Force Exile VI: Prodigal/Part 4

8
The Daara’sherum decanted from hyperspace in a flicker of light, then quickly faded away as it cloaked, a black shadow amidst the darkness of space. It had been nearly a week since the ship had left Coruscant, but the cruiser had had to cross almost half the galaxy to get here.The planet Belsavis floated before the ship, its placid white surface from orbit belying the ravages that the technobeast virus had inflicted on its settlements. The system was otherwise deserted; the Galactic Alliance had announced its quarantine, but the ships set to enforce it had yet to arrive. Even if they had been in place, that would have proven little obstacle to a cloaked vessel like the Daara’sherum, whom only the most sophisticated sensors could detect.

Of course, there was no need for such sensors when the living beings on the ship shone through the Force. Ariada watched the cruiser head for the planet from the bridge of the Knightfall. If the Yanibar Guard was aware of her presence, they made no show of it. Aspra Serpaddis slid up beside her.

“So, we arrived here first,” Ariada remarked. “Is Garnet aboard?”

“Her ship just docked,” Aspra Serpaddis confirmed.

“How fortuitous,” Ariada answered. “If she’d been any later, they might have seen us.”

“The Yanibar Guard has arrived,” she told him. “Just one ship.”

“Just one?” he replied in surprise, stretching out with the Force to confirm her assertion. “I would have expected more.”

“Perhaps they are busy elsewhere,” she said. “This presents us with a substantial opportunity, given who I sense on that ship.”

“Caution, Ariada,” he warned her. “We must be patient.”

“Yet you agree that this gives us a chance for a crippling strike?”

He nodded slowly.

“So many of Yanibar’s best on a single ship that does not see us, does not know we are here, and a ship which we can fight. . . when the Force presents us with this, we would be fools to disregard it.”

“I thought as much,” Ariada answered with a confident smile. “We will shadow them, make sure they are not planning a trap, and when the time is right. . . we will strike, swift and hard.”


 * Cruiser Daara’sherum

“Prepare a shuttle,” Selu instructed Admiral Arystek as they entered a low orbit over Belsavis.

“Not the Hawk-bat?” Milya asked, surprised.

“No,” Selu replied. “They’re still repairing the blast damage from earlier, and while it made the ride up from Coruscant in one piece, I wouldn’t want to chance it again.”

Selu gazed out at the icy world through the expansive bridge viewport, trying to sense his son. He felt nothing, but he knew Ryion would likely be hiding if he believed that Ariada was still out there. The only way to find him would be to stumble upon his hiding place, down somewhere among the glaciers. Selu grimaced—he’d never much cared for extreme cold, but the knowledge that Ryion had been surviving down there for the better part of two weeks emboldened him.

He headed for the docking bay with Milya, Tyria, and Morgedh following. Selu stopped at a gear room, heading for the cold weather gear. To his surprise, he found Cassi and Qedai already there, dressed in thick parkas and other winter garb. Selu immediately frowned.

“When I said we could delay your return to Yanibar to reach Belsavis faster, this is not what I had in mind,” he said.

“Qedai, I expected better of you than such deception,” Morgedh told her.

“Don’t look at me,” Qedai said. “It wasn’t my idea.”

Cassi stood firm.

“We know at least that Ryion’s been down there on that freezing planet for at least two weeks, and if you’re right and that Jedi is still alive after being shot down, there’ll be plenty of injuries to go around. Seems like a situation where you might want a healer, and I’m the best one Yanibar has.”

Selu looked at Milya for help, but she shrugged.

“I actually agree with Cassi on this one.”

“Fine,” Selu grumped as he donned a pair of insulating shirts. “Just be glad I already spent all my energy arguing that Master Katarn didn’t need to come along.”

Once they were fully loaded and dressed for the glacial environment of Belsavis, the six headed for the waiting Javelin shuttle, its Yanibar Guard crew already prepared for departure. The vehicle left Daara’sherum’s hangar and swooped down towards the frozen surface. Selu closed his eyes and began concentrating.

“What is he doing?” Tyria asked Milya.

“He’s concealing the shuttle with the Force,” Milya responded. “Ariada will likely have left a watcher, and she could be waiting for us to lead her to Ryion and Jaina.”

Tyria nodded and sat back as the shuttle descended.

“No sign of the crash site,” one of the pilots reported via the shuttle’s intercom. “Still scanning.”

“Ryion’s Maelstrom self-destructed and the other fighter is a Jedi StealthX,” Qedai reported. “Not much wreckage to find.”

“Use the coordinates from Qedai’s flight record,” Milya ordered. “Extrapolate for likely wind drift and impact trajectories and determine about where they landed. We can conduct a closer search from the ground once you’ve narrowed it down.”

Milya’s instructions were carried out and soon the shuttle was setting down on the glacier fields. The side door slid open and a blast of chilling wind whipped inside the shuttle. Selu grimaced and stood up, grabbing his pack.

“All right, let’s get out there,” he said without much enthusiasm.

They stepped out one-by-one onto the ice fields. Behind them, Selu cloaked the shuttle in a Force illusion which would hide it as long as they were landed, and then pulled down light-amp goggles. This part of Belsavis was shrouded in almost permanent night at this latitude during this time of year. Selu looked around, hoping for some clue, perhaps a terrain feature that would offer a hint of shelter—it was likely Ryion would have sought such cover in this barren wasteland. However, all he saw for kilometers on end was the endless frozen steppe. The ice fields extended into the distance, offering no cover from the relentlessly biting wind that cut through even four insulated layers to chill his bones. Selu shivered and strode forward, his boots crunching lightly on the thin layer of powder that covered a thick slab of ice. At least it wasn’t snowing.

The others followed, fanning out slightly as they walked into the howling wind, searching for an indication of life, or even of the crash.

“I found something,” Tyria said, holding up a piece of black material she’d retrieved from the thin layer of snow. “It’s a piece of a StealthX.”

“We’re close then,” Selu told her.

Suddenly, Milya let out a small shriek and disappeared from sight as the glacier swallowed her up. Selu felt her disappear in the Force and feared the worst. He dashed over to where she had vanished, his hand on his lightsaber, ready for action. His Force senses were fully aware and searching and that was when he found it—a Force illusion of a smooth glacier right where Milya had been. He mentally probed and peeled back the illusion, removing its concealment to expose a sizeable crevasse splitting the glacier nearly half a kilometer along and about ten meters wide at its widest. Selu looked down and saw Milya hanging on to the lip with one hand, her gloved fingers scrabbling for more purchase to keep from plunging into the yawning black abyss thousands of meters below.

Selu quickly dropped to his stomach and stretched out his hand.

“Milya!” he called.

She tried to reach up for him, but the ice gave way just as she did. She fell, and Selu was about to jump in after her when two hands shot out of the crevasse wall to grab her. Ryion’s head and shoulders emerged as he pulled Milya into the cave he had blasted into the ice.

“Hi, Mom,” he told her cheerily. “Nice of you to drop in.”

He looked up at Selu.

“You’re late.”

“And we forgot your Twi’leki takeout,” Selu quipped. “Hang on, I’ll get a line down there.”

He rose from his prone position to wave the others over.

“I found them!” he answered.

In short order, a cable had been strung down from the lip of the crevasse down to the ice cave that Ryion had hidden behind another Force illusion. Selu and Cassi descended, leaving Morgedh, Qedai, and Tyria up on top to keep watch, and Ryion admitted them into the now-confined space.

“I’m glad you guys made it when you did,” Ryion said. “She won’t admit it, but the medisensor is showing a deep infection that I haven’t been able to clean out, and she hasn’t been able to heal. It’s probably some kind of resistant strain. She’s half-delirious.”

He indicated to Jaina, who was lying on her back under the thick blankets, staring at the ceiling.

“I heard that,” Jaina protested. “Tell your friends that I’m fine as long as they get me out of here.”

Upon hearing news of the infection, Selu feared the worst.

“Cassi, check her,” he said. “Without touching her.”

“We’ve already been through the whole touching thing already, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jaina said as Cassi knelt by her side.

“No,” Selu replied calmly. “I’m more concerned about the possibility of you bearing a contagious mutagenic plague that I’d prefer not spread further.”

“Oh,” Jaina answered, her false bravado evaporating momentarily. “Well, you certainly know how to make a girl feel better.”

“The infamous Solo wit,” Selu remarked.

“She does have an infection,” Cassi informed him after a minute. “But it’s not a technobeast virus. Ryion’s fine too.”

Selu breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good,” he said. “Can we move her?”

“That might not be the best idea,” Cassi cautioned. “I’d like to stabilize her first. She has several broken bones. . .”

Selu’s comlink clicked in the midst of her explanation.

“Trouble,” Morgedh said simply. “Soon.”

“So she won’t die if we move her?” Selu cut Cassi off.

“No, but. . .”

“Good enough,” Selu said. “Give her something for the pain. Now.”

Cassi caught the firm tone in his voice and held her tongue, reaching for her medkit instead.

“Yes, please,” Jaina answered. “That would be very, very nice.”

“It’s about to get a lot worse,” Selu warned her.

She frowned at him.

“You really are depressing,” she told him.

“There,” Cassi replied, removing the needle from Jaina’s arm. “She’ll be pretty numb in a few minutes.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Selu answered, then directed his attention back to Jaina. “I will ask your forgiveness later, Jedi Solo.”

“For—?” she started, then her words were cut off as Selu knelt down, wrapped her in the blankets, and then scooped her up in both arms.

She let out a silent scream as searing pain knifed through her body, overwhelming even her practiced Jedi composure. She gasped for breath as Selu held her.

“Everyone else topside,” he ordered tersely. “Now.”

They knew that Selu’s urgency was well-founded, so they scrambled out ahead of him.

“I apologize,” Selu told Jaina. “Normally, I would use the Force to make this easier on you, but I have a feeling I’ll need that strength. Can you hold on?”

She nodded faintly, her face a rictus of pain as Selu switched to sling her over his shoulder. He climbed up the rope one-handed, his left arm wrapped around Jaina to keep her from slipping off.

He reached the top of the crevasse in time to see a pair of faint ion trails streak past overhead.

“Run!” Selu called.

A pair of concussion missiles slammed into the ice, bracketing the group and toppling them all to the ground. The force of the blast threw Jaina away from Selu and she screamed a hoarse cry of agony that reverberated through the Force and cut through the deafening concussion wave.

Selu struggled to his feet, checking the blood trickle on his forehead and relieved to find it just a nick. Though the blasts had deafened and concussed him, hurling him to the ground with bruising force, he was still coherent enough to check and make sure that everyone had survived. Thankfully, he did not sense anyone’s death.

Milya pulled herself up from the ice, nursing one arm. She mouthed something, but Selu could not hear her. He ran over and pulled Tyria and Qedai to their feet. Both of them seemed shaken up, but otherwise unharmed. Ryion and Morgedh were already up again, but Selu saw that the fighters were coming around for another pass. He pointed in the direction of the concealed shuttle.

“Run!” he shouted, though he wasn’t sure if they could hear him, so he repeated the command through the Force.

For his part, Selu stood his ground, turning to face the incoming fighters. He could not reveal the shuttle and even if he concealed them all, the fighters would just saturate the area where they had been in weapons fire. He had to make a stand. Closing his eyes, he stretched out his arms and summoned the Force.

Ryion started to make for the shuttle, then he turned and dashed over to Jaina, who was lying in a crumpled huddle on the ground.

“Leave me,” she whispered hoarsely.

Ryion gave her a blank look.

“I am not explaining to Han and Leia Solo how I spent two weeks looking after you just to leave you behind at the last minute,” he said as he gathered her up.

She moaned in pain as he did so and Ryion grimaced. This was not the easy and stress-free extraction he’d been hoping for.

“Final boarding call,” Ryion muttered as he loped towards the shuttle as quickly as he could in his weakened state burdened with a heavy human cargo.

Meanwhile, Selu channeled the Force through him into the sky. What had once been a cloudless night quickly darkened as roiling storm clouds blotted out the stars. The fighters wheeled around for another pass and this time Selu sensed the concussion missiles leaping from the firing ports to home in on their location. Lightning bolts sparked from his fingers, arcing out to intercept the missiles. They exploded in mid-air, illuminating the night sky with the bright fireballs. The two fighters switched to lasers, but Selu fed the storm’s burgeoning intensity with the Force, resulting in a whirlwind that threw the fighters off course, their blasts straying wide as they were buffeted by the howling gale. The storm cut through his insulated clothing as if it wasn’t there, the wind’s chill biting into his body and snow whipping furiously around him as the skies opened, but Selu stood his ground, staring down the approaching menace still ineffectually trying to fire on him.

They roared by overhead and Selu identified them as TIE Defenders. He scowled and hurled lightning after them, but it glanced off their shields. They swung around for another pass, this time under tighter control. He looked over and saw that Ryion was being helped into the shuttle and that everyone else was aboard. It was time to leave and they were waiting for him. The storm no longer needed his attention—it had coalesced into a life of its own. He took a deep breath of the glacial air, and then turned, sprinting for the shuttles. The whine of the fighters’ engines cut through the air and a row of laser blasts sliced down beside him, throwing up eruptions of steam and hurling chunks of ice after him. His lightsaber was useless against such weapons and he could not hope to distract the pilots with another whirlwind or telekinesis. They would expect it.

The aged Jedi Master leapt over a blast that would have vaporized him and continued in a dead sprint, occasionally zig-zagging to avoid a lethal hit. The glacier exploded in a furious cacophony of destruction around him as the fighters strafed him. Selu could feel the heat from the laser cannon bolts as hit the ice fields around him and knew even a near-miss would be fatal. With the Force supplementing his efforts, he dashed for the shuttle even he signaled it to lift off. His vision was saturated with flying shards of ice and laser blasts vaporizing the glacier, but he continued his desperate sprint. With one final effort, he leapt into the air for the open side door of the rising shuttle just as a laser bolt exploded the ground where he’d just been standing.

Apparently, the fighter pilots had anticipated his jump and a series of laser bolts were aimed through his trajectory. However, a sheet of ice rose suddenly, intercepting the bolts and mitigating their lethal energy even as it was vaporized. Selu just barely reached the door, grabbing on to the lower rim of the shuttle. Milya reached out and hauled him in even as the shuttle banked and roared away, with Qedai hurling one last chunk of ice at the fighters to ruin their approach on the now-visible shuttle. Selu nodded his thanks to her for her telekinetic cover as he caught his breath.

“Get us out of here!” Milya bellowed at the pilot.

“You want me to fly through this storm with two Defenders in pursuit?” the pilot demanded.

“Do it or we die!” Milya replied.

The shuttle roared as it sought to gain altitude even as the two TIE Defenders closed in on its stern. The tail gunner fired his single rearward-facing laser cannon back at them, but it was designed for infantry support, not anti-starfighter duty and the bolts weren’t connecting anyway.

Selu staggered to his feet, swiftly checking that everyone had reached the shuttle. Ryion was slumped back on one of the shuttle’s bench seats, breathing heavily. Morgedh, Qedai, and Milya were standing, gripping two straps that hung down from the ceiling for such a purpose. Opposite Ryion, Cassi was cradling Jaina on the other bench. They were all aboard then, and didn’t seem to have serious injury.

“I can get us out of here,” Morgedh said. “But we need to come about and rocket the ice cave to cover our tracks.”

“Sir, the fighters!” the pilot protested.

“I will take care of the fighters,” Morgedh insisted, closing his eyes.

Suddenly, a squadron of Yanibar Guard Maelstrom fighters swooped down from above. Four of them surrounded the shuttle in a protective escort formation while the other eight jetted in hot pursuit of the two TIE Defenders. The marauding TIEs, faced with being overwhelmingly outnumbered, broke and turned skyward, disappearing into the dark cloudbanks. The shuttle broke away, putting a pair of rockets into the crevasse to destroy the evidence, then shot skyward.

“Nice trick,” Selu told Morgedh. “The phantom fighters were clever.”

His strength now recovered sufficiently, Selu used his own skill in the Force to conceal the shuttle for the trip back, hoping to keep the TIE Defenders off their tail until they were safely in the Daara’sherum.

Ariada sensed the two TIE Defenders break off even as she watched the Daara’sherum through the bridge viewport of the Knightfall. Her fists clenched in anger as she realized her pilots had been duped; the Yanibar Guard cruiser had launched no fighters and unless the Yanibar Guard had twelve stealth fighters, they should not have been able to reach the shuttle without her noticing. It was more likely that the fighters were illusions; she was well-aware that such a deception was within the capabilities of Selu, Milya, and Morgedh. She angrily sent her fighters back in pursuit of the fleeing shuttle with a wave of the Force, hoping that the window of opportunity to destroy it and its occupants wouldn’t close before she’d had a second chance. However, there was a distinct possibility that her fighters would be unable to destroy the shuttle. She would have to intervene personally.

“Captain Toscerra,” she said as she turned and strode to her chair. “Reroute weapons control to my chair.”

“Aye, Mistress,” the Cathar replied.

She sat down, gripping the armrest’s controls, concentrating. The liability of most cloaking shields had long been that they left the user double-blind, invisible, but unable to see or use their sensors through the cloak. Most commanders and strategists had thus abandoned the technology as a quaint toy, unfit for widespread deployment. However, others had figured out a use for the shields even despite their weakness, and Ariada had expounded upon their work. Thirty years ago, the Imperial Grand Admiral Thrawn had used cloaked ships hidden under a shield and coordinated by a deranged Jedi Master to create the illusion that his Star Destroyers could fire through planetary shields. Now, she would elevate his technique to the next level.

“Ready weapons,” she ordered. “Arm torpedoes.”

“Torpedoes armed, Mistress.”

She took a deep breath, waiting for her opportunity. The two TIE Defenders had looped around and were in hot pursuit of the shuttle, but they had given up precious minutes with their evasive flight to escape the supposed fighters. They were closing fast on the shuttle—which judging by the lack of escort, had been protected by illusions earlier—but they would only have a few seconds to destroy it before it reached the safety of the cloaked Yanibar Guard cruiser. However, even a cloaking shield was no match for one who saw through the Force, as she did.

As expected, a squadron of fighters shot out from the Yanibar Guard cruiser’s hangar bay, heading for the shuttle. Just as the ship’s shields dropped to let them exit, Ariada fired, guiding the torpedoes telekinetically in lieu of using their engines. This way, the twelve warheads were nearly undetectable until they slammed into the cruiser.

She smiled even though the cruiser’s protective energy fields re-engaged in time to catch the brunt of the torpedo impacts. The New Jedi Order had specialized torpedoes with the engines and propellant replaced by more explosive called shadow bombs, but this approach seemed to work just fine. An explosion tore through the pristine skin of the cruiser as one of the torpedoes penetrated and ate into the hull armor.

“Re-arm the tubes,” she ordered as her cruiser slipped past the Yanibar Guard ship.

She was firing with the Force, homing in on the cluster of concentrated presences she sensed on that ship. However, simultaneously, she was hiding her presence and the Force aura of every being on her ship. Such an effort would normally be far too taxing for her to maintain even for a few seconds, but when Ariada had first fallen in with the Dark Jedi, she had learned of Ilnash crystals, minerals that could amplify the effects of the Force being focused through them. She had carefully prized this secret, mining gigantic Ilnash crystals throughout the years, honing them and embedding them through her ship so they protruded from its hull, bristling like an animal or fish’s defensive spines. The deep blue shards allowed her to expend a fraction of the necessary effort to wield the Force to accomplish such feats, and the power of the dark side combined with a subtle drawing on the life force of her hapless crewers compensated for the rest of the exertion. Her ship was hidden from eye and mind, sensor and sentient, and she could strike at will.

Ariada ordered her fighters to break off. No sense risking two of her assassins when she could finish the job herself.

“Bring us around for another pass.”

She braced herself to fire just as the shuttle and its escort docked with the cruiser.

A fresh volley of torpedoes slammed into the Daara’sherum as the Javelin shuttle slid into the docking bay. The cruiser lurched from the impacts. Selu leapt out the shuttle, racing for the bridge with Milya, Morgedh, Zeyn, and Qedai behind him. He arrived just as Ariada’s third volley was unleashed.

“Flag officer on deck!” called an ensign even as the stricken cruiser shuddered.

“Report,” Selu ordered as he strode over to the tactical station by Admiral Arystek.

“Port shields failing,” he was informed. “We have five confirmed hits, cruiser-class proton torpedoes based on the telemetry.”

“There’s nothing to shoot back at,” the admiral informed him. “No sensor trace, no ion trail, and the torpedo contrails are invisible.”

Selu searched in the Force, but sensed nothing where his gut told him that there should have been enough people to crew at least a frigate in the vicinity. A hunch came to him, and he wheeled around.

“She’s using a cloaked ship and firing with the Force,” Selu replied. “Drop cloak and reinforce shields. We’re going to have to trace her out.”

“Can’t you sense her with the Force, sir?” Admiral Arystek asked.

Selu shook his head grimly.

“She’s hidden from my senses.”

“That’s impossible,” Morgedh spoke up. “Such power is beyond her.”

“Was beyond her, apparently,” Selu replied. “All secondary batteries, fire full volley. Report impacts, stand by to retarget. Standby primary battery.”

The cruiser’s guns thundered as blue ion cannon bolts and violet turbolaser blasts lanced out, seeking their hidden nemesis. They streaked out into the void, but none of them connected.

“She’s evading us, biding her time,” Selu mused.

He glanced down at the tactical board, looking for the name of the starfighter squadron stationed onboard. He was unsurprised to find that the Council had seen fit to send Yanibar’s most renowned pilots after him.

“Paladin Lead, bring your squadron around, screen our port side,” Selu ordered.

“Roger that,” came the reply.

This time Selu sensed the impacts just before they hit.

“Brace!” he called. “Paladins, break!”

Once again, Ariada struck at the weakened port side of the cruiser. Her next dozen torpedoes tore through the failing shields and many of them stabbed deep into the ship. A turbolaser turret exploded as a line of fireballs were stitched across the flank of the cruiser. The thick hull plating boiled away into space, congealing in liquid drops of molten metal. Bulkheads collapsed in the wounded areas while girders groaned due to the increased load.

The cruiser’s automated damage control systems attempted to compensate for the savaging she had just received. Emergency bulkheads slammed into place and power flow was rerouted away from the damaged areas.

The bridge lights dimmed from the temporary power reduction due to the explosions, but Selu was still shouting orders even his command console blacked out.

“Secondary batteries, fire on a parabolic arc from grid three-one-nine-mark-eleven to grid one-six-three-mark-fifteen,” Selu ordered. “Roll the ship to maintain constant barrage.”

The Daara’sherum’s weapons swung to fire along the coordinates Selu had snapped out. Turbolasers and ion cannon beams criss-crossed through empty space, and then Selu’s eye caught the tail end of the barrage impacting on something solid instead of spraying out ineffectually into empty space.

“All weapons, concentrate and fire,” he said, indicating the coordinates on the now-functional display. “Paladins, engage the target.”

The turbolasers and ion cannon that were recharged and had refreshed their firing cycle were now joined by the cruiser’s primary weapons, a pair heavy beamlaser cannons mounted on top and bottom of the ship’s hull. A sextet of proton torpedoes followed the thick purple beams that slammed into the opposing ship’s shields. Selu watched as the hostile ship, a spiky cruiser about the same displacement as the Daara’sherum, banked, maneuvering away from the line of fire.

“Track that target,” he ordered, but it was too late. “Paladins, pursue.”

The Daara’sherum’s weapons thundered ineffectually, but all they found was open space. The targeting display had lost weapons lock on the elusive hostile ship. Selu swore under his breath. Ariada had managed to attack from an angle where he couldn’t order the Paladins to engage and bring the cruiser’s weapons to bear.

“Most of our port weapons are offline,” Admiral Arystek reported. “Speed slowed by thirty percent due to engine damage.”

“She’ll attack from there again,” Selu said. “She’ll hit us where we’re wounded. Recover fighters and prepare to withdraw.”

It stung to say those words; Selu had never purposefully retreated from Ariada before, but he knew it was the only thing he could do. They could not win this fight.

“She’ll be on us before we can go to lightspeed,” Milya warned him.

“We have to try,” Selu said.

“Jumping in ten seconds,” the navigator reported. “Stand by for hyperspace.”

Selu watched one of the stars on their portside eclipse and knew what was coming.

“Brace!” he called. “Point-defense batteries fire on random vectors on port side.”

The port side of the Remembrance-class cruiser was equipped with twelve StarfirePD point-defense batteries, each mounting three turrets that each carried two repeating laser cannons and a flak gun. All of that firepower combined was an impressive defense against fighters and missiles—but was only truly effective if it was guided by the ship’s sensors and fire control systems. Selu watched as gouts of laser fire spewed into space, illuminating the damaged port side as flak shells burst, the small round detonations contrasting with the streaks of purple laser cannon blasts that dazzled through the black void of space. He just hoped it would provide more defense than a light show.

The rapid-fire laser cannons and the secondary flak shells they fired did some good, shredding five of the torpedoes before they hit. The other seven smashed into the stern quarter of the cruiser’s port side. Selu grimaced as the ship shuddered from the gashing it was taking to its wounded flank. The lights flickered again and went out. Red emergency glowpanels activated, providing minimal illumination and functionality to the bridge.

“Main engines are offline,” the admiral reported. “We can’t jump to lightspeed.”

“We lost sensors and fire control,” another officer informed him. “We couldn’t hit her before she escaped.”

“She’ll get us on the next pass,” Admiral Arystek warned him.

“I know,” Selu said regretfully. “Prepare to abandon ship. Make for the planet.”

“They’ll be picked off,” Milya said.

“Better than dying for sure in space,” Selu retorted.

Judging by the timing, he knew that Ariada had brought her ship around. She would be firing any second now. Soon, the Daara’sherum would be a ravaged hulk, torn apart by Ariada’s torpedoes, a lifeless grave for any that failed to reach the escape pods and flee.

Selu sensed a wicked tendril of triumph from Ariada extend towards him and he knew she was making her final pass. And it was her final pass, though not for reasons she expected.

A massive triangular warship decanted from hyperspace, interposing its ponderous bulk between the Daara’sherum and the incoming torpedoes, which glanced off its full-strength shields as flickers against the protective hazy-blue encasement. An octet of gunships flanked the enormous vessel, turning to fire along the vectors where Ariada’s torpedoes had emerged from. Starfighters began to deploy from the largest vessel, angling to pursue Ariada’s vessel.

“Yanibar Guard vessel, I am Commodore Gavin Darklight of the Galactic Alliance fleet carrier Trucemaker.”

“Good to hear your voice, Commodore,” Selu said, incredulous. “Thanks for the assistance. Just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

“We’re here to enforce the quarantine of Belsavis,” the commodore informed him. “It’d be best if your ship left as soon as possible.”

“We have some repairs to complete first, but we’ll be on our way as quickly as possible.”

“Understood. Do you require assistance?”

Selu looked at the admiral, who shook her head. Doubtless she didn’t want Galactic Alliance engineers crawling all over ship.

“No thank you,” Selu replied. “And please convey a ‘mission accomplished’ to Master Skywalker for us.”

“Will do,” Darklighter told him.

“Did your ships catch the vessel that fired on you?” Selu asked.

“No. She jumped to hyperspace once she started taking fire. Our interdictor hasn’t arrived yet.”

Selu grimaced.

“There’ll be another time for her. Thanks again for your help, Commodore.”

He signaled Arystek to cut off the channel and silently promised himself that there would be a next time. In the meantime, they had repairs to complete and ships to send out to Almania, Zonama Sekot, Chalacta, and Yanibar.


 * Drexel system, two days later

The Millennium Falcon cut through space towards the derelict Imperial cruiser. Despite the many years and severe abuse the ship had taken, it was still flying, still conveying its famous occupants from one system to another. To any passing spacer, the aged tramp freighter would have appeared to be alone, with no reason for visiting a system whose inhabitants had shown no interest in greater galactic society. Of course, they would have been wrong—the ship was on an urgent mission, and it was not alone.

Two black StealthX starfighters flanked the freighter. The fighters had been especially designed for the Jedi and incorporated technology that made them invisible to both the naked eye and sensors, along with a special fuel blend that left almost no contrail for an opponent to track. The drawback was that using targeting sensors or communications would betray the presence of the StealthXes, and their shields were weaker than normal, but the Jedi were able to compensate for all such weaknesses. They could communicate via a Jedi battle meld in a group action, and telekinetically-guided shadow bombs stood in for proton torpedoes. As for shields, Jedi pilots who rated StealthXes traditionally were pilots of considerable skill—which combined with Force precognition made them difficult to hit.

“I remember this place,” Han Solo muttered from the cockpit of the Falcon. “Must’ve been nearly forty years ago that we fought Crimson Jack here.”

“And Quarg’s scavengers,” Leia added.

“I hate to interrupt the nostalgia, but can this thing go any faster?” Jacen asked brusquely from the back seat. “Jaina’s almost out of time.”

Han smirked as he recalled another memory from the distant past. It seemed like just yesterday that a cocky farmboy had asked a similar question.

“Watch your mouth, kid, or you’ll be floating home,” he said. “As much as we’re concerned for Jaina, walking into a trap is not idea of a rescue.”

Leia jabbed him in the ribs.

“Oh really?”

“Well, not this time,” he amended. “What do Luke and Mara think?”

Leia closed her eyes, concentrating on the mental link between her and her brother and Mara out in the fighters.

“They don’t sense any danger out here, but Mara says to be careful.”

“Aunt Mara always says that,” Jacen pointed out.

“Which is why she’s still alive,” Han answered his son. “She’s generally a very careful woman, and not too many people who’ve crossed her have lived to tell about it.”

“That’s right,” Ben piped up from the back. “Like Dad always says, nobody messes with Mom.”

“I’m going to tell Cakhmaim and Meewalh to stand by in the quads,” Han said, referring to Leia’s two Noghri bodyguards. “It’s quiet.”

His wife nodded, frowning.

“Too quiet.”

Han pointed at a blip on the sensors.

“There’s the distress beacon. It’s coming from inside the derelict over there.”

He checked the rest of his scopes and winced.

“Not picking up anything else, but stay sharp. I don’t like this.”

Nevertheless, the aged freighter banked, swooping in towards what had once been the vast hangar bay for a Victory-class Star Destroyer. Now the ship was a lifeless husk, its stern appearing as if a large creature had suddenly taken a bite out of it. Years of stellar drift and inertia had carried it far from Drexel, such that the star was only slightly brighter than the other specks of light in the starfield. Now it hung at the edge of the system, a dead relic of a bygone era.

“Do you sense Jaina?” Leia asked Jacen.

“Not at all,” Jacen answered, his jaw setting. “I haven’t sensed her death either.”

“Luke and Mara think it might be ysalamiri. Apparently this group we’re up against has a history of using them,” Leia offered.

Han eased the Falcon into the docking bay carefully. The bay was dark, and with no power, neither illumination nor artificial gravity were online. Unrecognizable pieces of debris floated through the hangar, bouncing off the freighter’s hull. Beside them, Luke’s StealthX set down, while Mara flew a protective orbit around the derelict, watching for trouble.

“We’ll be back with Jaina,” Jacen promised his parents as he grabbed the helmet to go with the rest of the vac suit he was already wearing.

Ben, similarly attired, followed his cousin to the rear of the ship.

“We should be going with them,” Han said with a scowl as he watched them depart. “I mean, I know Luke, Jacen, and Ben can take care of themselves, but—,”

“I know how you feel,” Leia told him. “But we need to be ready to get out of here in case it’s a trap.”

“In case,” Han snorted sardonically. “When isn’t it a trap, dear?”

“Well, how do you think Mara feels?” Leia pointed out diplomatically. “She’s out there flying watch while her husband and son go rescue her apprentice. We all have our parts to play. If we don’t hear anything in ten minutes, we go after them.”

“Fine,” Han said unhappily.

Suddenly, Leia blanched, one hand clutching the controls. Han instantly noticed her change in complexion.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“Something bad,” she replied.

Only the magnetic soles on their boots kept Luke, Jacen, and Ben anchored to the floor as they advanced deeper into the bowels of the derelict. The place was dark and empty, an abandoned instrument of war now repurposed as a tomb for the crew who had died in its final fight. Luke led the way, his glowrod sweeping left and right as the three Jedi pushed through the corridors, following the signal emitted by the distress beacon. There were no signs of life.

Though their knowledge that Jaina was on a limited air supply urged them to hurry, the three made their approach carefully, watching out for possible traps. The dark corridor could have easily disguised trip wires or laser mines, and Ben was wearing infrared goggles to watch for the latter possibility. This was no time to rush into an ambush.

“You’d think we’d be able to detect if there was power running through at least part of the ship,” Ben said.

“It’s more likely they stuffed Jaina into an EV suit,” Luke answered. “We’re coming up on the beacon.”

“Careful,” the aged Jedi Master cautioned. “I sense danger.”

“I sense it too,” Jacen added.

“Well, then I might as well say that I sense it also, just so we’re all in agreement,” Ben offered.

They rounded the corner and, just as Luke had predicted, there was an EV suit there next to a distress beacon. It was floating in the corridor, suspended from the ceiling by a noose around its neck. There was a vibroblade protruding from the suit’s chest. Luke’s eyes shot open in alarm and he raced forward to check the identity of the person inside the suit. As soon as he stepped close to the suit, he felt the Force disappear—a ysalamiri bubble. The sensation was not only unpleasant, it deprived him of senses he had come to rely in. He motioned Jacen and Ben back while he investigated. Looking into the suit’s visor, he found no humanoid body inside. Instead, all he saw was a ysalamiri inside the suit, sleeping peacefully on a branch. Then, he noticed the note pinned to the EV suit’s chest by the vibroblade.

It simply read “You lose.”

Luke glanced around and realized that the hall, unlike the typically sparse and uniform architecture of an Imperial warship, had several mismatched panels and bolted-on lockers—someone had obviously been preparing this place, and Luke had a couple guesses of what those plans included.

“Run!” he shouted.

The three Jedi took off for the hangar bay with Force-assisted speed as a series of explosive charges detonated behind them. The explosions tore through the ship, funneled down after them by the metal corridors. Fireballs consumed the halls, only to be quickly extinguished by the lack of air. The three Jedi just barely managed to escape the blasts, but the slivers of material hurled by the detonations pierced their suits in several areas, forcing a hasty retreat back to the safety of their ships. Jacen and Ben raced aboard the Falcon as Luke leapt for the cockpit of his StealthX, which R2-D2 already had prepared for lift-off. As the canopy closed around him, he felt a warning sensation from Mara.

Something just exploded, Luke.

I know, he sent back. ''But we got away in time. We’re okay.''

''No, out here. Something big.''

Luke backed the StealthX out of the ruined hangar bay on repulsors, shooting out of the hulk with the Falcon closely following behind. His sensors immediately detected the explosions she was referring to, but his eyes found them first. Emerald tendrils of energy were stretching across the space around them. He quickly surveyed the surrounding space and found four such energy clusters, located symmetrically around them. Luke set the shields to full power as the tendrils undulated, bolts of lightning flickering through radiant green clouds. Though they were still thousands of kilometers away, Luke felt a sense of alarm grow within him as the clouds expanded, their reach covering nearly all the space around the derelict cruiser.

Time to go, he sent to Mara and Leia as he throttled up his ion engines.

Suddenly, the clouds and tendrils stopped, collapsing in on themselves with a rush. Luke braced himself for what was next, only to find nothing. Waves of blackness washed out from the epicenters of the implosions, swallowing up the stars, even Drexel.

“What the kriff is that?” Han Solo swore over the comm.

“Whatever it is, we need to leave,” Luke said, breaking comm silence. “R2, relay our course out of here.”

The astromech droid tootled and soon text was scrolling down the miniature display inside the StealthX.

THE PREARRANGED COURSE IS ALREADY ENTERED INTO THE NAVICOMPUTER. THE COMPUTER’S FAILSAFES ARE PREVENTING US FROM JUMPING.

The two statements caught Luke offguard.

“Why?”

R2 had no immediate reply for that, and it was Han who replied first.

“We can’t jump either,” he said. “The fine-band sensors are showing that we’re in a dark matter nebula.”

“That’s impossible,” Luke answered. “That nebula didn’t exist here an hour ago.”

“Unless Ariada has a weapon that can create such a nebula,” Mara replied.

“If that’s actually dark matter around us, we can’t jump to hyperspace through it,” Han pointed out. “It’d likely foul up the Falcon’s engines, much less those finicky things your StealthXes have, and then we’re be in real trouble.”

“It was a trap,” Mara said. “And I take it no Jaina either?”

“No,” Luke answered tersely. “Just a decoy and a bomb.”

“We’ll use sublights then,” Han told them. “Fly to the edge of the cloud and get to where we can jump out of the system.”

“R2, what’s the shortest distance out of the cloud from here?” Luke asked.

R2-D2 whistled and made a negative-sounding blatting noise. Luke directed his attention back to the screen by which the droid communicated.

I WILL PROVIDE THE COURSE DETAILS, BUT BE ADVISED THAT AT MAXIMUM SUBLIGHT, IT WILL TAKE YOUR SHIPS ONE STANDARD MONTH TO BE CLEAR OF THE DARK MATTER CLOUD. THIS SHIP DOES NOT HAVE THAT MUCH FUEL. IN ORDER TO ACTUALLY REACH THE PERIMETER, IT WILL TAKE SIXTY-NINE STANDARD DAYS AND FIFTEEN HOURS. MOREOVER, HYPERCOMM COMMUNICATIONS WILL NOT REACH THROUGH THE CLOUD EITHER, SO ANY TRANSMISSION WILL TAKE AT LEAST TWO WEEKS TO CLEAR THE DARK MATTER.

Luke was flabbergasted.

“What is it, Luke?” Mara asked, sensing his consternation.

He shook his head slowly in disbelief as R2 gave him the details for the course. Luke turned his StealthX in that vector and throttled up the fighter.

“We’re going to be here longer than we thought,” he said. “R2, send them the details.”

The shocked silence that followed was reply enough.

9
Milya stopped short as she entered, quickly surveying the lobby before she approached the receptionist’s desk. She was unsurprised to see that there was a living clerk, a female Twi’lek with pale green skin, sitting there instead of a droid. Having a droid there instead would have detracted from the showiness of the lobby, a wide, expansive room with a marble floor. Angled pillars buttressed the corners of the room, and the broad polished granite desk where the receptionist sat was nearly as wide as the room, with only two narrow aisles on either side for access. A high, arched ceiling bespoke limitless heights, no doubt evoking ideas of potential in corporate visitors. Stylized versions of the Tendrando Arms logos were embossed on the walls, with the largest and showiest of them positioned on the wall opposite the doors, behind the receptionist so visitors got a good look at it when they entered. Likewise, the logo was mosaicked into the floor—more corporate ostentatiousness. The display, combined with the room’s hues of muted gray and gold, bespoke prosperity and wealth and power. While the décor might have impressed a corporate representative, Milya was more interested by the security arrangements. Twin recessed holocams provided thorough coverage of the entrance and the doors leading off from the lobby perpendicular to the receptionist’s desk looked like they were reinforced. No doubt there was a silent alarm available to the Twi’lek as well. She’d have to be careful—Tendrando Arms was known for producing a variety of lethal security droids and no doubt they had retained some of their own products to assure their protection. No, this was a time for subtlety, and she had dressed for such an occasion.

Instead of her normal utilitarian slacks, boots, and pullover sweater with a tactical vest, she was wearing business attire befitting a well-connected corporate representative. Since it had been made by YGI, that just meant that all the good stuff was tucked away. She approached the desk. “Hello, I’d like to speak with Lando Calrissian, please,” she said politely.

The Twi’lek looked up from her datapad at her.

“I’m sorry, Miss. Do you have an appointment?” the Twi’lek asked with professional courtesy.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Milya answered, drumming her fingers lightly on the top of the granite desk. “But it’s very urgent.”

“Mr. Calrissian does not see anyone without an appointment,” the receptionist answered dismissively. “Who did you say you’re with?”

Milya shrugged lightly.

“Luke Skywalker and the Jedi Order,” she replied with feigned nonchalance.

The Twi’lek’s eyes widened in surprise, and then she scowled.

“I’m afraid we weren’t expecting visitors from the Jedi Order,” she said after a glance at the datapad. “Nor does the system seem to recognize you.”

Milya leaned over the desk towards the receptionist so that she only needed to pitch her voice into a hoarse whisper to be heard.

“I’m here incognito because we have reason to believe that your boss is in serious danger and we couldn’t risk contacting him any other way. Now, if you value his life, you’ll take the card I’m about to slide you and give it to him after you insist that I’m a fake Jedi and that I leave at once before you call security.”

The Twi’lek woman glared at her, one hand slipping under the desk towards what was no doubt a silent alarm.

“Why would I do that?” she asked, but at least had the presence of mind to use the same hushed tones.

“Because I’m making far too much sense for you to subconsciously ignore even if your conscience is telling you that I’m crazy. Because you’ve heard about the recent terrorist attacks and can appreciate a trend. Most importantly, because you can’t take the risk that I’m wrong. Run the card through the scanner all you want—it’s clean. Just make sure Calrissian gets the card personally—don’t give it to some lackey.”

The Twi’lek scowled and accepted the card that Milya slipped her.

“Get out of here,” she pronounced authoritatively. “You’re not part of the Jedi Order, nor are your credentials valid.”

Milya gestured with one hand while frowning.

“You will let me in to see Lando Calrissian.”

The motion was completely devoid of the Force. In response, the Twi’lek stood, planting her hands on her hips firmly.

“You will leave at once, or I will call security,” she insisted.

“We’ll try this again later,” Milya promised, then she turned and left the building, heading away from it.

She maintained her charade for some time until she reached her hotel room and was sure it was secure from listening devices or other surveillance equipment. Only then did she allow a small smirk to spread across her face. The Twi’lek had been right—she wasn’t part of the Jedi Order, but Calrissian didn’t know that. She was sure that her message would be delivered exactly as specified since the Twi’lek receptionist had played along with the first part of her plan. If not, she would have to improvise.

Milya sat back on her hotel room’s bed, shedding her jacket. Closing her eyes, she stretched out with the Force, trying to see into the future surrounding this planet. Her senses were tempted to reach out to Selu or Ryion, both of whom were light years distant, but she stayed her mind, focusing on the need at present. Milya Kraen deeply loved her family, but she also knew when her job required her full attention and presence of mind. Her search took her through many currents of the Force, exposing many possibilities, but none of them included a pressing attack. Instead, she sensed a dark awareness shadowing her, watching her moves, biding its time. It was discreet, furtive—she only caught traces and hints of it, nothing specific. She trusted that she had some time, but not much.

When she awoke, several hours had passed and night was approaching. Milya knew that the time was approaching if Calrissian had received the card and acted accordingly. She took a quick sanisteam and then donned a far different set of clothes—a black jumpsuit with a tactical vest, thick combat boots, and a heavily-laden utility belt. As she dressed, Milya took inventory of the scars, scars that had not been there decades earlier and which were now accompanied by the wrinkles and blemishes of age. She ran a finger over the ribs she’d cracked earlier on Coruscant and winced, finding them still tender to the touch. Those strong in the Force often showed the stamina and appearance of youth beyond their years, but there was no hiding the process at her age. She was slower than she used to be—it now took her twice as long to pull on her tactical gear as it used to. She looked in the mirror as she pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. It had once been vibrant chestnut-auburn, but was now heavily streaked with gray. The formerly-smooth skin of her face was lined and crow’s feet pinched around her eyes. A realization swept into her mind unbidden.

She was too old for this.

To utter such words to others would have been blasphemy for Milya Tayrce Kraen. She carried herself as Yanibar’s most capable agent, strong, cunning, and prescient, and that was largely how others saw her, outside her family. But now, confronted only by her own aged visage, she could be honest. She was old, and she felt every one of her seventy-five years. She had fought and defended Yanibar for over fifty years, often doing secretive work in the shadows. When this was over, she realized, she and Selu would have a long talk about retirement. This would be her last fight.

However, that too was another distraction and Milya had no time for it, so she put it out of her mind. She finished her preparations, donned a heavy knee-length jacket and a hat to hide her appearance, and left the hotel. She found a cab to take her to her destination and emerged. She was downtown in one of the city’s commercial districts. The streets were lined with small shops and cafés. At this hour, the district was just beginning to fill up with customers and relatively few pedestrians strolled the cobblestone streets. She walked purposefully toward her destination, a small café that had been on the card.

About fifty meters from the establishment, she ducked into an alley quickly to check for a tail, but found none. Carefully, she looked over the café next. The actual building was about a dozen meters back from the street, a single-story building sandwiched between taller neighboring structures, with a wide porch featuring several shaded tables occupying the space between building and street for that portion of the clientele that preferred to savor the evening’s ambience. A low stone fence about a meter high and punctuated by flickering gaslights in metal torches separated the street from the café, but the sounds of conversation were muted—only a few patrons had arrived at this relatively early hour.

As she had hoped, there was a single man sitting at one of the stone tables. Milya braced herself, focusing on what she had to do. Convincing Calrissian of the situation would not be easy.

The aged woman entered the porch through the wide archway that served as an entrance and stopped beside the businessman, who had a snifter of Corellian brandy on the table in front of him. He was not as young as he used to be either, but carried himself with an air of dignity and charm that most men couldn’t pull off even if they wanted to. His dark skin also showed signs of age, but his fashionable attire and demeanor bespoke a man who fancied himself younger.

“Good evening and welcome to Almania,” Lando Calrissian told her, his rich suave voice a genteel accompaniment to the muted ambience of the café. “I’m Lando Calrissian, but I suppose you already knew that.”

He rose politely to greet her, waiting for her to offer her hand, but she didn’t.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me. I wasn’t sure if you would come.”

She sat down at the table across from him, and he took his seat as well.

“You managed to convince my receptionist to deliver me the card,” Lando replied. “You say you’re with the Jedi Order, but I don’t recognize you, and I believe I’d recognize someone of your. . .”

“Age?” she finished for him with a wry smile.

He flashed a smile back.

“I was going to say poise,” he answered smoothly. “Can I get you a drink while you explain what’s going on?”

She shook her head.

“Thank you for the offer, but there’s no time. The situation is quite urgent.”

Lando frowned.

“You mentioned something about my life being in danger,” he said gravely. “Is my family at risk?”

Her smile widened a notch.

“Not since you met me here,” she told him. “They should be just fine because you agreed to meet with me. Smart move on your part.”

Lando shook his head.

“You’re going to need to be more specific—and about a lot of things, too,” he answered forcefully. “I came this far to meet you, I deserve that much. Let’s start with your name, Jedi. . .”

“Kraen,” she told him. “And there’s something else you should know, Calrissian.”

She braced herself on the table, leaning forward incrementally to look directly into his eyes.

“I’m not a Jedi.”

Lando’s eyes widened in surprise, but Milya beckoned him forward with one hand. He complied reluctantly, leaning over the table so their faces were nearly touching.

“You brought security,” she whispered to him. “Can you reach any of them?”

Lando slid one hand into one of his pockets, turning slightly as he did so. The motion allowed her to see the flesh-colored earpiece he was wearing. A look of alarm crossed his face.

“Nothing,” he whispered back, clearly frightened but composed enough to not panic.

“The bait was taken,” she responded triumphantly.

“What do you mean?” he demanded. “What are you here for?”

“Your life,” she said simply.

Then she disappeared as a commotion broke out above his head that rained down masonry and dust around him, sending Lando scrabbling for cover behind the sturdy table.

Milya broke from her hiding place in the alley as she drew on the Force to conceal her from sight. She’d already been drawing on it to conceal her Force aura and the added strain combined with her other exertions left her skin glowing, a burning sensation racing up and down her body as her cells fought a losing battle to contain that much sheer energy. She found a drainpipe leading up to the roof of a neighboring building to the café and shimmied up it stealthily, aware that it was leading her to the opposite wall from the one only a few meters to Calrissian’s back. As she reached the top, Milya carefully checked her surroundings with the Force and her eyes. The rooftop was sharply sloped at its peak, but the concavity lessened towards its edge. Instead of a more conventional material, it was surfaced with rows of curved ochre ceramic tiles, and appeared to be deserted.

She saw nothing, sensed nothing, but knew something was wrong. A vision of an approaching menace had been growing in her mind and now she was fully aware of it. She paused and let her wandering senses home in on the threat she had seen. She found it poised at the edge of the opposite wall, lurking over Lando Calrissian and his companion like a predatory shadow, invisible to any casual inspection. However, Milya was certain that this was the threat she had seen. Her Force senses warned her that the threat had seen enough, that it would soon strike. Knowing that she had to act, but that she wasn’t even fully over the lip of the roof yet, she did what she had to.

Dropping her other concealments and exertions of the Force, she extended a hand towards the threat, and made a grasping gesture towards her, extending that idea through the Force with all her effort. A shadowy figure was jerked back to clatter atop the tiles nearly half the distance from the edge and the report of a weapon kicked up an explosion at the far end of the roof that rained down tile fragments below. No longer distracted by the need to maintain her focus anywhere but on herself, Milya leaped up onto the rooftop just as she sensed incoming danger. Drawing her saberstaff, she drew it and ignited one of the blades in time to parry three oncoming metal slugs that her opponent had fired. The silvery-white blade hummed as she spun it through a Soresu velocity. Even so, her opponent had leapt to their feet. However, Milya could now sense through their slipping Force camouflage that it was a human female, obviously younger than her. The need for concentration in combat caused the rest of the camouflage to diminish, allowing Milya to get the first good look at her opponent.

She was young indeed—couldn’t be older than thirty—with striking features and long red hair tied up in a utilitarian ponytail. She was wearing a form-fitting armored jumpsuit embedded with several small dark blue crystals, as well as other accoutrements. The woman was wearing goggles alongside a headset and judging by the glowing lights and readouts, had other electronic gear built into her suit—obviously a sophisticated piece of equipment. Over the suit, she was wearing a gear harness with several tools and weapons that Milya figured were typical for an assassin. On the roof behind her was a blaster rifle with a recently-fired underslung grenade launcher not unlike those that the Yanibar Guard carried, while she also held a small pistol in her hand, the source of the slugs. Milya knew from the gear and the way she stood that this was a dangerous opponent, one she could not afford a prolonged fight with.

Keeping her lightsaber lit, she came up with a blaster pistol in her left hand.

“You’ll want to set that down,” Milya informed the woman. “I’m only asking you once.”

Instead, the redhead dropped her pistol and went for a different weapon, her swift reflexes and the Force allowing her to draw a curved vibroblade with a sixty-centimeter blade from a back holster. The woman wielded it backhanded, deftly parrying away her three blaster bolts without the weapon showing signs of damage.

“Guess not,” Milya replied, returning the blaster to her shoulder holster and closing the gap with her lightsaber, swinging for an overhand blow.

The woman met her charge high, the two blades clashing. Milya was completely unsurprised to see that her lightsaber had no effect on the vibroblade—it was no doubt a custom model reinforced with cortosis for resistance against lightsabers.

Milya struck three more times, but the woman matched her blows with ease and blinding speed. Even with amplified by the Force, Milya found herself hard pressed against the younger woman. The vibroblade made a whistling sound and Milya jumped back, sucking her stomach in to avoid what would have been a lethal slice. She fell back as her adversary pressed her back towards the roof. Milya stood her ground in the face of a withering series of blows, her lightsaber meeting the metallic blade repeatedly. The ring of the vibroblade on the coherent humming shaft of the lightsaber echoed across the rooftops as her assailant sought to drive her back and force her to topple off the roof.

Standing her ground, Milya blocked the vibroblade out wide as the woman had tried to flank her from the left, then reversed her saberstaff’s grip and ignited the other end, sending a second silver-white blade spearing out. The woman threw herself backward, torso and head bending nearly to the point of being parallel to the ground, but she kept her balance. Her vibroblade came up, knocking the saberstaff away so she could recover. Expressionless, she straightened and faced Milya again, the relatively short reach of the vibroblade seemingly not a hindrance as she danced in and out of Milya’s range. Milya stoically defended herself with the resolute stance of Form III, the defensive form, but found that she was unable to mount a counterattack on the other woman. Oh, she tried, but her assailant was too fast, and those fractions of a second that Milya remembered being able to split as a younger woman now eluded her, allowing her opponent to wear away at her guard and escape retribution.

The wickedly-curved vibroblade jabbed in at her face after ricocheting off her saberstaff and Milya was narrowly too slow to fully defend the stroke. The blade left its mark on her, slicing a narrow cut across her scalp before she parried it and spun away, blood dribbling from the wound. She whirled back around, but the other woman had used the moment’s separation to step back and retrieve something from her harness.

“Calrissian’s still down there,” she said gloatingly. “Say goodbye.”

She activated the thumb switch on the grenade and flipped it behind her towards the opposite rooftop in an arc that would send it tumbling down onto the hapless businessman.

“No!” Milya screamed, drawing more upon the Force than she normally dared.

With one telekinetic fist, she slammed the woman aside into the crest of the roof, stunning her momentarily. She tried to pull the grenade upward, but found that even dazed, the mental grip her opponent had on the weapon was too strong. She couldn’t risk a battle of telekinesis with only half her effort before the grenade went off. Instead, she hurled the nearest object at hand—her saberstaff—at the round sphere, catching it in mid-arc just before it plunged down onto Calrissian. The grenade exploded in a three-meter fireball and the concussion nearly knocked her over even twenty meters away.

“Bad move,” the woman said as she recovered, the first words she’d spoken to Milya since their fight had begun.

Milya drew a vibroblade of her own and switched her stance to that of a knife fighter, left arm leading, right arm cradling the blade in a stabbing posture. Her opponent mirrored her. They circled briefly, sizing each other up, then the assassin lunged. Milya just barely parried and struck back, but her opponent was too swift, turning away from the attack.

The assassin lunged again and once more Milya deflected the lethal blade, but the vibroblade was a faint for a brutal punch to the face that Milya was unable to block. She lashed out with her own blade, but the assassin dropped under her stroke and kicked out her feet from under her. Milya caught sight of the assassin’s vicious slash aimed at her throat before it arrived and sprang over it and the assassin. However, as she jumped, the assassin’s left hand snapped up to catch her in the stomach. She tumbled over backwards gasping for breath as she lay on her back, her vibroblade knocked from her hands to clatter off the roof. The Force warned her of the danger and she rolled aside just as the vibroblade plunged down. Its edge sliced a horizontal cut across Milya’s back just under the shoulder blades and Milya knew that a centimeter deeper would have left her seriously injured, possibly crippled. However, the blade stabbed down too deeply, lodging between two of the tiles. Milya saw her opportunity and, rolling back, unleashed a kick to the assassin’s face, driving her backward. She went for her blaster, but the assassin recovered and dove on her. The other woman latched onto her wrist and bashed it painfully into the tiles before Milya’s grip weakened and it flew off the roof as well. Milya cried out in agony, driving an elbow into the assassin’s chin. That staggered her enough for Milya to draw her knees to her chest and kick upward, launching the assassin back. She landed on all fours as Milya came to her feet.

No words were exchanged as the two women began trading blows. The assassin was fast and precise, her agility and stamina greater than Milya’s. In return, the aged Elite Guardian was cunning and practiced, her technique far more developed, her movements less obvious. They were both fueling their martial arts with the Force, lending its strengths as they wove through unpredictable combinations. Strike was blocked inside, only to result in a painful headbutt, which was countered by a low blow into a driving elbow. Soon, both women were battered from the punishment they both were taking, but Milya could feel her endurance ebbing. Even with the Force, she could not battle this woman much longer with hope of success, nor could she count on help arriving in time. She felt her strength leave her as another gloved fist caught her in the ribs. Milya gasped as recently-healed ribs were forcefully-fractured, then delivered an uppercut that took the other woman under the jaw. The assassin gagged and spat blood, and the two went back at it, trading kicks, punches, and elbow strikes in a vicious combat that took them near the edge of the roof overlooking the street.

Milya feinted and kicked low, aiming for a knee, but the assassin leapt up, spinning in midair to deliver a punishing blow to the nerve cluster in Milya’s right shoulder. An explosion of pain burned through her arm and she cried out, the limb rendered temporarily immobile. The assassin smiled, preparing a pair of jabs that Milya would be unable to defend with only one arm. Milya knew the blows would either catch her in the throat or eyes, two vital targets that she could not simultaneously defend. She opted not to, closing her eyes instead and focusing. The assassin struck, but her hands drove through thin air as Milya disappeared in front of her. Suddenly, someone plowed into her from behind, driving her off the edge of the roof. Caught unaware, she could not slow her descent or recover with her legs entangled. The assassin let out a short scream as she fell, throwing up her arms to protect her face before she crashed to the permacrete sidewalk five meters below.

Milya eased herself slowly up off of the assassin’s prone form, wincing at the pain in her left ankle, which had been caught under the woman she’d landed. The few passersby had screamed and run away when they fell, but through the blood dripping from her cut scalp into her eyes, she saw Calrissian running over, pointing a cane in her direction.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Mostly,” she said. “Is that a weapon?”

“Blaster in the tip.”

“If you could stun her a few more times, I’d be grateful,” Milya told him, clutching at her ribs. “Don’t want to take chances with this one.”

Calrissian nodded, discharging three stun bolts into the woman’s limp form. Milya was in agony, but she remembered her training, wrapping the woman’s wrists together and slapping a set of stun cuffs around them. Milya fished in her pockets for her tiny medkit and removed the strongest sedative from inside, a potent dose that would lay a Wookiee low for an entire day. Though her punished body screamed for the medication, she administered it to the assassin’s neck instead.

“I hope that hurt you as much as it did me,” Milya growled. “But it ought to keep you down.”

A black fully enclosed landspeeder of considerable size roared up suddenly, with another in its wake, and Milya scrabbled for the pistol that was no longer in her holster.

“Easy there,” Calrissian told her. “That belongs to my security teams.

“That was fast,” Milya told him.

“They were on standby a safe distance away if I didn’t check in within five minutes of arrival.”

Sure enough, black-uniformed men with blasters and sporting the Tendrando Arms logo on their hats and arms burst out of the landspeeder, accompanied by a pair of lethal YVH droids. Four of them quickly formed a perimeter around the café while two trained their weapons on the prone assassin and two more flanked Calrissian to begin escorting him to the landspeeder.

“Bring them,” Calrissian told his people as Milya searched the street for her vibroblade and pistol.

“No way,” she started, but he swiftly crossed over to her, putting one arm around her.

“You saved my life here, now it’s my turn to return the favor,” he said. “You need medical attention and a place to store this young lady that’s quiet and secure. I can give you both, on the house and without anyone else the wiser for it.”

Milya winced, then acquiesced, nodding slowly.

“All right,” she said.

A Tendrando Arms guard handed her the vibroblade she’d been about to stoop down to retrieve and she accepted it gratefully.

“Any sign of a lightsaber?” she asked as they led her and Calrissian over to one of the landspeeders.

“No, ma’am, but we’ll keep looking and bring any weapons we find,” the security guard assured her.

They helped her into the landspeeder where she sat on a leather bench seat in the middle of the vehicle. Calrissian slid in across the vehicle from her, the door closing behind him as they drove off.

“Now that we’re safe, I have to ask: how did you do that?” Calrissian asked her. “One minute, I’m talking to you, and the next thing I know, you’re up on the roof fighting like a madwoman.”

Milya smiled faintly at him.

“The Force has many manifestations. I can create Force phantoms of myself, and with some difficulty, project them across space, even make them so that other Force-users are not aware of the counterfeit.”

“That’s why you didn’t touch me. That would have revealed your trick,” Lando realized. “You were using us as bait.”

She inclined her head slightly.

“The only way to ensure the assassin did not strike at your family or in such a way that I could not defeat her was to place both of us together in an undefended area. Such an opportunity would be too great to pass up. I used the phantom to fool her into thinking she could eliminate us both at the same time, then struck from hiding. I used the same trick to get behind her and push us off the roof,” Milya told him.

As far as explanations were concerned, that was one of the longest Milya had ever given, but she felt she owed it to Calrissian. All things considered, she had lured him here to unwittingly serve as bait for a lethal assassin that he didn’t even know was coming for him. In return, he’d been quite civilized about the whole thing, and she was willing to be accommodating about it to a certain point.

“That’s quite a gamble you took,” Calrissian said. “What if there had been more than one of them?”

“Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Milya told him. “I only sensed one threat, but if I’d been wrong, then they probably would have killed at least one of us.”

Calrissian frowned at her.

“When were you going to let me in on this little plan of yours?”

Milya shrugged.

“I didn’t have the chance,” she said. “I knew I was being watched the moment I arrived on this planet. The assassin was covering her tracks well, and she knew what to look for.”

“And what is that?”

“Someone who could stop her,” Milya said wearily, grimacing against the pain running through her body. “I am sorry that I put your life at risk, General Calrissian, particularly without consulting you. If there had been any way to let you know. . .”

She shook her head regretfully as she trailed off, then collected her thoughts.

“I made the decision that I thought you would have made if you had been aware of the situation. I made it to protect your family, based on what the Force was telling me at the time. It was the only path I saw where they weren’t placed in danger.”

Lando’s eyebrows rose.

“Well, far be it from me to question the Force,” he answered dubiously. “I suppose since I escaped this unhurt and you didn’t, that it’d be unfair of me to hold it against you.”

“I’m not that hurt,” Milya lied even as she tasted the blood on a split lip.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Lando replied.

“Bad hair day,” she said listlessly as she laid her head back against the headrest. “I think I’m bleeding on your upholstery.”

Lando snorted.

“An attempt on my life is narrowly averted, and you think I’m worried about that? Trust me, you’re fine. Now sit back and try to rest—my people will take good care of you.”

“Thanks,” Milya muttered, then softer, she added. “Just like old times.”

“What’s that?” Lando asked.

“Saving someone from a Dark Jedi,” Milya replied. “I did it before, a long time ago on Coruscant, then had to be rescued and patched back up by a stranger. Not something I’d hoped to repeat.”

Lando grinned good-naturedly at her.

“I’d have dressed better if I’d have known I was rescuing a beautiful Jedi in distress today,” he answer smoothly. “Maybe had some holocams handy to capture the moment.”

She tried to muster up the energy to glare at him, but felt too weak—a rarity for Milya.

“Save the charm, Calrissian,” she told him. “I’m not a Jedi, remember?”

“Close enough, and still beautiful at that,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but smiled in spite of herself. All in all, it could have been much worse.


 * Cruiser Daara’sherum

Jaina awoke gradually. She cracked her eyelids open, squinting against the bright light, as she took stock of her situation. She was reclining in a bed in some kind of white-paneled room. Glancing to the right, the Jedi noticed a pale blue curtain draped on one side of her, stretching past the foot of the bed. As feeling returned to her limbs, she was pleased to find them hale once more, with no lingering pain or discomfort. She’d been tucked under a blue blanket, and was wearing a loose robe that she felt ran down to her mid-thighs. A flex of her right hand confirmed that she was fully mobile. With her eyes more or less adjusted to the light, she looked over at her left side in turn, and saw that her arm had an intravenous line running from it, and that her hand was being held by an older woman, who was looking at her intently.

“You’re awake,” the woman offered. “How do you feel?”

Jaina frowned. Surprisingly, she felt great. Foggy memories resurfaced, reminding her that her last brush with consciousness had included considerable pain. More realization hit her as she realized she was in a medical ward.

“Jedi Solo, how do you feel?” the woman asked.

“I feel fine, just a little. . . hazy,” Jaina replied slowly. “Like my mind is trying to fill in blank spots in my memory.”

The other woman nodded.

“The feeling will pass. Are you in any pain?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jaina replied.

She remembered not being able to move her legs when last she was awake, so she wiggled her toes experimentally and found that they responded appropriately.

“Good,” woman said as she felt Jaina’s pulse. “I can feel your strength returning. I suspect you’ll want to be rid of this.”

Rising, she disconnected the line from Jaina’s arm. Rather than bandaging the pinprick where the needle had been inserted, she waved her hand over the puncture. There was a faint blue glow and Jaina felt the inside of her arm tingle for a second, and then when the woman’s wrinkled hand was removed, there was no trace of the pinprick. Jaina looked up at the woman in realization.

“You’re a Force healer,” she said aloud.

“That’s right. My name is Cassi.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re on a ship belonging to the Yanibar Guard. We’re friends of the Jedi Order. You’re safe.”

“How long have I been here?”

“At least two weeks now,” Cassi replied. “Your wounds were extensive.”

“Thank you,” Jaina told her. “I don’t remember everything down there, but I know I was hurt pretty bad. You did a good job.”

Cassi smiled modestly.

“The surgeons repaired most of your body, not me,” she said.

“Is it still my body?” Jaina asked. “I mean, I didn’t lose anything or gain any metal parts, did I?”

“Sense for yourself if you need to, Jedi Solo,” Cassi said. “It might be a good idea for you to do so anyway.”

Jaina nodded, closing her eyes and tapping on the Force for the first time in a while. She let her sensations collate around her head, then drift downwards, sensing herself in a self-awareness routine that her Uncle Luke had taught her many years earlier. Normally, she used it quickly during battle to take stock of her injuries, but now she allowed herself the pleasure of a more leisurely examination. Finding herself restored and without any new cybernetic acquisitions, she smiled and exhaled deeply. She felt better than she did in recent memory.

“Extend my thanks to everyone who helped put me back together,” she told Cassi. “I think I’ve spent enough time in this bed by now.”

Jaina wrapped the robe’s folds closed, sat up, and swung her legs over the side of the bed eagerly, ready to be mobile again. Her bare feet hit the cold floor and she started to stand, only to have her legs wobble and give way out from under her. Slipping, she plunged towards the floor with her robe flying open in a most undignified fashion, only to have Cassi catch her with a firm grip under each arm.

“Maybe not quite so fast next time?” Cassi suggested.

Jaina winced and nodded as Cassi helped her back up so she could sit on the bed, pulling the robe closed.

“Your legs are still weak,” Cassi told her. “The neurosurgeon had to reconstruct some of the damaged pathways.”

“Great,” Jaina answered sarcastically. “But I feel fine!” “Having your strength and health return doesn’t mean that you’re able to instantly regain all of your former abilities,” Cassi explained gently. “Nor does it mean you’re ready to face the worries and concerns of the galaxy yet anyway.”

“I think I am,” Jaina insisted. “Someone shot me down, and then tried to blow me up. I’m not about to let that slide.”

“Child, you can barely stand, much less go gallivanting off,” Cassi chided her kindly, reaching down to pull both of Jaina’s legs back up onto the bed. “Those problems will still be there when you recover, and if not, is that such a bad thing?”

“Maybe not,” Jaina admitted. “I don’t know; it doesn’t normally work that way.”

She felt strange, having this woman talk to her and treat her like a petulant child. She knew that Cassi was only acting out of what she believed were her best interests. However, Jaina Solo was not one to lie down idly while a menace lurked in the shadows. She inched her uncooperative legs towards the bed’s edge again.

“No, not yet,” Cassi said soothingly as she blocked the motion easily with one hand. “The other doctors tell me that you will need at least two weeks of physical therapy before you’ll be fully recovered.”

“Yeah, right,” Jaina answered, unconvinced. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll be up and around in another couple of hours.”

“Jedi Solo, listen to me,” Cassi said with sudden firmness. “Your body needs to rest and recover—at a proper pace. Not just from this set of injuries, but from years of punishment. Let yourself heal—fully.”

Jaina blinked at the abrupt shift in the woman’s voice.

“Excuse me?”

Cassi was undeterred.

“I’ve sensed the pain, the scars, the not-quite-healed wounds,” she told the Jedi. “The things you’ve lived with for years.”

“Like what?” Jaina challenged.

“Your left ankle isn’t as strong as your right,” Cassi replied. “It’s a small difference, but I’m sure you’ve noticed it.”

Blorash jelly, Jaina thought. Her left foot had been twisted and pinioned when a Yuuzhan Vong had encased her feet in the sticky substance, ten years earlier.

“I have sensed remnants of toxins in your body, deep scar tissue in your limbs, and a mind that is not at peace with itself,” Cassi continued.

“I’ve had a clean bill of health since the fight on Tenupe three years ago,” Jaina countered. “Just get me walking again as quickly as possible, and I’ll be fine.”

Cassi sighed.

“If that is what you want,” she said.

She gripped one of Jaina’s legs and began firmly kneading the atrophied muscles there. Instantly, fingers of pain traversed up Jaina’s thigh and she gasped aloud. Cassi paused.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

Jaina nodded, but was unrelenting.

“Keep going, I can take it. The pain’s not that bad.”

Cassi began again, stretching and taxing muscles that had lain idle for too long. Jaina’s eyes squeezed shut as she tried to apply a Force technique to blank past the pain, but she found her normal mental defenses were lacking, laid bare by whatever techniques had been used to allow her to rest so peacefully. She couldn’t summon up the necessary control to shunt aside the pain and now the protestations of her legs brought her to tears. Seeing the agony in her eyes, Cassi took pity and stopped.

“Why did you stop?” Jaina asked through gritted teeth.

“You’ve held yourself together with the Force and sheer grit for too long,” Cassi said. “You need to let yourself rest.”

Jaina frowned.

“You know, I appreciate the healing, but I could’ve done without whatever you did to weaken those mental defenses. They’re there for a reason.”

Cassi’s gaze dropped momentarily.

“I am sorry,” she said. “That was me. Sometimes, the best way to repair a leak in a house is to open up a wall.”

She withdrew her hands. Cassi knew when her entreaties were being rejected, and though her heart ached for the young Jedi trying to push herself back to health, she knew that she wasn’t welcome. Over the two weeks she had spent ministering to the unconscious woman, Cassi had developed an empathy for her, but clearly Jaina did not have the same perspective. Sadly, she prepared to leave, knowing that what Jaina wanted was available—and not from her.

“Another therapist will be along shortly to help you get back on your feet,” Cassi informed Jaina. “You’ll be walking within a day or two. May the Force be with you—I’m sorry for my intrusion.”

“Do you mean that?” Jaina asked her.

Cassi half-turned, caught offguard by the question.

“That apology, do you really mean that?” Jaina pressed.

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Cassi answered slowly. “I did what I thought was best—what I would have done if you were my own daughter. I’m sorry that you saw what I did as an intrusion.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Jaina inquired. “We don’t know each other.”

“Because I sensed a great loneliness in you, that you trusted nobody with the deep hurts that you carry. When I felt that, I wanted to help.” Cassi gave Jaina a frank look.

“Nobody should live like that. I had hoped to see you whole again—but I remember the urgency of youth well.”

She turned and started to walk off, but a plaintive voice stopped her.

“Wait.”

Cassi stopped, swiveling back to regard Jaina once more, who was clenching the bedrest.

“You really want to help me?”

“What does the Force tell you?” Cassi replied. “I have nothing to hide.”

Jaina closed her eyes in concentration, focusing on Cassi’s words.

“That’s not all, is it?” she asked. “You saw something else that drove your concern for me.”

“I didn’t,” Cassi answered simply. “But one of my closest friends did, someone who foresight I trust. She saw turmoil in your future.”

“Runs in the family,” Jaina quipped, then she sobered. “I’ve never allowed anyone close enough to see those hurts you mentioned, but you’re right, they’re there. It’s just. . . I can’t afford to be lying down when whoever attacked me is still out there. I’m the Sword of the Jedi—part of my duty is to be the defender that the order needs me to be.”

“Even the sharpest sword becomes nicked and dulled with constant use,” Cassi replied. “There are hundreds of people and nearly a dozen Force-users looking for your attacker, including many who knew her well, but she’s proven very adept at hiding herself. If you let me, I can rehabilitate you, at least until she’s found, or you’re fully recovered.”

“I think that’s the best thing for me,” Jaina said. “I want to be out looking for the scum who did this, but I know I’m not up to it right now. I don’t know what I did to deserve this concern, but thank you.”

“Deserve?” Cassi responded. “You didn’t have to deserve anything from me, Jedi Solo. You were there and needed someone.”

She walked back over to Jaina, clasping her hand with the younger woman’s.

“We’ll get you better—together.”

“Together,” Jaina repeated. “When do we start?”

“You already have,” Cassi told her.

“Sounds good,” Jaina said appreciatively. “But before we move on, could I get something more. . . substantial for me to wear?”

She plucked at one lapel on the robe.

“I thought about that,” Cassi said. “I put some clothes together for when you awoke, guessing at your size.”

She pulled up a locker from the side of the ward and onto the bed, opening it up. Two stacks of clothes took up most of the locker, while the remaining third held toiletries, a utility belt. On top of the belt rested Jaina’s lightsaber.

“I took the liberty of charging it for you,” Cassi said, indicating the lightsaber. “If you’re hungry, I can have some food brought in as well.”

Jaina looked over the contents of the locker with a combination of surprise and gratitude. Her eyes moistened again and she swept one hand to brush the tears away.

“I never knew my grandmother,” Jaina told Cassi. “She died long before I was born. But if I’d ever had the chance to meet her, I hope she would have been as thoughtful and kind as you are. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Jedi Solo.”

The younger Jedi placed her arms around Cassi, who returned the embrace warmly.

“Call me Jaina.”


 * Almania

She was lying in the medical bed, bracing herself for more pain. It was just her and a 2-1B droid—fewer than it had been a few hours ago, but she was tired of being patched back together. The ward was private and quiet, but Milya had taken no chances, refusing all sedatives. She needed to be alert in case something happened. The droids had done a good job treating her wounds, but one of them was still fiddling with her ankle.

“Hold still please,” the gray 2-1B droid told her.

It was easier said than done, but Milya held unflinchingly still as the droid jabbed a needle into her broken ankle several times as it administered the injections. It then encased the ankle in a thick walking cast. Milya figured that it matched well with the thick wrap around her chest that was keeping her newly-rejoined ribs in place, the bacta bandage on the slice in her back, and the small but obvious dressing on her scalp wound. Once the droid was done, she rolled her pant leg down over the cast. The droid whirred and left, but Milya noticed a silhouette waiting outside the privacy curtain. She considered the wrap around her chest as sufficient, then addressed the waiting visitor.

“Come on in, Calrissian, I’m decent,” she told him.

He entered with a small silken bundle and offered it to her.

“I figured you might need a new shirt after your last one was sliced up,” he said.

“Very thoughtful,” she replied as she held it up.

It was loose and flowing and not nearly a replacement for the tough, utilitarian garment that the assassin’s blade had ruined. However, she figured it would do for the moment.

“Not quite my style,” Milya commented wryly as she pulled it on. “But at least it’s black.”

Lando Calrissian offered his trademark smile.

“A fitting color for such a stealthy guardian,” he told her. “Consider it a gift from a grateful host.”

Milya offered her trademark eyeroll in reply.

“Spare me the charm, Calrissian. I’m not interested or impressed,” she said. “Where’s the assassin?”

“Still sedated and under heavy guard,” Lando replied. “I have four YVH droids watching her every move.”

“I have to admit, this private retreat of yours is pretty impressive,” Milya commented as she pulled on her right boot. “Do you often find yourself needing an underground retreat with heavy security, a detention cell, guard droids, and a private medical ward?”

Lando grinned conspiratorially.

“Let’s just say I made an investment in them in anticipation of some future needs,” he said. “Such as now, apparently.”

“Right,” Milya told him as she slid off the bed and limped toward the exit.

“Where are you going?” Lando asked. “You’re still recovering.”

“I’m fine,” Milya answered. “Do you have a secure means of communication offworld?”

Lando’s good cheer dropped a notch.

“Unfortunately, our secure communications relay station at the edge of the system had an accident the day of our little run-in,” he said. “There’s no way to get a secure transmission out right now—my people are working on it, though—don’t worry.”

“Tell them to work faster,” she snapped through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, the door to the private ward burst open and someone yanked open the privacy curtain just as Milya reached for it, revealing a distraught and frustrated-looking Tyria Sarkin Tainer.

“Hello Tyria,” Milya said. “How did you get here?”

“Told the security guard that I was a Jedi on a top-secret mission,” she said. “How did you get here?”

Milya shrugged.

“Landspeeder.”

Tyria scowled, unimpressed with the dismissive answer.

“You and I were supposed to handle the threat together,” she said. “The plan was that you and I would identify the most-likely target and then work together to stop the attack.”

Milya was nonplussed.

“Seems like that’s how it went to me,” she said. “We split up to investigate likely targets and then stopped it.”

Tyria frowned.

“Except for the part where you went off on your own and baited an attack on yourself and Calrissian while I was canvassing the family. That was not in the plan.”

Milya met the younger Jedi’s gaze evenly.

“I needed you out of the immediate area in case there was another attacker,” Milya said. “The best chance of flushing out the number of attackers was to set up an opportunity to great to resist. I figured I could buy enough time to get Calrissian clear, but if there were too many of them, I needed you to get Calrissian and his family to safety.”

“You were prepared to sacrifice yourself to stop them, even when the two of us would have had a better chance against an attack?” Tyria asked.

Milya nodded.

“It was the best course of action. If there had been more than one attacker, I would have contacted you. There was a backup file in the ship’s computer that would have been sent to you if I failed.”

“Well, I hope you’re happy,” Tyria said, gesturing to Milya’s collection of bandages. “You could have avoided a lot of those injuries if you hadn’t been so insistent on confronting the assassin head-on without me.”

A small smile played on Milya’s lips.

“I wanted to compare the quality of the bacta bandages on this world with the Jedi Temple’s,” she said. “That seemed like the best way.”

She started for the door again.

“Where are you going?” Lando asked again.

“I have a prisoner to interrogate,” Milya said. “Let me know when the communications are up.”

Tyria placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day,” she told Milya. “You should rest and recover. I’m a Jedi and I’m former intelligence. I can handle this.”

Milya regarded her for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Fine, but make sure you check her thoroughly for failsafes and suicide methods before you wake her up,” she said. “Can’t hoard all the fun, I suppose.”

Tyria smiled sweetly back at her.

“Besides, a silk shirt isn’t the best interrogation attire. Not very intimidating. In the meantime, I’m sure General Calrissian would be glad to share a lunch with you. You must be starving, after all.”

Milya glared vibroblades at her.

“You set me up,” she said.

“Not as fun when the boot’s on the other foot,” Tyria answered lightly. “Enjoy your lunch.”

She sauntered off as Lando approached Milya.

“I can have something brought down for you,” he told her, sobering slightly. “And though it pains me to admit it given how lovely and capable you are, but I have no intentions toward you. In another universe, another life, the possibility would be beyond intriguing—but not this one. I am happily-married, after all.”

“You’re not the only one,” she said, then shook her head with mock indignation. “You’re just a serial charmer, Calrissian. You can’t even help yourself.”

He grinned.

“What can I say? I believe in treating beauty and grace with the respect and appreciation it deserves,” he said.

She rolled her eyes again.

“Underneath all that charm, foppery, and rakishness, there’s a good heart full of selflessness and loyalty and courage,” Milya replied. “But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

He let out a sigh of mock relief.

“Good to know,” Lando told her. “Now let me see about that lunch.”


 * Rhinnal

Ryion Kraen wrapped his coat around him, steeling himself against the chilly blasts of wind howling through the streets, as well as the frosty looks he received from more well-to-do passersby. An ancient Core World, Rhinnal was famous for the exclusivity and arrogance of its inhabitants, and Ryion’s garb—plain dark garments capped off with a hat and coat—immediately identified him as an outsider. Striding through lines of solemn-looking offices around the row, he swept his surroundings for hints of a possible threat with the Force, but sensed nothing except the muted hostility and condescension from those he passed on the wide sidewalks.

The snobbery of its people aside, Ryion found no reason to suspect anything untoward of happening on Rhinnal. He had been drawn here for two reasons: the planet was renowned for the quality of its doctors, and it housed an old Jedi chapter house that had been converted into a medical facility. Though the odds were only middling that Ariada would choose to hit such a target, Ryion had volunteered to investigate it, partly out of boredom from being cooped up on the Daara’sherum and partly out of the hope that Ariada would try something on Rhinnal. The last time he had clashed with her, she’d had the edge and caught him by surprise. He was looking for an opportunity to turn the tables on her, and investigating a chancy rumor on Rhinnal beat sitting around a cruiser.

Selu had told him that his next mission was to return Jaina Solo to the Jedi Order once she was recovered—and such a babysitting assignment exactly the opposite of what Ryion had wanted to do. While she waited, he’d finagled permission to investigate Rhinnal as a potential target. His father had been reluctant to let him go, and Ryion knew why. Selu feared that he would be conflicted by having to confront a woman he had once loved and lived with, a woman he had known for years, and so he’d given his son missions that took him far from potential conflict with Yanibar. Ryion understood those reasons, but he didn’t accept them. After all, Selu and Milya and Morgedh had largely trained Ariada, and they weren’t being curtailed from missions with a high chance of confrontation. However, he wouldn’t grouse about his assignments—he had learned that he’d been sent where he was needed.

Ryion traced a perimeter around the former Jedi chapter house, attentive for any disturbance or sabotage, but found nothing. He had circled back to the front entrance and was about to check inside when the building exploded. Gouts of flame and smoke bellowed through the ruined structure and part of the roof collapsed into the raging inferno. Ryion was thrown to the ground by the blast, but quickly scrambled to his feet, ready for action, ignoring the scrapes and bruises he had received. Judging by the blast patterns, there had been multiple charges planted inside at load-bearing points. He stretched out with the Force to sense if there were any survivors, but to his shock and dismay, sensed none. His face contorted with grief and carefully-controlled anger. The bomber had been so thorough that not a single one of the hundred-some people inside had escaped when the historic structure was callously destroyed.

Sirens began to wail as emergency-response vehicles closed in on the sight of the catastrophe. Ryion backed away, fading into the crowd. There was nothing he could do for the people inside, and he couldn’t gather evidence while the remnants of the structure were engulfed in flames. If the bomber had been as thorough about covering their tracks as they had been in planting their charges, he suspected that he wouldn’t glean much from it. The best thing he could do was report back to his father.

Once he was clear from the blast site, he headed for his landspeeder and climbed inside. Slotting a headphone into place and enabling the privacy field, he activated his datapad, linking its comm system with the more sophisticated one built into the Emblem-class Elite Guardian transport he had used to make the trip here. Ryion focused on his piloting, but the streets were sparsely crowded at this hour—it was late for most on Rhinnal. The datapad whirred and hummed for several minutes before it patched him through to his father over the secure, encrypted link.

“She struck Rhinnal,” Ryion reported. “The Jedi chapter house we suspected could be targeted was destroyed by a bomb just as I arrived.”

Selu’s face was grave.

“Ariada is striking multiple targets then, and very quickly. This must be part of her prearranged plan.”

The ground shook around Ryion’s landspeeder and he quickly looked around, scanning his surroundings for trouble. He sensed more deaths, lots of them, and knew immediately that there had been another attack. A fireball roiled into the sky, jutting its way past the multistory buildings in this district. Ryion quickly pulled up an overlay of the city map and made an estimate of its location relative to key landmarks. The result caused him to heave a dejected sigh.

“What is it?” Selu asked.

“Another bomb,” Ryion told him. “Coming from the direction of the Rhinnal State Medical Academy. I was too late.”

“It’s not your fault, Ryion,” Selu replied. “My guess is that Rhinnal’s heavily-structured society isn’t going to let you gather intelligence on the bombing without a good cover. We’ll see if we can get information another way; you should head back.”

“Really?” Ryion asked. “You want me to just drop this?”

“We have more pressing matters,” Selu said. “I can’t have you digging around bomb sites when Luke Skywalker and his entourage are out of contact. There’s nothing you can do for these victims—but there might be for her next targets.”

“What?” Ryion exclaimed.

“We haven’t heard from them in two weeks, and your mother missed her last check-in. This is more pressing.”

“I’m on my way,” Ryion said. “Send rendezvous coordinates to the ship.”

“They’ll be in your navicomputer by the time you arrive,” Selu told him.

The transmission terminated as Ryion accelerated his speeder to the maximum legal speed and headed back to the spaceport. In his haste, he decided to not take quite so many precautions as normal—he hadn’t noticed anyone tailing him, nor any surveillance, so he deemed it an acceptable risk. He reached the docking bay without incident, lowering the main cargo ramp to drive the speeder directly into the hold. Ryion had just jumped out of the vehicle and started for the cockpit when the sensation of danger struck him. He drew his lightsaber and looked around. The Force was alive and active, telling him to get out of the ship. He sprinted out of the hold, leaping away from the ship as its underside erupted in fiery chaos. The shockwave sent him sprawling and when he looked back at his ship, he saw that it had been severely damaged by the explosion. There was no way it was spaceworthy, and he couldn’t afford the planetary authorities crawling through the burned interior of a ship loaded with all kinds of equipment that would raise the wrong kinds of questions. He’d lost his datapad, but the ship’s auxiliary computer was still online and keyed to his comlink. Ryion cursed himself for an idiot as he activated the ship’s self-destruct, then shoved the comlink back in his pocket and sprinted away from the hangar.

He’d have to arrange for alternate transportation—maybe he could rent a ship and have YGI return it later. Of course, that would also require finding some way of communicating with the Yanibar Guard since he didn’t have any secure comm gear with him—it was in the speeder—or knowledge of the rendezvous coordinates. He also doubted that YGI had a presence on this planet for an ad hoc mission like this one.

“Kriff me!” Ryion swore.

Once he was clear of the burning ship in the docking bay, he fished around on a small pack attached to his belt, coming up with a credit chip. This was his emergency fund that he carried in case of emergencies, his lucky credit chip that he’d had for nearly fifteen years. He pulled it up and activated it to check the number, expecting to see a solid 20,000 there. Instead, to his utter shock, the value read thirteen. Ryion stared at the number incredulously. The numerical value was exactly the same as the numerical value for AC—Ariada’s initials. He clenched one fist helplessly—he’d seen her pull similar stunts, and the thirteen had always been her calling card with electronic tomfoolery. He should have been more careful—he should have recalled Ariada’s ability to slice into the old credit chips and replaced it, but he hadn’t. He remembered even watching her do it on a mission once and had joked that he hoped she never cracked into his lucky chip, but never connected that to his own emergency supply. He’d been stupid to not replace the chip after her fall, but she obviously hadn’t forgotten her tricks.

Ryion slumped against a wall outside spaceport, realizing how bad his situation was. He was without funds, comms, transport, or support. The old adage in YGI was that an agent with any one of those had a chance, but an agent without any was out of luck. Yanibar’s intelligence apparatus had never been large enough to furnish expansive operations on far-flung planets, and lacking the support of the majority of the military institution, he doubted they’d send help any time soon. He closed his eyes, trying to focus despite the massive wave of frustration welling up within him at his own stupidity.

He looked around, searching for something he could use, but nothing sprung out at him. The wind picked up again, cutting through his coat, and he shivered. His first priorities would have to be food and shelter. The temperature was dropping and he had no food. While he could survive for days in this weather without nourishment and water was readily available, Ryion had no desire to try and confront Ariada or one of her allies in such a state. For now, he would have to improvise.

Ryion spent the night huddled in an alley near the spaceport, improvising some insulation out of discarded shipping materials he found in a trash compactor. He was cold, tired, and hungry, but he couldn’t risk falling asleep. He’d been spotted, tracked, and targeted without him even being aware of it, and he had no desire to be assaulted further in his sleep. The Force would sustain him.

The next day was more difficult. His disheveled appearance won him little sympathy from the generally well-dressed passengers at the spaceport. Ryion attempted to find work or offer to earn passage, but nobody took him seriously—nor did he find anything to eat. By evening, he was dejected and bitter, unsure of what his next move would be. At this rate, it was more likely that he would have to use the Force to persuade someone, or else steal or stow away to get by. Having to resort to such measures galled him, but he didn’t see any other way to escape this planet. As long as he was in the spaceport, he had options.

That was when the security guards approached him.

“I’ve watched you bother the passengers for the better part of two hours,” one of the guards said nastily. “Time for you to move along. There’s no begging in the spaceport.”

“I wasn’t begging, sir,” Ryion said politely. “I was simply making a number of entrepreneurial approaches.”

“There’s no soliciting allowed either,” the other guard said, withdrawing a hefty stun baton and menacing him with it. “Do you want to go the easy way or the hard way?”

It occurred to Ryion that he could drop both of the guards right here, knock them out, and steal their equipment and supplies. Then he remembered the holocams watching him, and knew that while he could probably escape the spaceport, law enforcement would be after him, and might even suspect him of involvement in the bombings. That was to be avoided at all costs—the full weight of planetary law enforcement on a Core World like Rhinnal was not easily escaped. While Ryion figured he was good enough to do so, it would heavily complicate his plans. Instead, he squinted at the guards, determined to play the part and maybe even have a little fun in the process.

“I’ll go,” he said, but couldn’t resist a parting jab at the guard. “Could you just remind me which street your mother lives on? I’m sure she’ll let me spend the night.”

He smirked, winking at the other guard, which earned him a haymaker of a punch right in the mouth. Ryion saw it coming, but figured what the hell. He deserved it for being such an idiot and getting himself stranded on this planet full of snobs.

The next thing he remembered was being dragged across permacrete and dumped outside the spaceport. They deposited him on the ground and then one of them—probably the one he’d insulted—stomped on his kidney, which Ryion felt he definitely didn’t deserve. The two guards left him there in a dazed state after reminding him firmly and profanely not to enter the premises again.

“Your mother will be very disappointed when she hears about this!” he shouted back at them as he got off the ground, shaking his head to clear his grogginess and wincing at the pain in his back.

He had definitely had better days.

“Are you all right? Hey, you all right?”

Ryion turned, unsure if he was being addressed to see a young male Togrutan wearing a spaceport custodian’s uniform approaching him.

“Me?” he asked, wincing at the pain from the newly-acquired cut on his lip.

“Yeah, you look a little shaken up,” the Togrutan told him.

“Just a scratch, thanks,” Ryion said. “Little business disagreement, that’s all.”

“You mean you were thrown out of the spaceport after trying to bum a ride from a dozen people all afternoon,” the Togrutan replied. “Don’t try to deny it, I saw it happen.”

“All right, more or less,” Ryion admitted, wiping his lip. “Not one of my better days.”

“I can see that,” the Togrutan told him. “Let me guess; you’re an offworlder who got stranded on Rhinnal.”

Ryion’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he scanned the red-skinned alien with the Force, wanting to avoid being led into a trap. However, he sensed no ulterior motives within the young Togrutan, no hidden agendas. Cautiously, he appraised the other sentient and nodded.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Pretty much,” the custodian said. “You’re dressed like an offworlder, you have no funds, and you smell like you came from that ship that burned yesterday. If you were from around here, you’d have already gone to your friends.”

“Maybe I just don’t have any friends here,” Ryion suggested.

“Either way, you could probably use one,” the Togrutan said, offering his hand. “My name’s Erlam.”

“Ryion,” he answered, shaking the Togrutan’s hand.

“You look like you could use a hot meal, maybe a place for the night,” Erlam said.

“I don’t have anything to trade for that,” Ryion told him. “I can’t repay you.”

Erlam shook his head, causing his montrails to sway.

“No repayment necessary. Just helping out. My shift just ended—you can come with me back to my place.”

Ryion still sensed no deception or malice or even scheming from Erlam, just simple honesty, so he allowed the Togrutan to lead him into one of the humbler districts of the city. The streets were far narrower here, and the dwellings considerably humbler. Only a few lights were in evidence even as night fell. The poverty of the district didn’t bother Erlam, who cheerfully greeted several of the passersby they encountered. They stopped at a small ramshackle dwelling made of cheap permacrete with a door and small window cut out of it.

Erlam knocked on the door.

“Grandma, I’m home!” he called as he unlocked and opened it, ushering Ryion into the small home.

Ryion ducked as he stepped into the dwelling, which was lit by only a few dim glowpanels. He briefly surveyed the dwelling, ascertaining that it contained a tiny kitchen, refresher, and one main room. A staircase in one corner of the room led upward to a loft, though judging by the blankets on the lone couch, at least one of the house’s occupants slept below.

“You’ll stay up in the loft with me if you spend the night,” Erlam told him. “It’s not very big, and there’s no bed, but it’s warmer than below.”

“The downstairs are just as warm, and they don’t require climbing up those rickety stairs,” another voice called.

An old Togrutan female emerged from the kitchen where she’d been stirring the contents of a tall pot. Her montrails were withered and limp, her skin wrinkled and worn, but she still moved with vigor. The woman wore a long dress accentuated by abundant but simple jewelry—Ryion figured she had probably been beautiful in her youth.

“Who’s your friend?” the Togrutan asked.

“Grandma, this is Ryion,” Erlam told her. “Ryion, this is my grandmother.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he said.

“I’m sure. Now what are you doing here?”

“Grandma, I invited Ryion to stay with us for a little while. He’s from offworld and lost his ship.”

“It’s true,” Ryion told her. “I had nothing when your grandson found me and offered me food and shelter. I’m indebted to both of you.”

She sniffed.

“Well, he talks nice enough,” she told Erlam. “And glad to see you brought him here.”

Erlam moved over to his grandmother and gave her a big hug.

“’Course I did, Grandma,” he said. “You taught me better.”

“That’s right I did,” the aged Togrutan said. “Soup’s almost done. Have a seat at the table and I’ll serve it.”

Ryion gratefully accepted, sharing the meal of some kind of red soup and flatbread with the two Togrutans around the tiny table in the kitchen. He was starving, but he was careful to moderate himself, knowing that these two likely did not have much to spare.

“Do you two live here alone?” he asked as they finished up.

The grandmother scowled, but Erlam nodded.

“It’s just the two of us, but we get by. Don’t we, Grandma?”

“Well enough,” she said. “It’d be better if you’d do something about the draft at night.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about the draft if you slept upstairs where it’s warmer,” Erlam pointed out.

“I already told you, I’m not climbing up those rickety stairs,” she protested. “I’ll break my neck.”

“I could take a look,” Ryion offered. “Maybe I could fix something up to stop that.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Erlam told him.

“My pleasure,” Ryion said, getting up. “Just show me where it is.”

He winced as he got up, his kidney still tender from the stomping earlier.

“You’re hurt,” the grandmother observed. “What’d you do?”

Ryion stopped.

“Not much. The spaceport guards couldn’t trade verbal jabs with me, so they opted for physical ones instead.”

“Sit down again, young human, and let me look before you go hurt yourself trying to fix my house,” the Togrutan told him.

“That’s not necessary,” Ryion told her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sit down and shut up,” she barked, obviously not used to being crossed. “It’s not going to be fine if you bleed all over my floor. I’m not getting on my hands and knees to clean that up, so sit down and take your shirt off before I come over there and make you!”

Her tone softened somewhat.

“Besides, I used to be a nurse.”

Fearing that she’d work herself into a conniption, Ryion reluctantly complied, making sure to deposit his lightsaber and other concealed pieces of equipment in his jacket in such a way that she wouldn’t see them.

“Hmm,” she said as she poked at the injury, eliciting a sharp spasm of agony in his back. “Does that hurt?”

“Yes,” Ryion muttered.

“How about that?” she tried, jabbing her pointed thumb into a particularly tender region.

Ryion felt the pain intensify tenfold.

“Yes!” he answered forcefully.

“Serves you right then,” she told him. “Shouldn’t have run your mouth at someone you couldn’t outrun or outfight.”

Ryion gritted his teeth to stave off the pain and scowled.

“Is that your professional medical opinion?” he asked sarcastically.

“You have a bruised kidney,” she told him. “Doesn’t seem too severe, but you should probably rest for a few days, don’t drink too much water. You’ll know if it’s serious after that.”

“Oh really?” Ryion asked, not remembering this part of his combat medicine courses.

She cackled.

“You’ll be leaving blood in the refresher, and that’s usually enough to scare the frell out of most men,” she informed him. “They think they’re about to lose something important.”

“Lovely,” Ryion commented.

“For now, no fixing things for you,” she said. “Not if you want to heal. Erlam, run down to the market and bring back some ice. That’ll help with the swelling.”

She fished in the folds of her dress and produced a small coin, flipping it to her grandson, who nodded obediently and headed for the door.

“You don’t have to do that,” Ryion protested.

The grandmother sniffed dismissively at him.

“It’s my money, I can spend it how I choose,” she replied.

Then, before he could intervene, she picked up his shirts and jacket to hand them back to him. Her fingers felt something smooth and hard underneath the clothes and she stopped, feeling the size and bulk of the object with one hand. Ryion froze, unsure of what to do. The grandmother turned back to stare at him, leaning in close as she searched for something in his face. Ryion tensed, worried she might panic, or question him, or attack him.

“How old are you, boy?” she asked him as she handed him his garments. “Don’t give me any sass, either.”

Ryion started to come up with a lie, but figured telling his age wouldn’t hurt.

“I’m thirty-three,” he replied.

“Yes,” she mused. “That’s about right. Is your father still alive?”

Ryion flinched in the midst of pulling on his clothes, then he quickly finished dressing and met her gaze.

“What are you talking about?” he asked as he slipped into his jacket, prepared for flight if need be.

Despite her attitude, he had no desire to fight an old woman, so escape was his best option if she became unstable.

“Your father, is he still alive?” she demanded.

“Why do you care about my father?” he asked her.

She shook her head.

“Don’t play stupid with me, boy,” she said with a scowl, then sighed. “I think I met him once.”

A small smile played across her face.

“At least, that is if he also had one of those,” she told him, producing his lightsaber.

Ryion gaped. How had she removed it from his jacket without him seeing it? He reached for the weapon.

“Ah ah ah,” she told him, holding it just out of reach. “Tell me about your father, little Jeddi. You look a lot alike him, you know. Too bad. Is his name. . . Selu?”

Ryion scowled, but he was also curious. His father had never told him about a Togrutan woman in any of his stories—perhaps there was some truth to her words. There was only one way to find out.

“It is,” he admitted begrudgingly. “And yes, he’s still alive.”

She smiled sweetly at him, handing him back the lightsaber.

“Well, it is a small galaxy,” she told him, while grinning. “To think that scummy Jeddi survived all those years. . . and somehow convinced some poor girl to couple with him.”

Ryion frowned.

“Excuse me?”

“Let me guess,” she replied. “It was a blind date at a cantina, she’d had too much to drink?”

Ryion glared at her.

“My mother and father have been happily married for many years,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Is she deaf and blind?” the Togrutan asked, then waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind, I forget the awkward standards of beauty you humans have.”

“How exactly do you know my father?” Ryion asked, peeved despite himself.

Her smile returned, this time bereft of antagonism.

“I met him a long time ago,” she said wistfully. “He was younger than you are now, back before you were a twinkle in his eye. He was on a mission—and I helped him, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

Her smile turned coy.

“I never said it was voluntary. He broke my finger, you know.”

“He did what?”

“It’s true,” she told him breathily. “Of course, that was after I tried to pick his pocket.”

She grinned crookedly at him.

“Next time you see him, ask him about me,” she said deviously. “Ask him about Ylain. He’ll remember me. Is his friend still alive, the nice one?”

Ryion glared darkly at her.

“My father has lots of friends, most of them are nice,” he stated. “Could you be more specific?”

“Short chap, covered in fur. Tynnan, I think,” she said. “He fixed my finger after your scummy dad broke it.”

Ryion shook his head sadly, knowing who she was referring to based on the stories he’d been told.

“Skip’s been gone for a long time,” he told her with genuine regret.

She sighed.

“I was afraid of that,” she answered him. “It’s a cold, hard galaxy that we live in. It took the nice Jeddi and left your scummy father alive. It took my little Lesha away from me after she had Erlam, and his father died only a few years later. I guess it’s been nearly twenty years now that they and my Piryu have been gone. ”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Ryion said sincerely.

Ylain took a deep breath.

“Thank you,” she said. “Maybe your father isn’t so bad after all, or else your mother raised you.”

Ryion couldn’t muster up a polite answer to that.

“I’ll make sure to ask him about you next time I talk to him,” he said. “I just have to find a way to do so.”

“I can help you with that,” Ylain told him. “I may be old and forced out of my job with no pension, but I still know a few people. I can get you to a transmitter where you can call your Jeddi dad, if they’re still around. We’ll go once you’re better. You can stay here in the mean time.”

“Thank you,” Ryion answered her gratefully.

She chuckled.

“To think, I lived all these years to help out that Jeddi’s son,” she said to herself. “Galaxy has a strange sense of humor.”

Ylain turned back to Ryion, her eyes twinkling with merriment.

“Don’t you worry, Ryion,” she said. “This’ll be our little secret. I won’t tell Erlam or anyone else.”

“Again, I’m indebted to you,” he replied.

“So you are,” she agreed, still chuckling. “To think, that scummy Jeddi’s spawn ended up on my doorstep. Funniest thing I’ve seen in a decade!”

Ryion rolled his eyes and vowed that the next time he and his father were able to speak at length, he would ask his father about the strange Togrutan named Ylain. There had to be a story behind all this madness.