Force Exile III: Liberator/Part 11

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Selu watched with relief as their ship—he’d learned its name was the Griffin—emerged from hyperspace. They were on the outskirts of the Mataou system for a navigational stop and what he hoped was a successful rendezvous with Sarth and Cassi. He also had an important decision to present to the rest of the insurgents that had escaped Darlyn Boda with them. It had been twenty hours since their escape, limping through hyperspace on their backup hyperdrive, and all hands had been needed just to man the ship, surviving on brief snatches of sleep and cold rations to eat. He hadn’t chosen to assert himself, making decisions alongside Atsedi and the others. At any rate, they were out of danger for the moment, and had some time to think beyond surviving the next hour. There was no sense putting off the discussion he needed to have with them, so Selu had asked Atsedi to gather the survivors, all twenty-eight of them, onto the bridge.

They watched him expectantly. Most of them were still wearing the uniforms they had worn when the ship had been seized—either prisoner’s jumpsuits or Imperial uniforms, depending on where they had been for the seizure. Selu waited until the last man filed in, then addressed them.

“We’re in the Matuou system,” he said. “My plan is not be here for very long.”

Selu sensed some of them were about to speak up, but he continued on before they had a chance.

“I know that I’m a virtual stranger to you. Fate threw us together against a common enemy, and we managed to escape, albeit at great cost.”

Selu paused, letting his gaze sweep across the men. They were all hardened veterans, many of them experienced fighters or intelligence agents. They were soldiers, mercenaries, and spies who had seen and been through a lot. Platitudes and ideals would not resonate with them. They were pragmatists—but obviously loyal ones to have followed Romierr with such devotion.

“Ardo Romierr and I had a deal—I’d help secure this ship, and he would provide my friends and me passage away from Darlyn Boda. As far as I’m concerned, we both held up our ends of the bargain. This ship, as far as I’m concerned, is yours. You took it, and you have the skills to man it. My companions and I are meeting up with some other friends in this system. It’s up to you what you do next.”

Selu held up a hand to forestall any further speech.

“That said, I have an offer,” he told them. “My friends and I are setting up a refuge on a distant world where the Empire won’t find us. I can’t say who it’s for or where it’ll be, but it will need defenders. Each of you has a particular set of skills that would be invaluable in that defense, and while Romierr left me with his datapad and assets, I can’t put them to full use by myself. I could use any of you who want to join me. If you’re interested, talk to me individually.”

“That datapad and the assets on it belong to our organization,” one of them countered. “Why should you keep it?”

Selu rested one hand casually on the hilt of his lightsaber, alert for trouble.

“Because of the last wish of a dying man,” he said.

“We have only your word for that,” the man replied.

Selu frowned.

“If I took it off Romierr’s body, then why do I know the access codes?” he asked. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense for Romierr to lock it so only one of you could open it if he didn’t want me to have it?”

That silenced the complaint.

“Look, I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” Selu said. “You don’t even know my name. If you want to take the ship and go, that’s fine. I won’t interfere. My friends and I will be gone within six hours. Just consider my offer—a chance at a new life and cause.”

“Under you?” Atsedi asked.

Selu nodded.

“That’s right,” he said. “Any other questions?”

“What about the Xi Charrians?” the first man asked.

Selu frowned.

“Xi Charrians?”

Atsedi chuckled.

“We have a collective of a couple hundred of them on the ship,” he said. “They were working for us, then the Empire took them prisoner when they captured Romierr. They’re engineers, designers, weaponsmiths. Built most of our tech for us. The Empire activated the magnetic seals on their confinement area and sealed them off when the insurrection started, or we would have had them helping us as well.”

Selu’s eyes widened, astonished at this development.

“Impressive,” he said. “I knew I sensed alien presences, but I never would have guessed Xi Charrians.”

He shook his head, focusing on the present conversation.

“They’ll have the same choice to make,” Selu added. “I’ll make them a similar offer. In the meantime, we should let them out of whatever cells the Empire had them in.”

The newly-repaired comm terminal beeped to life. One of the insurgents moved over to it while another manned a sensor station.

“We’re receiving an incoming transmission,” he reported. “It appears to be in code.”

“Five ships approaching us,” the other stated. “They look like cargo ships.”

The insurgents quickly moved to take their stations, preparing the ship in case of combat. It was heavily undermanned, but Selu knew they weren’t about to go down without a fight.

He leaned over the comm terminal, scanning the coded transmission. He recognized the symbols as the numerical value for “hawk-bat,” repeated over and over again.

“Stand down,” he told them. “Those are our friends.”

One of the men, the skeptic who had asked him about Romierr’s datapad, shot Selu a suspicious look.

“You’re not going to bring them all aboard, are you?”

“No,” Selu answered, trying to put his mind at ease. “Just one small ship to pick us up. May I speak with them now?”

The man begrudgingly nodded and Selu turned back to the comm terminal. Entering in one of the Hawk-bat’s encryption keys from memory, he was pleased to see that he had remembered it correctly. The transmission resolved itself into an eighth-sized holo of Sarth, seated in the pilot’s seat of the Hawk-bat.

“Good to see you,” Selu said agreeably. “How was your trip?”

“Surprisingly uneventful,” Sarth answered. “How was yours?”

“Quite the opposite,” Selu replied ruefully. “We can talk about that more later. I see our friends from your destination decided to come along.”

“Yes,” Sarth said, cracking a smile. “We did it.”

“We have some friends of our own,” Selu told him. “Probably not as many, but they’re eager to meet the rest of you.”

“And is that ship yours?” Sarth asked.

“Not exactly. We’re just. . . hitching a ride,” Selu answered. “Bring the Hawk-bat in and we’ll transfer over. It’s only safe to be in this system for a few more hours.”

“Understood,” Sarth said. “Sounds like we have a lot of stories to swap.”

“Indeed,” Selu agreed, lowering his voice to a whisper. “And for now, I’m going by ‘Hawk-bat.’”

Sarth shook his head.

“You and your aliases,” he said. “We’ll see you soon.”

The transmission ended, and Selu turned to the rest of the crew.

“I’ll be in the galley shortly if any of you want to talk about my offer,” he said. “Pass the word along.”

They all looked at him when he spoke, but he couldn’t read any of their faces or emotions well enough to perceive their intention. Selu hoped that some of them at least would consider his proposal—he could use their help if he was to drive the Empire off of Yanibar and defend the planet. However, after their harrowing ordeal on and over Darlyn Boda, he figured that any plan that got him, Milya, Spectre, and the Matukai safely onto the Hawk-bat and away with the Jal Shey would be good enough. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep going without rest.


 * Infirmary

Spectre sat by Milya’s bedside, keeping silent vigil. She was asleep and had been since the medical droids had brought her out from the surgical ward. Fresh bandages peeked out from beneath her medical gown, and she was still connected to monitoring devices and an intravenous line, but she at least seemed at peace. For that, Spectre was relieved.

He had stayed here to keep an eye on Milya—and on Rothery and Taskien. The two Imperials had also received medical treatment and were likewise convalescing. Spectre had been here the entire time, a watchful guardian for Milya. Other casualties had been treated here as well, but there were surprisingly few. The fighting had been brutal—and without prompt treatment or means of summoning aid, many of the grievously wounded had perished. Two of the Matukai were posted guard over the other Imperial patients, but Spectre had remained as well. He knew that Selu could probably use his help, but he felt his place was here.

The Jedi stopped by, having just finished his meeting with the crew. He moved into the screened-off ward, pushing aside the curtain just enough to slide in.

“How is she?” Selu asked Spectre in a soft whisper.

“Resting,” the ex-ARC murmured.

Selu nodded.

“She still feels strong,” he said encouragingly. “She’ll be up and kicking your butt in no time.”

“I know,” Spectre replied with a faint trace of a smile. “I was supposed to protect her, but she ended up saving me. Twice, in fact.”

Selu paused for a moment, reading the subtext in Spectre’s voice. The other man felt responsible, ashamed at his inability to do his duty, to protect the woman he loved. The guilt would wear away at him, and Selu knew that it wasn’t healthy. He had already lived through that scenario.

“If the positions had been reversed, you would have done the same thing for her,” he said gently. “And you wouldn’t have wanted her to feel guilty over needing help.”

Spectre considered that.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said.

“Don’t feel guilty, Spectre,” Selu told him. “You two were able to stop the Imperials together. You two make a good team.”

It was Spectre’s turn to read deeper into what he was hearing. His gaze shifted from Milya to Selu.

“Does that mean—?”

Selu nodded.

“Once we’re clear and Milya wakes up, I’ll make my intentions clear,” he said. “And those intentions are for you two to be happy.”

Spectre nodded.

“Thank you,” he said.

Selu exhaled heavily.

“You’re welcome, old friend,” he answered. “Now, I should probably head to the galley. See if I have any takers. Sarth and Cassi will be here within the hour.”

“I’ll be here,” Spectre replied. “I just. . . want her to see a friendly face when she wakes up.”

Selu placed his hand lightly on Spectre’s shoulder for a second, then turned and left. The ex-ARC stayed there for another twenty minutes, sitting quietly by Milya’s side. On an impulse, he took her hand in his, gently cradling the slim fingers. A few seconds later, she stirred, her eyes blinking open slowly as she took in her surroundings.

“It’s all right,” Spectre assured her. “You’re safe.”

“Infirmary?” she asked as she got her bearings.

“That’s right.”

She sat up in the bed, craning her neck to finish surveying her surroundings.

“I assume we escaped?” she asked.

“We did,” Spectre told her. “Sarth and Cassi will be here soon.”

Milya frowned, slipping her hand away out from his.

“Where’s Selu?”

The gesture, combined with the words, struck Spectre as dismissive, a warning sign.

“He was here earlier,” he told her. “He went to see if any of the crew are interested in joining us.”

Milya nodded.

“How are you feeling?” Spectre asked her.

“I’m fine,” she said.

He arched an eyebrow.

“That’s surprising given what you went through,” he answered. “You were seriously injured.”

She shifted under the blanket restlessly.

“How long was I out?”

Spectre didn’t even need to check his chrono.

“About ten hours,” he said.

“What happens next?” she asked.

“We meet up with Sarth and Cassi, and then head for our new refuge world. Beyond that, I’m not sure what Selu specifically has in mind.”

Milya’s eyebrows shot up.

“You found a place?”

“We did,” Spectre said. “Minor complication, it has an Imperial garrison, and it’s our only option. But Selu and I can handle it.”

The mention of the Empire seemed to trigger some unsightly memory for Milya.

“And are you okay with that?” she asked him.

Spectre frowned, not understanding her meaning.

“What does that mean?”

Milya shook her head, glancing up at the ceiling.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not what you said,” Spectre countered.

She kept her gaze on the ceiling for three long seconds, then took a deep breath and faced him.

“You seemed to have some problems dealing with Miss Imperial Agent over there,” she said, her words coming fast and quick. “Seemed like you almost forgot which side she’s on.”

Spectre’s expression blanked as he was caught offguard by her sudden verbal accusation. He struggled to come up with an articulate reply.

“Roxana. . . she and I have. . . history,” Spectre tried to explain. “We knew each other during the war.”

“Clearly,” Milya answered dryly. “She held a blaster on you, and you were trying to sweet-talk her.”

“I was trying to persuade her to join us,” Spectre replied defensively.

“Join us? Or join you,” she asked him.

Spectre bristled, affronted by her words.

“What are you implying?” he asked.

Milya rolled her eyes.

“Spectre, listen to me,” she said. “That woman is our enemy. She was going to shoot you, and you still saved her life.”

“Isn’t that the Jedi way?”

Milya’s eyes narrowed.

“Convenient how that applies to one of your old paramours,” she told him. “Does Selu know about this?”

“Know about what?”

Milya gave him a firm, hard-edged look.

“That you’re expressing sympathies towards an enemy combatant?”

Spectre scowled.

“I have fought and killed for this cause. Even fellow clone troopers, my blood brothers!” he snarled. “How dare you!”

“They’re not your brothers,” Milya replied insistently. “They’re not your family, and neither is she. We are. I just hope you can still see that.”

Spectre was now thoroughly riled. Disloyalty was one of the most egregious sins an ARC could ever commit. Having to hear that charge from both Taskien and Milya was too much. He clenched his fists, trying to rein in his anger.

“Don’t talk to me about family,” he said darkly. “At least you had one for a while.”

Milya stiffened. The loss of her family was a sensitive subject, and they both knew it. When next she spoke, her voice chilled a few dozen degrees.

“I think it would be best if you left,” she said.

It was not a suggestion. Spectre bit his lip, knowing he had clearly overstepped his bounds. He was filled with regret, realizing belatedly how much he had upset her.

“Milya, I’m—,”

She held up a hand.

“Save it,” she told him. “Or give that apology to your Imperial friend.”

Spectre started to say something, thought better of it, and walked away. Milya watched him leave with an icy, hardened expression. Only once he was safely out of sight did she allow her firm demeanor to soften. She had liked Spectre, had even envisioned herself with him, until earlier. Everything she knew about the man’s convictions and feelings had been cast into doubt in light of his interaction with the Imperial agent. Did he still have Imperial sympathies? Did he still harbor affections for this other woman? Was she as important to him as she needed him to be?


 * Galley

Selu sat at a table by himself, sipping from a mug of steaming hot caf. The bitter liquid was a welcome relief after hours of fighting, and then working feverishly to restore the damaged ship’s functions. He glanced at his chrono blearily. He had been awake for over thirty hours now and he was exhausted to the point where even sitting down was dangerous—he could fall asleep at any moment. The Jedi slouched down and stared into the mug as he considered his circumstances.

He had experienced this kind of weariness before—during the Clone Wars. The demands of war had meant staying awake for often days on end, always ready to defend against an enemy attack, constantly on the move or alert for trouble. There was no time for luxuries like hot meals or sanisteams. Constantly coming down from adrenaline highs wreaked havoc on mental concentrations and the sights, sounds, and smells of the wounded or killed etched mental scars. War was a tiring, dirty, bloody, horrifying experience, and Selu did not remember those past battles fondly. Having to experience it again was equally distasteful, but here he was. At least this time he had hot caf.

The sound of boots clacking across the smooth metal floor brought Selu’s head up to meet the arrival. Two men, Atsedi and Barin, that Selu recognized from the insurgent crew were approaching. Selu remembered that Barin had been the skeptic from earlier, while Atsedi had been more agreeable. Selu sat up as they stood across the table from him.

“What can I do for you?” Selu asked.

“We wanted to discuss your offer,” they said.

“Of course,” Selu replied, gesturing for them to be seated.

They sat and stared at him for a good three seconds. Finally, Atsedi broke the silence.

“You made a very intriguing offer,” he said. “But what if some of us didn’t accept it?”

Selu shrugged.

“As I said, each crewmember is free to choose as they wish,” he replied.

“If only a minority wasn’t interested in your offer, what would you expect would happen to this ship?”

Selu kept his face impassive.

“The ship is yours,” he said. “You would all have to come to an agreement on what to do with it.”

Barin crossed his arms.

“And what about the families of those who volunteered to join you? Romierr had plans, safehouses, and contacts. We can’t just leave that behind.”

Selu gave him a thin smile.

“I’m sure each one of you had already set up plans for them when you first joined Romierr on this heist,” he told Barin. “But if you’re asking if they would be welcome on our new refuge, the answer is yes.”

Barin nodded.

“What about your intentions towards the Empire?”

Selu lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m sure you can guess that I’m not exactly a fan of the current administration,” he said.

Barin leaned in closer.

“But what’s your plan, your overall goal?” he asked. “We knew what Romierr was after—he wanted to bring down the Empire one world at a time, and to incite unrest that would encourage others to rise up against Palpatine’s iron grip. What do you want?”

Selu considered the question.

“Can you imagine how much trouble the Jedi Order would have given Palpatine if he hadn’t betrayed and executed the majority of them before they could react?” he asked.

Atsedi nodded.

“Like I said, I served with one during the Clone Wars. You’re very effective small-unit fighters—slippery too.”

“I’m going to create a safe haven where we can rebuild the Jedi Order,” Selu said. “And include other groups with similar talents. When the time is right, we’ll take the fight to the Empire.”

“That could take years,” Barin pointed out.

“It probably will,” Selu answered. “So would Romierr’s plan. Palpatine no doubt plotted the demise of the Jedi and the Republic for decades. Anything worth doing takes time.”

“And you have that kind of patience?”

Selu’s expression hardened.

“I still have the lightsabers of my two closest friends who died in my hands when we were betrayed,” he said, his tone now edged and ominous. “I’m not the forgetful type.”

Barin nodded soberly, scratching at the stubble of his beard.

“No, I suppose not,” he replied.

Atsedi produced a datapad, laying it on the table in front of Selu.

“Here,” he said.

Selu picked up the device, scanning its contents. His eyes flashed back up to them in surprise.

“All twenty-three of you?” he asked.

Atsedi nodded.

“We’re all in agreement,” the man replied. “They wanted us to make sure of a few final conditions, but with Romierr dead. . .”

“You might be our best chance at living free and hitting back at the Empire,” Barin finished for him.

Selu stood and shook each of their hands.

“I’m grateful for your trust in me,” he said. “I can certainly use your help—this won’t be easy.”

“How about starting with a ship?” Atsedi asked. “I can offer you a prototype Imperial transport and field resupply ship.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that,” Selu replied.

His comlink chirped, signaling that Sarth and Cassi were on final approach.

“Some more of my friends are arriving,” he said. “I’m going to meet them in the landing bay. Atsedi—take charge of the ship and plot an outbound course, somewhere deep in the middle of nowhere. Send it to those other ships so they can follow. Then find another nearby habitable world so we can offload our Imperial prisoners. Barin, I need you to talk to the Xi Charrians. It’s up to them, but having them join us as well would be invaluable.”

“Understood,” Atsedi said, with Barin nodding his concurrence.

Selu rose and left, heading down through the Griffin. He passed through the battle-scarred corridors until he reached the port-side landing bay. The ship was eerily silent—many of the systems were still too damaged to reactivate, while the lack of crew meant he encountered nobody else along the way.

As he reached the landing bay, he saw the familiar sight of the Hawk-bat settling in alongside wreckage of an Imperial shuttle. Selu breathed a sigh of relief simply upon seeing his ship once again. The freighter set down, outgassing as its engines powered down. A minute later, the boarding ramp lowered, and Sarth and Cassi emerged, making a beeline for Selu.

“What happened here?” Sarth asked him.

Selu shook his head.

“Long story,” he said. “But I’m glad to see both of you.”

“Where are Spectre and Milya?” Cassi asked.

“Probably the infirmary,” Selu replied, then quickly added, “but they’re both okay.”

“We were able to convince the Jal Shey,” Sarth reported. “Are you ready to leave?”

“There’s been a change of plans,” Selu told him. “The ship and its crew are under my command now, along with about a dozen Matukai and a Zeison Sha warrior.”

“You have been busy,” Sarth remarked.

“Something like that.”

Selu led them back towards the infirmary, filling them in as they walked. As they approached, his comlink chirped.

“Barin here,” the man said. “I was able to find a translator droid and communicate with the Xi Charrians. They would like to speak with you.”

“I’m on my way,” Selu replied.

“I’d like to come too,” Sarth said. “I’ve never met a Xi Charrian.”

“Me too,” Cassi piped up.

The three made their way aft to the cargo hold where the Xi Charrians had been held. He was glad Sarth was with him—the Xi Charrians were renowned for their skills at engineering, and he hoped his brother would be able to find some common ground there.

When they reached the aft hold, they found Barin standing in front of a sealed heavy blast door with a protocol droid alongside him.

“We can communicate with them via the comm panel, but the controls are locked down,” he reported. “Looks like Doriana personally locked this, and it’s magnetically sealed.”

Selu pondered the conundrum, then recalled that Doriana had used his command codes in the auxiliary bridge to arm the self-destruct in his attempt to seize the ship. The codes should still be usable—and his near-eidetic memory allowed him to recall the complex code.

“I’m going in,” he said. “Wait here.”

Selu frowned, visualizing the codes, and then walked over to the control panel, entering in the code. The doors groaned, then with a hiss and a shudder, slowly unlatched.

As the heavy blast door to the hold slid open, Selu walked in calmly, even though he was quite apprehensive. Hundreds of insectoid aliens were inside, their chitinous plating rustling as they turned to observe the opening doors. The aliens’ attention was all immediately focused on him, or so it seemed, the red slits of their eyes focused on him. They began clicking to one another, apparently their form of speech, and Selu quickly beckoned the protocol droid forward.

“You do speak Xi Charrian, right?” he asked.

“Not in my original programming database, but I was reprogrammed to speak it for this mission. It’s not a standard language, as I’m sure you’re aware, Master.”

Selu rolled his eyes at the garrulous droid.

“Good enough. Tell them that we mean them no harm and ask to speak with their leader.”

The droid complied, making a complex series of clicking noises that were painful to the ears, but apparently perfectly understandable to the Xi Charrians. Amidst the general bustle, a larger one of the aliens moved up on its scissor-like feet, so similar to the Vulture droids used by the Confederacy during the Clone Wars. The larger alien offered another series of clicks and chitters, which the droid translated for him.

“This is the prelate, or leader. He speaks for this particular hive of Xi Charrians. They want to know who is speaking to them and why.”

Selu hesitated. Ever since the downfall of the Jedi Order, he had been very careful to conceal his identity from everyone except his trusted friends and family. He wasn’t about to casually reveal that to a few hundred insectoid aliens whom he just met. Still, they deserved to know something.

“Tell him that I am a Jedi Knight, and that he and his people are free now.”

After another two choruses of Xi Charrian speech, the droid reported back.

“They want to know why they should believe you.”

“Because of this,” Selu said.

With a flourish, he called his lightsaber to his hand telekinetically and lit it. If he hadn’t had the Xi Charrians’ attention before, he certainly had it now.

“I am a Jedi,” he said loudly. “And with the death of Ardo Romierr, command of this ship has fallen to me. The Imperials on this ship have been defeated—Barin can confirm all of this for you. As for you, you and your people are free, free to return to Charros IV if you so desire, or you can come to a new refuge world we are settling, away from the Empire and under my protection. We would be honored to count members of the Xi Charrians as friends.”

The droid translated again and the group of Xi Charrians buzzed and clicked amongst themselves until finally the incessant noise died down.

“The prelate says that he and his people would prefer to stay with their liberator. They say that if you are willing to protect them, they would like to live away from the Empire. They say they’ve already suffered enough during the wars.”

Selu was surprised to hear the answer. The Xi Charrians were reputed to be isolationist, paranoid, and xenophobic. But then again, this group had been working with Romierr for a long time, and were likely just grateful to be released from Imperial captivity.

“Liberator, huh? Never thought I’d be doing that particular job.” Selu said, closing down his lightsaber and turning to Sarth and Cassi.

He pivoted back.

“Tell the Xi Charrians that we will do whatever we can to make them welcome at our new refuge. Ask them why they were captured, what the Empire wanted from them.”

The droid went through the now familiar routine of translating both Selu’s words and then translating the prelate’s subsequent reply.

“The prelate states that a human named Doriana wanted them to serve as workers on some Imperial project. They had no choice in the matter,” came the protocol droid’s mechanically precise words.

“Tell him that we won’t require them to do any forced labor,” Selu said, wondering if such a concept existed in a society that revolved around endless perfectionism in one’s work. “Let them know that they are free to do as they please, as long as there is no conflict with the other inhabitants of the ship.”

The droid did so, and received the prelate’s reply.

“He thanks you for your words and the freedom you have given his people.”

“Let him know that he and his people are very welcome,” Selu replied, then turned to Barin. “Stay here and work with them. Let them have run of the ship as long as they don’t wreck anything. I don’t think Xi Charrians are capable of destroying something mechanical, just improving it.”

Barin nodded. Selu walked back out of the giant hold to Cassi and Sarth, who had been watching his interaction with the Xi Charrians from a distance.

“How’d it go?” Sarth asked.

“Surprisingly well,” Selu said. “I think we just gained some new neighbors.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a refuge for Force exiles?” Cassi said. “They don’t feel Force-sensitive.”

“They’re not, and neither are Romierr’s crew,” Selu replied. “But I thought about it, and there’s no reason why they can’t live there also, and they seem to want to. Besides, it could be handy to have a group of Xi Charrians around—no offense, Sarth.”

“None taken,” he replied. “I’d like to get acquainted with them myself. I’m sure they have plenty I could learn from.”

Selu’s comlink chirped again.

“Atsedi here,” he heard.

“Go ahead,” Selu replied.

“We’re ready to make the jump to lightspeed. I’ve relayed the coordinates to the other ships and they’ve signaled their acknowledgment. Shall we jump?”

“Do it,” Selu replied. “We don’t want to stay in one place too long.”


 * Infirmary

Cassi walked into the infirmary and headed over to the ward where Milya was lying. Entering through the curtain, she saw an older woman in a medical uniform standing besides Milya, checking the dressing on her shoulder. A stern-looking Falleen Matukai was keeping watch on the physician.

Milya turned to see the new arrival.

“Hey,” she said. “I thought I sensed you.”

“Hi!” Cassi replied. “They told me I’d find you here. Is this a bad time?”

“Can this wait until after I’ve finished?” Rothery asked mildly.

“No,” Milya answered for her. “Come on in, Cassi.”

Rothery scowled, but continued working.

“Lie still, please,” Rothery instructed Milya.

Milya rolled her eyes, but dutifully complied, shooting the doctor a quick glare.

“What happened to you?” Cassi asked.

“Caught the edge of a grenade blast,” Milya said. “Broke a bone or two, took some shrapnel, and earned a nasty headache.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t worse,” Cassi replied concernedly. “You could have been killed.”

Milya pursed her lips into a wry smile.

“Occupational hazard,” she answered. “But keep an eye on the doctor for me.”

“Why?” Cassi asked, confused. “And why the guard?”

Milya’s eyes narrowed.

“Let’s just say I have very good reasons.”

Rothery did something to the bandage and Milya winced.

“Doctor?” Cassi asked, confused. “What did you do?”

Rothery stiffened.

“I held a laser scalpel to her throat when it appeared there was a chance to retake the ship for the Empire. She’s taking it personally.”

“Damn right I am,” Milya muttered.

“If you don’t stop moving and let me work, that tendon might not heal,” Rothery cautioned her.

Milya growled something inaudible, but let Rothery continue.

“So why are you letting her treat you now?” Cassi asked.

Milya started to say something, but Rothery held up a warning finger. The unhappy patient waited quietly while the doctor replied in her stead.

“Microsurgery is a complex thing,” Rothery said. “The surgical droids on this ship are crude at best. They could keep her alive, but to fully repair the damage, you need a more. . . skilled physician.”

“And why are you doing it?” Cassi asked.

Rothery sniffed.

“Because I’m a doctor,” she said. “It’s what I do.”

“Even for your enemies?”

Rothery paused to straighten and look directly at Cassi.

“I’ve seen far too many torn apart by war to ignore someone I can help,” she replied.

“That’s very noble of you,” Cassi said.

“Or pragmatic,” Milya offered. “She treats me, maybe she buys herself a little lenience.”

Rothery arched an eyebrow at Milya.

“If you were going to kill me, you would have already done it,” she said. “You had your chance earlier.”

Milya glowered, but she had no ready come back.

“That’s not our way,” Cassi said before Milya could come up with some particularly ominous threat. “We don’t kill unless we have to.”

“There’s a few hundred dead Imperials who might argue with that,” Rothery answered.

“I wasn’t here for that,” Cassi replied. “I’m sure what happened here was horrible and brutal. I can’t change that. What I can affect is what happens next—and if I can prevent one more death, I’ll do it.”

“One more death of your friends, you mean,” Rothery said.

“No,” Cassi replied. “One more death, period. I’ve taken lives before, Doctor. And I hated it enough to never want to do it again.”

“Me too,” Rothery said.

“Then maybe we’re more alike than you might think,” Cassi answered.

Rothery sniffed again.

“Don’t get your hopes up. I’m a loyal citizen of the Empire.”

“So was I, not too long ago,” Cassi told her. “And then I saw where it was going, how it was led, how it treated people. You’ve probably seen that too.”

Rothery stiffened.

“Possibly,” she said.

“We have another thing in common,” Cassi added. “We’ve both treated the same patient.”

“Really?” Rothery asked. “Was she as difficult for you?”

“Not even,” Milya replied sharply.

“No,” Cassi said, trying to lighten the mood. “She was quite cooperative. It helps to feed her chocolate beforehand.”

“Interesting,” Rothery mused with a hint of a smile.

Milya scowled.

“Hey, Cassi, I’m still here, and she’s still an Imperial doctor who tried to kill me.”

“She could leave the Empire,” Cassi pointed out.

“And I am your enemy,” Rothery reminded her.

“You’re not my enemy,” Cassi told her. “My enemies don’t save my friends’ lives.”

“Under duress.”

“I was told you volunteered to treat her,” Cassi answered. “Doesn’t sound like duress to me.”

Rothery bowed her head slightly in a conciliatory tone.

“Maybe I did,” she said softly.

“And maybe there’s something better for you than the Empire,” Cassi told her. “You could come with us.”

Rothery shook her head.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said.

“Just think about it,” Cassi replied.

Rothery finished up with the dressing on Milya’s shoulder, checked the monitor, and then finally directed her gaze back to Cassi.

“I have other patients to attend to,” she said.

“I understand,” Cassi answered.

The doctor slipped out of the ward, with the guard following. Milya frowned as Cassi moved over to her bedside.

“What was that all about?” she asked.

“Selu told me that the doctor saved your life,” Cassi said. “Shouldn’t that earn her a little consideration?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of letting her live,” Milya answered dryly.

“She has a good heart,” Cassi answered. “Pragmatic and jaded, but there’s nobility in her.”

“Have you even talked that idea of yours over with Selu?”

“No,” Cassi admitted. “I should have.”

Milya sighed.

“Let’s just forget about it,” she said. “She’s gone, you’re here, and hopefully I’ll be done with playing patient soon.”

“I could try and help with that,” Cassi offered.

“Force healing?”

“I’m willing to try,” Cassi said. “If you want me to.”

“Anything to get me on my feet faster,” Milya told her, then her tone softened. “Thank you for offering. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Cassi replied, placing her hands above Milya’s bandaged shoulder.

She closed her eyes and began to concentrate on the Force. She felt its currents of power began to coalesce into something she could focus and channel into Milya. Unlike previously, she couldn’t just target the cells that felt wrong. Lacking the training and understanding of how to properly heal the wound, she had to amplify Milya’s body’s ability to heal itself. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned the cells working to repair the wound, restoring the tissues and muscles to full capability. The Force surged within her as she opened the connection with Milya, sending the healing energy into her friend. Milya gasped as Cassi poured Force power into her shoulder.

“Am I hurting you?” Cassi asked, frowning in concentration as she tried to inflict further damage.

“Keep going,” Milya said through gritted teeth.

Though Cassi couldn’t see it, blue light was emanating from her hands, radiating into the injured shoulder, stimulating cellular regeneration and reproduction. The medical monitor began beeping more rapidly, but Cassi sensed the muscle fibers starting to knit back together and kept channeling as much Force power as she could, trusting her subconscious mind to guide and direct the currents in a beneficial fashion. The monitor’s beeping increased, and then suddenly subsided. Cassi’s eyes opened and she ceased her efforts. Milya seemed to be unconscious, but the monitor showed that her heartbeat and breathing were steady.

“What did you do?” she heard a voice behind her.

Cassi turned to see Rothery and Xlora standing at the entrance of the ward. The doctor was gaping at the sight of Milya, then recovered and began checking her over with a medisensor.

“I have a gift for Force healing,” Cassi explained. “I tried to use it to help her.”

“I don’t. . . think so,” Rothery said, visibly astonished. “I can’t explain it, but though her heart rate was up a minute ago, it seems to have gone back down. She’s in a resting state, but there’s increased blood flow to the injured area.”

“I encouraged her body to heal her faster,” Cassi replied.

“Your hands were glowing,” Rothery said. “Is that part of it as well?”

“Seems to be,” Cassi answered, who was beginning to feel the fatigue sink in.

“Whatever you did, it seems to be effective,” Rothery answered. “Tell me, Cassi. Would you use that power on an Imperial?”

“If he’s hurt and I could help, I’d want to try,” Cassi told her.

“Come with me, then,” Rothery said. “I’ve got a comatose man who keeps bleeding internally and the wounds won’t seal. He’s too traumatized for more surgery and I’d almost given up on him, but maybe. . . you can do something.”

“All right,” Cassi answered, hoping she had enough strength to help the patient.

Several minutes later, Cassi stood at the bedside of the wounded soldier, utterly drained, her strength sapped. She knew that the Force itself was infinite and limitless, but her own ability to focus and control it could be very taxing. Rothery, however, seemed quite satisfied.

“Blood pressure isn’t fluctuating anymore,” she said. “I’m no longer seeing as much obvious bleeding. It’s not completely stopped, but it’s slowed appreciably.”

“Does that mean he’ll live?” Cassi asked.

“Maybe,” Rothery said. “But I’d give him a lot better chances that I would have fifteen minutes ago.”

Cassi nodded.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, turning to go.

“Cassi,” Rothery called after her.

“Yes?”

“Were you serious about the offer to leave the Empire?” Rothery asked.

“I was,” Cassi said. “I’d have to talk it over with—with our leader.”

“I understand,” Rothery answered.

“Do you want to?”

Rothery smiled thinly.

“Let’s just say I’m thinking about it,” she said.


 * Two days later

Spectre wavered for the fifth time, not sure if he should approach her. The indecision was unlike him, but he wasn’t at all certain that having this conversation would be beneficial for either of them, particularly given what had already transpired between them. Yet part of him knew that he wasn’t likely to ever get another chance at this. Finally, he steeled himself and strode forward, walking past the Matukai guard into the ward.

Agent Roxana Taskien looked up at him from the bed where she was sitting, wrists cuffed to the bedframe to restrain her. Her wounds had been treated and she had been well-tended, but Selu had also insisted on certain security measures.

“I figured you would come,” she said.

“Should I have?” he asked.

She gave him a dubious look, then shook her head.

“Probably not,” she answered. “I won’t talk. I can resist any interrogation or torture you care to try.”

Spectre stiffened, insulted that she would insinuate such behavior from him.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said. “And I’m not here to extract information.”

Her hardened expression softened for a moment, and she shook her head, giving him a small, hopeless smile.

“Yes, you are,” she told him. “But you don’t want something from my mind. You want it from my heart.”

Spectre understood, bowing his head in acknowledgment.

“I suppose I do,” he admitted.

“You want to know if I meant what I said earlier, about how I could never help a traitor,” she answered. “You want to know if I hate you.”

“Do you?” Spectre asked softly.

Her expression began to harden again.

“I’d like not to,” she told him. “I’d like to believe that you’re not even here, that you would never betray the Empire.”

“I was released from Imperial service,” Spectre told her. “I owe it nothing.”

She glared angrily at him.

“You owe everything to the Empire,” she said. “Your skills, your training, even your very life was because of the Empire and the Republic it replaced.”

“The Republic and the Empire both saw me as a tool, a vat-grown soldier fit to fight and die in their wars and little else,” Spectre answered. “But you didn’t, did you? On Orin?”

“I saw a man,” Taskien told him, her voice still hard-edged but increasingly brittle. “I saw a man fighting loyally for a cause he believed in with all of his heart, who would do anything to protect it. And I cannot believe that you are that same man.”

“I am,” Spectre answered softly. “But now I fight for a different cause. A cause that cares about me and values me. Not what I do, or what my skillset it.”

Taskien gave another nearly-imperceptible shake of her head.

“Your cause is the antithesis of everything I stand for,” she said. “You were fighting alongside Separatists.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Spectre quoted the axiom.

Taskien’s features blanked.

“Then I suppose that makes us enemies,” she said flatly.

“We don’t have to be,” Spectre tried, regretting the timing of his words.

Taskien’s voice turned icy cold.

“Whatever feelings I ever had for you, they will never trump my sworn duty,” she said.

“They did on Orin,” Spectre replied.

“Temporarily,” she snapped. “And if you think you can exploit that lapse of judgment again, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Roxana—,” Spectre pleaded.

“I’m Imperial Agent Taskien. Service number Besh-Five-Oh-One-Four-Two-One-Nine-Four,” she answered stiffly.

“And what of the man you loved on Orin?” Spectre asked, his voice thick with emotion as he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of the words she was hurling at him.

“He died during the Clone Wars,” she said, momentarily lapsing somewhat before recovering her resolve. “He died as a hero.”

“Then who am I?” Spectre asked.

She considered the question.

“You’re an enemy of the Empire,” she said, a fresh fire in her eyes. “A traitor who deserves to be brought to Imperial justice.”

Spectre took an involuntary step back, recoiling as if she had physically struck him.

“I’m not your enemy, Roxana,” he said.

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” she told him. “Do your worst, because one day, I’m going to see you face justice.”

“Imperial justice isn’t what you think it is,” Spectre told him.

“Apparently neither are you,” she shot back. “You are dead to me.”

The words chilled Spectre to the bone.

“I’m sorry, Roxana,” he said.

“I’m just sorry you survived,” she replied.

The sound of approaching footsteps curtailed any further reply Spectre might have made. The ex-ARC turned to see Selu, Sarth, Milya, Cassi, Daara, and five more Matukai, all armed, approaching.

“What’s going on?” Spectre asked.

“We’re getting rid of the prisoners,” Selu told him. “These are the last bunch.”

“What’s happening to them?” Spectre inquired.

Normally, he would have been filled in on Selu’s plan, but he had spent most of his time in the infirmary and was quite out of the loop, concerned first about Milya and then about Taskien.

“We’re in the Anoat system and they have a one-way ticket there,” Selu explained. “On an escape pod. This far out, it’ll take them about a day to get there.”

He moved over and un-cuffed Taskien.

“You have a minute to get dressed,” he told her, placing a uniform at the foot of the bed. “Any longer and you’ll be making the trip in whatever I find you in.”

Taskien met Selu’s gaze.

“I’m going to hunt you down,” she told him. “You’re going to pay for the lives you took here.”

Selu smirked, nonplussed.

“Threats usually sound more impressive coming from someone who’s fully clothed,” Selu told her. “I suggest you not test my patience.”

With that, he turned and left Taskien’s ward, pulling the curtain closed behind him and leaving one of the Matukai on guard outside. Spectre followed him, taking him aside.

“Was that necessary?” he asked Selu. “She was a prisoner of war before Romierr’s men took over the ship.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Selu answered.

“She was tortured,” Spectre added with a frown. “You don’t need to add to that.”

Selu turned to face his friend, pulling him close.

“Look, I know the two of you have history,” he said. “But considering that we treated her injuries, haven’t interrogated her, and, if she’s cooperative, might just let her walk to the escape pod with her pants on instead of a medical gown for the trip back to the Empire, I think we’ve been particularly accommodating under the circumstances.”

“You’ve been talking to Milya, haven’t you?”

“Briefly,” Selu said. “She’s worried about you, and so am I. What does this woman mean to you?”

Spectre paused, then considered Taskien’s prior words. He had already broken with the Empire years earlier, but he had never expected to face her again. However, he knew ultimately where his loyalties were. He had made that decision, and now he would have to live with it. None of his prior affection towards Taskien could sway him from the Jedi path—not now. He was fully committed, and while he had hoped she would come around to his point of view, he could never envision himself leaving Selu and the rest of the Hawk-bat crew for her. It was too late for that, and too big of a sacrifice.

“Nothing,” Spectre said. “Not anymore.”

“Then let her go,” Selu told him. “Best case scenario, she returns to the Empire and you never see her again.”

“She’ll hunt us.”

Selu smiled.

“She’ll try,” he said.

Selu walked over to where Doctor Rothery and the other Imperial patients were waiting, guarded by another pair of Matukai.

“It’s time for you to debark,” he said. “Those of your colleagues who were captured unharmed have already been jettisoned in escape pods. You’ll reach Anoat within a day. It’s not a very pleasant world, but it’s settled, and the Empire will find you—eventually.”

“You’re letting us go?” Rothery asked.

“That’s right,” Selu told her.

The doctor’s eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

Selu shrugged.

“Killing you isn’t the Jedi way, and I’m not going to hold you indefinitely. I can’t trust the Empire to make a reasonable trade for your lives. Might as well let you go.”

He was met with hardened stares and a rigid silence. Selu waited a second longer, then gestured to the Matukai, who escorted them out. Agent Taskien emerged from her medical ward, wearing her uniform, and silently joined the prisoners.

“Good bye, Roxana,” Spectre told her softly.

She didn’t even make eye contact with him.

Selu led the prisoners over to a series of escape pods, where they were ushered in, one by one. Rothery lingered until she was the last person remaining.

“It’s time to go, Doctor,” Selu told her.

“I understand,” she said.

“Before you go,” Cassi spoke up suddenly. “I wanted to ask you one last time. Do you really want to return to the Empire?”

Rothery snorted.

“I didn’t think that was up to me,” she replied, nodding her head at Selu.

“Cassi and I have discussed the matter,” Selu answered. “I had my reservations, but at the end of the day, two people vouched for you. That’s enough in my book.”

“Two?” Rothery asked, her eyes shifting to Cassi. “Who was the other?”

“Me,” Milya admitted.

Rothery arched an eyebrow in surprise as Milya tried to deflect the attention she was suddenly receiving.

“Maybe I’m grateful that you saved my life and treated me as well as you did,” she replied. “Enough to give you a second chance—as long as you stay away from me with a laser scalpel.”

“I appreciate the respect,” Rothery said slowly, not sure how to take the compliment.

“It could be more than that,” Selu told her. “We could use your assistance. A skilled surgeon could be invaluable.”

Rothery frowned.

“You have a good heart, Doctor. It’s wrapped under loyalty to the Empire and a strong sense of duty, but I can sense it.” Cassi added.

Rothery arched an eyebrow at him, then, checking to make sure the other Imperials were out of earshot, nodded slowly.

“You could have killed us all at any point,” she said. “You could have mistreated us, or denied us medical attention. You didn’t. You even helped me save a life.”

“That’s not our way,” Selu told her.

“The Empire would have used every bit of leverage, the same way as Romierr’s group did.”

Selu smiled grimly.

“They’re under new management,” he said. “And we’re hiring.”

“I’m too old for this,” Rothery quipped.

“And we could use your wisdom and insight,” Cassi told her.

Rothery closed her eyes, then finally confessed.

“The offer does have a certain appeal,” she admitted. “I don’t know how you knew, but you were right.”

Selu sensed the sincerity in her voice.

“We’re glad to have you onboard,” he said.

“Even the woman I nearly killed?” Rothery asked with an amused smile.

“Even the woman you saved,” Milya corrected. “And in time, I might forgive you for that other part.”

He turned to the Sarth.

“Seal and launch the escape pods,” he said. “Time to set the prisoners free.”

Once it was carried out, Selu commed the bridge.

“Make the jump to hyperspace,” Selu ordered. “It’s time we were getting back to our new home.”

26
To his great irritation, despite all the myriad other things he could be doing to oversee repairs to the ship, Captain Nebulax found himself called down to one of the briefing rooms by the lieutenant for some sort of special meeting. The Star Destroyer was still heavily damaged, but at least they had limited sublight capability now. The other Imperial ships that had arrived too late to help had already dispersed, searching for the vanished Griffin. Soon, though, a hyperspace-capable tug would be arriving to tow the Corrupter back to an Imperial shipyard for thorough repairs, as Nebulax had been told by the engineers not to expect hyperspace capability for several more days. However, overall things were going fairly well. Shield capability and some fire control were back online, and although the long-range communications array would need additional repairs, Nebulax felt that he had done as well as could be expected.

Captain Nebulax was irked at being summoned to a meeting to discuss the hunt for the fugitives, viewing that as secondary to restoring his ship’s combat capability. He had delegated that task to Convarion so he could supervise repairs to his ship, but the man had seen fit to call him down for some important communique. Nebulax stalked into the small conference room and was unpleasantly surprised to see Inquisitor Ajaur there.

He hadn’t seen much of Ajaur since the captured Griffin and the Jedi it carried had escaped to hyperspace. Although he had feared the worst of the Inquisitor’s reprisals upon their failure to stop the ship, the man had come aboard the Corrupter a day ago and gone straight to his quarters in a brooding silence, taking with him an Imperial lieutenant who had been recovered from the surface.

Nebulax stood on the other side of the long black table from Ajaur, not wanting to get too close. Convarion stood at the head of the table, flanked by a pair of naval troopers.

“Captain,” Convarion greeted him.

“What is this about, Lieutenant?” Nebulax asked.

“I’ve made progress on hunting down the fugitives,” Convarion said, gesturing to the one of the naval troopers.

The man left through the room’s other entrance and returned, escorting in a new arrival. To his surprise, it was a woman in a black Imperial Intelligence uniform, young, but with a certain hardness to her eyes that Nebulax had come to associate with the traumatized or combat veterans.

“This is Agent Roxana Taskien,” Convarion explained. “She has had recent contact with the people we’re chasing.”

The Inquisitor rose, moving over to the new arrival. Taskien kept her composure, but seemed ill at ease with the imposing man. “Have you debriefed her, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, my lord,” Convarion replied. “Agent Taskien was responsible for the defeat of the insurgency on Zeru Neimodia. She was transferred to the Griffin to recover and serve as a consultant until Romierr’s men seized the ship. She remained onboard until the insurgents jettisoned her and the other Imperial prisoners in escape pods in the Anoat system. As soon as they were recovered, I had them brought here.”

“What of the Imperial advisor who was on the Griffin?” Nebulax asked.

“Doriana’s dead,” Taskien said flatly. “I heard about it from one of the Jedi. They killed him before he could activate the self-destruct.”

Nebulax clenched a fist.

“And now they have escaped with a prototype Imperial ship and several Jedi,” he snarled.

“We can find them,” Taskien told him.

Ajaur was equally seething at the defeat, but he did a better job of restraining his reactions. His visions had already shown him that he would face the Jedi in combat, and while he had been tantalizingly close on Darlyn Boda, he had been thwarted, first by the destruction of the bridge, and second by the failure of his lightsaber. He had spent the last three days repairing the weapon and reinforcing it so such a calamity would not occur again. He turned on the agent.

“I believe we can,” Ajaur agreed. “You will help me.”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” Taskien replied.

“I’m sure you will,” Ajaur answered darkly.

He turned to the naval troopers.

“Have the prisoners from the escape pods escorted to my chambers,” he said. “I shall question them further there.”

“My lord?” Convarion asked.

“You heard me, Lieutenant,” Ajaur growled.

Nebulax stepped in, not liking where Ajaur was going with this.

“What the lieutenant means is that they’re not prisoners, they’re Imperial officers,” he said. “And they were already debriefed.”

“The reports are right here,” Convarion said, placing a datapad on the smooth ebony surface of the table.

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Taskien added quietly.

“So you think you have,” Ajaur told him menacingly, then turned to the naval troopers. “Take them to my quarters.”

“I don’t think you heard me,” Nebulax said. “These are Imperial officers.”

Ajaur turned on the captain.

“And they, just like you and every other person on this ship, are at my disposal,” the Inquisitor growled.

“I wish to conduct my own debriefing. Do I make myself clear?”

Nebulax gritted his teeth.

“Perfectly.”

He felt a sudden tightening around his throat.

“Perfectly what?”

Nebulax gasped as he tried to breathe.

“Perfectly. . . my lord,” he managed.

The pressure relented.

“I do not wish to be disturbed,” Ajaur told him.

He swept out of the room, with the two naval troopers escorting Taskien after him. Taskien marched in quiet silence, a haunted look on her face. She hadn’t liked the look of Ajaur from the moment she laid eyes on him, and while she had momentarily overlooked that in her zeal to hunt down the Jedi and insurgents, she had a very bad feeling about this. The Inquisitor hadn’t looked at her as if she was even a living person, just another tool or animal to be used. Having already experienced the tender mercies of men who thought that way, she was not eager to repeat the experience. The most frightening thought, though, was that Ajaur was supposed to be on her side.

For his part, Nebulax remained in place with a stony expression on his face, fingers drumming lightly on the table, staring after the departed Inquisitor.

“What are your orders, sir?” Convarion asked finally.

Nebulax was slow to reply, but he clenched a fist.

“Return to supervising the repairs,” he said at last. “I have another task to attend to.”

“And what about the prisoners?” Convarion inquired. “Were you informed about Lieutenant Terthbak, sir?”

“My orders are clear,” Nebulax answered stiffly. “I expect you to carry out your duty, just as I will do mine.”


 * Yanibar

The Griffin emerged from hyperspace on the outskirts of the Yanibar system, so that the central star was only slightly brighter than the others that were visible. Its crew wanted their arrival to go unnoticed and they had succeeded, having used the small asteroid belt for cover from any prying sensors. Although it was a fairly large spaceship, it was easily dwarfed by even midsize asteroids. Slowing to a gentle drift, the ship made no move to approach the world of Yanibar.

Instead, a much smaller vessel, a light freighter, emerged from the Griffin’s hangar, on a planetbound course towards Yanibar. It made no effort to disguise its approach at all. Zooming into Yanibar’s atmosphere, the crew of the ship watched as the pitch black of space receded to the dark blue of Yanibar’s night sky. The unpolluted atmosphere allowed a relatively clear view of the stars above. Down below, the ship’s crew could make out the varied geographic features of the planet’s surface, mostly reddish-brown rock formations. The freighter’s running lights snapped on as it soared over the silvery snake of a river, closing on a sizable cluster of man-made buildings.

Inside the Hawk-bat, Selu Kraen swallowed hard, hesitating for just a moment before activating the communications display. He was more nervous than he let on, but these next few minutes depended on his persuasive skills. Behind him, Sarth, Cassi, Daara, and Milya were standing over his shoulder, watching intently.

“Their air defenses have detected us,” Sarth reported.

“Probably jumpy after our last visit to this base,” Selu said, activating the ship’s communications equipment and setting it to the general Imperial frequency.

“Yanibar base, respond,” Selu said. “Civilian freighter, you are in violation of the secure airspace zone,” came a nasty-sounding reply. “Prepare to set down and be boarded.”

“I don’t think so,” Selu replied. “You have no communications. You’re cut off and isolated. This world no longer desires an Imperial presence. Surrender, or be destroyed.”

“You’re in no position to make demands, civilian freighter,” the Imperial officer replied. “The Empire does not yield so easily.”

“They’re scrambling fighters,” Sarth told him.

“He had his chance,” said Selu, switching over to another frequency. “Atsedi, commence fire.”

One-point-oh-three seconds later, the time required for light to travel from the Griffin to the Yanibar base, six brilliant green beams sliced through the atmosphere and impacted on the Yanibar base, instantly disintegrating thirty percent of it. Subsequent barrages exacerbated the damage. The permacrete laid on the ground as roads simply evaporated while buildings utterly disintegrated in clouds of burning gas and debris. The two fighters that did manage to get off the ground were easily picked off by Milya and Daara on the Hawk-bat. And still the turbolaser fire continued. The deadly green bolts continued to rain down on the base, ruining even the foundations of the buildings as the entire garrison was set ablaze. They could see explosions as stores of fuel and other inflammables were ignited by the searing heat. Selu felt the cessations of life in the Force and was saddened by it, but the Imperials had left him little choice with their stubborn refusal to surrender. Not that he really had expected them to, but it had not been his preferred option to kill all of them. Finally, when the base had been completely razed, Selu signaled the Griffin to cease fire. Slowly, he flew the Hawk-bat over the burning wreckage, but there was no sign of any remaining Imperial. Nothing could have survived the raging firestorm he was seeing, fueled by Yanibar’s high winds.

Turning the ship around, he set a course for Ayarolla, comming Atsedi to bring the Griffin into the atmosphere. Landing just outside the settlement, the Hawk-bat was soon surrounded by Zeison Sha. Selu sensed them and knew they were close, but they were taking great care to hide themselves, as they didn’t recognize the ship. He lowered the boarding hatch and stepped out, his hands high and empty.

“People of the Zeison Sha,” he announced. “I have returned, just as I said I would, and I have destroyed the Imperial base. Yanibar is now a free world.”

One by one, people began emerging from the rocks and grass, approaching the ship as Spectre, Milya, and Daara descended down the ramp.

“I bear witness to this,” Daara said. “The Imperial base is utterly gone.”

Olno Mada walked forward to greet Selu, wonder in his eyes.

“How is this possible?” he asked.

“The Empire’s own weapons have been turned against them,” Selu replied. “Your people are free.”

“For how long?” Mada asked. “The Empire will return.”

“Not this time,” Selu said with a smile. “I had a message faked from the Imperial base that will explain that Yanibar harbors a dangerous infection and the Imperials destroyed their own base when they abandoned the world. We’ll jettison an escape pod that’s supposedly from the ship that will explain the ship was contaminated as well, and the captain activated its self-destruct. That should be enough for any casual inspection.”

“We are a dangerous infection, to those who would see tyranny reign over the galaxy,” Olno Mada agreed.

“And one day, we will spread across the galaxy with the message of hope and freedom,” Selu told him. “Do you have a location for the refuge?”

“We do.”

“Good,” Selu said. “I have a large number of guests on our way, fellow Force exiles who have joined us.”

“More Jedi?”

“No. Some are Matukai; others are Jal Shey, but they all serve the light side of the Force. They have come here to seek shelter and a new life.”

“For now, they can stay at Ayarolla,” Mada said. “We will show them the hospitality of the Zeison Sha.”

“Thank you,” Selu replied. “May I suggest that your warriors stay alert, in case of scattered Imperial patrols that might have survived.”

“Of course,” Mada assured him. “We haven’t lived this long from not being cautious.”

Several hours later, the Griffin and the Jal Shey’s dilapidated transports began descending into the atmosphere, guided towards Ayarolla by Selu. The two larger ships set down about a kilometer away for safety reasons, raising a large cloud of dust, but a full Zeison Sha welcoming committee was on hand to greet their new neighbors once the two ships had set down. Selu watched from a distance as Matukai mingled with Jal Shey and were welcomed by the Zeison Sha. Their mission had been completed: the Force exiles had been united, fulfilling the quest that Revan had given them. He felt a huge weight was lifted from his heart, and a lump formed in his throat as he watched the scene play out. There would be challenges to come, but the crew of the Hawk-bat had done what the Jedi Order had failed to do for millennia. Necessity had brought them together, but friendship and loyalty would bind the four groups together, and he would do his part to help cement those ties.


 * Corrupter

Nebulax looked intently at the small holocomm image of a stern-looking man in an Imperial officer’s uniform. A slight tremor of trepidation filled him as the impact of the instructions registered, but he knew what he had to do. What he had described in an urgent message as soon as their comms had been repaired had only taken a few hours to garner a response, and for the imposing Imperial bureaucracy, that was remarkable. What had been even more remarkable was that it seemed the Empire’s hierarchy had been on the verge of contacting him about the very same matter. He was even pleased to have received the favorable response from the admiral—but would have been more pleased if it hadn’t translated to exposing himself to direct and personal danger.

“I understand,” he said. “Thank you very much for your time, Admiral. We won’t disappoint Lord Vader.”

He walked briskly away from the terminal, reaching for his comlink.

“Have two squads of stormtroopers meet me at the VIP quarters,” he instructed.

Nebulax heard the acknowledgment and then headed down towards the isolated section of the ship where they had housed Ajaur. He considered looking for Convarion, but decided it against it. If the worst should happen, the Corrupter would need a capable officer to handle it. While Nebulax was not overly fond of Convarion, the man was at least capable and could think for himself, unlike the subservient junior officers beneath him, who were only capable of following simple orders. However, as Nebulax approached the VIP quarters, he stowed his begrudging respect of Convarion to focus on what he had to do. The stormtroopers were assembled as he had ordered, standing at attention in faceless unison, their distinctive white armor and blasters an imposing reminder of the Empire’s power. Nebulax turned to address them.

“My orders come directly from the admiralty and Lord Vader,” Nebulax informed them. “Inquisitor Ajaur no longer has authority on this ship. Do I make myself clear?”

“Understood, sir,” the stormtrooper leader’s filtered voice replied.

Nebulax swallowed hard, then squared his shoulders and marched towards the VIP quarters. The imposing door was sealed shut, but Nebulax was the captain of the ship, and as such had command-level codes that would open it. Inserting his code cylinder into the datapad, he stepped back as the door unsealed. This was it: his final reckoning with the Inquisitor. He hoped it would not result in his death.

The door slid open to reveal a dark room completely bereft of decoration or furnishing and only a single glowpanel active in the middle of the room. Apparently the Inquisitor had removed all of its previous furnishings. Ajaur stood in the center of the room with an instrument in his hand, looming over Agent Taskien, who was strapped to a chair and in obvious distress. The tip of the instrument was tinged with blood, matching the small rivulet that was dribbling from the agent’s mouth. Nebulax was surprised to find Convarion of all people standing besides Ajaur with a datapad in his hands and a squeamish expression on his face. The fact that the officer was talking with Ajaur without his permission immediately banished all his prior respect for the man, and gave Nebulax the ire to stride into that room confidently, signaling the stormtroopers to follow.

“Am I interrupting something?” he demanded with cold fury.

Convarion jumped in surprise, snapping to attention.

“What is the meaning of this, Captain?” Ajaur grated out, turning to face the new arrival.

“Imperial justice,” Nebulax replied. “Stormtroopers, cover the Inquisitor.”

There was a clatter behind him as sixteen blaster rifles were raised, all pointing directly at Ajaur.

“How dare you defy me!” Ajaur growled. “Lower those weapons and I will make your deaths swift.”

“Belay that,” Nebulax said. “My orders are from the admiralty and Lord Vader himself.”

Ajaur’s hands worked at his sides.

“Impossible!” he snarled.

Nebulax sneered contemptuously at him.

“You are hereby under arrest, Inquisitor Ajaur,” he said. “As captain of this ship, I hereby order you to step away from that agent and surrender yourself into my custody.”

Ajaur didn’t move. Nebulax didn’t miss a beat.

“Failure to comply will be considered resisting arrest and will be met with lethal force.”

“You fool!” Ajaur bit out. “You would distract me from my true hunt with this ridiculous claim?”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Nebulax answered smoothly. “I informed the admiralty of your treatment of Lieutenant Terthbak, about how you tortured an Imperial officer to death and were planning to do that to many other survivors recovered from a hijacked vessel. Just as I was doing so, I received orders to place you under arrest for treasonous actions on a classified world.”

“Theros,” Ajaur spit out the word with considerable vitriol as he understood what had transpired. “This is his doing.”

The Inquisitor half-turned to stare off into space, then turned back towards Nebulax.

“Your interference comes at the worst possible time, Captain,” Ajaur glowered.

“Not for Agent Taskien, it would seem,” Nebulax said. “Step away from her, now.”

The Inquisitor reluctantly complied, tracked by the barrels of sixteen blaster rifles. Nebulax turned to Convarion, his ire freshly reignited.

“As for you, Lieutenant, what in the Emperor’s name are you doing here?”

Convarion was ashen-faced, clearly surprised by the sudden turn of events.

“I was delivering a report from an Imperial agent pertaining to the missing Jedi that Inquisitor Ajaur is hunting, sir,” he said.

“Without informing me? “ Nebulax demanded tersely.

“I was going to inform you next, sir,” Convarion replied stiffly, still at attention.

Nebulax fixed his fiercest glare on his executive officer.

“The captain should always be informed of major developments first, Lieutenant,” he said. “Particularly when it concerns fugitives that inflicted heavy damage and casualties on this ship.”

In a more circumspect moment, Nebulax knew he was being unfair to Convarion. The man had no doubt been ordered by Ajaur to report any new information to the Inquisitor first, and now Nebulax was openly contradicting those orders despite the previously-established chain of command that had Ajaur clearly at the top. However, Convarion had been caught at the wrong time and place, carrying out orders that he wasn’t aware had been superseded. It was a mistake anyone could make, and many otherwise skillful officers had been cashiered through no real fault of their own except for not being clairvoyant. If Convarion hadn’t been goading him, Nebulax might have shown more understanding. In this case, though, he felt justified in his vindictiveness.

“I understand, sir,” Convarion answered, looking properly abashed.

The man had the sense to at least understand he was in a no-win situation.

“What did the report say, Commander?” Nebulax asked.

“It was from an Imperial agent attached to law enforcement on Commenor, sir,” Convarion replied. “He was investigating a potential Jedi connection and uncovered evidence of recent Jedi activity that was covered-up by local authorities. I had queries running that correlated several common elements between the case there and the Jedi that we are hunting.”

“Such as?” Nebulax probed.

“Both our quarry and the Jedi on Commenor were onboard a Gauntlet-class freighter. Two human relatives were involved in both cases. But most importantly, an ex-ARC trooper named Spectre was connected with both cases.”

Nebulax was impressed. That was fairly damning.

“Do we know the identity of the Jedi on Commenor?”

“The agent on Commenor believes the Jedi’s name is Selusda Kraen, sir,” Convarion explained. “He was presumed dead on Coruscant three years ago. His family is originally from Commenor.”

Ajaur hissed, jabbing a finger angrily at Nebulax.

“This is why your interruption is foolish!” he said. “We have the means to draw out our quarry, to force him to reveal himself.”

“You mean by threatening his family?” Nebulax inquired.

“He’s had contact with them,” Ajaur replied. “They’re protecting him. He would certainly do the same for them. I can lure him out and kill him.”

Nebulax considered the man’s appeal. He hated Ajaur, but his desire for vengeance against the Jedi who had done so much damage to his ship and escaped was even stronger. He had his orders, but perhaps. . . there was another way.

“My orders are clear,” he said.

He turned to the stormtroopers.

“You four, take the Inquisitor to his ship along with his crew for immediate transport to Imperial custody. Since we don’t have hyperdrive capabilities yet, we’ll use his ship,” he said. “I want the rest of you to transfer the prisoners out of here to the infirmary for evaluation and treatment.”

Convarion started to say something, probably along the lines of how foolish it was to let Ajaur be taken to his ship and accompanied by his own crew with only four stormtroopers as guards. However, the stormtroopers, conditioned to follow orders, made no protest, and Convarion caught the knowing look in Nebulax’s eye just in time to keep his mouth shut.

As Ajaur was led past Nebulax, the captain left one last instruction to the Inquisitor in a quiet whisper.

“Try and keep them alive,” Nebulax instructed. “Lord Vader may be more understanding if you return to Imperial service with the head of a Jedi. If you run, whatever Vader will do to you will make your interrogations seem like a Gungan festival.”

Ajaur growled, but silently nodded. After Ajaur was escorted out, Nebulax walked over to Taskien, removing the restraints from her wrists and helping her up.

“I apologize for that,” he said. “Inquisitor Ajaur will never trouble you again.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she whispered, wiping away at the blood from her mouth, clearly in pain.

“I’ve contacted your superiors and they’re arranging a rendezvous in the next few days,” Nebulax told her. “In the meantime, you’ll be treated befitting the war hero that you are. I’ve read reports on Zeru Neimodia, and you deserved far better than this.”

“I’m just glad there is still such a thing as Imperial justice,” she said in the same soft voice.

“As long as there is, we will defend it,” Nebulax replied forcefully. “The sacrifices we have made will not be in vain.”

A medical team arrived and helped her, along with a number of other prisoners that Ajaur had been keeping in his quarters, off to the infirmary. As soon as they were alone, Nebulax turned to Convarion, who was still standing at attention.

“You’re going to pay for your insubordination, Commander,” he said. “You’ll be lucky to remain in the Imperial Navy, much less command a garbage scow.”

“Sir, permission to speak?” Convarion asked.

Nebulax considered dismissing him without hearing him out, but decided against it. If Convarion wanted to bury himself further with some rashly-expressed outrage, that was fine with him.

“Go ahead.”

To his surprise, the commander made no attempt to defend himself.

“I believe Inquisitor Ajaur is likely to escape, sir,” Convarion said. “Should he do so, it would reflect badly for both of us. I have a recommendation to forestall that eventuality.”

Nebulax paused, refraining from the tirade he had been ready to blister Convarion’s ears with.

“Continue.”

“Sir, I recommend that we place a tracking device on the Inquisitor’s ship and attempt to follow him once our hyperdrive is operational again. If questioned about it later, we can say we had already dispatched the Inquisitor on the hunt with a few falsified records before we received word to confine him. We then pursued and captured the Inquisitor after he succeeded in his mission.”

The more Nebulax heard of this idea, the more he liked it. That ingenuity was the main reason why he had held any respect for Convarion, and it was an impressive addition to his own plan—which would have left them in the lurch if Ajaur simply fled, or even if he succeeded in his mission and won a reprieve from Vader.

“You may yet hold a command of your own, Commander,” Nebulax told him. “Your recommendation is approved. Make it so.”


 * Yanibar, two days later

Selu sank gratefully into the captain’s chair in the Hawk-bat, having ducked out of Yanibar’s blazing hot afternoon for a brief respite. Prior to that, he had been involved in aerial searches to find the best location for the refuge’s settlement, meetings to discuss the structure of the new defense force, and a very long and disputed discussion regarding the basic rules and structure for the new refuge. After all the harrowing ordeals they had been through to unite the disparate groups of Force exiles, he considered it almost unfair to now be shackled with bureaucracy. Selu hadn’t given much thought to how many administrative details were involved in the creation of a new settlement, particularly one composed of multiple people groups, and for better or worse, many of the others were looking to him for leadership. He couldn’t fault them. This whole quest, while Revan’s idea, had been something he had undertaken. If it was essentially his endeavor, then he would need to show the leadership and initiative to make it succeed. However, that didn’t make it any less taxing—not as physically demanding as fighting stormtroopers and avoiding Imperial fighters, but mentally and emotionally draining. He was grateful for the opportunity to hide on his ship even if just for a bit.

Slouching down, he drowsily stared out the window and wondered if anyone would miss him if he dozed off for a bit. Surely, the settlement could survive without him for an hour. Selu lazily increased power to the ship’s environmental controls to reduce the temperature on the bridge to a more comfortable level. He considered making his way aft to his cabin, but decided that was too much effort. The captain’s chair would suffice for a brief snooze. He settled in as his heavy eyelids began to sink.

“I thought I would find you here,” Milya’s voice addressed him.

Selu’s eyes snapped back open as he suppressed a groan. Reminding himself to be patient, he sat up slowly.

“Well, you found me,” he said as she approached, circling around the chair to lean on the back of the pilot’s chair, facing him.

“So I did,” Milya replied. “I want to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” Selu said, hoping that her question would be quick and superficial, something he could answer and then get back to his planned nap.

“You came back to save us on the Griffin,” she began. “We were cut off by stormtroopers and that’s when I got hurt.”

“That’s right,” Selu answered.

“You were supposed to be headed to the bridge. Why did you come back?”

Selu arched an eyebrow.

“You, Spectre, and all of the Matukai were in danger. Our mission was to save and unite the Force exiles, not steal an Imperial ship.”

She nodded, but didn’t quite seem satisfied.

“Was that it?” Selu asked.

“Yes,” she answered, a slight smile concealing any unease she was harboring.

“Good,” Selu said, then hesitated.

There was something else he needed to tell Milya, something he had been putting off, but that he had promised Spectre he would tell them about.

“And Milya, I just want to say that I hope you and Spectre are. . . happy together,” Selu said.

Milya’s expression turned unexpectedly frosty.

“Is that a joke?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Uh. . . no?” Selu answered, confused. “I was being sincere.”

She didn’t soften.

“Your timing is almost as bad as his then,” she told him. “Spectre and I aren’t together, and never will be as long as he’s trying to use me as a substitute for that Imperial.”

“Oh,” Selu said, realizing his error. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s not important anymore,” Milya replied.

“I’m sure the two of you could work it out.”

Milya rolled her eyes.

“You make a lousy relationship counselor,” she told him. “He tried to apologize when we arrived on Yanibar, but I told him that his expectations were unrealistic, that I wouldn’t be there just to take her place. I’d never live up to that, and neither of us would be happy in the long run.”

“You’re right,” Selu said.

Milya frowned, not sure what his hasty agreement meant.

“I do make a lousy counselor,” Selu added. “My apologies, I was operating under mistaken impressions.”

“I see,” Milya replied, fixing him with a dubious look.

“So I’m sorry,” Selu tacked on quickly. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

Milya narrowed her eyes.

“What were you trying to do?” she asked him.

Selu shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

“I don’t know, try and make my intentions clear,” he said.

“Your intentions regarding. . .?”

Selu felt a wave of heat began to rise up his neck as he grew increasingly flustered. Intentionally or not, Milya was making this conversation unnecessarily awkward. He was saved from having to answer, though, when his comlink chirped. Selu quickly answered it.

“Sarth, what is it?”

“I was just pulling the logs from the Hawk-bat’s communications dump file,” Sarth said. “Apparently we’ve missed a few messages from our parents—and Annita.”

“What did they say?”

“Apparently, there’s been some quiet inquiries concerning us, and Jorge and Annita are under surveillance, possibly our parents, too.”

“Because of that business with the Mistryl?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Selu pursed his lips, not liking the idea of his parents being subjected to Imperial scrutiny because of him. He knew that they loved their home and life on Commenor, but if this wasn’t just a casual inquiry, they could be in real danger. Especially if the Imperials were somehow able to connect their latest escapades to the earlier incident.

“I think we should get them offworld,” he said. “Bring them here, if they’re willing.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Sarth agreed. “Also, there’s another matter that has Cassi very concerned.”

“What’s that?” Selu asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“With all of the craziness in the last few months, apparently we missed an invitation to Jorge’s and Annita’s wedding,” Sarth told him. “We haven’t even replied to say if we’re coming or not.”

“They’re getting married?” Selu asked, blinking in surprise.

“My thoughts exactly,” Sarth said dryly.

“When?”

“In about a week,” Sarth told him. “I realize that we probably shouldn’t go—the Empire will be looking for us—but I thought I’d tell you.”

“Or maybe we should,” Selu said. “As long as we’re careful, we can get back to Commenor, celebrate with them, and get our parents back to Yanibar with as much of their belongings as we can fit in the Hawk-bat.”

“Do you think it’s safe?” Sarth asked. “They’re already being watched.”

“I think we need to make the trip to make sure Samtel and Lena get safely away,” Selu replied. “And if we get to attend a wedding discreetly as part of that, well, that’s just an added bonus. Especially if there’s cake involved.”

“If Mom’s baking the cake, there’ll be plenty to go around,” Sarth said. “Can we spare the time from the refuge? This is a crucial time.”

Selu shrugged.

“The Zeison Sha will understand if we tell them we’re on a mission to extract our parents, and so will Romierr’s old crew. They can get along without us for a couple of weeks while they finalize the location.”

“All right then,” Sarth replied. “I’ll tell Cassi.”

“I’ll inform Spectre,” Selu said. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Selu stood up and stretched.

“Looks like we have a trip to plan,” he told Milya. “One last voyage for a wedding and a moving day.”

“Let’s just hope you’re right,” she told him. “Flying back into Imperial territory wasn’t high on my to-do list.”

Selu frowned.

“Now that you mention it, you could stay here and substitute for me at all of those formative meetings. I’m sure the various elders would appreciate your insight. I’ll comm them and let them know that you volunteered to serve.”

“You know, I was looking forward to seeing your parents again anyway, and it is obviously important that we make sure they’re safe,” Milya answered quickly. “We’ll take this short trip and then come back.”

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” Selu told her, glad to have diverted her attention from her previous line of inquiry.

“Would you really leave me behind?” she asked him.

Selu sensed it was a loaded question, a hidden subtext buried in the words. He decided to go evasive.

“I wouldn’t leave any member of my crew behind,” he said. “So I’m glad that all of us will be on this final trip, assuming Spectre wants to come. It’ll be like old times.”

“Sure,” Milya answered sarcastically. “Does that include the part where people are trying to kill us?”

Selu rolled his eyes.

“Let’s hope not.”

27
Annita Daowot stared at the reflection in the mirror, barely able to recognize herself, barely able to contain the jumble of emotions inside of her. At long last, despite all the scares with Norres and the constant surveillance, she was finally getting married. Now, wearing the flowing dress she had picked out as Cassi stood behind her, making final touchups to her hair, she was a bundle of nerves. Annita could walk into a triple murder crime scene without batting an eye, make a holographic reconstruction of a face beaten to a pulp and never miss a beat, and examine a badly decomposed body without flinching, but now, she was incredibly nervous. So much had already gone awry with the planning, it had seemed, but her big day had finally arrived. Having Cassi and the rest of the Hawk-bat’s crew arrive in Munto the previous night had been a huge relief. They had slipped into Jorge’s Folly in the dead of night, crashing Jorge’s bachelor party. Annita had been extremely worried about them; they had been lost for several months and all of her discreet inquiries as to their whereabouts had come up empty. However, they assured her that all was well indeed. A wave of joy had overwhelmed her when Jorge had told her that they had returned.

Now, most of the preparations were made. The dresses and suits had been suitably altered as needed. All the women had arranged their hair and makeup. The flowers were in place, the rings ordered and delivered. The officiator was ready in the main room of the rustic chapel several kilometers outside of Munto that Jorge and Annita had selected. The guests were filing in even as she spoke, leaving their names and best wishes on a datapad set up for that purpose. A pile of gifts was being collected and stored for their use after the honeymoon. Lena Kraen had reportedly created such a massive confection that the label “cake” barely seemed to fit. The reception was set up at Jorge’s Folly. The speeder that would take them to the spaceport for a honeymoon trip to the luxury world of Elshandruu Pica was waiting for them. Perhaps the only flaw was the sky was overcast, filled with dark clouds that threatened rain, but that could hardly be helped, and the wedding was indoors anyway, with covered awnings around the chapel to keep the guests dry during the exiting processional. Everything was ready and in place. They were waiting for her.

She did the look the part, she decided. Her strapless dress was a delicate ivory color and left her shoulders bare. It shimmered in the light with a faint sheen as she moved in it, falling all the way to floor and sporting a sizable train. It would have been rather featureless except for satiny band around the top and a sculpted pattern across the front and center of the dress in a stylized depiction of a flower. Her normally straight hair had been curled and was fastened together behind her head with a silver clip, leaving curly locks to dangle down her back. Her necklace was a solid string of veda pearls and it matched her teardrop veda pearl earrings. She had already spent two hours having her hair and makeup seen to, down to the last exacting detail that she normally didn’t have time for. Her entire last two weeks had been consumed with these and other details, and now it was finally time. As she thought about it, a warm tear slowly snaked down her cheek as she stared at the mirror.

“What’s wrong, Annita?” asked Cassi, who had already donned her a hastily-procured cerulean dress and seen to her hair, makeup, and jewelry so she could help Annita with last-minute details. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m so happy, but I’m so worried, Cassi. I’ve been waiting for this for so long, but there have been so many scares.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Empire—they’ve had us followed, and there have been questions about Sarth’s family. And all that on top of wedding preparations! Jorge and I have been looking forward to this for months, but what if something goes wrong?”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Cassi soothed. “We’re safe, you’re safe, and we won’t let anyone spoil this day for you. We’ve already made some arrangements to make sure you and Jorge get out of here without any difficulties in case the locals try anything cute. Besides, you look wonderful.”

“Do I?”

“Of course you do. You look just like the beautiful bride every girl dreams of being,” Cassi said, wiping the tear off of Annita’s cheek with a delicate handkerchief. “Now, just hold off on that crying or you’ll smudge your makeup.”

Annita smiled at her friend. “Thanks, Cassi.”

Then, the sounds of music echoed faintly into the dressing room, the triumphal notes indicating that it was time for the bridal party’s entry. The melody carried notes of joy, of happiness, of long-held hopes fulfilled—Annita and Jorge had specially chosen it.

“Time to go,” Cassi said, giving Annita’s hand one final squeeze.

Then, she headed into the main sanctuary. Annita’s two bridesmaids, friends and colleagues from her Investigator’s office, but who weren’t quite as adept at doing makeup and hair, joined up with Annita as she moved to the entrance. One by one, the bridesmaids exited the waiting room, walking sedately and serenely into the old Commenorian chapel Annita and Jorge had picked for the wedding. Samtel Kraen poked his head into the chapel’s foyer where Annita was waiting.

“Are you ready?” he asked warmly.

Annita, blinking back more tears, nodded and rose. The older gentleman, resplendent in a dated but still elegant black suit, complete with jacket, coattails, and white gloves, offered his arm and Annita took it, walking through the door into the sanctuary. The music played by a small group of instrumentalists changed as she emerged, slowing to a more purposeful, resolute piece filled with emotion, both of joy and sadness. She hadn’t known she would feel this way when she had picked it, but it fit the occasion.

The crowd of gathered guests—about twenty people—stood and turned to face her as she passed through a floral arch, with Jorge’s friends on her left and her own on the right, all in formal wear befitting the occasion. Slowly, she marched forward, her shoes making no noise on the red carpet that had been laid down on the center aisle and strewn with violet arallute petals. A professional holographer took holos from several angles as she walked down the halls, including from the wraparound balcony that encircled the chapel sanctuary and which had been also covered with floral garlands. Annita was vaguely aware that she was smiling from ear-to-ear, overwhelmed by the moment. She saw the happy and, in some cases, tearful expressions on her friends as she walked by, arm linked with old Mr. Kraen’s.

Then, she looked up at the raised dais, backlit by a stained glass window stretching from floor to ceiling, where Jorge, Marsden, and Tapper, dressed in fancy black suits and smiling widely, were waiting on one side of a white-robed priest, a tradition hailing back to the days of more widespread organized religion on Commenor. On the other side, in sky-blue ankle-length dresses patterned after her own and holding bundles of fresh Commenorian flowers, were her two bridesmaids, joyful expressions on their faces. It was a serene, almost surreal moment for Annita as she passed each row, making her way up to the front, where Mrs. Kraen, Selu, and Milya were standing, beaming broadly. Everyone had gone to their best effort to make this an incredibly special day for her and Jorge and she welled up with gratitude to each and every person standing there.

Slowly, she and Samtel Kraen came to a stop in front of the three steps leading up to the dais. The older man, so much like a father to her, stopped and squeezed her hand one last time before letting her walk up the stairs to where the officiator and Jorge were waiting for her.

“Best of luck, Annita,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, fighting back tears for the hundredth time that day.

Several of her already married friends had told her that was how she would spend most of the day—trying to keep from crying and failing miserably. Well, they were certainly being proved right. Giving the old man a quick kiss on the cheek, she then turned and walked up the stairs, handing off her own bundle of flowers to Cassi, her maid of honor.

Standing opposite Jorge, who looked as handsome and as cleaned up as she had ever seen him, she smiled as she gazed into the eyes of her beloved. They took each other’s hands, both of them trembling with anticipation and nerve-wracking, and waited as the ceremony started.

“Dearly beloved—” intoned the officiator, beginning the wedding ceremony.

Suddenly, he was interrupted as the main exterior doors slammed open with a jarring slam. Imperial liaison Norres strode into the chapel, his black uniform a jarring contrast to the lighter colors of the guests. He wore a condescending smirk, his hand on the pistol holster riding on his side, followed by a cordon of Imperial Army soldiers in khaki, stormtroopers in white armor, and even a few Intelligence agents in black.

“Why stop?” he asked, a smooth theatrical poise evident in his voice as he advanced down the aisle towards the center, to the complete astonishment of the crowd. “Here, allow me to continue.”

His gaze swept the crowd as he paused halfway up the aisle. Jorge and Annita gaped at the sudden intrusion, horrified to see him there.

“We are gathered here to witness the arrest of two traitors to the Empire who have been actively collaborating with insurrectionists.”

“This is an outrage!” Samtel Kraen protested, moving to Annita’s side.

“The outrage here is that these two have flouted Imperial law for far too long!” Norres said, the latter half of the sentence shouted angrily as the agent lost control of his anger.

He pointed a finger accusingly at Jorge and Annita.

“You have interfered with my investigation for the last time,” he said, his voice tainted with bitter hatred. “And now you will pay. All of you. Arrest them all!”

The two side doors also burst open, admitting even more Imperials, also with weapons at the ready. The party was surrounded on three sides by drawn blasters.

Annita stood in shock and horror, unable to believe what was unfolding before her. Her perfect day was being ruined, right in front of her eyes, and Norres had actually carried out his threat to arrest her and Jorge, to drag them off to some unspeakable prison where they would never again emerge from. It was almost too much for her to bear and she nearly collapsed, but Samtel held her up, supporting her until she could stand on her own.

For his part, Jorge glared at the Imperial officer with a mounting fury, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He, too, was shocked, but he was also enraged and he wanted nothing less than to personally squeeze the life from Norres’s pasty face by wringing his neck. The gall of the man to interrupt what should have been the happiest day of his life more than burned him and he was ready to charge the man single-handedly, even if it cost him his life. Jorgesoll Knrr was not going down without a fight.

Norres smiled gleefully at the wedding party as he advanced towards the front of the room, followed by several of his troopers. The guests stared at him belligerently, but he ignored them utterly, intent on his mission. Suddenly, as he approached the head of the aisle, a man, clad in formal wear like many of the other guests, turned out of his seat to stand squarely in his way.

The man was tanned and looked fairly muscular, of average height and with black hair and dark eyes. His neatly trimmed goatee made him look older, but Norres suspected he was less than thirty standard years of age. He had removed his jacket, standing before the officer in a black vest to match his pants and a long gray shirt. However, he bore no obvious weapons, despite his otherwise imposing appearance that seemed to radiate cool confidence. However, Norres already knew exactly who he was from the Imperial files he had been given: the real reason he was at this wedding. As anticipated, the fugitive Jedi Selusda Kraen had shown himself.

“You know, the last time an Imperial tried to hurt my friends, it didn’t end well,” Selu said. “This is your one chance to walk away.”

Norres sneered, but didn’t back down.

“You must be Jedi Knight Selu Kraen,” he replied. “So good of you to join us. Let me extend an invitation to your imminent execution.”

“I have other plans,” Selu replied evenly.

Norres spoke through gritted teeth.

“I’m afraid I must insist,” he told him. “It really can’t wait.”

“You’ll be the first to die,” Selu said placidly.

Norres smirked.

“As if I would try and fight a Jedi in close combat?” he replied condescendingly. “Surrender or I will have your friends shot on sight.”

The armed Imperials raised their weapons to cover the party on the dais. Selu didn’t flinch—his expression only hardened as he stared down Norres. The Jedi closed his eyes and opened his hands, which had been previously clenched into fists. The stormtroopers and other Imperial soldiers suddenly flew back into the walls, propelled by a selective burst of telekinesis that Selu had aimed to only catch the shoulders and heads of those standing, protecting the seated guests and those who stood behind him. As the Imperials toppled, he summoned his two lightsabers from a pouch he’d left on his seat, holding them ready but not yet activated. Up on the balconies overlooking the sanctuary, four men armed with blaster rifles rose from behind the railing, covering the Imperials. Sarth, Cassi, Spectre, and Milya rose from the pews as well, lightsabers lit as they covered the wedding party.

“We were expected,” Norres said.

“That’s right,” Selu replied.

“I don’t think so, Jedi.” Norres told him with a wicked smile.

Selu started to say something, but a sudden tremor in the Force jolted him into action. Out of nowhere, the dark side suddenly boiled over into the room as he sensed a menace that had somehow approached undetected until now. The stain-glass window shattered as a black thunderbolt broke through it, sailing over the wedding party and screaming with anger, red lightsaber already lit and swinging to strike as Ajaur broke into the room, aiming straight for Selu. Selu leaped backward, vaulting away as Ajaur’s lightsaber burned a hole into the carpet where he had been standing a split second earlier. Selu whirled and lit both of his lightsabers as Ajaur strode towards him.

The other guests screamed and shrank away.

“Let the rest of them go,” Selu said as he faced off against the Inquisitor. “Your fight is with me.”

“I will kill every last one of them slowly,” Ajaur informed him. “There is no escape for enemies of the Empire.”

Selu lunged forward, slashing at the Inquisitor. As expected, Ajaur met his charge. Selu locked his blades against the crimson lightsaber, trying to keep them in place.

“Get out of here before those Imperials recover!” he shouted. “Spectre, Milya, get them out!”

“What about you?” Milya asked from behind him.

“Go!” Selu shouted as Ajaur pressed him back.

The Inquisitor had tremendous strength and was suffused with the dark side. Hatred boiled off of him almost palpably. Selu felt his own courage waver in the face of such a formidable opponent, but he stood his ground, trying to buy time for the nearby guests to flee.

The men on the balcony, trustworthy volunteers from Romierr’s crew, ran down the stairs as Spectre covered one side entrance while Milya covered the other, rushing into the dazed Imperials who were just beginning to rise and cutting through them. Sarth, Cassi, Daara, and Xlora stayed with the wedding party, ushering them towards the rear exit.

“Come on, get out of here!” Milya urged them. “Go row-by-row and keep your heads down.”

The Imperials at the rear of the chapel began to rise and Spectre lobbed a smoke grenade to cloud their aim. He and Milya interposed themselves in front of the exiting guests, moving forward into the Imperials at the rear, doing their best to draw fire away from the guests who were leaving through the now-secured front entrances. The four insurgents exited through the side entrances, covering the exits from any surrounding Imperials.

Meanwhile, in the center aisle, Selu and Ajaur were dueling fiercely, oblivious to virtually everything around them. The red and green blades crossed again and again, back and forth. Ajaur managed to knock Selu down with a powerful overhand strike, but, just as he charged in for the kill, Selu telekinetically plucked one of the floral arrangements from its wall hanging and threw it at the Inquistor, stalling Ajaur long enough for Selu to scramble to his feet. His advantage lost, Ajaur growled and returned to combat, slashing his crimson lightsaber at Selu, seeking to break through the Jedi’s seemingly unflappable guard.

Norres found himself in the position of being totally unnoticed. Scrabbling for his comlink even as he drew his blaster, he began calling for reinforcements and heavy weapons to encircle the chapel and take down all the occupants. Closing off the device, he scrambled forward past the dueling Force users in search of the wedding party. He had just burst into the clergy’s entrance at the rear of the chapel when suddenly a massive fist hit his face, knocking him back. The blaster was ripped from his hands and he looked up to see an enraged Jorgesoll Knrr pummeling him. Norres tried to defend himself, but the few blows he managed to land didn’t slow down the space in the least. Jorge hit his opponent over and over again, pounding his torso with repeated punches designed to punish. Then, he stood up, only to draw his foot back and kick Norres straight in the side. Hauling the man up bodily, Jorge slammed his face into a chair, his mind focused on nothing else but beating the man who had caused this whole mess until even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

Norres gasped for breath, but leaned back and planted his foot into Jorge’s stomach, kicking the big man back just as he started to charge, and reached down to his boot to pull a hold-out blaster. He whirled around, firing twice at Jorge, but before he could fire a third time, a crimson bolt of energy burned through his chest at point-blank range. He looked up to see Annita Daowot staring at him mercilessly, a smoking blaster of her own in his hand. Furthermore, while his first bolt had grazed Jorge’s arm, his second had been batted away by Cassi, who, lightsaber ready, was now giving him a similar expression as Annita. As everything faded to black, Norres’s face retained the same astonished look it had taken after he had been shot. His eyes stared sightless, locked in eternal wonder of how thoroughly he had been hoodwinked.

“Cassi, we have to go!” Sarth shouted after her. “Get them out of here.”

“Selu, come on!” Cassi called after him.

“You go!” Selu shouted as his blade clashed against Ajaur’s, pushing the Inquisitor back. “Leave, now! I’ll catch up!”

Swinging his red blade in front of him in a vicious horizontal arc designed to delay pursuit, the Inquistor turned sideways and kicked out, catching Selu full in the chest, staggering him back. This time, Ajaur wasted no precious moments in following up, but Selu was ready for him yet again, blocking Ajaur’s stabbing attempt close in with his shoto while smashing him across the face with the butt of his lightsaber. Ajaur brought his blade back up high for a quick uppercut, but Selu leaped back, the scarlet blade flashing centimeters above his face sending spots across his vision. He was forced back onto the dais by Ajaur, who advanced relentlessly.

By now, Selu’s friends had evacuated the rest of the wedding party, leaving just Spectre and Milya battling it out in the chapel against the Imperials at the front of the chapel. Blaster bolts flew back and forth as the Imperials and Force exiles traded fire. The pews and chairs were charred and burned through from the blaster hits they had sustained, while the badly scorched pillars and strewn Imperial bodies bore testimony to the violence of the chapel’s defense. The sounds of battle now echoed through the chapel instead of wedding music and the fragrance of flower petals was replaced by the smell of burned flesh and blaster fire. The Imperials had already lost at least a dozen of their original number, but still they pressed the assault. What had been planned as a simple arrest attempt was turning into a grisly urban battle as Spectre and Milya fought a delaying action so the others could escape.

Selu was in some peripheral way aware of these developments, but he was forced to devote virtually his entire focus to battling Ajaur, who fought with more savage ferocity than anyone he had ever faced. Selu, however, battled with more confidence and skill than any of Ajaur’s other opponents, save Darth Vader, and though the Inquisitor had pushed him back to the dais, Selu maintained his defense.

“Come on, Jedi,” Ajaur taunted him. “The rest of your kind awaits you.”

“Not all of them,” Selu replied. “There is still hope!”

Again, their blades clashed as both warriors put their full effort into the attacks, but the differences in their styles were evident. Selu’s movements were fluid, fast-paced, full of free-wheeling acrobatics and jumps as they battled through the dais and the first row of pews. Ajaur, in contrast, used powerful, wide swings combined with short, vicious stabbing moves that threatened to gut Selu on several occasions. They circled around and around each other, blades probing for openings in each other’s guard. Once they were drawn in close, they freely used punches and kicks, elbows and knees, heads and the butts of their lightsabers, leaving both fighters bruised and bloodied. Time after time, they came together in a brutal melee, only to break off and circle around again.

The air crackling with the power of the dark side, Ajaur snatched two statuaries off their stands and hurled them down at Selu, who jumped aside to avoid the two projectiles. As Ajaur prepared to throw another one, he was caught off-guard by Selu’s abrupt actions. Selu had ducked and rolled to narrowly avoid the last missile, which had shattered on the ground and showered him with stone fragments. Gritting his teeth, he realized he had lost his shoto in his maneuver. However, he didn’t need it at the moment. His left hand sparked and a small green corona formed around it as he converted the Force into electrical energy. Thrusting his hand up at Ajaur, a sustained bolt of emerald Electric Judgment shot from Selu’s hand into Ajaur, and the surprise of the assault threw Ajaur backwards, even though he caught most of it on his lightsaber blade.

Ajaur stared balefully at his opponent, glaring at Selu as they broke apart yet again. Despite all of his tricks and subterfuges, he couldn’t outmatch the Jedi he was facing, and his men were making little headway against the Jedi’s companions. Selu returned his gaze evenly, and Ajaur knew that the man’s spirits had to be broken before he could prevail against the Jedi. He had never faced a full Jedi Knight in a straight fight, and this one was possibly more skillful than he was.

Ajaur glowered at Selu one last time, then leaped straight up onto the balcony, running towards the back of the chapel. Selu raced after him in hot pursuit, but Ajaur was ahead of him, leaping onto the railing and jumping off onto the floor as Selu lunged after him. Crying out in pain as Selu’s blade grazed his foreleg, leaving a trail of burnt flesh, he transformed his pain into anger and his anger into a pure manifestation of the dark side back behind him, exploding into a telekinetic blast that threw Selu back into the wall before he could follow.

Backflipping in mid-air, Ajaur landed behind Spectre and Milya, who were still dealing with the stormtroopers. The Inquisitor saw that Milya, the woman he had sworn would taste his blade, was vulnerable to attack with threats on either side of her. It would be an easy thing to kill her and catch the other combatant by surprise. They did not seem to be as skillful warriors as his adversary and, if he could kill at least one of the other Jedi, their spirits would falter and his men would have one less adversary facing them. Deflecting blaster bolts, she was unable to stop him.

From the balcony, Selu saw the danger, but with the wind knocked out of him, was unable to rise. Selu knew it was too late to stop him, too late to reach him with his lightsaber. He had only one desperate choice and he instinctively took it in the split second of opportunity that presented itself. Calling his shoto from where it lay on the ground of the chapel, he mentally ignited it and hurled it, spinning in a brilliant circle of verdant light, to intercept Ajaur before he could strike Milya.

The Inquisitor, intent on his prey, didn’t see the weapon coming at first. He tried to turn away from it, but Milya turned, entangling his weapon with her saberstaff and arresting his momentum. The shoto gashed Ajaur’s left arm and he gasped in pain at the flesh wound. Behind Milya, Spectre had leaped to stand in the way of the blasterfire, defending both himself and Milya as best as he could.

In the distance, a steady rumbling howl grew increasingly louder. Ajaur ignored it and continued battling. Ajaur lashed out viciously against Milya, battering at her defenses. She fell back as he hammered away against the saberstaff, seeking to break her. This was the Jedi’s weakness—if he could kill her, he would be able to destroy the rest of them. She fought with spirit and reasonable skill, but could not match Ajaur’s raw ferocity.

“I will spill your life onto this floor,” Ajaur breathed.

Milya gave no reply, her saberstaff humming as she fought desperately to defend herself. She hoped that Selu would recover and help her—but if he was severely injured, then she was on her own. Her silver-white saberstaff whirled as she wove through defensive velocities, deflecting Ajaur’s thrusts and lunges. The Inquisitor was a fearsome sight and she tried not to think about how he had nearly killed her on Darlyn Boda.

“You won’t escape this time!” he hissed.

The very building shook as the air was filled with the sound of an approaching spacecraft. Neither combatant stopped to glance up through the ruined stained-glass window, though. Even a fraction of a second’s distraction could be fatal.

Milya lashed out, trying to kick him in the leg, but he anticipated her attack, hooking his foot under her ankle and sending her sprawling to the floor. Ajaur approached her, ready to finish her off, just as Selu jumped down behind Ajaur.

Suddenly, an enormous fireball detonated in the entrance of the chapel, tearing through the structure. The powerful concussive wave tossed every single occupant to the ground as if they were ragdolls. Two seconds later, another blast hit the roof, shattering it and sending enormous fragments of durasteel and masonry raining down on the back half of the chapel. The thunderous sound of the explosion filled the chamber and a thick cloud of dust and smoke obscured everything, though the brief flash of an Imperial bomber passing overhead was barely visible through the newly-created fissure in the roof.

Farther back from the explosion, Selu managed to recover his footing just as the second blast hit. Realizing that Spectre and Milya were about to be crushed by a dozen tons of rock and metal, he channeled all of his Force power into telekinesis. Desperation fueled his efforts as he called upon the last motes of strength he had.

The rain of rubble halted in mid-air, floating precipitously as he struggled to maintain his control. He trembled, but as the dust cleared, the sight of Spectre and Milya lying prone on the floor buoyed him to redouble his exertions. To his horror, though all of the stormtroopers had seemingly been killed by the first explosion, Ajaur was still alive. The Inquisitor rose, reignited his lightsaber and began walking towards Selu, chuckling evilly, having assessed the situation. The Jedi Knight would be unable to defend himself as long as he was devoted to defending his friends—and that woman in particular. Ajaur could strike him down, then finish the others.

Selu was aware of the threat, but was powerless to stop it. If he let the rubble fall to defend himself, he would kill Spectre and Milya. If he continued throw all of his effort into holding it aloft, Ajaur would kill him. With the structure of the chapel already weakened by the bombing, he dared not toss it aside—he could bring the rest of the structure down on them.

“How noble,” Ajaur said wickedly as he approached. “The Jedi desperately tries to save his friends, knowing that with his dying breath, he’ll see them crushed in front of him.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Selu told him. “That was an Imperial bomber that hit us. They didn’t care who they hit! They didn’t care about you!”

Ajaur paused, his eyes searching the sky momentarily, then shook his head and moved forward.

“Captain Nebulax is trying to destroy both of us. I will deal him later—once you and your miserable companions are dead.”

“And for what?” Selu asked. “So you can serve an Empire that tried to kill you?”

“So that by my victory, my chains will be broken,” Ajaur said.

“The light side can free you,” Selu replied, hoping desperately to persuade Ajaur, as he had no other recourse.

“I don’t want your freedom,” Ajaur said, closing in on Selu. “I want your death!”

Squaring up, he kicked Selu in the gut. The Jedi doubled over, collapsing to his knees. The rubble dropped another two meters, but Selu ignored his own pain and raised his arms again, focusing all of his strength into the telekinesis that was protecting the rubble. It halted a scant two meters from the floor. Ajaur stood over Selu, who coughed, his face wrenched with pain as he tried to keep his friends alive. He thought he saw Milya move, but with Ajaur standing in front of him and his eyes watering from the dust, he couldn’t see. Ajaur kicked the Jedi in the thigh, but though his victim winced, he didn’t waver.

A triumphant, malicious smile spread across his face. He saw the Jedi humiliated before him, ready to die, just as he had seen in his visions. It was all coming to fruition—Theros’s demise and now the Jedi’s. He slowly and dramatically raised his lightsaber for the killing blow, just as he had seen.

Selu looked up at him with a distraught, pleading expression, hoping not for his own life, but for the life of his friends. In that split second, he knew the meaning of Revan’s prophecy, of the choice that had been foretold. He could ignite his lightsaber and run the overconfident Inquisitor through, striking a fearsome blow to the Empire, the first of many. And he would lose Spectre and, most of all, Milya. They would die, crushed under the debris that he would have to drop to save himself. Their sacrifices would give him purpose and passion that would carry him through the years of struggle and war that would follow.

Or he could allow himself to be slain. Milya could probably escape if he stalled for a few more seconds. With five more seconds, Spectre might survive as well. They might even defeat Ajaur together, but their escape would no doubt lead to his demise. He would die and the quest would go unfulfilled, if Revan’s prophecy was to be believed. Spectre and Milya would return to the refuge, but they wouldn’t be able to carry on the battle against the Empire the way he could.

“Beg for your life, Jedi,” Ajaur told him.

Selu shook his head.

“Not my life,” he said. “The lives of others.”

Ajaur sneered as he moved over to Selu’s side for a clean swing.

“That is why you are weak,” the Inquisitor taunted him. “Because you value others over yourself.”

Selu looked past him to Milya, who was struggling to rise, unaware of the danger. His heart went out to her as she was obviously in pain and that pang of emotion broke through all of the control and restraint he had established in his mind around her. If the truth were to be known, he did still love her, and if that meant dying to save her life, he would do it. Regret filled him momentarily, that the last way he would ever be able to express that love would be to die for her, but he brushed that emotion aside. His sacrifice would be worth it if she lived—there was no need for regret, even if they would never have a future together. An idea came to him. He would pull all of the rubble towards himself and Ajaur. The Inquisitor would still kill him, but hopefully the momentum of the debris would either take the Imperial with him, or at least buy enough time for Spectre and Milya to escape. He waited for the final blow to fall even as he pulled the detritus towards himself and Ajaur.

The Inquisitor brought his lightsaber down, intent on severing Selu’s head from his body. He roared triumphantly as the crimson blade descended. Just as it fell, a sudden impact sent him staggering backward. The blow fell wide, scarring the floor. Ajaur half-twisted to see the hilt of a vibroblade protruding from between his ribs. He gasped, clutching at the wound with his left arm as blood spurted from around his fingers. His gaze fell on Milya, who had risen to her feet and was glaring at him, arm still extended from the throw. Ajaur’s lightsaber clattered onto the ground as he struggled just to breathe with a vibroblade collapsing his lung. A second later, the Inquisitor followed, his mouth moving but no words emerging, his face etched in a twisted glare. A pool of blood began spreading from the wound.

“That’s for the Matukai,” she said as he fell.

“Milya, hurry,” Selu gasped as he struggled to maintain his telekinesis.

Milya pulled Spectre out from under the danger area and Selu gratefully dropped the rubble. It collapsed with a loud thud and he exhaled heavily, his entire body trembling from the strenuous exertion. A few more seconds, and he would have weakened too much to keep holding the debris aloft, even if Ajaur hadn’t killed him. With the stormtroopers and Ajaur defeated, the ruined building grew suddenly silent. Milya ran over to him as he picked up his lightsaber.

“Selu!” she shouted.

“I’m fine,” he breathed as she helped him up.

“You saved us,” she told him.

“And you saved me,” he replied, still out of breath. “Thank you.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?” she asked. “You could have stopped him—he might have killed you!”

Selu’s brain struggled to come up with a reply. His normal affinity for subtleties and redirecting answers failed him in light of his overstrained mind and depleted reserves of strength. When all of that was stripped away, what remained was the raw, unclouded truth, and so that was what he replied.

“I had to save you,” Selu answered. “I couldn’t lose you.”

“But the mission—,” she started.

Selu shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter as much as you do,” he told her. “I love you.”

Milya froze, whatever words she was going to say forestalled by his sudden revelation. Unsure of how to react, she fumbled for words at first.

“Selu, I—we—,” she said, then her mind returned to the present realities. “We should get out of here.”

Selu nodded slowly, as if surprised at the words that had come out of his mouth a few seconds earlier.

“Spectre!” he called, hoping that the ex-ARC wasn’t seriously hurt.

Selu could still sense him, but the muffling presence of the dark side left by the Inquisitor along with his own fatigue was disrupting his clarity. He hurried over as Milya moved towards Ajaur to recover her vibroblade, but thankfully, Spectre hauled himself up onto the back of one of the pews.

“I’m all right,” he said. “What the hell was that?”

“Bomber, I think,” Selu told him. “Let’s be gone before it comes back.”

Spectre brushed himself off.

“I’m impressed we survived that,” he remarked.

“Not yet you haven’t!” a wrathful voice shouted from behind him.

Selu whirled, but it was too late. As Milya stooped to extract her vibroblade, the unthinkable happened. Despite his wound, Ajaur sprang to his feet and knocked her back, empowered by the dark side. He removed the vibroblade from his chest with his right hand, while his bloodied left hand grabbed her hair and yanked it back, pulling her towards him and using the Force to prevent her from escaping. Selu saw the scene unfold with horrible, heart-stopping clarity. The world was moving in slow motion, and every detail was seared into his mind.

Before Selu could react, Ajaur reversed the grip on the vibroblade and drove it towards Milya’s heart. Milya screamed again as the blade entered her body, the point sliding beneath her sternum. It was cold as ice and hurt like nothing she had ever experienced. Something warm spattered on her arm and she realized it was her own blood, but she was powerless to stop it, caught in Ajaur’s crushing Force grip.

The Force burned through Selu with almost tangible power to the point where he was almost glowing, as he threw all his last vestiges of power into stopping Ajaur and that deadly blade. The Inquisitor pushed back, though, intent on ramming his weapon through Milya’s heart. Selu stretched out with his senses and wrapped the blade with a layer of pure Force energy, freezing it in place. He could sense the metal lodged two centimeters within Milya’s body, could feel the rhythmic pulsation of her heart as it beat, pressing her pericardium up against the blade. His mind ran up the handle, to where Ajaur was placing all his effort into driving the vibroblade deeper, but was filled with consternation at being blocked. Selu focused further, narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth in concentration.

He was already sapped of strength, utterly depleted, but for her, he could give this final effort. He had saved her once, he would do it again. However, Selu was already drained and the sight of Milya so directly and lethally imperiled had shattered his concentration. Slowly, he could feel Ajaur start to win, start to overpower the Jedi and finish what he had started.

“I will take the thing you love most, Jedi!” Ajaur said, clearly having overheard Selu’s earlier confession.

“No!” Selu screamed, the word distorted by horror and revulsion.

He tried his best, but Ajaur was too strong, too empowered by his hate. Selu was unable to stop him. Revan’s prophecy would come true, despite all the steps he had taken. Selu felt his resolve begin to break as the blade slid a millimeter deeper into Milya. He couldn’t let her die, but he no longer had the strength to defend her. He had failed.

Then suddenly, the report of a blaster echoed through the otherwise silent chamber. A red lance of energy caught Ajaur in the side of the head, knocking him to the side—away from Milya. Without his own dark power to stave off Selu, Ajaur was hurled away lifelessly to tumble into the ruined pews, while the vibroblade flew away from Milya to clatter across the floor, leaving a bloody trail behind it. Selu felt the man pass—this time, he was sure of it. He dropped his telekinesis and ran to Milya as Spectre lowered his smoking blaster. She stood there, clutching at the wound on her chest, clearly still in shock, her legs threatening to give way.

Selu caught her and lowered her to the floor, tearing off a hefty portion of his sleeve to staunch the bleeding.

“Selu,” she said wanly. “You should know. . .”

“Don’t try and talk,” Selu replied. “Save your strength.”

She smiled.

“He’s gone. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“No!” Selu told her. “You’re not going to die.”

“Even so. . .” she told him.

“Spectre!” Selu called. “We need to get her out of here.”

“Help is on the way,” Spectre replied as he recovered their weapons.

“Selu. . .” Milya whispered.

“Yes?” Selu asked, cradling her in his arms.

If he had any strength left in the Force to give her or skill in the healing arts, he would have given it to her, anything to help prevent bleeding that he hoped wasn’t from a major blood vessel. But he didn’t—utterly spent, all he could do was hold her, staunch the bleeding, and hope for the best.

“You know what you said earlier?” Milya asked him softly.

“Yes?”

“The feeling’s mutual,” she said. “It always has been.”

Selu felt his heart begin to break within him. To have come so far, have endured so much, and even in his own mind, sacrificed his attraction to her, only to have it finally revealed and reciprocated was almost too much to bear.

One of her hands rose gradually, and tugged on his head, pulling him closer to her.

“Ever since we met,” she said. “Ever since this.”

Her lips brushed against his as she pulled him closer. Selu relaxed into the kiss, tasting the sweetness of her mouth. Her lips were soft against his, and wild strands of her hair, dirty and sweat-soaked as they were, brushed against his face. He pulled her tighter to him and everything else blotted out except Milya, but in a completely different way than before. He held her tenderly, not wanting to exacerbate the wound, but cherishing this moment of affection that she had chosen to confer on him in light of their revelations to each other. In the honest tenderness of the moment, Selu was able to temporarily forget his concern, forget the terrifying battle and flight, forget the present danger, and even forget the prophecy he was supposedly beholden to, and simply share his affection with Milya. Their lips parted.

“We’re going to make it,” Selu promised her.

She nodded.

“I hate to interrupt,” Spectre remarked, “but that bomber is coming back. And it has friends.”

Selu knew that if he was empowered by the Force, he could have picked up Milya and sprinted away with Spectre, or hurled rubble into the sky to knock the vehicle down. But he had utterly exhausted his body’s ability to use the Force in combat and was afraid to move Milya. There was no time to run anyway, so he simply squeezed her shoulder and trusted that hope remained. Looking skyward, he saw the distant silhouettes of the approaching craft and grimaced.

“We’re not going to make it, are we?” Milya asked.

Selu had no immediate reply as he strained to see the oncoming craft. If the Empire had stooped to bombing a structure ostensibly occupied by civilians and its own soldiers, there was little reason to believe they wouldn’t do it again, and with greater collateral damage. The bombers drew near and Selu could see them approaching weapons range.

Then suddenly, purple laser beams scythed through first one bomber, then another. The spacecraft detonated in brilliant fireballs. The third broke off, but a second later, met the same fate. The Hawk-bat swooped through the explosions and headed for the ruined chapel.

“We are going to make it!” Selu told her in a fervent whisper.

His comlink chirped.

“Better make this quick,” Sarth’s voice came through the speaker as the ship came to a hover outside the building. “Lots of Imperials headed this way.”

Selu turned back to Milya.

“Time to go,” he said.

Spectre lit his lightsaber and led the way out of the nearest side entrance as Selu picked up Milya and rose, running after the ex-ARC. He would have to take the risk that Milya would survive to reach the ship and medical treatment. Blaster bolts from the approaching Imperials sizzled through the air as he ran across the ten meters from the door to the ship. Spectre batted away several of them, but Selu was able to avoid the incoming fire, leaping on the ship’s lowered ramp with his precious cargo. The Hawk-bat rotated and vectored away as blaster bolts slammed into its underside. The boarding ramp was retracted as they headed for space.

“Medic!” Selu shouted as he carried the now-unconscious Milya into the ship.

Cassi and one of the insurgents ran over, concern evident on their faces.

“What happened?” Cassi asked.

“She was stabbed,” Selu replied. “I think she’s bleeding out.”

Selu carried Milya over to her cabin and laid her on her bed.

“We’ll take care of her,” Cassi told him. “You should get to the bridge.”

“I should be here for her,” Selu answered.

“You should be flying the ship,” Cassi said firmly as she opened the medpac. “That’s what Milya would want.”

Selu spared one last conflicted look for Milya, then nodded and headed out of the cabin, running up to the bridge where Sarth was piloting the ship while Jorge was manning the sensor board. His brother saw him enter and slid out of the pilot’s chair so Selu could take over.

“The bombers are down and the guests got away,” Sarth said. “As long as none of the first group of Imperials survived to implicate them, they should be okay.”

Selu thought back to Ajaur.

“No, none of them survived,” he replied.

“More fighters inbound,” Jorge reported. “And there’s a Star Destroyer in low orbit moving to intercept.”

“I have a feeling we’ve seen that ship before,” Selu said.

The ominous wedge-shaped vessel closed in on them. The ship’s comm system crackled with a general-frequency transmission.

“Unidentified freighter, this is Captain Nebulax of the Star Destroyer Corrupter,” a stern voice said. “Proceed immediately to the Munto starport and surrender.”

“Wedding crashers,” Jorge muttered as he muted the transmission. “They’re closing fast.”

“Fortunately for us, we’re faster,” Selu replied, shoving the throttles forward.

“Star Destroyers carry fighters!” Jorge warned him.

“This one doesn’t,” Selu said, thinking back to Darlyn Boda and recalling how many Imperial craft had been shot down. “Not anymore.”

“And if they were replenished?” Jorge asked tersely. “Is that in the plan too?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Selu answered calmly. “We didn’t anticipate the Dark Jedi or the Star Destroyer, and we’re still fine.”

“My wedding was ruined, Milya was hurt, and that Star Destroyer is still out there!” Jorge reminded him.

“Not for long,” Selu told him as he pointed the Hawk-bat’s nose straight up and headed for space.

The Star Destroyer vectored towards them at an alarming rate—no longer slowed by atmosphere, it was rapidly accelerating towards the Hawk-bat, which still had to fully escape Commenor’s gravity well.

“Now they’re launching fighters,” Jorge reported. “Looks like they were replenished. A full squadron, inbound.”

Internally, Selu began to panic. Jorge did have a point. They hadn’t prepared for this level of Imperial response, and while they worked to get his parents and their most prized belongings onboard last night and set up precautions in case of an arrest attempt, they hadn’t anticipated this much trouble. They could probably outrun a Star Destroyer, but not starfighters.

“Sarth, I need more power from the engines.”

“We’re already pushing the redlines!” Sarth told him.

“Transfer power from weapons and shields,” Selu ordered.

“It’s not a power problem!” Sarth replied. “If I shove any more power into these engines, they might explode. They were never fully repaired after our first run-in with that Star Destroyer, remember?”

Selu gritted his teeth.

“I remember.”

“I have an idea,” Spectre suggested.

“What is it?” Selu asked, watching as the fighters drew nearer.

“Do you remember how we escaped this ship the first time?” Spectre asked.

Selu frowned.

“A blind jump into hyperspace? That was not one of our better plans!”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Spectre asked.

Selu scowled, but the man had a point. They wouldn’t have time to fully clear the gravity well or wait for navicomputer calculations. Those fighters would eat them alive. It was their only chance.

“You can do it, Selu,” Sarth told him. “We trust you.”

Selu grimaced, but nodded.

“All right,” he said. “It’ll be at least another minute or two.”

“Understood,” Spectre told him. “Let me know just before you make the jump. I’ll make a distraction for the Imperials. Sarth, with me, please.”

The two raced out of the bridge. Selu thought about asking them what their plan was, but he needed to focus on making the right jump, on listening to the Force for the proper coordinates and jump trajectory. If he failed, they would all be dead—either immediately if they slammed into a mass or the engines gave out, or else condemned to die in the trackless voids of space in a disabled ship.

He disabled the safety interlocks on the hyperdrive and readied the coordinate display. Numbers and astrogation calculations spun through his head as he tried to think about jumping to safety and not about the dozen fighters and the Star Destroyer closing in on them.

“Firing range in thirty seconds,” Jorge told him.

Selu waited, each second an agonizingly long length of time, as he willed the Force to give him the proper intuition to complete their escape. Normally, the ship wouldn’t even let him jump to hyperspace this close to a planet. Even though it was theoretically possible, it was incredibly hazardous.

Then, he felt guidance from the Force. Without looking, he keyed in numbers into the hyperdrive and angled the ship accordingly.

“Selu, you’re taking us toward the fighters,” Jorge warned. “Ten seconds to firing range.”

“I know,” he said, almost in a dazed state as he followed the guidance of his subconscious. “Standby to jump.”

The ship lurched.

“Five seconds,” Jorge said.

“Distraction’s away,” Spectre reported over the intercom.

“Almost,” Selu breathed.

“Entering firing range.”

Then, at the last possible second, he experienced a brief moment of clarity within the Force. Selu felt the assurance that he could make the jump to hyperspace, but there was more than just that. In that fleeting moment of time, he saw a glimpse into the future. He saw himself and Milya standing hand in hand, trading loving glances as they stood by a deep blue sea. He saw a refuge filled with green fields and trees, with a city that rose out of the ground as a monument to their sacrifice. He saw warships overhead, a strong guard that would protect their hidden hope. He heard the laughter of children and finally, the voice of Revan echoed in his head.

''You have made your choice, Selu Kraen. May the Force be with you always.''

Selu smiled, and then he pulled the hyperdrive lever. The stars elongated and then twisted into hyperspace just as the ship shuddered from a nearby explosion. The jump lasted only a couple of minutes before Selu felt that same clarity again and brought them out of hyperspace. They had escaped.

28
Captain Nebulax stood with his arms folded behind his back, watching the remnants of the explosion dissipate, a bright smattering of light and heat amidst the cold blackness of space. The Imperial fighters that had been chasing the ship had been wiped out by the blast, which had been a least couple kilometers in diameter. The subsequent particle backscatter had temporarily overloaded their sensors, leaving them momentarily blind.

“Report,” he said as he saw the sensor scopes clear.

“Sir,” the sensor officer replied, obviously still trying to interpret the signal. “It appears to be a baradium explosion. Scopes are showing trace remnants as well as debris.”

“From our fighters?”

“Trajectories don’t correspond to just our fighters, sir,” the officer said. “Some of the components are from the freighter as well.”

“Destroyed?” Nebulax asked.

“It seems so, sir,” the officer replied. “There’s no trace of them on sensors.”

“Could they have made the jump to hyperspace?” Convarion asked from where he was standing several meters back, with Agent Taskien standing nearby.

“Impossible,” Nebulax answered, checking the astrogation scopes. “They were too close to Commenor’s gravity well.”

“What about a cloak?” Taskien spoke up.

“Also impossible,” Nebulax replied. “No ship that small has a cloaking device.”

“Why would they detonate a baradium charge just to destroy themselves and a dozen fighters?” Taskien asked.

“Perhaps it was a malfunction?” Convarion replied. “They were firing the missile at us and it detonated prematurely.”

“Or perhaps they had no other recourse to avoid capture,” Nebulax said. “There was no possible way they could have escaped. Either way, they’re gone.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Taskien said suspiciously.

The captain turned back to his sensor officer.

“Check the scopes again.”

The man dutifully complied.

“Nothing on scanners but cooling debris and baradium traces,” he said. “They’re gone.”

Nebulax nodded satisfactorily.

“Excellent work,” he told them. “Another enemy to the Empire has been eliminated successfully.”

Behind him, out of earshot, Taskien murmured quietly to herself.

“I hope so.”

She still harbored a niggling doubt that somehow, Spectre and his Jedi companions had been able to escape. She knew him and he was too resourceful and prepared to let something as simple as a weapons malfunction kill him. Still, the captain had a point. There was no other conceivable way they could have escaped. But if they had—Taskien did not care to contemplate that option. Her introspection was interrupted by Nebulax’s next query, this time directed to Convarion.

“What’s the situation on the ground?”

“Heavy casualties, sir,” Convarion reported, checking in on the comm screen to see transmissions from Imperial forces on the surface. “We lost a number of troops and all three bombers.”

He paused a moment to make sure that he was reading the report correctly.

“Inquisitor Ajaur is dead.”

“Are you sure?” Nebulax asked.

Convarion nodded.

“Our forces on the ground report that he was stabbed and shot in the head. He’s dead.”

Nebulax allowed a tight smile to spread across his face.

“Then it appears another enemy of the Empire has fallen today as well,” he said. “This is cause for celebration.”

Taskien shuddered appreciatively. Hopefully, Ajaur was an anomaly in the Empire, a vicious aberration who had somehow attained unimaginable power and paid the price for it. Nebulax’s supposition was correct—the man had been an enemy of the Empire, a twisted violation of the peace and order it stood for. However, for all of his twisted evil, the man had possessed tremendous strength and power. For him to have fallen—that meant those who had beaten him were even stronger.

“The Jedi were able to defeat him?” she asked.

“Apparently,” Nebulax said. “But since they were kind enough to destroy themselves, they’re no longer our concern either. The incident at Zhar has been avenged.”

Even Convarion allowed himself a smile at that thought.

Yet despite the captain’s confidence, Taskien still couldn’t shake that lingering suspicion that something wasn’t quite right. And even if the captain’s claims of victory were true, they had suffered tremendous losses to achieve it. Doriana was dead. Trip was dead. She had been through one nightmarish experience after another. Between Zeru Neimodia, Darlyn Boda and now here on Commenor, hundreds of Imperials had died—and for what? The Jedi and Ajaur were no more, but the Griffin had been stolen and along with it some of Romierr’s crew, who would be able to continue his network.

The Empire might be able to claim an overall victory, but Taskien would find little solace in it. In the face of what she had suffered and lost, she didn’t know if she would ever know peace again. And for someone who had always prided herself on her composure and ability to control anything, even herself, that was perhaps the scariest thought of all.


 * Hawk-bat

The starlines shifted, reverting to their normal gleaming pinpricks as the Hawk-bat returned to realspace. Everyone on the bridge breathed a sigh of relief. Selu ran a quick systems check and was relieved to find that, for once, nothing major had failed during their desperate attempt.

“Where are we?” Sarth asked as he and Spectre returned to the bridge.

“Deep space,” Selu told him. “Fortunately, the hyperdrive still seems to be working.”

“And hopefully our little distraction fooled the Imperials into thinking we blew up,” Spectre said.

“What was that, anyway?” Selu asked.

Spectre shrugged.

“A baradium warhead from a missile I. . . borrowed from the Griffin, tucked into an escape pod with as many of our spare parts as possible. The blast was set to go off five seconds after you signaled me.”

Selu gaped.

“You brought a baradium warhead on my ship without telling me?”

Spectre gave him a wry smile.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said.

“And how did you know to set it off in five seconds?” Selu asked. “You could have blown us all up.”

Spectre shrugged again.

“You can either chalk it up to a good sense of timing, or intuition from the Force.”

Selu scowled.

“Next time, let’s come up with a better plan,” he said.

“Better yet, let’s avoid there ever being a next time,” Sarth replied.

“Here, here,” Jorge concurred. “I think that one blind jump that barely gets us away from Imperial fighters and a baradium explosion is quite enough.”

“Agreed,” Selu said.

He re-enabled the safety interlocks on the hyperdrive and set the navicomputer to calculate them another jump to a remote world before they made their way to Yanibar.

“Spectre, take over please,” he said. “Sarth, you and Jorge make sure the Imperials aren’t somehow tracking us before we head to Yanibar.”

Selu rose from the pilot’s chair, more tired and drained than he had ever been, and headed aft. He found Annita sitting in the lounge along with his parents.

“How are you?” he asked her.

“Shaken,” she admitted.

“Me too,” he said. “This will sound trite, but I’m sorry about the wedding. We never should have come.”

“No,” Annita told him with sudden firmness. “I wanted you to be there. It wouldn’t have been the same without you there.”

Selu shook his head ruefully.

“That’s for sure,” he said, thinking back to the carnage they had left behind. “We’ll make it up to you and Jorge somehow.”

Annita smiled wistfully.

“Thanks,” she told him sadly. “I just wish they could have waited another hour or two.”

Selu nodded, turning to his parents.

“How are you two?”

“We’re fine,” Samtel said. “A little terrified perhaps, but it sounds like we escaped.”

“We did,” Selu told him. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. I know you loved what you had on Commenor.”

“We would trade all of that to be with our sons again,” Lena said firmly. “If the Empire can’t understand that, we don’t want any part of it.”

Selu nodded appreciatively, then headed back towards Milya’s cabin. The door was closed and Selu suspected that Cassi and the other insurgent were still working. Not wanting to interrupt them, he turned into the refresher instead. Staring into the mirror, he saw the haggard, dirty, bloodied face staring back at him. He splashed water on his face, then began washing his hands, working away the grit and the blood caked onto his fingers. The process took several minutes until he was finally clean, but in the end, the face reflected in the mirror was still his and he would have to live with it.

He had survived with all of his friends and family. They had saved each other and even killed the Inquisitor. There was still at least theoretically a possibility that he could go on to wage a war against the Empire in terms of what Revan had said and the resources at his disposal. But Selu knew better. The choices he had made on the Griffin and again on Commenor, though they had worked out, had been primarily focused on saving his friends, particularly Milya. They were not conducive to waging a desperate war against the Empire.

Selu had seen the impressive power and resources that the Empire could bring to bear firsthand. Defeating such a monstrously powerful enemy would require desperation and sacrifice. It would require entering scenarios even more impossible than the ones he had recently survived, knowing that lives would be lost. And now he knew that he could not trust himself to make the sacrifices that would be necessary to prevail in such a struggle. Time and again, he had proven that he could not prioritize the mission over the lives of his friends.

It was a great strength, and a great weakness. It spoke of his loyalty and concern, his devotion to protecting those beneath him. It also meant that he couldn’t prioritize the mission over their lives. He had lost too many friends and allies in the attack on the Jedi Temple years ago. He could not do that again, and that meant he could never trust himself to directly fight the Empire. He had weighed the costs, and no matter how much he tried to persuade himself otherwise, the cost of waging that battle was too high. If Selu was honest with himself, he would rather cherish and protect the people he loved and never risk an overt confrontation with the Empire over losing those people. This was the choice Revan had told him about, and Selu knew that he had already made his decision. He would have to live with it, and the burden of knowing that there were people he could never free from the Empire’s tyranny because of the attachments he held to those closest to him.

He kept scrubbing away at his fingers until they were sufficiently clean, knowing that he would need a full sanisteam to completely clear away the dirt and grime of battle. Selu knew it would feel good to be clean again, but decided to wait for now. Part of him wasn’t ready to completely leave the filth and blood of the battle behind—he was still processing the implications of what had transpired and wasn’t psychologically ready to be free of that yet. Exiting the refresher, he headed into his cabin. Spectre had tossed his shoto onto the bed and Selu picked up the weapon, turning it over in his hands. Both of his weapons were dirty and stained from the battle. Laying them on his desk, he sat down, retrieved a small cleaning kit, and set to work. The maintenance was important and would help take his mind off his conflicted emotions after the battle and concern for Milya.

Steadily, over the course of an hour, he wiped away the grime and dust, using a small cloth to clean out the spaces between the grooves in the weapons’ hilts and wiping debris out of the area near the emitter shrouds. Once they were clean, he applied a thin layer of polish, restoring its former shine to the silvery metal of his lightsaber and shoto. He was just about finished when the cabin door slid open. Selu glanced over his shoulder and saw Milya standing silhouetted in the doorway.

“Are you supposed to be up?” he asked her.

“Not for long,” she replied. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Selu said.

She entered the cabin and Selu saw that she had traded her formal attire for loose-fitting blue pajama pants and shirt. She sat down in the other chair in the small cabin, resting on hand on a corner of the desk, looking at him for a moment while he finished up the polishing.

“You look like hell,” she said at last.

“Thanks,” Selu told her ruefully. “How are you feeling?”

She pursed her lips, contemplating the question.

“I’ve been better,” she replied. “Getting stabbed isn’t exactly ideal.”

“It could have been worse,” Selu reminded her.

“I know,” she said. “And I have you to thank for that.”

“We all did our part,” Selu responded. “If Spectre hadn’t shot the Dark Jedi, I don’t know how much longer I would have been able to stop him. If you hadn’t pulled Spectre to safety, I wouldn’t have been able to hold the rubble up much longer.”

“I know,” Milya said. “And I owe Spectre an apology—I said some hurtful things to him on the Griffin.”

“We’ve all said things we regret,” Selu replied.

“Then let me ask you directly,” Milya said. “Because I keep getting mixed signals from you. I thought we had something together before this whole quest thing came up. Then you pushed me away, and that hurt. You said you wanted to make your intentions clear, but then you didn’t. Then you saved my life and told me that you loved me. I don’t even know what to think any more. What do you want from me?”

Selu paused and set the lightsaber down, weighing her words. Milya had always preferred the straightforward approach, and he hadn’t been clear in his communications with her—in part because he hadn’t known how he truly felt until now. But now she was sitting there in front of him, asking him bluntly how he felt. She deserved the truth. He just didn’t know if he could articulate it without somehow hurting her further. There was a lump forming in his throat and Selu wondered if he could even speak coherently at all. He took a deep breath.

“Milya, you told me that you’ve loved me from the day we met,” he started. “From that first kiss, that you loved me. Despite all of my flaws, all of my insecurities, all of my failures, you’ve always been there for me. And that has meant so much to me, to know that you cared.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts, as she looked intently at him, waiting for the rest of his thoughts to emerge.

“I’ve been afraid for the longest time, afraid that I would somehow lose you,” he said. “And just when I was getting over that, on that remote world, Revan gave me a choice, another part of the prophecy that only I knew about. He said that I had to choose between striking a great blow against the Empire and saving the people that I love. I thought—I thought that if I distanced myself from you, that I could save you.”

“So you pushed me away.”

He nodded miserably.

“I did. I wanted you to be safe, even though it was almost unbearable to see you and Spectre begin to kindle. . . something. But time and time again, my choices have always come back to you. Whether it was on the Griffin or at that chapel, I’ve always chosen you. Even when at the cost of the mission or my life.”

He exhaled heavily as the weight of bottling up his feelings for her was removed. Selu reached across the desk and took her hand in his.

“Milya, you have always been my choice,” he said earnestly. “More than any prophecy. More than anything or anyone else in this universe—I would choose to protect and love you. Even if that meant letting you go.”

“And what if you don’t have to let go?” Milya asked him.

Selu didn’t immediately answer, his mind stumbling for words.

“I would be a very happy man,” he said at last.

“So don’t,” she told him.

She slid forward on her chair, moving closer to him. Selu leaned forward, cupping her head in his and they kissed, their lips brushing gently at first, then more passionately as they drew each other closer, expressing the love they felt for each other. They knew in the bottom of their hearts that they belonged together, and nothing could change that. He wrapped one arm around her, holding her slender body in his arms protectively, lovingly, not wanting to let her go.

When they parted, Milya squeezed his hand affectionately.

“Selu, I don’t want a galaxy-saving hero who’s too caught up with destiny to see the people around him. I want someone who cares about the people who love him, and that’s you. That’s always been who you are.”

“I know,” he said. “But it’s been so hard to admit that. It’s not the Jedi way.”

“Don’t be a Jedi first,” she told him. “Be you first. The lightsaber, the Force powers, they don’t define you.”

“Then what does?” Selu asked her. “That’s all I’ve been my entire life.”

She laid a hand on his chest.

“This does,” she said. “Your heart. Your loyalty. Your concern for those around you. Your selfless dedication to them. That’s who you are. That’s the man I love.”

“I’ve always thought of those things as a weakness,” Selu admitted.

“Those are rarer qualities than any Force powers,”Milya told him. “There are many strong men. There are many powerful men. There are not many good men.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Selu said slowly as he weighed her words.

“Then don’t be afraid to love me,” Milya replied. “Don’t be afraid to be the person you are.”

“I’m afraid I might hurt you,” Selu answered. “I’m afraid of losing you.”

“We’re going to hurt each other,” Milya said ruefully. “That’s what couples do. And then we patch each other up, learn from it, and move forward. We won’t get lost as long as we walk together. Will you walk with me?”

Selu felt that lump in his throat double in size, but he managed to croak out a reply.

“I will,” he said, unconsciously leaning closer to her again.

They kissed once more by mutual accord. It felt like the right thing to do, a tangible and tantalizing show of affection to seal the attraction they had expressed. Selu felt every fiber of his being burn with desire and delight as he held her in his arms, savoring her mouth and being savored in return. His hand slid up to stroke the nape of her neck, his fingers buried in her hair as they remained locked in the kiss for several glorious seconds. The sweet release of being able to openly express and cherish his attraction had released a floodgate within his heart and he could find no greater joy than to simply be with Milya.

As Spectre had headed aft to tell Selu they were ready to jump to Yanibar, he looked through the open doorway and saw them. Spectre watched them kiss, saw their passion, and knew that Milya had chosen. Though it hurt inside to admit it, he realized that he had never held the same place in her heart that Selu had, that he and Milya, while a great team and like-minded personalities, were not meant to have their fates intertwined as hers and Selu’s were. She had told him that he had been trying to use her to replace Roxana Taskien in her heart, that she hadn’t truly loved her for who she was, and Spectre had realized she was right. All of the foolish bickering beforehand seemed so pointless now. He accepted her choice, releasing his own desires, and wished them both well. As much as the pain was present, he was happy for them, even if it would take some time for him to heal.

“Am I interrupting, or are you finished?” Spectre asked from the doorway as they broke apart.

Milya flushed red as Selu turned to see him there.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation,” Selu said.

Spectre arched an eyebrow.

“Seems pretty clear to me,” he replied.

“And I owe you an apology,” Milya told him.

“Later,” Spectre answered. “For now, it’s enough that I know where we all stand. We’re ready to make the jump to Yanibar.” “All right,” Selu said. “I’m on my way.”

He turned back to Milya.

“Let’s go home.”


 * Yanibar, one week later

Selu stood at the top of a large cliff overlooking the Tusloni Basin, where the new refuge was to be located. Sheltered by craggy mountains and with access to a large inland sea, it was about as hospitable a location as Yanibar could offer. Traversing the mountains had been difficult, but using the Griffin and the ships that the Jal Shey had to offer had greatly hastened that process. He surveyed the ground below, his gaze sweeping across the fields and then into the deep blue night sky. Stars twinkled overhead, while faint glimmers of light from far below signified the beginnings of the new settlement. Then he turned around, to where over eighty Zeison Sha, Jal Shey, Matukai, along with his four companions were standing. Their combined presences represented the most powerful group of Force-users Selu had seen since back when he had been a Jedi Knight.

“Are you ready?” Spectre asked him.

“I am,” Selu said.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he opened himself to the Force, recalling what Revan had taught him. He sought solitude initially, refining and forming the patterns in his mind until he was ready. Then, he raised his hands, expanding his senses to encompass the entire basin. His mind stretched out to kilometers away, sensing every person and creature inside. Realizing that even just trying to perceive that much territory could overload his own capabilities, Selu didn’t attempt to persist through his own power. Instead, he drew on the power of those around him, feeling their minds receptive to his touch.

As he did so, together they were able to collectively enclose the entire basin area that would serve as the refuge of their Force powers. Selu then began guiding the Force into weaving a protective and concealing illusion around the refuge. He drew on insight from Revan’s instructions and accreted strength from the others’ minds, acting as the focal point for their combined energies. He completely lost track of time as he stood as a conduit for the Force. Power surged through him and he sought to shape and control it into a permanent, protective concealment that would hide them from orbit. Underneath that defense, they could build cities and homes and infrastructure without being detected.

Selu felt his body begin to tremble, his cells beginning to overload from the power flowing through him, but he remained patient. Testing each sector of the illusion with his mind, he probed it for weaknesses, layering in more energy where needed. He could absorb the punishment—he was sure of it. Finally, at long last, he felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him. His work was completed.

He opened his eyes and released the remaining Force energy, severing the link to the others’ minds.

“It’s done,” he said tiredly.

“Did it work?” Sarth asked.

Selu pulled up a comlink.

“Selu to Atsedi,” he said. “What do your sensors show?”

There was a brief delay, then the man’s voice replied.

“We don’t show anything but an empty plot of land,” Atsedi told him from his position in orbit onboard the Griffin. “And Xlora doesn’t sense any Force-users either.”

Selu cracked a smile as the others broke into cheers and applause.

“We did it,” he told the others even as fatigue began to set in. “Our refuge is now hidden.”

“Combined with the false broadcast we gave to the Empire, there’s no reason for us to draw any suspicion,” Selu said. “We’re hidden from the entire galaxy—both the Empire and the Sith.”

“And we’ll build a defense force as a last line of defense,” Spectre added.

Selu nodded.

“Let’s head down,” he said as a chill wind began to blow in from over the mountaintops. “The others should know of our success, and there’s a hot meal waiting for us.”

They began heading down the mountain, talking excitedly about what they had just experienced and seen. As various conversations broke out, Milya drew Spectre back to the rear of the group.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” she asked.

Spectre stiffened slightly, but nodded.

“Sure,” he replied. “What’s on your mind?”

“I wanted to apologize for how I treated you on the Griffin,” Milya told him. “I took it too far.”

Spectre was silent for a moment, then replied.

“Apology accepted,” he said. “Is that it?”

“Not entirely,” Milya admitted. “There’s another thing I need to apologize to you for. I led you on, back on Revan’s Tower, but there was part of me that was still in love with Selu.”

“I know,” Spectre said. “In time, I hoped that. . .”

He trailed off and she laid a hand on his arm.

“Spectre, I want you to know that you’re a great man,” Milya told him. “You’re loyal, noble, and brave. I hope you find someone who values you as much as you deserve.”

“But it’s not you,” Spectre replied.

Milya shook her head.

“No,” she said. “As much as I chastised you for still being in love with that Imperial agent, I was still chasing Selu. I was wrong to do so—and I hope you won’t hold that against me.”

“We were both chasing a dream,” Spectre said. “You just happened to find yours.”

Milya grimaced.

“This isn’t easy for me, you know,” she told him. “I am sorry.”

“I know you are,” Spectre replied.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

“I should be,” Spectre answered. “But in the end, I think I already knew most of it. I just needed to come to terms with it.”

“If you want some space, I understand,” Milya said. “But in the long run, I do value your friendship, and I’d like to regain your trust.”

Spectre took a deep breath, weighing her words. It wasn’t in his nature to easily forgive. At the same time, though, Milya was a friend. She had been even before he had been interested in her and Spectre knew that if he rebuffed her, he would ultimately miss the companionship. Even though he had clearly lost out on the prospects of a relationship with her, maybe he could still salvage a friendship out of it.

“I’d like that too,” Spectre said. “We’ll work on it.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” Milya answered. “And Spectre—thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being understanding,” Milya replied. “You’re a good friend.”


 * One month later

It was a sunny day on Yanibar, the clear weather a sign of the future beginning to unfold. Two couples stood hand in hand, on a rocky slope, gazing into each other’s eyes, flanking a crude altar made of stone. Around them on the lower slopes were gathered friends and neighbors, family and comrades, joined together to celebrate the start of something new. It was a day of celebration, a day of festivity, and while it wasn’t what anyone had expected, it was beautiful in its own way, even if it wasn’t idyllic. From his vantage point, Selu watched it all unfold with Milya at his side.

“Jorgesoll Knrr, do you take Annita Daowot to be your wife, to love and cherish as you have vowed?” asked Olno Mada, who was presiding over the wedding.

“I do,” said Jorge, gazing into the eyes of his beloved.

“And do you, Annita Daowot, take Jorgesoll Knrr to be your husband, to love and cherish as you have vowed?

“With all my heart,” she said. “I do.”

“And do you, Sarth Kraen, take Cassi Trealus to be your wife, to love and cherish, as you have vowed?”

“I couldn’t ask for anything more,” Sarth said, filled with bliss. “I do.”

“And do you, Cassi Trealus, take Sarth Kraen to be your husband, to love and cherish as you have vowed?”

“I do,” she answered, tears of happiness flowing down her face.

“Then, by power of the Force and the love that is between each of you, I pronounce you man and wife,” Mada proclaimed. “Gentlemen, you may kiss your bride.”

As they did so, the audience burst out clapping and cheering to celebrate the unions that had just occurred. The rest of the day was spent in song and dance, in the making of good food and even more the eating of it. Stories were told and new friendships were made while old ones were rekindled. Lovers proclaimed their feelings for another and sentients of all ages and species forgot their troubles and hardship, reveling in the newlyweds’ bliss.

It had not turned out as they had planned, but the union of the Force exiles had been achieved, Selu mused, and also the union of his dear friends and his brother, Sarth, with the loves of their lives. Against all odds, they had overcome the inherent difficulties and brought together rival traditions to begin a new life on Yanibar. In time, the harsh world would be a land of promise, made into a home by the diligence of its inhabitants and with the aid of the Force.

As promised, the Zeison Sha had joined with the others and offered Yanibar as a world of refuge for those fleeing the Empire, particularly those strong in the Force. With Olno Mada’s help, the community was building a new settlement in a large basin surrounded by high mountains, largely sheltered from the weather and adjacent to a sizable inland sea, though Selu felt that investing in some weather control technology would create even more stability from Yanibar’s harsh climate. The world’s only spaceport was within two hundred kilometers, allowing both trade but also plenty of distance to discourage curious offworlders, a safe buffer zone. Also, the Griffin had proven to be a virtual treasure trove, packed with more than he could have imagined in the way of holocrons, lightsabers, datacards, and other materials that the Empire had stolen from various Jedi encalves. Selu wasn’t even sure what everything in there actually was, but he planned to spend long hours finding out.

The settlement was coming along well. A governing council of Jal Shey, Zeison Sha, Matukai, and others had been formed and, to Selu’s relief, one of the first things they had agreed was that anyone should be allowed to choose how to study the Force in a way they chose, provided they did not fall under the sway of the dark side of the Force or marginalize another tradition practiced on Yanibar. A concordance of respect was established at that meeting, as well as a few other things.

Backed by the Zeison Sha, Selu had been named the head of the defense forces-one of the few organizations that was to draw its members from any of the Force traditions or enclaves of the inhabitants. His father, Samtel Kraen, had also been named to the governing council. With the council’s permission, Selu had also picked Spectre to be the head of the ground forces while Milya was designated the head of intelligence, learning under the tutelage of Atsedi and other members of Romierr’s crew. Both of them had been approved, and Selu had been working with both of them and Sarth to establish a defense force to protect the planned city and the entire settlement.

It was to be called Union City, a testament to the merging of many people to form one, and it was not to be controlled by one group, but a shared place filled with harmony. Though in practice true unity would probably not be as easy as in principle, Selu knew that each member of the governing council was dedicated to the idea of unity, having been won over through the efforts of him and his crew. For his part, Selu would do all he could to protect the refuge of Force users. Spectre had already started forming a militia and Milya’s first agents would be leaving shortly for Bespin, an independent Tibanna mining and casino world. Jorge and Annita, though grateful to Selu and his friends for all they had done, had no desire to remain on Yanibar. Instead, they chose to move to Bespin, where Jorge had friends. They would help Yanibar from there, aiding their friends whenever they could and funneling needed items discreetly; as part of a new business venture, Jorge and Annita were opening a shipping company. Selu wished them well, as their efforts would be essential to what Sarth had dreamed up. His brother, though Selu still found it hard to believe, had started a defense company, Kraechar Arms, and the Xi Charrians had agreed to work with him on new designs. Kraechar Arms would supply his force, the Yanibar Guard, with weapons and gear, and eventually ships, for Selu knew they would need a navy, as well as producing export models for sale to finance the settlement. They were off to a good start indeed, and Selu trusted that his brother would handle it well, from creating effective products, to treating his workers properly, to caring for the environment as the industry grew. They had already received a jump start due to the molecular furnaces on the Griffin, but also from the results of the data file that Romierr had given Selu. Traveling to various locations, the crew of the Hawk-bat had amassed a massive Separatist arsenal from the Clone Wars, long abandoned, but still with plenty of weapons to spare. For now, it was their secret arms repository, but Sarth and Jorge had planned on funneling some of the weapons onto the black market as an income source. One last doubt niggled at Selu’s mind, though, and that was the prophecy he had been told of by Revan. He had clearly chosen the path of his heart’s desire, to love and protect Milya. Now, if the spirit had been right, any confrontation he had with the Sith would lead to his downfall. The Jedi apparitions hadn’t been wrong yet and Selu had no desire to test their veracity if the fate of this settlement and all he had worked and bled for was at stake. However, he knew deep within him that his attachment to Milya—and her attachment to him—prevented him from ever taking the chance to confront the Empire and the Sith that led it directly. He could not in good conscience sacrifice everything as long as he held her dear, and he knew he would forever love her with all his heart. Perhaps this was his loss, though, sacrificing his opportunity to free the galaxy from the Empire, or at least die trying. For better or for worse, Selu had made his decision and now he would have to live with it. He had chosen the path of love, to cherish Milya, and in doing so, had relinquished the duty of intervening in the fate of the Sith. Now, his life was devoted to defending and keeping his refuge a secret from the forces of darkness, and if the Force was with him, passing that role on once his time was over. If the Jedi and the light side of the Force were to rise again, they would need a safe place to hide until the time was right, and Selu was prepared to give them that. One day, the galaxy would somehow be freed from the clutches of the Sith, but not by him. “Selu?” called Milya as she walked over to where he had been sitting, staring into a flickering fire, lost in thought.

“Yes?

“You’re missing out on all the fun. Come on, dance with me.”

“As you wish,” Selu said, allowing her to lead him off to join the merrymaking.

Their new life awaited them.