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| - The setting sun illuminated the sand-colored buildings predominant in Socorran architecture in a golden bronze. The streets were choked with people, many of them festive and jubilant. The air reeked of cheap intoxicants and food while loud music mingled with the cacophony of a thousand simultaneous conversations. The capital city of Vakeyya was caught in the throes of a planetary holiday and even the somber specter of the Yuuzhan Vong War had been unable to dampen the mood of the inhabitants. In fact, the present galactic turmoil had seemed to only encourage a large percentage of the Socorrans to drown their concerns in a wide variety of stimulants or other licentious activities. Every cantina was inundated with patrons seeking whatever vices were available and probably a few that weren’t. On the outskirts of the city, hapless laborers toiled in a dusty chromite mine. Trapped inside the confines of their occupation by relentless taskmasters, they could listen to the faint sounds of reverie from the city. While mining was guaranteed employment and wages were decent, the mine was far from a safe place and the backbreaking labor was divided into grueling ten hour shifts, much of it far beneath the surface in tunnels where workers strained to extract metal from the rock layers. Accidents were common and safety was not high on the mining bosses’ priority list until it interfered with profitability. The mine itself was a giant sinkhole delved two hundred meters deep and a hundred meters around with numerous winding shafts linked to it. It was an ugly blight on the surface of Socorro, with outbuildings and large lifts for ferrying ore and workers rimming the edge of the sinkhole. The stark contrast between the festivity in the city streets and the abject gray misery evident in the mine even from a distance was not lost on Cassi. She and her companions had journeyed here on the advice of Mithunir, who had told her that his father had claimed a clue to Atlaradis was buried in the black sands. A search of galactic databases had revealed that Socorro was known for the black sand of its deserts and so now they were here, following Mithunir. “I can’t believe the mine operators force their workers to slave away like that, especially when they’re out partying,” Cassi said with a disapproving frown. “Life earns little respect out here unless you have money,” Milya remarked. “Socorro is known for its lawlessness and reckless lifestyle.” Cassi glanced over at her companion, who was playing the part she had assigned herself—that of a private bodyguard. Her snug black jumpsuit and jacket were utilitarian and nondescript and she wore sunglasses with an attached earpiece comlink as well as a utility belt. Ostensibly, Milya was the protection hired by a wealthy businessman to protect his wife and two attendants as they went on some religious pilgrimage with her personal sage. Since the likelihood of getting Mithunir to change his appearance or mannerisms had seemed low, Milya had structured their disguises around him. Cassi, Jorge and Annita were playing their parts, dressed in the flowing attire of Core World nobility for Cassi and muted versions in similar fashion for Jorge and Annita. When Cassi had questioned the necessity for disguise, Milya had pointed out that offworlders attracted attention on worlds like this and there was always the possibility that Yuuzhan Vong sympathizers, pirates, or criminals were out looking for them. Cassi had begrudgingly agreed and gone along with the arrangements to avoid an argument, although Jorge and Annita had seemed to sympathize with Milya’s desire to travel as incognito as possible. “It’s sad and disgusting,” Cassi said. “Both the mine and the city, just in different ways.” “It is foreign to me as well,” Mithunir put in. “Such a waste.” “When you live the life of a spacer, you enjoy what moments like this that you have and spend your creds freely,” Jorge said. “Because you’re rarely assured of many more of them.” “Except for the poor people stuck in the mines,” Cassi reminded them as they passed by the security fence that ran around the perimeter of the mine primarily to keep workers inside. Jorge nodded and they continued forward, pushing their way through the revelers that were clogging the streets. “We should be able to find a speeder rental place soon,” Milya said. “That will let us get out of the city and look for this sign you said was here.” The last phrase was directed at Mithunir, who merely gave a curt dip of his head to indicate acknowledgment. “Actually, I might have an idea on that,” Jorge said, “but it’s a slim chance. Old folk story I remember from when I came here as a smuggler about something called the min min lights.” “What is that?” Cassi asked. “It’s a series of strange flashes of light that you see near the edges of the Doaba Badlands. They show up during dawn and dusk,” Jorge explained. “Legend has them that they come from spirits of the past.” “How do we get to the source of the lights?” Cassi inquired. Jorge laughed. “Nobody’s ever gotten there as far as I can tell,” he told her. “Nobody knows. That desert can be pretty dangerous.” “We need to get a speeder and find those lights if they might be a clue,” Cassi said. “What do you think?” “It might be,” Jorge answered skeptically. “But it might also be a natural phenomenon. Believe me, people have come up with all sorts of strange stories to explain them over the years.” “We must not overlook this possibility though,” Mithunir cautioned them. “It might be that this is just the thing we are looking for.” “Fine, let’s go,” Milya urged them. “I want to get away from this carousing mess of a city.” Thisspias The door to the small unadorned chamber hissed open quietly. Ariada looked up from where she had been lying on the featureless bed that was the room’s sole piece of furniture to see who had come to visit her. She had been kept here, in quarters unsettlingly reminiscent of a prison cell for two weeks now, attended solely by a servant whose job had been to treat her wounds, both new and old. For the second test, though not as painful, had also left marks on her body. Embedded on the back of her hands near the knuckles, at the nape of her neck, under her shoulder blades, and along her spine near the kidneys were slivers of Qixoni crystal, a rare and powerful mineral said to infuse and enhance dark side abilities. Ariada had accepted their implantation as a means to harness more Force power, confident she could control the crystals rather than them influence her—after all, she possessed extensive influence and knowledge of her own physiology. However, the procedures had left her sore long after the wounds had closed and the scars had yet to fade completely away. In time, she suspected they would, but the dark red outline of the crystal remained barely evident underneath the newly-healed epidermis and always would, as long as she bore them. After a prolonged wait, the three Dark Jedi entered. The two humans, Krakadas, the cruel one who had subjected her to the electrocution, and Therior, the leader and most enigmatic of the three, filed in first, followed by Aspra Serpaddis, the Thispiassian mystic who had supervised her implantation. “Greetings Ariada,” Therior told her. Still in pain, weak, and impatient with lying here, Ariada was in no mood for small talk. “Since you’re the only one who hasn’t tested me yet, I suspect you’ve got something just wonderful in mind,” Ariada replied. “Get it over with.” Rather than take offense at her words, Therior simply smirked. “Very well,” he said. “You must deliver proof, substantive proof that confirms the veracity of your claim about this refuge on Yanibar. You shall take us to Yanibar.” Ariada shook her head. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” she said bluntly. Therior’s features froze into an angered mask. One black-gloved hand whipped out to clamp itself around her neck, threatening to crush her trachea. “Then I think that means you fail the test,” he hissed at her. “Which means you’re of no further use to us.” Though she was struggling to breathe, Ariada remained defiant. “If I take you to Yanibar, you could all be killed along with me, and then where would we be?” she said. “I’m not about to throw away so much potential because you want to sightsee.” “Your next words had better convince me that your insolence shouldn’t have a lethal punishment,” Therior told her evenly while he continued to squeeze. “There are many guardians on Yanibar, powerful Force-sensitives,” she told them. “They are constantly sensing space around the system for Force-sensitives and they have plenty of technological sensors as well. It’s impossible to get there undetected.” Therior considered her words and released his grip slightly. “Then you will tell us of this Yanibar refuge as best you can and then come up with some creative way to verify your story. And if I’m not satisfied . . .” “You’ll kill me, I understand,” Ariada told him, rubbing at her throat. Therior and his two companions glowered at her in reply. Slowly, she sat up, flexing her fingers and wincing at the soreness behind her knuckles the motion elicited. “I accept,” she said, offering her hand to Therior. The human took it in a crushing grip. “Good,” he said, a greedy glint in his eyes. “Don’t disappoint me, Ariada.” Socorro The black sand of Socorro’s Doaba Badlands formed a bleak landscape, stretching in every direction as the rented speeder tore across its barren expanse, leaving a murky cloud of black sand stretching out from its rear. Inside the enclosed compartment, Cassi, Jorge, Annita, Milya, and Mithunir stared out across the rough flats. In the distance, Socorro’s sun kissed the horizon as it sank, scattering golden rays across the black sands to glint and dazzle on shiny particles, backlighting the mountains farther off. “What are we looking for exactly?” Annita asked, shading her eyes with one hand while looking in the direction of the sunset. “Min min lights are a strange natural phenomenon in the Doaba Badlands,” Jorge told her. “Nobody knows why they pop up or exactly where, but they look like sparks of light at the edge of the desert.” “Are you sure that’s not just something from the sun’s reflection on the crystalline grains of sand?” she asked skeptically. “Pretty sure,” Jorge told her, knowing that unlike himself, his wife hadn’t had the benefit of witnessing the min min lights first hand. As the sun dipped lower into the horizon until less than half of the ochre orb was visible, the speeder made its way into the rocky, broken mesas of the badlands. The ground was as desolate as ever and the stone, likely a hardened sedimentary form of the black sands, was mingled with harder igneous formations. Jorge switched on the lights as he drove to help guide them and slowed their speed as night fell. “Are you sure this is a good idea to be out here this late?” Annita asked. “Desert planets can be just as harsh at night as during the day—particularly if the predators are nocturnal.” “The Force will be with us, Annita Daowot,” Mithunir told her smoothly. “That’s Knrr,” she corrected him mildly. “And I’m still not convinced we’re going to find anything out here.” “That is because you cannot sense the Force,” Mithunir replied, inhaling deeply. “I sense it, mingled with the sand. I feel its power rippling through the ground we traverse.” Cassi frowned, closing her eyes in concentration. “I think . . . I feel something too,” she said. “It’s subtle, but definitely a sensation in the Force.” “Which way do you want me to go?” Jorge asked. “Keep going for now,” Cassi told him. “Milya, do you sense anything?” “A little,” Milya said doubtfully. “Not well enough to call it a clue or even something significant. I might not have even noticed it if you two hadn’t mentioned it.” “I’ve got something,” Jorge called. “Min min light, about eight degrees right of our current heading.” Five sets of eyes immediately swept the rocky landscape in the direction he had indicated and soon saw what Jorge had drawn their attention to: there was a twinkling in the desert in the distance, like a star that had been embedded in the ground. There was no question about the source being luminescent—the light was amidst a long shadow cast by a mesa and could not have been a reflection from the sun. “Take us that way,” Cassi told him. Jorge complied and they started approaching the source. However, as they drew within a kilometer of the flickering light, it vanished into nothingness. Jorge did his best to pilot the speeder near where they had seen it, guided by Milya, but no trace of the light remained. “I think this is close enough,” Cassi told him. “Stop here and we’ll take a look.” As the vehicle’s repulsorlifts whined down, the five disembarked. Milya distributed hiking packs to Jorge, Cassi, and Annita while shouldering one herself. Mithunir had claimed to need no such assistance, so he went unencumbered. Fanning out to cover approximately ten meters between the five of them, they advanced with glowrods ready. The night was quiet and even with only a faint breeze, the temperature was dropping rapidly with the falling sun. The ground was mostly a rocky shelf, but here and there were little stretches of the familiar black sand. “This is weird,” Jorge said as he moved over one of the sandy beds. “This sand feels a bit warmer—and it’s got a weird pattern to it.” “Wait!” Milya called to him, suddenly alert, but it was too late. The sand swirled and gave way under Jorge. He plunged into the suddenly porous sand and was submerged in a cloud of black sand almost instantly, with little trace left behind. “Jorge!” Annita screamed, running forward. “Stand back,” Milya ordered her curtly with a brusque wave of her hand. Closing her eyes and clenching her fists at her side, she summoned the Force to herself, summoning its power. She first tracked Jorge, sensing him several meters underground, falling fast. Concentrating, she wrapped him in a bubble of Force energy and tried to haul him back up. However, he had significant momentum already and arresting that was a heavy strain, let alone reversing it. Milya felt Cassi sense her actions and join her, adding her strength, and then Mithunir was helping as well. Together, the three managed to slowly, incrementally haul him back up. “Get ready at the edge of the sand pit,” Milya told Annita. “Whatever you do, don’t go into the sand.” Annita waited for another agonizing thirty seconds at the edge of the pit, her gaze shifting between the sand and the three Force-users exerting all their power to save her husband. Finally, a hand shot up from the sand, extending upward desperately. Annita grabbed it and pulled with all her might, dragging Jorge out of the sand as the other three raced over to help. Jorge was completely covered in sand, coughing and gagging up the black sand as he gasped for air. As soon as he was clear of the sand pit, Annita knelt by his side, holding him up and clearing the sand from his face. “I’m . . . okay,” he wheezed. “I’m sorry about that . . . happened so fast.” “Don’t try to talk,” Cassi advised him as he continued to spit up sand. She offered him a water bottle to wash off the worst of the grime and rinse out his mouth and eyes. “That’s no ordinary sand pit,” he said once he had recovered his breath and cleaned off his face. “As I fell through it, it got hotter.” “Hotter?” Cassi asked, surprised. “Shouldn’t the sand be cooler in layers that don’t receive exposure to the sunlight?” “You would think so,” Milya said. “If you’ll allow me,” Mithunir told them, walking up to the edge of the sand pit. He began chanting in a slow, sonorous language, arms raised outstretched to his sides all the while. Cassi and Annita continued to attend to a weakened Jorge while Milya looked on, keeping a careful eye on Mithunir. To her surprise, the ground began to rumble and shake. Immediately, the Jorge and the two other women rose to their feet, wary of further danger. Mithunir continued chanting, and then suddenly, the sand swirled again into a whirlpool, revealing a dark passage that disappeared into the murky depths. The slope, while too steep for walking, seemed descendible. Milya shone a glowrod down into the pit, straining to see how far it descended. “It’s a straight drop for about twenty meters, then it seems to angle away into a cave or shaft of some kind. Seems navigable.” Mithunir turned to face them, an elated expression on his face. “My people know many spells for influencing the elements,” he told him. “Stone, sand, and dirt are things we can manipulate.” “And now I suppose you want us to go down there,” Jorge commented, brushing sand off his arms. “Aw man, I got sand everywhere.” “The last time we went down a passage like that, some pretty strange things happened,” Cassi reminisced. “It was also dangerous,” Milya reminded her. “And Selu’s not here this time to watch out for us.” “We’ll be careful,” Cassi assured her. “In any rate, I am going down there,” Mithunir told them. “The Force tells me that what I seek lies underneath this stone.” “Two of us should stay behind to keep an eye on the speeder,” Jorge suggested. “And look out for trouble.” “Are you volunteering?” Milya asked. “Well, I’m not a huge fan of the underground and that little dip in the sand was pretty exhausting,” Jorge told her. “So yes, kind of.” “I’ll stay with him,” Annita added immediately. Milya pursed her lips and frowned. It was risky to leave both non-Force-sensitives on the surface—they would not be able to sense approaching trouble or sense any harm happening to the subterranean explorers. On the other hand, she did not want to leave Mithunir unattended, as Milya was fairly sure she was the only one who could defeat him if he attempted a betrayal. Knowing that Cassi would insist on going with Mithunir, that forced her to accompany the underground excursion as well. So she nodded curtly. “Sounds good,” she said. “Comlinks probably won’t work if we go too far underground, so don’t count on regular updates. If we’re not back in a day, return to the Silent Surprise and go seek help.” Annita started to argue, but Milya silenced her with a single look. “If we’re in that much trouble that we can’t get out ourselves, better to play it safe. If you come in after us or keep waiting, there’s a chance something could happen to all of us. Getting help in the event of a serious mishap is the safest and smartest thing to do.” “You’re right,” Annita admitted. “Just be careful.” “We will,” Milya replied. “All right, let’s go.” Uncoiling a fibra-rope, she slung it down the passage. “Mithunir, this is your quest, so I suppose you should go first,” she told him. “I’ll go next. Cassi, follow me closely.” One by one, they disappeared into darkness, making their way down the rope. As night fell, it seemed to Jorge and Annita that the black sands had swallowed their friends up just as surely as the sand had threatened to consume Jorge moments ago. They returned to the speeder, leaving a portable lamp by the passage, knowing they could be in for a long and lonely wait. Yanibar “Well, that should just about fix you up,” Sarth said. Setting the hydrospanner back down on the workbench, he replaced the metal covering back onto J7’s leg and secured it in place. “How does that feel?” he asked the droid. J7 lowered the newly-repaired limb to the ground and tested his weight on it. “It seems fully functional, Master Sarth, though I’ll need to either test it or simply walk on it, depending on your preferred method of evaluation.” “Be my guest either way,” Sarth told him, gesturing at both the open area of his workshop and the tray of tools. “My diagnostics on your leg all checked out, but I don’t blame you for wanting to check it yourself.” The droid unlatched himself from the workstation and took a few experimental steps around the cluttered workshop, avoiding the pieces of equipment that were scattered across the floor. The droid ambled over to the one of the many computer terminals in the shop; this one was placed between two shelves heavily-laden with tools and spare parts. Retrieving a probe, he ran it down his leg, staring intently at the screen. “All systems appear to be fully repaired. I owe you gratitude, Master Sarth.” Sarth waved him off. “Think nothing of it. If anything, it’s me who owes you. By all accounts, you were a big help to Cassi when she was offworld—even fighting off a Yuuzhan Vong attack.” “It was my duty and I am pleased that you find my performance satisfactory,” J7 replied. “Much more than satisfactory,” Sarth assured him. The droid inclined slightly in a bow. “Again, my thanks,” he said, then stopped. “Master Sarth, what is my next task?” “Pardon me?” Sarth replied, confused. “My last assignment was to care for Mistress Cassi, but she is not here at the moment. What would you like me to do in lieu of that assignment?” “Ah, about that,” Sarth told him. Walking over to another desk littered with tools and datapads, he retrieved one from the top of the stack and handed it to J7. “Cassi and I discussed it and we think this is long overdue; Selu and Milya agreed as well. You’ve belonged to our family since the day you were made and have rendered nothing less than exemplary service over the last thirty-plus years. Now we think it’s high time you decided where to best put your programming and skills to use.” The droid scanned the datapad he was handed. “Sir, if I understand you correctly, this is a certificate of manumission.” Sarth leaned back against the workbench and nodded. “That’s right. There’s also two thousand credits in there as a little starting fund. That’ll buy you passage offworld if you want it, or set you up with some money to start a business.” “I . . . am at a loss for words,” the droid told him. “This is most unexpected.” “You’ve earned it, J7,” Sarth said. “You’ve been a good friend—we should have done this years ago.” “So this means I am free to do as I please?” J7 asked. “To supervise my own maintenance and programming?” “Yes,” Sarth replied. “If there’s anything you want done that you don’t feel capable of doing, you can hire me to implement it—I promise very reasonable rates, though scheduling might be tricky with everything on my plate right now. Otherwise, you are a free droid with citizenship in the Yanibar refuge—along with a slightly modified set of the rights that come with that status.” “Again, I am not sure of the proper words for the occasion,” J7 said. “Other than thank you, Master Sarth.” The droid bowed again. “You’re welcome,” Sarth answered simply. “And you can remove ‘Master Sarth’ from your proper-address protocol. It’s just Sarth from now on.” “Very well then . . . Sarth,” J7 said. “Might I ask what you are doing next?” “First, I’m going to clean off all the grime I’ve accumulated from the workshop and then eat something,” Sarth said. “And then?” “I have a briefing to attend about an offworld mission that I’ll be doing on a Yanibar Guard warship,” Sarth told him. “Why? Do you need something?” “Well, sir,” J7 explained. “It occurred to me that since you no longer have a personal assistance droid, you might have an opening for an assistant. If so, I was contemplating an application.” Sarth grinned broadly and slapped J7 on the arm. “That I might,” he said. “Glad to have you along.” Rishi The Hawk-bat’s repulsorlifts whined as it set down on the makeshift landing pad next to the gray modular prefabricated building that had quickly been erected to serve as a field medcenter. The aged ship’s ports hissed and puffed jets of gases out as it stabilized. Then, with a mechanical creak, the ramp lowered as its occupants debarked. Eight Elite Guardians filed out first, replete in battle armor and traditional weapons. Following behind them were Selu and Hasla, who strode quickly, forcing their honor guard to double-time to keep up. Selu was still wearing his bloodied and stained battle armor from his fight aboard the Vigilant Refuge, while Hasla was wearing her sweat-stained admiral’s uniform, with safety vest still strapped tightly around her torso. Both were visibly troubled from the losses of the battle before and neither sought to mask the hurt that was written on their faces and scored on their hearts. “Stay at the door,” Selu instructed the guards, who had been obliged to accompany them out of protocol, not because Selu and Hasla had any particular need of escort. They strode into the medcenter, where a YGA duty officer was busy directing traffic at the atrium. He saw the ranks on the new arrivals and quickly snapped to a salute. “Do you have a VIP ward set up?” Selu asked him. “Begging your pardon, sir, but it’s not much of a ward. We’ve been swamped with casualties and setting up . . .” “No worries, Captain,” Selu said. “I understand you’re doing the best you can given the circumstances. If you’ll just tell me where they are . . .” The captain waved to the left. “Third door on the left is where we have the Elites and the civilians rescued from the governor’s palace,” he answered. “It’s not exactly pretty, though, sir.” “Thank you,” Selu told him, brushing past with Hasla in his wake to reach the indicated room as quickly as possible. However, before he could make it all the way down the hallway, the sound of an angry commotion back at the atrium halted him. Selu wheeled back to see the captain being yelled at by an irate-looking man in a patchwork uniform. Hasla was caught by surprise and turned, but Selu waved her ahead to their original destination. “What do you mean, your facilities aren’t available? Damn hell they aren’t!” bellowed the enraged newcomer. “The other medcenter is flooded with civilians and other casualties and you have the gall to tell me this one isn’t available after what we did for you in orbit! You gotta lot of . . .” “What seems to be the problem?” Selu inquired smoothly, coming to the rescue of the beleaguered captain. The man, his tirade interrupted, turned to glower viciously at Selu. “Do you outrank him in whatever this outfit is called?” he demanded. “Yes,” Selu replied simply. “Now, what’s the problem?” “The problem is that this man right here is refusing to admit my volunteers for treatment. I have a lot of hurt folks and the other medcenter you people set up for civilians and anybody else not wearing one of your fancy uniforms is flooded. I’m not going to sit around and wait while my people suffer and die!” “Perfectly understandable,” Selu said in the same even voice. “Colonel Klivian, I presume?” “That’s right,” he said begrudgingly. “How’d you know that?” “That’s not important right now,” Selu told him, then turned to the captain. “Captain, how many empty treatment wards do you have right now?” “Two, sir, but we’re anticipating more YGA casualties from the city and our people are stretched thin as it is. We already have some other civvies in our VIP ward.” “Captain, I’m hereby designating Colonel Klivian and his personnel as Category Aurek-3 allied combatants. Assign both of the wards to their wounded and see to it that they receive the care they need. We’ll have Colonel Klivian get you a list of the casualties so we can keep track of who’s where.” Selu turned to Hobbie. “I’m afraid our security protocols require that all non-Guard personnel in this facility must be confined to a particular area and guarded. Is that acceptable?” “As long as they’re properly taken care of, you can perform a sacred dance around them for all I care,” Hobbie blustered in return. “Good,” Selu said. “Now, if you’ll come with me, your arrival here is most fortuitous.” “Not until my people are off the ships and into the medcenter,” Hobbie insisted. “Of course,” Selu said patiently, turning and walking with Hobbie back out to the landing field where several non-YGF ships had landed. Several volunteers were clustered around the ships, waiting expectantly for their commander. Selu turned to the honor guard standing outside the medcenter. “Make yourselves useful and help get the wounded inside,” Selu told them. “Then stand guard at their wards until you’re called for or relieved.” He set actions to words, walking over to one of the freighters with Klivian. “This one,” Hobbie said, indicating one of the many stretchers inside the cramped cargo bay. There had to be at least thirty casualties inside the freighter, many of them burned hideously. Moans of pain were evident throughout the transport’s hold and temporary bandages were evident in abundance. The woman lying on it had some kind of oxygen mask over her face, which was a pale blue instead of the normal skin tones. Her boots and pants legs had been covered with makeshift bandages stained with blood. Selu quickly headed to the foot the stretcher and picked it up, leaving Hobbie to hoist the head, where he could talk to the injured woman. “Hang with me, Anja, we’re going to get you help,” he said. Anja gave no response other than to continue gasping for breath. Selu and Hobbie made their way from the freighter into the medcenter with their burden, passing off the stretcher to a pair of medics and then heading back out to the ships. “That’s all of them!” one of Hobbie’s men told him as they reached the atrium, though. “Sir, if I could have a moment,” a voice called to Selu out of the commotion of the medcenter. It was the captain in charge of directing the flow of patients. “What is it, Captain?” Selu asked. “We don’t have enough qualified medical personnel here to see all the wounded, sir. Our surgeons are overtaxed as it is and we don’t have enough droids unpacked to close the gap.” “How about the volunteers?” Selu asked. “I seem to recall Open Hands sent us a fair-sized group of medical professionals.” “Half of them are at the other medcenter. The other half weren’t cleared to deal with YG casualties and there’s only so much space at the other one, so they’re helping set up supply caches.” “Consider them cleared to treat any and all wounded in any medcenter on this planet,” Selu told him bluntly. “This isn’t a peacetime exercise, Captain, so you’ll find that there’s very little to be gained by strict adherence to protocol. Get them in here, stat.” “Yes, sir!” the captain stammered, reaching for his comlink. Selu finally turned back to Hobbie. “Now, Colonel, your people are being taken care of,” Selu told him. “If you’ll please follow me, we have some things to discuss.” “You know, from the way that captain was talking, you must outrank him by a good bit,” Hobbie told Selu as he allowed himself to be escorted to the VIP ward. Selu gave him an arch look. “After you,” he said, ushering him inside past the guard at the door. As expected, there was a fairly large group of people inside the ward. Ryion, Zeyn, Qedai, Morgedh, Kyle Katarn, Jan Ors, the governor and his defense chief, the viceroy and his daughter, and then two Chalactan military officers were all present with Hasla inside the cramped ward. Selu noted that Ryion, Zeyn, Qedai, Morgedh, and Kyle bore evidence of hasty medical treatment. Qedai was seated, with a large boot cast wrapped around one leg. Ryion’s shirt was off, exposing the bandages swathing his torso, while Morgedh was similarly adorned. Zeyn and Kyle sported bacta patches for minor cuts and burns as well. “Sorry for the delay,” Selu told them. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Selu Kraest. I’m the leader of the force you probably know as the Guard. This is my chief of naval operations, Hasla . . .” “No . . .” Hobbie interrupted suddenly, noticing Hasla for the first time. His voice was haunted, the look on his face befitting a man seeing a ghost. “I know that face,” he bit out with considerable effort. “Seirla?” Hasla started as he said the name, then winced. “You once knew me by that name, yes,” she said. “I thought . . . we all thought you died years ago?” Hobbie said in disbelief. “So Wedge didn’t tell you,” she realized aloud. “He’s known for years—but he’s also known that my allegiance is to the Guard. That’s probably why he didn’t tell you.” “You mean . . . you weren’t . . .” Hobbie struggled to get the words out, his surprise and shock turning to anger as his hands balled into fists at his side. “Colonel Klivian, we can discuss history later,” Selu told him. “This isn’t the time or the place.” “Oh, I think it is the time and place,” Hobbie started. “I think Hasla here has some serious explaining to do.” Quick as a snake, Selu whirled on Hobbie. Selu’s eyes blazed as he leaned in close enough that their faces were only a dozen centimeters apart. “Colonel, I want you to listen very carefully because I’m going to say this once,” Selu said. “You are on my base, as a guest of my people, and on my time. I have been very patient and accommodating towards you and your volunteers thus far. I have ensured that they are receiving the same medical treatment my own people receive. I have even put up with your demands thus far. But I will not let you throw a fit—or a fist—at one of my most trusted officers over something that happened twenty years ago on my direct orders. We do not have time to waste on settling ancient grudges. As far as you and Hasla are concerned you will call it even or I will have you escorted from my base. Do I make myself abundantly clear?” “Yes,” Hobbie ground out through gritted teeth. “Good,” Selu replied. “Now, stand there quietly until I’m ready for you. I’ve lost some dear friends today and I’m not in the mood to be interrupted again.” The rest of the room watched him in stunned silence, in shock from his outburst. Hobbie was seething, but dared not provoke another response from Selu, who had decidedly asserted his authority. “As I was saying, this is my chief of naval operations, Hasla Cyrreso. The reasons why our ships and operatives first arrived at this world are both convoluted and irrelevant. The reason why our larger relief force has arrived is quite simple—we’re here to stop the Yuuzhan Vong. If you trust nothing else I say, believe that.” Selu turned to the governor. “Governor, ordinarily, I believe that our presence and landing here would constitute a breach of your planetary sovereignty and possibly an act of war against the New Republic. However, I also believe it’s in our best interests to work together—without us, you can’t possibly hope to survive against the Yuuzhan Vong force currently insystem.” “I understand what you’re getting at,” the governor replied wearily. “Once I can speak with the rest of my staff, I’ll draw up an agreement that legitimizes your presence here—we can settle the details later.” “Excellent, and thank you,” Selu said. “Now you know why we’re here, but do you know what brought the Yuuzhan Vong to Rishi?” “We think they’re after the Chalactan refugees we sprang from Chalacta,” Hobbie offered. “Our intelligence sources and agents agree,” Selu said, turning to the viceroy and Shara. “I’m very sorry to tell you this, but you and your people are likely being targeted for genocide. It’s a pattern we’ve seen the Yuuzhan Vong perpetrate on other worlds. Resistance is inevitably crushed and the entire populace suffers enslavement or extermination.” All four Chalactans paled at Selu’s weighty words. “I take it you aren’t just going to sit around and wait for that to happen?” Hobbie asked. “No, we’re not,” Selu said. “We have some surprises for the Yuuzhan Vong that we don’t think they’re prepared for, and this is an opportunity to deal them a significant defeat that we may not see repeated.” Hobbie snorted. “Pardon my skepticism, but the last few military engagements that the galaxy has had with the Yuuzhan Vong haven’t generally ended in ‘significant defeat’ for them,” Hobbie said. “What makes you so special?” “It’s fairly evident that the Yuuzhan Vong have been spying out the galaxy for years, given how quickly they’ve advanced and exploited the weaknesses of the New Republic,” Selu told him. “We’ve seen nothing to indicate they even knew we existed. In fact, I’m willing to bet you didn’t know we existed, Colonel. That, among many other things, makes us special.” “Gentlemen, please, the condescension is unnecessary and wasteful,” the viceroy interrupted. “You are both competent warriors, so I ask you to show you the respect that two warriors should share for each other’s abilities.” “A good suggestion, viceroy,” Hasla broke in. “I know tensions are high right now, but the Yuuzhan Vong are a very real threat, and even with the forces that the Guard has committed to Rishi, they will not be defeated easily. We all need to work together if we’re going to walk away from this one.” “What do you have in mind?” Jan asked from the corner where she’d been sitting beside Kyle Katarn. “To start with, a clear command setup,” Selu said, calming down substantially. “I’m not asking to place my people over yours, but we need to be unified and cohesive. That won’t happen if we’re leading by committee.” “So you want to be calling the shots?” Hobbie asked. “Given that I’ve brought the biggest force and key information for guiding strategic decisions, yes,” Selu admitted. “I don’t expect you to just take orders, but under the circumstances, I think it’s for the best if the Guard governs the direction of the defense on Rishi—with input from the appropriate parties of course.” “I don’t know much about you, but I know that your forces are the biggest thing between us and the Vong right now,” the governor said. “Consider us at your disposal.” At a nudge from the viceroy, General Undukjavi nodded as well. “There’s only a few hundred of the Chalactan defense force left, but we’ll do our part—and under your direction, if it comes to that.” “Colonel Klivian?” Selu asked softly. “I know we got off on the wrong foot and I apologize, but the assistance of you and your volunteers would be invaluable. Can we count on you?” Hobbie glared at Selu. “You know, after what you just pulled and what I suspect you pulled twenty years ago, I can’t say that I think too highly of you. I definitely don’t like you. In fact, you’re probably the biggest pool of Hutt slime I’ve met in a while who wasn’t Vong or Peace Brigade.” “Pray continue,” Selu said, seemingly oblivious to the derision and anticipating the unspoken ‘but.’ “But you took care of my people and right now, it looks like you and your Guard, whatever it is, are the only chance of not being quickly ending up on a sacrificial altar. How does that saying go? We hang together or we all hang separately?” “An apt epithet,” Selu agreed in the same placid voice. “In any case, we’ll work with you, at least until you do something completely insane,” Hobbie told him. “But I’m not asking how high on the way up if you say jump.” “That should more than suffice,” Selu assured him. “And now that you’re onboard, there is something very valuable that you can do for us immediately.” “What’s that?” Hobbie asked suspiciously. “I understand that Wedge Antilles has recently retaken Borleias from the Yuuzhan Vong,” Selu said. “I’d like you to arrange a meeting with him to see if we can’t work out some kind of data-sharing agreement. I’m sure there are things about the Yuuzhan Vong that the New Republic knows that we don’t and vice versa.” “You know that’s a lot to ask given that I’m not even in the military,” Hobbie pointed out. “It is,” Selu admitted. “But I also know that Wedge Antilles would never leave his friends hanging and I know that you’re one of his very good friends.” “You know far too much about me and Wedge than is healthy,” Hobbie said, squinting dubiously at Selu. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’ll need two things. I need a secure holocomm transmitter that didn’t come from you and I want Hasla over there to settle some unanswered questions when I have that chat with Wedge.” Selu looked over at Hasla, who nodded curtly. “Deal,” he said. “And as for your transmitter . . .” He looked over at Jan Ors. “Far be it from me to presume, but I’d be willing to guess that Agent Ors has the equipment you need on her vessel. She might be willing to assist you.” “I can hook you up,” she told Hobbie, then looked back at Selu. “You’ve been awfully quiet about what you want me and Kyle to do in this scheme of yours. Out with it.” “To be honest, it’s one thing to recruit volunteers and planetary defense forces,” Selu said. “It’s quite another to assume command over an NRI agent and a Jedi.” “Spare me the formality,” Kyle broke in. “I’ve already fought and bled by your people once without being asked to. You can count on us.” “I’ll need someone who can liaison with our intelligence staff and the New Republic, assuming Colonel Klivian can get through to Antilles,” Selu said. “And as for you, Jedi Katarn, Colonel Klivian’s volunteers don’t have any Force-sensitives among them. The Guard has . . . well, some for sure, and we often employ Force-based coordination and tactics. If you could assist them however you see best, I believe it would augment them significantly.” “I can do that,” Kyle said. “Just remember, I charge extra for babysitting.” “Then it’s settled,” Selu said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like a few minutes with my people.” “We’ll wait outside,” the viceroy said. He and the rest of the occupants save the Yanibar Guard personnel exited the ward. Selu quickly knelt by Ryion’s bed and embraced him about the shoulders so as not to aggravate his chest wound. “I’m so glad to see you again, son,” he said. “Your mother and I have been very worried about you.” “Good to see you again, too, Dad,” Ryion answered brokenly. “But . . .” “I know,” Selu said simply. “I know.” He released Ryion and walked over to where Qedai was sitting, her face tear-streaked from relentless crying. Selu knelt in front of her and took her hand in his. “Qedai, I am so sorry about your mother,” Selu told her. “She was very dear to me as well. All of Yanibar will mourn her loss.” Qedai bobbed her head in a vague imitation of a nod, then threw herself forward to cry on Selu’s shoulders. Selu held her as she sobbed. “I’m truly sorry,” he said several minutes later, knowing that the Twi’lek’s tears were outward expressions of the pain racing through both of them. Slowly, she straightened up and brushed away the tears. “You must be strong,” Selu told her. “That is what Daara would have wanted. That is what your team needs now.” She nodded and Selu stood to address Ryion, Morgedh, and Zeyn as well. “All of you have done very well. Under less trying circumstances, I’d send you back to Yanibar for medals and recuperation. We don’t have that luxury now. If you don’t feel you can still participate in the defense of Rishi, let me know privately, but I sense that all of you have pivotal parts to play in this battle. We will need every Elite Guardian who is able to help.” “This was my idea. I’ll see it through to the end,” Ryion told him resolutely. “Thank you,” Selu told him. “You know my mind,” Morgedh answered simply. “And I know I can count on you,” Selu said. “Zeyn? Qedai?” “Right now, I don’t think I could fight a pittin,” Zeyn told him. “We’re all pretty torn up right now. But as beaten up and hurting as we are, I don’t think we could just turn our back on people who need us, on people who died so we could hold the line. We’re all in, as soon as we’re in fighting shape again.” “I appreciate that,” Selu said. “And whether you know it or not, the entire Yanibar Guard does as well. Get some rest—we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.” “What about you?” Ryion asked. “I am tired,” Selu said. “But I have plenty to do as well. There are many wounded here who are maimed and injured because of my orders—the least I can do is visit them and give them what solace I can. But first, I’m going to say goodbye to an old friend.” With that, Selu’s shoulders slumped. All the weariness and care that he’d hidden from Hobbie and the other foreigners suddenly asserted itself on his features. The transition made him look older than his sixty-seven years and he tottered unsteadily for a minute. Hasla steadied him as Selu struggled to compose himself. “All right,” he said. “I’m fine. I can do this now.” With that, he and Hasla departed to pay their final respects to a devoted Zeison Sha, loving mother, and close friend of more than thirty years.
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