon.”
 * “Yeah,” she agreed. “I could use a hot shower and eight hours of sleep.”
 * “You and me both,” the pilot agreed. “By the way, I’m Commander Wedge Antilles. Rogue Squadron.”
 * Seirla Trasani, sir. Ice Eight,” she said, offering her hand.

He shook it and fell into step beside her as she walked out of the briefing room, annoyed at her failure to recognize one of the Rebellion’s most famous starfighter pilots.
 * “No décor; don’t worry about the “sir”. Some of my pilots tell me that you’re pretty good in a starfighter,” he said casually, the use of “no décor” indicating that they could dispense with the typical military formalities.
 * “I’m all right,” she said. “Not anything like you.”

Watching holos of the Rogues in action, she’d been dazzled by the precision of their maneuvers, the finesse they brought to the art of flying snubfighters. There was a beauty in the way they wove their craft through space and hostile fire.
 * “You’re too kind,” he said smiling. “They suggested I see if you’re interested in joining Rogue Squadron.”
 * “Me? In Rogue Squadron?” she said, feigning surprise. “This is a joke, right? One of Janson’s schemes?”
 * “Not this time,” Antilles said ruefully. “I’ve seen the holos of you in action, though. You’re certainly good enough.”
 * “Thank you,” she said. “It’s sounds all very well, but . . .”
 * “But what?” he asked.

She sighed.
 * “I’m flattered. I really am. But I’d feel like I was abandoning my squadmates. They’re counting on me. I can’t just leave them now.”

Antilles nodded.
 * “Janson said you’d say that.”
 * “I’m sorry,” she said with some measure of sincere regret. “I have to decline your offer.”
 * “I understand,” he said. “Thank you for your time.”

He turned to walk off, but hesitated for just a moment, betraying a subtle indication that there was something else.
 * “Was there anything else?” she asked, knowing full well that there was.
 * “Actually . . . there was,” he said. “General Madine has allowed us one last bit of leave before we get shipped out. Some of the Rogues are going out to a nice restaurant on the town. Wes mentioned something about inviting you.”
 * “Is that an invitation from Janson?” she asked.
 * “Yes,” he said wryly. “It is.”
 * “I’ll consider it,” she replied. “What’s the attire?”
 * “Anything but these,” he said, tugging at his sweat-soaked orange flight suit.
 * “Sounds good,” she said, laughing. “I’ll meet you and your pilots at the speeder garage in an hour.”
 * “See you there,” he said.

An hour later, Hasla felt fairly presentable, having cleaned herself up from the sweat and grime of the mission. Given a choice between a nice but fairly utilitarian look in pants and a blouse or a fancier dress, she had indulged in the dress, even coiffing her hair into something more attractive than a ponytail. The dress, pale green shimmersilk, clung to her body, the halter top fitting snugly against the back of her neck to leave her upper back bare, while a long slit allowed flashes of her silvery legs to show in between layers of green silk as she walked. It was the one nice dress she had brought with her, and she hadn’t worn it yet. While it had originally been provided in case she needed to infiltrate a formal occasion, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to show it off a little, if only just to wow the hotshot fighter pilots of Rogue Squadron.

Walking into the speeder garage, she saw a small cluster of four men in civilian dress standing around a landspeeder. She strode confidently up to them, flashing a smile towards them.
 * “Hey, she came through after all,” Hobbie commented.
 * “And looking great, too,” Wes remarked with a low whistle. “Glad you could make it.”
 * “Me too, I think,” she said with a wink at the dark-haired handsome pilot. “So, where are we off to?”
 * “Our mission is as follows,” Janson said stiffly. “We are to head into town and find a nice restaurant. Our expectations are wining and dining. Hopefully lots of them.”
 * “Do all your mission briefings sound like that?” Hasla teased.
 * “Only the ones Wes conducts,” Tycho said with a small shake of his head.
 * “Well, what are we waiting for?” Hobbie asked, and the others concurred.

The five of them piled into the landspeeder and sped off through the cool evening of Abridon into town, eager to enjoy the evening. The wind gently rustled the leaves of the trees as the speeder wove its way towards the cluster of light nestled into a valley that represented a brief reprieve from the galactic struggle between rebellion and empire, a time of solace for their war-weary hearts.
 * Magrody Institute, Corulag

The halls of the university were impressive-high vaulted ceilings with soaring arches mixed with stained-glassine windows colored with the blue, white, and orange themes favored by the university. The mid-morning sun streamed through the windows, augmenting the glowpanels lining the walls and ensuring that the halls were brightly lit. Branching off from the main halls were classrooms of various sizes, some of them expansive auditoriums and lecture halls, others smaller study nooks and cramped laboratories filled with the latest gear. The air was thick with the smell of learning, which according to Sarth smelled like old datacards, tinged by faint traces of the floor cleanser used by the maintenance droids. Students quietly milled through the corridors, clumped in knots around a conversation, talking on their personal comlinks, walking from one class to another. Most of them were Human, which was unsurprising given Corulag’s prominence as a model Imperial world and its largely Human populace.

Sarth and Cassi, both in their thirties and generally too young to be faculty, too well-dressed to be one of the few organic custodians, and too old to be students, made their way through the halls. They were given plenty of room to move by the others-their purposeful strides marked them as people moving towards a clear objective and their upper-crust clothing indicated that they were used to money, and therefore, used to having their way.

They had managed to reach Corulag without a hitch, thanks to the identities provided to them by YGI, which had a number of formerly unsavory characters in its employ for this sort of work. Upon landing, they had taken a speeder to the Magrody Institute of Programmable Intelligence, where Nasdra Magrody held a number of important positions. The institution had done its best to collect as many of the galaxy’s best and brightest students that it could who were interested in any number of technical fields, particularly those related to programming. Sarth had attended classes there, earning an advanced degree in droid programming, and he was once more absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells of the institution where he had truly come into his own, the place where his talents and genius had first been appreciated.

Pausing in front of a brightly-lit directory panel which lit up various segments of the university with descriptive text boxes when the glowing panels representing various buildings were touched, Sarth looked at the map, looking for Magrody’s office. His stopping at a map came as a surprise to his wife, who was used to Sarth’s memory guiding him to the right location instinctively.
 * “Don’t you remember where the office is, dear?” she asked, affecting a Corellian accent for the benefit of any listeners.
 * “Not exactly,” he sniffed, having adopted an almost insufferably haughty tone as part of his persona. “A lot can change in a few years, and universities shuffle their offices around like a deck of sabacc cards.”
 * “Yes, of course,” she said as Sarth returned to poring over the display.
 * “Hey, you folks need some help?”

Sarth and Cassi turned to see a young human male standing there, obviously a student, judging by the sizable backpack and datapad he was carrying. Frail of frame and light of build, with pale skin that marked him as someone who didn’t get much exposure to sunlight, his thin brown hair was unruly and sticking up, as if he’d just woken up. Still, he seemed friendly enough, though he appeared slightly dazed.
 * “Yes, thank you,” Sarth said. “We are looking for the office of Nasdra Magrody and this map does not seem to have an efficient search function.”
 * “Oh, sure,” the student replied. “I know where that is. You’re in the right building, but it’s two floors up, and down a . . . never mind. I can take you there.”
 * “Once again, thank you,” Cassi said.
 * “No problem,” he replied flippantly. “I’m Alris, by the way. Alris Stadest-Zornberger. You can just call me Alris.”
 * “I can see why. I’m Skart Kraest, and this is Lady Kraest,” Sarth replied, gesturing towards the corridor. “After you.”

Alris led them through a series of brightly-lit halls and up several wide flights of granite stairs, greeting various friends as he passed by, or pointing out attractions or points of interest on the campus as they walked by a wide gallery of upper-floor windows that offered a panoramic view of much of the institute. The young man was a never-ending fountain of conversation, and though Sarth and Cassi said little in return, he seemed to revel in filling any silences with speech, as if he rarely got the chance to talk to other people at length very often. Sarth, however, was content to let Alris talk and soak in the university. It had grown considerably since the last time he’d been here, and the upper floors had been decorated since his time here, painted in a soothing light color and decorated with real pieces of artwork, both actual paintings and sculptures, placed in recessed alcoves lining the wall and illuminated by various glowpanels that provided subtle lighting to enhance the artwork. There were pieces from a dozen worlds, all by different artists, and each with a history of its own. Sarth found it a relaxing atmosphere and even Cassi, who preferred the beauty of nature over the austere atmosphere of the university, found it pleasing to the eye.

Finally, they arrived at Magrody’s office after walking past the department secretary at her desk. To Sarth’s disappointment, the door, a plain white affair with a hololabel that read “Magrody, Nasdra” was closed and locked.
 * “Well, that’s not very much help,” Sarth remarked, disgruntled.
 * “Hey, Prof Magrody’s been missing for awhile,” Alris replied.
 * “Then why did you bring us here?” Sarth chided, the impatience of his role coming to the forefront.
 * “You were the one who wanted to get to the office, right? You didn’t say anything about finding Magrody himself,” Alris answered with utter nonchalance.
 * “Why else would we have come here?” Sarth asked with weariness that was only partially part of his assumed persona.
 * “Skart-,” Cassi cautioned him gently. “Maybe Alris can tell us where Professor Magrody has gone.”
 * “Perhaps,” Sarth muttered, somewhat mollified but still annoyed. “Do you know where he’s gone?”
 * “Not quite sure,” Alris replied. “He went on extended leave about a month ago, and we haven’t heard from him since.”
 * “Did you know him?” Cassi inquired.
 * “I did,” Alris answered, a little hesitantly. “I met him a few times, and he seemed nice, brilliant for sure, but a little distractedly.”
 * “That’s Magrody for you,” Sarth agreed. “But nobody’s been able to contact him for a month?”
 * “No, not even via the ‘Net,” Alris answered. “Like I said, we haven’t heard from him at all. Messages sent to him are returned to the sender. It’s like he disappeared.”
 * “Disappeared?” Sarth said. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

A frown appeared on Alris’s face, accentuating the several red pimples dotting his face. For all his attempts at being permanently blasé about everything, the young man obviously had some concern for Magrody’s welfare.
 * “Do you think something bad happened to him?” he asked.
 * “It’s possible,” Sarth replied vaguely. “Depends-I might be able to figure something out, but I’ll need to acquire more data.”
 * “Wait,” Alris replied. “Shouldn’t we go to the law for this?”
 * “And tell them what?” Sarth said, scoffing at the idea. “That we have a faint hunch that a respected university professor on a leave of absence has actually been involved in foul play? You’d be laughed out of the station.”
 * “So, what do we do?” Alris asked.

Sarth paused, considering the matter. He had been improvising, but now he needed a moment to think about what he wanted to do next, what he needed to do in order to find Professor Magrody. Then, the answer came to him. Carefully, he looked around to make sure that nobody was listening, but the only person in earshot was the department secretary, who seemed to be thoroughly engrossed in her entertainment holozine
 * “I need access to the university’s computer systems,” he said quietly. “Preferably somewhere secluded and that can be used for some outside-the-storage-cylinder techniques.”
 * “What are you going to do?”
 * “I’m not entirely sure yet. For the moment, just get me the terminal, and I’ll explain as I work.”
 * “Okay,” Alris said with a shrug. “Follow me.”

Sarth gave Cassi an exasperated look, reflecting his frustration with Alris. The young man reminded him all too much of his younger self, albeit an infinitely more irritating version of his younger self, but with with a significant lack of endearing personality traits. She merely smiled in reply, shook her head, causing her blond tresses to sway slightly, and made a gesture that indicated to Sarth that he need to calm down. For all that his haughty mannerisms as Skart Kraest were a ruse, she could tell that Alris really had managed to get under Sarth’s skin.

Once more, they followed him through a dizzying maze of corridors, through milling groups of students of various species-although the vast majority were human, which was unsurprising on a Core World. Still, Alris knew where he was going and led them confidently to a rather unattractive single-level building, which unlike most of the Magrody Institute, had lower ceilings, giving the large room that occupied the entire building’s interior a rather cramped feeling. The ceiling was mosaic, with various abstract swirls and patterns of color stretching across the tiles, and the room was filled with rows upon rows of nondescript cubicles, each with privacy screens and computer terminals. Here and there, support columns holding the roof dotted the floorplan, most of them near intersections of the aisles that granted access to the rows of cubicle workstations. Aside from the mosaic, there was little decoration in the room, just the identical cubicles. Most of them were unoccupied, but the room seemed crowded, the air stale, as if the carpet, which was once deep blue but now more of a dark brownish-blue from stains, was badly in need of cleaning.

None of that seemed to bother the effusive Alris, however, who quickly led them inside.
 * “Well, here we are,” he said proudly. “The east terminal lab.”
 * “This wasn’t around when I was here,” Sarth said. “It was under construction.”
 * “I’m surprised there aren’t more people here,” Cassi commented.
 * “Eh, you’d think so,” Alris said. “But it’s an older building, with older terminals.”
 * “And definitely lacking in ambience,” Sarth said dryly. “I can’t imagine doing anything else but staring at a terminal in here.”
 * “True,” Alris admitted. “That’s why most of the students use the west terminal lab-it’s even newer and was built with more aesthetics in mind. But you said you wanted secluded, so here we are. This place is great for when you want a quiet moment where there aren’t any other people, especially informers, around.”
 * “Thank you,” Sarth said, slipping into an unoccupied cubicle. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Two hours later, Sarth, using an account provided to him by Alris, had quickly forged several dummy accounts and had sliced deep into the university records, bypassing firewalls and security measures with an ease that astounded Alris, who had watched Sarth, enrapt. For the first twenty minutes, the student, who had informed them of his interest in computing, had peppered Sarth with questions, until finally, he’d had enough and asked Alris as firmly as he could manage while still being polite to give him some peace and quiet to concentrate. That had subdued Alris somewhat, and he limited his questions and comments to a few terse sentences every five minutes or so, which Sarth found much more manageable. Cassi, having rapidly grown bored of watching lines of code scroll down a screen, had taken her leave, saying she would walk around the campus, explore a little bit, and meet them for lunch. Sarth, distracted by the challenge of hacking into a new system, had let her go with barely a moment’s pause, figuring she could take care of herself, and trusting that the Force would tell him if they were in any danger. So far, he’d sensed little that indicated immediate threats, but his limited Force senses were also unable to point him in the direction he needed to go in order to find Nasdra Magrody.

Finally, though, Sarth’s reticence prompted Alris to pull out his datapad and amuse himself with something else besides watching Sarth work. This was much to Sarth’s relief, as he was able to get far more done without having to worry about Alris looking over his shoulder. There was also the possibility that, although most computer science students tended to slice into systems for the sheer enjoyment of it, Alris might report him for slicing into secure university systems. At any rate, Sarth was just happy to be working again, and doing something useful. Or rather, what he hoped would be useful. Despite cracking through all kinds of security with an ease that really was unexpected given that the university administrators had to know about a certain aforementioned predilection of brilliant computer scientists when it came to secure systems, Sarth had yet to find anything that gave him a clue as to where Nasdra Magrody had gone, and why. It wasn’t for lack of trying either-Sarth had been his usual meticulous self when it came to slicing and searching for data. Disappointed and hungry, he erased his electronic tracks, making sure that he couldn’t be traced back to the station, and closed down the terminal in order to meet Cassi for lunch.

Having downloaded a map of the institution to his datapad, he walked to the nearest on-campus dining facility, where they had agreed to meet for sake of time and convenience, rather than out of any particularly fond memories of the campus food. He found his wife waiting for him by the entrance in a sea of students, and she smiled brightly as he approached.
 * “There you are,” she said. “I was afraid you’d lost track of time.”
 * “Sorry about that,” Sarth answered apologetically. “I got a little distracted.”
 * “It’s okay,” Cassi said understandingly, as this was far from the first time her husband had been distracted by his work. “Let’s just eat.”

They entered the dining facility, grabbing pre-prepared lunch trays from the dispensers. The room was packed and decorated in garish colors of the ubiquitous blue, white, and orange. Sarth remembered the tile walls well-that particular material had been chosen because of its ease of cleaning in case of food fights or other messes. The two said little as they carried their trays over to one of several cashier stations located at various locations through the facility, mostly because of the cacophony around them.

Sarth paid the droid cashier for the unappetizing-looking meal and then navigated through a crowded maze of students standing around, students eating meals of their own, students talking to other students, heading towards the back of the facility. Finding an occupied table that was relatively secluded in the packed and noisy cafeteria, he pulled the chair out for Cassi, then took his own seat. Peeling off the plastifilm wrapper from the lunch tray, he looked resignedly at the food inside it, then began poking at it with his fork. Cassi was a little more straightforward, taking a bite out of the main course, but her shocked and horrified facial expression upon tasting the food was enough to make Sarth chuckle.
 * “Sorry, I should have warned you. Cafeteria fare isn’t exactly the same as a home-cooked meal,” he said.
 * “Euwgh, no,” Cassi said, grimacing at the taste. “What is that?”

Sarth looked at the label on her package.
 * “It’s supposed to be gukked egg,” he said. “I never liked that one.”
 * “You used to eat these?”

Sarth shrugged. “My palate wasn’t quite as refined during my years as a student.”
 * “It’s a wonder you survived.”
 * “Let’s just say that I’m glad you introduced me to real cooking,” he said, smiling at her.
 * “Something I’ll be happy to get back to,” she quipped. “Never mind the lunch, though. What did you find?”

Sarth dropped his gaze, the gesture laden with disappointment.
 * “Not much of anything, really. I scoured the systems, but I couldn’t seem to find anything at all indicating the whereabouts of Nasdra Magrody. Not in the central university database, not in his communication logs, nowhere. There’s no electronic trail at all telling where’s he gone, and that concerns me.”
 * “Nothing at all?”
 * “No,” he said heavily. “And it gives me a really bad feeling about this.”
 * “Would it make you feel any better if I told I had a possible lead?” Cassi asked slyly.
 * “You do?” Sarth replied, clearly curious and more than a little impressed. “What did you find?”
 * “While you were digging around in the computers, I figured I’d talk to some of the other professors; pose as a journalist and see if they knew anything about where Professor Magrody had gone, in the interests of interviewing him.”
 * “And?”
 * “I talked to a nice old man who happened to be a colleague of Nasdra Magrody’s. His name was Dr. Benzep-Naes, a professor of applied mathematics. He said to come back after lunch, and he’d tell us what he knew.”
 * “Good work,” Sarth said gratefully.
 * “Thanks,” she replied lightly, shrugging off the compliment.
 * “No, I mean it,” he persisted, looking deeply into her light blue eyes. “Your helping with this really does mean a lot to me, Cassi. Thank you.”
 * “I know,” she said simply as he leaned in for a quick kiss. “You’re welcome, Sarth.”

Soon enough, they managed to get through at least part of their meals-Cassi found that the jellied fruit included as a side was edible, while Sarth struggled through his main course, some kind of meat stew laden with grease. After having gratefully discarded the lunch trays and exited the noisy, claustrophobic dining facility, Sarth followed Cassi across a wide grassy lawn that provided some level of openness to the campus, heading for Dr. Benzep-Naes’s office, which was in another building similar to the hall where Magrody’s office was located. Upon arriving, Cassi gently knocked on the door.
 * “Come in,” came the reply.

Cassi gingerly opened the door and walked through, into a smallish office filled largely with movable holoboards that had calculations scribbled all over them, with a few chairs here and there. The walls were covered with holoposters pertaining to mathematics and award plaques, marking this as someone of considerable academic import and accomplishment. There was a sense of organized chaos about the room-there was no obvious pattern to the objects strewn about the office, but yet somehow everything seemed to have its place. Seated behind a sizable desk that occupied much of the room and cluttered with datapads, datacards, and other various technical gadgetry was an older man, dressed in formal Alderaanian fashion, with a sweeping cloak over a solid-tone gray tunic, neatly pressed. The light from the room’s lone window shone on his graying hair, but his blue eyes were bright, his expression amiable. The man’s face was aged and weathered, filled with intelligence but world-weary. Cassi’s Force senses didn’t detect anything dishonest emanating from him, which was a small relief.
 * “Hello, Dr. Benzep-Naes, it’s me-Cassi Kraest. We talked earlier.”
 * “Yes, please, come in, have a seat,” he replied, standing as they entered.

As the man spoke, Sarth detected a fairly heavy Alderaanian accent, which was unsurprising given his clothing and the holo of the Castle Lands, an Alderaanian landmark, on his desk.
 * “Thank you,” Cassi said. “By the way, this is my husband, Skart Kraest, of Kraechar Arms.”
 * “Pleased to meet you both,” he said. “Now, you said you were wondering about Nasdra Magrody, is that right?”
 * “That’s correct,” Sarth answered. “My wife had hoped to interview him, while I was an acquaintance of his, back when I went to school here. I’d hoped to catch up with him.”
 * “Well, Nasdra and I were fairly good friends,” Benzep-Naes replied. “I’ve missed him since he’s been gone.”
 * “Do you know why he left?” Sarth asked.
 * “I’m not sure for certain,” Benzep-Naes started, only to be interrupted by a beeping sound on his datapad. “Ah, if you’ll excuse me. One of my student researchers has brought me something of interest. Do you mind if he interrupts for a minute?”
 * “Not at all,” Sarth answered congenially.
 * “Come in,” Benzep-Naes said to the door, which slid open to reveal Alris.
 * “Fancy seeing you here again,” Alris said, closing the door behind him with a slight glower at Sarth.
 * “A pleasant surprise indeed,” Sarth answered somewhat insincerely.
 * “What is it, Alris?” Dr. Benzep-Naes asked. “I’m in the middle of something here.”
 * “I can see that, sir,” Alris replied. “And I suggest you not say another word to them.”
 * “And why not?
 * Because they’re not who they claim to be,” he answered confidently.

Sarth and Cassi reflexively stiffened.
 * “Preposterous,” Sarth sniffed, slipping fully back into the stuffiness of the Skart Kraest identity. “There’d better be a good explanation for this.”
 * “I might say the same to you,” Alris said darkly, the talkative student of earlier replaced by a fiercely protective figure with much more edge in his voice.
 * “Alris, what proof do you have? Justify your accusation,” Benzep-Naes said, and Sarth somehow suspected he was using the exact same tone he would have employed in a lecture hall after being shown a solution to a math problem by a student.
 * “Mr. Kraest over there said that he was around when the east terminal lab was under construction, before it opened. That narrowed down the possibilities of when he was here, since he had to have graduated before it opened, based on what he said. I then searched the list of enrolled students at those times, looking for a Skart Kraest.”
 * “And you’ll find my name on the list of students,” Sarth said dismissively. “I don’t see anything suspicious about that.”
 * “Of course not,” Alris replied. “It’s not impossible to slice into and alter that sort of record by inserting a believable name and individual in there. There are just a couple problems. First, the accounting office has no record of any funds being transferred to or from Skart Kraest’s account, and they keep records of all funds transfers back to the opening of the Institute. Second, I went into the records of several professors who Skart Kraest had, according to his transcript, and none of them have him in any of their documents aside from their final gradebooks.”
 * “I see,” Sarth said.
 * “That does seem to be rather telling evidence,” Benzep-Naes replied mildly. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”
 * “Only that you people seem to have done your work rather well,” he answered mildly. “I can’t really argue with the thoroughness of your researcher’s argument.”
 * “And it only took me two hours to come up with,” Alris boasted.
 * “Well, if you’re not Skart and Cassi Kraest, then who are you?” asked the professor.
 * “Quite simply, I am Skart Kraest, and this is Cassi Kraest,” Sarth said firmly. “We are who we say we are. However, early on in my career, my lack of an educational pedigree was cause for several sizable firms to reject my application for employment. In order to forestall any further such instances, I made myself a student here at the Magrody Institute, but never actually attended any classes. I did study under Nasdra Magrody, but it was private tutelage-something my employers didn’t believe until I made my fake student account there.”

He sighed heavily.
 * “I certainly didn’t imagine it would come back to me now.”
 * “I see,” replied Benzep-Naes with the same mild manner.
 * “Wait, just a minute,” Alris demanded. “How do we know that they’re not lying now?”
 * “If you’ll excuse me, we came here to discuss the disappearance of Nasdra Magrody,” Cassi replied. “If you’re not going to tell us anything, well, I suppose we’ll be on our way.”
 * “Not so fast,” Alris said hotly.
 * “Hold it, Alris,” Benzep-Naes interjected quickly. “She’s right.”
 * “But we can’t just let these impostors escape. They’ll want—people deserve to know the truth. They owe it to us,” Alris said, fumbling for words.
 * “Not all data is relevant,” Benzep-Naes corrected. “There’s no reason to make a commotion about it.”

Sarth studied their interaction intently, observing as passively as possible. Something was not quite right-some variable was still unknown to him and Cassi. A piece was clearly missing. However, he let his face betray none of this knowledge; instead, he drew upon the Force to analyze the situation, to seek out what the professor and Alris were concealing.
 * “What if there is?” Alris persisted, his eyes darting to something in Benzep-Naes’s desk drawer.
 * “If there is, then your talking is only making things worse!” Benzep-Naes said forcefully.

Alris stood quietly, subdued by the professor’s firm tone and the resulting silence was injected with a sudden tension. However, the abrupt halt to the conversation had given Sarth enough time to finish formulating what he believed was a pretty accurate deduction of the missing piece.
 * “Let me see if I can help clear matters up,” he said conversationally. “I’m guessing that you two are members of a Rebel cell and you’re trying to decide whether to report us to your superiors.”
 * “The Rebel Alliance, here? That’s absurd,” Alris responded indignantly.
 * “Sure, of course, it is,” Sarth replied in the same tone. “Then why are thinking so hard about the blaster in the desk?”
 * “What blaster?” Alris said, but with less vehemence.

Sarth shrugged dismissively.
 * “Go ahead and pull it out. Or, if you want, I can examine the drawer. I surmise there’s a false back inside that conceals the weapon.”
 * “Justify your claim,” put in Benzep-Naes, who still hadn’t twitched from behind his desk, or so much as flinched in response to Sarth’s accusation.
 * “It’s fairly obvious you’re not Imperial,” Sarth said. “There aren’t too many Alderaanians supportive of the Empire at the moment, and your friend here was a little too familiar with slicing into the database and a trifle too unguarded with his tongue. He practically gave it away. Plus, you two lack the edge that one would expect from the Empire. Not enough menace, perhaps.”
 * “And the blaster in the drawer?” Benzep-Naes asked.
 * “Are you saying there’s not one in there?” Sarth answered.
 * “No,” Alris muttered, pulling open the drawer and activating some sort of control that released a panel.

Reaching into a hidden compartment, he withdrew a small holdout blaster, pointing it at Sarth.
 * “See?” Sarth replied. “There it is.”
 * “Who are you to be asking questions, anyway?” Alris asked. “I’m the one with the blaster.”
 * “I can assure you that we’re not Imperials,” Sarth answered calmly. “If we were Imperial Intelligence, this situation would have unfolded far differently. Their methods are distinctly less genteel.”
 * “So then who are you?” Alris demanded.
 * “We’re concerned friends of Nasdra Magrody,” Cassi spoke up. “We want to find him, but we need your help to do so.”
 * “And don’t worry,” Sarth added. “Your secret’s safe with us. We have no love for the Empire either.”
 * “I don’t believe you,” Alris snapped back.
 * “We mean well,” Cassi said, addressing Benzep-Naes. “We didn’t want any trouble-we just want to find Professor Magrody. That’s why I talked to you in the first place.”
 * “I don’t know about this,” Alris said. “I don’t like it.”

Sarth sighed, frustrated by the young man’s stubbornness.
 * “Please, Alris. I know what it’s like to be a student like you, and I comprehend how difficult it is for you to trust us. But we’re trying to help Nasdra Magrody, and if you would like to see him back safely, kindly cease the theatrics.”
 * “Skart,” Cassi reproved. “You might be more convincing if you were a little less confrontational.”
 * “I apologize,” Sarth said, realizing that he might have pushed the young man too far with his words.
 * “Look,” Cassi said, as sincerely as she could. “I know it sounds like a lot to swallow, and that you don’t really know us. If I were in your shoes, I’d be skeptical too. But Skart is right in that we won’t reveal your secret, and we can help find Professor Magrody-if you can point us in the right direction.”

She watched Dr. Benzep-Naes’s response to her argument, knew that her words had made an impact. But how much? Would the professor be swayed by her gentle tone and sincerity? To her, he seemed like someone who would prefer to see a mathematical proof of their innocence, or at least harmlessness, rather than hear a persuasive speech. Still, she could tell that he at least wanted to believe them, unlike Alris, who, his dignity wounded by Sarth’s badgering, appeared to be sulking-with a blaster in hand.
 * “All right,” the professor said at last. “One thing, though: I know damned little about you, and you know precious little about me, and let’s keep it that way. We’re all suspicious coots in here; let’s stipulate that and move on. I’m not entirely sure if I believe everything you’ve told me, but Nasdra was a friend of mine. I’d go to great lengths to see him back again.”
 * “Fine by me,” Cassi said.

Benzep-Naes looked pointedly at Alris, who scowled and put the blaster back in the drawer.
 * “Now, what did you want to know?” Benzep-Naes asked.
 * “When was the last time you saw him?” Sarth asked.
 * “It was about a month ago,” Benzep-Naes said. “Nasdra came in early one morning. Seemed awfully distracted and agitated. Said he had some files to retrieve.”
 * “Did he mention anything unusual or something that was troubling?” Cassi inquired.
 * “Not really,” Benzep-Naes said, frowning as he tried to recollect the events of that day. “He did stop and tell me that he was going away for awhile. Had this haunted, faraway sorta look in his eyes.”
 * “Did he say where he was going?” Cassi asked.
 * “No, he didn’t,” Benzep-Naes answered.
 * “Was there anything else?” Sarth questioned.
 * “I’m afraid not,” the professor said sadly. “I wish there was something else.”
 * “Professor Magrody had a family,” Sarth recalled. “Do you know where they lived?”
 * “Eh, I think I have it in my records,” replied Benzep-Naes. “It’s against policy to give that out, though.”
 * “Is that a problem?” Sarth asked.
 * “Not at all,” Benzep-Naes agreed, taking the remark lightly. “Here you go. They lived locally, not too far away. I should have thought to check on them, see how they are.”
 * “We’ll take a look,” Sarth said.
 * “Thank you for your help,” Cassi said gratefully. “Now we have somewhere to start, at least.”

Benzep-Naes nodded in reply and the two took their leave of the professor and a somewhat sullen Alris. Relieved and still slightly in shock from the strange turn of events they had just witnessed, they cautiously made their way back to the Silent Surprise, taking extra care to insure they weren’t being followed.

They said little-both were deep in thought even as they walked. Alris and Benzep-Naes hadn’t fit either of their ideas of what a Rebel cell member might look like, and it was a stark reminder of just how heated the conflict between Rebellion and Empire was becoming. On Yanibar, in the isolated world they lived on, the conflict was an item in the newsfeeds, something that was mentioned in passing and which occurred on faraway worlds. Here, inside the Empire, it was very real and a matter of life-and-death. Those two, one barely into manhood and the other far past his prime, were playing with forces beyond their control.

For her part, Cassi at least feared that something bad would eventually befall them-neither of them were particularly talented in the arts of hiding their true allegiances, and they would fare poorly if discovered, to say the least. It wasn’t in her to allow people to walk into danger unwarned, but she knew they would undoubtedly reject any attempts she made at discouraging them from trying to openly aid the Rebellion. She was pretty sure she liked Dr. Benzep-Naes; despite his seemingly cut-and-dry nature, he was an understanding, wise man-she was sure of it. She also naturally felt sorry for Alris and didn’t understand why Sarth was so hard on him.

Though he hid it, Sarth too believed that the student and professor were out of their league. He also felt some kind of kinship with Alris, despite their verbal sparring. The young man did remind him of himself, though Sarth told himself that he was never that clumsy and at least a bit more charming. Certainly never that talkative, or annoying. However, Sarth knew what it felt like to be a lonely genius, involved in things that were beyond his comprehension. That was possibly why Alris got to him so. And part of his disguise had meant assuming a rather abrasive personality, one which Alris apparently did not take to. Still, there was little they could do for either Alris or Benzep-Naes, as there was no chance of evacuating them or dissuading them from actively aiding the Rebellion. It was out of their hands, so they returned to the Surprise for the evening-spending nights on the ship was easier, safer, and aroused less suspicion. In the morning, they planned on investigating the Magrody residence, but for now, the startling events of their day had worn them out, and sleep came quickly to both of them.

6
Milya stirred and awoke slowly, stretching her arms out and yawning. She turned groggily to her side to see that the other side of the bed was empty; Selu had already risen. Slipping out of bed, the covers fell away as she stood up. Walking over towards the refresher station at the back of their room, she saw Selu, wearing only a pair of shorts, in a cross-legged seating position on the floor, but a closer look told her that he was holding his body a few centimeters off the ground with his arms, his eyes closed in concentration and beads of sweat from the exertion of effort required to hold himself up. It was a difficult Matukai meditation, one that combined focus of mind with intense physical strain, like many of their exercises, and not one that he did often.

She stood by him uncertainly, unsure if she should interrupt him, but he was in the way. A minute later, one of his eyes opened and he turned to look at her curiously. That proved to be too much for him, though, and he fell to the ground, wincing and rubbing his sore arms.
 * “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
 * “Don’t worry about it,” he assured her, scooting out of the way to let her pass.
 * “Why that meditation, Selu?” she asked. “That’s not one you do often.”
 * “I needed to clear my mind,” he said. “I’ve sensed something, but I couldn’t pin it down.”
 * “I haven’t detected anything,” she replied. “What’s wrong? Is your focus off?”
 * “A little,” he admitted. “I think I’m being distracted by my beautiful wife.”
 * “I’m not sure what to say to that,” Milya answered. “I wasn’t trying to distract you.”
 * “Take it as a compliment,” he said. “Besides, you’re naturally distracting when undressed.”
 * “I know,” she said, smiling over her shoulder as she entered the refresher.

An hour later, after showering and catching a quick breakfast, the two donned their disguises and headed back out into the cold, wind-swept streets of Obroa-Skai for another day of digging through the databases there. Unfortunately for the two seekers, despite spending several arduous hours in the datacenter, this day’s search yielded no more information than the previous day’s had. They simply didn’t have enough to search for, and even the droid assistants in the library’s archives were unable to provide a better match out of the general description Milya provided. The thought that the planet might have been erased from the archives, as Count Dooku had done to the Jedi archives during the Clone Wars, was similarly disturbing.

Finally, long into Obrai-skai’s evenings, when they were one of the few people left in the vast, bland rooms of the datacenter, Selu and Milya called it quits, deciding to return to their hotel. They’d found nothing to indicate the location of the vision Milya had seen and their only sole consolation was that a check of the planet Yanibar under Imperial records showed that the planet was under quarantine and should be avoided. Heading back outside, Milya found that the air had gotten even colder after the sunset and she shivered. Her abbreviated attire, worn to accentuate her feminine charms and curves, was little protection against the blustery wind whistling through the nearly empty streets. This Kuati disguise was absolutely preposterous, she decided. How could anyone possibly keep warm with a thin, fur-lined jacket that left one’s midriff bare? Icy fingers of cold easily tore through the few layers she was wearing, chilling her to the bone and making her fingers and toes numb. It was thoroughly uncomfortable. Selu saw or sensed her discomfort and untwined a long headscarf-one of several that he was wearing-that was long enough to almost serve as a wrap for her. Taking the proffered cloth gratefully, she wrapped it around herself and tried to walk faster. However, when they were about halfway to their hotel, she began experiencing a growing sense of unease, one that seemed to have no apparent explanation. She hesitated before continuing, looking up at Selu for reassurance or some kind of signal.
 * “I sense it too,” he murmured. “We’re being followed.”
 * “What now?” she asked in the same low tone, resuming her previous pace.
 * “Act normal and follow me,” Selu said. “We’re taking a little detour.”

Although she would have far preferred to make a beeline for the nearest warm, safe place, Milya knew that Selu’s precaution could very well turn out to be a wise one, even though it cost her in body heat. Instead, the two strolled along side streets, with Milya looking at various shop windows or storefronts, looking at the advertisements, soaking in the sights. The most irritating part of the whole thing was that she had to pretend not to be cold or uncomfortable at all, but she gritted her teeth and endured it, assuming a casual air. To any observers, they were simply a slightly unevenly matched couple out for an evening stroll. However, the truth was that Selu was subtly sending her thoughts that directed her towards lower and lower-scale areas of town, areas that were poorly illuminated and deserted-as the usual denizens had fled indoors to escape the frigid night.
 * “I think I got a glimpse of him,” she murmured as they rounded a corner.
 * “What did he look like?” he replied.
 * “Tall, broad-shouldered,” she said. “Lots of hair. Just got a silhouette.”
 * “Be on your guard,” Selu cautioned. “He could be a robber.”
 * “I doubt it,” Milya said. “Strange, I couldn’t get much of a read on him with the Force.”
 * “Me neither,” Selu answered softly. “But he’s being followed too.”
 * “By whom?”
 * “Human female,” Selu said. “About fifty meters behind him. I think she’s Force-strong.”

Milya stretched out her own extrasensory perceptions, using the Force to scan the surrounding sentients. Sure enough, Selu was right. Their follower was himself being followed.
 * “Is she tracking us with the Force?”
 * “Probably,” Selu admitted. “But if we hide ourselves now, she’ll know we’re onto her.”
 * “Then let’s have a talk with our tails.”

She took a turn into a long, indistinct alley. Snow was beginning to fall, and the tiny flurries stung as the wind whipped them into her face. Her boots clattered on the hard cobblestones of the alley, which thankfully was dry, or else she would have had to endure cold, putrid water seeping into her footwear. As she moved forward, she suddenly pretended to be surprised when the alley ended suddenly in a wall, with no other outlet than the way she had come.
 * “Oh my,” she said, feigning surprise. “I think we took a wrong turn. This is obviously your fault.”
 * “Yes, mistress,” Selu answered unhappily. “Let’s go back.”

By that time, though, their first follower was already in the alley, less than ten meters behind them. There was no lighting, so they couldn’t see his face, but he was indeed tall and broad-shouldered, as Milya had said. Selu tried to get a sense of him from the Force, but couldn’t get a read on the man, if he was even human. The two turned through the narrow alley, intending to walk past the man, but suddenly, a brawny arm reached out and grabbed Selu, pulling him close.
 * “Hey, you there, haven’t we met?” the man asked gruffly.
 * “I-I don’t think so, sir,” Selu stammered, still in his telbun persona, but he did make a subtle gesture to Milya with one hand not to intervene yet.
 * “I’m pretty sure we have,” the man answered. “Maybe was a few years ago. Maybe you’ve forgot.”

The dark outline of the man’s face did seem familiar, but since he was wearing a hood, Selu couldn’t tell much about him or see him clearly.
 * “New Holstice, perhaps,” the man suggested, his voice changing subtly.

Selu caught the change-it shifted from a coarse, growling vocalization to something different-a deep voice, full of authority and wisdom, seasoned by age and flowing with power-the voice of a Jedi Master. One that was strangely familiar. His eyes widened as he recognized who it belonged to, and suddenly things became clear to Selu. A flash of yellow Kiffar facial markings running across the man’s cheek confirmed his theory.
 * “Master . . . Vos?” Selu said incredulously.

Selu had known Quinlan Vos back in the Jedi Order. Vos had been something of a renegade Jedi for a time, having slipped close to the dark side while serving as a deep-cover agent inside the Separatist inner circle for the Republic during the Clone Wars. He had later met Vos on New Holstice after the Jedi Purge had begun, and had worked with the Jedi Master before they had parted ways. He was the last person Selu had expected to find here, as he had presumed Vos dead or disappeared. It wasn’t exactly wise for fugitive Jedi to seek each other out anyway, for fear that the Empire’s darksiders would track them down.
 * “Aye,” the aged Kiffar Jedi replied. “Not now, though. You’re being followed. She’s almost here.”
 * “I know,” Selu said. “Keep talking-I’ll take care of this.”

Vos nodded fractionally. Meanwhile, Selu drew on his powers of the Force, channeling its energy through him. In the years since he had first met Quinlan Vos as a fugitive Jedi on New Holstice, his powers had grown considerably and now he felt the sweet currents of Force energy flow through his body, giving him abilities that most sentients would have regarded as unnatural for a human. However, haste was needed, so he did not simply revel in the experience of letting the Force flow through him, much as he would have liked to. Instead, he directed his Force energy inward, sealing it inside himself and wrapping the radiance his presence made in the field of energy that was the Force in upon itself. Now, like Master Vos, he was invisible to other Force-sensitives nearby-they would be unable to sense his presence. Selu did not stop there, though. Bending the light around him, he created a bubble around himself that all light reflected off his body could not penetrate. Instead, the rays were bent around his body to the other side of his body, generating the appearance of making Selu fully transparent. In short, he disappeared. Now, for the most difficult part. Shedding one of his cloaks, Selu gently lifted it into the air telekinetically, infusing it with his presence, adding in visual interpretations to make it look like he was still inside of the garment. Milya caught onto his plan and added her own mental energy into hoisting the cloak covering the Selu-illusion into the air, relieving Selu of the task. He sent her a mental thanks and then scaled the wall, while subliminally suggesting that Milya, Vos, and the illusion move deeper into the alley, which they did.

Meanwhile, Selu scaled the walls of the building that lined one side of the alley and bided his time. Sure enough, not a few minutes later, a lithe, shadowy figure crept up to the alley’s mouth, peering around the corner. Selu felt her mind reach out, sensed the darkness inside her, and knew that this was not a person to be met openly. If she was a fugitive Jedi, she had experienced some sort of calamitous encounter with the dark side, for he could sense its taint around her. Her Force senses didn’t seem to be as refined as those of other Jedi he had met, even Padawans. It was obvious she had had some training, though.

From his perch on the roof, he saw her tense, like a coiled spring, and knew she was preparing to act. She was armed-that was for sure. She was carrying at least one blaster, he noticed, as well as a vibroblade and-one other thing. The woman was armed with a lightsaber, and though Selu couldn’t see her through the falling snow and gloomy darkness of night, he felt her shimmy out of an overcoat, running through a checklist in her mind, preparing for battle. His precognitive Force senses, honed by years of training in the ways of the Force, alerted him to her sudden leaping from her concealed position at the alley’s mouth into its narrow lengths, told him of the blaster that was even now was rising, held tightly in one of her gloved hands. Selu was up to the task, though. His reflexes, sharpened by those same years of Jedi training, allowed him to plummet the three meters down to land neatly behind her with a small clatter, dropping his camouflage bubble and Force concealment as he fell. Even before his feet touched the ground, though, Selu’s own lightsaber had already flown telekinetically off his belt. He knew she sensed his motion, and saw her free hand dart for her lightsaber. However, once again, he was faster and a quick mental nudge sent her weapon away from her grasping fingers and into the air.

A mental twitch of two buttons came a split-second later, and two weapons came alive with a snap-hiss, the hilts floating in mid-air, the blades scissored across her throat in a sizzling cross of light. She froze, and Selu felt a wave of pure surprise wash over her. Her blade, he noted, was red-the traditional choice of color for lightsabers worn by Sith and Dark Jedi.
 * “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice laden with barely hidden anger and surprise.

Selu reached out with his Force senses, trying to probe her mind and gain insight as to who this mysterious woman was. However, she sensed his efforts and, with a flash of anger, quickly activated a number of mental safeguards that sealed away her thoughts. She did have some talent, Selu realized, though much of it was untapped. However, that also meant she was highly dangerous, and probably in the employ of the Empire. Her being one of Palpatine’s servants also explained the dark side influence he sensed in her. He thought about killing her, but already he knew he couldn’t bring himself to do that. She was his prisoner, and despite the blaster in her hands, was virtually unarmed. That did not mean he wouldn’t be careful when handling this sort of prisoner; after all, he didn’t know what she was capable of. Caution was in order. Selu quickly disguised his own voice, making it darker, deeper, more menacing than it usually was.
 * “Drop the blaster,” he growled. “Or I’ll cut your throat.”
 * “If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already,” she replied defiantly, but the blaster did slip from her fingers to clatter on the cold stones of the alley floor.
 * “I don’t kill for fun,” he shot back. “Who do you work for?”

She remained silent, and Selu knew that he was probably wasting his time. He kept his lightsaber blade floating in the air, the green bar of light humming gently as it lay only a few centimeters from the woman’s throat. However, her lightsaber, he deactivated, caught, and tossed to Vos.
 * “See what you can do with it,” he said.

Vos, like many of his fellow Kiffar, had the gift of psychometry, which allowed him to read thoughts and memories from inanimate objects simply by touching them. As Selu watched, the Kiffar Jedi Master exercised that gift now, reading into the lightsaber’s past.
 * “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll give that back and release me at once,” she warned.
 * “I don’t think so,” Selu said. “Shut up.”

He brought the lightsaber an inch closer to her throat and that seemed to quiet her, at least for the moment.
 * “She’s an Imperial agent,” Vos said slowly, his eyes closed. “This weapon has slain many. Some were enemies of the Empire-some were members of it.”

He shuddered.
 * “She serves the Emperor personally.”
 * “Lovely,” Milya remarked.
 * “You’re-you’re lying,” the woman stammered. “How could you-?”
 * “I didn’t ask you to speak,” Selu said reprovingly, using the Force to constrict her windpipe just enough to choke off any further words.

The woman complied, focusing on breathing, and Selu relaxed his grip so she could breathe freely again. He didn’t really want to hurt the woman permanently if he could avoid it-but he did need her quiet.
 * “Is there anything else?” he asked Vos.
 * “I dare not hold this for too long,” he said. “I can already feel the dark side’s call even as I sense it. There is one other thing, though. Her name.”
 * “Who is she?” Milya asked.
 * “Mara Jade,” Vos said. “Palpatine calls her the Emperor’s Hand.”
 * “That sounds like proof enough,” Selu said, still using his disguised, anger-filled voice.

Another slight mental effort revealed a small stinger-like dart from beneath his clothes. A nudge in Mara’s direction and the dart flew forward to prick her in the neck, the tiny needle penetrating into her carotid artery while leaving a barely noticeable mark on her skin. Seconds later, she passed out, and Selu quickly deactivated his lightsaber, calling it back to his hand and concealing it under his robes once more.

Mara lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, and Vos knelt down beside her to feel her pulse.
 * “She’s still alive,” he said.
 * “Yes,” Selu affirmed, returning to his original voice.
 * “What was in that dart?”
 * “A ylannock compound that I’ve made use of from time to time,” Selu answered. “It’s a natural sedative and it’ll mess with her memory. She won’t be able to remember much of the last hour or so when she awakes.”
 * “How long until that?” Vos asked.
 * “About another hour, based on her size” Milya answered for Selu. “She won’t freeze if we leave her here, if that’s what you’re asking.”
 * “Good to know,” Vos said. “Personally, I think you’d have been better off taking her out now.”
 * “Perhaps,” Milya said, retrieving the overcoat that Mara had been wearing and draping it over the assassin’s prone form.

As she did so, she got a good look at Mara’s face for the first time, and saw the unblemished skin of her face and wavy red hair that marked their would-be assailant as barely over twenty standard years.
 * “Look at her—she’s only a girl,” Selu said. “I couldn’t strike her down in cold blood. Could you, Master Vos?”
 * “If I thought her a threat,” Vos said, indicating a vibroblade hilt protruding from Mara’s boot. :“She’s had a dark past, and she’s still armed.”

Milya gently took off one of her close-fitting pair of gloves and laid her now-exposed hand on Mara’s forehead. Closing her eyes in concentration, she reached out through the Force, attempting to use her unique talents of foresight to see into the future of the Imperial assassin lying on the ground before them. She frowned as images flashed through her mind, trying to make sense of them.
 * “Her future is clouded,” Milya said. “But there is still hope for her. There are some possibilities where she does not always serve the dark.”
 * “And there are possibilities where I become the Moff of Coruscant,” Vos said skeptically. “We need to be off.”
 * “Agreed,” Selu said. “But why were you following us anyway?”
 * “I thought I recognized you when I first saw you,” Vos said. “I wanted to warn you about her. I’d just finished giving her the slip when I spotted you, and I knew she would sense you soon.”
 * “She was hunting you?”
 * “For nearly a week,” Vos grunted in reply. “You nearly put her on my trail again.”
 * “Sorry about that,” Selu apologized. “What were you doing on Obroa-skai anyway?”
 * “Looking up some information for some friends,” Vos said, then quickly added to his statement in response to Selu’s upraised eyebrow. “I’m not really a Jedi anymore, Selu, and I’m not with the Rebellion. Just an old, tired man trying to live out his days peacefully. I do what little I can quietly, and leave the rest to others.”
 * “Fair enough,” Selu said.
 * “Nice work back there, by the way,” Vos remarked. “Your powers have improved since we last met.”
 * “I would hope so,” Selu replied. “But where are my manners? You remember Milya from our little escape on New Holstice?”
 * “Of course,” Vos said, nodding in her direction.
 * “She’s now my wife, Milya Kraen,” Selu said proudly.
 * “Congratulations on that,” Vos said, himself no stranger to departing from the Jedi Order’s rules on attachment and marriage.

Vos himself had had a wife and son the last time Selu had met him, and Selu knew that the Kiffar was not a stickler for Jedi tradition anyway, as Vos had always been something of a maverick.
 * “Thank you,” Milya said.
 * “Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing on Obroa-skai?” Vos said. “You obviously don’t live here, and if this is your idea of a new home, I can’t say I recommend it. The Imperial presence here is considerable.”
 * “Nothing like that,” Selu assured him. “We actually have a refuge of our own, far out in the Outer Rim, one the Empire doesn’t know about.”
 * “We’re here in search of information,” Milya explained, trying to get to the point. “We’re trying to find the location of a vision we saw, in order to try and alter the vision.”
 * “A vision?” Vos inquired. “Of what?”
 * “Well, I saw an alien-short, gray-skinned, mammalian biped. Predatory, I think. It . . . turned to the dark side. Became one of Vader’s servants and eventually destroyed us,” Milya said, pulling up her memories of the vision that had sent them on this quest to begin with. “There wasn’t much else than that.”
 * “The problem is that we’re not sure what to look for, or if it’s even in the libraries here,” Selu said. “The Empire could have hidden the knowledge.”
 * “Wait,” Vos said slowly, a distant look coming into his eyes. “What did the alien look like?”

Milya frowned, puzzled at his inquiry.
 * “Maybe about a meter and a half tall,” she said. “Dark gray skin, smooth. Definitely bipedal, probably mammalian, with two arms, black eyes and lots of teeth. Like a vicious dwarf humanoid. Why? Do you know something?”
 * “I think I do,” Vos said. “I can’t say for certain, but I think I’ve encountered your mystery aliens before.”
 * “When?” Selu asked.
 * “Back during the Clone Wars,” Vos replied. “On a mission for Count Dooku. They’re called Noghri.”
 * “What are they like?”
 * “A primitive people, to be sure, but absolutely deadly,” Vos answered, remembering events from decades earlier. “They slaughtered most of General Secura’s clone troops easily, and they did it virtually without modern weaponry. Your description matches them perfectly.”
 * “Great,” Selu said, a chill running down his spine. “Can you tell me where to find them?”

Vos nodded.
 * “The world’s called Honoghr. It’s in the Outer Rim, near Kessel. In the Calaron Sector. I’ll send you the coordinates, but be careful. They’re a nasty, clever group of people and outright hostile. Don’t much like outsiders, especially after the Separatists poisoned their world.”
 * “We will be,” Selu said. “Thank you for your help.”
 * “No problem,” Vos answered, then he turned to leave.
 * “Wait,” Selu called. “Where are you going?”
 * “I’m late,” Vos replied apologetically, the tips of his shaggy black dreadlocks frosted with white snowflakes from the intensifying snowfall. “My friends are no doubt worried sick about me.”
 * “But we have so much to talk about,” Selu protested. “So much to catch up on-you can come to our refuge, live in safety.”
 * “I appreciate the offer, Selu,” Vos said sternly. “But even if the Force brought us together for this day, our fates are not intertwined.”
 * “I don’t see why not,” Selu countered. “You said that the last time we parted ways, but here we are again.”
 * “Look, Selu,” Vos said. “Others are expecting me. Waiting for me. I need to go, and besides, you have obligations of your own.”
 * “What you’re saying is that you’re not interested,” Selu answered shortly.
 * “Succinctly, no, I’m not interested,” Vos replied. “I’m old and set in my ways. I have a home, and a family of my own to think of. I know you’d gladly accept all of us into your refuge, but my fate lies elsewhere.”

Selu heard the finality in Vos’s voice and knew that the aged Jedi Master had plans of his own, plans that once again did not include him. While he had been overjoyed to see Vos again, this response wasn’t exactly a surprise. Still, he had posed the question to Vos hoping that somehow the man’s mind might have changed over the years. However, to his regret, Vos still seemed to have an agenda of his own and the Jedi Master seemed to derive as much pleasure as ever in remaining enigmatically vague about his plans. To be fair, though, Selu realized that he hadn’t offered to go with Vos. For that matter, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. Ultimately, Vos was right-their paths diverged from here. They both were on missions for their own, missions that had different objectives. He supposed he should just be glad that they had been able to help each other as much as they had.
 * “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but if your mind is made up,” Selu answered. “May the Force be with you.”
 * “And with you two as well,” Vos said gravely, then he nodded farewell and turned to walk off into the whirling snowstorm.
 * “Was he always that strange?” Milya wondered aloud as Vos disappeared into the snowflakes.
 * “More or less,” Selu replied. “C’mon, let’s get you back to the hotel before you freeze.”
 * “Now you remember,” she retorted. “I’m so cold I can barely feel my hands and feet.”
 * “I’m sorry, love. Thank you for your patience,” Selu apologized.
 * “Let’s just go,” Milya said, her teeth chattering.

Grateful that the falling snow would soon blanket the ground and wipe away their tracks and, indeed, all traces that they had been in the secluded alley, Selu and Milya departed, though Selu was careful to first retrieve his dart from where it had fallen beside Mara. With Milya huddled against him for warmth, they quickly strode through the icy weather back to their hotel, contemplating their strange encounter with Quinlan Vos. However elusive Vos continued to be, though, they finally had the location of Milya’s vision, and despite Vos’s warning of the danger of the Noghri people, they felt relieved to at least know their destination. For safety, though, Selu resolved to depart the planet that evening, lest Mara Jade somehow recover her memory and begin pursuing them once more. They had enough to worry about without adding Imperial pursuit to that list.
 * Yanibar

Spectre carefully ran the razor across his chin, stripping two day’s worth of stubble from his rugged, bronzed face. Running a quick hand across his now smooth skin, he splashed warm water across his face. Standing in front of the mirror in a pair of nondescript black pants and an equally plain khaki shirt, he carefully inspected his appearance, frowning at the gray hairs that were beginning to conglomerate around his temples. Despite being only in his mid-thirties, his body aged at nearly twice that rate, so he felt like he was nearing his sixties-which had instilled a dread in him that he would age so fast as to leave his wife, Sheeka, a widow with children of her own to raise.

Behind him, resting gently on the bed, was a nondescript matte black bag which he used when going on extended trips, incognito as always. He ran a callused and worn hand through his short obsidian-black hair, then turned to close up his shower kit and place it neatly inside his bag. It was still fairly early in the morning, and Jasica had yet to go to school, which made him glad. He would get to see her off before he left.

Walking into the bedroom from the kitchen where she had been making her morning cup of steaming hot caf, Sheeka Tull saw the bag on top of the blankets and knew what it meant. She had seen it many times before, often on short notice and its appearance had sometimes been an occasion for tears, for it indicated her husband was leaving her to journey out into the wider galaxy, which could be a very dangerous place.
 * “When are you leaving?” she asked.
 * “Shortly,” he answered.
 * “What is it this time? I thought you weren’t going to visit this Revan’s tower until Selu and Sarth returned.”
 * “I’m not. Something’s come up.”

Feeling very left out, Sheeka walked up to him, wrapping her arms around him, willing him to just stand there and hold her. She hated when he left her like this, since she didn’t know where he was going, what he was doing, or when he would return. He felt her slim body through the soft deep violet bathrobe she was wearing, felt the warmth of her, and accepted the gesture firmly, folding his muscular arms around her in a protective and caring embrace. Sheeka knew it was an affectionate gesture for him, but being wrapped up in his brawny arms also made her feel as safe and secure as she ever did.
 * “Can you tell me what it is?” she asked plaintively.

He sighed. This was one of the parts of having a family that he had found troublesome at first, especially when it came to his job. For years, Spectre’s had simply revolved around taking orders and carrying them out, with some occasional modification of said orders as needed. Civilian life had changed that, as had his joining up with Selu Kraen. By far, though, the adjustment to having a family of his own had been the biggest change in his life. It had been odd at first, sharing his life with Sheeka, and even still, he occasionally found it hard to have a conversation with her about certain things or at certain times. Such as now.
 * “I really shouldn’t,” he answered slowly.
 * “Please, honey. I need to know.”

She looked up at him, her large dark eyes boring into his, and he saw the pleading look in their brown depths, saw the emotional need, the worry she felt for him. Spectre knew it was hard for her, these trips, and had tried to limit them, but there were certain things that had to be handled personally, and she had known that when she had agreed to marry him. Still, he supposed that it wouldn’t hurt to tell her-she did have a security clearance to hear some Yanibar Guard matters.
 * “I’ll tell you,” he said at last. “But it won’t make you feel any better.”
 * “Tell me anyway,” she said, mustering up the strength to say the words. “I want to know.”
 * “If you say so. I’m going to Nar Shaddaa.”

The skin of Sheeka’s face, normally a deep sienna, paled several shades at the mention of the infamous moon. Nar Shaddaa, known colloquially as the Smuggler’s Moon, was something akin to a lawless version of Coruscant, and practically crawling with unsavory characters. Any type of criminal looking for a refuge or place to finalize illicit deals need look no farther than Nar Shaddaa. To say the least, it had an extremely low reputation.
 * “What for?” she asked concernedly.
 * “I’m meeting an underworld contact there,” Spectre replied. “It’s possible I’ll be able to make a deal of some significance to the colony there.”
 * “Why you? You’re a general in the army, not a diplomat.”
 * “The deal has to deal with restricted Kraechar Arms products,” Spectre explained evenly. “The ruling council agreed to make contact and look into the deal, but they wanted the Guard to supervise everything. We’re talking lethal weapons, dear. It’s important that this be handled correctly, and with Selu and Milya gone, it fell to me. The council was uncomfortable with sending Admiral Slayke to handle the meeting, and they didn’t trust anyone lower in rank either.”
 * “So that’s why you’re going.”
 * “That’s why I’m going,” he answered regretfully.
 * “Is it going to be safe?”
 * “Safe?” Spectre chuckled, then grew somber again. “No, probably not.”
 * “Be careful,” Sheeka said, worry evident in her voice.
 * I will,” Spectre promised.

He gently kissed his wife on the forehead and hugged her tight one more time. She clung to him, and he knew that she feared one day he wouldn’t return. Finally, though, she released him, resigned to the fact that he was leaving.
 * “Have a good trip,” she said forlornly.
 * “I’ll try. Take care of things until I get back,” he replied. “I love you.”

Turning, he left Sheeka biting her lip with concern in the bedroom as he scooped up his bag and walked forward to the kitchen, where Jasica was seated at a wide counter, eating her breakfast. Next to her was Rhiannon, Selu and Milya’s daughter, who had been staying with Spectre and Sheeka while her parents were away on a mission of their own. The girls were still in their pajamas, digging into bowls of a sweetened breakfast porridge that Sheeka had made for them. Spectre set his bag down in the wide entrance to the kitchen and walked forward to his daughter.
 * “Good morning, Daddy,” she said brightly, her hair still frizzy and unkempt.
 * “Good morning, Uncle Spectre,” Rhiannon said with equal energy.

The two girls were bundles of energy when together, and had needed some convincing from Spectre, who could sound gruff if he needed to in a pinch, to finally settle down and head off to sleep the previous night.
 * “Good morning, girls,” he answered both of them cheerily.

Then Jasica saw the bag, but her reaction was one of childlike excitement and adventure rather than worry-to her, it meant that Daddy was going on a space trip to some other wondrous place, and not into mortal danger. Like Selu and Milya had chosen to do, Spectre and Sheeka had kept Spectre’s true occupation shrouded in secrecy from their children until they were old enough to cope with it; Jasica still had a few years to go before she hit that mark.
 * “Are you going on a trip?” she asked.
 * “Yes, I am, sunshine,” he said.

He had given her that nickname when she was five, after commenting wryly to her mother that her wide smile was as dazzling as sunshine. She’d giggled endlessly at first when he called her that, bearing the affectionate term gleefully.
 * “How long?”
 * “I don’t know,” he answered. “Four or five days, maybe a week.”
 * “Are you going to see my parents?” Rhiannon asked him.
 * “I’m not sure,” Spectre said. “I wasn’t planning on it, but we might run into each other.”
 * “Oh good,” Rhiannon answered. “You can help my Mom keep Daddy out of trouble.”

Spectre found a bemused grin creeping across his face, though he realized Rhiannon couldn’t see the expression.
 * “That sounds like something your mother would say,” he remarked conspiratorially.
 * “Maybe,” she answered with a tell-tale smile of her own.
 * “Don’t worry,” Spectre said, leaning in and making his words a stage-whisper, mimicking a conspirator’s tone. “I won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Jasica giggled, “You’re silly, Daddy.”
 * “Sometimes,” Spectre replied, still bemused.
 * “Have fun on your trip,” Jasica said wistfully.

Spectre looked at the excited expression on her face, his daughter’s face, and knew he was looking at his second reason to return home from this trip as soon as possible. There wasn’t any other feeling in the galaxy like seeing a smile on the face of his own flesh-and-blood, his child. It tugged at the few sentimental strings inside him, and for that reason, he lingered a few more minutes, to spend time with his little girl before he left.
 * “I’ll try,” he answered, though he was sure that fun would be the last thing on his mind during the trip. “Be a good girl while I’m gone. Help your mother.”
 * “I will,” she said solemnly.
 * “I know you will,” he said lovingly. “Give your daddy a hug before he goes.”

She slid off the stool she was seated on, and Spectre swept her off her feet, hoisting her off the ground almost effortlessly. He hugged her tightly to him, aware of just how much he would miss her and Sheeka on his trip.
 * “I’ll miss you, Daddy,” Jasica said, as if reading his mind.
 * “I’ll miss you, too,” he said as she pecked him on the cheek. “I love you.”

Then he set her down, scooped up his bag, said goodbye to Rhiannon farewell as well, and headed out the door for the speeder garage. As he brought the speeder down the path in front of their house, he turned one last time to see his beloved wife standing in the window, waving sadly at him. He gave her a wave, then fixed his gaze on the road, heading out on his way. As much as he loved his family, he knew that his job sometimes required his entire focus. This was one of those times, so he regretfully put them out of his mind to focus on his job.
 * Corulag

Sarth and Cassi piled out of the green-and-tan airtaxi in front of a sizable house. The neighborhood was fairly affluent, with some homes exceeding a thousand square meters of floor space. Many were multi-level affairs and neatly trimmed and landscaped flowerbeds, shrubberies, and trees were the order of the day as far as the grounds surrounding each of the houses were concerned. The community was gated, manned by a stern-looking security guard, and surrounded by a high fence no doubt laced with intrusion-detection sensors. It was a quiet place, the subdivision serving as a retreat of sorts for the upper middle-class to withdraw into and spend time with others of their social stature. While they lacked the true affluence of millionaires, theirs was a closed society, one where the value of hard, but not physical labor was still important to maintain one’s economic level, but which afforded the inhabitants a lifestyle of relative ease and comfort, and perhaps a serving droid or two.

Magrody’s house was a bit simpler and plainer than some of the others, a simple one-story affair. The plants and grass around the front of the house were neatly trimmed, but as Sarth had seen droids clipping hedges and mowing grass, it was highly possible that they had been contracted to do so.

With Cassi following close behind, Sarth walked up an elegant path made of deep gray stones set in permacrete which led to the front door. There was a small bubbling fountain and a chair set next to a small porch with overhang. The house’s exterior was finished with the same rough-cut gray stones that made up the path and that, combined with the preponderance of ferns, shrubs, and trees around the front, gave the house a natural essence, a harmony with nature rather than a stark contrast to the flora around it-a quality lacking in many of the other houses in the neighborhood. The most common tree in the front of the house was several slim sanwiwood trees from Ansion, the speckled tan of their long, slender, smooth-barked branches holding up wispy twigs covered with long green leaves that swayed in the breeze. It was all in all a beautiful house, comfortable but harmonious and certainly built with an eye for aesthetics.

A few street-facing windows peeped through the trailing branches of some of the shrubs, but though they peered through them, Sarth and Cassi saw nothing, not even a trace of illumination.
 * “I suppose we should knock,” Sarth said, rapping the door several times.

They waited for a response, with Cassi looking around and above at the gently sloping roof above them. A bird flew over them, chirping softly, and its song reminded her of home. She wished that their journey was over, that they were headed back home. This was not her journey, her quest, and while she was happy to do it for Sarth, and for Spectre, it was not where she belonged, even if it was beautiful.
 * “Well,” Sarth said a minute later, pulling her from her reverie. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
 * “What now?” she asked.
 * “Time to go inside.”

He slipped a small leather-wrapped bundle out of his coat pocket, unfolding the leather to reveal several small metal instruments.
 * “Lockslicers,” he explained. “Borrowed from YGI. Could you keep watch for me while I work, please?”

She nodded in understanding and he set to work, gently toying with the door’s lock. Turning her gaze back down the street, she surveyed the rest of the cul-de-sac upon which Magrody lived, but no other beings were in evidence. A couple minutes later, something clicked behind her.
 * “Got it,” Sarth grunted, packing up his tools and opening the door. “Took me a couple tries, but it’s open.”

With one last furtive glance behind her, Cassi proceeded into the house. Unsurprisingly, it was darkened and unoccupied. The windows, even augmented by narrow ones recessed into the ceiling, afforded little sunlight into the interior of the dwelling, but Sarth had brought along a miniature glowrod, which he snapped on. The device spilled blue-tinged light through the room, and Cassi saw that the house was still furnished, with a wooden bench still occupying the entrance and decorations also on the walls, which were also finished with wood. There was musty smell, as if the house had been deserted for some time and was in bad need of cleaning.
 * “They didn’t move,” Cassi said. “All of their things are still here.”

She reached up to brush a finger across the burnished metal frame of a portrait of the Magrody family. It was an old-fashioned one, physically painted onto canvas rather than a holo.
 * “What makes you say that?” Sarth replied, panning the glowrod around.
 * “If it were me, I certainly wouldn’t have left this,” Cassi answered, indicating the painting. :“It’s very old-and no doubt expensive.”
 * “Let’s have a look around,” Sarth said. “See if you can find anything that will tell us what happened.”

Cassi carefully made her way through the house, heading down a hallway from which two bedrooms and a refresher were nestled, though one of them seemed to be used for more of a study, as it had several shelves full of what appeared to be computer equipment, and several more that were empty. She left that for Sarth to investigate, while she proceeded into the other bedroom. It was clear that it had belonged to Magrody’s daughter-the posters of holodrama stars, the flowery, girlish covers on the bed, the smallish dress strewn across the floor, the various cosmetic accessories scattered across the dresser. There was a clear femininity about the room and, closing her eyes and let the Force flow through her, Cassi could almost hear the little girl’s laughter, could see mother and daughter spending time together, which evoked a strangely stirring response inside her.

She poked around, looking for clues, but found none in her initial search-just typical things one might expect in a preteen Arkanian girl’s bedroom. Then, suddenly, something caught her eye. Lying on the cream-colored carpet of the floor was a smooth drinking bulb made out of some kind of transparent ceramic material. Her eye was drawn to it-out of all the things in the room, the bulb was out of place. Just from looking at the room and the relative clutter she beheld there, it seemed out of place for the bulb to be there. Cassi stooped down to pick it up carefully, holding up to a shuttered window to get a little more light on it. Then her eyes widened in horror at what the light revealed.
 * “Sarth,” she called nervously. “I found something.”

A moment later, he appeared in the bedroom’s doorway to see her still holding up the drinking bulb gazing at it as if entranced.
 * “That’s good,” he said distractedly. “I’ve been digging around in some of the electronics-comlinks, computers, security systems, and I haven’t found anything yet. It’s like they were wiped clean or something. Eh . . . what is it?”
 * “Look at it,” she prodded him.
 * “I see . . . a drinking bulb.”
 * “Sarth,” she chided. “Take a better look.”

He frowned at her, unsure if this was some kind of a joke, but her serious facial expression eventually convinced him that this was not an exercise in jest. Walking a couple steps closer, he peered closely at the drinking bulb which she still held. He stopped, puzzled for a moment, then the realization hit him. There, on the glass, were two faint but distinct sets of fingerprints-and one of them was clearly human and there were brown specks on the glass that were no doubt dried blood. Cassi’s discovery had confirmed their worst fears: the Magrody family hadn’t just disappeared. They’d been abducted. They were both filled with apprehension and dread and Sarth looked around to make sure they were still alone in the room.
 * “Good work, dear,” he said quietly.
 * “Thank you,” she replied, her face still pale from their realization. “We should probably go.”

Sarth pulled a plastine bag from an inside pocket in his coat, allowing Cassi to slip the drinking bulb inside.
 * “I agree,” he said. “Unless you’ve found anything else.”
 * “No, nothing else,” she replied.
 * “This house is under surveillance,” Sarth explained. “I was able to bypass the security system and feed them a loop, but I was in a bit of a hurry, so it’s not my best job ever. Whoever’s watching might come and investigate, and my guess is that it’s Imperial Intelligence.”
 * “Then you’re right-time to leave,” she agreed. “What if they spot our fingerprints, though?”

Sarth grimaced. “What all did you touch?”
 * “Besides the drinking bulb, nothing except the painting,” Cassi said.
 * “I touched all the electronics,” Sarth muttered, plucking an oily-looking cloth from his coat. “Let me go wipe those off. Wait at the door for me, please.”

Cassi did as she was told, peering out the windows to make sure that they were still alone. A moment later, Sarth returned, his near-holographic memory serving him well by allowing them to recall precisely what all he had touched. Wiping his cloth across the painting, he then retrieved his comlink, contacting the airtaxi to let them know they were ready for pickup. That accomplished, they headed out the door-and this time, Sarth was careful to don a pair of gloves and wipe off their fingerprints on the exterior door handle as well.
 * “Where did you get all that stuff?” Cassi asked, still shaken by the blood on the drinking bulb, the desecration of the family’s home.
 * “I borrowed it from YGI before the mission. Figured it might be useful.”
 * “It certainly was,” Cassi replied. “We could have gotten ourselves in a lot of trouble if they’d retrieved our fingerprints from the house.”
 * “I know,” Sarth answered anxiously. “But let’s not congratulate ourselves until we’re safely back in the Surprise, jumping for hyperspace.”
 * “Good idea,” she agreed.

Thankfully, though, there were no unpleasant surprises, and though Sarth and Cassi kept looking around corners, expecting to be ambushed by cold-faced men with blasters at every turn, they made it back to the spaceport cleanly, with no sign of pursuit. The Force, also, was silent, with no hint of impending danger. Sarth insisted upon running a thorough search and scanning routine for any tracking devices about their yacht, but once again, the search turned up negative. With no evidence of their being followed, they received permission to take off and quickly made for space, making the jump to lightspeed without incident. Sarth watched Corulag recede behind them and glanced down at the plastine bag containing the drinking bulb. Silently, he swore to himself that he would unravel the mysteries regarding the disappearance of the Magrodys, and that bulb would be his next clue, the next piece that would lead him to finding them. For her part, however, Cassi was happy to simply be heading home.
 * “Wait,” Sarth said, looking at the navicomputer. “I just had an idea.”
 * “What is it?”
 * “How about we not return straight to Yanibar?”
 * “Why?”

Sarth pointed to a readout on the astrogation console.
 * “Bespin’s on the way. We could stop by-Annita would probably be able to help us with the fingerprints on the drinking bulb and YGI has a fully-equipped safehouse there.”

Cassi ran a hand through her tussled hair, staring up at the shiny white ceiling of the ship’s bridge, looking for relief. She wasn’t overly eager to delay their return home; she hadn’t recalled feeling this homesick in quite some time. Apparently the adage was true, in that she never realized how much she had on Yanibar until she was parted from it. Also, the search had taken a new and darker turn with the discovery that the Magrody family had been snatched from their home. While Cassi had faced her share of danger in the past, she was suddenly filled with apprehension, and she wasn’t sure if it was just her own fears or a message from the Force.
 * “I don’t know, Sarth,” she responded at last. “I just want to go home.”

Upon seeing the worry and longing etched on her face, Sarth realized that he’d failed to understand how’d she had felt all along-which didn’t exactly send his spirits soaring. He knew she wasn’t excited about journeying to Corulag, but he hadn’t discerned that she felt this way until now.
 * “Cassi . . . I’m sorry,” Sarth said quietly, walking over to sit beside her and hold her hand. “I’ve been insensitive. I let this mission sidetrack us.”
 * “It’s okay,” she said. “I know it’s important to you.”
 * “It is,” Sarth said sincerely. “But the mission doesn’t mean as much to me as you do. We’ll go back home, just like we planned. I’ll handle the rest of the investigation myself, or turn it over to YGI.”

Cassi sat there quietly, grateful that Sarth was finally responding to her needs. She closed her eyes in silence, contemplating on how to thank him, but the image of the girl’s bedroom on Corulag wouldn’t leave her mind.
 * “Hold on,” she said suddenly.
 * “What is it?” he asked, looking concernedly into her eyes. “What’s the matter?”

She shook her head.
 * “I’m fine, but . . . do you think the Magrodys are in danger?”

Cassi saw the drinking bulb again, saw the flecks of blood and wondered if somewhere, that girl was in pain, if she was dying. How much time did the Magrodys have? Before she realized it, Cassi found herself in an argument with herself. She was being selfish, she acknowledged, in her desire to return home and let someone else deal with the issue of the Magrody disappearance. If, and she knew that they probably were, people’s lives were at stake, then her persuading Sarth to return to Yanibar might have fatal consequences. Put in this new light, her desire for the comforts of home no longer seemed quite as significant or immediate.
 * “It’s possible,” Sarth said frankly. “We don’t know why they were abducted, or for what reason. They might be dead already, perish the thought.”
 * “How much time would we shave off our trip by going to Bespin?”
 * “About a day and a half,” Sarth said.

Cassi bit her lip, unable to calm the thoughts racing through her mind.
 * “Then we need to go to Bespin,” she said. “Every day the search takes makes our chances of finding them decrease, right?”
 * “Well, yes,” Sarth replied, slightly flabbergasted. “But I thought you wanted to . . .”
 * “I changed my mind,” she said bluntly, then softened her tone. “I just needed to think things over a little.”
 * Are you sure?” Sarth asked. “I want to look out for you.”
 * “I know you do,” she answered gently. “But this is the right thing to do. I’m sorry for making such a fuss-you were right.”
 * “All right,” Sarth said slowly, still a little confused. “Uh, I’ll go reset the navicomputer to drop us out over Bespin.”
 * “Good,” Cassi said, staring off into space.

The image of that bedroom on Corulag still floated ethereally before her, haunting her with its memories. What she had seen in there resonated all too uncomfortably with her, for the Magrody house reminded her of her own home, and she felt the intrusion, the violation of their residence almost as if it had been her dwelling. She could imagine what it must have been like for the Arkanian family to be snatched from their home and dragged off to some strange, hostile place. Those emotions were what fueled her dedication, reignited her desire to locate the abductees. Her former desire to return to Yanibar had been replaced with an urge to locate the missing family. For all Cassi knew, she and Sarth were the only ones even attempting to mount a search for them. These, and other parallel thoughts fomented in her mind for hours after the Silent Surprise entered hyperspace, consuming her attention.