Force Exile IV: Guardian/Part 8

18
The dingy apartment room was quiet. It was a dilapidated place to begin with-the glowpanels didn’t work and there was barely running water. The fact that large amounts of gear, bedrolls, and supply packs had been strewn across the room for the last few weeks had helped disguise the torn up and shredded state the floor was in. However, all of that was neatly packed away into a series of identical black bags stacked against one wall. Six individuals, all armed, waited patiently, watching the door, while another peered out the side of the tiny apartment’s one window. Finally, there was a knock on the door and, after a quick check of their identities, two more individuals were admitted to the room.

Cresh Squad all came to attention as Captain Wyslond and Cresh Two entered the room.
 * “All right,” their commander said. “The patrols are gone for now.”
 * “What’s the plan?” Dex Naresco asked.

The captain heaved a deep sigh.
 * “I talked to command. They congratulated us on our success-over a hundred slaves rescued, the vast majority of the Kraechar Arms shipments funneled here destroyed. However, they’re still pulling us out.”
 * “How can they do that?” Nate spoke up. “We’re doing good work here, right?”
 * “All good things have to come to an end,” Captain Wyslond replied. “We’ve riled up the Zannists quite a bit with what’ve done. They’ve got probe droids out everywhere looking for us, and so much as one peek of us in our trademark armor would have every thug on the planet on our trail. There’s a considerable reward for anyone who captures one of us.”
 * “For those of you who owe me in sabacc, I’ll remember that,” joked Naresco.

They all had a brief laugh over that. Naresco wasn’t exactly the best sabacc player in the squad.
 * “It’s getting too hot on Nar Shaddaa for us to stay here,” Captain Wyslond continued after the laughter subsided. “We have one last job to do, then we raise ship and head out.”
 * “Sir, didn’t you say it was too dangerous to head out in our armor again?” Nate asked.
 * “I did,” Captain Wyslond said. “That’s why we’re going to pull this off without the battlesuits. Nobody here has seen us without them on, so we’re going to use that to our advantage.”

Moving over to a warped table in the corner of the room, he retrieved his datapad and set it down. Activating the holoprojector, he laid out the attack plan.

That evening, the eight members of Cresh Squad trickled into the area surrounding a sizable warehouse owned by the Zann Consortium-and the location of the last major cache of Kraechar Arms weapons on Nar Shaddaa. It was well-guarded, to be sure, but the Zannists had skimped on real guards-most of their manpower was out scouring the streets for their mysterious raiders. Instead, the dozen or so guards were reinforced by a large amount of auto-turrets and security droids, as well as remote sensors that would detect and funnel any intruder into a killzone where they could be easily defeated. There was one flaw in this setup, though, and that was its dependence on a central security grid control terminal. That was Cresh Squad’s primary objective.

The evening had been more or less filled with routine duties for the bored Consortium guards. They’d been warned to be alert, then assigned their shifts, which they’d hoped would pass quickly so they could return to the pleasures of food, drink, and the small bordello that had been set up near the warehouse for their enjoyment. Everything had gone as it usually did, until Cresh Squad’s demolition expert, set up on a rooftop a couple kilometers away, deployed and fired an anti-vehicle missile right into the front gate. The explosion tore the security booth apart, killing the two guards who were inside and setting the entrance afire.

From his vantage point, Nate watched as members of the security team converged on the area, shouting and pointing their blasters in all directions. They got as far as the gatehouse when the Cresh Squad sniper, set up on the same rooftop along with the demolitions man, opened fire with his silenced S-5X rifle, picking off the gate guards with his lethal weapon. All attention was completely focused on the brazen attack on the gate, which was exactly what Cresh Squad had wanted.

With everyone focused on the gate, nobody had noticed Captain Wyslond and Naresco dash across an open lot and sprint up the stairs that led to the main security booth. Nate covered them with his rifle, but they drew no fire. Watching through his scope, Nate saw Naresco open the door while the captain tossed a stun grenade inside. Only a few minutes later, the security droids, auto-turrets, and sensors all shut down. That was his cue.

Rising from where he’d been hunched over behind a parked speeder, Nate popped up from cover and began blasting away at the remaining guards, whose sides were completely exposed to him. The rest of the squad joined in the attack, and the guards fell quickly to the accurate fire pouring in from several directions. Several of them had piled into a speeder and tried to make a dash for the gate, but a streak of red light-another missile-tore through the air and turned it into blazing scrap.
 * “Good work, team,” Captain Wyslond told them through their earpiece comlinks. “Move in and secure the warehouse.”

Cresh Squad did as they were instructed, advancing on the warehouse over the bodies of the slain guards. Splitting up, they entered from two sides, making their way through the piled crates. There were three guards still inside, but they didn’t even have a chance to fire before being cut down by silenced pistol rounds. Competent the guards might have been, but Cresh Squad was considerably more than just competent. This raid was turning out to be fairly easy after all.

Nate covered one of the doors while the other members of the team rigged the warehouse with explosives. The way was clear, but then something caught his eye.
 * “Lead,” he said into his comlink, looking at the bordello. “I think there might be more slaves in that structure. Permission to check them out?”
 * “Denied,” replied Wyslond after thinking it over. “That’s outside the mission.”
 * “I understand that,” Nate replied. “But think of the people in there. We might be the only chance they have.”

It was clear that Wyslond wanted to acquiesce, but the officer knew that it might be dangerous. They had their orders, and this wasn’t in them.
 * “Look, it’ll just take me a minute,” Nate reasoned. “There’s maybe one or two guards in there. We get them out, we get out of there.”

Finally, Wyslond reluctantly gave his consent, but warned him to be careful. After checking his flanks, Nate dashed across the open ground to the bordello. Peeping through a hole in the door, Nate saw a fat Twi’lek holding a blaster, his trembling hands pointing it at the door. Nate sighed, moved away from the door, then popped up in the window and blasted the Twi’lek with a quick double-burst from his carbine. He checked around for any other signs of trouble, but found none, so Nate broke down the door and advanced. He checked the rooms, though to his relief, there were no other Consortium thugs in there. However, he did find a dozen slaves, all of whom bore clear signs of abuse. Rage built within him on seeing the suffering they had endured.
 * “Come with me,” he told each of them quietly. “We’re going to get you out of here. You’re free now.”

They had all followed him without question and he had herded them back into the warehouse. Stopping at the door, Nate held up his hand, signaling the slaves to stop.
 * “Jaded eyes,” he whispered the password, then brought the dozen slaves into the warehouse.

The other members of Cresh Squad had worked fast, rigging it to blow. Their mission accomplished, the squad hijacked four speeders that had been lying around and, along with the slaves, piled in. They roared away from the warehouse triumphantly. Looking over his shoulder, Captain Wyslond pressed a button and it went up in a giant mushroom cloud that skyrocketed its fiery way into the night.
 * “Mission accomplished,” he said with satisfaction.

Looking at one of the dozen slaves they’d just rescued, Nate smiled and, drinking in the accomplishment he had felt upon saving another dozen lives from an existence of abject misery, concurred entirely with the captain.

In short order, Cresh Squad and the liberated slaves made their way back to the apartment, retrieved their gear, and boarded their ship, blasting off Nar Shaddaa. They were going home.
 * Mandalore

Sarth slowly opened his eyes, looking around him. He was sitting in a building somewhere, dank, dimly lit, and dirty, but given that almost certainly described most of the structures in Kedalbe, that didn’t help very much. He also couldn’t move and there was a terrible taste in his mouth. Looking down, Sarth realized that he was tied hand-and-foot to a metal chair and there was filthy rag stretched over his mouth, gagging him. His memory returned to him in fragments, but he eventually remembered being stunned by the Zann Consortium thugs, several of whom were standing around the room watching him. Sarth ignored them. By craning his neck up and around, he caught up a glimpse of Cassi over his shoulder, seemingly still unconscious and similarly tied to a chair, but still with him.
 * “Good to see yer awake,” he heard suddenly as his gag was ripped off.

Looking around and eventually down, he found Zloskiba leering at him.
 * “Let us go,” Sarth managed hoarsely. “We haven’t done anything to you.”
 * “’Fraid I can’t do that,” the Dug said. “Orders are orders and all.”
 * “We can work out a deal,” Sarth replied, trying to shake off the stiffness in his limbs.
 * “Of course we can,” the Dug said nastily. “That’s why I’m here, in fact.”
 * “What do you want?” Sarth demanded.
 * “First of all,” Zloskiba said haughtily. “We want ya to sign over control of fifty-one percent ownership of Kraechar Arms to the Zann Consortium. That’ll give us ownership and control of it.”

Sarth was incredulous, then disgusted.
 * “You’re extorting me?” he asked.
 * “Yerr not in a position to say no,” the Dug pointed out.
 * “That’s where you’re wrong,” Sarth said defiantly. “Go to hell.”

The Dug sighed.
 * “I just knew ya were goin’ ta be difficult,” Zloskiba said. “Wake her.”

One of his accomplices walked up to Cassi and slapped her around roughly until she stirred and woke. Sarth bit down on an angry protest, knowing it would do no good. He heard the scraping of the metal chair legs on the permacrete floor and, out of the corner of his eye, saw that a horrified Cassi was now facing him.
 * “Our guest is thirsty,” Zloskiba said with an evil glint in his eye. “Cut loose his arms and give him something to drink.”

Two thugs, a burly Snivvian and a three-eyed Gran stepped forward. The Snivvian used a vibroblade to slice through the bonds holding Sarth’s arms to the chair, then pulled him to a standing position. While the Snivvian wrenched Sarth’s arms behind his back in one meaty fist, his other tipped Sarth’s head back until he was facing the ceiling. Then the Gran stepped forward, forced Sarth’s mouth open and poured a liter of water down his throat. Sarth thrashed about, but the Snivvian held him in place even as he coughed and gagged, trying to somehow handle all the water being forced into his system.
 * “How about now?” Zloskiba asked mildly.

Sarth continued to gag and cough, but managed to direct an angry glare at the Dug.
 * “He’s still thirsty, Moshi,” Zloskiba replied.

Before Sarth could react, his head was wrenched back and another bottle of water splashed down his face and neck, though most of it went down his already abused throat. He felt like he was drowning, that the searing sensation shooting through his chest from his lungs protesting the water in them would tear him apart, but somehow he endured. Drawing on the Force, Sarth managed to keep control, to suppress his body’s reactions, and keep too much water from entering his lungs. He felt Cassi reach out in the Force, bolstering his endurance and he silently thanked her through the mental link they shared. The Dug, however, ruthlessly continued until the better part of four liters of water had been forced into Sarth. Gagging and vomiting, Sarth thrashed about helplessly. He was drenched, half-drowned, and in pain, but still he glared angrily at the Dug.
 * “Go to hell,” he rasped, every syllable a laborious effort.
 * “Such spirit,” Zloskiba said, impressed. “Yer obviously not a normal executive, but then, I’d expect that from someone who knows how ta handle a lightsaber.”

Sarth continued to alternately spit up water and glower at the diminutive alien.
 * “Go . . . to . . . hell,” he forced out.

Zloskiba rolled his eyes and he exhaled heavily, obviously irritated.
 * Moshi,” the Dug said wickedly. “Our other guest is thirsty too.”

They forced Sarth back down and retied his arms. When he weakly tried to struggle, a single punch from the Snivvian drove the wind out of him, ending all resistance. Blinking back tears and trying to calm his spasming diaphragm, Sarth could only watch helplessly as Cassi was hauled to her feet for her turn of having water poured down her throat. Each second was a waking nightmare for him as his wife was tortured, and Sarth felt as if it was him who was being drowned all over again. She endured the first bottle, then the second, and Sarth’s stomach rose to his throat. His throat tightened as he sensed her pain and the words that could stop it rose to his lips, words of acquiescence that he’d thought he’d never say.

Then, he heard a voice-Cassi’s voice-echo in his mind.
 * “Don’t, Sarth,” he heard her say, though there was no way she was actually speaking given her state of simulated drowning. “I’m okay.”

He stared uncertainly at her, but her words had been spoken with quiet confidence. Sarth reluctantly bit back what he’d been going to say and watched in silent agony as the third bottle of water was opened and poured down her throat. He clenched his fists until his nails nearly broke skin, trying to lend Cassi whatever support he could through the Force. His level of empathy wasn’t nearly what hers was, so he had no idea if he was even helping any, but she sent him a silent mental nod of gratitude as the fourth bottle hit her. The moments dragged on as Cassi continued to suffer, but finally Zloskiba, annoyed that his tactic wasn’t working, decided to try something else
 * “I could beat her too, ya know,” he spat out angrily. “Leave red welts on her until she screams for mercy.”

Sarth shot a careful look at Cassi, who, despite her own racking coughs as her aching lungs tried to expel the water forced into them, shook her head silently. She was still fighting, still willing to endure more, and Sarth’s heart swelled with admiration for her even as she suffered.
 * “That won’t change my mind,” Sarth said. “And you still haven’t gone to hell.”
 * “Fine,” Zloskiba said with a sneer. “Suit yourself.”

He had the Snivvian and Dug retie Cassi back to her chair and shove her back towards Sarth so they were back to back again, then motioned them back, leaving the two sitting there in a puddle of water, soaked, water dripping from their aching bodies, gasping for breath. Zloskiba was playing with a cable he’d picked up from the ground, doing something to its end.
 * “Let’s see if we can shock some sense into ya,” he said, brandishing the end of the cable, which was now stripped of all insulation.

With that, Zloskiba tossed the cable into the pool of water around their chairs, sauntered over to a power generator, and flicked it on.

Both Sarth and Cassi screamed and struggled helplessly as the current ran through the water, up the chairs and into their bodies. Their muscles spasmed uncontrollably as the electric arcs ran fingers of pain up and down their nervous systems. The skin touching the metal chairs, which were rapidly heating up due to the current, began to protest with jolts of agony as the heat began searing it. Steam and the smell of burned flesh began rising from both of them as they fought back the waves of pain assaulting their already battered bodies. Each second dragged on, a discordant hell of shocks and jolts, and they had no idea how long it lasted. But they did not give in and, defeated yet again, the Dug switched off the generator, evidently annoyed.
 * “Don’t wanta kill ya,” he said. “So that’s enough for now. We’ll pick up tomorrer.”

With that, the Dug and his henchman replaced their gags, tied their arms back around behind the chairs, and filed out, leaving the two miserable prisoners alone to rot in the dark.

Sarth winced as his legs finally stopped twitching. His arms and legs were burned, chafed, and raw where the restraints had held him in place. If the almost complete lack of light streaming through the shaded windows was any indication, it was well after midnight. They had a long night ahead of them, and Sarth couldn’t even speak to his wife, hear her say that she was okay. He scooted his chair backward, though the exertion cost him in terms of the angry jolts of pain from his abused muscles, until the back of his chair was pressed against hers. Painfully, he stretched out with his aching fingers, despite the lack of circulation in his arms, and just barely brushed her hands. He tried again, and on the second try, managed to clasp her hands in his own. Reassurance filled him again, just from the simple act of being able to touch his wife, of being able to hold her hand and mentally tell her that everything was going to be okay. There was no response from Cassi at first, then her fingers tightened around his, sending a ripple of worry through him.

Then, Sarth noticed a faint blue glow crawling up his arms and over his body. Arching his back to catch a quick glimpse of Cassi, he saw that the same blue glow had enveloped her. As he sat there, Sarth felt the raw pain shooting through him diminish, saw one of the burns on his arms shrink. Cassi was using her gift of Force healing, wrapping both of them in the Force, restoring their tortured bodies, soothing the pain away. Sarth gave her the equivalent of a lasting embrace, felt her return the gesture, and knew everything was going to be okay. He knew the effort had to be tiring for her, so he lent what strength he had for her to convert into healing energy. After an hour of the Force therapy, Sarth felt much better. He wasn’t completely healed and neither was Cassi, but she was worn out. Her last act was to drift off into a deep sleep that was half of a Matukai meditative technique and half natural slumber. It was something Milya had taught them for when they needed to rest but didn’t have much time to do so. In his mind, Sarth envisioned her curling up for a nap on the couch by the window like she sometimes did in the heat of the afternoon after a long day. Adding to that mental image, he pictured himself wrapping her arms around her and sensed her accept the gesture before he fell into the same deep sleep.
 * Endor

Hasla stared out of the viewport, watching the starfield slowly pass by. Every half-hour, the century moon of Endor filled her view, slowly rotating. It was the same panorama over and over again and Hasla was sick of it. She was onboard a Rebel medical frigate, laid up in bed just as she had been for the past week ever since they’d pulled her fighter in from where she’d been drifting for hours, in shock, until the battle had ended. They had extracted her carefully from the wrecked ship and the medic on the spot had pronounced her femur broken and shattered in a dozen places. She’d been moved to the medical frigate where serious cases were treated, undergone surgery to repair her broken leg, and confined here since. She could almost walk on it again, but she was still a couple days from being able to leave the medical frigate. It might have taken her less time to recover, but with over thirty percent of the original fleet a casualty of some kind, Rebel medical resources had been stretched thin. Bone-knitters had been scarce or else she would have returned to her unit already.

Janson had come to visit her shortly after she’d arrived, but he’d been gone on some kind of mission to the Bakura system with the rest of the Rogues the past several days. Hasla hoped he would return soon, so that they could spend a little more time together. Commander Gavin had also stopped by a few days ago, wishing her a speedy recovery. For the present, though, she would just have to be patient and heal.

Two days of miserable tasteless ration cubes and forced bed rest later, Hasla heard a commotion outside the room where she and several other recovering patients were. The door slid open to admit a 2-1B medical droid, followed by Commander Gavin and General Calrissian.
 * “Seirla!” Gavin called. “I have good news for you.”
 * “Commander?” Hasla replied, sitting up straight and saluting. “General, what are you doing here?”
 * “Just relax,” Gavin said sympathetically. “You’re still off-duty. Don’t worry about the saluting.”
 * “I’m making the rounds, checking up on my pilots,” General Calrissian informed her. “You’re a very lucky lady.”
 * “Thank you, sir,” she said. “I just did my job.”
 * “Well, I have good news for you that I wanted to deliver myself,” Calrissian said. “We’ve just received a fresh shipment of medical supplies from some old friends of mine on Bespin. They said they knew you too-they were asking about you, wanting to see you.”
 * “Uh . . .” Hasla said uncertainly, her mind racing, trying to figure out who she knew on Bespin. “Sure, send them in.”

To her complete and utter surprise, Jorgesoll and Annita Knrr walked into the crowded room, dressed like businesspeople.
 * “Hey there,” Annita said. “How are you feeling?”
 * “I’ve been better,” Hasla said, recovering quickly.
 * “So you do know each other?” the general asked.
 * “Yes,” Hasla replied. “Commander Gavin, these are the two civilians you saw in my report from the Battle of Bespin, the ones who helped me escape after I was shot down.”
 * “Ah,” the commander said understandingly. “You have my thanks, then. Seirla is one of our best pilots.”
 * “We’re just trying to help,” Jorge said.
 * “And pay the Empire back a little,” Annita remarked with a small smile.
 * “Looks like you saved me again,” Hasla said, wondering what they were doing here. “That’s two I owe you.”
 * “I’m sure you’ll find some way to repay us,” Jorge said, shrugging. “If not, don’t worry about it. It’s all for a good cause.”
 * “Excuse me,” interrupted the 2-1B droid. “Am I going to be applying the bone-knitters on Flight Officer Trasani, or is this idle conversation more important?”
 * “Uh, sorry about that, Too-One Bee,” Calrissian said apologetically. “We’ll get out of your way. Get well soon, Flight Officer.”
 * “Speedy recovery, Ice Eight,” Commander Gavin said with a wink, then the two officers, followed by Jorge and Annita, made their way out of the room.

As they left, Hasla thought she heard the general ask Jorge and Annita something about Kuat and the Zann Consortium. She strained to hear more, but then the medical droid injected her with a sedative and went to work on her leg, disrupting her concentration. Her universe once again dissolved into the murky black of unconsciousness, leaving her filled with questions. Yanibar Selu Kraen had been out in a field some distance from any settlement with Morgadh, teaching the Noghri how to levitate and control rocks, when he saw a speeder approaching quickly, leaving a cloud of dust behind it. He wasn’t expecting anyone-much of his time since the Battle of Endor had been spent either meditating or teaching Kel’nerh. With Sarth, Cassi, Rhiannon, and Milya away, he’d found that the relative quietness from his normal lifestyle had afforded him an opportunity to immerse himself in the role of being a Jedi Master again instead of constantly focused on Yanibar Guard or family issues. Plus, it gave him an escape from the worrying he’d been doing about all of their safety. Squinting against the sunlight of the Yanibar summer, he couldn’t tell who it was visually, but his Force senses told him that it was Spectre. As the speeder drew close, Selu saw that he was wearing his Yanibar Guard general’s uniform. Something was up.
 * “That’s enough for now, Morgadh,” Selu told his pupil.

Spectre pulled the speeder up to their location.
 * “Why wasn’t your comlink on?” Spectre asked.
 * “I was teaching Morgadh something,” Selu answered. “I didn’t want to be interrupted.”
 * “Get in, please,” Spectre ordered brusquely. “There’s news. We’ve been looking for you for hours. If Master Daara hadn’t said something, we might not have found you.”

The urgent tone in Spectre’s voice was enough for Selu and he climbed into the speeder.
 * “Come along,” he said to Morgadh. “We’ll have Daara meet us and take you back to the training compound.”

The Noghri nodded and piled into the speeder. As soon as he was in, Spectre spun it around and roared back the way he’d come, taking them back to main settlement. Selu commed ahead and arranged for Daara to pick up Kel’nerh-it wasn’t that they didn’t trust the Noghri, but Selu did not want him wandering the colony alone-and once the transfer was made, Spectre took him straight to the Yanibar Guard command center at the main base. He said nothing, as Selu was still in a contemplative mood, but made the trip in record time.

Once inside the base, Selu made a quick stop-off at the flag officer’s locker room and traded his Jedi robes for his Yanibar Guard uniform. Now presentable and back in the mindset of the supreme commander of the Yanibar Guard, he made his way to the tactical briefing room where Spectre was waiting for him.
 * “What is it, General?” Selu asked him.

Spectre slid a datacard containing a report over to him, knowing full well that Selu wouldn’t read it, relying instead on what Spectre told him.
 * “The latest details on Operation Triangle. Jorge and Annita report that their Shii-Cho-class transport full of medical supplies and its escort reached the Rebel fleet without incident.”
 * “What else did they say?” Selu asked.
 * “They reported that they made contact with Agent Redbird. She was wounded, but is expected to recover soon.”
 * “Good,” Selu replied. “Did they get the message about Kuat across?”
 * “Yes, they did. Jorge told me that the Alliance is going to investigate the report, but he said that he thinks they’ll act on the tip.”
 * “Excellent,” Selu said.

This plan, Operation Triangle, had been long in the making—in fact, ever since a Twi’lek YGI agent undercover at Hypori had learned that the Zannists were contemplating an attack on Kuat. The agent hadn’t been sure exactly what was so important to them that they would risk a full-scale assault on the shipyards, but apparently there was something that Tyber Zann wanted there. Selu hadn’t really cared what it was either, but knowing that Zann was willing to risk his reinforced fleet so soon after Carida, even with the addition of newer and larger vessels to his arsenal, meant that it was a golden opportunity to deal with the crime lord once and for all, ending the ill-begotten partnership between the Consortium and Kraechar Arms. The best part of Selu’s plan was that the crime lord could be crushed without directly involving the Yanibar Guard-though Cresh Squad had done well on Nar Shaddaa, their attacks had been but a pinprick and their mission had been ended, at any rate. In truth, the Empire had done far more damage with its strikes on various Consortium holdings after Carida, and now Selu hoped to eliminate the damaged Zannists by luring their fleet into a meat-grinder of a space battle.

His plan was simple-since he knew that Zann planned on striking Kuat-Selu had decided to play the Empire, Rebellion, and Consortium against each other. Whatever Zann expected to find at Kuat, he would soon find two additional fleets waiting for him. There would either be a three-way battle, or there would be a truce between two parties; Selu suspected it would be between the Rebels and the Consortium, though he doubted such an agreement would last. The Rebellion would be eager to do as much damage to the shipyards that had produced so many Star Destroyers, but Selu didn’t believe that Zann would risk his fleet just to harass a target that didn’t really affect his operations directly. Not to mention the fact that he was as deceitful a creature ever to walk the galaxy. Whatever the case, it was unlikely the majority of Zann’s fleet would escape the battle, and to make sure that it didn’t, Selu had arranged for YGI to feed incomplete Imperial strength estimates to the Zann Consortium as well.
 * “Just one more thing,” Selu said. “Will Jorge and Annita be able to extract Agent Redbird?”
 * “They seemed sure of it,” Spectre replied.

Selu nodded.
 * “It’s time for her to come home,” he said. “Her mission is over.”
 * “Understood,” Spectre agreed.
 * “Well, things seem to be falling to place on that front,” Selu remarked. “How about the Imperial end?”
 * “Our courier reported an hour ago that they’d successfully delivered documents that confirmed the Zannists’ Kuat plans to an Imperial spy known for his reliability. The message got through.”
 * “All is going as planned, then,” Selu said, sitting back in his chair. “Now we just have to sit back and watch.”

Selu’s comlink chirped. He plucked the device from his pocket, frowning at it.
 * “This is Master Kraen,” Selu said.

He deliberately chose to not use his actual title of “Supreme Commander,” feeling it was too lofty and arrogant for general use. He only put up with it on formal reports or when required to wear dress uniform, instead preferring the simple honorific given to Jedi Masters.
 * “Master Kraen, Orbital Command here,” replied the person on the other end. “We just received a call-ahead signal from a YGI transport. They report that they’re carrying precious cargo for you-the director and a passenger.”

Selu straightened up. The mention of precious cargo for him meant that a member of the Kraen family was onboard the ship. Given that Milya was mentioned by her rank, that meant she and Rhiannon had finally returned.
 * “What’s their ETA?” Selu asked.
 * “An hour, give or take, sir,” came the reply.
 * “Have them escorted to Orbital Command,” Selu replied. “I’ll meet them up there. Did they what the status of the ‘precious cargo’ was?”

There was a pause.
 * “No, sir, they did not.”
 * “Thank you,” Selu said quietly. “I’ll see you up there.”

Closing down the comlink, he returned it to his pocket, then stood up, gathering up the case he normally carried around while on duty which contained his Yanibar Guard datapad and various other important items.
 * “Milya and Rhiannon are coming back,” he said. “YGI has them.”

Spectre nodded.
 * “You’re taking the Hawk-bat?” he asked.
 * “Yes,” Selu said. “Care to come along? You can monitor Operation Triangle from Orbital Command as easily as you can from here.”
 * “Of course I’m coming,” Spectre said. “Wouldn’t miss this homecoming.”

Selu wasted no time in getting the Hawk-bat launched and up to Orbital Command, a converted Lucrehulk-class battleship that Kraechar Arms had transformed into a space station years ago. It served the Yanibar Guard as their orbital command center, defense platform, and starfighter base in orbit. Landing in one of the cavernous hangar bays of the toroidal ship, Selu and Spectre arrived early, so they had to wait. Pacing impatiently, he watched for their ship to appear on the sensor scope.

Finally, their wait was rewarded as the freighter appeared and was escorted by a quartet of Shoto starfighters into the hangar bay. A rush of excitement welled up in Selu’s throat as the nondescript craft landed and finished its cool-down cycle, the repulsors whining as they were slowly powered down. Then, the boarding ramp lowered, and Rhiannon walked down it quietly. There was a small bandage on her arm, but she was okay.
 * “Rhiannon,” Selu said, tears welling up in his eyes at the sight of seeing his little girl again.
 * “Daddy!” she squealed, breaking into a run at the sound of his voice.

Selu laughed and, regardless of the YG personnel standing around watching the reunion and heedless of the proper behavior expected of a flag officer in the Yanibar Guard, raced forward to scoop her up as if she was weightless.
 * “How’s my little girl?” he asked, grinning broadly as he held her in his arms.
 * “I was onstage, Daddy,” she said breathlessly. “Everyone loved me.”
 * “I’m sure they did,” Selu replied. “Did you have a good trip?”

She nodded.
 * “It was kinda long, but I did okay. I took care of Mom.”
 * “Did you?” Selu asked, intrigued. “What did your mother do to herself?”
 * “She got hurt,” Rhiannon said. “But she’s okay.”
 * “I’m sure she is,” Selu replied, masking the worried expression on his face. “Nobody’s as tough as your mom.”

He held his daughter tightly to him, drinking in the sheer joy of being able to do so again. Never again, he promised himself, would she be knowingly placed in danger. A tear ran down his face as he choked up, overcome by emotion.

Rhiannon, her face resting on his, felt the tear. Reaching up, she brushed it aside.
 * “Don’t cry, Daddy,” she said. “We’re home again.”

Selu closed his eyes and nodded tightly at the words.
 * “I love you,” he whispered into her ear, gently running his hand down the back of her head affectionately. “I love you so much.”

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Milya hobbling down the boarding ramp, using a crutch to assist her.
 * “Okay, sweetheart,” Selu told Rhiannon. “I’m going to set you down and Uncle Spectre’s going to take care of you, okay?”
 * “Okay,” she replied brightly.

Selu set her down and Spectre came up and took Rhiannon’s hand.
 * “Can you take her and get that arm looked at?” Selu asked Spectre.
 * “Of course. I’ll send for a hover stretcher, too,” Spectre said. “Welcome home, Milya.”

She nodded wearily at him, then Spectre led Rhiannon off to the medical ward, asking her about the trip and listening to her long-winded reply.

As Rhiannon was led off, Selu went and helped Milya down the boarding ramp. Once she was on the level deck of the hangar, he embraced her fiercely, then helped her sit down on a nearby storage cylinder.
 * “Welcome back,” he said concernedly.
 * “Good to be back,” she replied tightly.

Selu ran his eyes over her, noting that she looked both exhausted and hurt. There was a bulge in the shoulder of her blouse, as well as in her pant legs, possibly indicating bandages. The remains of cuts and bruises still marked her face, and Selu’s Force senses told him that she was hiding considerable pain.
 * “I’m fine,” she managed.
 * “You don’t look fine,” he said.
 * “Bad hair day,” she replied with the barest trace of a smile.

Selu shook his head, then leaned in and kissed her, prolonging it as long as he could. He reveled in the taste of her lips on his, touching the soft skin of her cheek, and she reciprocated. They did not part for some time, and again Selu ignored any onlookers that were watching. His expression of his love for Milya and his relief at seeing her again were more important. Finally, though, they had to stop for air.
 * “Force above,” Selu told her. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
 * “I’ll try,” she answered.
 * “I was worried sick about you,” he said. “What happened?”

She started to reply, then Selu cut her off.
 * “Actually,” he said. “We’ll get you to the medics, you can debrief later. All that matters is that you’re both here, both safe.”

She nodded gratefully and they kissed again, this time in short quick motions. As tended to happen in such moments, Selu lost track of time and everything else around him, until he heard someone very distinctly and pointedly clear his throat behind them. He stopped kissing his wife and turned to see Spectre standing behind him, bemusedly staring off into space, accompanied by a pair of medics with a hoverstretcher.
 * “Ah,” Selu said. “That would be the limo I ordered for you, my dear.”

She gave him a look that all but said “you’re hopeless” but allowed him to help into it. The medics began floating the stretcher along towards the medical ward and Selu started to follow, but suddenly, his comlink beeped three times in rapid succession, indicating an incoming priority message. He stopped and pulled out the device.
 * “Master Kraen here,” he said calmly.
 * “Master Kraen, this is the bridge,” he was informed. “We have an incoming ship being escorted here by the Serra Keto, ETA 5 minutes.”
 * “What kind of ship?” Selu asked, not liking the tone in which he was giving the news.
 * “Sir, it’s a possible broken package.”

Selu stiffened. Broken package was the term used for a missing, injured, or dead VIP on the Yanibar colony. Dread shot through him as he feared for Sarth and Cassi. He hadn’t sensed their deaths, but the Force had been quite unstable the past few days due to the disturbance from Palpatine’s death, making it hard for him to sense much on the galactic scale.
 * “Why is it a possible broken package, bridge?” Selu asked, steeling himself against the answer.
 * “Sir, it’s not confirmed . . .” the bridge tried to tell him. “There are other explanations, possibly a stolen package.”
 * “Just answer the question,” Selu said, doing his best to suppress the worry knotting up his insides.

There was a pause, then he received the reply.
 * “It’s the Silent Surprise, sir. But neither of the Kraens are onboard.”

Selu’s mouth went dry.
 * “From what we can tell, two Arkanian civilians are onboard. They’ll be landing shortly.”
 * “Understood,” Selu said quietly. “Thank you, bridge.”

He shut off the comlink and turned back to Spectre, who quickly took in his pale face.
 * “What is it?” Spectre asked.
 * “It’s the Silent Surprise,” Selu said.
 * “Sarth and Cassi are back?”
 * “No,” Selu answered hoarsely. “They’re not.”

Selu saw his friend tense and knew that the same thoughts that were running through his mind were now running through Spectre’s. They both stood tight-lipped as the docking tractor beam gently guided the Silent Surprise through the maw of the hangar, setting it down on the smooth deck. The ship, guided by the advanced artificial intelligence that Sarth and Cassi had installed on it, shut itself down. Behind Selu and Spectre, a squad of Yanibar Guard marines formed up behind them, weapons at the ready in case of a security threat. As its engines slowed to a halt, Selu pulled his lightsaber off his belt and walked up to the hatch. It slid open and two nervous looking Arkanians emerged, the older woman cradling a child, probably her daughter. Fear rolled off of them in the Force, and Selu knew they were no danger. He motioned behind him, and the Guardsmen lowered their weapons, while he returned his lightsaber to his belt.
 * “Hello there,” Selu said, offering his hand to the woman. “We’re not going to hurt you. My name is Selusda.”

She timidly stepped forward and took his hand.
 * “I’m Elizie. Elizie Magrody,” she replied. “This is Shenna.”
 * “Nice to meet you,” Selu answered courteously. “If you’ll come this way, we’re going to let the medics have a look at you, and then some people will ask you some questions.”
 * “About what?” Elizie asked worriedly.
 * “We’d like to know how you got here,” Selu said as conversationally as he could manage. “And what happened to our friends.”

With that, Elizie nodded and consented to be being led off by a pair of guardsmen to the medical wards.

Selu was about to follow them to the medical wards to check up on Milya and Rhiannon, when he saw a third nondescript ship not belonging to the Yanibar Guard Fleet coming in for a landing.
 * “Who is that?” he asked Spectre.

The clone consulted a datapad, pulling up an entry.
 * “That would be Cresh Squad,” he said. “They’ve just gotten back from Nar Shaddaa.”
 * “In that case,” Selu remarked. “I think I’ll go welcome them and congratulate them on a job well done.”

Walking up to ship with Spectre following him, Selu waited as each member of Cresh Squad disembarked. As they did, he greeted them individually, shaking the hands and welcoming all of the commandos in turn. They looked tired, but they were also buoyed by the success they’d had in launching a series of raids and escaping with all their objectives met and with all their people in one piece. When it was Nate’s turn, Selu slapped him on the back heartily.
 * “Welcome back, Nate,” he told the commando. “You’ve been doing some good work out there.”
 * “Thank you, sir,” Nate replied. “How’s Ana?”
 * “Your wife is fine,” Selu assured him. “She’s ready to give birth at any time, but I think she was waiting for you.”
 * “So that’s why you recalled us, sir?” Nate said with a sly grin.
 * “Something like that,” Selu said. “Consider yourself on leave for the next two weeks. I’ll have the debriefing sent to you; if there’s anything you need to add, just transmit it via secure channel.”
 * “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!” Nate responded appreciatively.
 * “You’re dismissed, Sergeant,” Selu told him, still smiling. “I’m sure you and your father—I mean, General Spectre—have some catching up to do.”

Father and son gratefully nodded and walked off, leaving Selu in the hangar bay by himself. He watched the medical teams supervise the unloading of the freed slaves from the transport—there had been no time to offload them elsewhere on Nar Shaddaa before Cresh Squad had evacuated, so they had been brought here. However, his interest in the routine procedure soon waned and he headed down to the medical ward to check on his wife and daughter. He did not see one of the slaves silently slink away from the others. Little did he know how the consequences of his inattentiveness would swiftly return to haunt him.

19
Admiral Delvardus’s face was rigidly under control as he entered the briefing room and sat down. At his own request, he had been the only one present for this meeting. The muscles in his neck and shoulder were cramped from having been held taut so long, but Delvardus refused to release the tension within them. The discomfort gave him focus, prepared him for the unpleasant conversation he was about to experience. A light lit up green on the otherwise featureless glossy black table that dominated the briefing room, indicating an incoming transmission. Scowling at it, Delvardus irritably punched the button and watched as a hologram of High Admiral Vey appeared.
 * “You wanted to speak to me, High Admiral?” Delvardus snapped at the hologram.

He was irate and worn out. The Empire had gone to hell after Endor, and if half of the reports were true, both the Emperor and Vader were dead. Combined with the loss of most of the fleet that had been at Endor and Delvardus’s own losses at Carida, he was infuriated, to say the least. He’d never practically worshipped the Emperor like some of the others, but he had been devoted to his causes. Furthermore, thousands of the Fleet’s best had been lost to the Rebels as well, according to rumor—there was no such admission in the official reports, of course. Delvardus had been unable to sleep much the past few days, and his combat edge had been blunted, due to exhaustion or mourning or battle stress. Ever since Endor, he’d been unable to think clearly, to provide coherent leadership to his frightened and shell-shocked crews. This, of course, had only worsened his mood even further.
 * “Yes, Admiral,” Vey said in the same neutral voice he always started these conversations with. “I’ve just received important news that may be relevant to your mission.”
 * “My mission?” Delvardus asked incredulously. “My mission ended at Carida two weeks ago when High Command assigned me that red-eyed alien murglak as commander. I lost over half my fleet in that battle, in case you didn’t know. After Endor, I didn’t even think we had missions anymore, given the response. My lost ships have not been replaced, nor have my remaining forces been properly supported ever since then, sir!”

The honorific was spat out with barely disguised insincerity, but Delvardus didn’t care. He was angry, angry at how the war had played out, and even angrier about his own losses.
 * “Your anger is understandable given all that we’ve been, through, Admiral,” Vey warned him. “But don’t push it when addressing your superiors. Use that anger against our enemies instead.”

Delvardus blinked and instantly calmed down. This new sharpness in Vey was quite a change from his normal mannerisms. Dangerous, possibly. Had some unknown quantum phenomena transplanted a backbone into his superior in the last few weeks?
 * “Yes, sir,” he said stiffly.
 * “I have news that may interest you,” Vey told him, returning to his typical conversational pitch.
 * “What is that, sir?” Delvardus replied, willing himself not to sound curious.
 * “The location of the Zannists’ next strike,” Vey replied, smiling thinly.
 * “Next strike, sir?” Delvardus said, allowing genuine surprise to creep into his voice. “The Zannist fleet, by all estimates, was severely damaged at Carida. My analysts doubt they would strike so soon . . .”
 * “Your analysts are wrong, Admiral,” Vey interrupted, almost gleeful as he cut off the other officer. “The Zannist fleet is larger than expected and is ready to strike again. Imperial Intelligence has verified the target very carefully—trust me on this, Admiral—at first, they didn’t believe it anymore than you do.”
 * “Where are they going, sir?” Delvardus asked, relishing the idea of another chance at hunting down Tyber Zann.

Vey’s eyes sparkled evilly as he anticipated Delvardus’s response.
 * “Kuat,” he said.
 * “Kuat?” Delvardus asked, his jaw dropping in abject astonishment.
 * “I know,” Vey said, raising one hand as if to forestall any argument. “It’s ridiculous. That’s what Imperial Intelligence thought, too. They don’t think so now.”
 * “What do you want me to do about it, sir?” Delvardus asked. “I don’t have enough ships.”
 * “You’ll have to make do, Admiral,” Vey replied. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not at our best right now. I can’t promise you reinforcements.”

Of course not, Delvardus thought. You’re too busy cowering inside an armored space station surrounded by the might of the Imperial Navy. It’s because of idiots like you that the Empire is in the state that it’s in now.
 * “Send me what you have, sir,” Delvardus told him aloud, not daring to voice his contempt for the man.
 * “I’ll do what I can,” Vey responded. “Even with your fleet diminished, Kuat is still one of the better-defended worlds in the Empire.”
 * “Where does that leave us, sir?” Delvardus probed again.
 * “You are to take your command, or as much of it as you can muster, and engage the Zannists at Kuat. The local commander, Admiral Gaarn, should be able to assist you—I’ll order him to follow your commands,” Vey said, finally giving him a straight answer.
 * “What about other reinforcements, sir?” Delvardus asked. “Will they be available to help?”
 * “I wouldn’t count on it,” Vey informed him dryly. “Ever since Endor, some of the officers have been less than responsive to orders.”
 * “Just like that? One loss and mass insubordination sets in, sir?” Delvardus inquired, his voice filled with disbelief.
 * “Make no mistake, Admiral,” Vey warned him. “That loss you speak of was worse than you think. There are in fact cracks in the Empire that are spreading even as we speak.”

Delvardus was inwardly horrified to hear what Vey was saying. Such talk was demoralizing at best and treasonous at worst. A High Admiral really should have known better than to vocalize such thoughts, even if there was some truth to them. Loathing for the defeatist, soft Vey filled him once more as he considered how truly repulsive the other man was. However, he took care to let none of those emotions show in his face.
 * “What are you saying, sir?” Delvardus asked cautiously.
 * “I’m merely saying that the Empire is going to face a period of great instability. The Emperor’s death has left everything in an uproar,” Vey replied. “As for me, I’m not going to do anything to endanger my position or the worlds I’ve been entrusted with.”

Vey’s cowardice stung Delvardus’s ears, but he needed a little more evidence, so he asked one more question.
 * “Contingent on orders from High Command, right, sir?”

Vey snorted.
 * “High Command,” Vey replied disdainfully. “That bunch of idiots wouldn’t know how to run the Imperial Navy if their lives depended on it.”
 * “One last thing, High Admiral,” Delvardus pressed.
 * “What is it, Delvardus?” Vey asked.
 * “Where is Grand Admiral Thrawn?”

Vey paused awhile.
 * “That’s not exactly common knowledge, Admiral,” he said.
 * “Tell me,” Delvardus replied insistently. “I need to know if that alien murglak is going to waltz in and destroy my fleet again, sir.”
 * “He won’t,” Vey assured him. “Apparently, after helping to defeat a rogue officer named Zaarin, he requested to be re-assigned out to the Unknown Regions.”
 * “Thank you, sir,” Delvardus said, then closed down the link.

He smiled thinly at the holoprojector. He would take his fleet to Kuat, lie in wait on the outskirts of the system to jump in and trap Tyber Zann. Admiral Gaarn could even be left out of the fray if possible, leaving him to reap all the glory of the crime lord’s death. And, after he crushed the Zannists at Kuat, Delvardus planned on enjoying the great pleasure of seeing his old enemy Vey humbled by submitting the recording of this little conversation to the Imperial Security Bureau. The Empire might have had some setbacks at Endor—and Delvardus’s own faith in its infallibility had been badly shaken by Endor and Carida, but thus far, he still had a chance to complete his mission and do what he could to remind the galaxy that the Empire was still the most powerful force in existence.
 * Orbital defense station Yanibar’s Helm

Selu walked into the medical wards tentatively, following the trail in the Force that led to his wife. She’d been moved to a private ward separate from where the freed slaves were being processed and examined, and Selu was grateful for that. Pulling aside the curtain that a nurse had indicated when he’d asked her which ward, Selu found Milya in a hospital bed, but sitting up and awake. One leg peeked out from under the blanket, swathed with some kind of thick bandage from knee to toe, and she’d traded her travel clothes for a short-sleeved green hospital shirt and loose pants, but she was okay. Rhiannon was sitting at her bedside sporting bright pink bandages on her arm and ankle, happily drawing on a piece of flimsi.
 * “Hey there,” Selu said.
 * “Daddy!” Rhiannon said. “I’m coloring a picture.”
 * “Really?” Selu asked. “What are you drawing?”

Rhiannon, though blind, could still draw things based on the mental images Milya or Selu sent her. Sometimes, though, she simply drew things based on what she thought they looked like from how they sounded or smelled. Though often horribly unrealistic, Selu and Milya had several such drawings, painstakingly scrawled on flimsi by Rhiannon, stuck to the front of their conservator.
 * “I’m drawing us at Coruscant,” Rhiannon said, showing him. “See, there’s me and Mom and Mr. Bac and Ms. Pooja.”
 * “Very nice,” Selu said, noting the stick figures and crazy squiggles that Rhiannon used as representations of hair.
 * “Do you really like it, Daddy, or are you just saying that?” Rhiannon asked gravely.
 * “Of course I like it,” Selu assured her warmly. “Nobody else brings me pictures like you do. Nobody else can draw the universe like you do.”

Rhiannon grinned at him and Selu marveled at how much of an effect such a simple thing as a few words of encouragement from a parent could have on a child.
 * “Can you take the drawing outside for a few minutes, dear?” Selu asked her. “I need to talk to your mother alone.”
 * “Do I have to?” Rhiannon asked.
 * “I’m afraid so,” Selu said. “It’ll just be for a little while.”
 * “Okay, Daddy,” Rhiannon said, scooping up her flimsipad and colors and heading out of the ward.

Once she was gone, Selu knelt down by Milya’s side, caressing her arm idly with one hand as he looked deeply into her eyes. There was a strange expression on her face, one he was having a hard time deciphering. While it wasn’t unusual for her to be occasionally mysterious—after she all, she was the head of intelligence—this was different and he didn’t know what to expect.
 * “What happened?” Selu asked, his eyes searching her face for an answer.
 * “I’m not quite sure,” Milya said. “We were on Coruscant. Rhiannon was singing—she was beautiful, Selu. Hit every note perfectly.”
 * “Of course she did,” Selu said, but the worry remained on his face. “Then what happened?”
 * “We were attacked,” Milya said.
 * “By what?” Selu asked.
 * “I don’t know,” Milya reported. “But she was strong in the dark side. She used a lightwhip.”
 * “A lightwhip?” Selu replied, intrigued by the mention of the arcane weapon.
 * “Yes,” Milya said. “And the assailant was completely unknown to me, as were her motivations for attacking the Imperial Opera.”
 * “Interesting,” Selu said. “I’ll put YGI on it. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
 * “We got away cleanly,” Milya said. “A couple of Coruscanti helped us—that director, Taelros Bac, and a former Senator, Pooja Naberrie.”
 * “That sounds vaguely familiar,” Selu said, recalling distant memories.
 * “She said she had a sister named Padmé,” Milya said. “Padmé Naberrie, also senator of Naboo, years ago.”
 * “Maybe,” Selu said, dredging up his recollections from his time in the Jedi Order. “I think Padmé Amidala was the senator of the Chommell Sector back at the end of the Republic. She was from Naboo.”
 * “Probably the same person,” Milya commented. “Did you know her?”
 * “Indeed,” Selu agreed. “She saved my life.”
 * “Oh?” Milya asked, one eyebrow arching up inquisitively.
 * “Don’t worry,” Selu assured her. “I’ll have her YGI file pulled up on a secure datapad so you can read it over like I know you’re dying to. And this Pooja’s too.”
 * “Thanks, Selu,” Milya said. “You always know how to make me feel better.”
 * “Speaking of that,” Selu said. “How badly were you hurt?”

Milya hesitated, but Selu persisted.
 * “It’s okay,” he assured her. “I won’t overreact. I just want to know.”
 * “Mostly surface damage,” she explained. “Lots of cuts and lacerations from falling glassine shards. Two of them were kind of bad. Some bumps and bruises. A little whiplash on the side from a graze, and a nasty bite mark on my shoulder.”
 * “She bit you?” Selu asked incredulously.

Milya nodded.
 * “See?” she said, pulling down the shoulder of her garment to show him the remains of the wound.

The wound was healing nicely, with no trace of infection. However, there was a strange dark splotch on the wound, one he hadn’t seen before.
 * “What’s this?” he asked, tracing a finger across the splotch.

Milya flinched at his touch.
 * “I’m not sure, and the medics didn’t know either,” she said nonchalantly. “It burns a little and it wouldn’t come off. I have a couple other ones also.”
 * “Really?” Selu inquired suspiciously.
 * “I don’t know what it is, Selu,” Milya told him frankly. “And quite honestly, I’m not sure I care. It’s not poison and I don’t sense anything unusual from it. It’s just like a stain or something, and it’ll probably go away eventually.”
 * “You’re awfully unconcerned about this,” Selu noted. “Who are you and what have you done with my paranoid wife?”

She smiled at him, the smile that Selu knew meant she had some kind of surprise. It gave her a girlish expression, one that lacked the hardness or edge she wore as her professional face, and its appearance now left him baffled.
 * “It’s not important,” Milya said.
 * “And why not?” Selu asked. “What are you hiding?”
 * “I had a feeling this was happening while I was on Eriadu and Coruscant,” Milya told him, a measure of excitement creeping into her voice. “I wasn’t sure until the medics confirmed it.”
 * “Explanation,” Selu said, searching her eyes with his own in pursuit of answers. “Now.”
 * “Here,” Milya said, taking one of his hands in one of hers.

She pulled back the covers and lifted up the shirt of her hospital outfit to lay Selu’s hand on her bare stomach just below her navel. Selu frowned, then his senses caught on, rendering him utterly speechless.
 * “You’re . . .” he managed before the ability to form words again temporarily deserted him and his jaw dropped.
 * “Yes, Selu,” Milya said, a broad joyous smile on her face. “I’m pregnant.”
 * “But how?” Selu asked, finally finding his voice. “I mean . . . we were careful . . .”

She smiled mischievously at him.
 * “Except on Obroa-skai,” Milya reminded him. “Wouldn’t have fit in very well with our disguise.”
 * “Wow,” Selu said, running a hand through his hair. “How come you didn’t tell me earlier?”
 * “I wasn’t sure until Eriadu,” Milya replied. “I wanted to tell you in person.”
 * “That’s great!” Selu said, a smile of his own now creasing his face. “I don’t really know what to say!”
 * “Well, don’t get too excited,” Milya remarked. “We have months before this one’s ready to come out. And Sarth and Cassi are still missing.”
 * “I know,” Selu said, his exuberance diminishing slightly at the reminder. “Spectre and I are putting together a briefing. I can have it piped in here on secure datapad if you want.”

She glowered at him at the mere suggestion.
 * “I’m going to be at that briefing,” she said. “Don’t try and stop me.”

Selu saw the fire in her eyes and backed off.
 * “Okay,” he said, hands up in surrender. “Just don’t overdo it.”
 * “Who, me?” Milya asked with mock innocence.

They shared a brief laugh at her comment, an expression of the joy within them that had been wrought by the news of the creation of new life, of a new child. In spite of all the worries and concerns they had, this was a happy moment.
 * Endor

Two days later, Hasla was glad enough to be out of the medical frigate and back in the quarters she’d been assigned on Home One. Her leg was still sore, but she could walk on it, and if she could walk, she could fly. Settling back into the quarters, she’d been eager to learn if the depleted Ice Squadron would be reformed, or if she would be moved, but hadn’t prioritized getting information. Her first concerns upon being transferred to the huge Mon Calamari cruiser had been to take a decent shower, get herself back into uniform, and eat something hot, in that order.

She had just sat down by herself in one of several mess halls on Home One with a steaming plate of. . . Hasla didn’t know what it was, to be honest, but it smelled good. Sticking her fork into it, she took a bite. It wasn’t bad, and its taste told her that some kind of fish had gone into the nameless casserole, which wasn’t surprising at all given that the Mon Calamari came from a watery world. What was surprising to her was when Commander Gavin and General Calrissian appearing out of nowhere to sit down besides her.
 * “Glad to see you’re feeling better, Flight Officer,” Commander Gavin told her.
 * “Thank you, sir,” Hasla said, gulping down her last mouthful and rising to salute.

Calrissian waved her down irritably.
 * “Enough with the saluting already,” he said. “Keep doing that and it’ll go to my head.”
 * “Yes, sir,” she said.

He rolled his eyes.
 * “Go ahead, Commander,” the general told his companion. “Before she starts calling me ‘General’ again.”
 * “We have a mission for you,” Commander Gavin told her.

Hasla’s heart leaped inside her. Another mission? Already? Excitement filled her as her enthusiasm bubbled its way to the surface of her features.
 * “Anything, sir!” she said.
 * “Calm down, Trasani,” Gavin told her, referring to her by her alias’s surname. “You’re not charging Star Destroyers this time. Should just be an easy run to get you back in the routine of flying again.”
 * “I’m game, sir,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”
 * “Escort,” Calrissian spoke up. “My friends Jorge and Annita provided us with some valuable intelligence, as well as those medical supplies. They’re headed back to Bespin, but they’re carrying some . . . special cargo for me. They were concerned about pirate attacks, though—Jorge said he lost some of his escort to pirates on the way here.”
 * “That’s where you come in,” Commander Gavin said. “They’re down to four starfighters, so we’re assigning you and two other A-wing pilots to help them out.”

Hasla was stunned as she realized what was happening. Jorge and Annita must have been assigned to extract her, and this was their plan for doing so. She kept any reaction from her face—as a former gambler, Calrissian would pick up on any unease she had, and she’d have to invent a quick explanation if he did so.
 * “There’s just one more thing,” Calrissian added. “You’ll drop out at the edge of the Bespin system and take some readings. I’m hoping to get as much information on the Imperial presence there.”
 * “Are you planning on taking it back, sir?” Hasla asked him.
 * “You can bet on it,” the general replied.
 * “Any questions?” Commander Gavin asked.
 * “Uh . . . what about my ship?” Hasla inquired.
 * “We’re short on new fighters for the moment,” Gavin told her. “The mechanics have fixed up your ship as best as they could. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do for a blue milk run like this.”
 * “Yes, sir,” Hasla said.
 * “Anything else?” the commander asked.

It took all of her effort to not betray the emotions welling up inside her. Hasla felt the conflict threaten to tear her into two. She’d been undercover for over a year now, and the Rebellion had become like a family to her. Part of her, a very large part, wished that she could just disappear and forget about returning to Yanibar, that she could continue fighting for the Rebellion. That wasn’t possible, though. YGI had very carefully placed her in a situation where there was no alternative but to do as they wished, or betray her true identity. Even if that didn’t require disclosing all of the things she’d sworn not to do, she would not be trusted by the Rebellion again and Janson—well, at the least, he’d never speak to the spy again. This way, though, she wouldn’t even get to say goodbye to him. That thought was enough to make her lip start to tremble as she realized she’d be forced to break his heart. She quickly clamped down on her quivering lip. Appearances had to be maintained.
 * “No, sir,” she said. “Be good to be back in the cockpit again.”
 * “I thought you’d say that,” he said warmly. “Report to your ship at 0700 hours. They’ll be waiting for you.”
 * “Yes, sir,” she told him.

The two men left, but Hasla’s previous appetite had vanished. The conversation had rendered the Arkanian pilot completely and utterly disconsolate. She returned her tray and uneaten casserole to a rack for cleaning, then returned to her quarters. Once inside, she locked the door behind her, buried her face into her pillow, and cried for the next two hours.

0630 found her still awake eight hours later, her eyes red-rimmed and sunken from crying. She pulled out her comlink and tried calling Janson on his private link one last time.
 * “Hey folks, you’ve reached the com-mail of Wes Janson, ace fighter pilot extraordinaire! Leave your adulation and marriage proposals after the beep!”

Of course. He was still on his mission to Bakura. Blinking back a fresh wave of tears, Hasla put on her Rebel flight suit, knowing full well it would be her last time to do so. She packed her YGI datapad and anything else that might possibly lead back to Yanibar into her carry bag to be loaded into her fighter. Hasla slowly looked around the quarters, drinking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the ship for one last time. True, the Mon Cal cruiser was too humid and too white for her liking, but it had been her home base for when she’d flown into battle at Endor. That alone made it special. Hasla wiped a tear off her cheek, then slid another datapad onto the counter around the sink.

On its top was the message Janson had encouraged her to write before Endor, the one that said “In the event of my death. . .” Then, she opened the door, turned off the lights, and walked out for the last time.

It was time to go. Numbly walking the corridors to the hangar, Hasla silently climbed into her patched-together B-wing and started her pre-flight checklist. She received permission to take off and slowly eased her fighter out of the hangar and into space. In short order, she’d formed up with Jorge and Annita’s Shii-Cho-class transport and the other six escort fighters—two A-wings and four Yanibar Guard Shoto starfighters. Once clear of the fleet, the pilots were able to dock their ships in the larger ship’s tiny hangar bay and rest in a small pair of cabins for the trip through hyperspace. Hasla remained aloof from both the A-wing pilots as well as the four Shoto pilots, though, excusing herself by claiming that the fish casserole she’d eaten wasn’t sitting well with her. Jorge and Annita had stopped by, continuing the charade of not knowing her, but thanking the Rebel pilots for their work. She returned to her cabin and tried to sleep, but thoughts of the Rebellion she was leaving behind continued to haunt her and there was a dull ache in her chest whenever she thought of Janson. She ended up spending most of the trip through hyperspace curled up on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest and sobbing quietly.

When the ten minute warning to reversion from hyperspace came through the ship’s intercom, it was with great reluctance that Hasla boarded her fighter. She was resigned to what was going to happen, but hoped that the A-wing pilots wouldn’t be harmed. They were simply doing their job.

The transport dropped out of hyperspace at the outskirts of the Bespin system. As it did, the seven escort fighters launched and formed up around it.
 * “I’ve got a contact,” one of the A-wing pilots called. “It’s an Imperial cruiser, pretty decent-sized.”
 * “Blast,” Jorge said through their communications channel. “We’ll have to make a run for it.”

As it turned out, it was a Carrack-class cruiser, but Hasla recognized the ship. This was no Imperial ship; it was the Plooriod Bodkin, the former flagship of the Yanibar Guard Fleet. As the speedy warship closed, it opened up with its ion cannons.
 * “We’ll try and hold ‘em off,” one of the A-wings said. “Ice Eight, some backup, please.”

Hasla swore under her breath. The A-wing pilots were playing right into the hands of YGI, accelerating towards the cruiser with the Shotos tucked in behind them.
 * “Copy that,” she said. “S-foils to attack position, shields to double-front.”
 * “Okay, Ice Eight,” one of the A-wings drawled in a Corellian accent. “We’ll draw their fire, you give ‘em something to think about.”
 * “Affirmative,” she replied.

Blue ion fire lanced out at her, but most of it was directed at the speedy A-wings, who easily outflew the patterns of disabling blue beams. However, they were not ready for the Shotos to suddenly open fire at point-blank range into their sterns with ion cannons of their own. The hapless A-wings were engulfed in blue tendrils of ion energy, shutting down their ship’s systems. Hasla’s B-wing then started spinning. They’d disabled her craft also.

The spinning soon stopped as her B-wing was pulled into the hangar bay of the Shii-Cho-class transport via tractor beam. It set her disabled craft down on the same deck where she’d just taken off from not fifteen minutes before and left it there. Hasla popped the canopy manually, cranking it open and clambering out of the hatch. There, on the deck, Jorge and Annita were standing, waiting for her as she descended the cockpit ladder.
 * “Welcome home, Hasla,” Annita said, offering her hand to Hasla.

The angry pilot ignored it.
 * “Those A-wing pilots,” she said. “What are you going to do to them?”
 * “Calm down, Agent,” Jorge shot back, obviously a bit riled by the anger in her voice. “They’re both alive. They’ll be given ylannock injections and we’ll return to the Rebellion with a tragic tale of pirate attack and your demise.”
 * “You’d better hope that’s what happens,” Hasla snapped.

Whirling, she stormed off past Jorge and Annita to the cabin she’d occupied earlier. As the furious Arkanian stalked off, Jorge and Annita exchanged sidelong looks. They’d suspected some kind of negative reaction from Hasla, but nothing on this level. This would certainly go in their report.
 * Orbital defense station Yanibar’s Helm

It was a somber group that gathered into the briefing room on Yanibar’s orbital defense station and command center. Hours had passed since the news about Sarth and Cassi had come through, but worry was practically written on their faces. While they had to present a calm exterior around their subordinates, behind these closed doors, they could show their true emotions.

Selu Kraen sat the head of the table, his hands folded together. Beside him sat Spectre on his right and Milya on his left. She was in a commandeered hoverchair, still wearing a loose medical ward tunic and pants instead of uniform, along with the occasional bandage. Selu had asked her again if she was sure she wanted to be out of the medical ward this soon after being injured, but she’d made her reply to the suggestion that she skip it very short and very clear. He’d acquiesced and now she was here, taking charge and doing whatever she could to assist in locating Sarth and Cassi regardless of her own discomfort. They’d pass on the good news about the new addition to their family later, when the setting wasn’t so professional and when they had a chance to be with more members of their family. For now, rescuing Sarth and Cassi was the first priority.
 * “YGI debriefed the Magrodys,” she announced. “We’ve got their statements and we tend to believe them; they agree pretty well with the ship’s logs also. According to them, Sarth and Cassi got them out of a hidden Imperial prison. They were pursued. Sarth and Cassi then had the Silent Surprise pick up the Magrodys and evacuate them while they led off the pursuit.”
 * “Where are the Magrodys now?” Selu asked.
 * “YGI cleared them, and they’ve accepted an offer for asylum on Yanibar.” Milya replied. “A shuttle took them down earlier this morning to temporary quarters. It won’t be easy for them, especially since we haven’t found Nasdra Magrody, but they can start a new life.”
 * “That matter’s settled, then,” Selu said. “I’m sure Sarth and Cassi would be pleased to here that, if they were here.”
 * “Have you picked up anything on the Imperial bands about prisoners?” Spectre inquired.
 * “No,” Milya replied. “I’ve got a YGI team en route to Mandalore as we speak. They could be hiding out on the planet, waiting for pickup. Or somebody else could have them.”

She did not voice the thought on all of their minds, that Sarth and Cassi were badly injured or dead. She didn’t need to.
 * “I should go there, look for them,” Selu said. “I’m confident I could get them out.”
 * “That’s if they’re still on Mandalore,” Spectre countered. “Which isn’t necessarily a given.”
 * “Right now, we just need to wait,” Milya suggested. “I know it’s hard, but let the YGI team do their work. If Sarth and Cassi are still on Mandalore, they’ll find them.”
 * “Are you sure about that?” Selu asked. “As much as I trust YGI . . .”

Milya rolled her eyes.
 * “Easy on the ego there, dear,” she said. “I figured you’d say that. That’s why I sent Xlora. She’s Force-sensitive—Matukai Adept, in fact—and good at blending in.”
 * “I don’t feel comfortable here while we just wait here,” Selu said.
 * “Patience is a Jedi virtue,” Spectre told him. “You taught me that.”
 * “I know,” Selu said. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t wait. I just said I wasn’t comfortable with it.”

There was a quiet silence, which was only broken a minute later by the sound of Spectre’s comlink chirping. He answered it, speaking quietly into it for several minutes, then put the device down.
 * “Tyber Zann wants to speak with me,” he said bemusedly. “It’s through the ghost transceiver, and he’s using the address we gave him. The transmission is secure.”
 * “Tell him audio only,” Selu responded. “Have it routed through here.”
 * “Understood,” Spectre said.

In seconds, the speakers built into the table began crackling with subspace static from the long-range transmission.
 * “Go ahead,” Spectre said. “I can hear you.”
 * “Good,” they heard the distinctive voice of Tyber Zann say. “Is this Matrik Tenzor?”

Spectre nodded as he heard the alias he’d been introduced to Zann with.
 * “It is. What do you want?”
 * “Rumor has reached my ears that Kraechar Arms helped supply information to my agents about the defenses on Kuat.”
 * “An interesting rumor,” Spectre said noncommittally. “Do you believe everything you hear?”
 * “No,” Zann said. “I do wonder how you knew about any interest I might have in that system, though.”

Spectre feigned indifference.
 * “Perhaps some of our people saw some of yours snooping around and decided to help them before they got caught,” he replied. “We do make occasional deliveries to a number of systems in the Core, including Kuat.”
 * “Be careful, Tenzor,” Zann warned him. “You should tell your people to keep their noses out of places they don’t belong, lest they get bitten off.”
 * “I’ll pass that advice along,” Spectre said. “And here I thought you might have appreciated some goodwill of some extra information.”
 * “That depends on how you got it, and how good it is,” Zann replied icily. “Too much information makes one dangerous.”
 * “Spare me the threats, Zann,” Spectre said. “Just say ‘thank you’ like a civilized being.”
 * “We’ll see,” Zann replied menacingly. “I might just come over and say it in person.”
 * “Except you don’t know where I am,” Spectre answered, completely unfazed by the veiled threat.
 * “For now,” Zann told him. “Oh, and you wouldn’t happen to know anything about an unfortunate series of sabotage incidents on Kraechar Arms shipments funneled to Nar Shaddaa, would you?”
 * “No,” Spectre said. “We prefer selling our products to blowing them up. Better for business.”
 * “See that it stays that way,” Zann told him. “I’d hate for this partnership to come an unpleasant end.”

With that, the transmission ended.
 * “What a charming fellow,” Spectre remarked. “I think every other word out of his mouth was a threat of some kind.”
 * “Probably a force of habit,” Selu joked. “In the crime world, threatening people is probably some kind of art form.”
 * “The good news is that he didn’t mention Sarth and Cassi,” Spectre pointed out. “Which means he doesn’t have them, or know they were on Mandalore.”
 * “Or he just hasn’t heard from his underlings on Mandalore yet,” Milya suggested. “The Consortium has a pretty extensive network there, but depending on where Sarth and Cassi were and what they were doing, word might not have reached Zann’s ears yet.”
 * “I hope you’re wrong,” Selu said. “I don’t even want to think about Zann getting his hands on them.”
 * “Especially if he finds out we sent him into a panthera trap at Kuat,” Spectre added. “He’ll be quite angry to know that we led the Rebels and the Empire to meet him there.”
 * “Force willing,” Milya said. “He’ll be free-floating atoms the next time we hear of him.”

The others, even if they didn’t voice the sentiment, agreed entirely with her. However, they also all knew that even if Tyber Zann died that instant, his death would not instantly free Sarth and Cassi. That issue had yet to be anywhere resolved, and it gave them all considerable worry. For the moment, though, all they could do was wait for more news from the search teams.
 * Mandalore

Dawn broke to find Sarth and Cassi still tied to their chairs, still aching from the previous day’s ordeal, but somewhat rested and healed, although they were both famished. That, unfortunately, couldn’t be helped, unless their captors had discovered a new sense of mercy. The warehouse they’d been kept in was dark and empty, affording them a sense of privacy, though it had no doubt been meant to convey the impression of isolation. Cassi’s Force healing had done them both good, and while they had to find a way to escape, Sarth noted that they had managed to wear down the leather restraints holding them in place further by painstakingly rubbing them against the metal of chair, leaving them with bloodied wrists. By evening, they could possibly be free. However, that assumed their captors didn’t notice the damage and replace or reinforce the restraints.

The hours slowly wore on, and the only indication they had of the passage of time was the intensity of the glow from the covered windows where the sun hit them. Sarth estimated it was mid-morning when the door wheezed open, admitting Zloskiba and his two henchmen. He glared his eyes on the Dug as the alien approached.
 * “Good mornin’ ta ya,” Zloskiba sneered as he casually sauntered in. “Hope ya had a good night’s sleep.”

Both prisoners said nothing, and the Dug’s mood rapidly turned ugly.
 * “I can make it hurt a lot more,” he said nastily. “So I hope yer in a far more accomodatin’ mood today.”

The defiant silence continued, whipping the Zloskiba into a full-force fury. He pulled out a blaster slowly, making a great show of turning it to a low-powered setting while one of his goons turned Cassi so she could watch.
 * “Have either of ya ever felt the Burnin’?” he asked. “I hears it’s quite awful. Ya use a blaster, like this one, ta burn the flesh off someone slowly. Messy ta watch. Hurts too.”

Sidling up to stand beside Sarth, he placed the muzzle of the blaster on Sarth’s ankle.
 * “Ya know,” he said softly. “If I pulls this trigger, ya’ll never walk again normally. Ya could make this a lot easier on yerself, ya know.”
 * “Not interested,” Sarth replied through gritted teeth, bracing for the impact.

Zloskiba pulled the trigger and the report of the blaster echoed through the room. An inhuman scream escaped Sarth, continuing until his throat was raw. Smoke rose from the scorched floor, mingling with the burned flesh of his ankle. Glancing down, his face twisted into an agonized grimace, he realized that most of the flesh and tendons along the complex joint had been burned away and that the chalky white substance he saw was bone. The shot hadn’t quite blown off his foot, but it had come pretty close.
 * “Told ya,” Zloskiba said with a casual shrug. “How about now?”

Sarth could barely draw breath, much less speak coherently against the rising tide of fire in his mind, but he managed to utter a particularly vile obscenity. The Dug’s eyes narrowed and he slid the still-warm muzzle of the blaster to the side of Sarth’s kneecap.
 * “Yer stubbornness is going ta get ya killed,” he snarled.

Sarth gave no reply and again the sound of the blaster echoed through the room, inciting yet another agonized cry from him. A good portion of his knee had been completely incinerated, while the remaining flesh was blackened and seared by the energy bolt. A sickening smell filled the room and he struggled to control his wildly-beating heart, to keep himself from going into shock.
 * “I’m goin ta give ya one last chance before I burn the leg off completely,” Zloskiba offered.

Sarth gave no sign of acquiescence, so Zloskiba raised his blaster again. However, the weapon suddenly flew out of his hands and into Cassi’s hands. Having watched Sarth suffer, anger had filled her, enhancing her mental clarity and giving her the necessary focus to pull off telekinesis despite her weakened state. Even restrained, she had enough use of her fingers, as stiff and numb as they were, to pull the trigger on the blaster. The first blast missed, but the second low-powered blast hit the Dug squarely on one of his rear limbs, searing it in a manner similar to what he’d inflicted on Sarth. He howled as he lost his balance and sprawled out on the floor in an undignified heap, clutching the wounded appendage. She saw the Gran going for his blaster and couldn’t turn her own weapon to reach him due to the limited locomotion of her arm. However, the Force had no such limits, and she was able to telekinetically slam him into a wall. Unfortunately, she was in no position to do anything about the Snivvian coming up behind her and knocking the blaster out of her hands. A massive arm fastened its way around her neck, cutting off her air supply. She mentally tried to speak to Sarth, to tell him she loved him even as black spots began swimming into her vision.
 * “Hold up!” called Zloskiba suddenly, nursing his injured rear limb. “Don’t kill ‘er.”

The Snivvian complied, releasing her somewhat, though she was still helpless in the grip of his huge arms. Suddenly, the door swung open. Cassi’s eyes shot towards it, hoping that it was Selu or another rescuer. However, she was disappointed to see that it was the armored form of a Mandalorian.
 * “Lord Zann received your message,” the Mandalorian told Zloskiba. “He wants you to bring the prisoners and two hundred Mandalorian warriors to meet him as soon as possible.”
 * “Unnerstood,” the wounded Dug replied. “Get these two loaded inta the speeder truck ‘round back and get ‘em ta the ship by back alleys. I’ll need ta get this fixed up.”
 * “He can’t be moved,” Cassi protested, referring to Sarth. “He’ll bleed to death.”
 * “This from the chakaar who shot me,” the Dug shot back angrily. “Not my concern.”
 * “It will be if he dies,” Cassi returned with equal force. “Tyber Zann won’t be very pleased if you lose one of his valuable prisoners.”
 * “She’s right,” the Mandalorian said. “The instructions were to bring both of them alive.”
 * “Fine,” the Dug spat, following the comment with a long string of profanity. “Get that one patched up and sedate ‘em both for the trip. They’re dangerous Jettise. I want three guards on ‘em at all times.”
 * “It will be done,” the Mandalorian promised.

Several minutes later, a greasy-looking man with a satchel came into the room, escorted by another pair of Mandalorian thugs. He pulled several medical instruments from his bag and administered a crude dressing to Sarth’s burns. His ministrations were far below Cassi’s expectations, but she made no protest, knowing that she was better off being grateful for any medical treatment they received. Shortly thereafter, a needle pricked the back of her neck and everything went black as she fell unconscious.
 * Merciless

Tyber Zann stared at the hypercomm terminal for several minutes after terminating his transmission to Matrik Tenzor. He was about to embark on the biggest, most audacious scheme he had ever conducted. That alone said quite a bit—in the circles of powerful crime lords, Zann was known for his daring and venturesome comportment. If he was successful, he would have in his possession the single most powerful warship in existence, as well as billions of credits and the location of Palpatine’s prized treasure vaults. Such risky gambles were the stuff of legends, which was just as well to the crime lord, who already thought of himself and his exploits as legendary anyway.

All around his magnificent—and newly repaired—flagship, a powerful fleet ranging from the new Kedalbe-class battleships that were even larger than his Aggressor Destroyers to the tiny clusters of StarViper fighters and Skipray Blastboats, cruised in silent, deadly formation. In minutes, after the final reports had been received, they would jump into the Kuat system and seize their prize. The Imperial presence, while considerable, would be little threat to the full strength of his force. If all went to according to plan, the Imperial sector commander, Admiral Gaarn, wouldn’t even be aware of the escapade until Zann had escaped with his prize. The information alone inside his target, the new mammoth dreadnaught known as the Eclipse, was priceless. The vaults of Palpatine, fabled storehouses that contained vast quantities of wealth, technology, and arcane artifacts, would soon have their carefully hoarded locations revealed to him.
 * “Magnificent, isn’t it, Urai?” Zann asked his henchman, who was as usual standing by his side.
 * “Indeed,” Urai Fen agreed, joining Zann in gazing out at the assembled fleet. “All is ready for our assault on Kuat.”
 * “Good,” Zann said. “And how is our dear Nightsister friend?”
 * “She is with the boarding team,” Urai said. “Not happy, but she is ready.”
 * “Silri is rarely happy unless somebody is in pain,” Zann replied with a trace of dark humor. “She’ll get that chance soon enough. See to it that her discontent is channeled against the Empire.”
 * “She will be closely watched,” Urai assured him.
 * “Good,” Zann said. “Are we ready?”
 * “The fleet stands by for your command,” the Talortai rasped.

Tyber Zann reached for the control console that would transmit the signal to jump to hyperspace, that would commit his painstakingly assembled fleet into a full-scale fleet battle for the first time since Carida. One that, once launched, would undoubtedly draw attention from the major galactic players. He did not hesitate, but as the flashing red light of a priority message lit up his console, he stayed his hand. A flash of exasperation ran across his taciturn features, but he had not gotten this far by being foolhardy. Tyber Zann’s great battle could wait for a minute while he examined this message. He triggered the communications channel.
 * “What is it?” he demanded, then followed the query with a veiled threat. “This had better be good.”
 * “It is a priority transmission from Mandalore,” Urai Fen told him as the tall warrior read over the report. “The local boss there reports that they have in their possession Skart and Cassi Kraest of Kraechar Arms.”
 * Fascinating,” Zann said with evident disinterest.

News of a third-rate arms merchant the Consortium occasionally did business with was far from worth a priority signal. Whoever had thought such news merited such an important and exaggerated rating would pay, Zann told himself silently.
 * "There is more,” Urai replied. “The report has information on their activities, but specifically points out that they were carrying and using lightsabers.”
 * "Lightsabers?” Zann asked. “Why would a pair of arms dealers pose as Jedi?”
 * “That is unknown,” Urai said. “Our operatives are trying to get them to cede control over Kraechar Arms to the Zann Consortium but they are showing considerable resistance.”
 * “What?” Zann said, perturbed. “No, no, tell them to stop immediately. Have them brought to the rendezvous point; we’ll meet up with them soon.”
 * “You’re not interested in acquiring Kraechar Arms?” Urai asked. “They might know the truth behind the raids on Nar Shaddaa.”
 * “There is something larger here going on, Urai. A Jedi connection.” Zann corrected him. “First the Jedi that Silri ran into on Coruscant, now the Kraests. I doubt it’s a coincidence.”
 * “The Jedi are supposed to be extinct,” Urai pointed out.
 * “Tell that to Luke Skywalker,” Zann scoffed. “I have no desire to have that bunch of interfering too-good meddlers return to the galaxy. I’m going to extract any information those two have on other Jedi and eradicate them once and for all.”
 * “I know of the Jedi of old,” Urai said. “They were powerful and noble warriors.”
 * “Spare me the warrior code, Urai,” Zann replied, for once annoyed by the Talortai. “The Jedi would never tolerate our organization, and they pose a serious threat to us. I want them on the Merciless where they can be safely contained and interrogated.”
 * “It shall be done,” Urai answered obediently, this time making sure to keep his own less-than-fully-negative feelings about the Jedi hidden.

After all, there was no sense in aggravating Zann further. Urai Fen had known Jedi, many years before, and knew that they were creatures of their word, dedicated to their way of life, and fearsome warriors. He had to respect that, as one warrior respects another, even though he completely disagreed with their philosophy and ideology. He punched in the transmission, making sure the instructions were clear. When he was finished, he closed down the console and returned to Tyber Zann’s side, the same place he had stood and fought from for many years.
 * “We are ready,” the Talortai informed him.
 * “Launch the fleet,” Zann said, a cold smile creasing his face. “It’s time we paid Kuat a visit.”
 * Yanibar

Morgadh stood outside out of the training academy and dormitories where he’d been assigned temporary quarters. Night had fallen on Yanibar and a cool breeze was blowing in from over the towering mountains that loomed behind the training grounds. Overhead, the first stars were starting to shine against the deep blue of twilight’s fading light, the scintillating points of light almost as clear and bright as they were on his homeworld of Honoghr. Morgadh headed away from the training academy, heading out to a nearby field where he’d spent much of the past week practicing his control over the Force with Master Kraen. The long grass felt good on his bare feet, reminding him of the plains of Honoghr. He missed it, and though his time on Yanibar had been enough to acclimate him to its own rhythms, sounds, and smells, it was not the same. The stone dormitory for trainees, though it had been built to be as harmonious with the surrounding rock and nature as possible, incorporating natural carvings and textures where possible, was not the same as being out in the open. Though he had been forced into that form of living by necessity, Morgadh had come to enjoy it.

His keen ears soon heard the rustling of someone behind him. He knew he was being followed, however discreetly, just as he had been all the other times he was by himself. Yes, the Yanibar refuge had taken him in, but it was obvious he had yet to completely earn their trust. Much more would have to happen before he was allowed to do so, and he did not blame them for doing so. He was an outsider in their midst, a loner even in when it came to training sessions, and his talent in the Force, reinforced by his own Noghri hunter’s instincts and combat training, made him a match in physical combat against adversaries several years older than him. In other matters of the Force, though, he was behind. Thankfully, the training masters tried to tailor the curriculum of each student’s learning process to them individually. However, Morgadh still felt he had to prove himself somehow, earn their respect. He noticed the occasional sidelong glances given to him, the constant shadowing, and knew it was because of his background.

At the moment, though, he didn’t care. He’d kept careful count of the days since leaving Honoghr and knew that the Day of Skyfall had come—the anniversary of that fateful day when the ships had fallen from the sky and poisoned his world. It was one of only a handful of special occasions celebrated by all the Noghri people, and even here, he would try and do his best to honor the occasion.

Sitting on the ground, he unfolded a patch of cloth and drew five denta beans he’d saved from his evening meal. While they weren’t the traditional long k’shrydra grains from Honoghr, they were close enough in shape and color. Taking his knife and finding a rock, he cleared some ground, piled a few sticks for tinder, and lit a small fire. Soon, the smoky-sweet aroma of the burning grass began emanating from the flickering tongues of fire. Closing his eyes, Morgadh began a low rhythmic chant, one that in the tongue of his people told of the downfall of the planet and mourned the destruction of its ecosystems. He allowed the Force to fill him, to drown out each concern. Each syllable he uttered conveyed its own meaning, each word was laden with heartfelt emotion and a sensation of loss. In all his times to commemorate Skyfall, this one, the first one he’d spent off of Honoghr, seemed to reverberate the most through him.
 * “N’ygadtha dhimaim chadra,” he chanted. “Dloskthya zhormaim bantagh.”

''The trees were once green. The birds once sang.''
 * “Skwalhmaim neer dhrath norkriktaaar.”

''The people once sang and were glad. Then the sky fell.'' Morgadh turned each line over in his mind before he said it, contemplating the meaning of each word. This was part of who he was and always would be, no matter where he was. Reverence for Honoghr and remembering the calamity that had befallen the planet was part of every Noghri, and he knew it. He sang-chanted all forty lines of the poem solemnly. Every eight lines, he took one of the beans from the piece of cloth, crushed it in his hand, then tossed the remains in the fire, a symbol of a part of Honoghr that had been lost to the devastation. When he opened his eyes, there was a man sitting before him, tall, broad-shouldered, with coal-black hair cropped short and dark smoldering eyes to match. It was a face that seemed familiar, yet he could not quite place it.
 * “General Kraen,” Morgadh said, bowing his head in respect. “Did you need something from me?”
 * “No,” Spectre replied. “I sensed you, felt some kind of sadness, and decided to stop by. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

Morgadh looked over the glowing fire to stare expressionlessly at the human.
 * “You are welcome to stay,” the Nogrhi replied.

The two were silent for some time, content to watch the erratic motion of the flames. It was some time before Spectre broke the quietness that had set in; only when the fire had died down some did he speak.
 * “If you don’t mind my asking, what was that you were chanting?” Spectre asked.
 * “It is a poem of my people,” Morgadh said. “Remembering when our world was devastated. It is said by the eldest warrior of the family on this day each year on Honoghr.”
 * “I see,” Spectre replied. “Were you the eldest warrior of your family?”
 * “Briefly,” Morgadh said curtly. “My father died in the service of the Empire. As did my two older brothers.”
 * “I am sorry,” Spectre said sympathetically, recalling similar memories of his own. “I know what that is like.”
 * “Do you?” Morgadh asked, then he looked deeper at Spectre and realized why his face seemed so familiar.

The Nogrhi hissed quietly as he understood, as he knew where he’d seen variations of that face before.
 * “You used to serve the Empire,” he said.
 * “I did,” Spectre told him. “Myself and millions of others identical to me. We fought and died by the thousands. The man whom we were cloned from, the closest thing I’ll ever have to a father, died in our first battle. There isn’t a day where I don’t ask myself why I survived to enjoy the things I have now.”
 * “I understand,” Morgadh replied in his gravelly voice. “I find myself asking the same thing.”
 * “I know,” Spectre said quietly. “In a way, you remind me of myself.”
 * “Why is that?” Morgadh inquired.
 * “I had the same confusion and disorientation when I first left the service of the Empire,” Spectre said. “Everything seemed so foreign to me. It took me some time before I recognized the true nature of the Empire.”
 * “You must have done so,” Morgadh stated. “Master Kraen trusts you.”
 * “But you don’t feel trusted yet,” Spectre finished for him.
 * “I am constantly observed,” Morgadh pointed out.
 * “Your time will come,” Spectre said. “These cautions are unfortunate, but necessary.”
 * “What should I do?” Morgadh asked. “I wish to prove myself.”
 * “Endure the hardship and distrust like a true warrior,” Spectre replied. “And look for an opportunity to show your true nature.”

A strange light entered Morgadh’s eyes as he heard Spectre’s words. The skin on his face furrowed in a Noghri approximation of a frown as he tried to understand.
 * “You trust me, though,” he said. “Why?”
 * “One warrior can tell much about another,” Spectre said. “We both grew up in the service of the Empire. We both have our own codes of loyalty and honor. I know enough about you to know that you can be trusted.”
 * “I accept your trust and pledge to honor it,” Morgadh said gravely.
 * “Good,” Spectre replied. “I do not give it lightly.”

The fire had died down almost completely, but their attention was no longer captivated by it. Instead, they turned and gazed at the night sky, which was increasingly teeming with stars as the evening waned. There was another silence between them, as words seemed wholly inadequate for the situation, but this time it was Morgadh who spoke first.
 * “General Kraen,” he said. “You have my thanks.”

He did not have to say why. They both knew.
 * “You’re welcome, Morgadh clan Kel’nerh,” Spectre said. “There is one last thing.”

The Noghri looked at him inquisitively.
 * “If you want to help your people and defeat the Empire, then honor that trust as if it were sacred and do whatever you can to aid this colony.”
 * “Is that what you would ask of me?” Morgadh asked.
 * “It is,” Spectre said.
 * “Then I swear by Honoghr that it will be done,” Mogradh told him solemnly.

Spectre nodded, accepting the oath. Then he rose.
 * “Thank you, Morgadh,” he said, just before walking off. “Fare well on your quest.”

He did not say what his thanks were for, and Morgadh did not inquire, though he wasn’t sure why Spectre had given them, nor even why he had actually ventured out to the field in the first place. Morgadh’s control of the Force did allow him to sense the combination of unease, mixed with some measure of re-assurance that the man was giving off. He wondered what could have upset a high-ranking member of the Yanibar Guard like General Spectre, but knew it was not his place to ask or intrude on the other warrior’s privacy. At any rate, he figured he was better off not knowing, as he had concerns of his own.
 * Orbital defense station Yanibar’s Helm

The next morning found Selu back at the Orbital Command Center. He would have preferred to hold off on this particular ceremony until Milya was recovered and Sarth and Cassi rescued, but his wife had insisted that he do it. So, here he was, watching from the main panoramic viewport of the forward observation lounge as the newest vessel of the Yanibar Guard silently cruised out of space dock past the orbital station. It was the Yoda, the freshly completed first ship of the Soresu-class Fleet Defenders. At nearly 1200 meters in length, it was the largest ship that Kraechar Arms had ever completed. The vessel’s gleaming gray hull, new and untarnished, shone through space as its thruster engines propelled it past the Orbital Command Center, only fifty meters away. The breathtaking beauty of the ship’s lines was not lost on Selu as he watched the Yoda slowly pass by. The ship had already been dedicated by Admiral Slayke at the shipyards upon its first launch, but it fell to Selu to inspect and officially receive the vessel from Kraechar Arms.

Looking at the assembled technicians and officers assembled in the lounge, Selu turned to them. He kept his address short, briefly reminding them of the ship’s namesake, the great Jedi Master Yoda, and of the legacy the vessel and its crew would be expected to live up to. He promised that the new warship would help defend Yanibar. The audience applauded when he was finished. Then he signed the holodoc officially accepting the transfer of the ship to the Yanibar Guard Fleet, right below the signature of a Kraechar Arms executive standing in for Sarth. It didn’t feel right doing this without Sarth actually present, but Milya had insisted that they not delay bringing the Yoda up to operational status, and Selu had been won over by that reasoning. His sense of increasing danger and foreboding hadn’t abated at all; quite the opposite, in fact.

He shared a celebratory toast with several other high-ranking officers, but thankfully, the event was over soon. Soon, only Selu and one other person remained after all the other personnel had returned to their jobs and the various items for the ceremony had been cleared away. He waited until they were alone before speaking. What he had to say would be hard for her to hear, even though she once again wore the uniform of a Yanibar Guardsman.
 * “Hasla,” he said.
 * “Elite Guardian Hasla Almani reporting as ordered, sir,” Hasla said stiffly, keeping her eyes focused on space outside the viewport.
 * “Hasla,” Selu repeated, even more gently this time. “I wanted to talk to you.”
 * “What did you wish to discuss, sir?” she replied in the same flat tone.
 * “There’s no need for the formality,” Selu said. “I’m not here as your superior. I’m here as a fellow Force user, as a concerned Master.”
 * “Is there a difference between the two?” Hasla asked coldly.
 * “If you want there to be,” Selu said. “Have a seat.”

Somewhat reluctantly, judging by her body language, she sat down in one of the rounded bench-like chairs built into the observation lounge. Selu sat down beside her, looking with obvious concern at the Elite Guardian. Her eyes were red-rimmed and it was apparent she had not been sleeping well.
 * “Is there anything you want to talk about?” Selu asked her. “Off the record, of course.”

She turned to glare at him and started to say something, then bit it back. Selu could sense she was still in enough control of her emotions to keep what she was feeling from leaking through her mental shields to where he could sense it in the Force without prying. He made no attempt to reach into her mind; if she wanted to talk to him, she would do so on her own accord. She gave him a bitter look, but finally acceded, breaking her silence.
 * “I was one of them,” she said.
 * “The Rebels?” Selu asked quietly.

She nodded, an angry tear beginning to fall from one eye.
 * “I was happy there,” she said. “I never thought there could be anything better than serving in the Yanibar Guard, but there was. I had it.”
 * “You wish you were still there,” Selu said.
 * “I do,” she said. “I would have gladly stayed there the rest of my life.”
 * “And that’s why I had to bring you back,” Selu told her.

She stared at him with a mix of shock, anger, and betrayal, trying to comprehend the words he’d just stabbed into her. Selu knew she wouldn’t understand, not at first. He hadn’t, when he was her age.
 * “Attachment can be dangerous,” he said. “Believe me, I know. It was for your own sake, as well as the rest of the colony.”
 * “How could you?” she said. “How could you do that to me?”

Selu shifted uncomfortably. This conversation was painful for him to have, too, and the thought of having to hurt Hasla emotionally made it difficult for him to speak. The only greater injustice would be denying her the explanation she sought. He had to tell her, whether he wanted to or not.
 * “There was too great a risk,” he said. “Milya and several others saw possible futures where you were captured.”
 * “I would never betray this colony,” Hasla spat. “You should know that.”
 * “I do,” Selu said. “Those weren’t the worst possible futures, though. The worst ones were the ones where you lived.”
 * “What?” Hasla asked, not understanding.
 * “They would have died for you, Hasla. Your comrades in the Rebellion-Commander Gavin, Ice Squadron, even the Rogues. Even Janson. Some of them already did.”
 * “How do you know that?” she asked fiercely.
 * “Kuat,” Selu said, his voice cracking. “They would have died at Kuat. All of them. And you wouldn’t have been able to handle their loss. I saw you fall to the dark side over their deaths. Over Janson’s death. I’m sorry. Nobody should ever have to hear of what they might have done from somebody else.”
 * “Kuat?” Hasla asked. “I heard Jorge and Annita talking to General Calrissian about Kuat on the medical frigate.”
 * “Yes,” Selu said.

A chill ran down her spine.
 * “What is going to happen at Kuat?” she asked.

Selu quietly gave her the basic idea behind Operation Triangle and was not surprised at the shocked look she gave him. The idea hadn’t always sat with him at well, as he felt that he was sending the Rebellion into a trap for no reason other than it was a means to an end. However, though he occasionally sympathized with them, Selu had no particular allegiance to the Rebellion and thus he preferred to send them into battle rather than losing Yanibar Guard lives. That didn’t mean that he enjoyed doing it.
 * “You betrayed them!” she accused him. “You’re sending them into a trap!”

Selu knew that, since he’d never been aligned with the Rebellion in the first place, his actions were not a betrayal. Also, it had not been him alone who had made the decision to launch Operation Triangle, nor to extract Hasla from the Rebellion. Several key figures in the upper echelons of the Yanibar Guard had agreed with him. However, he did not argue the point about betrayal nor try and shirk responsibility for choices that he ultimately had been responsible for making.
 * “I did influence the situation,” Selu admitted calmly.
 * “Why?” she asked acidly.
 * “Because the fate of this colony is at stake,” Selu told her. “I regret doing it, but it had to be done.”
 * “The Rebellion is no threat to you,” Hasla replied sharply. “The worst they would ever do is ask for your support. They embody the ideals of freedom and . . .”

Selu held up a hand, cutting her off.
 * “I know, Hasla,” he said. “And, my misgivings about Luke Skywalker aside, I believe you. I’m not doing this to spite and weaken the Rebellion. I’m doing it to destroy the Zann Consortium.”
 * “So why didn’t you tell them that the Zannists were looking to attack?” Hasla asked bitterly. “Why did you have Jorge and Annita lie?”
 * “The Rebellion wouldn’t have launched the attack on Kuat in that event, Hasla,” Selu said. “And, whether you believe me or not, I’ve done what I could for you and the Rebels.”
 * “I can tell,” she shot back caustically.
 * “Does it comfort you to know that Jorge and Annita also slipped information to the Rebellion about a possible uprising on Corellia? That Rogue Squadron has been assigned to investigate it rather than fly into the trap at Kuat?” Selu asked.
 * “So I should be happy that nine good people won’t die at Kuat, but thousands of others will?” Hasla asked incredulously. “Bad enough that we were stealing from them, but now we’re killing them too?”
 * “No,” Selu said. “And I’m sorry that it had to be this way. Just try and understand my position.”
 * “Seems to me that you’re too afraid to risk the Yanibar Guard and doing your own work for a change,” Hasla replied, knowing that her words would hurt him but not caring in the least.
 * “The colony comes first,” Selu said simply. “Seems to me you’ve forgotten that.”
 * “Maybe I have,” Hasla replied.
 * “We’re still going to help them indirectly,” Selu said. “As we have for nearly three years now.”
 * “Is that supposed to make it better?” Hasla demanded angrily.
 * “No,” Selu said. “And if you would stop cutting me off, I’m trying to tell you about an opportunity.”
 * “What is it?” she asked with evident disinterest.
 * “You have more flight time than any other pilot in the Yanibar Guard when it comes to B-wings. I’m offering you your own squadron.”
 * “You’re trying to bribe me with a kriffing command?” she asked, shaking her head. “I never thought you’d stoop so low.”
 * “No,” Selu told her. “I’m trying to give you another chance to keep being active against the Empire, to aid the Rebellion indirectly. It’s yours if you want it.”

She softened slightly, but the majority of her anger remained intact, ready to unleash. Hasla was determined to vent it before she even considered Selu’s offer.
 * “What if I say no?” she asked. “What if I’m done helping you and this colony?”
 * “Then you’ll be retired from the Elite Guardians,” Selu said. “You’ll depart honorably, to go offworld and join the Rebellion if you wish.”
 * “I can’t do that, now can I?” Hasla said bitterly. “Considering you extracted me in such a way that I’ll be viewed as a traitor if I return.”
 * “That’s exactly why it had to be done that way,” Selu said. “I knew that you would stay with the Rebellion if you could, and I couldn’t risk that.”
 * “I appreciate that trust,” she retorted sarcastically. “Are we done here?”
 * “Not yet,” Selu said. “I trust you with this command, don’t I?”
 * “Why?” Hasla asked. “You’re not afraid I’ll just take a ship and leave?”
 * “No,” Selu answered. “You already said you wouldn’t betray this colony. You took an oath to protect it when you became an Elite Guardian. I don’t think you’ll break that promise, even if you leave. It was only because I felt your emotions were clouded when it came to the Rebellion that I took those elaborate precautions.”
 * “Clouded emotions?” she glowered. “You thought my emotions were clouded?”

Her emotional barriers were wearing down and it took no effort on Selu’s part for him to sense what she was foremost on her mind. A new wave of regret swept through him as he realized what he’d inadvertently broken. The vehemence of her anger made even more sense in light of this epiphany.
 * “You loved him,” Selu said simply.
 * “Yes,” she said through tears. “And you took him away from me.”
 * “I’m so sorry,” Selu told her, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. “I didn’t know.”
 * “Would it have made a difference if you had?” she asked, shrugging his arm away roughly.
 * “Probably not,” Selu admitted. “But I do know how powerful love can be. I know what it’s like to give up things for one you love.”
 * “Then why . . .” she started, but Selu held up a hand again, stopping her before she could finish the question.
 * “Sometimes,” Selu said, his own voice thick with emotion. “We have to give up what we love to serve a greater purpose. That is what I am asking you to do.”

The fiery reply that had sprang to her lips died unsaid as she realized that he did in fact know the pain that burned within her. She caught a mental glimpse of his own emotions past the armor he habitually wore around his mind and knew this conversation pained him incredibly, that he had wrestled long and hard with the decision to bring her back. Hasla understood his position, and while she didn’t agree with it, the Force had given her insight as to why Selu had made his choices and the difficulty he’d experienced in making them. He hadn’t wanted to send the Rebels into a trap, hadn’t sought to weaken them, but felt it was necessary to defend Yanibar. She didn’t agree with his decision, but she could at least sense his sincerity.
 * “If you can’t accept my offer, I understand,” Selu told her quietly. “I wouldn’t have asked you if it wasn’t important. Take as much time as you need to think about it.”

She sat rigidly on the chair, her face buried in her hands, and Selu knew that their conversation was over. Rising, he made as if to leave.
 * “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, Hasla,” he said, fighting back tears of his own on seeing her pain.

Then, he walked off.
 * Kuat system

Tyber Zann rubbed his hands together, scarcely able to believe what he was staring at. Leaning over a sizable console in the half-completed Eclipse, he activated a control and a holographic screen appeared. Scrolling down an impressive list of characters, Zann smiled triumphantly. His gambit had paid off.

True, there had been losses and surprises along the way. Kuat’s defenses had been reinforced and he’d taken heavy casualties in the battle. Less than forty percent of his original force was still intact, a staggering loss rate. Furthermore, the Rebels had sent a sizable fleet under Han Solo to cause some damage, and while they’d temporarily been allied, the capture of the Eclipse instead of its destruction had been a sore point for Solo, one that had led to a three-way battle. The whole Kuat system and its ravaged shipyards were filled with the drifting hulks of ships that had once been proud parts of the Empire, or the Alliance, or the Zann Consortium. Also, Admiral Gaarn had arrived after all, late, and the fool had paid for it with his life. Zann just didn’t care. The Consortium now held the ultimate prize—this ship, the Eclipse, and its vaults. Tyber Zann, however, was less interested in the half-completed dreadnaught itself than in the information and locations that were even now being downloaded in front of his eyes. Standing in database room of the ship now, with the ever-loyal Urai Fen at his side, visions of power and grandeur swam before him.
 * “Do you see, Urai?” he asked the Talortai, gesturing at the list. “Billions of credits. Technical data hoarded for decades. Priceless works of art. It’s incredible. There is more wealth in these hidden vaults than even I can imagine.”
 * “An impressive victory,” Urai agreed. “With the contents of the vault and this ship, there may soon be a new galactic emperor.”

Zann frowned at the exaggerated suggestion. Urai only occasionally resorted to flattery; but the crime lord didn’t delude himself. Even with the Eclipse, he wasn’t quite that powerful. The ship was barely operational anyway, and Zann didn’t have the manpower to properly crew or equip it. At any rate, ruling the galaxy didn’t quite appeal to him—Palpatine had showed him how dangerous that job could be, as well as demanding. His way was more insidious.
 * “I’ve no need to keep the half-constructed Eclipse,” he said, still staring at the glowing hologram, which now showed the locations of the vaults. “And it presents a target even the Rebels couldn’t ignore. With the treasures from Palpatine’s vaults, I can now spread my organization across the galaxy. Let the Rebels form their New Republic. I’ve always wanted to own a senator.”

Urai nodded in agreement. This way, the Zann Consortium could spread tendrils of influence throughout the galaxy without having to worry about issues like restoring order or the mundane details of bureaucracy. Instead, it would grow richer and more powerful, exerting its will and manipulating the decisions of whoever did come to power. It would also be a harder entity to target and destroy, since it would be covert, evident only by the corruption of the actual government. In short, it was a brilliantly devious plan.

Neither of them noticed the slight figure of Silri stalking over to another console in the room, some distance away. Pulling out the artifact Zann had “lost” over Carida and later retrieved from Coruscant, she set it on the console, instructing it to interface with the ship. It was not just any artifact, though. Her prize was a Sith holocron, one that, when properly interfaced, would reveal the location of some very interesting prizes. Tyber Zann was not the only one who had located treasure on the Eclipse.
 * “Soon, you will understand the true meaning of power, Tyber Zann,” Silri hissed under her breath as a hologram appeared above the console the holocron was plugged into.

The floating galactic map that hovered in front of her gave Silri what she needed. Her prize lay within her grasp. She smiled viciously and completed her earlier reflection.
 * "When I teach it to you!”