Force Exile III: Liberator/Part 1

1
The Corrupter flew through the empty vacuum of space at a speed of several million kilometers every standard hour. The arrowhead-shaped bone-white Victory-class Star Destroyer had been in the service of the Imperial navy for three years now and its exterior no longer resembled the highly polished and gleaming vessel that had left spacedock on its maiden voyage. However, the ship was functional. Several thousand sentients, largely male humans, crewed her stations with perfunctory efficacy. The turbolaser, ion cannon, and laser cannon batteries were all operational and decently maintained. The main and auxiliary engines all operated within standard thresholds. Two dozen V-wing fighters, a common model among Imperial craft, were parked in her hangars. Despite its lack of obvious polish and gleam, the ship was an eleven-hundred meter long reminder of the Empire’s might in the Outer Rim of the galaxy.

Corrupter’s master paced up and down the command bridge, discontent with a large variety of things regarding his present placement in life. Captain Jack Nebulax was a career navy man who had joined back two years before the Stark Hyperspace War, in the days when it was called the Republic Judicial Force, or some such nonsense. He had served through the harrowing inferno of the Clone Wars, though most of his service had been in non-combat roles. As such, his rank had not increased as one might have expected from one who had served in the fleet for thirty years. The peak of his military career had been the command of a Carrack-class cruiser during the Battle of Coruscant, helping press the assault on the Separatist flagship. Only a few years over half a century, he was still trim, his khaki Imperial uniform seemingly molded around his fit physique and wasp waist. There was not a misplaced wrinkle or crease on the uniform, nor a soft aspect to his image. He was every bit the image of a hardened old navy spacer, and everyone on the ship knew of the exacting reputation of their testy captain, and exactly what it meant to cross the master of the Corrupter.

Nebulax detested his current command. It was only a temporary posting for him; his previous command and by far preferred vessel, a Venator-class destroyer, was currently in the shipyards of Sluis Van undergoing retrofit. Furthermore, his long time executive officer Commander Xzine had been posted to the naval academy of Prefsbelt IV for the duration of the refit. Sourly, Nebulax considered that Xzine just might do well enough to make the transfer permanent. Xzine was a thorough, informed, methodical man, with no grand ambitions or strategic genius, but possessing a penchant for keeping track of myriad things that made him an excellent peacetime officer and aide. His current executive officer ranked merely a lieutenant, and furthermore was precocious. Lieutenant Ait Convarion was everything that Xzine hadn’t been; aggressive, talented, and ready to challenge his superior officer to almost the point of insubordination. Nebulax supposed that an officer like Convarion might be a valuable asset in the relatively untamed and lawless Outer Rim, but the man was irritating. The last bit of vexation contributing to Nebulax’s generally displeased disposition was the rumor he had heard of the Corrupter being used as a sort of heavily armed courier for some higher-up diplomat or official, instead of standard pirate and smuggler patrol mission. That meant that he would have some self-important civilian making unwarranted demands on him. No, Jack Nebulax was not pleased and he doubted his mood would improve in the near future. Gazing out at the starfield surrounding the gas giant planet of Zhar and its moons, Nebulax watched as the Corrupter headed steadily closer to the resupply base on the moon of Gall where he would receive his new orders.
 * “Captain Nebulax,” said a crisp voice behind him.

Nebulax turned to see Convarion standing there, a trace of a smirk hidden in his expression.
 * “Yes, Lieutenant?” Nebulax growled.

He did not feel like playing whatever game Convarion had in mind.
 * “We are on a course for Gall, sir. Estimated time of arrival 0721 hours coordinated galactic time. No abnormal contacts on sensors, all systems operational.”
 * “Very well, Lieutenant. Keep me posted. Was there anything else?”
 * “Yes, sir.”
 * “Well, what is it?”
 * “Imperial High Command has sent priority orders to pick up a VIP on Gall. They’ll be carrying further orders for us.”
 * “A VIP? Didn’t the orders specify exactly who we’re picking up?” Nebulax inquired tartly.
 * “No sir, they didn’t. I can recheck if you desire.”

Yes, recheck and make me look like a paranoid fool, thought Nebulax. Bristling inwardly, he nevertheless maintained his composure. It wouldn’t do to let Convarion know that he could manipulate his reactions as effectively as he was doing.
 * “That won’t be necessary, Lieutenant. Have an honor guard sent down to the hangar bay. Carry on.”
 * “Aye, sir.”

Convarion saluted- sharply enough, Nebulax had to admit- and walked off down the bridge, leaving his superior officer to stew in his own juices. Nebulax remained at the forward bridge as the Corrupter eased into the relatively crowded Imperial base at Gall, a process that took several hours. As routine docking and re-supply procedures commenced, Nebulax noted a small Theta-class shuttle approaching the hangar bay of the Corrupter, escorted by a quartet of V-wing starfighters. He frowned; Theta-class shuttles were limited to high-ranking officials and dignitaries. Whoever this VIP that High Command wanted him to shuttle around, they were of impressively high stature for the Outer Rim, and that meant they would be entirely insufferable throughout the duration of their stay on the warship. Knowing that he was expected by naval protocol to meet their visitor, he signaled two of the naval troopers to follow him and walked through the gleaming corridors of the Star Destroyer down to the hangar bay. If Convarion had done his job correctly, an honor guard of the ship’s crew suitable for the arrival of a Sector Moff had already been dispatched to help greet their guest with the appropriate level of formality. All that remained was for Nebulax to journey there himself.

As the shuttle set down inside the relatively cramped hangar bay, Nebulax noted that it was lacking entirely in insignia, unusual for a civilian passenger. In fact, his flight controllers noted that, aside from a confirmation of their authority codes, the fighters and shuttle had been entirely silent about their origins. As the boarding ramp on the back of the tri-winged shuttle hissed and slid down to the dull metal deck, Nebulax felt a shiver run down his spine. A quartet of stormtroopers, their freshly minted white armor of a different vintage than the standard armor worn by clonetroopers, walked down the ramp first, followed by a single figure wearing a long, dark cloak. The figure’s face was hooded, yet Nebulax could detect the aura of menace surrounding his visitor, and his estimation of how miserable this cruise would be doubled once more. Steeling himself up, he strode forward to greet the new arrival.
 * “Welcome to the Corrupter,” he intoned formally. “I’m Captain Nebulax. To whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

The figure looked him up and down, as if deciding if he was worth addressing.
 * “I am Ajaur,” the man said finally, his voice a ravaged growl.
 * “A pleasure,” said Nebulax- it wasn’t, but some things were required- and proffered his black gloved hand.

Ajaur ignored it. After a long pause, Nebulax lowered the outstretched limb and tried again.
 * “Is there a preferred rank or title that you prefer to go by?”

In the highly hierarchical Imperial organization, it was extremely rare for such a high-ranking official as Ajaur appeared to be to lack a title that was constantly used. Nebulax got the feeling that the man wasn’t a moff or governor; his demeanor was entirely wrong. If anything, Ajaur seemed to be an Intelligence or Imperial Security Bureau operative.
 * “You may refer to me as ‘Inquisitor’, Captain. I will require your standard suite for treating with officials of a moff level for my own purposes. There may be further orders later, which will be obeyed. Does that satisfy the required level of curiosity?”

Nebulax paled. The Inquisitorius was rumored to be a shadowy group of enforcers who reported directly to the Emperor himself. Accounts of what they might actually be ranged from loyal Jedi Knights to Sun Guard mercenaries to professional torturers.
 * “Or perhaps this will help explain things,” Ajaur continued, not really heeding Nebulax’s reaction.

Slowly, he pulled off his black hood, revealing his face for the first time, and Nebulax was astonished by the visage he was presented with. Ajaur was completely hairless, his pale skin stretched, his eyes dark and piercing. Most impressively, a massive angry scar burned across the right side of his face, running from his right temple down across his throat, explaining the man’s rasping voice. Nebulax started at the sheer hideousness of the scar, which was several centimeters wide and repulsive to the eye. Nebulax had his own share of scars, but nothing on the scale of this.
 * “I received it at the start of my service to the Emperor, Captain. It serves as a reminder of what I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Inform me when we are ready to depart this place.”

With that, Ajuar swept by Nebulax, his black cloak billowing out behind him, followed by his four personal stormtroopers. As the horribly disfigured Inquisitor strode past, Nebulax couldn’t help but notice the dark-colored cylinder of metal tucked into Ajaur’s belt on his right side. A lightsaber, the weapon of the Jedi Knights. Well, that confirmed at least part of the rumors of the Inquisitors- that they were capable of using Jedi weapons and possibly even their fabled Force powers. One thing was for sure- this voyage would be highly unusual if the nature of the Inquisitor was any indication of what was to come. Nebulax couldn’t even begin to imagine what Ajaur’s agenda was and he certainly wasn’t about to ask. The arrival of the dark-clad man had considerably discomfited him, and he returned to his quarters, pensive and brooding for the rest of the day. Only when the Corrupter prepared to leave Gall did Nebulax return to the bridge, making sure to inform Ajaur of their departure on a routine patrol cruise- so far.
 * Freighter Hawk-bat

Thwack! Thud! Spectre rocked back as the two jab punches landed on his chest. He ducked the follow-up blow to his head, kicking at out his adversary in return. A former member of the elite ARC commandos during the Clone Wars, he had been trained in a variety of martial arts by Mandalorian training sergeants, but he was having a difficult time overcoming this particular adversary. It was not the first time they had fought. Clad only in a pair of light pants and a workout shirt, he battled his opponent furiously, striking with hands, feet, elbows, knees, head, and body while seeking to block or dodge the return attacks. Beads of sweat raced down his face and torso and he grunted as his opponent deftly twisted to avoid the kick, countering with a finger-jab to the nerve cluster behind his knee. Spectre slid forward on his injured leg, drawing himself in close to the other combatant, fully intending to drive a punishing elbow into the other’s midsection. However, once again his move was anticipated, and the opponent gracefully spun inside of his blow, tucked an arm under his shoulder and threw him to land on the dull, scuffed metal deck of the freighter.
 * “Had enough?” the other combatant asked, as Spectre did not immediately rise from the floor.
 * “I think so,” he said, staring up at his opponent, who was smiling down at him.

Milya Tayrce coolly helped up Spectre off the floor. A lithe woman of only twenty, she was similarly clad to Spectre, her golden skin only lightly glistening with the sheen of perspiration. As she unwrapped the strips of cloth she had wound around her knuckles to protect them from sustaining damage, she couldn’t help softly slipping in a last remark.
 * “Once again, without the fancy armor and guns, the Mando proves to be a soft target.”

Spectre glowered at her and stalked off to clean himself up, wiping at a trickle of blood stemming from a cut on his lip. Milya smirked at his retreating figure, mentally chalking up another win for herself. It was true that it took a very special person to beat one who had survived the grueling ARC training in hand-to-hand combat, but Milya was not an ordinary woman. Forcibly adopted into the Sun Guards of Thyrsus at a young age, Milya had been raised on Echani fighting skills, her dedication fueled by years of bitterness and revenge. She had managed to survive in the harsh Sun Guard life by honing her fighting prowess through years of training that had also helped her come to appreciate and love her adopted parents. She had displayed an unusual knack for combat from a young age; one of the things that had helped her survive against the other younglings her age and had mastered all three levels of Echani martial arts. By the age of eighteen, she was already one of the better instructors for the younglings, without peer among those her age with a vibroblade or unarmed. Tucking the cloth strips into the belt snugly fastened around her trim waist, she sighed and brushed the few strands of her auburn hair protruding from her headband back into place.
 * “So, who won?” pleasantly inquired a male voice from behind her.

Milya answered without bothering to turn around as she focused on pulling the final rebellious tendrils of hair into place.
 * “Why do you ask questions that you already know the answer to? I saw you watching the last few moments of our sparring session.”
 * “That I was,” replied the observer, the ship’s captain, a man named Selu, who leaned easily on the doorway that led from the bridge of the freighter to the crew lounge-turned-sparring room.

Selu Kraen, Milya noted, was the only member of the crew who could defeat both her and Spectre in unarmed combat- sometimes simultaneously. Selu had once been a Jedi Knight, serving the Republic. He had survived the inferno of the Clone Wars, only to be immediately embroiled in the fires of what the Empire had labeled the “Jedi Rebellion”, but was more accurately a Jedi massacre. The resulting purge had slain all his friends and former master and sent him on the run. Only chance- Selu would say it was the will of the Force- had led him to his biological brother Sarth, the ship’s engineer aboard the Hawk-bat. Selu had joined the crew of the Hawk-bat, but only a few months later, the Empire had killed the captain on New Holstice, which was when Milya had stowed away onboard the freighter. Selu had discovered her, but had allowed her to join the crew after she helped him battle a group of ship thieves attempting to abscond with the freighter. After a complicated series of events, which involved some of what Selu called “aggressive negotiations” with the female Mistryl mercenaries who had been hunting Sarth, Selu had been named captain of the Hawk-bat unanimously by the surviving crew. However, the resulting adventure had seen him confront a Dark Jedi named Asajj Ventress, believed killed during the Clone Wars, and the utter devastation of the Mistryl homeworld Emberlene. Milya knew that it still bothered Selu; she could hear the sounds of his occasional nightmares through the adjoining cabin wall between the room she shared with the other female crewmember, Cassi Trealus, and Selu’s room when he was sleeping.
 * “What’s the record now? 42-7 in your favor?” he asked.
 * “Good memory,” she said. “That’s right.”

Another unique trait of Selu and his brother Sarth was their astronomically high memory rates- both were high enough to be considered holographic, which Selu described as a blessing and a curse.
 * “I’ve told Spectre over and over again that the Echani ways are vastly superior to those crude Mandalorian tactics that were knocked into him, but he refuses to believe me,” she said confidently.
 * “Oh, is that so?” Selu replied, one eyebrow raised. “I seem to recall you saying a different story the last time you sparred in zero-gravity in enviro-suits. Actually, I think you were trying to recover your breath, while Spectre was basking in the victory.”
 * “You would remind me of that,” Milya retorted. “Yes, he won, but that doesn’t make Mandalorian tactics any better. It certainly didn’t help him win this time.”

Selu sighed.
 * “I think you’re missing the point, Milya.”
 * “I’ve tried to explain it to her again and again,” said Spectre, emerging from the refresher station. “Her scenarios are just too simple, too limited.”
 * “Oh really?” Milya shot back. “I’m not the one who’s as defenseless as a Sullustan whelp without armor and guns. That’d be Captain Mando over there.”
 * “Who actually served a real cause instead of being a hired leg-breaker,” Spectre shot back.

While such statements were way out of line for most of the clones of Jango Fett, ARCs had been trained to be more independent-thinking, a valuable trait that had saved many of them during the wars. Since being mustered out of the military, Spectre had become even more independent, and his only true allegiance was to Selu, who had once saved his life during the war, despite the standing government order to kill Jedi on sight.
 * “You take that back, or we’ll be having round two of Mando beat-down here and now,” Milya returned, fire blazing in her eyes.
 * “Do we really have to go through this again?” asked Selu mildly, but both Spectre and Milya ignored him.

The crew had quickly learned that the typically even-tempered Milya was sensitive about her past, and usually avoided the subject. If Milya wanted to talk about Echani life, she would bring up the subject, which didn’t happen often. However, Spectre occasionally used it to needle her. When it worked, as it was now, Milya often exploded into a fiery anger which many times ended in bruises.
 * “I see. The honor-grubber is going to attack me for insulting her-“

With that, Milya lunged at Spectre, driving her knee into his midsection and knocking him to the deck. Crouched over the ex-ARC, she drew back her fist.
 * “That’s it! I’m going to knock some sense into your thick Mando skull!”
 * “Milya, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” said Selu, in a warning tone she was well familiar with, one that stopped her where she was.
 * “And why is that?” she asked, still indignant and outraged.
 * “Two reasons. First, Spectre has a holdout blaster set on stun in his right hand pointed at your rib cage. Second, because I’m tired of watching you two engage in this physical and philosophical debate about how to best knock the other around. One of these days you’ll do some real permanent harm to each other, and then where will we be?”

Milya glanced down and took good note of the blaster pointed at her midsection and the even look on Spectre’s face. Realizing she had lost the round, she slowly got up, but her anger remained unabated.
 * “So now you’re taking his side?” she demanded Selu as the captain went and helped Spectre up.

As the ARC stood up, Selu signaled him to put the blaster away.
 * “Not at all. I’m not taking sides- and that’s an important point.”

Milya rolled her eyes.
 * “Is this the part where you tell us that Jedi methods are better than both Mandalorian and Echani disciplines because you routinely beat us?”
 * “No. Because Jedi methods aren’t necessarily better, unless they succeed in avoiding a fight altogether, which is the preferred outcome.”
 * “So what is your point then?” asked Milya, while Spectre stood by, content to let Milya take on the captain this time. The ex-trooper had experienced a similar discussion earlier.
 * “My point is that you both should focus on working as a team instead of as rivals. We’re all on the same crew. That means we work together. That means that the verbal sniping and pounding sessions stop. I’ve allowed that to continue for the past year as a way to relieve tension, but it seems to have just increased it, not reduced it. It’s affecting the crew overall, and it needs to end. Spectre has taught me some of the tactics and methods employed by Mandalorians, and they have their places. Milya, I’ve had you teach me some of the Echani forms, and they have their uses too. One isn’t necessarily better than another. It all depends on the situation. So, are you willing to work together as shipmates? Don’t just give me a rote answer- spit it out?”

As he spoke, Selu’s voice rose and took on a sharp, lecturing tone that at once obtained the full attention of both Selu and Milya as his dark eyes bore into each of them in turn. Milya’s anger was subdued by his disapproval and Spectre stood by quietly, unconsciously stiffening to attention, listening intently to each word Selu said.
 * “I will,” said Spectre. “I was wrong, and I believe apologies are in order.”

He turned to Milya, offering her his grizzled hand.
 * “I’m sorry about the comments. Friends?”
 * “Yeah, friends” she said. “I was in the wrong also.”
 * “Does this mean you don’t want us sparring with each other?” Spectre asked Selu.

Spectre had a deeply ingrained sense of authority, and Selu’s word as captain was as good as an order from a military superior to him. Selu knew this and usually appreciated it, though at times he wished that Spectre would realize that the command structure was much more relaxed aboard the Hawk-bat.
 * “No, sparring is fine,” said Selu, suddenly quiet and subdued. “There’s nothing wrong with polishing each other’s skill, so as the goal is to help the other. I’m sorry for the lecture-it was uncalled for. Anyway, I’ll be on the bridge if you need me.”
 * “Do you need any help up there?” asked Spectre.
 * “No thank you. I’ll just stand by to make sure we enter the Zhar system smoothly.”

With that, Selu turned and walked back through the doorway, heading forward.
 * “That was strange,” observed Spectre. “He went from being a petulant instructor to a subdued crewman in less than a standard minute. He’s being acting strangely recently. I wonder what caused that.”
 * “Emberlene,” said Milya. “Even beforehand, when we were on the run from the Empire and the Mistryl; Selu was never that moody until Emberlene was destroyed. It’s been eating on him all this time, Spectre.”
 * “It’s been two years since then,” said Spectre. “And it wasn’t his fault.”
 * “Just try telling him that,” said Milya. “The Echani study their opponents through battle, thinking that understanding an adversary is key to defeating him. Trust me; Selu hasn’t forgotten what happened there. It concerns me.”
 * “He hasn’t said anything to me about it. Maybe Sarth would be able to get through to him.” Spectre replied.
 * “I’ll ask him,” said Milya, turning to poke her head into Sarth’s quarters, only to quickly withdraw it.
 * “What is it?” asked Spectre.
 * “I think he and Cassi feel like some privacy right now,” said Milya, a twinge of red coloring her cheeks as she went to replace the furniture that usually covered the crew lounge but had been stacked to the side to allow their sparring match. Spectre smiled knowingly, but didn’t let on.
 * “Wow,” Sarth Kraen said as he broke off his kiss with Cassi to get a breath. “I will never get tired of that.”
 * “Glad to hear it,” said Cassi, tossing her blond locks behind her head with a smile.
 * “You know you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said to her.

Sarth had started his relationship with Cassi shortly after she had joined the crew of the Hawk-bat. His sheltered background on Commenor had led to some measure of awkwardness when he tried to relate to her at first, but somehow, while in hiding from the Mistryl, their attraction had blossomed into a steady relationship that had lasted the past three years. While he had always found satisfaction and fulfillment in his work as a scientist and an engineer, he had since discovered that he would rather spend his time with Cassi more than anyone, even his parents or Selu. While he still enjoyed tackling technical challenges, his relationship with Cassi had opened his eyes to a new frontier of life beyond work.
 * “I know,” she said simply, fixing the collar on his jacket. “You’d be a hopeless mess without me, living in the engine room, obsessing over your work.”
 * “I happen to enjoy obsessing over my work,” he replied.
 * “Mmhmm,” she said, noting something about Sarth. “Are you wearing the cologne I got you on Corulag?”
 * “I am,” he said. “That’s nice of you to notice.”

She looked up at him. “You only wear that when you have something special in mind.”
 * “Is that so?” he said.
 * “I know you, Sarth Kraen. Beneath your layer of sophistication and academia, you can actually be quite simple.”
 * “Is that a bad thing?” he asked.
 * “No.” Cassi shook her head. “I find it charming.”
 * “That is to my benefit then, because I doubt I could be anything else.”
 * “Well, thank you for the meal,” Cassi said. “It was lovely- I’m impressed with the programming you must have done to the food preparation units in order to get that much Bakuran cuisine out of it.”
 * “I am glad you liked it,” Sarth said.
 * “I’m coming onto my duty shift soon. Until next time?” she said.
 * “Indeed, but before you go . . . ,” Sarth said.
 * “Yes?” Cassi asked.
 * “Cassi-“ Sarth said haltingly. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”
 * “Wait-did you just use a contraction?” she said.
 * “Did I?” Sarth stammered.
 * “Yes. What’s going on, Sarth? First the cologne, now the contractions. Something’s up. You only use contractions when you’re upset.”
 * “Cassi,” Sarth began again, sitting down at the table where the remains of a fine repast were scattered and taking her slim, smooth hand in his. “I hope you know how much you mean to me.”
 * “As much as your engineering accolades and accomplishments?” she replied teasingly.
 * “No,” he said seriously, looking into her blue eyes. “You’re much more special to me than that.”

Sarth cleared his throat nervously and reached into his pocket, fingering a small, open box and the ring inside it as he tried to form the words. He had gone over this moment dozens of times before hand, to the point of driving Spectre mad. His painstaking rehearsals had formulated exactly how this occasion would go, but now that he had come to it, he just couldn’t get the words out: “Cassi Trealus, would you give me the honor of marrying me.” Was he supposed to get down on one knee? In his anxiety, his entire planned speech sailed out of his memory- an event that only rarely happened. His throat felt dry, and Cassi’s lovely face looking at him expectantly wasn’t helping matters. He opened his mouth to speak, but was suddenly cut off by the blaring of Selu’s voice over the ship’s intercom.
 * “Attention all crew! Report to your stations immediately!”

2

 * Sluis Van shipyards

Lieutenant Almos Terthbak shouldered his sizable garrison bag and adjusted the Imperial Navy-issue cap covering his closely-cropped blond hair, staring at his newest and first command ever. The 63-meter Loronar Corporation Out System Scout Vessel moored at the Sluis Van spacedocks, christened the Observant, was ready for its maiden voyage, save for the arrival of its captain. Terthbak was fully aware of what this might mean for his career. He had graduated in good standings from the Imperial Naval Academy, but so far all his posts had been as an aide or some other subordinate post. The fact that there had only been two of them in his young career was lost on the excited lieutenant. In his mind, Almos Terthbak was a brilliant, handsome, promising member of the Imperial Navy out to conquer the galaxy for the Emperor. He strode rapidly towards the main hatch of the Observant, intent on making a good impression on the rest of the crew. They would want to see their new commander as professional and competent. He kept his gaze straight ahead, focused on the door. As it hissed open to reveal a pair of crewers in the standard khaki uniforms awaiting his arrival, Terthbak suddenly felt his feet go out from under him and he flew forward to land on his face on the hard metal deck.
 * “What in the seven Corellian hells?” he swore.

A small chittering sound caught his attention and Terthbak turned his head from his position on the deck to see one of the ubiquitous black diminutive MSE droids lying knocked over on the deck, squealing indignantly. Terthbak felt a wave of further embarrassment wash over him as he realized that, having failed to keep an eye on his surroundings; he must have neglected to notice the small mouse droid and tripped over the confounded thing. Furthermore, both of the crewers were definitely laughing at him. Terthbak looked up in their direction, and they both immediately composed themselves.
 * “Sorry about that, sir,” said one of them genially, reaching down to help Terthbak up while the other grabbed his bag. “Warrant Officer Sandy Neach reporting for duty.”
 * “Crewman Marth Royner reporting, also, sir,” said his companion languidly.
 * “Um, thank you- I mean, I’m all right. Don’t you two even salute your officers?” snapped Terthbak, eager to regain some lost composure.

The two crewmen exchanged glances, then each came to attention and saluted. Terthbak returned the salute and brusquely walked through the hatch. Still at attention, Neach asked Terthbak slyly.
 * “Don’t you need permission to come aboard, sir?”

Terthbak stopped in place, his face positively glowing crimson. Very carefully, he enunciated out the words.
 * “Permission to come aboard?”
 * “Granted. Sir,” replied Neach.

As the thoroughly embarrassed Terthbak disappeared down the corridors of the hatch, Neach and Royner broke into uncontrollable laughter at their new superior officer.
 * “Wow, this is going to be a fun cruise,” said Neach.
 * “I’d imagine we’ll have him jumping at shadows by the end of the first week. Or maybe he’ll settle down some and be manageable,” replied Royner lazily.
 * “Him? Settle down? Doubtful,” said Neach between chuckles. “Come on, let’s get the lieutenant’s stuff into the ship.”
 * “Yes, or else we might get busted for dereliction of duty,” said Royner. “He’ll throw the book at you.”
 * “Why? He didn’t order us to get it. And besides, it wouldn’t be the first time,” replied Neach lightly.

Two hours later, Terthbak had managed to explore the ship and get somewhat settled into his new quarters. Of the five crewmen, only he had solo quarters, a fact that he appreciated. As it should be, rank had its privileges. Still smarting from his humiliation earlier, he had yet to fully take command of the Observant and was not looking forward to it. He would have to work extra hard to demonstrate his competency to the crew, or he would be a laughingstock among them. He preferred to die in battle than have such a blot on his career. An officer in the Imperial Navy who couldn’t maintain order among the ranks would quickly find himself drummed out or in some garbage dump assignment like searching a desert planet for lost droids. Rising from his bed, Terthbak checked himself in the mirror, straightening his cap so that it fit even on his crown, and headed out to the bridge.

As he walked in, the woman at the pilot station bellowed, “Captain on the deck!” as she and the four other crewmen came to attention, saluting crisply. Terthbak started as his eyes landed on the pilot. Despite her brown hair being pulled back tightly as per regulations and wearing the severe-looking Imperial uniform, there was no doubt that she was undeniably attractive, the freckles on her face somehow complimenting her bright blue eyes. Terthbak tried to banish the thought of her with her hair down and in something considerably less restricting in appearance, and was mostly successful. Mostly. Outwardly, Terthbak beamed as he walked in, returning the salutes. Finally, some professionalism from the crew. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
 * “At ease,” he said, taking to the captain’s chair.

Admittedly, it wasn’t much, not much better than a pilot’s chair on a shuttle, but it was his. With it came power, prestige, honor, and respect- things Terthbak craved.
 * “What are your orders, Captain?” asked the pilot, a Warrant Officer Terena Jasnan.
 * “One second, Warrant Officer Jasnan,” Terthbak replied, still savoring the moment.

Then, reaching into the case hanging on his belt, he unlocked the pair of locks on it and pulled out a sleek Imperial Navy datapad.
 * “These orders were sealed and not to be opened until I had taken command of the Observant. Now that I have, they are to be opened and read. It will be at my discretion whether or I not I reveal them to the rest of the crew,” said Terthbak officially, looking down to read the datapad.
 * “The following contains special orders for the crew of the Observant direct from Imperial High Command. Your mission will be to conduct a scouting mission of the following systems. .  .”

Terthbak started as he belatedly realized that the orders had been encoded with both a textual and audio component and that the entire crew could hear them. He fumbled with the controls on the datapad for a minute, nearly dropping it, before finding the audio mute. As he continued reading, he thought he heard a repressed snicker from one of the crew. Glaring up at each of them in turn, he tried to focus on his reading.
 * “Well, crew, I have decided to reveal the orders to you in the interest of keeping you well-informed and capable of performing your tasks. We have been tasked with surveying a number of planets in search of settlements. This is a critical mission to the Empire, and a special assignment like this is an honor to undertake for the glory of His Imperial Majesty.”
 * “Permission to speak, sir?” broke in Neach.
 * “Granted, Warrant Officer.”
 * “Isn’t a standard scouting mission, well, standard, sir? This seems rather routine.”
 * “Ah, but there you are wrong, Warrant Officer.” Terthbak smiled tightly at the jovial crewmember. “These settlements are suspected of harboring those most dangerous of traitors: The Jedi Knights. If they are at any of the locations we visit, we will sniff them out so they can be appropriately dealt with by Imperial forces. The coordinates have been sent to the navicomputer. I don’t think I need to stress that secrecy is of utmost importance if this mission is to be a success and each of you will need to give his best performance.”

Finally, Terthbak noted, he received an appreciable and genuine reaction from the crew. It was time to reinforce his image as a strong leader.
 * “Now, Ensign Gillam, let’s have the engines prepared for immediate departure.”
 * “Aye sir,” the ship’s engineer replied, heading aft. “We’ll be hot in a couple ticks.”

Terthbak let him leave without comment. Few of the crew, including Neach, actually understood the engineer’s speech thanks to the liberal sprinkling of technical jargon and engineer’s slang mixed into his routine conversations. However, Neach had assured him that Gillam was competent enough, so he had let the matter rest.
 * “The Observant is fully at your command, sir,” reported Jasnan.
 * “Excellent, Warrant Officer. Take us out,” ordered Terthbak officially. “Let’s get this mission rolling.”

Filled with pride and excitement, he stood stiffly as the Observer slid out of spacedock, his chest puffed out. Little did he know that each member of the crew was secretly and inwardly laughing at their new self-important captain, who only stood sixty centimeters over a meter.
 * Star Destroyer Corrupter

Lieutenant Ait Convarion stared at the report of a sensor contact he had received a minute ago, chewing his lip as he attempted to decide his course of action. If it was a ship, the Corrupter had a mission to investigate it. He considered summoning Nebulax to the bridge, but decided against it. So far, he had nothing of importance with which to interest the captain. Fetching him now would likely only waste time and draw the ire of the senior officer, so he delayed contacting the captain. First, he needed more information on what exactly he was dealing with.
 * “There it is, Lieutenant,” called the sensor officer in his crew pit. “I’m placing it up on your screen now.”
 * “Thank you, Ensign,” said Convarion coolly.

It was a ship, a light freighter. The freighter on his vid display was of the same class as a ship that had been reported to have smuggling connections after a recent Imperial sting raid directed by Ajaur on a lowlife spaceport on Dorvalla had netted much information on local smuggling activities. The information that they had obtained had been enough to send them to the Zhar system, where some of the smugglers were apparently carrying weapons and supplies to aid in a fledgling resistance movement. When the Corrupter had arrived insystem two days ago, reports from the planet’s governor had indicated that there had been several attacks on Imperial facilities and that pacification measures were in place. In response, Captain Nebulax had pledged their assistance, sending one of Corrupter’s two fighter squadrons down to the surface along with some troops to help maintain order. The moff had bristled upon Nebulax's smooth pledge of assistance to a system in need, but had accepted the help with something resembling gratitude.

The description of the ship in question didn’t necessarily implicate its crew as smugglers, but Convarion didn’t feel like taking chances. While seemingly small and cumbersome, a freighter that size could easily be carrying several thousand kilos of explosives, two hundred blaster rifles and ammunitions, or at least twenty partisans and their gear- in short, enough to turn a minor nuisance into a small, but well-equipped insurgency against Imperial rule, and that was not acceptable.
 * “Comm, hail the ship.”
 * “Aye, sir. Ready for transmission.”
 * “This is the Star Destroyer Corrupter. Unidentified freighter, state your name, cargo, and destination. Then transmit your crew and cargo manifests.”
 * “This is the Flitnat, Corrupter. Cargo is foodstuffs, destination is Zhar. Have we done something wrong?”

Convarion frowned. The ship’s captain sounded innocent enough, but then again, smugglers were good at that.
 * “Sensors, have you scanned their cargo yet? Does it check out with what they’ve sent us?”
 * “Sir, I’ve scanned them, but there must be some interference in the local space, because I can’t get a positive read. Their crew list does check out- five humans- and they are carrying some type of organic compound.”
 * “That’s not good enough,” snapped Convarion.
 * “What the matter, Lieutenant?” asked Nebulax, stepping through the doors onto the bridge.

Convarion stiffened and saluted.
 * “Nothing, sir. Merely running a scan of a suspect freighter entering the Zhar system.”
 * “Details, Lieutenant. Give me the details,” Nebulax said flatly.

He was not about to put up with some nonsense like Convarion keeping details from him on the bridge of his ship.
 * “Aye, sir. The ship loosely matches the description of a ship that we obtained from the Dorvalla raid. I was checking it out- their crew manifest checks out, but we haven’t been able to scan their cargo thoroughly yet.”
 * “I see.”

Nebulax considered his options. On the one hand, Convarion was probably overreacting, but his caution could be well-founded, and they were on a mission to check local traffic. If the ship turned out to be a gunrunner, their capture would certainly increase his prestige with the local moff, who somewhat resented the Corrupter’s presence in the Cadavine Sector. And the fact that they could not get a clear scan of the vessel reinforced the need to get an accurate look: Organic compounds could be anything from simple foodstuffs or petrochemicals to refined high explosives.
 * “Helm, bring us closer,” ordered Nebulax.
 * Freighter Hawk-bat
 * “This is the Flitnat, Corrupter. Cargo is foodstuffs, destination is Zhar. Have we done something wrong?” Selu asked, injecting the appropriate amount of naïveté into his voice.

Toggling off the comm board, he nodded to Milya, who sent the cargo and crew manifests to the Imperial vessel as ordered.
 * “Do they suspect us?” asked Milya. “Or is it just routine Imperial patrols?”
 * “I don’t know,” said Selu. “I have the defelite hull activated- it won’t block their scans, but it should keep them from getting a really good look at us. Let’s just hope our fake ship profile holds up under inspection.”

Defelite, a rare material produced by the shadowy Defel people, was known for its sensor-diffusing properties. While not strong enough to completely block out the beams, the metal scattered the beams, preventing a positive scan from being completed, similar to the actual biology of the Defel themselves.
 * “That might not be a good idea,” said Spectre. “We don’t want to be boarded.”
 * “No, indeed,” said Selu. “The Empire might not take too kindly to the knowledge that we have a thousand kilos of detonite in the cargo hold. And they certainly won’t buy the ‘It’s for a blasting quarry’ lie if they’ve got a half brain on that destroyer. Spectre, keep our distance, give their scanners less to work with, while I try to get a sense of their captain- see if he’s suspicious or just doing his job.”

As Spectre tried to maintain a casual distance between the Star Destroyer and the Hawk-bat as the mottled greens and browns of Zhar began filling the viewport, Selu closed his eyes and concentrated, focusing his Force sense on the distant Imperial ship. His mind searched among the crew, gathering impressions and feelings from the crew. His perception wandered through the various decks up into the bridge, where the best clues were likely to be obtained from. Suddenly, his mind’s eye encountered another presence, a Force-sensitive. Against the relatively dull minds of the Imperial crew, this one stood out like a brilliant red light. His eyes shot open.

By his elbow, Nebulax’s comlink crackled, disturbing his thoughts as the Corrupter closed on the Flitnat. For such a small and cumbersome-looking freighter, the Corrupter was not gaining swiftly enough for his tastes.
 * “Nebulax here,” he said.
 * “Captain, board that ship you are chasing,” said Ajaur.
 * “What?” Nebulax said, aghast that the Inquisitor would dare to order him around thus.

While Ajaur was certainly capable of it, he had so far refrained from directly dictating his actions, aside from demanding that troops from Corrupter assist him on his raid on Dorvalla. At first, Nebulax had been disinclined to provide the materiel, but in the end he had reluctantly relented. Still, that had turned out well enough, with several dozen smugglers currently occupying the brig. And Ajaur had been able to coax a surprising amount of information out of the criminals. Despite the grating mannerisms, Nebulax decided that the best thing was to appease the Inquisitor- for now.
 * “You heard me, Captain. Board that ship.”
 * “As you wish,” Nebulax said less-than-pleasantly, his attitude still prickling from Ajaur’s casual dictation of orders. Just because he was humoring Ajaur did not mean he had to take his orders with lots of joy.
 * “Freighter Flitnat, heave to and prepare for boarding,” Nebulax said, nodding to the comm officer, who transmitted the order.
 * “Blast!” swore Selu. “They’re onto us.”

At that, Spectre threw the ship’s drive levers forward, and the Hawk-bat lurched from the acceleration of the sublight engines. The graceful vessel, loosely shaped like its animal namesakes, was equipped with lovingly maintained and upgraded systems that had been tweaked to considerably higher than standard specifications. It was one of Sarth’s goals to make every system on the ship run better than a stock system, and Selu figured he was fairly close to achieving that goal.
 * “I’ll take it, Spectre,” said Selu. “Get to the gun stations. We’re too close to Zhar to jump into hyperspace. Hang on while I try and get clear, and keep an eye out for fighters.”
 * “As ordered,” said Spectre.
 * “Captain, the freighter is pulling away from us,” reported the sensor officer.
 * “Launch a quartet of V-wings to intercept them,” ordered Nebulax crisply. “Instruct the pilots to fire to disable; we want them alive. Have another quartet stand by for launch.”

Nebulax watched as his crew scrambled to carry out his orders. This far from Coruscant, the crew was largely conscripts recruited from Outer Rim worlds and hastily trained as part of the Emperor’s New Order military build-up. Their standards were certainly not up to those of the elite clone troopers and were woefully slow even compared to the wartime conditions Nebulax was used to. In those days, crewers knew that the slightest mistake might lead to disaster for the entire ship. With the onset of relative peace, the crews had become sloppier and more complacent. Nebulax gritted his teeth, waiting for the starfighters to launch, mentally noting to conduct a series of surprise drills to sharpen the crew’s readiness.
 * “Fighters!” called out Milya from the sensor station. “Four of them, coming in fast.”
 * “Great,” muttered Selu, glancing at a readout. “We won’t be able to outrun them. Spectre, you and Cassi get to the gun turrets. Hold them off for a few minutes.”
 * “Do you want us to take to the starfighters, Selu?” asked Spectre.

Two years ago, the Hawk-bat had acquired a small pair of starfighters that were permanently tucked into the wingtip pods and occasionally flown by Milya and Spectre. Thankfully, there was enough of the sensor-scrambling defelite in those pods to conceal any hint of their true contents. To the Imperials, the fighters would just appear to be more ship’s machinery.
 * “Not this time,” Selu responded. “Those things don’t have hyperdrive, and I’m looking for a quick getaway. Just use the turrets for now- I should be able to outrun them.”

Selu toggled a switch and four blisters on the dorsal and ventral surfaces of the Hawk-bat’s hull folded down to reveal laser cannon turrets. He switched two of them to automatic fire control using a droid brain programmed by Sarth while letting Spectre and Cassi take the other two. As the starfighters closed on the freighter, Selu felt the ship shudder from laser cannon bolt impacts and near misses as the four turrets poured purple laser blasts back at the Imperial craft. Unfortunately, the strafing of the V-wings were taking their toll; Selu was forced to either maneuver to avoid their shots or shunt more powers from engines to lasers and shields, reducing their flight to freedom. Slowly, inexorably, the Corrupter was gaining on them.
 * “Captain, ten seconds to weapons range,” reported Nebulax’s chief gunnery officer.
 * “Excellent,” said Nebulax, though he noted with some displeasure the destruction of one of the V-wings from the freighter’s rather spirited defense.
 * “Selu, they’re going to catch us!” called Milya.
 * “I know! I know!” he shouted back, throwing the Hawk-bat into a steep power dive in a futile attempt to break away from the Star Destroyer.

The freighter’s guns found another one of the V-wings, and it veered off trailing sparks and fumes, out of the fight. However, it was too little, too late. A warning beeped on Selu’s panel, indicating that Corrupter was within weapons range.
 * “We have firing solutions, sir!” reported the chief gunner.
 * “Fire! Starboard ion cannons only,” replied Nebulax.
 * “Aye, sir. Firing ion cannons.”

The large turrets on the kilometer-long destroyer rotated to track their target. Once locked on, they burst forth brilliant lances of blue ion energy at the Hawk-bat. The ion cannons on the Corrupter were capable of disabling much larger vessels- one as small as the Hawk-bat didn’t stand a chance.

At the last moment, Selu banked and the ion beams, which would have completely disabled every system on the Hawk-bat, seared past the ship. However, the sheer proximity was enough to send skitters of energy across the shields, tearing into their integrity.
 * “That was close!” said Milya.
 * “No kidding,” said Selu.

Suddenly, he noticed that his speed was decreasing, and the fighters had ceased their attack runs. With a sinking heart he checked his sensors to confirm it and was correct: The Corrupter had them in a tractor beam. They were sitting targets.
 * “Cease fire,” he called to Spectre and Cassi while deactivating the turrets.

The laser cannons, which were fairly effective against smaller craft, would only anger the crew of the Victory-class Star Destroyer. They had been caught, so there was no point in continuing to buy for time. Selu sat in his chair, wracking his brain for a way to get out of this mess. He was not about to go quietly into Imperial captivity. And with the Force-sensitive onboard- Selu remembered with vivid clarity seeing Anakin Skywalker, somehow twisted to the dark side, slaughtering Jedi at the Jedi Temple. If it was him, well, things would go badly, to say the least. It didn’t seem to be the same intense presence that characterized Anakin Skywalker- now styling himself Darth Vader-, but it certainly was a matter of concern. Then, inspiration came to him. Scrambling from his chair, he raced back to the cargo hold.
 * “Sarth, get up here. I need your help,” he called.

As Sarth and NineSee, the ship’s protocol droid, came forward into the hold, Selu quickly explained his plan to them. Quickly, the three loaded pallets of detonite into an escape pod.
 * “This is crazy, Selu,” said Sarth, even as he stacked another ten kilos of explosive inside the small pod. “They will never go for this.”
 * “Ah, but they will,” said Selu. “If they think it’s our valuable cargo, they’ll hit it with an ion cannon beam and haul it onboard their ship.”
 * “Okay, but if they hit it with an ion cannon, then that will certainly ruin any kind of detonator we rig inside the pod.”
 * “True,” Selu admitted. “I hadn’t gotten to that part yet.”
 * “Why don’t you just shoot the pod then?” asked Spectre, coming back to pass the blocks of detonite.
 * “A laser cannon burst would just get us slagged- they’d see it coming-, but I could use a torpedo,” said Selu. “They might not notice me arming that, and I don’t have to point it at the pod. That just might work.”
 * “Well, hurry up,” said Sarth. “We will be in their bay soon.”
 * “Okay, that’s enough explosive. Close it up and shoot it off,” said Selu, heading back forward to the bridge.

Already, the massive bone-white bulk of Corrupter loomed over the tiny Hawk-bat and Selu could clearly see the hangar bay fast coming to engulf them as they were pulled into it by the invisible tractor field. He shuddered at the thought of being boarded by the Empire. Having served on similar vessels back when he was a Jedi, during the Clone Wars, Selu knew exactly how many soldiers were onboard, waiting for the ship to set down on the cavernous deck. With one starfighter already destroyed and another damaged by them, the Empire would certainly not be in the mood for mercy.
 * “Fire it off,” Selu called, and an instant later he heard the whuff of the pod detaching from the freighter.

No sooner had it launched, though, than its trajectory came curving back into the Star Destroyer as it, too, was caught in the tractor field. An ion cannon beam lanced out and hit the pod, engulfing it in a sea of azure lightning bolts playing over its metallic surface. As they came closer and closer, Selu realized an obvious flaw in his plan. He had planned to shoot the pod when it set down in the docking bay for maximum effect, but with too much proximity to the pod, the explosion would tear through the Hawk-bat’s weakened shields also, destroying the freighter. With no time to spare, Selu quickly activated the hidden and highly illegal proton torpedo launcher hidden in the Hawk-bat’s nose and fired off a single torpedo at the pod, reactivating the shields and drives as he did so.
 * “Hang on!” he called.

The fireball from the explosion of the pod rocked both vessels. Personnel aboard the Corrupter were temporarily dazzled and thrown off from the pursuit by the explosion, their sensors momentarily blinded. While the Star Destroyer’s shields had largely deflected the force of the explosion, the sheer magnitude of the attack had caught the crew off guard, buying precious time for the Hawk-bat to make its escape. However, spurred by their captain, the Imperial crew sprang into action. No more attempts were made to seize the vessel for boarding, and every turbolaser that could be brought to bear was fired at the Hawk-bat.

Selu clutched the controls with a frenzied grip, precariously dodging and jinking to evade the deadly fusillades of green turbolaser bursts even as he clawed for open space far enough from Zhar’s gravity well to jump to lightspeed. The beams were getting closer. Selu keyed the navicomputer, hoping to plot a jump to somewhere, anywhere away from their assailant. Unfortunately, that particular piece of equipment had yet to be tweaked, and precious seconds would be needed to complete the complex calculations for jumping to lightspeed. Seconds they didn’t have.

The Hawk-bat shuddered as another near-miss from a turbolaser detonated near the aft quarter of the sleek freighter. The impact of the blow threw Sarth Kraen into a wall across from the overheating shield control circuitry he was trying to bypass. From a muffled groan coming from down the hall, he could tell that the hit had had a similar effect on Cassi. He struggled back to his feet, retrieving the dropped hydrospanner and other tools rolling around on the deck. Cursing at sight of the now burned-out circuitry and the shower of blue sparks it was emitting, he quickly shut off the entire relay before it literally blew up in his face. Keying the intercom, he shouted a message to his brother Selu, who was in the bridge flying the ship.
 * “Selu! We can’t take any more hits! The shields are gone!”

Up in the bridge, Selu heard his brother’s report; it was not new information, as his own readouts already told him their dire straits. With the Corrupter in hot pursuit and now stripped bare of their protective shields, he had but one option- a jump to lightspeed. Glancing at the navicomputer, he willed it to complete its calculations, but to no avail. Selu had a quick flash of intuition and could almost see the crosshairs of several weapons emplacements on his ship and knew it was time for a desperate maneuver. Throwing the hyperspace lever, he held his breath as stars elongated and the Hawk-bat shot into hyperspace, narrowly evading the final salvo of brilliant green turbolaser bolts. They were safe, but for how long? Blind jumps into hyperspace, performed without the benefit of navicomputer calculations, were eschewed by even the most veteran spacers as a sure way to suicide.
 * Commenor

Annita Daowot sat alone at a tapcafe, twirling a lock of her long brown hair around one finger. She was dressed smartly but casually, her outfit retaining some aspects of businesslike professionalism. As always, she wore a jacket. It was late in the evening and she always came here when she needed some solitude and quiet after late hours at work. Seated in a booth rather than the bar, she sipped her lomin-ale occasionally, but felt no obligation to drink all of it. At any rate, she might be here awhile longer, waiting for someone. However, this person had nothing to do with her career, which was something of a surprise for those who knew Annita.

Annita was a Commenorian Investigator, a law enforcement official specializing in evidence collection and forensic analysis, and a rising star in the department. After the Kraen-Mistryl case, her department had finally recognized her talents and she had been swiftly promoted to sergeant and the head of evidence for the city of Munto. However, she’d also found another area of enjoyment in her life, and that was what brought her to the tapcafe tonight. Her eyes lit up as the person she had been waiting for finally appeared and slid into the booth.
 * “Good evening, love. Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jorgesoll Knrr apologized.
 * “It’s okay, Jorge. Busy night at work?” Annita asked, smiling warmly at him.
 * “Just a little bit,” he said. “With that convention in town, I’ve been kept pretty busy with guests. Had to make a late night run to pick up some more Corellian whiskey.”
 * “I see.”
 * “But don’t worry, nothing could keep me from seeing you tonight.”
 * “Glad to hear it,” Annita replied. “We have things to talk about, you know.”
 * “Oh? Like what?” said Jorge, feigning innocence. “What things?”
 * “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she said, giving him a look. “Our wedding. You know, the one that’s in eight months, one week, and three days.”
 * “Wedding? Hmm, oh yes- that wedding,” said Jorge, teasing his fiancé. “I almost forgot.”
 * “You’re hopeless,” Annita said, rolling her eyes. “You know, I wonder why I ever took up with an old smuggling spacer like you.”
 * “That’s reformed smuggler and retired spacer,” Jorge corrected. “And you’re right- you’re too good for me.”
 * “I know,” she said simply. “But I love you anyway.”
 * “I love you too,” he replied, his voice thick with sincerity. “Now, you wanted to talk about our wedding.”
 * “Yes,” she said, and plunged into her planned discussion about the wedding arrangements.

The story of Jorgesoll Knrr and Annita Daowot was a strange one. Jorge had been the first mate on the Hawk-bat for years until the death of Captain R’hask Sei’lar at the hands of the Empire. A Corellian by birth, he had once been known for chasing every girl at the spaceport cantinas, until he had met Annita, who had been helping track down Mistryl mercenaries who were trying to kidnap Sarth Kraen. Upon the completion of the case and the choice of Selusda Kraen as the new captain of the Hawk-bat, Jorge had bought a small tapcafe in Munto and done fairly well with it, having traded his former wanderlust for the responsibilities of running a respectable and legitimate business. His place, Jorge’s Folly, was popular among spacers, and if the clientele was bothered by the frequent visits by a certain female Investigator, they didn’t let on. Jorge’s fast and furious romance of Annita was somewhat well-known among his friends and companions.

For her part, Annita had found herself strangely attracted to the handsome, outgoing Jorge. Despite his garrulous nature, he was kind-hearted, and that more than anything had drawn her to him. His sense of fun helped balance out her dedication to her work. The two had dated for eighteen months when one night Jorge had taken her out to dinner and bought tickets to see a pricey Mon Calamari opera performance. Afterward, as he was taking her back to her apartment, he had seemed awfully nervous and jumpy. At her doorstep, he had gotten down on one knee and asked her to marry him. Annita remembered the moment as if it was yesterday. She had nearly passed out from surprise, but had managed to stammer out an acceptance like a startled schoolgirl. Since then, her life had been a whirlwind of activity as she and Jorge had been spending even more time together.

The two talked for an hour about locations, people to invite, decorations, music, food, and other topics related to the wedding. Neither could wait for the day, for the culmination of their unlikely romance.
 * “So, we’re still looking for someone to marry us,” said Jorge.
 * “Right,” said Annita. “I’ll gather a list of possible candidates.”
 * “Okay. And the reception will be here.”
 * “As long as you don’t get your liquor license taken away before then,” said Annita.
 * “I’ll try to avoid that. Maybe I’ll bribe a corrupt Investigator or something. Or maybe just seduce a pretty one.”
 * “You’re such a flirt,” she said. “What about your best man and groomsmen? I’ve got the bridesmaids picked out already. What about you?”
 * “If Cap’n R’hask was still alive, I’d ask him to do it,” said Jorge. “But since he’s not, I’ll ask Sarth if he’d be willing to do that honor.”
 * “That’s a horrible thing to do to your friend,” said Annita. “He’ll have to nursemaid you all day.”
 * “I know, which is why I’ll ask Sarth to do it,” said Jorge. “He’s the only real choice. I figured I’d ask Marsden and Tapper to be the other two.”

Marsden was Jorge’s night manager, a burly and hard-working Socorran, and Tapper was a spacer that Jorge had known “back in the day.”
 * “That’s a good choice,” said Annita.
 * “So who are your bridesmaids anyway?” Jorge asked.
 * “Well, two of the girls from the Investigators, and Cassi Trealus,” said Annita.
 * “Alright, but tell them not to check IDs or criminal records,” said Jorge.
 * “Don’t worry about it,” she said.
 * “Okay, dear. If you say so,” he said, a note of tenderness slipping into his voice as he took her hand.
 * “Did Mrs. Kraen agree to do the cake?” he asked.
 * “She said she’d love to,” Annita replied.
 * “That woman thinks you’re one of her children,” said Jorge.
 * “I know,” she replied. “And old Mr. Samtel said he’d be delighted to be the father of the bride.”
 * “That was nice of him. He must know how much that means to you,” said Jorge.

Annita’s true father had been a belligerent, abusive man, and Annita still bore the scars of the beatings she had borne as a child. It had been Samtel Kraen, Sarth and Selu’s father, who had brought suit against him when she was a teenager and helped pay for her education after he had been arrested. She had lived with her mother for the rest of her childhood until she joined the Investigators in hopes of making sure that no one else went through what she had experienced.
 * “Yes,” said Annita. “I’m sure he knew.”
 * “You know,” said Jorge. “I don’t really want to talk about wedding plans anymore. We have eight months. It can wait.”
 * “That it can,” said Annita. “But your customers can’t.”
 * “Oh?”
 * “Marsden just gave you the ‘Help!’ signal,” said Annita.
 * “Did he? I didn’t see it.”
 * “Go on, spacebum. Go save your poor manager. He works himself to the bone for you- the least you can do is save him from hordes of thirsty customers.”
 * “I’d rather spend time with someone more pleasurable of company,” he said, gently caressing her second finger and the ring he had given her.
 * “Yes, but your shop needs you,” she said. “I need to go anyway.”
 * “Oh fine. See you later tonight?”
 * “Sure. Just stop by- you know how to get in. I’ll be expecting you.”
 * “Okay, love. Until then.”

Jorge gave Annita a quick kiss, and then bustled off, muttering something about how responsibility would be the end of him.
 * “Hang on, Marsden, I’m coming!” he shouted.

Annita smiled after him. Jorge was such an overgrown child at heart, and a spoiled one at that. Still, he worked hard and tried his best to please her. Finishing off her ale, she left the glass on the table with a sizable tip for the server, then gathered her bag and headed out of Jorge’s Folly.

The night was cool, with a slight breeze, and the sky was clear. As she walked over across the lot to her personal speeder, she noted the cool crunch of her shoes on the permacrete as she walked mixing with the ambient sounds of city life. A smile spread across her face as she reminded herself that she was getting married in a few months. She was so in love with Jorge and eight months couldn’t pass fast enough.
 * “Good evening, Sergeant Daowot,” said a voice, startling her out of her self-absorbed reverie.

Annita turned to see the speaker leaning casually against the hood of a speeder, quietly smoking a cigarra. Recognizing the man, her mood soured somewhat, but she replied politely enough.
 * “Good evening to you as well, Captain Norres.”

Norres was the new Imperial liaison officer for Munto, and an increasingly large thorn in her side. The man had found ways to increasingly subvert the authority of her and other Investigators, and there was nothing they could do about him. The Empire was mandating that all local law enforcement authorities be augmented by such people, though Annita privately wondered if all of them were such pains in the neck. Norres had always seemed shifty to her, not to mention condescending. Finding him here was not a pleasant surprise.
 * “I trust your fiancé is well,” Norres said.

Surprised by how much he knew of her personal life, she replied. “My fiancé and other aspects of my personal life are none of your concern. Good evening.” With that, Annita turned and marched off towards her vehicle. Norres watched her go, taking another long pull on his cigarra and admiring her figure. After she was safely out of earshot, he smiled casually.
 * “Ah, but in the interests of the Empire, I can make it my concern. And I think I just might.”
 * Somewhere in deep space

Selu Kraen sat in the pilot’s chair of the Hawk-bat, his eyes closed in concentration as he gripped the controls of the ship. He had been sitting there for the past eight hours and the seat stank of his sweat and body odor. His clothes, clammy with sweat, hung loosely from his body. Selu was oblivious to that, focusing on the Force to try and find his way through the chartless voids of hyperspace, seeking a safe place to drop the freighter back into the relative safety of realspace. Their blind jump had plunged them through vast distances of the galaxy, across hundreds of light years, and Selu was unwilling to drop the ship out of hyperspace until he felt it was safe to do so. If he didn’t take care, they could end up flying into a black hole, planet, star, or other stellar phenomena of considerable mass. Right now, the Force was the only thing keeping them from doing so, according to Selu, and he had refused all offers by Milya, Spectre, and Sarth to take over piloting for awhile. The rest of the crew watched their captain nervously in shifts. In the boring stretches of hyperspace, there was little for them to do. Sarth had completed what repairs he could, but many of them required external access, and Sarth had no desire to spacewalk in hyperspace with only an enviro-suit as protection against the twisted dimensions. Furthermore, as Selu might drop the ship out of hyperspace at any moment, he would be left behind in the trackless wastes of hyperspace to die slowly when his air ran out; an unappealing fate to say the least. Sarth could do nothing but watch his gauges and keep an eye on Selu. That his younger brother had been sitting like that for eight hours without water, food, or rest was disturbing to say the least. The other members of the crew were similarly restless. Everyone was still on edge after their narrow escape from the Star Destroyer.

Suddenly, the faintest smile creased Selu’s face. Grabbing the hyperdrive lever, he shoved it forward and the swirling vortex of hyperspace returned to the normal dots of starfield as the Hawk-bat reverted to realspace. They were finally clear. Before them lay a magnificent nebula, a giant cloud of brilliant purples and blues pockmarked with young, white-hot stars that lit the nebula with dazzling rays of light. Tendrils of hot gas and dust, ionized by stellar radiation, flared out in a cloud stretching for millions of kilometers in every direction. The mingled azures, cyan, violet, magenta, and cerulean hues of the nebula were staggering in their beauty, and Milya thought she saw a hand in the shapes of the nebula. A few more seconds in hyperspace and they would have emerged in the midst of it.
 * “Where are we?” asked Sarth, somewhat awestruck by the stellar wonder in front of him.
 * “I don’t know,” said Selu. “We’re in the Outer Rim somewhere, but probably closer to Wild Space. How’s the ship?”
 * “Decidedly battered,” said Sarth. “We need to set down for repairs and the sooner the better.”
 * “Here,” said Milya, checking the sensors. “There’s a small planet orbiting one of the stars not too far into the nebula. We can set down there.”
 * “Is flying into that soup going to fry the ship?” asked Spectre.
 * “We should be fine, unless the scanners are lying to us,” said Sarth. “Milya is right- that planet should work. It appears to be rocky enough, and even if the atmosphere is not breathable, it is far preferable to deep space.”
 * “The planet is safe,” said Selu decidedly.
 * “How do you know?” asked Cassi.

He turned to look back at the rest of the crew.
 * “The Force told me. We’re supposed to land there.”