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| - The last notes of Rhiannon’s song faded away in glorious crescendo. Watching from the side, Milya was filled with quiet pride at how well her daughter’s performance had been received. Though Rhiannon hadn’t instantly mastered the music that she’d been assigned, she’d steadily improved over the past week until Taelros, Colonel Hagrek, and the vocal coach had been satisfied with how she sounded. It had been tough for the girl, Milya knew, but she’d persevered and come through smiling. Rhiannon was a fighter, just like her parents, and just as strong-willed also. She certainly hadn’t let her handicap bother her. As Rhiannon made her exit off to the wings where Milya was waiting, Milya stood quietly, feeding her daughter mental pictures of the surroundings so she could take in the sights of the Imperial Opera. Once Rhiannon was close enough, Milya embraced her daughter warmly. “Good job, darling,” she said. “You did very well.” Rhiannon’s unseeing eyes were shining. “Did I really, Mom?” “Of course you did. All of the other actors and the crew were dazzled by you.” “Yay!” Rhiannon squealed. “I finally got it right.” “Good thing, too,” Milya said. “The show is tomorrow night.” “I know,” Rhiannon said. “I can’t wait!” Milya smiled down at her daughter, brushing back some of Rhiannon’s tousled hair out of her face. The costume and coverup departments had, per Taelros’s instructions, made Rhiannon look the part of an Outer Rim orphan-she didn’t look that waifish, but her floor-length dress was a plain light brown and her hair had been left down, tousled and loose. All in all, it was probably the simplest costume in the entire show, which Milya did not mind at all. This being opera, the costuming was more stylistic than realistic, so Taelros had skipped the ragged look and coverup smudges. Rhiannon had enjoyed the whole process despite the challenges, and even though she was only in one song, Milya knew that her daughter felt as if the whole performance was resting on her. It was a feeling she herself had felt on many other occasions-except for Milya, it had not been an opera performance at stake. At any rate, the cast and crew that they’d met had been polite, professional, and courteous, and one of the sopranos had even helped Rhiannon. Altogether, show business hadn’t been nearly as bad as Milya had feared it would be. Nobody had tried to mess with Rhiannon or discourage her, nor had Milya seen any kind of open disdain. Then again, this close to the show, everyone was probably more worried about their own parts than with interfering with others. As she brushed back some more of Rhiannon’s hair, Milya sensed someone approaching from behind her and knew it was Taelros. No one else in the cast or crew exuded that much nervous energy. “So, I was thinking about Rhianya’s costume during the performance,” Taelros informed her. “Rhiannon,” Milya corrected the man once again. “And is she done for the day?” “Yes, yes,” Taelros said absently. “She did wonderfully. I’m sure she’ll sing beautifully tomorrow, just like she did today. Anyway, about the costume.” “What about it?” Milya asked. “It’s a plain dress, floor-length, with a thin shimmersilk band around the waist. Just like you wanted.” “That’s just the thing,” he said. “I’m not sure I like it anymore.” “Oh?” “It’s too plain. It’s not flashy enough.” “Taelros,” Milya said exasperatedly. “She’s supposed to be an Outer Rim orphan. She’s not supposed to be flashy.” “Costuming in opera is stylistic,” Taelros replied dismissively. “For these sorts of things, interpretation is key.” Milya sighed. “Let me see the new costume idea.” Taelros held up her datapad and Milya started in surprise at what she saw. The man had taken Rhiannon’s dress and added a few more frills here and there, but the biggest modification was that one side of the long floor-length skirt had been drawn up nearly to her waist. Milya gasped at the idea of having her daughter parade around like that with that much leg showing, in front of an audience of Imperial aristocrats. Over her dead body. Who did this Taelros Bac think he was, anyway? He certainly had a lot of nerve to try this. “Absolutely not,” she said. “What do you mean, absolutely not?” Taelros asked, obviously not used to being told no. “The modification to the costume should only take an hour or two. I didn’t change that much.” “That much turns this dress from respectable to needlessly risqué,” Milya snapped. “You will not put my daughter on display like some kind of street-walker, Taelros. She’s eleven.” “But . . .” he stammered. Milya had had quite enough. In a flash, her arm had whipped around his neck in a professional headlock. Taelros’s face began turning red as she constricted the blood supply to his head. Once she was sure she had his full attention, she pulled him forward so she could speak directly into his ear. “Let me make this very clear,” she said shortly. “You will leave the costume as is. And you will forget you ever had this idea. Do I make myself clear?” “Ab-absolutely,” he stammered, clutching at his throat in wide-eyed nervousness. She let him go and he straightened up, trying to catch his breath. “That was most uncalled for,” he muttered. An unsympathetic Milya did not dignify his huffy protest with an answer. Instead, she wrapped a protective arm around Rhiannon and started walking off. They were done for the day and she still had preparations to make before the show. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he told them. “Break a leg.” Though it was a common expression for “good luck” told to actors before the show, Milya couldn’t help but interpret the expression literally. “Same to you,” she called over her shoulder as she took Rhiannon and left the Imperial Opera. Over Coruscant The tiny freighter slipped its innocuous way through the space traffic over Coruscant, descending past the defense stations and security platforms without incident. Once in the atmosphere, the craft banked, weaving its ungainly way through the skylines. As the evening waned on Coruscant, the vessel headed for a seedier district of Coruscant. Formerly an industrial region, it was now home to hundreds of lawless denizens, most of whom were employed by one criminal cartel or another. Finding a landing pad owned by the occupants of the shuttle that was reasonably close to their destination, the freighter set down, just as sunset fell on Coruscant. The cityscaped planet had no idea that its cargo and passengers were filled with insidious characters. Inside a small room in the shuttle, three of the underworld’s most notorious figures were gathered in hushed conference to discuss their next nefarious plot. Their leader was Tyber Zann, criminal mastermind. While his fleet underwent repair at various illicit shipyards, the crime lord had launched the next stage of his plan. When Bossk had stolen the artifact from him over Carida, little had the Trandoshan known that Zann had anticipated his move and planted a tracer inside the device. Now, the tracer had led them to Coruscant. Besides Zann was his loyal partner, Urai Fen, but the third individual was a newer member of the Zann Consortium. Though the smallest person out of the three, she exuded the most sinister aura. Her choice of clothing-a revealing garment in red Dathomiri leather-showed off much of her pale white skin, which stood in stark contrast to the dark tattoos etched across her face. This was Silri, the Dathomiri Nightsister, a dark side Force user and one of the chief lieutenants of Tyber Zann. Neither of the other two completely trusted the witch, but she was powerful and hated the Empire. That much would do for now. “This is the plan,” Tyber Zann instructed the other two. “The tracer on the artifact has revealed the location of one of Palpatine’s little storehouses. Our objective is the plans for the Emperor’s new warship, the Eclipse. Urai and I will deactivate the security system. Silri, I want you to wait in the Juggernaut transport to get us out of there once we have what we need.” “As you wish, Tyber,” the Nightsister replied in a silky tone that neither of the other two fully believed. “Is that a problem, Silri?” he asked pointedly. “Of course not,” she replied in that same slippery voice. “Good,” Zann countered. “If anything goes wrong, let that rancor of yours loose. That should distract the Empire long enough for us to escape.” Silri insolently refused to answer that. Irate, Zann took a moment to glare at her, then continued. “The museum will be well-guarded, so be ready to pick us up. Everyone stay alert-I don’t feel like being captured by the Empire today. Urai, are the MDUs ready?” The MDU, or Mobile Defense Unit, was a multi-purpose vehicle that could deploy any number of equipment packages as directed. Zann had acquired them at great expense based on similar Rebel and Imperial models and modified them to suit his own purposes. They had already been deployed on several other of the crime lord’s missions and proven quite useful. As such, Zann had brought three of them to Coruscant. “Yes. I instructed the crews personally,” the Talortai replied. “They know what to do.” “Good work, Urai,” Zann said, drawing his long-barreled customized blaster and inspecting it. “Let’s go to work.” Mandalore Sarth and Cassi had just finished eating breakfast from a couple of rather tasteless meal packs on the Silent Surprise when they heard the chirp of a comlink. Sarth fumbled in his pocket for his comlink, but once he located the device, he found that it wasn’t going off. Remembering the one given to him by the Zannists the other day, he located it and found that it was the source of the noise. Picking up the comlink carefully, he activated it. “Good morning, this is Skart Kraest,” he said politely. “Good morning to ya too,” he heard the familiar scratchy voice of the Dug they’d met yesterday snigger. “What do you want?” Sarth asked him, a little less politely than before. “We found yer friends,” the Dug replied snidely. “Where?” Sarth demanded. “What is it, Sarth?” Cassi asked. “They’ve found them,” Sarth told her, holding the comlink close to his ear. The device beeped, indicating it had received a databurst transmission. Sarth checked it and found a set of coordinates glowing green on the data screen. “Yer friends are in a little house thirty kilometers from Kedalbe,” the Dug informed him. “Looks like there’s a few people with ‘em. Guards, I think.” “How many?” Sarth asked. “Five or six, I thinks,” the Dug said. “What are ya goin’ ta do?” “Thank you for your help,” Sarth said curtly. “I’ll make sure your help and that of your superior is noted the next time Kraechar Arms has dealings with your organization.” “Are ya sure you don’t want some help? Me and the boys could . . .” “I appreciate the offer, but that won’t be necessary,” Sarth said with forced courtesy. “Have a pleasant day.” With that, he turned the comlink off then turned to Cassi, who had waited patiently during the entire conversation. “They’re here,” he said simply. “Guarded, in a safe house not far from here.” “What’s the plan?” she asked. “We’re going after them,” he said simply. “Tonight, when it’s dark. We should rest until then.” However, he immediately went over to the ship’s computer and began entering something, engrossed in his task. “What are you doing?” Cassi asked. “Tapping into a micro-sized surveillance satellite I deployed during our initial approach to Mandalore. I’m going to get some footage of the surrounding area. Spectre would call this battlefield recon.” “Are you sure this is a good idea, Sarth?” Cassi asked. “If there are guards, then we’ll have to fight them off.” “I’m not sure we have many other choices,” Sarth said. “The satellite’s in position and I’ve managed to get satellite footage of the location. There are two men outside the compound talking. Listen.” He turned up the audio on the computer system. Cassi heard two men talking, both obviously male humans. “So, what’s the news?” the first voice said. “The boss is getting tired of these two,” the second one answered in a distinctly Coruscanti accent. “Says we don’t need them to keep the old man motivated anymore.” “Time to wrap up loose ends, eh?” “You know the drill. Tonight, at sunset. Take them out and take care of it. Make sure the bodies aren’t found.” Sarth turned down the audio again. “Looks like we’ll be meeting them near sunset.” “Isn’t that risky, Sarth?” Cassi asked. “A daytime attack against a bunch of professionals?” “Yes,” he admitted. “It’s very risky. I would never try this if I had another choice. But Shenna and Elizie are going to die if we don’t. We have to help them.” “Okay,” Cassi said. “I just am starting to get . . .” “Don’t say it,” Sarth interrupted. “Don’t say ‘bad feeling.’” “Why?” Cassi replied, puzzled. “Because I already have one,” Sarth said. “Get some sleep,” Cassi said, coming up to kiss him lightly on the forehead. “We’re going to have a busy evening.” “Will do,” Sarth said, setting the satellite to observe the safe house for the next several hours while he and Cassi did their best to rest. It was going to be close. Home One “All pilots, report to your craft in thirty minutes,” the ship-wide intercom blared. “All pilots, report to your craft in thirty minutes.” Hasla stirred and groggily opened one eye. The intercom sounded again and she was instantly awake. She quickly got out of bed, kicking away the sheets. The other figure on the bed rolled over as she did so. “Come on, get up, Janson,” she told him. “I am awake,” the other pilot mumbled. “Good,” she said. “We have to be at our ships in thirty minutes.” “I know,” he replied, getting out of bed himself. “I did hear the guy on the speaker.” He walked up beside her to where she was pulling her flight suit off the floor and ran one hand down her smooth bare back. “What are you doing?” he asked her. “I’m getting dressed,” she said. “You don’t expect me to report to my squadron like this, do you?” “Well, it would certainly distract any Imperial pilots who saw you,” Janson said, bemusedly. “Very funny,” she said, shaking her head at his silliness. “You can’t just go into combat like that,” he said, aghast. “Oh?” “Didn’t your mother always tell you to go into battle clean? You never know the next time you’ll get a chance to shower and all that.” “I don’t have time for that,” she said. “There’s only twenty-seven minutes left.” “You do,” he said with a smirk. “Trust me. We have plenty of time to shower and catch a bite before heading off to the hangars.” “If you say so,” Hasla said, following Janson into the refresher. Unlike most of the other squadrons on Home One, Rogue Squadron had solo accommodations for each pilot, which included their own refresher. The privacy afforded by the solo quarters had also been welcome in the last few hours. Hasla didn’t know they managed it, but twenty-five minutes later, she and Janson were both showered and heading out of the mess hall to their respective hangars. As their ships were parked on opposite ends of the giant Mon Calamari cruiser, they stopped at an intersection for one last farewell. “Good luck out there,” she told him. “You too,” he said, serious for once. “Be safe.” “May the Force be with you,” she said. He turned to go, and just as she did, she slapped him on the butt for good luck. The startled Janson looked over his shoulder and grinned impishly at her. “Fly well,” he said, then sauntered off to join his squadron. A few minutes later, Hasla was strapped into her B-wing. Thoughts of Janson had been banished from her mind. She was in her flying mode now, utterly professional and in control. All systems seemed to be operational and as the countdown timer ticked down to the fleet’s reversion from hyperspace at the jump-off point, Hasla figured she was as ready as she ever would be. As her B-wing and a dozen or so other fighters strewn throughout the hangar powered up, the giant compartment was filled with the whining sounds of a hundred repulsorlifts. Everyone was keyed up, tense, ready to go. Final prayers were muttered, controls were clenched, and good luck charms clutched for reassurance. The entire Rebel armada watched as the final digits on the timer wound down to zero. “All squadrons launch! All craft, rendezvous with your group,” the flight controller’s voice blared through her comm board. Hasla followed the rest of her squadron out through the hangar door, forming up on the dilapidated freighter, the Millennium Falcon, that served as the lead craft for Gold Group, the formation she was assigned to. Wave after wave of Rebel fighters were around her-sturdy X-wings, vintage Y-wings, swift A-wings, and of course, a scattering of B-wings. One by one, the squadron leaders sounded off. Hasla watched as the Rebel fighter wave soared ahead of the lumbering larger ships. Then, one last jump into hyperspace, one last leap before what might be the final battle of the Rebellion. It was only a short jump, lasting less than an hour, but it seemed like forever. Yanibar “Master Kraen.” Selu looked up from where he was sitting in the main tactical command center of the Yanibar Guard. Standing beside him was Master Daara, one of the senior Elite Guardians under his command. “What is it, Daara?” he asked. “We’ve just received word from Agent Redbird,” the red-skinned Twi’lek reported. “The Rebels are about to launch their attack. Coordinates are enclosed-they appear to be heading for a remote system called Endor.” “So that’s where the Death Star is,” Selu murmured to himself. “That’s where the Emperor is hiding his new toy.” “What are your orders, Master?” Daara asked. Selu was silent a minute, his hands folded together as he contemplated. “Carry on, Master Daara. Report any new information to me immediately.” Daara looked disquieted at his reply. “Permission to voice an opinion, Master?” “Sure,” Selu told her. “I’m listening.” “The Endor system is not that far from Yanibar. Our ships could arrive in time to assist the Alliance if we dispatched the . . .” “No,” Selu said, cutting her off. “That’s not an option.” “Why not?” Daara asked him sharply. “This may be the best chance the Rebellion has of defeating the Empire. What if our presence could make a difference? We should help them.” “Daara,” Selu said gently. “It’s not an option.” She stared at him expectantly. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “The battle is a trap,” he said regretfully. “I’ve seen it in my visions, just last night. I saw Palpatine cackling as the Rebel armada was ground to dust. The Death Star is operational and there’s a fleet of Imperial warships waiting for them. It’s too late to warn them-by now, the Rebel fleet is in hyperspace. There’s nothing we can do. I’m sorry. I really am.” Daara bit her lip, as if holding back from saying something, then went ahead and said it. “Master,” she said. “How do you know that we can’t make a difference? We could at least clear them a corridor to escape, to fight another day.” Selu pondered that a moment, then answered slowly. “This is not to be repeated to anyone, Daara. I’m telling you this because I trust you and because you deserve to know. A long time ago, before this colony was founded, I was given a choice. Based on my actions, the spirit of Revan warned me that any attempt I made to counter the Sith directly would result in everything I worked to establish would be destroyed or corrupted.” “I see,” Daara said. “Do you believe this prophecy?” “I do,” Selu replied. “That’s why I have refused to commit Yanibar Guard resources directly in the fight against the Empire. This colony-this refuge-our existence-everything that we swore to defend would be endangered if I ordered the Guard to battle at Endor.” “I understand,” she said slowly. She walked off quietly, and Selu couldn’t help but feel that she didn’t understand him after all. The weight of his choice, and the dark premonitions permeating his thoughts wore on him and he abruptly left the TacCom room a few minutes later. He needed to meditate. Endor The entire Rebel fleet decanted from hyperspace in the Endor system. The aquamarine, viridian, and white moon of Endor was ahead of them, a scenic backdrop for the space battle about to occur. And there, looming ever larger as they closed, was the malevolent sphere of the Death Star. With any luck, the deflector shield protecting it would be down and the Rebel fighters could rush in and overwhelm the Imperials. Somehow, though, Hasla knew it would not be that simple. The Force was thick with the dark side and it smote her like a physical wave. There was something wrong here, something terribly wrong. However, she and the rest of fighters surged forward inexorably, carried along by some intangible momentum. “Lock S-foils in attack position,” Commander Gavin ordered. Hasla complied, flicking the switch that brought the B-wing’s starboard and port S-foils into position to give the craft its distinctive cruciform shape. Around her, X-wings and the few other B-wings followed suit, accelerating behind the Millennium Falcon. Hasla squinted at her sensor boards, trying to get a reading on the deflector shield. To her surprise, the board was covered in static. She slapped the board, but nothing happened. Then, another possible source of the static came to her mind. They were being jammed? Hasla felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Before she could react, though, she heard General Calrissian’s voice on the fleetwide frequency. “Break off the attack! The shield is still up.” She started banking her craft even as another voice crackled through the speaker. “I get no reading. Are you sure?” asked another fighter pilot. “Pull up! All craft pull up!” the general ordered sharply. Calrissian was more insistent this time and she abruptly threw her fighter into a break turn. Around, hundreds of other Rebel craft did the same thing, veering sharply away off their original course away from the Death Star. Some of the fighters, too slow or too late pulling away, crashed into the shield and Hasla, horrified, saw their ships explode on the invisible barrier. “Force help us,” she whispered to herself. “It was active all along.” Ahead of her, two B-wings, unable to maintain appropriate distance during their desperate maneuver, collided. Both ships were immediately vaporized and Hasla felt another pang run through her. The Rebels had barely arrived and they were already losing people. Just as she pulled out of the turn, her comm board crackled again. “It’s a trap!” Admiral Ackbar, the Mon Calamari leader of the Alliance fleet, exclaimed. “Fighters coming in!” General Calrissian alerted them. Hasla looked straight at the incoming cloud of TIEs. At first, she couldn’t believe her eyes. A swarming mass of the Imperial fighters was approaching them at high speed, and behind them was a giant fleet of Star Destroyers. Ackbar hadn’t been kidding-the whole Battle of Endor was nothing more than a giant trap intended to destroy the Rebel Alliance. There was nothing left but to keep fighting now, try to take as many Imperials with them as she could. She gritted her teeth as she pointed her ship directly into the mass of TIEs and shunted all power to forward deflectors. There were hundreds of TIEs that swept past the Ices as the Rebel and Imperial fighter formations exchanged volleys of red and green laser fire as they collided. All around her, starfighters on both sides exploded in messy clouds of fire and razor-edged shrapnel, and spun out of control. The survivors jinked and rolled, trying to nail one another. In such a large battle, as she’d seen before, the combat soon degenerated into a space brawl, with each pilot simply trying to stay alive and maybe get off a quick shot. Hasla followed the rest of the Ices in weaving a complicated pattern through a persistent TIE Interceptor formation. The Force guided her motions, giving her brief snatches of clairvoyance that told her when to dodge, but her vision was clouded. Something, or someone was stifling her use of the Force, and she knew she wasn’t flying her best. Today, the day she needed to be at the peak of her game, she was falling sadly short. Her B-wing bucked and rocked from the near misses and laser grazes it was taking. She was flying by reflex now, not even thinking as she dodged and rolled, squeezing the triggers on her lasers and ion cannon. Her face and flight suit were matted with sweat and she could feel the adrenaline coursing through her system. She watched grimly as a good portion of the TIEs that had survived the initial clash swept through the Rebel waves, heading for the larger portion of the fleet. For every one she and her squadmates destroyed, there seemed to be ten more to take their place. “Accelerate to attack speed! Draw their fire away from the cruisers,” General Calrissian ordered on the fleetwide comm again. Hasla clicked her comlink in reply and brought her B-wing around to pursue a pair of TIE fighters, her gloved finger gently reaching for the trigger as she sighted in on them. It wasn’t over yet. Coruscant It was pouring down rain outside as the transport lurched to a halt in a dark alleyway leading to a service entrance of some sort. It was poorly lit and even the mighty Juggernaut transport didn’t seem too out of place amidst all the other sizable delivery vehicles. For the moment, it was literally a safe port in the midst of a storm. Outside, lightning streaks lit up the night sky, revealing an ominous wall of thunderheads behind them intent on soaking Coruscant’s upper levels with driving force. Five individuals climbed out of the vehicle, walking to the back to stare at the damaged rear compartment. None of them were particularly happy about the rain and the smoldering engine. The difference was that two of them were nothing but common pilots, while the others were part of the top echelon of one of the galaxy’s most powerful criminal organizations. “Well, I’ll be kriffed,” one of the pilots said. “The engine’s trashed.” “Wonder how that could have happened?” the co-pilot replied. “Probably the TIE fighters,” an irritated Tyber Zann snapped. “They weren’t supposed to catch us heading out of the storehouse. Nobody was supposed to know we were even in there.” “The MDUs dealt with them swiftly,” Urai pointed out. “At least we are no longer being pursued.” “For now,” Zann replied darkly. “Those TIE bombers that hit the MDUs could be back at any time now, blowing us and those access codes to—,” “Not for the moment,” Silri interrupted, her eyes closed in concentration. The Nightsister was obviously using the Force in an attempt to see how close their pursuit was. A few seconds passed before she opened her eyes again, but when she did, she had good news. “We are safe for the moment,” she announced. “Small comfort,” Zann said, brushing his long white hair, by now thoroughly rain-soaked, out of his face. “Where are we?” “According to the street map, we’re at the one of the side entrances of the Imperial Opera,” one of the pilots said after consulting a datapad. “There’s a performance tonight.” “That’s it, Urai,” Zann said. “You and I will acquire transport. Silri, we need a diversion.” “We need, Tyber Zann?” the Nightsister shot back. “What ‘we’ need got my rancor killed back there! Why should I help you?” Tyber Zann did not take a threat lightly. Almost casually he turned on the furious Nightsister, his fingertips drumming the stock of his specially modified blaster while Urai dropped into a fighting stance beside him, his heavy arm blades at the ready. “Let me remind you, witch, that it’s your fault your precious pet died. You were the one who went off on her own and got the beast killed. Now, either go distract security while Urai and I acquire a speeder, or I will kill you,” Zann replied coldly. If looks could kill, Silri would have burned straight through him, but the Nightsister’s resolve buckled. “Don’t worry, Tyber Zann,” she said. “Everyone’s attention will be on me. Hurry back with the speeder. I’ll meet you here.” Silri stalked off through the pouring rain towards the Imperial Opera angrily. “This isn’t over, Tyber Zann,” she muttered under her breath. For the moment though, the Nightsister still needed the crime lord, and he still needed her. While their partnership was sure to meet an unpleasant ending, she now had a mission to perform. She had no intention of letting the Empire kill her, or Tyber Zann. She’d reserved the particular pleasure of watching him die for herself. Reaching the sheer gray wall of the imposing Opera House, she pulled a pair of climbing claws from her utility belt and began scaling its slippery sides with almost effortless ease, her motions guided by the dark side of the Force. If Tyber Zann wanted a diversion to distract security, a diversion he would get. The person in question had watched the angry Nightsister storm off into the rain with obvious suspicion. “I think I upset her, Urai,” he remarked dryly. “She is not trustworthy,” the Talortai answered. “Perhaps we should leave her here.” “No,” Zann countered. “I still have uses for her. Later, perhaps, Urai, we’ll deal with our insolent Nightsister. Just keep an eye on her.” “Understood,” Urai Fen grunted. “Besides,” Zann continued. “She knows too much. If the Empire was to capture her, she’d be all too happy to divulge every secret she knows in order to bring me down. We can’t have that.” “As you wish,” Urai assented. “She is nearly to the top of the wall. We should go.” “Of course,” Zann said. “Time to find a speeder.” “What do you want us to do, Lord Zann?” asked one of the pilots. Zann turned to regard the pilots as if noticing them for the first time. A look of insincere regret washed across his face. “I’m afraid you gentlemen have become something of a liability to the Zann Consortium,” he said. “My lord? I don’t understand,” one of them stammered. However, by that time, Tyber Zann had drawn his blaster and shot both of them dead. “I hate loose ends,” he muttered, blowing smoke away from his blaster’s barrel. “Urai, dispose of the bodies. I’ll meet you and Silri back here with the speeder.” “Understood,” his hulking henchman nodded, setting off to his task. Mandalore Mandalore was a pleasantly forested world once one got out of Kedalbe. The trees were dense but not overly so, and the predominant variety in this region seemed to be a stocky broad-leafed species that provided plenty of cover. As the planet’s sun began sinking into the horizon, the combination of thick foliage and dimming light was enough to conceal two figures that had clambered off of a pair of speeder bikes and begun to creep stealthily through the forest. Sarth and Cassi had taken great care in their preparations for this little adventure. The Silent Surprise was already airborne, and thanks to some clever reprogramming of the autopilot, was cruising around the scenic Mandalore countryside at low altitude a dozen kilometers away, pretending to be on a joyride. They’d dropped out of its cargo hatch on the speeder bikes from several hundred meters in the air, an exhilarating ride to be sure, but almost completely undetectable. For their return, a simple command entered into its slave-circuit via Sarth’s beckon call would bring the yacht to their location at top speed in case they needed a quick egress. Both Sarth and Cassi were wearing dark gray jumpsuits and equipment belts that sported, among other things, a pistol, their rarely-used lightsabers, glowrods, and a few other odds and ends that they’d obtained from a YGI infiltration kit. They’d even gone so far as to blacken their faces to dull the sheen on their skin. It was not their usual attire by any stretch of the imagination, but the occasion had demanded it. Pistols at the ready, they crept through the undergrowth as quietly as they could manage, watching for any sign they’d been noticed. Their going was not as quiet as certain elite units of the Yanibar Guard could manage, but it had been reasonably innocuous. Every now and then, Sarth would signal a halt with one hand while he stopped to listen. However, he never heard anything but birdsong, insect chirps, and the leaves gently swaying in the late afternoon breeze, so they continued to make their steady way through the forest. Finally, after half an hour of slow, measured progress, marked by frequent stops and careful vigilance, Sarth and Cassi caught the first glimpses of their destination. The house was a small ramshackle structure almost entirely lacking in windows, well nigh inaccessible except for a small dirt track that presumably led to a larger causeway elsewhere. There was a man standing out front, obviously surveying the surroundings. Sarth crawled up behind a fallen log and peered through a pair of electrobinoculars that he’d brought. “Looks like just one sentry,” he breathed. “Judging by the bulge in his jacket, he’s armed. We’ll go around back, see what we can find.” Crouched down beside him in the undergrowth, Cassi nodded. The two continued creeping around the perimeter, until they were satisfied that only the only things outside the house were a dilapidated speeder and the lone sentry. They were dirty, covered in bits of leaves and dead grass, but neither cared. Their minds were entirely focused on their mission. “Seems like a rather small setup for an Imperial prison,” Cassi noted. “That’s what I’m worried about,” Sarth said. Pulling a scanner off his belt, Sarth held up the device and activated it. Then, he slipped on a pair of goggles. The resulting combination showed him something far more insidious that had previously been hidden from their eyes. “Ah, they do have a security system,” he said. “Combination of seismic sensors and thermal cams. We were lucky we didn’t get too much closer.” “How do we get through?” Cassi asked. “There’s a blind spot, right through this gully,” Sarth said, leading her through a shallow trench. Cautiously, he crept forward, his S-5XS pistol in one hand and the scanner in the other. Cassi stayed right behind him, mimicking his every move. Although Sarth set a painstakingly slow pace, they soon managed to reach within ten meters of the house. A bead of sweat rolled down Sarth’s face. He could see the sentry’s back as they left the safety of the trees and moved out onto the open yard. He quietly willed the man not to move, even though Cassi had him covered. The crunch of his boots in the grass seemed agonizingly loud, but nobody noticed their approach. Sarth had chosen this vector because of the blind spot in the sensor coverage, but it was also concealed from the one or two windows they had seen, and had the advantage of being behind the sentry. A bit too convenient, he figured, but it was a chance they would have to take. He signaled to Cassi to head for the back door by the speeder, away from the sentry. Hugging the house’s wall, Sarth rounded the corner, pistol at the ready, but nobody was there. Keeping low, he quickly shuffled up to the back door, Cassi constantly right behind him, checking their sides and in front of him. Sarth almost reached for the door, then thought better of it and pulled out the scanner. To his alarm, the latch he had almost reached for appeared to be wired. Cassi gave him an inquisitive look, and he showed her the scanner. She nodded. There was no back door, but apparently the designers of the house had intended for possible intruders to think that there was. A careful infiltrator would slip through the sensor net, head for the back door and attempt to slice it open only to find that the handle and entire frame were touch-sensitive. This door, Sarth decided, was only meant to be handled from within. They would have to go through the front. Doubling back the way they’d came, Sarth and Cassi soon were right up against the wall, less than four meters from the unaware sentry’s back. They would have to deal with him quietly and then get into the building fast. So much for sneaking in undetected. Unless all the Imperials were asleep, they would be noticed, if not now, then eventually. Sarth took a deep breath. It was time to do this, before the sentry turned around and noticed them. Raising his pistol, he sighted in on the man’s neck and, after just a second’s hesitation, squeezed the trigger. A knockout dart flew through the air to bury itself in the man’s neck. He collapsed limply on the ground. The man would be unconscious for the next several hours. In a flash, Sarth darted forward to the front door and knelt down. Cassi covered him while he broke out a slicing tool and hacked into the door’s lock. It was quite a sophisticated model, but also one Sarth had seen-and broken-before, so in a few short seconds, the door hissed open. Sarth ducked back, waiting for a blaster bolt to come sizzling out the door but none came. With that much welcome news, Sarth went into the house, pistol held in one hand and lightsaber, unignited, in the other. Cassi, behind him, kept a two-handed grip on her S-5XS. It was dark-none of the lights were on. It was sparsely furnished and only the front room had anything that resembled normal furniture. The rest of the rooms were empty, filled with layers of dust and cobwebs that indicated they hadn’t been occupied in some time. “Clear,” Cassi said quietly. “I know,” Sarth said dejectedly. “They should have been here.” “Wait,” Cassi said. “I sense other presences.” Sarth stopped, extending his mental perceptions to sweep the area. “You’re right,” he said. “They’re beneath us. There has to be a hidden door here or something.” “Second look?” Cassi suggested. Sarth nodded. “I’ll cover you.” It didn’t take long for them to find it, a concealed hatch in the front room, complete with yet another alarm. Sarth bypassed it in ten seconds, but it was still locked. “We need an authentication chip to get in,” he said. “I don’t have a generic one that will fit in that slot, or I’d just make a lock-slicer chip. It’s a non-standard model.” “Is the hatch wired now?” Cassi asked. Sarth shook his head. “Not anymore.” “Allow me,” she said. Holstering her pistol, Cassi traded it for her lightsaber. Igniting it with a loud snap-hiss, she drove the blue blade into the hatch, slicing through the lock easily. Sarth gave her a bemused look. “I didn’t think brute force was your style,” he said with a wry smile. “Only on special occasions,” she replied, returning the grin. He opened the hatch and she advanced down the stairs quietly, lightsaber ready. A second later, Sarth followed her down. To his surprise, the basement of the house was nothing like its ground floor. In place of musty wood and permacrete construction, the walls were a metallic dull gray, the floor underlit by glowing red slits. The architecture was decidedly Imperial, Cassi decided, and looked rather like a prison. Most probably because that’s exactly what it was. It didn’t take Sarth long to find a computer terminal and tap in. Nor did it take him long to find what he’d been looking for. In seconds, he turned back to Cassi and gestured for her to take a passage that branched off to the right of the main corridor. She nodded and did as instructed. Their Force senses told them that there were two life-signs up ahead of them, but they weren’t human. If Sarth was right, they would soon meet Shenna and Elizie Magrody. Sarth paused and muttered something just as he came around the corner to the side passage. “What is it?” Cassi asked. “Just checking something,” he whispered. “Keep going.” She soon found a locked door at the end of the hall and her senses told her that there were two sentients beyond it. Quickly, she beckoned Sarth forward. “I’ve found them,” she whispered. He nodded and headed up to the door. After making sure that it, too, wasn’t wired, he gestured to Cassi, who promptly cut it open with her lightsaber. Inside, she saw a frightened-looking Arkanian woman sitting on a bed clutching her daughter to her. “Don’t be alarmed,” Cassi said, closing down her lightsaber. “We’re here to get you out of here.” The Arkanians, petrified, stared at her. “Mrs. Magrody,” Cassi told her. “We’re friends of your husband, and we’re here to rescue you, but we have to go. Is Nasdra here?” The elder woman, Elizie, shook her head. “No, he’s not. I haven’t seen him in months,” she said. “Who are you?” “I’m Cassi, and this is Skart,” Cassi informed them. “Now, please, come along. We need to go before they see us.” “Doctor Magrody isn’t here,” Sarth said quietly, ducking into the cell. “I don’t sense him.” “Me neither,” Cassi said. “Skart, we need to go.” “You’re right,” he agreed. With the Magrodys behind them, Sarth and Cassi headed back up the passageway the way they’d came, unfortunately a bit noisier than they’d come earlier. “Get ready,” Sarth murmured to Cassi under his breath. She gave him a puzzled look, then noticed he was throwing a sidelong glance towards the ceiling. Her eyes followed his gaze, coming to rest on a concealed camera eye nestled carefully into the shadows on the ceiling. They had been watched all along! Still, Sarth seemed to be playing it cool and so Cassi followed along. She and Sarth were about five meters from the main passage when suddenly the dim hallway lit up with blinding white glare as the ceiling glowpanels activated, bathing the four escapees in harsh light. As the lights came up, four men with blasters pointed at them rounded the corner. “Drop your weapons,” one of them demanded. Sarth complied, setting his pistol and lightsaber on the ground, as did Cassi. “Hands up,” ordered their captor. Again, Sarth obeyed, as did Cassi. Behind them, one of the Arkanians, probably Shenna, began to whimper. “Ice of you to drop by,” Sarth called to the four men. “What the-?” The man’s calls were drowned out by a frosty white cloud that materialized out of nowhere. Sarth immediately stooped down and scooped up his weapons, but refrained from firing. Cassi did the same, and when the cloud cleared, she saw that their four would-be assailants, as well as the walls, floor, and ceiling around them, were encased in some kind of icy substance. “Cryoban grenade. Voice activated,” Sarth said. “Four meter radius. They’ll thaw out in a couple hours with some nasty frostbite. Watch your step.” “So that’s what you were doing when you came around the corner,” Cassi replied as she stepped over the frozen floor. He nodded, helping the Magrodys navigate the slippery patch of ground created by the cryoban grenade. “They’ve been watching us on their hidden secondary surveillance system the whole time. It’s time to run.” With that, Sarth broke into a quick jog, followed by the two Arkanians, while Cassi brought up the rear. Whipping out his lightsaber, he lit it and stormed up the stairs out of the hatch, but no hostile fire greeted him. Beckoning to the others, they hastily poured out. “The grenade must have caught them by surprise,” Sarth said. “We might just get away after all.” Dashing out of the house, all attempts at stealth gone, the four sprinted for the cover of the treeline. They had almost made it when the first blaster bolt cooked the air right over Sarth’s head. Turning half-way, he returned fire with his pistol, letting loose several knockout darts in the general direction of the dark shapes pouring out of the house. “They’re onto us!” he said. “Run!” By themselves, Sarth and Cassi might have made it back to their speeder bikes. However, with Shenna and Elizie slowing them down, there was no way they could make it. The two Arkanians were weak and even more ill-used to sprinting through the woods than Sarth and Cassi were. “We’re going to have to slow them down,” Sarth gasped. Breathless, Cassi nodded, skidding to a halt. “Look,” Sarth called to Shenna and Elizie as he activated the beckon call, programming something into it. “Head east, that way. There will be a ship hovering there with the ramp down. Get in, go to the cockpit and tell it ‘Clear skies.’ You hear me? ‘Clear skies.’” Shenna and Elizie nodded dumbly. “Good,” Sarth said, then waved them off. They obediently broke into a run in the direction he ordered. “What now?” Cassi asked. “They’ll be on us in ten seconds.” “We get their attention,” Sarth said. “Head for the speeders. With any luck, they won’t have transportation. Then we escape.” “Okay,” Cassi said. “But luck has not been with us thus far.” “Sure it has,” Sarth said, pecking her quickly on the cheek. “We’re still alive and together, right?” Then he crouched down by a rock and drew another small sphere out of a pouch on his equipment belt, tossing it ten meters ahead of him. Cassi saw what he was doing and ducked behind a tree, trying to catch her breath. The first Imperial had just come into sight when Sarth stood and opened fire with his pistol. However, not being the best of shots, all his darts did was catch the man’s attention. A blaster bolt sailed past him to set fire to a tree. At that point, Sarth shouted, and the cryoban grenade two meters from the man’s feet detonated, flash-freezing him. Cassi gave a shout as well for good measure, appearing from behind the tree with lightsaber lit. They certainly had the Imperials’ attention now, and blaster bolts whined all around them. Their task completed, Sarth and Cassi took off running as fast as they could, bolstering their energy reserves with the Force. From behind them, Cassi heard the low whine of a repulsorlift. Risking a glance behind her, she saw an Imperial on a speeder bike closing on Sarth, lining up its underslung cannon to blast him. “Sarth, duck!” she shouted. Instinctively, he dropped and the volley of blaster bolts aimed at his back sailed over him to hit a tree instead. The speeder bike roared past them to come around for another pass, but Cassi’s motions were guided by the Force. Her arm moved on its own accord, whipping her lightsaber blade around just as the bike passed her. The stroke was less than masterful, but managed to sever the driver’s left arm at the forearm. The resulting injury caused him to lose control of the bike, which slammed into a sizable boulder and exploded in a generous fireball. Sarth scrambled to his feet and together they made the last hundred meter dash to their speeder bikes. Looking over his shoulder, Sarth saw a familiar blue thruster glow recede into the distance and knew that their efforts had not been in vain. “They got away,” he said as he powered up his speeder bike. “Good,” Cassi replied as her bike’s engine roared to life. “Let’s do the same.”
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