Force Exile III: Liberator/Part 10

21
Selu stumbled through the foul-smelling sewers as he tried to concentrate on hiding the Force-users from the dark side user. His head was aching from the crash-landing, but he kept going through the dimly-lit labyrinth. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going, but finally, Xlora called a halt.

“This way,” she said, pointing to a ladder.

One by one, the group of bedraggled survivors made their way up the ladder, through a trapdoor, and into a storage room in a rundown residence. The structure seemed quite ramshackle—but it was also empty and the walls seemed quite thick.

“What is this place?” Hasla asked as Xlora turned on some glowpanels which flickered and popped noisily as they came to life.

“A. . . friend’s house,” Xlora answered.

Daara scowled.

“Please tell me you did not bring us to your boyfriend’s house,” she said.

“Of course not,” Xlora replied indignantly. “The Matukai would frown on such a relationship, so I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Good.”

“However, I might have. . . a fling,” she conceded.

Daara rolled her eyes.

“Enough,” Spectre said. “Are we safe here?”

“For now,” she replied. “He’s pretty well-connected and this house is one of the more secure properties in Darlyn Boda. Also, he’s away on business. It’s just us—and I’m the only other person who knows about the secret trapdoor.”

“Good,” Spectre replied, having taken charge while Selu was indisposed. “Try and get some rest. I’ll take first watch with Daara. We’ll take turns except for Selu—we need him to keep us hidden from. . . whoever that was. I know it’s been a long day, but we’re not out of this yet. There’ll be time to grieve and reflect once we’re somewhere safer. Until then, we have to stay focused on survival.”

They all muttered acknowledgement and dispersed, trying to find somewhere to rest and sort out the torrent of emotions and loss they had just been hurled through.

Selu found a place to hunker down, sliding down gratefully to sit on the floor with his back against a dilapidated couch. His head was still pounding and he didn’t know how much longer he could up his mental block—it wasn’t that exhausting when he used it on himself, but trying to hide over a dozen other people, many of whom were freely pouring out emotions through the Force, for a prolonged period of time was extremely taxing.

A few minutes later, Milya came over with two bottles of water and a pair of pills. Selu cocked an eyebrow at the offered bottle and pills.

“Are those what I think they are?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Enough symoxin to take the edge off that headache, but not enough to put you out.”

Selu accepted them gratefully, swallowing them with a swig from the water bottle.

“Spectre’s on watch. . . want some company?” she asked him.

Selu looked up at her for a moment, weighing the request. He recalled he had promised to be there for her when she wanted to talk, so he nodded.

“Sure.”

She sat down beside him, initially saying nothing.

“How did you know to come after me?” she asked him abruptly.

“The Force showed me in a vision,” he said. “We got here as fast as we could.”

A sorrowful expression crossed Milya’s face.

“I wish it had been sooner,” she said, her head bowed reflectively as she remembered the battle.

“What happened?” he asked gently.

“I persuaded the Matukai to join the refuge,” she said. “I dueled their leader—lost the duel, but won the argument.”

“Sounds painful,” Selu replied sympathetically.

She grunted.

“Just bruises,” Milya responded. “Hard to believe that was just this morning. I rested for several hours while they prepared to evacuated, but when I awoke, the Empire was about to attack.”

She shook her head.

“We fought as hard we could, to buy time for the others to escape, but there were just too many. . . and him.”

She shuddered, her voice cracking. Selu had only rarely seen Milya exhibit real fear and despair, and knew that whatever had happened before he arrived must have been horrifyingly traumatic to reduce her to this.

“It’s okay,” Selu told her, putting an arm around her comfortingly. “You’re safe now.”

“He took down Bolfwé Grysloth, the Matukai leader, almost effortlessly,” she said. “I tried to fight him, but he was too strong. And hateful.”

Selu knew what she was talking about, having sensed the power of the dark side emanating from the man, even from a distance.

“He’s a dark side Force-user,” he told her. “A powerful one.”

She closed her eyes, mustering up the mental fortitude to ask a question whose answer she had been dreading.

“How many made it?”

Selu winced.

“We saved fourteen,” he told her. “Some of the others likely escaped into the swamps before we arrived.”

“Fourteen. . .” Milya whispered, stricken by the news. “There were sixty-odd this morning.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Selu assured her. “You saved as many as you could.”

“Not Jahlel,” she said, recalling the Arkanian’s sacrifice on her behalf. “He saved me.”

“Who was he?” Selu asked.

“He died for me, Selu,” she said at last. “Pushed me out of the way and took the blaster bolt, right in the head.”

“The Arkanian?”

Milya nodded.

“Jahlel. He met me in the city, saved from a group of thugs. He became sort of my trainer while I was there—Grysloth made me learn from the Matukai. He was always was helping me or saving me from something I couldn’t handle.”

“Sounds like a great person.”

“He was. You would have liked him.”

“I’m sorry,” Selu told her. “He must have known what he was doing.”

Milya wiped away a tear that was sliding down her cheek.

“Of course he did,” she said. “I don’t know what I’m going to say to his sister.”

“The other Arkanian is his sister?” Selu asked.

Milya nodded.

“Hasla.”

“If she knew her brother well, then she’ll honor his selflessness,” Selu said.

“And so should I,” Milya observed. “By surviving.”

She turned to Selu with a hardened expression on her face.

“And taking the fight to the Empire.”

“Now, now,” Selu soothed, sensing her anger rising. “Jedi do not take revenge.”

“I don’t care,” she said hotly.

Selu took her hand in his.

“Anger leads to hate, and hate leads to the dark side,” he told her. “What happened today was horrible, but we can’t let that tragedy warp our thinking.”

“Why not?” she asked. “We stop them, we make sure they never hurt anyone else again.”

“There’s an old saying about revenge,” Selu told her. “If you’re out for revenge, make sure you dig two graves.”

“When I was sold as a slave, that didn’t stop me,” Milya told him. “I killed every single one of them, and then I took out the people who murdered my parents.”

“And then you were alone, on the run, unable to trust anyone until you met us,” Selu replied. “How did your anger help you then?”

“It kept me alive,” Milya said. “It gave me focus.”

“You have the Force for that now,” Selu told her. “You can let go of your anger. I did.”

She looked up at him with a searching expression.

“How?”

Selu took a deep breath.

“Because being a Jedi isn’t just about Force powers or lightsabers. It’s about mastering your own emotions. It’s about serving ideals that surpass anyone person—peace, justice, and truth.”

“It sounds nice,” Milya answered bitterly. “But in my experience, ideals don’t last long in the real galaxy.”

“They do if we fight for them,” Selu replied.

“You make it sound so easy.”

Selu snorted gently.

“I wish,” he said. “When the Jedi Temple was destroyed and I was left with barely the clothes on my back, I felt the same way you do.”

“What got you through it?” she asked.

Selu considered the question, then smiled slightly.

“Sarth,” he said. “When I was at the brink of despair, Sarth brought me hope to keep going.”

“So what hope do we have?” Milya asked him. “Most of the Matukai were slaughtered. We were shot down and now we’re stuck on this planet with an Imperial army hunting us.”

“We’re still alive,” Selu told her. “They haven’t caught us yet. And when we get off this planet, we have a world for our refuge, and the Zeison Sha and Jal Shey will help us build it.”

“You’re asking a lot,” she said. “Anger and a sense of vengeance kept me going for many lonely years.”

“And now you don’t need them,” Selu answered simply. “You can choose to let them go, if you want to.”

“How do you know that?”

Selu hugged her a little closer.

“Because I trust that you’ll make the right decision,” he said. “Always have.”

She looked up at him, startled by his calm statement of confidence in her. Selu met her gaze as she searched his eyes, testing the veracity of his words.

“Thanks,” she said at last.

She settled in a little closer to him and there was a moment’s silence.

“Is it okay if I stay?” she asked drowsily. “I won’t disturb you.”

“Uh. . . sure,” he said, withdrawing his arm so it didn’t fall asleep behind her head.

She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Selu envied her that—while the symoxin had certainly helped, he couldn’t rest. He had to stay awake and keep projecting that mental shield to hide the group of Force-users. He looked down at Milya, resting securely in the knowledge that he would protect her, and that sight gave him the mental willpower to keep going. She, along with every other person in the building, was counting on him.


 * Griffin Detention Block

Trip stirred and slowly awoke from an uneasy daze to feel a weight lying against him as he took in his surroundings. Glancing downward, he saw that Taskien had rolled over and ended up lying alongside him as he had napped. She still seemed to be sleeping and Trip thought it best not to wake her.

Most of the other soldiers were still asleep as well, trying to get as much rest as possible. Only Doctor Rothery was awake, standing near the edge of the shock field and looking out through its translucent blueness.

“You should rest as well,” she told him in a soft whisper, without even turning around.

“I was,” he said in the same soft tunes.

The aged doctor turned around and walked over to squat beside him.

“We need to get out of here,” she told him.

Trip nodded.

“If the Imperial forces received our message, they’ll do something. Until then, I’ll keep looking for opportunities.”

Rothery gestured at Taskien.

“She’s not going to survive much more,” the doctor said. “She wasn’t fully recovered, and if that butcher Romierr gets his hands on her again. . . it won’t be pretty.”

“I understand,” Trip replied firmly. “We’ll do our best—so will she.”

Rothery rolled her eyes.

“Spare me the trooper credo,” she said. “Oh, I know you believe it, but you could at least be honest with yourself.”

Trip gave her a confused look. Rothery replied with a knowing smile.

“It’s clear to everyone who’s not a clone that you’re quite taken with the agent,” Rothery said. “The way you look at her. The way you subconsciously protect her.”

“It’s tactical,” Trip replied. “I can take more punishment—but we need her ingenuity.”

Rothery snorted gently.

“Keep telling yourself that, soldier,” she said. “And she’s young, attractive, highly intelligent, and understands your career. You could do a lot worse.”

Trip stiffened defensively.

“I live to serve the Empire,” he replied reflexively. “Not my own interests.”

Rothery chuckled.

“She told me the same thing,” she said. “Believe it or not, she’s not that good at hiding her feelings either.”

Trip recalled the arrogance and superiority that Taskien had showed him on Zeru Neimodia, to the point of subverting his authority. She had constantly ordered him around, and while he had seen brief flashes of empathy, the agent had made it very clear who was in charge.

“I doubt that,” Trip said, glancing down at the sleeping agent again. “I saw nothing of the kind.”

Rothery rolled her eyes.

“Yes, with your tremendous insight into human emotions,” she said sarcastically. “Commander, you need to let yourself live a little.”

“I’m a soldier,” he said. “I live for the Empire.”

“Sure you do,” Rothery replied. “But that’s not the name you were whispering in your sleep.”

She rose and walked off, leaving Trip mystified and feeling slightly guilty. He glanced down at Taskien, wondering if Rothery was completely off-base, or if there was truth in her words. He had always been one to follow rules and regulations verbatim, a cog in the giant wheel of the Imperial military. Now the doctor and Agent Taskien were challenging those self-imposed strictures, and he wasn’t sure how to handle that. Nevertheless, he allowed one arm to drift downward and rest on her arm.


 * Griffin Bridge

Ardo Romierr swore. Imperial fighters were circling overhead, rotating in shifts of eight at a time, shadowing his ship, and the acting engineer had reported they weren’t ready to lift off yet. Curse that Star Destroyer for arriving on some secret mission, and curse those prisoners for alerting it to their presence. His planned auction was completely out of the question now—his highest priority was getting off this world.

Unfortunately, with the fighters shadowing him, he couldn’t expect to escape without being tracked, and the Griffin lacked the trained crew to shoot them all down. No doubt the Imperials were already planning some kind of operation to recapture the stolen ship and retrieve their prisoners. He considered bargaining with the prisoners’ lives, but knew that was pointless—the Empire would not negotiate with someone with his record, not even for the life of an Imperial advisor. Also, Ardo Romierr had not gotten this far by bargaining his way out of difficult situations.

He paced up and down the bridge of the ship, ignoring the handful of intelligence agents and loyal crewers manning the stations. The Griffin was running on a skeleton crew, and while Sarwas had done an excellent job in assigning as many of the agents and naval officers in Romierr’s network as possible to the ship, they hadn’t expected to need them to be able to take the ship into battle. Even with only minor casualties incurred when they had sprung Romierr and the others from their cells and seized the ship, there weren’t nearly enough personnel.

He glanced at the large master sensor board as he passed by it, noting the small blips of the fighter contacts on the screen. If they could shake those fighters, they could take off and possibly outrun the Star Destroyer to get into hyperspace.

Sarwas approached him.

“We can be ready to lift off in twenty minutes,” he said.

“That’ll give the Empire more than enough time to get here,” Romierr answered darkly. “And the fighters will slow us down long enough for that Star Destroyer to catch up.”

Sarwas nodded.

“I know,” he said. “I wish we had my ship here. It’s no starfighter, but it could at least give us a fighting chance.”

“Where is it?” Romierr asked.

“At the spaceport,” Sarwas said. “I moved it there so we could have a quick getaway vehicle in case the auction went sideways.”

Romierr shook his head. Sarwas’s ship was an AIAT/i gunship, an armed troop carrier designed to ferry small units between systems. It was a reliable and widespread, if older, military platform, and also was popular among smugglers for the same reasons that planetary defense forces used it. The ship had fit well into Sarwas’s cover identity on Darlyn Boda on his Imperial Intelligence assignment, and could have been useful. Then Romierr looked at the sensor board. There were always eight fighters on patrol at a time, rotating through the hours. A gunship like that could take on one or two, but not that many.

“One gunship can’t stop eight fighters,” Romierr said dismissively. “Not even if a Jedi was flying it.”

“A helpful Jedi? Might as well wish for a Lucrehulk battleship to take down that destroyer,” Sarwas replied scornfully.

The small datapad clipped to the double agent’s belt beeped. He picked it up and activated it, frowning as he did so.

“What is it?” Romierr asked.

“A little surveillance system alert I put up in my house here,” Sarwas informed him. “Somebody’s there.”

“Who? Imperials?” Romierr asked.

Sarwas shook his head, looking at the grainy imagery from the tiny cams.

“It looks like. . . my g—uh. . . this local woman I’m on good terms with,” he said, then added with a certain measure of confusion. “And a lot of other people.”

“Do you recognize them?” Romierr inquired.

“Not at all,” he said. “But they seem to know her.”

“Well, you didn’t leave anything there that could harm us, did you?”

Sarwas chuckled.

“Of course not.”

“Then it’s not a priority.”

Another intelligence agent walked up to the two men.

“Hey boss, I found out why that Star Destroyer is here,” he said. “Sliced into the Imperials’ comm traffic. You’re not going to believe this.”

“Go ahead,” Romierr told him.

“The Imperials were here to hit what they’re saying was a Jedi enclave. Looks like they put up quite a fight too.”

“Jedi? On Darlyn Boda?” Romierr said derisively. “Doubtful.”

“Not Jedi,” Sarwas corrected him. “They’re called Matukai.”

Romierr looked at him suspiciously.

“And what do you know about them?” he asked.

Sarwas shrugged.

“Another monastic order, kind of like the Jedi, but they don’t use lightsabers. Big on physical fitness.”

“And they just told you about their presence?” Romierr asked skeptically.

Sarwas grinned.

“You can learn all sorts of interesting things when you have the ear of a beautiful woman.”

Romierr rolled his eyes.

“You should know better than to consort with a Force-user,” he said. “They are nothing but trouble.”

“I didn’t know at first,” Sarwas replied lightly.

“You don’t seem very concerned for her welfare,” Romierr pointed out.

Sarwas arched an eyebrow.

“Are you saying you don’t have a bevy of women in every spaceport you frequent?” he asked. “If she and her Matukai friends take some heat of us so we can escape, I’ll have a moment of silence for her later.”

“Perhaps that can be arranged,” the other agent suggested. “Those people she’s brought to your house are mostly likely the Matukai survivors. Maybe we can trade them to the Empire.”

“Won’t work,” Romierr said. “They’re never going to bargain with us. This is useful information, but it doesn’t help us. Whoever these Matukai are, they aren’t going to shoot down twenty starfighters, unless your girlfriend has other talents besides the ones you chased her for.”

Sarwas grinned again.

“I don’t think she can fly,” he said. “And I doubt that Delta-7 starfighter they impounded in the spaceport belongs to any of them either. But hey, take a look—I clearly have good taste.”

He passed around the datapad with the surveillance footage.

Romierr scowled, glancing at the datapad in passing. The information as to the Imperials’ original reasoning for coming to Darlyn Boda was interesting, but ultimately not helpful. The Matukai wouldn’t even make a useful diversion—the Empire would send stormtroopers, not fighters, after them. Unless they had a ship to escape on. ..

A sudden idea struck him.

“Sarwas,” he said. “I think it’s time you showed some concern for this woman of yours.”

“Boss?”

“The Empire is not known for its good treatment of civilians on worlds such as this,” Romierr said. “Perhaps you should offer her a way to escape the impending occupation—say, with a gunship?”

Sarwas nodded as he caught on.

“They’ll have to send the fighters if they want to catch the Matukai—and we’ll have a chance to get away while they’re distracted.”

“If this works, I’ll join you in that moment of silence for her,” Romierr quipped. “Call her.”

Sarwas retrieved his comlink and activated it.

“Xlora?” he said. “It’s me.”

“Sarli!” came the reply after a brief delay. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m outside the city with some business associates. We just got back,” he said. “I saw the Imperial ships landing—are you okay?”

“Mostly,” her voice said after a second. “I went to your place—I was scared.”

“That’s fine,” he told her. “You should probably get out of the city.”

“What about you?” she asked him.

“I’m fine,” he said. “My associates have a ship—you should take mine and get out of there.”

There was another brief delay. Romierr’s eyes narrowed. The pauses in the conversation were too long to be natural.

“Give me that datapad,” he said to Sarwas, who handed it to him.

Romierr flipped through the various cam views until he found the one in the kitchen where a Falleen woman was standing with a comlink held up to her ear. She was talking with three humans, two men and one woman. One of the men was wearing combat armor, but the other had his back turned to the cam.

“You’re just going to give me your ship?” Xlora asked.

Sarwas chuckled, maintaining his good-boyfriend-and-easygoing-spacer shtick.

“I’ll want it back, but right now you need it more than I do. Consider it a loan to make sure the Empire doesn’t bother the prettiest thing on Darlyn Boda,” he said. “Meet me on Abregado-rae in two weeks or I’ll call in the bounty hunters.”

Another delay and Romierr watched the four consult via the cam feed.

“Sarli, that’s very sweet of you, but I can’t fly a ship,” she said, then her voice dropped in register. “And you don’t need bounty hunters to chase me. Just do it yourself—I promise I won’t be too hard to catch.”

Interesting, Romierr noted. They didn’t immediately accept the offer, probably suspicious of something that sounded too good to be true. No doubt the possibility that “Sarli” was working for the Empire had occurred to them. He was dealing with suspicious, cagey people—understandable given that the Empire had just attacked their compound and was actively hunting them. However, if Sarwas pointed out that she had other people with them who might be able to fly it, he would reveal that she was under surveillance, and possibly even give away the plan to have the Matukai serve as a distraction.

“Do you know anyone who could fly the ship for you?” Sarwas asked her. “It’s big enough to accommodate several people.”

Another hesitation, another hurried conference.

“I might know someone, but they’ll want to bring their family,” she said.

“Don’t worry, that ship can hold over twenty people,” Sarwas assured her.

Relief sounded through her voice.

“That’s very kind of you, Sarli,” she said. “How will we access it?”

“I’ll give you the codes for the docking bay and the ship’s locks,” Sarwas told her. “It’s pretty easy to fly—your pilot friend should have no problems with it.”

“What about the Imperials?” she asked. “They have the spaceport locked down.”

Sarwas snorted.

“Listen, honey, I outfly Imperials all the time in that ship. Once you take off, they can’t catch you if you play your cards right.”

“I saw starfighters in the sky,” she said. “Those could catch us. I don’t know about this, Sarli.”

“There aren’t that many,” he answered confidently.

Romierr watched another round of animated discussion between the four in the kitchen of Sarwas’s apartment. The man whose back had previously been to the camera shifted, giving Romierr a good view of his face for the first time. It took him a second to confirm it through the grainy resolution, but when he did, Romierr’s eyes widened in recognition. He laughed aloud at sheer irony of the situation, drawing strange looks from his two subordinates.

“Boss?” Sarwas asked.

“Of all the people to meet,” Romierr said, still laughing heartily. “And of all the times. It had to be him.”

Sarwas and the other agent exchanged quizzical looks. Romierr saw their confusion and pointed at the man he had just recognized. At second glance, he was sure of it.

“That man,” he said, pointing at the screen. “Is no Matukai.”

“Who is he?” Sarwas asked.

“That,” Romierr informed them, “is a Jedi Knight, or at least he’s probably a Knight by now. His name is Selu Kraen. I ran afoul of him and some of his friends on Ando before the Clone Wars. They tried to catch me and made a decent try of it—didn’t work, of course.”

“Are you sure?” Sarwas asked.

“Trust me,” Romierr said. “I never forget a face. That’s him.”

Sarwas peered in closer at the image.

“He is wearing a lightsaber,” he observed. “All three of the others are as well. . . even the one that looks like a Fett clone.”

Romierr shook his head in amusement.

“And you were saying a helpful Jedi was impossible to wish for,” he said.

“He hasn’t agreed to help us,” Sarwas pointed out.

“Didn’t you say there was a Delta-7 starfighter impounded in the spaceport?” Romierr asked.

“Sure,” Sarwas replied.

“Jedi flew those during the wars, remember?” Romierr told him. “A gunship flown by a Jedi might not be able to take down eight fighters, but a starfighter could.”

“So why would he help us?” Sarwas asked. “It doesn’t sound like you were on best of terms.”

“Because we’ll give him the gunship to help his friends if he does,” Romierr said. “I’d give him safe passage on this ship if it gets us away from the Empire.”

“Enemy of my enemy,” Sarwas agreed. “You both have that in common.”

“You know what they say,” the other officer said, with a wink at Sarwas. “War makes strange bedfellows.”

Sarwas groaned while Romierr rolled his eyes, taking over the comlink. Time for a more straightforward approach to their negotiations.

“Time to lay our cards on the table,” he said. “I’d like to speak with Selu Kraen, please.”

Romierr took significant pleasure in watching the shocked expressions develop on the faces of the people he was watching. Their astonishment was quite delicious and he could see them struggling to come up with a reply.

“Excuse me?” Xlora’s voice asked, injected with just the right amount of confusion. “Who is this?”

She was buying time, and it was a good effort, but Romierr already knew better.

“Spare me the act,” Romierr replied. “It’s quite good, but I have a cam feed of you and your friends. Tell Jedi Kraen that it’s been a long time since Ando, but I hope he hasn’t forgotten me.”

He watched as Selu finally took the comlink while the other scanned the room for the cam. It didn’t take long for them to find it and Selu faced it while holding the comlink.

“Ardo Romierr,” Selu said, the words rolling off his tongue like a curse.

“Small galaxy, isn’t it?” Romierr asked cheerfully.

“What do you want?” Selu asked.

“I’ll cut right to it,” Romierr said. “You and your friends are being hunted by the Empire. They’re after us too. We help each other get off this miserable planet and away from the Imperials, then we go our separate ways.”

“What are you proposing?” Selu asked skeptically.

“Similar to what my man was pitching to your friend a minute ago,” Romierr said. “Except you take that Delta-7 in the spaceport and take out the Imperial starfighters while we make our escape in our ship. In return, you get the gunship.”

Selu frowned.

“You do realize there’s a still a Star Destroyer overhead?” he pointed out.

“A Jedi such as yourself should have no problems outflying it,” Romierr countered. “Do we have a deal?”

“So I fly cover for you and your ship, and in return you give us the gunship to make our escape?” Selu asked cautiously. “Nothing else.”

“Nothing else,” Romierr said. “This is your best chance to get off Darlyn Boda, and we both know it.”

“Yours too,” Selu countered. “Or else you wouldn’t be calling me.”

“Then it’s in our best interests to cooperate,” Romierr pointed out. “I gain nothing by deceiving you. We’ll transmit those codes shortly.”

“This time,” Selu muttered, considering the offer for a minute longer. “All right. We have a deal.”

The Jedi sounded distinctly unhappy about it, not that Romierr felt much better about the arrangement himself, aside from a pragmatic satisfaction that they needed each other, and the Jedi would need to take the fighters out anyway to escape through the air.

“Believe me, Selu,” Romierr told him. “The irony is killing me too.”

“Let’s just hope we survive long enough to appreciate it.”

22
Selu sensed Spectre return from his reconnaissance mission through the back alley, slipping into the building from the rear. Within seconds, the ex-ARC met him, Daara, Milya, and Xlora inside the kitchen, where they were crowded around the table. Spectre produced a datapad, setting it on the table so they could see. “How was your trip to the spaceport?” Selu asked.

“Productive,” Spectre replied.

He tapped a control on the datapad and its holoprojector hummed to life, showing a schematic of the city’s spaceport.

“The spaceport is situated on an island connected to the mainland by a single causeway about four hundred meters long,” he said, pointing out the detail. “This makes it easy to secure traffic—though any repulsorcraft can also make a water crossing. The Imperials appear to be stretched thin, concentrating their forces farther out from the city, presumably around Romierr’s ship. They’ve set up a single checkpoint with three squads and a pair of Chariot command speeders guarding the main spaceport entrance. There’s a pair of E-WEB blasters as well. Comm traffic suggests they have additional patrols inside the spaceport, maybe another four or five squads.”

“That’s not very many to secure a full spaceport,” Selu pointed out.

“They have a Star Destroyer in orbit and fighters overhead,” Spectre remarked. “Also, they took heavy casualties from the attack on the Matukai.”

“A Victory-class Star Destroyer carries over 1,600 troops,” Selu said. “The local garrison easily had another few hundred. Seems too easy.”

Milya pulled up her datapad.

“I was able to slice into the local satellites,” she said, showing a topographical map with symbols layered over it. “Most of those troops are deployed outside the city. At least 300 soldiers were already committed to the Matukai assault, and you can expect probably the same number are patrolling the city. As long as they have air superiority, the spaceport isn’t the biggest objective, especially if they want to hunt us and stop Romierr.”

“Besides,” Spectre pointed out. “Trying to break into the spaceport would be suicide. A four-hundred meter causeway with no cover, covered by E-WEBs and Chariots? It’s impossible.”

“Agreed,” Selu said. “That’s why we’re not going to use the causeway.”

He outlined the plan he had been working on and the others voiced their agreement or suggested refinement. Finally, once they were settled on the execution, Selu pulled out a long duraplast case from under the table for Spectre.

“You’ll never guess what Xlora found for you,” he said. “Tucked away in a closet with plenty of ammo.”

Spectre opened it up to reveal a Verpine sniper rifle along with plenty of the metallic slugs it accelerated via gravity coils to hypersonic speeds. The weapon was silent, reliable, and had tremendous range.

“I think you know how to use one of these,” Selu said.

“And enjoy doing so,” Spectre agreed, running his hand down the weapon’s barrel.

“Just keep it dry,” Selu advised him, then shifted back towards the others. “Get the others ready. We move out in five.”


 * Outside the city

It was late in the evening by the time Ajaur approached the shot-down scout ship—it had traveled nearly a hundred kilometers through treacherous terrain. While troops from the local garrison had been able to secure the crash site, they hadn’t reported bodies or taken casualties. That meant that the fugitives had escaped, a thought which made him grind his teeth in anger. He had searched for them with the dark side, but his senses had been clouded. They were near, but he couldn’t track them accurately. Striding through the swamp, he approached the patrol leader.

“What do you have?”

“No trace of the fugitives,” the soldier reported. “We did find some blood in the ship, but no bodies. Just him.”

He gestured and two soldiers shoved a bleary-eyed man with a heavily-bandaged hand and a bedraggled Imperial uniform.

“Who is this?” Ajaur rumbled.

The man gave him a glassy-eyed stare.

“Lieutenant Almos Terthbak, Imperial Navy.”

Ajaur didn’t have patience for half-witted lackeys. Calling on the Force, he telekinetically lifted the man into the air.

“More Jedi,” the man gasped as he was hoisted aloft. “Why is it always Jedi?”

“Why were you on that ship?” Ajaur demanded.

“My ship,” Terthbak answered. “My command.”

Ajaur stepped forward and squeezed the man’s bandaged hand. He screamed in pain—which was the entire point. Perhaps that would make him more coherent. The lieutenant whimpered and clutched his wounded appendage.

“I want answers,” Ajaur said. “You are going to give them to me.”

“Yes. . . yes. . .” the man answered piteously.

“Yes, my lord,” Ajaur corrected, dropping the man into a puddle of swamp water.

“Yes, my lord,” Terthbak said hastily.

“Why were you on that ship?”

“It was my ship,” Terthbak answered. “But our mission was classified.”

Ajaur gestured around him.

“I serve the Empire. These Imperial soldiers are under my command,” he said. “I have a Star Destroyer in orbit that answers to me. You can tell me and be rewarded, or I can extract the truth from you forcefully.”

Terthbak took that in, then nodded.

“We were on a mission to scout a number of worlds for Jedi,” he told the Inquisitor. “We had special technology to detect them—but somehow they got onboard. They took my ship, killed my crew, chopped off my fingers. Next thing I knew, we crashed here and they left me behind.”

“How fortuitous,” Ajaur said. “Thank you for your contribution, Lieutenant.”

The Inquisitor turned to the patrol leader.

“Have him brought to the Corrupter and placed in the brig. I will interrogate him further later.”

“I told you everything I know!” Terthbak protested.

Ajaur gave him an evil smile.

“Not yet,” he said. “But under the proper application of pain, you will.”

Terthbak was forcefully hauled away, proclaiming his loyalty to the Empire and his willingness to divulge everything he knew. Ajaur ignored his pleas. He would spill his guts later, but for now, it was clear the man knew nothing of immediate use. The Inquisitor would extract every last ounce of knowledge from the lieutenant and, given that the process would likely leave him a broken husk of his former self, would then indulge him with a swift death. His file would list that he died in combat against a renegade Jedi, a far nobler end than the pathetic man deserved. The Inquisitor turned back towards the city that rose from the swamp. Its denizens were no less foul than the marshes, and given enough time, he would have preferred to rid the galaxy of all of these malcontents and criminals. However, he did not have time for such diversions. The Jedi were far more important.

“My lord,” the patrol officer said, approaching him with his head bowed. “Lieutenant Convarion is requesting that we allocate some of the troops from the Corrupter to assist in recovering a high-value Imperial asset.”

“No,” Ajaur replied firmly. “Those troops will help me hunt down the Jedi.”

“I understand, my lord,” the man answered, his voice quavering. “I’ll inform the lieutenant.”

The Inquisitor looked back at the city and its motley collection of drab buildings, scouring his senses for his elusive quarry. For a moment, there was nothing and Ajaur’s impatience festered as he hungered for a decisive confrontation. Then suddenly, his perception blossomed with light as multiple Force-users suddenly were perceivable again. He caught glimpses and traces of their intent in the Force and suddenly a desperate sense of haste and worry filled him as he understood their plan.

He turned to the patrol officer.

“All troops to the spaceport!” the Inquisitor shouted, setting off at a dead sprint for the nearest speeder bike.


 * Ikathi Spaceport, Darlyn Boda

Aside from a few local miscreants who had tried to cause trouble and been summarily beaten into submission and hauled to a detention center, the spaceport had been surprisingly easy to secure. Of course, by design, it was intended to be defensible from attackers coming from the city, which is why it was situated on the lack. The Imperial soldiers that had seized it had found it relatively unoccupied—the usual criminal types steering clear of Imperial forces, particularly at this time of night when the cantinas were at their busiest.

Due to the pressing need for troops elsewhere and the relative ease at which the spaceport could be defended, Lieutenant Convarion had thus shifted most of his strength elsewhere. While there were many valuable ships and cargo inside, the Imperials controlled the skies. Since word had gotten out that no ships would be allowed to leave, the spacers had steered clear, leaving it far from the highest priority. At any rate, the causeway was well-defended and would have required air power or armored support to cross, something well beyond the capabilities of the local riffraff or the Jedi fugitives. The waters were being patrolled by speeder bikes who would intercept any attempt at a water crossing. As a result, the imposing structure was secured with relatively little required manpower. However, there was an attack path that Convarion hadn’t accounted for. Speeder bikes were excellent at spotting repulsorcraft or other boats crossing the lake to the spaceport, but in order to cover that much surface, they moved quickly—too quickly to notice minor details like ripples in the water. Below the surface of the placid waters, eighteen swimmers made their way across the narrow strait. They made as little noise as possible, surfacing far less than normal swimmers would have needed to, and with almost no splash. Instead, they spent as much time submerged in the oily, murky waters of the lake, using it for concealment. In the dark, cloudy night, with a fog rolling in from over the lake, they were almost undetectable. They needed no light either—they had other means of guidance.

In only a few short minutes, the group crossed the strait. Two stormtroopers were silhouetted near their side of the embankment, facing the causeway as they stood guard. Two dark shadows silently emerged from the water behind them, taking the utmost care to make absolutely no noise that the troopers would hear. Like spectral wraiths emerging from the fog, they approached the troopers stealthily. The soldiers never saw them coming—their first realization was when the vibroblades slid through the weaker neck armor into the base of their skulls. By then, it was too late.

As Spectre and Milya quietly deposited their lifeless cargo down the embankment, out of sight, Selu signaled for Daara and the Matukai to spring into action. Then he broke into a sprint, shifting his focus from shielding into the combat senses and awareness that would keep him alive and guide him through battle. The dark man would be able to sense them now, but Selu felt his presence was far off—he could not immediately intervene. They would have to move quickly.

Selu, Daara, and the Matukai were like lethal shadows, jumping over obstacles and charging into the unsuspecting Imperial soldiers, leaving the Chariots for Spectre and Milya. They met very little resistance. Selu didn’t ignite his lightsabers until right before the attack, so they was no sound to give them away. His glowing blades made him the target of most of the scattered return fire, and he easily batted it away. Within seconds, the attack was over, with only corpses strewn across the spaceport entrance to show for it, all of them Imperial.

Selu turned to Daara and Milya.

“Get everyone into the gunship and start it up. Spectre and I will cover you from here until we hear your signal.”

They nodded.

“Should we leave some of the Matukai here to man those E-WEB emplacements?” Milya asked.

“No,” Selu said in a low voice. “We may need to get out of here in a hurry and I’m not sure they can keep up. Now, go.”

Milya nodded.

“Take care of yourselves,” she said to him and Spectre.

“Force be with you,” he replied.

Then Selu turned back, facing down the causeway and extending his senses to detect incoming threats. He was drawing heavily on the Force now, hyper-aware of his surroundings, and also fully revealed to the dark man. Selu sensed his approach and gripped his lightsaber tighter. Spectre busied himself with collecting detonators and grenades from the fallen Imperials, along with the power cell from one of the Chariots. Once he had amassed a sizable collection, he disappeared into the water by the causeway, returning several minutes later without the explosives.

“Will it work?” Selu asked him.

Spectre shrugged, the gesture hard to see through his katarn-class commando armor.

“I’m a little out of practice and there wasn’t much to work with,” he said.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“It’ll work,” Spectre replied. “Just not as spectacularly as I prefer.”

Selu rolled his eyes.

“Next time, I’ll arrange a bigger budget for explosives,” he said. “Get in position.”

Spectre clambered up onto the roof of one of the Chariot speeders, setting himself in a prone position as he set up the Verpine sniper rifle.

“Three bikes coming in from the left,” he said.

“Take them,” Selu told him.

Spectre’s rifle chirped once, twice, then two more times again. Selu heard the distant sound of muffled splashes and screeching metal as the bikes met their end.

“Targets down,” the ex-ARC whispered.

Selu was pleased to see that a couple of years of retirement hadn’t dulled Spectre’s marksmanship. Then again, having the Force to help guide his aim had probably only made him an even better shot.

Two more quiet moments passed, and Selu began to wonder if they could escape Darlyn Boda without any more bloodshed. However, it was not to be.

“Another three bikes,” Spectre told him. “From the right this time. They know we’re here.”

Selu sensed the increased awareness and hostility from the pilots.

“I sense it, too,” he said,

He clicked his comlink.

“Milya?”

“Little trouble here,” she replied tersely. “There’s a full squad pinning us down. Some of the Matukai are flanking them, but it’s taking some time.”

“Please hurry,” Selu said. “We’re about to have a lot more company out front.”

“Understood,” she said.

Selu put the comlink away. Spectre’s rifle coughed four more times, but Selu only heard one crash. Sensing danger, he drew his lightsaber and ignited it. Blaster bolts immediately began burning through the air around him and he batted them away. The two speeder bikes made a swift pass over the causeway. Selu jumped past one, slicing through the rider as he sped past. Spectre shot the other rider in the back as he zoomed past and his bike slammed into the lake with a loud splash. Selu deactivated his weapons and was about to breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly, Selu’s Force senses screamed an alert. He leapt aside, the Force carrying him several meters, as enormous green laser bolts blasted craters into the causeway’s permacrete. Spectre rolled off his perch as the Chariot was rocked by a near-miss. A pair of V-19 fighters soared overhead.

“They’re coming around for another pass,” Spectre said, lining up his rifle for a shot.

“Don’t bother,” Selu told him. “I’ll take them.”

Igniting his lightsabers, he watched as the tri-winged fighters looped around, skimming low over the lake for another high-speed strafing run. Selu nimbly avoided the laser fire, which erupted in concussive fireballs around him, gouging burning scars into the permacrete. As they swooped overhead, he called upon the Force and hurled both of the Chariots skyward. The two telekinetically thrown vehicles collided with the starfighters, both of whom were only a hundred meters off the ground, resulting in brilliant fireballs that showered the lake with burning debris.

“Nice trick,” Spectre said.

“Beats trying to shoot them down with a sniper rifle,” Selu quipped, panting as he tried to catch his breath.

Using telekinesis on objects with that much inertia at high speed was quite exhausting, and he didn’t know if he could do it again anytime soon.

“More fighters incoming,” Spectre reported.

Selu was the first to spot the fiery trails rocketing away from the incoming craft.

“Missiles!” he said.

Spectre gave no reply, focused on sighting in with his sniper rifle. He fired by reflex and instinct, guided by the Force. Selu watched as three of the four incoming projectiles detonated prematurely over the lake, struck by ex-ARC’s shots. Selu found the last one in the Force, focusing on it with a telekinetic grip, slapping it downward into the lake. It exploded, sending white-hot plumes of steam and spray cascading skyward.

The fighters looped around for another pass, but Selu suddenly heard the whoosh of rockets from behind him. An AIAT gunship lumbered up from the spaceport, the source of the missiles. The fighter pilots, caught unaware, had no chance to evade the rockets, and both craft met the same fiery demise as their squadmates. Selu looked skyward at the gunship, tossing up a salute, but then something else caught his senses even as it lumbered forward to their position.

He turned to see a wave of speeder bikes roaring along the causeway, blasters spitting fire at him and Spectre. Leading the charge was the dark man and Selu could feel his rage through the Force. Drawing his lightsabers, Selu deflected the incoming blaster bolts while Spectre returned fire. The dark man ignited a lightsaber of his own, a crimson-hued blade whose color reminded Selu of the Sith and Dark Jedi that had caused so much destruction in the Clone Wars. As the dozen-odd speeder bikes were about to bear down on them, Selu shouted to Spectre.

“Now!”

An explosion rumbled upward from underneath the latter half of the causeway, cracking it in half and propelling chunks of permacrete into the air. The blast wave rippled through the lake and the force of the detonation was enough to consume the approaching speeder bikes, which either flew through the maelstrom of debris or were thrown aside with violent results by the force of the blast. Selu watched as the smoke and spray settled to see if any of the speeder bikes had survived, but Spectre’s demolitions had completely shredded the attackers—and blown a twenty meter gap in the causeway.

“And you said it wouldn’t be spectacular,” Selu remarked wryly.

“By my standards,” Spectre said.

Then, Selu saw a dark figure pulling himself out of the water on the far side of the causeway. He sensed the ominous malice in the man and knew that their hunter had somehow survived the blast. No doubt the Force had warned him at the last moment and allowed him to escape death or serious injury where all his companions had perished. The man stood on the other side, lightsaber still in hand but not lit. Selu brought both of his blades up to a guard stance in case the man jumped over to their side. Their adversary readied his own weapon, but though Selu anticipated the red blade blazing to life, nothing happened. Selu blinked, then remembered his own experience on Ando as a Padawan. He had swam over to another ship, trying to stop a group of pirates, only to find that his lightsaber was inoperable after being submerged. Since then, his weapons—and those of his friends—had included modifications to allow them to function underwater to avoid a repeat incident. That same water-induced failure must have happened to the person hunting them, who was now effectively unarmed, as he stood there, glaring malevolently at them, but unwilling to jump over and fight with an inoperable weapon.

Selu stared back at the adversary who had savagely beaten him on the Star Destroyer months prior. The man was undoubtedly evil and the hatred he bore for Selu was almost palpable. Somehow, he had survived their encounter on the Star Destroyer months earlier and was still hunting them. Such a man would never rest until they were dead. Whoever he was, he was clearly still a threat simply through the power he wielded through the Force. Selu’s Jedi ideals told him he should try and capture the man, but there was no means to do so, not across the wide gap in the bridge.

“I’m out of ammo,” Spectre reported, removing the one realistic option Selu had for eliminating the man.

He spared the dark man one last look.

“Let’s go,” Selu said.

The gunship hovered low over them, its boarding ramp lowered. Spectre drew one last bead on the man, then shook his head. Then he and Selu jumped up ten meter to clamber onto the ship, which hove around and vectored back over the spaceport. Selu dropped out of it into the landing bay that contained the starfighter Milya had flown to Darlyn Boda, where it was powered up and waiting for him. Within seconds, he was strapped in and jetting skyward ahead of the gunship.

His sensors showed four starfighters vectoring in on him, with another dozen fighters launching from the Star Destroyer. Selu boosted power to engines and closed in on the fighters, thinking back to his days as a pilot during the Clone Wars. He had logged numerous combat missions flying a similar ship and his old reflexes and skills came back to him quickly.

Selu took the first fighter out in a clean head-to-head pass, evading the other pilot’s shots while landing his own. His shields took a few glancing blows, but V-19s were not as nimble as his own Delta-7 and he was definitely the better pilot. His precognitive abilities told him where the hostile fire would be aimed, allowing him to react. He knew the fighters would split up in an attempt to swarm him. Picking a target, Selu swung his fighter around after shooting through their ranks, twisting and rolling to shed airspeed and line up his laser cannons on the V-19 before it could complete its own turn. His fire shredded the opposing spacecraft, which spiraled downward to slam into the lake. The other two banked and came after him with lasers blazing. Selu took several hits, his shields ablating to half-strength. Rolling up and over the incoming craft, he again took advantage of the Delta-7’s agility. As one of the pilots turned into his own turn, Selu cut out of the loop, ending up with an easy shot on the V-19’s engine. A second later, that fighter was also in a death spiral, trailing fire from its stern. The last V-19 attempted to run, but Selu knew that it would just attempt to link up with the other twelve fighters and attack him later. It was still a threat. Shunting more power to sublight engines, he closed on its tail. The other pilot tried to throw off his aim by juking evasively, but Selu was guided by the Force. He fired three times and the fighter exploded.

Those four had been relatively easy kills, he reflected, but he knew that the upcoming fight would be near suicidal if he had to engage twelve at a time, even with the gunship’s help. Off to the left, he saw a massive warship rising from the swamps of Darlyn Boda, a blocky, angular construction nearly large enough to be a capital ship. Laser bolts from the surface slammed into it, but were absorbed easily by its shield.

“Nice work, Master Jedi,” his comm crackled on one of the frequencies Romierr had given him.

“Nice ship, Romierr,” Selu said, awestruck at the size of the vessel. “I see you’ve upgraded since Ando.”

“You deal with the fighters, we’ll take care of the Star Destroyer,” Romierr told him. “Then we go our separate ways.”

“Understood,” Selu replied.

The fighter and gunship rapidly outpaced the lumbering warship, soaring through the cloudbank into the upper atmosphere. The dark blue sky rapidly gave way to the pitch black of space as they ascended. Against the backdrop of the starfield, the ominous wedge of the Star Destroyer loomed ever closer as it vectored to intercept.

Selu’s sensor board revealed that six fighters were en route to intercept him. That was strange—the destroyer should have at least another six. Were they being held in reserve? He looked sharp for a trap, but there was no sign of the other fighters. Well, that just made his job easier. He headed straight for the formation, charging his laser cannons. He had to draw fire away from the gunship and that meant taking out the fighters as quickly as possible.

He fired at maximum range to get their attention, landing only glancing blows. Four of the fighters immediately dove after him. Selu slowed, letting them acquire almost acquire targeted locks on him, then abruptly shifted all power to engines, shooting past them. They dove to follow, but couldn’t quite keep up as he rolled up, over, and then behind them. In a flash, one of them was a burning hulk and another was being hammered. The other pair rolled to try and get behind him, but Selu was wise to the maneuver. Breaking off his original target, he threw the Delta-7 into a power turn, two V-19s on his tail. They bracketed him, one aiming in front of his craft and another behind, the green laser flashes sizzling past his canopy. Selu yawed away from them, dropping below their formation. He then hauled his stick back, pitching upward relative to the planet. They had a brief instant to fire at him as he zoomed past them, but the shields took the snap shots. Selu’s maneuver carried him over and behind the attacking fighters. Even as they banked, he matched, lining up shots as they passed in front of his sights. His maneuverability and skill allowed him to keep his aim on their fighters for longer. Unfortunately for them, V-19s weren’t shielded. Their maneuverability was considerable, but not as extreme as the lighter-armed Delta-7s, and Selu never let them lock onto him with their missiles. Both of them succumbed quickly, leaving just one damaged fighter.

“Selu, a little help,” Spectre called.

Selu cut back to see the gunship was being harried by one of the other two V-19s that had split off. He watched with chagrin as the other V-19 targeted and destroyed the hyperdrive ring for his Delta-7, then swooped back to target the gunship. Pouring on the thrust, Selu abandoned his quarry, looping back to the AIAT. Bracketing the first V-19 in his reticule, he opened fire. His first two shots missed, but the next two burned directly into the underside of the starfighter. The four laser cannons tore through the unshielded craft, turning it into burning debris. The second fighter strafed the gunship again and Selu saw a missile impact collapse the aft shield, igniting a small secondary explosion.

“Spectre!” Selu shouted.

“We’re fine,” Spectre replied. “Just get that fighter off of us.”

Selu complied, diving down on the fighter, which swooped to meet him in a head-to-pass. This time, he allowed the Imperial to acquire a missile lock on him. The Force told him just before it fired and he took advantage of the pilot’s momentary pre-occupation to fire a single laser cannon burst that hit the V-19 squarely in the cockpit. Juking the missiles, he saw that the previously-damaged fighter was again on his tail. Emerald laser bolts slammed into his shields and Selu realized with dismay that the protective energy fields had collapsed. Feeling somewhat naked without them, he rolled away from the fighter. Suddenly, it disappeared in an explosion as a concussion missile from the gunship took it out.

“Nice shot,” Selu told Spectre. “What’s your status?”

“Not good,” Spectre replied. “Sublights are at half. We can still make the jump to lightspeed.”

“I can’t. They took out my ring,” Selu said dejectedly.

With the immediate space around them clear of hostiles, he risked a glance over at where Romierr’s ship was tussling with the Star Destroyer. Furious exchanges of capital-ship weaponry superheated the space between the two ships as they inflicted punishment on each other. Azure ion cannon bolts from the Imperial ship were eating away at Romierr’s shield integrity, while relatively little return fire was headed back its way. Selu realized that Romierr’s vessel was either not a combat ship or was severely undermanned. Either answer would explain why they had needed his help battling the Imperial fighters.

He watched as the missing six V-19s shot out from the Star Destroyer, followed by three shuttles, closing on Romierr’s ship. Even as they approached the other warship, Romierr’s craft vectored, angling away from the Star Destroyer. A bevy of missiles streaked away from its aft compartment, slamming into the Star Destroyer with the distinctive explosive pattern of baradium-based weaponry. The resulting detonations overloaded the Imperial warship’s shields and inflicted severe damage on its hull. Secondary explosions erupted where power conduits or weapon emplacements were hit directly and the Star Destroyer reeled from the impact. Though Selu expected the ship would survive, it had been severely damaged.

However, the missile impacts didn’t stop the oncoming fighters or shuttles. The Star Destroyer’s tractor beams had reduced Romierr’s ship’s speed to where the fighters could blast open one of the cargo bays and the shuttles swooped in. Even though the beams were no longer locked on, they had served their purpose—allowing Imperial troops to board the ship.

Selu observed this rapid succession of events from a distance, and then a wild idea struck him. The idea didn’t thrill him—it meant working with Romierr again, even more closely this time. Romierr had Imperials swarming his ship, but as far as Selu knew, it still had a functional hyperdrive. Selu suspected that he could deal with a handful of Imperials if it would get them out of this system. He quickly explained the plan to Spectre, then toggled his comlink to Romierr’s frequency.

“Looks like you have some Imperial entanglements,” he said.

“This isn’t the best time to gloat,” came Romierr’s reply. “We’re a little busy here.”

“Would a Jedi or two swing things in your favor?” Selu asked.

“It might,” Romierr conceded, surprise evident in his voice. “What’s in it for you?”

“Safe passage on your ship to a rendezvous point,” Selu answered. “My hyperdrive ring was destroyed.”

“Normally, I’d say something pithy, but under the circumstances, I’ll just say it’s a deal,” Romierr answered.

“I’m on my way,” Selu replied, accelerating towards the beleaguered warship as it pulled away from the Star Destroyer.

From the cockpit of the gunship, Spectre and Milya watched him go. Spectre started to make the necessary calculations for the jump to lightspeed.

“No,” Milya said, grabbing his hand. “We’re going after him.”

Spectre looked askance at her.

“Selu told us to—,”

“I know what he said,” Milya answered. “We’re not seriously leaving him alone on a ship crawling with mercenaries and Imperials, are we? We only have Romierr’s word that he’ll meet up with us later to get Selu back.”

Spectre thought about it, then his mouth set in a grim line, remembering how Selu had nearly sacrificed himself a year earlier on Emberlene on an even more foolish mission.

“Of course not,” he said, gunning the throttles. “Kriff it, Selu. Every time you pull these stunts, you get into so much trouble.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Milya replied. “To get him out alive.”

23
Trip was roused from his resting state by the ship lurching beneath their feet. They were lifting off. The other Imperials quickly awoke as a distant rumbling and shuddering vibrated the walls and decks, scrambling to their feet. Taskien was one of the first up, rolling off of him without saying a word.

“They’re lifting off with a Star Destroyer overhead?” Doriana asked.

“Maybe they had no choice,” Trip suggested.

“Or they found a way to deal with the Star Destroyer,” Taskien remarked. “Can this ship take on a Star Destroyer?”

She directed the question to Doriana, who contemplated the question.

“I’m no admiral,” he answered slowly. “But even fully crewed, you would need a tactical genius for this to defeat a Victory-class Star Destroyer, much less one of the new Imperial-classes. It’s not really designed as a capital ship.”

“I didn’t think so, based on the design,” Taskien replied.

They waited, unable to decide their own fate in any way, but alert in case an opportunity presented itself. Finally, the ship started shaking again, this time accompanied by a sharper, intermittent sound. One particularly forceful impact nearly drove them back to the deck.

“We’re under fire,” Trip said, having experienced the sensation many times before. “I’m sure of it.”

The lights flickered momentarily as the ship’s power reserves were taxed, but the shock field remained intact, much to their disappointment. The vibrations and impacts continued for several long minutes. The Imperials held onto the wall to keep their footing—except for Taskien. She grabbed ahold of Trip instead.

“Whatever happens,” Trip told her softly. “It’s been an honor serving with you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she said. “You at least owe me a drink for Zeru Neimodia, and I intend to collect.”

“A drink?” Trip asked, surprised at where she had steered the conversation.

“Yes,” she replied firmly. “Some place classy in Imperial Center’s upper levels.”

Trip was initially mystified at what she was saying, but it made more sense in the context that Rothery had provided earlier, and then he understood. To his surprise, the invitation didn’t seem like such a foreign thing. In fact, spending time with Agent Taskien—without being shot, tortured, imprisoned, or otherwise at work—sounded quite desirable. Somehow, Trip was okay with admitting that to himself.

“I’ll make it happen,” he answered simply.

“Good,” Taskien said. “Then we’d better get out of here and stop Romierr.”

“If the shock field goes down, we’ll break out of here, free the others, and disable the ship,” Trip said. “We either take it back, or destroy it.”

“Preferably the former,” Doriana interjected, coming in on the tail end of the conversation. “There is a lot of valuable technology on this ship.”

“If it’s not a warship, what is this ship?” Taskien asked him. “It’s too large and well-armed to simply be a transport.”

Doriana smiled.

“The details are classified.”

“The information might help us if we get out of here,” she countered.

“Fair point,” Doriana conceded. “The Griffin is an experimental mobile factory ship. It’s designed to land on a planet’s surface and collect raw materials to power molecular furnaces. Those furnaces would then produce any kind of equipment that an army would need on a short notice.”

“So why are you using it for your personal transport?” Trip asked. “Seems like that should be in a naval research lab somewhere.”

“This is just a test bed,” Doriana answered. “I was conducting the ship to a secret construction project when I made a detour to Zeru Neimodia to monitor the situation there. The Xi Charrians we brought onboard should be quite useful on that project, while the ship is headed to, well, a safe place.”

The ship lurched again from another violent impact—no doubt it was being severely hammered by incoming fire.

“A moot question if that Star Destroyer blasts us to pieces,” Trip observed.

Doriana strode over to the shock field to confer with Rothery, leaving Trip and Taskien relatively alone in the cramped cell.

“We’re going to get out of here,” Taskien said. “We’ll get our chance. I’m sure of it.”

“How do you know?” Trip asked her.

“The Empire would at least attempt to recapture this ship. Advisor Doriana alone is worth that much, not to mention the experimental technology.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” he answered.

“I usually am.”

Trip nodded, conceding the point.

“True,” he admitted. “But just in case you’re not this time—,”

He leaned down and kissed her, stealing her breath before she could reply. He saw the surprise in her eyes as he did so, but she didn’t immediately recoil and push him away, allowing him to savor two seconds of bliss.

“That’s two drinks you owe me now, Commander,” she warned him with mock severity as she broke off.

“Noted,” he replied.

The ship stopped shaking and both the agent and the commander turned back towards the others.

“That’s either really good, or really bad,” Trip remarked.

“Either the Star Destroyer disabled them, or they got away,” Doriana agreed.

Several more tense minutes of waiting passed. Finally, they heard muffled shouts and the sounds of blaster fire in the distance.

“That’s also either really good or really bad,” Taskien suggested. “Either a rescue party. . .”

“Or an execution squad,” Trip answered dryly.

She glared at him.

“You don’t have to be such a pessimist.”

“In my experience, the worst-case and actual scenario are the same thing,” he answered.

Suddenly, the cell door burst open and white-armored stormtroopers poured in, blaster rifles at the ready. Taskien turned to Trip.

“Not this time,” she told him with a wry smile.

“Don’t shoot!” Doriana said. “We’re Imperial personnel being held prisoner on this ship.”

“We know, sir,” one of the stormtroopers said, signaling his men to lower their weapons. “We’ll have you out of there in a minute.”

The stormtroopers were able to shut down the shock field, freeing the prisoners. Trip stepped forward.

“What can we do?” he asked.

“We could use your help retaking the ship,” the stormtrooper told him. “We only have three shuttles’ worth of boarding parties and the insurgents have droid support. Our destroyer has taken heavy damage and may not be to assist. It’s up to us.”

“My men and I are at your disposal,” Trip assured him. “Find us some weapons.”

“Right this way,” the stormtrooper said, then swiveled back to Doriana. “Sir, we’ll be escorting you back to the primary landing bay with our shuttles for evacuation.”

“I’m not going anywhere until this ship is secured,” Doriana replied firmly.

His reply was only partially bravado. If the ship was stolen on his watch, even his long and storied history and friendship with the Emperor might not be enough to save him. He had to see this through, and if he could negotiate Romierr’s surrender or at least claim credit for his demise, that might even atone for this debacle.

“Our orders are to extract you immediately, sir,” the stormtrooper said.

“And the tactical situation doesn’t allow for sparing any additional troops from the seizure of this ship, does it, Commander?”

Doriana turned to Trip, who took the hint.

“I wouldn’t think so, sir,” he said. “We’ll need every available trooper to take it back.”

“I’ll be fine,” Doriana told the stormtrooper. “I can make my own way back to the landing bay, I’m sticking this one out. I might even be able to negotiate with Romierr if he’s cornered.”

“Understood, sir,” the stormtrooper said, taking the advisor’s response in stride.

“I’m helping too,” Taskien added. “I can fight.”

“Wait a minute,” the stormtrooper said, then he stopped, obviously receiving a communications signal.

“Landing bay is compromised,” he informed them. “I need to get up there.”

Doriana’s face turned pale.

“I suppose I’ll head elsewhere then.”

“Here you go, sir.”

The stormtrooper handed Trip a sidearm and he accepted the blaster gratefully. Trip turned to the other clones and Imperial army personnel who had been in the cell with him. His facial expression darkened into a grim, humorless mask that was normally concealed behind his helmet. He checked the power pack on his blaster.

“Time for a little payback,” the clone commander said.

With that, he set off, blaster in hand. After having been confined and tortured, a helpless prisoner for far too long, being able to do somewhat was immensely satisfying. Falling back on his ingrained habits and training, Trip was able to center his mind on his mission. All other concerns were now secondary to the tactical situation. He might be missing his armor and other equipment, but he was still a soldier. It was time to go to war.


 * Landing bay

Selu’s fighter burst through the magcon shield with surprising swiftness. Hovering in place, he directed laser cannon fire into the three shuttles, destroying them even as the stormtroopers inside the landing bay opened fire on him. Settling the craft down via repulsors while his deflectors absorbed the incoming small arms fire from Imperial troops, he prepared himself for battle, taking a deep breath and allowing the Force to calm him. Then he popped the canopy and leaped out of the fighter.

His emerald-green lightsaber and short-bladed shoto flared to life in mid-air, deflecting blaster bolts. The Jedi landed amidst three stormtroopers who had been firing on him. His sabers flashed in a whirling light display, scything through each one. A second later, all three were lying lifeless on the ground with deep black scars through their white armor. The other five stormtroopers in the hangar stood their ground, continuing to pour accurate fire at Selu. The Jedi parried every single blaster bolt away, sending two of them back at the stormtroopers. The other three kept firing, unwavering.

“Surrender!” Selu shouted at them.

They kept firing, redoubling their fire rate even though it would expend their blasters’ power packs faster. Selu shook his head at the pointless loss of life, then suddenly accelerated to speeds the human eye couldn’t track. He dashed past the first stormtrooper, leaving that man with a stab wound to the heart, then leaped up to land behind the second soldier, killing him with equal efficiency. The third stormtrooper tried firing at him twice more, but Selu’s lightsabers came back around and sent both bolts back at the Imperial. He collapsed with two smoldering holes in his chest.

Selu sprinted back over to his fighter and pulled out his comlink, clipping it to the lapel of his cloak.

“Romierr, are you still there?” he asked.

“For now,” the man replied. “We have the blast doors to the bridge sealed, but I think they have shaped charges. They’ll get through eventually.”

“Tell your people not to shoot at Jedi,” Selu said. “I’m on my way.”

With that, he took off at a dead sprint through the ship, trusting the Force to guide him towards pockets of conflict. In a warship that size, it would take some time to reach the bridge, located on top of the ship, from his position at the ventral landing bay. Selu raced through the corridors, which were largely deserted.

The ship seemed to be mostly functional—lights, gravity, doors, and life support systems were still working. Here and there, blaster marks and corpses—white-armored stormtroopers and insurgents in civilian attire or intelligence uniforms—showed evidence of recent skirmishes. Selu quickly sidestepped them, heading for the bridge.

His first sign of trouble was a squad of stormtroopers that were slowly advancing on a pair of insurgents who were hunkered behind sturdy metal crates for cover. The stormtroopers had them pinned down and were incrementally advancing—very by the book. Selu approached them from behind, flattening himself against the doorway he had emerged from to avoid being seen. Spotting that one of the stormtroopers had a concussion grenade on his belt harness, Selu telekinetically armed it, then ducked back and waited for the explosion, covering his ears.

The thunderclap of the grenade echoed through the corridor. Once the blast wave had passed, Selu rolled around the corner, alert for trouble, both his blades lit, but all of the stormtroopers were down. The two insurgents peered over the edge of their cover at him, blasters pointed his direction.

“Don’t shoot!” Selu barked. “I’m on your side.”

The blasters slowly lowered.

“A Jedi?” one of them said as he rose from behind the crate. “Romierr must have better connections than we thought. I didn’t think even he could summon a Jedi to help us.”

Selu smiled grimly.

“Let’s just say we have some history,” he replied.

The man stepped out from behind cover and extended a hand to Selu.

“Jeerm Atsedi, formerly Imperial Intelligence. Had the pleasure of working with Master Unduli during the Clone Wars and knew the truth about what happened to the Jedi. Damn shame.”

“She was a great Jedi,” Selu replied. “Just call me Hawk-bat for now.”

“I understand,” Atsedi said. “And thanks for the help.”

“What were they after?”

“There’s a droid storage room back this way,” the insurgent answered. “We were trying to activate the droids and get them up to the bridge when they ambushed us. There were six of us. Now it’s just me and Tagreb.”

“Get to the storage room,” Selu said. “See if you can get those droids up to the bridge.”

“What about you?” Atsedi asked.

Selu’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m going to get there first.”

“Strange galaxy, isn’t it, Master Jedi?” Atsedi asked, handing him a datapad with the ship’s schematics on it. “Battle droids, Imp-Intel, and Jedi fighting together against stormtroopers.”

“And stranger by the minute,” Selu said. “Meet me at the bridge.”

He set off again, stretching out with his senses. He could detect about thirty people near the top of the ship. Depending on how many crew Romierr had with him, there could be up to thirty stormtroopers there—quite a tall order. Then again, Selu had already dealt with two squads. He remembered that he had destroyed three Theta-class shuttles. Each shuttle could carry two squads of stormtroopers, so that left less than thirty, counting the bodies he had seen and assuming that others had fallen. If he could flank them, whittle away at their numbers with hit-and-fade raids, he could slowly diminish their numbers, or at least stall until Atseedi and Tagreb could arrive with droid reinforcements.

Selu was about halfway to the bridge when suddenly his comlink chirped at him. He activated it, expecting to hear from Romierr. To his surprise, it was Spectre, and judging from the background noise, the ex-ARC was in a hell of a blaster fight.

“Selu!” Spectre shouted. “Hope you weren’t too attached to that fighter! We just lost the landing bay.”

“Spectre?” Selu asked. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in hyperspace!”

“Couldn’t just leave you here to get into trouble,” Spectre replied. “But the trouble found us instead.”

“What do you mean?” Selu said. “The stormtroopers are all assaulting the bridge.”

“I don’t think these ones got that memo,” Spectre retorted. “Both stormies and blackshirts, and well-armed.”

There was a muffled explosion that reverberated through the comlink. Selu grew worried—he hadn’t sensed any of his friends die, but there was so much pain and confusion emanating through the Force that he was having trouble processing it and maintaining his combat focus. He froze, not sure if he should continue towards the bridge and help Romierr, or turn back to his friends.

“Milya!” Spectre shouted, and Selu sensed her pain.

At that moment, Selu knew his decision. He knew that Milya’s death might be imminent, and that was something he could not abide, not if he could prevent it. Whatever the prophecy said, whatever ultimately became of them, and whatever the outcome of the battle, Selu knew that he couldn’t lose her. He had to keep her safe, even if she no longer harbored affection or attraction for him. She had saved his life on Emberlene, and given him reason to live for until he had turned his back on her in the name of destiny.

Selu no longer cared about destiny. He had never asked for this prophecy or mission. He had never envisioned himself as a Jedi who would one day shape the galaxy. All he had ever wanted to do in the last three years was to keep his friends and family safe. Now, the one person he cared about the most, even more than he cared for his brother Sarth if he was honest with himself, was in danger, and Selu could not just leave her to possibly die. As much as he trusted and respected Spectre’s skills, he knew he was needed down there if she was to survive. He had failed to save his closest friends at the Jedi Temple three years ago. He would not fail here.

He turned and sprinted back to the landing bay as fast as his feet and the Force would carry him.

In less than a minute, he was on the deck above where a furious firefight was taking place at an intersection. Spectre and the Matukai seemed to be pinned down in a control room, but their polearms made any charge into close-quarters suicidal for the Imperial troops. Instead, they hunkered in the doorway and poured blaster fire into the defenders, pinning them down by dint of their superior range. Selu could sense Spectre’s frustration and worry through the Force. That he didn’t sense the same thing from Milya worried him.

Digging his lightsabers into the deck flooring beneath him, he swiftly slashed a circular hole. The resulting disk of metal crashed down into the ranks of the stormtroopers, followed by Selu. Landing in their midst and catching them by surprise, he inflicted tremendous damage on their numbers.

In the first sweep of his blades, Selu dropped four of them. Darting to one side, he skewered two more, then side-stepped a barrage of blaster fire to cleave though another pair. Three stormtroopers tried to flank him, but Selu’s hand shot out towards them expressively and they were telekinetically hurled backward into a wall with bone-breaking force. He was drawing heavily on the Force now, wielding the full magnitude of the gift he had received at Revan’s tower in desperate combat to save the woman he loved.

Ducking and rolling past a pair of blaster bolts, Selu sprang up next to another trooper, slashing through him. A quick spin allowed him to cut through the next adversary. In the confined quarters and obstructed by their comrades, they had little chance to bring their numbers to bear against him. The Matukai charged out of the room even as the troopers turned to fight Selu, and their counterattack broke the Imperial ranks.

Selu kept fighting, evading blaster bolts or deflecting them with his lightsabers. His two blades pierced armor and flesh with searing lethality and the parried blaster bolts were equally deadly. He was moving and fighting faster than he ever had before, slashing through the stormtroopers with deadly precision. Behind him, the Matukai covered his flanks and rear with their wan-shens, allowing him to carry forward in a deadly charge.

His fight took him into a corridor lined with viewports on one side which gave him a view of Darlyn Boda. In the crowded confines of the entrance, Selu killed another five stormtroopers before the rest fell back into the corridor, seeking to lure him into a killing lane.

Several stormtroopers backpedaled, firing at him from the hip as they fell back. Selu would have none of it. Seeing them head towards a blast door at the far end of the corridor, he telekinetically tripped the control and it sealed shut, separating them from the rest of their companions. Selu took three steps forward, his lightsabers lit and ready, as they momentarily ceased fire.

He was deliberately not tapping into the anger and fear that threatened to overtake him, but the grim determination in his eyes belied the heated emotions running through him. But for his control, they would have spilled out into combat, carrying him even more furiously into battle. However, Selu, even amidst his concern for Milya, would not trust himself to something so fickle as emotion. It was not the Jedi way.

“The odds are no longer in your favor,” he said to the troopers. “Surrender.”

Their response was to raise their weapons to their shoulders. Selu’s expression hardened as he channeled the Force into telekinesis. Raising a hand, he shattered three transparisteel viewports on the far end of the corridor. Before they could react or engage the magnasoles on their boots, the stormtroopers were sucked into space through the newly-formed breaches. Selu turned and walked back through the entrance, sealing the blast door on his end behind him to stop the air from escaping. That would slow down any counterattacks.

Speeding up, he passed back through the Matukai finishing off the last of the stormtroopers, at least the ones nearby. He ran back to the control room where Spectre and the others had been previously pinned down to find the armored ex-ARC kneeling behind one of the consoles.

Selu ran over to see Milya lying unconscious on the floor, her clothing torn and shredded near the shoulder. A smattering of blood was evident on the exposed skin, but more was spilling from the collar of her shirt. Spectre was at her side, trying to ascertain her injuries.

“How bad?” Selu asked, trying to maintain control.

“Not fatal,” Spectre replied. “Not good either. She caught the edge of a grenade blast and was thrown into a wall.”

The ex-ARC took off his glove and gently probed her neck and shoulder with two fingers.

“Her collarbone and shoulder are definitely broken and she was probably concussed,” he said. “I don’t see any deep shrapnel wounds, but there could be internal bleeding, torn ligaments—maybe even a weakened heart from the blast wave. Hard to say.”

“Infirmary is three decks up,” Selu told him, consulting the datapad Atsedi had given him. “I’ll take her there and see if there’s a med droid. If not, I’ll try and stabilize her myself.”

“What about the bridge?” Spectre asked. “If there were enough Imperials to drive us from the launch bay, there had to be more to reinforce the group assaulting the bridge.”

“You take the bridge,” Selu replied hurriedly, looking down at Milya with concern. “I’ll see to Milya.”

“Selu,” Spectre said with sudden gravity, peeling off his helmet to look his friend in the eyes.

Something in his tone pulled Selu’s gaze to match the ex-ARC’s.

“What you did in that corridor to that many stormtroopers—I couldn’t do that. Not even with all the Matukai and Daara to help me. Even with Daara hurling their grenades back at them, they still got one inside, and we lost two Matukai as well as Milya’s injury.”

“What are you saying?” Selu asked.

“I’m saying that you should go to the bridge,” Spectre told him, gently but firmly. “You have the skills and power to make a difference there. We lost the landing bay—getting this ship into hyperspace is the only way we escape this system.”

“I can’t just leave her like this,” Selu countered.

“You won’t,” Spectre replied. “I’ll take her to the infirmary and see that she’s treated.”

Selu shot another concerned look at Milya.

“The question is,” Spectre asked, “do you trust me with her?”

Selu weighed the question, knowing that time was of the essence, but torn between his heart’s desire and his sense of pragmatism. The former screamed that nothing could persuade him to leave Milya in an injured state. The latter agreed one hundred percent with Spectre. Selu reflected on how fighting over Milya had gotten Spectre injured before. He was not about to make the same mistake again.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I do.”

He clapped Spectre on the shoulder.

“Take care of her,” he told him.

“I will,” Spectre promised.

Selu shot one last look at Milya, hoping desperately this wouldn’t be the last time he saw her alive, then turned and sprinted for the door, heading for the bridge. The battle was far from over.


 * Bridge entrance

Trip, Taskien, and a cadre of nearly thirty troopers, freshly re-armed after liberating an armory, arrived at the bridge entrance just as the assembled soldiers there were planting a final set of shaped charges on the battered blast door. “Looks like you’re just in time, sir,” the commander said as they arrived.

“Ready for some payback,” Trip replied, readying his blaster. Lacking armor, the freed prisoners took up positions behind the stormtroopers from the Corrupter.

“Breach in three. . . two. . . one. . .” the stormtrooper said.

Trip covered his ears as the explosion tore through the door, gouging a hole in the thick durasteel just big enough for a man to duck through. Blaster fire instantly began pouring through the gap, dissuading any attempt at a charge. One of the stormtroopers took a hit in the thigh and fell over, clutching the wound.

“Make the gap wider,” the stormtrooper leader said. “Another set of charges, quick!”

Several stormtroopers brought up more explosives, but their advance was made far more hazardous by the blaster bolts aimed through the door. The air grew thick with smoke and the mingled smell of ozone and molten metal as the Imperials laid down suppressing fire through the gap. The return fire continued unabated and one of the demolitionists was hit, collapsing to the deck and twitching as he died.

Just as the stormtroopers were about to trigger the next set of charges, three small spheres rolled through the gap.

“Grenade!” Trip shouted, throwing himself on top of Taskien and cupping his hands over his ears.

The stormtroopers fell back, but the grenades must have been pre-armed, leading to minimal delay. The resulting explosion set off the shaped charges, mangling the blast doors, but the back blast and shrapnel from the blast consumed nearly twenty of the troopers, mostly the stormtroopers from the Corrupter. Trip laid still for a moment, checking himself for injuries, but he was unharmed. As Trip picked himself up, straining to hear, he saw the pile of mangled bodies, including the stormtrooper leader, and a surge of anger filled him. Then he saw the door lying in twisted ruins and the way to the bridge open.

“Come on!” he shouted, even though he couldn’t hear himself. “Let’s go!”

He waved forward, and with a discipline and dedication that never failed to impress him, the clones started forward, blasters at the ready.

Unfortunately, though the way into the bridge was open, it was still defended. Complicating matters further, there was a flight of stairs a few meters from the blast doors that led up into the bridge, giving the defenders two meters of high ground to fire down into the advancing soldiers. And when the defenders were at least eight insurgents backed up by three destroyer droids, that gave them the advantage, particularly when none of the clones were carrying heavy weapons or explosives.

The troopers advanced, but the first half-dozen were quickly cut down. Their bodies only impeded those that followed. The charge faltered as the defenders’ fire was accurate and relentless. Firing from behind cover and attacking opponents who were being funneled into a choke point, they almost couldn’t miss.

“Fall back,” Trip ordered as soon as he realized it was futile, but he knew they couldn’t hear him.

He tapped the shoulder of the man in front of him, giving him the hand signal, which that trooper then relayed forward. The delay cost him another four troopers downed by the defenders, but they finally hunkered behind cover as Trip’s hearing began to return.

“We can’t charge into that,” he said. “They’ll cut us down.”

He turned to one of the other troopers.

“Were there heavy weapons in the armory?

“No, sir, just hand blasters,” the trooper reported. “Some of the Corrupter’s troops might have a few grenades.”

“Kriff,” Trip swore, racking his brain for a solution over the staccato chirp of the blasters. “What about a flank?”

“There’s only one other entrance to the bridge, and it’s only wide enough for one man at a time,” one of the agents said, pulling up the ship’s schematic on a wall monitor.

Trip frowned.

“We should still try it,” he said. “Take two squads over and—,”

“Wait,” Taskien spoke up suddenly. “I have an idea.”

Trip turned to her.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I know how to negate their cover and high ground advantage,” she told him. “But if we do this, I want one of those grenades.”

Trip took in the fiery determination in her eyes as well as the confident tone in her voice. He trusted her if she was this sure of herself.

“What is it?” he asked.

“How well do you remember your zero-gee combat training?” she asked him.

And then Trip realized what her plan was, and smiled. It was brilliant. He pulled up his comlink.

“Advisor Doriana, have you and Doctor Rothery reached the auxiliary bridge yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” the man replied. “The troopers are still blasting their way into it.”

“No worry,” Taskien said. “I can probably slice into that system from here.”

“Do it,” Trip told her, making room at the console for her to work.

He crouched low, darting forward quickly to one of the corpses of the Corrupter stormtroopers until he found one that still had a grenade attached to it. Retrieving the device, he signaled other troopers to do the same while some of their comrades laid down covering fire. Returning to Taskien, he handed her the device.

“We’re low on these, so make them count,” he said.

“I will,” she replied, tucking it onto her belt. “I had another idea—but you might not like it.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Have your men in the first wave pick up some of the bodies and use them as shields when the grav goes down,” she said. “They’ll stop the first few blaster shots.”

“It’s pragmatic, and might save a few lives,” Trip replied. “I’ll give the order.”

“I’m almost in, but remember—they’ll only be surprised for a moment,” she warned him.

“That’s all we need,” he assured her.

Once several of his men had collected grenades and another half-dozen were carrying bodies of the armored stormtroopers, Trip signaled Taskien, who was standing by.

“Now!” she shouted, giving the command to the ship’s computer.

Power to the artificial gravity shut off abruptly, throwing all of the troopers, corpses, and metal scraps into the air. Pushing off the floor, the clone troopers stormed into the bridge. Their adversaries were likewise affected, floating up from behind cover. Exposed and unarmored, they quickly fell prey to concentrated fire from the advancing troopers. The droidekas’ shields protected them, but their own fire was partially deflected by the improvised shields that the first wave was using. The stormtroopers hurled grenades at the floating droids and the resulting explosions were enough to drop two of out of three of them. The third lasted a little longer, laying destructive torrents of energy that claimed more soldiers, but one of the troopers was able to reach it and shove his blaster inside the energy field. Pointing the weapon at its bronzium-armored reactor, he pulled the trigger until it exploded at the cost of his life. With all three droidekas and the insurgents down, Trip knew they had secured the bridge. The price had been heavy, but Taskien’s plan had at least made it possible.

“Set us down!” he called back, bracing himself as Taskien reactivated the artificial gravity.

They plunged back down to the deck and charged in with weapons blazing now that their feet once again had traction on the deck. The remaining five insurgents put up a stiff defense, gunning down several more troopers, but Trip knew he had won. He sighted in on one insurgent who was firing at another group of troopers, catching the man just under the arm with three blaster bolts. He fell with a satisfying groan as Trip advanced.

Suddenly, Taskien ran past him at a full sprint, catching him by surprise.

“Ardo Romierr!” she shouted as she fired wildly.

Trip caught a glimpse of the insurgent leader as he peeked up from behind a console and fired at her. She ducked under the blasts, which hit a control panel instead, but resurfaced a second later with one arm held ready.

“This one’s for you!” she said, lobbing the grenade she had pre-armed and held in her hand for one and a half of its three second timer. “Go to hell, you bastard!”

The toss was beautiful, landing right behind the bank of consoles where Romierr and his last few defenders were making their final stand. They had no time to react, and the explosion sent them flying. The blaster fire subsided as the troopers slowly rose from behind cover. Taskien stood with her fists clenched, chest heaving as she caught her breath, staring balefully at the charred console and ruined bodies that her grenade had left in its wake.

An eerie silence fell across the bridge and Trip walked up behind her to place an arm on her shoulder.

“It’s over,” he said quietly. “You did it.”

Suddenly, the high-pitched whine of blaster fire cut in from behind them. The Imperials instinctively dove for cover and returned fire. Trip and Taskien peered over from behind a tall chair to see six droidekas advancing up the corridor towards the bridge entrance, firing steadily. Their first volley had already cut down several unsuspecting troopers and more fell before they could find cover.

“Kriff!” Trip swore.

“Not over yet,” Taskien said ruefully.

Trip leaned over the railing and began pumping blaster bolts into the droids, but their shields absorbed them harmlessly. The last three they had destroyed had taken most of their grenades and an ingenious tactic, and still cost him several troopers. Even the advantage of high ground and cover now that they held the bridge would be minimal against shielded droidekas.

“I kriffing hate these things!” Trip complained.

The Imperials opened fire on the droidekas as best as they could, but the automatons were undeterred. A furious exchange of blaster fire followed, turning the space between the two sides into a deadly crossfire.

Taskien sprang up beside him.

“I have another idea,” she said, surveying the situation. “Cover me.”

She took off running before Trip could say anything. Gritting his teeth, he fired again, trying to distract the droids. Agent Taskien’s audacity was either going to get her promoted into a safer line of work, or killed during her latest insane plan, he reflected irritably.

She ran over to one of the fallen insurgents who had been killed during their breach of the bridge. Ducking behind cover next to a pair of stormtroopers, she was relatively safe for the moment, allowing him to return his focus to the defense. As Trip kept firing, hoping to stall the droideka’s advance into the bridge, he was suddenly astonished to see her peeling off a dead insurgent’s uniform. Trip blinked in surprise. Had she gone mad? Momentarily distracted, the ex-ARC watched as she donned the dead insurgent’s uniform and gear instead, picking up his weapon and a pair of grenades. Then she moved over to the side of the railing next to the staircase.

“Cease fire,” she called back to the troopers. Trip was still confused, but did as she ordered, signaling his men to stop firing. The droidekas kept firing, but as Taskien slipped over the railing to land on the lower level less than four meters from the passage, they didn’t turn and shoot her, much to Trip’s surprise. She scurried forward, dropping the blaster and grenades in their midst, and then continuing farther down the passage where she wouldn’t be caught in the blast.

Trip lost sight of her as the grenades detonated. The explosion, confined to the tight corridor, was focused inside that narrow space, obliterating the droidekas. Trip and the other stormtroopers slowly emerged from cover to see that the mechanical menaces had been destroyed. As the fires from the destroyed droids smoldered, he saw a single figure visible at the far end of the corridor amid the bodies and the wreckage.

Trip ran down towards her, signaling the rest of his men to stay back.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded. “You nearly got yourself killed!”

She shook her head as he walked closer.

“The droids had to be able to distinguish between friend and foe somehow,” she said. “Since a lot of the traitors were wearing Imperial uniforms, there had to be some of beacon to tell friend from foe. I didn’t have time to determine exactly what it was, so I just put on all of it. That let me get close enough to plant the grenades and an overloaded blaster.”

Trip shook his head disapprovingly.

“You might have mentioned that part of the plan earlier,” he said.

“There wasn’t time,” she replied.

Trip scowled.

“I suppose that’s three drinks I owe you?” he asked.

“Make that four,” she said flirtatiously. “But I’ll make it up to you after I’ve had those drinks.”

Trip was about to make a reply, when suddenly the stutter of blaster fire cut him off. Taskien tried to roll away from the incoming fire, but she wasn’t able to react fast enough. One bolt took her in the thigh, while the other grazed her back. She collapsed with a surprised gasp. Trip darted forward, peering around the corner to see two insurgents with blasters ready.

They apparently didn’t expect to see him and he shot one of them before he could react. The other ducked and slid away.

“Get up here!” Trip shouted to his men and a dozen stormtroopers quickly ran up. “Another one, that way!”

While the other troopers secured the area, Trip knelt down at her side. She was still breathing, but her eyes had a glassy look to them that Trip recognized as the onset of shock.

“Roxana,” he said, flipping over on her side to check the wounds.

“I’m all right,” she told him, grimacing in pain.

“If this is your definition of all right, I’d hate to see a bad day,” he muttered to himself.

Thankfully, the torso wound, though it had left a nasty burn, was mostly superficial. The thigh wound was more disconcerting. The bolt had burned through the muscle and possibly several blood vessels. Blood oozed from around the seared flesh. Trip tapped her knee.

“Can you feel that?” he asked.

She shook her head. That wasn’t a good sign, and Trip didn’t exactly have a medical kit with him. He consulted the wall monitor with the ship’s schematics until he found the infirmary. It wasn’t too far away, and there should at least be a medical droid there. He picked her up as she bit back another scream of pain.

“Going to take you to the infirmary,” he said before turning back to his remaining twenty-odd troopers. “Secure the bridge. Don’t let anyone take it back.” “Shouldn’t some of us come with you, sir?” one of them asked.

Trip shook his head.

“We have more forces down securing the landing bay,” he said. “I’ll call some of them up here to reinforce and collect the other wounded—but we need to secure this location. It’s only a short trip; I’ll be there soon.”

He set off, activating his comlink.

“Doctor Rothery, meet me in the infirmary,” he said. “We have incoming casualties.”

“I’m on my way,” she replied.

Trip cradled Taskien in his arms.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I have you.”

She nodded, fighting back the painful wounds, and he set off, trying to jostle her as little as possible and hoping that he wasn’t too late.

24
Selu sensed the stormtroopers, about twenty of them, on the bridge well before he got there. They were vigilant, but jumpy. Heavy casualties incurred in the fighting had no doubt affected their mental state. However, he also sensed another person farther off, alone. Selu altered his course to meet up with that person. Rounding the corner with sabers drawn but not activated, he realized it was Atsedi. The startled man tried to draw his blaster, but Selu quickly slapped it down. “It’s me,” he said.

Atsedi sighed with relief.

“I thought you were someone. . . less pleasant.”

“What happened?” Selu asked.

“I might ask you the same question,” Atsedi replied. “I was expecting to see you at the bridge already.”

“I was. . . delayed,” Selu said. “More stormtroopers in the lower level.”

“We hit the bridge with six droidekas,” Atsedi told him. “They were pushing forward when an Imp agent disguised as one of us got in their middle and blew them up. We shot her, but they killed Tagreb.”

“Is that all of the droids?” Selu asked.

“All the ones that were working,” Atsedi answered.

He produced a pair of grenades.

“You might be able to do something with these.”

Selu took the explosives.

“Do you know how to fly this ship?” Selu asked him.

“Kind of,” Atsedi replied. “I stood a few pilot watches.”

“Then I’ll need you later. Find somewhere safe and hide there until I call for you.”

Atsedi nodded.

“What are you going to do?”

Selu’s expression hardened.

“Secure the bridge.”

He turned and strode off, preparing himself for the battle. Twenty-to-one odds weren’t good at all, but the grenades might be able to turn the tide of the battle. Consulting a schematic of the ship, he decided to go through a side entrance to the bridge. He was there in less than five minutes. Taking a deep breath, Selu prepared his attack plan.

Drawing on the Force, he wrapped it in a concealing bubble around him, hiding himself from view. Then he burst through the doors into the bridge. The stormtroopers guarding it raised their weapons to cover it, but Selu was already leaping past them. Camouflaging the grenades as well, he armed them and rolled the explosives into positions where he thought they would do the most damage. Then he covered his ears and waited.

The detonations sent several stormtroopers—most of whom were not armored—flying. The rest hit the deck, temporarily deafened and concussed by the blasts. Selu chose that instant to emerge from his camouflage, lightsabers coming to life. The green blades slashed across the first two troopers, felling them.

To their credit, they tried to respond, but Selu had the element of surprise. Striding across a bank of consoles, he jumped into three more, deflecting blaster fire with his shoto while scything his green lightsaber blade in a circular motion that left steaming body parts on the deck. He was aware that his attack was not very-Jedi-like. It had been a surprise assault without offer of surrender, and he was no longer going for efficient kills.

He was simply trying to win. Rolling and twisting through the air to evade blaster bolts, Selu kept moving. His lightsabers wove a defensive cage around him, deflecting every blaster bolt. Four stormtroopers formed a firing line, steadily unleashing a barrage of blaster fire at him. One bolt grazed his side, sending a line of fire across his ribs. Selu gasped, then hurled his shoto while bringing his lightsaber up to parry away the incoming fire. The shoto swept through the four men from behind while Selu defended himself, cutting through them with ease.

The last two men fired on him from behind, but Selu pivoted to block their fire. He deflected one bolt back to its source, catching the man in his chest. The other made no attempt to surrender, so Selu threw his shoto, spearing him through his throat. Calling the short blade back to his hand, he surveyed the ruined bridge. Bodies lay strewn across the deck in various macabre poses, intermingled with wreckage and weapons. Many of the consoles had been damaged by grenade explosions and blasterfire. The transparisteel viewports and steel bulkheads were pitted with scorch marks from blaster fire and blood was beginning to pool in places. Selu stood alone amidst the carnage, making sure that no threats remained.

He sensed that one living person remained—though they felt weak. He strode up to the head of the bridge to find several bodies, mostly insurgents, lying on his side in the wake of a grenade blast. One of them was Ardo Romierr and the man was still alive. His chest was burned and smeared with blood. Selu knelt down beside him and started to roll him over, but the man coughed and pushed him away.

“I’m sorry I was too late,” Selu told him with sincere regret.

Though Romierr was no friend of his—more like a personal enemy—Selu had told the man that he would help him. They had been allies fighting against a common enemy, albeit in a temporary arrangement, and Selu felt like he had let him down.

“It was a good run,” Romierr answered hoarsely. “We almost got away, too.”

“No, we’re going to escape,” Selu replied. “I’ll get you to the infirmary.”

Romierr chuckled, then coughed. Flecks of blood emerged from his mouth as he did so.

“Don’t bother, Jedi Kraen,” he said, struggling just to breathe. “Just get my people out of here.”

“I will,” Selu promised, taking the man’s hand in his and squeezing it. “You have my word.”

Romierr nodded.

“Then—you make them pay,” he ordered Selu. “You make them wish they’d killed you when they had the chance, and you. . . never give them that chance.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Selu said.

“Good. . .” Romierr wheezed, then pointed at a datapad.

“Give me that,” he said.

Selu handed it to him and Romierr painstakingly pressed several keys on it.

“Most of my. . . commanders were on the bridge,” Romierr said. “So you. . . should have this.”

“What is it?” Selu asked as Romierr pressed the datapad back into Selu’s hands.

“Locations and command codes for all my assets,” Romierr told him. “Someone has to. . . put them to use.”

Selu’s eyes widened.

“All of them?”

Romierr coughed painfully again, his breathing now increasingly shallow and labored as he tried to force air through ruined lungs.

“Never thought. . . I’d willingly. . . give to a Jedi,” he said, his eyes starting to glaze over. “But. . . you hate. . . Empire. . . much as I do.”

Selu knew that Jedi weren’t supposed to hate, but he didn’t bother correcting the dying man.

“You’ll get your retribution,” Selu said.

“Do better. . . than you did hunting me,” Romierr wheezed, a smile spread across his lips. “You. . . never caught. . .”

He trailed off and Selu sensed him die, the thought forever unfinished. A single drop of blood began dribbling downward from the corner of his mouth. The Jedi closed Romierr’s eyes and looked at the datapad. At a quick glance, the list of assets was quite impressive. He just had to survive long enough to use it. He looked out at the Star Destroyer, the damaged ship visible through the viewports, and knew that time was running out. Selu retrieved his comlink and activated it.

“Atsedi to the bridge,” he said. “I have it secured.”

A few minutes later, the ex-intelligence agent arrived, stepping cautiously through the bodies with his blaster at hand.

“Get us out of here,” Selu told him.

The man nodded and set to work.

“Is that Romierr’s datapad?” Atsedi asked.

“Yes,” Selu replied. “He unlocked it and gave it to me.”

Atsedi seemed to understand the significance of that.

“So he’s—,”

“I’m afraid so,” Selu replied. “I couldn’t save him.”

Atsedi’s shoulders slumped.

“You might not understand,” the man told him. “But Romierr was a great leader.”

“And a worthy adversary,” Selu said. “We can remember him properly—once we’re out of here.”

“Right,” Atsedi agreed, trying to start up the helm controls. “Bringing main engines back online.”

Then a thought struck the man.

“If Romierr gave you his datapad—that means you’re his successor.”

Selu shook his head.

“Let’s sort that out later,” he said.

Atsedi frowned.

“Controls seem to be working okay, but I’m locked out.”

Atsedi slid over to another bank of consoles while Selu tried accessing a control panel near where he was standing.

“The entire main bridge is locked out,” Atsedi reported. “Looks like command functions have been transferred to the auxiliary bridge.”

Selu scowled.

“Get it back,” he said.

“Trying!” Atsedi replied.

The ship’s PA system crackled to life.

“Attention, insurgents. This is Imperial Advisor Kinman Doriana. Your attempt to occupy this ship has failed. We have secured the auxiliary bridge and are now in control of this vessel. Surrender immediately.”

Atsedi reached for the intercom panel.

“You’re outnumbered, Doriana,” he said. “Judging by the bodies I’ve seen, you can’t have more than a squad of troops left.”

“A momentary disadvantage,” Doriana replied. “And should you attempt to take advantage of it, I will activate this ship’s self-destruct rather than see it fall into enemy hands.”

“You’re a coward,” Atsedi countered. “You wouldn’t die for your cause.”

“Try me,” Doriana said, terminating the conversation.

“He’s serious,” Selu informed Atsedi.

“He’s also turning the ship around,” Atsedi said. “We’re headed closer to that Star Destroyer.”

Selu grimaced.

“I’ll handle him,” he said, heading for the door.

“But he said he’d destroy the ship!” Atsedi protested.

Selu didn’t even turn around.

“I won’t let that happen.”


 * Infirmary

Spectre gently laid Milya down on one of the beds. She was semi-conscious, but Spectre didn’t want her moving. He rummaged in the cabinets, removing an intravenous line and a bag of plasma. Rolling up her sleeve, he inserted the needle into her arm to help stave off blood loss, then wrapped a brace around her neck to keep her from moving and worsening the injury.

“Spectre?” she asked groggily as he began trying to figure out how to activate one of the medical droids.

“Yes, it’s me,” he assured her. “You’re in the infirmary. You’re going to be fine.”

His mind fell back on his limited first-aid training from the military. He had only really learned field medicine, though. Actually treating serious injuries was something beyond his knowledge, so aside from basic stabilization, there was little he could do. Milya moaned in pain and Spectre moved back over to her side. Pulling up the medisensor, he ran it over her head and neck.

“I think you have a concussion,” he told her. “I can’t give you the pain meds until I know what it’ll do to you.”

She nodded, gritting her teeth.

“It’s okay,” she said. “What happened?”

“We were pinned down,” Spectre replied, peeling off his helmet. “We tried to hold them off, but one grenade got through.”

She winced as he injected her with a dose of anti-shock.

“I sensed Selu,” she said.

“Yes. He came back for us.”

For you, Spectre almost said, but didn’t. He had sensed the concern in Selu’s voice for Milya and knew the other man was still wrestling with his feelings for Milya. But there was no need to bother her with that right now, not when she was injured and they were still in grave danger.

Spectre sensed someone approach. He immediately stiffened, grabbing for his lightsaber.

“What is it?” she asked, sensing his alarm.

“Someone’s coming,” he replied. “Not one of ours.”

Her fingers scrabbled for her lightsaber, but Spectre had placed it on his belt.

“Weapon,” she hissed.

“Yours was damaged,” Spectre told her.

He moved down to her leg and unstrapped her vibroblade, still in its ankle sheath, and pressed it into her hand. She tucked it away at her side as Spectre pulled a blanket up to her chest, concealing the weapon.

“Stay put,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

Spectre slid over to the door, readying his weapon. He could sense just a single person approaching, most likely a human. The door hissed open and an older woman in an Imperial uniform entered, a blaster in hand. Spectre grabbed her from behind before she could sight in on Milya, pressing his lightsaber—unlit—into her neck.

“Drop the blaster,” Spectre ordered tersely. “Kick it away.”

She complied.

“You don’t need to hurt me,” she said. “I’m a doctor.”

Spectre sensed she was telling the truth, but that didn’t make him any less suspicious.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

The woman’s reply was slow and measured, but there was a condescending subtext in her voice that grated on Spectre’s nerves.

“This is the infirmary,” she said. “I’m a doctor. I’m here to treat casualties.”

Spectre moved around her slowly, scooping up the blaster, lightsaber still held ready in case the older woman tried anything. Her eyes slid over to Milya.

“Is that one of your friends?” she asked. “She looks hurt.”

“None of your concern,” Spectre growled. “Sit down over there.”

“I can help her,” the woman offered placatingly as she sat down obediently. “I’m a doctor.”

Spectre looked back at Milya, whose eyes were squeezed shut in pain. His heart ached to see her in that state, but he couldn’t treat her and keep an eye on this Imperial doctor woman. The woman shrugged, glancing at the medisensor readout on the screen above Milya’s bed.

“It’s not my concern,” she said, “but your friend has a broken collarbone and a concussion, along with moderate muscular trauma of the neck and shoulder. She’s bleeding internally. She needs medical treatment.”

“I’ll use a droid,” Spectre replied.

She smiled thinly.

“All the droids on this ship were remotely de-activated.”

Spectre suppressed a curse. He moved back over to Milya.

“I don’t like this,” he said. “Letting some Imperial doctor stand over you with a scalpel near your heart. ..

Then he saw the red stain on the pillow behind Milya’s head and how quickly it was spreading. His eyes widened in alarm as he realized her pupils were dilating. She had turned pale. Spectre cupped her face in his hand.

“Milya,” he said urgently.

“I’m all right,” she told him. “Tell Selu. . . not his fault.”

“You don’t look all right,” Spectre replied with a frown.

“You’re a good man,” she answered, and Spectre realized she was in shock, possibly from blood loss.

He checked her pulse and found it was alarmingly weak and fluttery. He turned to Rothery.

“All right,” he said. “Get over here, but no tricks.”

Rothery calmly rose and moved over to Milya.

“Hand me that surgical tray,” she ordered Spectre with calm professionalism.

Spectre frowned and Rothery glared at him.

“You can either help me save your friend’s life, or you can watch her bleed out,” she said. “I’m not going to work with a weapon pointed at my head though.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Spectre growled.

Rothery snorted defiantly.

“I’m too old for these games,” she said. “If you want to kill me, get it over with. It’ll save me a lot of medical bills later.”

Spectre glowered, but lowered his lightsaber, clipping it to his belt.

“Better,” she told him. “Now, I need your help. I will do what I can to save her, but you need to do as I say. Once she’s stable, then you can back to threatening and waving your weapon around.”

Spectre bridled at being insulted by this Imperial doctor, but with Milya’s life on the line, he swallowed his pride, handing Rothery the surgical tray.

“Treat her well,” Spectre said concernedly.

Rothery didn’t even bat an eye as she walked over to Milya. She started to put an injector full of anesthetic into Milya, but the other woman’s eyes shot open.

“Don’t even think about it,” Milya said with surprising strength. “No anesthetic.”

“Do what she says,” Spectre told Rothery.

Rothery shook her head.

“Your loss,” she replied cynically. “But when you’re screaming for it, don’t blame me.”

“I won’t scream,” Milya answered, her voice glacially cold.

Rothery was just about to start when Spectre sensed two other people approaching.

“Step away from her,” Spectre ordered Rothery.

She met his gaze.

“If I don’t stop this bleeding, she’ll continue to weaken,” she said.

“It can wait a minute,” Spectre told her, pulling out his lightsaber again.

Rothery complied as Spectre moved over to the door. It slid open and a clone trooper walked through the door, holding an injured woman in his arms. Spectre, who slid in behind him, didn’t get a look at her face, but the fact that the other trooper’s hands were full gave him an advantage. The trooper stiffened as he realized someone was behind him, but Spectre didn’t give him a chance.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said, leveling Rothery’s blaster at him.

The man froze, unable to defend himself.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Spectre told him. “Not unless you make me.”

“What persuaded you to join the other side, you traitor?” the trooper asked him, disdain thick in his voice as he recognize his captor as a fellow clone of Jango Fett.

Spectre relieved the man of his weapon, ejecting the power pack and tossing it on the ground.

“Let’s not talk politics,” he said.

“Can I at least set her down?” the other trooper asked, referring to his unconscious cargo. “She’s injured.”

Spectre sensed the other woman’s pain and, despite his hardened professionalism, felt a pang of sympathy. He had arrived only a few minutes earlier with Milya in a similar state.

“All right,” he told him, indicating another bed. “Put her there.”

“And you can put your weapons down,” Rothery suddenly told Spectre as the other trooper set down his unconscious cargo.

The ex-ARC whirled, but it was too late. Rothery was standing over Milya with a laser scalpel held precariously over her throat.

“I may be a doctor,” Rothery told him. “But I’m an Imperial doctor. The weapons, please.”

Spectre growled, but he had no choice. He dropped his lightsaber and the weapon he had taken from Rothery as the other trooper relieved him of his blaster and vibroblade, laying them on the bed behind him. The soldier picked up the lightsaber and turned Spectre around forcefully.

“What is a clone traitor doing with one of these?” he demanded.

Then suddenly, both men recognized each other. While most people had a hard time telling clone troopers apart, the troopers themselves usually had little difficulty even if they lacked unique tattoos or haircuts. The minute scars and differences forged through a lifetime of war were unique enough for men with their mental acumen.

“Spectre,” the other man hissed, holding a blaster on him.

“CC-3433,” Spectre replied. “Never thought I’d see you again.”

“It’s been a long time since Tellanroaeg.”

“I retired,” Spectre told him.

“But you’re still wearing the armor,” Trip spat. “You changed.”

“You didn’t,” Spectre countered. “Still blindly serving the Empire.”

“What else is there?” Trip asked.

“I found better things,” Spectre answered. “You could too.”

“You’re a damned traitor,” Trip told him with an icy glare. “I should shoot you now.”

“You’d get your hands dirty for once,” Spectre said insultingly.

Trip’s eyes narrowed, then slid over to Milya.

“Once I’m done with you, I’ll shoot her too.”

Spectre’s hands balled into fists.

“I’ll kill you first,” he said.

“So you’ve stooped to killing your own brothers?” Trip asked him mockingly. “You’re a real credit to your lineage.”

“Fett was a cunning warrior and a free thinker,” Spectre countered. “Not a living droid programmed to serve its masters like you.”

The comparison to the hated droids that the Separatists had pitted against the clone armies made Trip’s blood boil.

“You might have saved my life on Tellanroaeg,” he said. “But there’s no forgiveness for a traitor. She’ll watch you die, and then I’ll kill her.”

Trip’s finger tightened on the trigger of the blaster he had taken from Spectre, aimed directly at Spectre. Just before he fired, Spectre sensed Milya’s mental signal, a move born of desperation but fueled by the Force. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Milya’s right arm slash upward from beneath the blanket. With a blast of telekinesis, she hurled Rothery into the wall, knocking the doctor out, the scalpel falling harmlessly to the deck.

Simultaneously, Spectre lunged at Trip, turning inside the shot as he tried to knock the weapon aside. It hit his shoulder and was partially ablated by the armor, leaving a fierce burn. Spectre ignored it and his charge carried him into Trip. The two men collided, grappling momentarily as they wrestled for control of the blaster. Spectre started to peel Trip’s fingers away, but the other man head-butted him, knocking him backward. He leveled the blaster at Spectre, but Spectre stepped outside, smashing Trip’s unarmored elbow with his armored fist. The blaster fell from momentarily paralyzed fingers, but Trip swept Spectre’s feet out from under him, toppling him to the deck. He dove for the blaster, but Spectre kicked it away, springing to his feet. The two men squared up, fists at the ready, as they faced off.

Milya tried to rise and brandish her vibroblade, but using the Force for that one effort had been extremely taxing. She collapsed back onto the bed, gasping for breath and trying to blink away the spots from her vision.

“You were pretty bad news on Boz Pity, Spectre,” Trip told Spectre. “Tore up a lot of Seps, but you always did have a soft spot for Jedi. They’ve ruined you; you’re one of them now.”

The trooper lashed out with a hard right that Spectre was just a bit too slow to block and it clipped him on the side of head, rocking him back and drawing blood.

“You know, I didn’t even regret pulling you from that fire,” Spectre countered. “My mistake.”

“Your mistake was turning against the Empire,” Trip replied angrily, sweeping Spectre’s feet out from under him with a vicious ankle hook.

Spectre stumbled to catch his footing, but by then, Trip was on top of him, landing furious but devastatingly precise blows that Spectre was only able to partially deflect with his wounded arm. As Spectre doubled over, Trip rocked him back with a side kick to the head sent him staggering back. The clone commander advanced, slamming him into a wall and delivering a powerful head-butt to Spectre’s face. Dazed, Spectre was unable to stop Trip from swinging him around to smash him into a cabinet. It clattered open, raining down supplies on him. Trip retrieved a pair of shears and tried to stab them one-handed at Spectre’s eyes. The ex-ARC managed to lock both his hands around Trip’s wrist, holding him off. The enraged clone commander responded by jamming his fingers into the blaster wound in Spectre’s shoulder. Spectre howled in pain, but brought both his legs up to his chest and kicked Trip back.

The clone commander tumbled back, allowing Spectre to pull himself to his feet. Debilitating pain spread across his injured shoulder and though he was armored, he didn’t know how much longer he could keep fighting. Trip charged him again, attacking his vulnerable left side. Spectre’s attunement to the Force gave him an edge in speed and precision, but the wound threatened to disrupt his concentration. He kept his arms up, fending off the barrage of blows. Trip slammed a knee into Spectre’s gut, doubling him over. The clone commander kicked his legs out from under him, sending Spectre to his knees. Trip launched into a doubled-fisted hammer punch aimed at the back of Spectre’s neck, a fatal blow.

However, it never landed. Spectre, weary and bloodied, was able to find a second’s worth of concentration and mental clarity. He let the Force flow through him instead of his own strength, and by allowing it to guide him, saw the blow coming. Putting all his power into a forward roll, he allowed Trip’s fists to graze his back, but, as Spectre’s legs came up, they hooked around the back of Trip’s legs, launching him forward over Spectre’s head. The commander collided heavily with the metal deck, and Spectre lunged forward.

Trip twisted around, coming up with the blaster that Spectre had kicked away earlier. Spectre grabbed the blaster barrel with both of his hands, forcing it away. Trip rammed an elbow into Spectre’s chin, momentarily blinding him. Spectre knocked the blaster down reflexively and wrapping his good right arm around Trip’s gun hand. The blaster ended up between their bodies, and at that distance, if Trip shot him, even Spectre’s armor wouldn’t stop it. Trip gouged his fingers into Spectre’s blaster wound again, eliciting another scream of pain.

Neither man could see the blaster or tell where it was pointed as they both fought for it one-handed, stuck between them as Spectre was nearly straddling Trip. Their fight had turned into a brutal brawl between two men who had once fought alongside each other, a vicious and personal struggle. Spectre stared into Trip’s hate-filled eyes, and knew that if he tried to fight him by matching his hate and strength, he would lose. He was injured, and Trip had been keeping up with his military training and skills more than Spectre had.

He had to set aside his heritage as a soldier and a clone trooper. He had to turn to the Force, and let it guide him. He couldn’t be a better soldier than Trip. He could be a better warrior. He could win the fight, because he had to—both for his sake, and Milya’s. He had something better to fight for.

As the blaster jostled between them, Spectre felt rather than saw its position and knew he had his opportunity. He mashed Trip’s gun hand, groping for the trigger and the blaster went off. Spectre felt some of the heat through his armor, but more telling was the look on Trip’s eyes. The other man was transfixed, no longer fighting. Spectre rolled off of him to reveal a smoldering crater in his stomach. Trip gasped, clutching at the wound, as Spectre kicked the blaster away.

A pang of sympathy welled up inside him for Trip. If it hadn’t been for a series of life-altering circumstances, their positions could have very well been reversed. Three years ago, Spectre would have been proud to have achieved Trip’s rank and status in the Imperial Army. If he hadn’t met a Jedi named Selu Kraen, it could have been him lying on the floor, dying at the hands of someone else who had found a better cause to serve and fight for. Trip’s obstinacy had brought him here, but Spectre knew that he might have made the same choices as Trip, once upon a time.

“You’re hit in the gut,” he informed the dying man. “Bad way to die. Let me get you something for that.”

“Kriff you,” Trip hissed, just before he expired.

Even though Spectre felt some sympathy for Trip, the other man still couldn’t extend anything but vitriol towards him with his dying breath. He hadn’t wanted to kill Trip, but the commander had left him no choice. Trip had forced him to make a decision and Spectre had chosen to side with his friends rather than the uncaring nature of the Empire. Somehow, he didn’t think he would regret it.

He slowly straightened—and found himself staring down the barrel of a blaster. The woman the clone trooper had brought in had awoken during their fight and was now leveling his own weapon which Trip had deposited on her bed at him. Spectre raised his hands in surrender as she stared angrily at him. Then, as his mind cleared, he thought he recognized her. Sure enough, she was who he thought she was.

“Roxana Taskien?” he asked.

Her eyes widened as she too, recognized him. It had been years since they had seen each other—since he had held her in his arms, since they had agreed to part ways amicably, separated by war. Now, in this of all unlikely places, fate had brought them face to face again. Agent Taskien’s mind flashed back to the memories they had shared together years ago, struggling to reconcile with what she had just seen. The conflict and turmoil from the juxtaposition of mingling past and present left her uncertain and confused. She struggled to clear her head, for her ingrained professional control to reassert itself and handle the situation at hand so she could sort out the emotions later.

“Spectre?” she replied.

He nodded.

“It’s me.”

She glanced down at Trip, then back to him, and her expression hardened. The man hadn’t always been on the best of terms with her, but she had grown to respect and even like him. Now he would never have the chance to prove what kind of man he was underneath the armor and outside the job. He’d never have the chance to buy her a drink and act like a normal human for a while. He’d been robbed of that—by the man who had taught her that clones were capable of such things.

“How could you?” she asked in disbelief and anger. “You killed him.”

“He left me no choice,” Spectre replied.

“What happened to you?” Taskien demanded.

“I can explain,” Spectre said placatingly.

His own emotions were also wreaking havoc on his mind. The first woman he had ever loved was holding a blaster on him. Once, they had been on the same, a powerful team with a powerful attraction between them. Now they were on opposite sides, and Spectre’s heart ached at the thought of having to fight her. His past history with Trip had made fighting the man hard enough, but at least Trip and Spectre had never been on the greatest of terms, though. Agent Roxana Taskien, on the other hand, was somebody whom even the thought of hurting was repulsive to him. He hoped she had the same convictions about him and winced in sympathy upon seeing her blaster wounds.

“I don’t think you can,” she told him. “The man I knew on Orin, the one I loved—he wouldn’t have done this. Not to his own people.”

“Roxana, the Empire isn’t what we thought it was,” Spectre told her. “It’s not worth dying for. It’s not even worth your service.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing you say that,” she told him disgustedly. “You’re a whole different person.”

“I am,” Spectre said. “For the better.”

She stared at him, aghast at the horrifying things she was hearing.

“Roxana, come with us,” Spectre offered.

“Don’t call me that,” she replied venomously. “You gave up that right when you turned against the Empire.”

“You learned to trust me once,” Spectre told her. “I’m asking you to do it again.”

“I learned a lot of things from you on Orin,” Taskien said bitterly. “But that was a long time ago.”

“You could learn again,” Spectre replied. “I would help you.”

“Like you helped Trip?” she asked. “No, Spectre. It’s over.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“It does,” she told him. “Because I can’t help a traitor. Good-bye, Spectre.”

She said the words with genuine regret even as her finger tightened around the trigger. Just before she fired, though, Spectre sensed his lightsaber fly off the table, telekinetically guided. It sprang to life, intercepting the bolt and directing it into the ceiling where it impacted with a show of saprks. The lightsaber spun around towards Taskien, but Trip used a quick telekinetic surge to shove it aside just before it severed Taskien’s head from her body. The metal hilt struck her on the side of the head instead, knocking the Imperial Intelligence agent out. She collapsed on the bed. Spectre grabbed the weapon and turned to see Milya sitting up, one hand extended towards him as she had used the Force.

“Thanks,” Spectre said.

“You should have let me kill her,” Milya told him, an unhappy edge to her voice.

Spectre spared a look back at the unconscious agent.

“There’s been enough killing already,” he answered. “You need medical treatment.”

Milya closed her eyes.

“Have Selu re-activate the medical droids,” she said. “You make sure nobody else gets the jump on us.”

Spectre started forward, but she refused to make eye contact with him. He sensed a mental barrier had just come down between them, but couldn’t tell why. Milya was injured and weak, but she was also angry and hurt, emotions which he hadn’t detected until just now. He started to say something, but then the ship’s PA system crackled to life.

“Attention, insurgents. This is Imperial Advisor Kinman Doriana. Your attempt to occupy this ship has failed. We have secured the auxiliary bridge and are now in control of this vessel. Surrender immediately.”

“Oh kriff,” Spectre swore, reaching for his comlink.

He couldn’t just leave Milya alone in this state—especially not with Taskien and Rothery. But at the same time, Doriana’s threat was incredibly dangerous. He did best to stabilize Milya, and then he called Selu. The Jedi was their only chance.


 * Near the auxiliary bridge

The comlink chirped, a harsh sound in the otherwise silent corridor, startling Selu, who had been focused on reaching the auxiliary bridge undetected. He paused, checked his surroundings, and then answered it.

“Go ahead,” he whispered.

“It’s Spectre,” came the reply. “You’re heading for the auxiliary bridge?”

“Almost there,” Selu replied. “What’s wrong?”

“You might want to hurry,” Spectre told him. “Milya’s worsening and the medical droids are offline—remotely deactivated.”

“I understand,” Selu said grimly. “I’ll call you when they’re back.”

Selu put the comlink away, then quickened his pace. He had only one chance to storm the auxiliary bridge. The only thing in his favor was that he didn’t think the Imperials knew they were up against a Jedi.

He approached the auxiliary bridge with relative stealth, staying out of sight as he sensed eight soldiers guarding the door. They were vigilant and alert, weapons at the ready, no doubt aware that they were some of the last Imperial soldiers remaining on the ship. He felt a sense of urgency through the Force, but he knew he couldn’t rush too much. He wouldn’t be very useful if ended up dead.

The Jedi Knight paused around the bend from where the stormtroopers were clustered around the door. He sensed one more person inside, no doubt the Imperial advisor who had made the threat. Selu knew he would only have chance at this. If he didn’t stop the advisor before the man could arm the self-destruct switch, they were done. He had to succeed. He felt Milya’s pain through the Force and also an approaching darkness—the man from the surface was getting close. He wasn’t ready, but he had to attack now, swiftly and with deadly force. Selu wasn’t sure he had a plan, much less a back-up plan, but he had enough to go off of.

Drawing just his lightsaber, he hid himself with the Force and briskly walked towards the four stormtroopers at the door. The other four were just inside. He tried to be as quiet as possible, approaching within five meters of the men. One of them turned his helmeted head in his direction, as if he had heard something, and Selu knew that he would be detected soon. Dropping the Force camouflage, he leaped into the stormtroopers, activating his lightsaber and cleaving through all four of them before they could react with three swift strokes. Two of them fired at him from inside, but he deflected both of the blasts, sending one of them back into the shooter’s chest. He stood in the doorway, deflecting blaster fire and preparing to leap when a firm voice called him to a halt.

“Stop or I blow it!”

Selu froze, lightsaber still humming as he set himself to stop further blaster bolts. A middle-aged man in civilian attire was standing at the far end of the room, his hands on an ominous looking red lever. This must be the Imperial advisor, Kinman Doriana. Selu studied him for a moment. He was unarmed, but carried himself with an air of authority. Yet there was also a look of desperation in his eyes, and Selu knew that the threat was not idle.

“Smart man,” Doriana told him, his voice cultured, with a refined Coruscanti accent. “Drop your weapon.”

“Not going to happen,” Selu replied.

“I’ll destroy the ship.”

Selu knew the man was sincere, but he also sensed a reluctance to do so. If Doriana had really accepted his fiery fate, he would have triggered the self-destruct as soon as Selu had attacked. The man wanted to live—Selu’s intuition told him so. He had to trust his instincts, so he shook his head.

“If you wanted to destroy the ship, you would have already done so,” Selu answered. “I’m not going to just let your men shoot me.”

Doriana smiled thinly.

“An impasse, I see,” he said.

“It appears that way,” Selu replied. “You could surrender.”

Doriana laughed.

“Why would I do that?” he asked. “I’ve been in contact with Captain Nebulax on the Corrupter. Within ten minutes, this ship will be flooded with Imperial troopers.”

Selu angled his lightsaber.

“Then I’m going to need you to step away from that control.”

Doriana shook his head, gripping it with both hands.

“I am surprised and impressed to be facing a Jedi of all things. But if you could stop me, you already would have,” he said. “Perhaps you should consider surrender.”

Selu snorted.

“To face Imperial justice? Like the rest of the Jedi?” he replied derisively. “I don’t think so.”

“I have considerable. . . influence in the Imperial court,” Doriana told him. “And while it is true that the Jedi are officially enemies of the state, exceptions have been made for those willing to. . . switch sides.”

Selu shook his head.

“No way.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Doriana snapped. “You are trapped on this ship. Soon, it will be overrun by Imperial reinforcements. At best, you sacrifice yourself to destroy all of us by forcing me to pull this lever. At worst, you and your friends are executed by the Empire, dying in vain.”

“You’ll die too,” Selu replied.

Doriana shook his head.

“If you intend on martyring all of us on some pointless quest for vengeance, then you’re a fool,” Doriana said. “Dying here accomplishes nothing. The Jedi Order is no more—but you could still be of use to the new order. It would mean a new life for you—and I’ll even offer pardons for your friends.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” Selu answered skeptically.

Despite his words, though, he sensed the sincerity in Doriana’s offer.

“I’m willing to be lenient due to. . . extenuating circumstances,” Doriana said magnanimously. “The offer, however, is temporary.”

Selu closed his eyes, weighing Doriana’s words. It was true—they were at an impasse, and if Doriana’s report about the incoming reinforcements was accurate, then he was very short on time. He needed to think of a way out of this—but yet, the man, while an Imperial and an enemy—did seem sincere in his attempt at rapprochement. If nothing else, he could have simply defied Selu and stalled until help arrived.

“You’re asking me to join with the people who killed the Jedi,” Selu said darkly. “That’s unthinkable.”

“So you saw every last Jedi fall? No, I didn’t think so. The Empire needs you even more than the Republic did. The Jedi who fell were part of a terrible conspiracy, one that I’m sure you had nothing to do with. Now, yes, there were innocent lives lost, but it was for the sake of the people.”

Doriana smiled as he saw the effects that his words were having on Selu. The Jedi was losing his nerve, starting to doubt all that he stood for. Soon, he would be amenable to joining with the Empire. They could clear this ship and wait for Imperial help to arrive. Then, he would return to the Emperor with a mighty prize to present-a new Force-strong follower. While Doriana wasn’t Force-sensitive himself, he had a healthy respect for their powers. However, they were still susceptible to his words—his greatest strength had always been the persuasiveness of his voice and it had served him well over the years.

“You’re lying,” said Selu, but with considerably less conviction. “I’ll never join you.”

“The Jedi are not extinct,” Doriana crooned smoothly. “When that dreadful attack on the temple happened, half of the Order joined with the troops and remained loyal to the government they swore an oath to defend. As much as possible, only the rebellious ones were weeded out. To take control of the situation, Palpatine took over the government and sent the Jedi into quiet exile, save for a few aides. When public furor dies down again, they will return to rebuild the Order. You can be a part of that. Come back to serving the people, to bringing peace to the galaxy. All you have to do is come with me.”

Selu’s doubt began to grow as Doriana’s words sank in. Could it be possible that the man was telling the truth? He didn’t seem to be openly lying, and his words cast a new shadowy pallor of doubt on everything that Selu believed and held dear. Had the higher ranks of the Jedi Order really planned a revolt against the Republic? Could everything he had seen at the Temple be a horrible misunderstanding? Was the Emperor not as evil as he thought? Then, his mind flashed back to the deaths of his friends, to Skip, and to Serra. He remembered how the clones had shot Skip, how he had found Serra lying crushed underneath a pillar dropped on her by Anakin Skywalker, now styling himself as a Sith, Darth Vader. Their tranquility in the face of death came to mind, called him back out of the fog that Doriana had woven around him. How could he have been so weak to doubt all that he knew? A wave of anger swept over him as he realized how he almost been deceived. Everything cleared up, and Doriana’s words were exposed for what they were—false nothings. Clarity returned to his mind, as the light of the truth banished the lies.

And then a solution came to mind. It would be difficult, but he could do it. For the sake of his friends. For the sake of the mission. His short-bladed shoto slid free from where it had been clipped to the back of his belt, disappearing as Selu concealed it with the Force and slowly began floating it over towards Doriana telekinetically. It took considerable effort not to use a hand gesture to guide it, but that would be an obvious tell.

“It’s an impressive offer,” Selu said slowly. “Generous, even.”

Selu fought to keep his concentration from showing, to avoid tipping off Doriana while also guiding the shoto over towards its target. The strain was considerable, but the hardest part was not letting it show.

A smile began to broaden on Doriana’s face.

“It is indeed,” he told him.

“And you’ll let my friends go?”

“You have my word,” Doriana assured him. “Full pardons. Make the smart choice, Master Jedi. You could be part of something much greater.”

Selu’s expression hardened as the shoto was finally in range. He mentally shoved it forward and activated it. The blade came to life with a snap-hiss, spinning around to sever both of Doriana’s hands at the wrist, and then cleaved through the self-destruct lever. At the same time, Selu brought his lightsaber up to deflect the initial volley of blaster fire. The bolts bounced off the blade. One of the ricochets caught Doriana in the torso and the man fell. Selu charged forward, slashing through the stormtroopers and stabbing the other in the chest. The last one fell victim to his own reflected blaster fire.

The room fell silent aside from the humming of his lightsabers. Selu checked to make sure there were no more threats, then snapped his weapons off. Doriana gasped in pain and disbelief as Selu strode over to the dying man.

“You offered me a chance to be part of something greater,” he said. “But I already am.”

“You. . . will die like the rest,” Doriana wheezed at him as his eyes began to cloud. “Vader. . . will get you.”

That thought sent a chill down Selu’s spine, but he leaned in closer to stare directly into Doriana’s eyes.

“But you won’t be around to see it.”

Doriana started to reply, but he lacked the strength. He exhaled slowly and then succumbed. Selu straightened and turned to the controls. He had been on numerous Republic warships during the Clone Wars and was somewhat familiar with their operations. Thankfully, Doriana hadn’t had a chance to lock any of the control stations that he had secured with his codes. Selu quickly found the bridge control circuit and restored it, then activated his comlink.

“Atsedi, bridge control is yours,” he said. “Get us out of here, now!”

“Understood,” the man replied. “Laying in a course. Jumping to hyperspace in two minutes.”

“All power to engines,” Selu ordered. “We have company incoming!”

Selu snapped off the comlink, then began searching for the droid control functions. He found it after a quick search. They had been disabled with a mass shutdown command. Somehow, Selu didn’t think it would be wise to re-activate all of the combat droids without knowing how they were programmed to recognize friend from foe. Instead, he pulled up just the menu controlling the medical droids, enabling their use. Selu commed Spectre as he entered the command.

“Brought the droids online.”

“Got it,” Spectre replied. “I’ve activated them.”

“I just hope we’re not too late,” Selu said, staring at the tactical holo.

The ship was ponderously turning even as several shuttles and the Star Destroyer were turning to close on it. He watched as the signals drew closer and closer even as Atsedi put them on an outbound course. There was little Selu could do—if that many Imperials arrived, and the dark man with them, they were done. He couldn’t fight them all. Even if he brought the ship’s weapons online and attempted to fire them from the auxiliary bridge, he would only divert power from the engines, and he couldn’t destroy enough of the assault ships to matter.

The signals drew closer and closer, within a thousand kilometers of their appropriated ship. Selu sensed the ominous wrath of the dark man hunting them and shuddered. Then, just as the shuttles swooped closer for one final effort, Selu looked out the viewport as the starfield elongated and the viewport panels began sliding down.

He breathed a deep sigh of relief. They had made it to hyperspace.