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| - The Hawk-bat roared into Commenor’s atmosphere, quickly disappearing from view due to the overcast sky. Captain Sei’lar wove the ship through the cloud formations until he joined the spacebound vector for trading ships and freighters departing the nearby city of Munto, his first mate Jorge aiding him at the pilot’s station in lieu of the usual pilot, Micor. Minutes later, the sky of Commenor was replaced by the void of space as the light freighter moved further and further from the planet. Once they cleared Commenor’s gravity well, Captain R’hask keyed the navicomputer for a jump to New Holstice. The computer completed the calculations and R’hask activated the hyperdrive. As they flew through the multi-colored dimensional tunnel of hyperspace, Jorge went back to check on their passenger. The Corellian sauntered back to where Selu was lying in his medical capsule in the already-full hold. “How are you holding up, Micor?” he asked. “I’ve been better,” Selu replied. “That’s what I thought,” said Jorge. “Did you hear about your cousin?” “What about him?” “Last night, while you were in Munto being fawned over by doctors and nurses, your cousin Sarth was getting a kiss from Cassi.” “Is that so?” “Yep. The captain and I watched the whole thing.” “Good for him,” Selu said. “He told me he liked her. I’m glad to see the feeling’s mutual. Besides, he told me about it this morning.” “Aw, you knew already? Too bad. I got quite a rise out of your uncle earlier when I told him.” Selu rolled his eyes. “So that’s why you came back to check on me. You wanted to rat out my cousin.” “Basically.” Selu shook his head. “Get out of here, Jorge. All you do is stir up trouble,” he said jokingly. Jorge shrugged, grinned, and walked off, heading back to the bridge where Captain R’hask was. R’hask was sitting quietly, staring off into the multicolored vortex of hyperspace, lost in his own thoughts. Spacefaring had been a way of life for him for many, many years, but had recently begun to lose its allure of adventure and freedom. Perhaps it was an instinctual predisposition among his species or maybe he had just worn himself out through years of traveling. He had already tried to ease the loneliness of space by shipping more crew than he really needed to—the Hawk-bat could be run by a crew of three, even with the increased crew necessitated by its modifications, but R’hask preferred a larger crew. They all worked together to make the ship run and it in return was their lifeline, their source of income, and their transportation. Still, there were some things it lacked that R’hask had come to miss about Bothan society. All he had to do was finish this deal—which wouldn’t make any money anyway—and he could turn the ship over to someone else. However, the Bothan captain was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of Jorge’s boots against the deck as the first mate returned up the corridor connecting the main body of the ship with the bridge. “How’s the patient?” R’hask asked. “In good spirits,” said Jorge. “He doesn’t seem that hurt.” “That’s good,” said R’hask. “Does he suspect anything?” “Not that I can tell,” Jorge replied. “If he did, he’s not in much position to do anything about it.” “Excellent. The sooner this deal is finished, the sooner we can make some changes in the crew lineup.” “What kind of changes?” “Jorge, have you ever thought about settling down?” “You mean like, not being a spacer? Living on a world, maybe finding a wife and a stable job?” “Exactly.” “Nah. Not for me.” “Well, I have been thinking about it,” R’hask said. “A lot more, recently.” “I wondered why you’ve been acting so funny recently.” “Yes, well, I want to return to Bothawui, Jorge. I’m getting too old for this.” “What about the ship? Who will be the captain?” “If all goes well, you’ll take my place.” “Really?” “You’ve crewed with me for ten years now, from when you were an undersized, scrappy whelp, until now. I think you’ll do well.” “Thanks, Cap’n. I won’t let you down,” Jorge promised. “You’ve earned it, Jorge. You’ll be the captain of the Hawk-bat, and all my records, cargo manifests and the ship’s maintenance fund will be yours, as will all the crew contracts. You’ll be the full master.” R’hask watched as Jorge’s eyes widened as he nodded appreciatively. “That’s a lot of things to chart and keep track of. There’s only thing I don’t like about it.” “What’s that?” “I have to be more responsible if I’m the captain.” R’hask and Jorge both chuckled. “You’ll be fine, lad,” R’hask said. “I’m sure of it.” The rest of their short trip continued without incident. While they were still in hyperspace, R’hask and Jorge made sure the Hawk-bat’s laser turrets were fully calibrated and the torpedo launcher port was clean and ready for launch. Unfortunately, R’hask had been unable to find replacements for his highly illegal weapon since Selu had fired off a pair of the torpedoes to deal with some pirates. It wasn’t easy to just go to a nearby weapons depot or starship repair bay and inquire about buying proton torpedoes. Jorge figured the crew would have to go to the Outer Rim or Hutt Space to find that kind of weaponry. Soon enough, the freighter reverted into realspace over New Holstice. Jorge scanned the system for ships and found the usual freighter and private vessel traffic, along with one particularly large vessel. Fine-tuning the Hawk-bat’s sensor suite, he activated the secondary sensors that Sarth had added until more detail on the larger vessel appeared. “What is it, Jorge?” R’hask asked. “Looks like a Carrack-class light cruiser calling itself the Vigilance,” the first mate replied. “Wonder what they’re up to.” “As long as they don’t get in our way, we’ll be fine,” said Captain R’hask. “Activate the passive sensor baffling.” A unique set of interior hull plating that R’hask had picked up on a stint to Af’El, the Defel homeworld, on a meleenium run lined the cargo hold. The shadowy Defel, rare in the galaxy, but known for their near invisibility, were also expert metallurgists. R’hask had brought them a cargo of valuable bacta and food beyond what the Commerce Guild ships usually did and the Defel had helped him line the ship with defelite, an extremely rare material they made that returned a false signal to passive sensor scans once activated, creating an effect similar to the Defel’s own natural abilities. While a more thorough sensor sweep would penetrate the defelite’s camouflage, it was capable of easily resisting casual inspection while resembling a common durasteel alloy. Jorge flipped a switch labeled “cargo hold running lights” and the plating activated, concealing the true nature of their cargo. The plating was another secret only R’hask and Jorge knew about the ship, along with its true history. While Cassi, Sarth, and Selu knew the ship as a light freighter produced as a civilian version of a popular MandalMotors design, R’hask had actually converted the Hawk-bat from the Mandalorian gunship designed for the True Mandalorians before their defeat at Galidraan. The civilian spacecraft was a knock-off of the gunship, but R’hask’s modifications had made the Hawk-bat indistinguishable from the light freighter class while retaining some of the military craft’s capabilities. Sarth, while not adept at all aspects of shipbuilding and mechanical repairs as Jorge was, had a startling knack for increasing the energy efficiency and output of the ship’s mechanisms and reactor, boosting its already formidable combat capability with additional energy that was on the wrong side of impossible. Were R’hask or Jorge ever to consider a career of privateering or piracy, the ship would need little modification to handle that role. Jorge and R’hask both knew that the ship’s upgraded power plant could support a lot more firepower, but had refrained from doing so in order to keep the ship within legal limits. Still, no freighter even as upgraded as the Hawk-bat would be able to even think about a running fight with a ship the size and firepower of the Vigilance. Captain R’hask, his furry hands on the control yoke of the freighter, brought the Hawk-bat down smoothly through the atmosphere of New Holstice, heading for the medcenter. His fur was rippling and bushing up subtly, a Bothan trait that indicated anxiety. The presence of an Imperial craft might be completely unrelated to the deal he was brokering, but then again, it might not. If it was related to what he was doing, there could be trouble. Carrack-class cruisers were speedy craft that rivaled starfighters for sublight speed and were sometimes equipped with tractor beam projectors and starfighters, both of which would be trouble if the ship grew interested in the Hawk-bat. However, the Vigilance showed no interest in the freighter for now, even as the Hawk-bat descended through New Holstice’s. New Holstice was a fairly pleasant world, as far as planets went, with a temperate climate near the medcenter, whose tall smooth buildings dominated the skyline of the landscape. The center, famous throughout the Rim, was the largest complex of buildings in the city and possibly even on the planet. Conveniently located near the medcenter was a modest-sized spaceport composed largely of circular docking bays sunk into the ground. By no means a shabby smuggler’s den, thespaceport was made largely of local permacrete, all decorated in same pale green as most of the medcenter. As directed by the local control, R’hask set the ship down on repulsors into a round berth, the high walls rising to engulf the ship as it descended to land. Jorge had commed ahead to the medcenter, and a pair of paramedics was already waiting for them in the bay to take Selu’s medical capsule to the center for treatment. Jorge and R’hask opened the bay door and slid Selu’s capsule out and into the hands of the medics, who hustled him off after assuring the captain they would call them on their comlinks as soon as the patient was allowed to receive visitors. R’hask glanced at his chrono. They had almost a full day before they were supposed to meet Skoors, their contact, to conclude their deal. Pulling on his captain’s jacket, R’hask led Jorge out of the moss-draped spaceport, heading for the city rather than the medcenter. “What do we do until we’re supposed to meet our friend?” asked Jorge. “I want to know what that Imperial cruiser is up to,” said R’hask. “So you’re just going to go up to the nearest official and ask?” “No, I’ll do that tomorrow when I feel like falling under official suspicion. I don’t know how I’m going to find out yet. I’m still working on that.” “So you’re going to ask the nearest information broker?” “Well . . . I was thinking about it.” “If anyone does, the Car’das Syndicate might know something about it. We could check into it—see if they have any local contacts around.” “That’s as good a plan as any,” said R’hask. “How do we find them?” Jorge smiled. “Leave that to me.” Commenor Sarth Kraen sat by himself at a table in the fashionable Munto Core of Cuisine café, waiting. He was supposed to meet Annita Daowot here for lunch as she had insisted the night before, and while an Investigator speeder had escorted him here, accompanied by the reticent Tunroth Drelve, she had yet to arrive. Drelve, completely uninterested in the décor of the café, had found himself a table near the entrance, watching every patron with hawkish vigilance. The restaurant, while not prohibitively upscale and expensive, was popular among businessbeings in Munto for its efficient service, good food, and flattering décor, designed to be as airy and natural as possible while resembling a garden. Large windows gave the building lots of sunlight, and there were various miniature landscaped beds located throughout the café, with brilliant blooms blossoming from some of the flowers and accentuated with small fountains and waterfalls, while trees provided shade. Sarth had thought about taking a seat on the first level, but a polished silver serving droid had escorted him up a large flight of stairs that dominated the north face of the building up to a large wraparound balcony overlooking the floor of the restaurant, while a window provided a good view of the street outside. The clouds from earlier had broken and now brilliant sunlight streamed down, though the warmth of its rays inside the building was negated by the climate control system nestled in the tables, columns, roof, and behind plants. The dull roar of daily conversation could be heard over the soft sounds of a classical melody played over a hidden audio system as Sarth waited, the sounds of a hundred people talking and trading stories as serving droids took orders and delivered trays of food and drink. Right now, it was nearing the lunch rush, and the droids were taxed by the large number of customers clamoring for service. Dressed in a decently fashionable pair of clothes and fairly well-cleaned up by his mother’s insistence, he didn’t feel nearly as comfortable as he did when in everyday ship’s attire. Plus, he hadn’t slept well. Even after the attack had ended, he had only had a few hours of rest, most of which he had spent tossing and turning, unable to close his eyes for long in fear that he’d wake up a prisoner of the ruthless Mistryl. Sarth settled into his soft upholstered chair as a droid hurriedly rushed up to his table and placed his requested cup of caf on the table and then bustled off to help a pair of unhappy Thyferrans. He had glanced at the holographic menu briefly, and then decided to wait for Annita before ordering. Sarth looked down at his chrono. It was after midday, when he was supposed to meet Annita. His father and mother had been working out security arrangements with Bwilor when had left; by now, they were probably finished and eating by now. He sighed. It was typical of Annita to be late, and apparently service in the Investigators hadn’t taken that out of her. In the mean time, he tried to think of a plausible cover story he could tell her without revealing too much information. As much as they had been friends, or at least acquaintances, or at least he had helped Annita out in years past, he wasn’t exactly sure how much she could be trusted. Finally, she walked up to the table and sat down. Her hair, while still put up, wasn’t completely contained, with a few curls escaping out of the back, loosening the professional appearance she had fostered earlier. She wasn’t wearing her uniform, having instead chosen a dark blue halter-top knee-length dress that shimmered faintly when the sunlight or glow from the overhead glowpanels hit it. Sarth figured that a fashion expert would have described the garment as classy without being overly formal. Although he didn’t feel any particular attraction to Annita, one part of his mind registered the fact that she looked much more attractive than she did in uniform. He also noted that she had a sizable handbag with her—probably carrying a blaster, datapad, stuncuffs and other law enforcement accessories—and that she wore a nondescript jacket over the dress, which wasn’t a surprise. She could probably conceal other pieces of equipment in the jacket’s pockets without needing to wear a belt. “Hello Sarth,” she said. “You look nice.” “Thank you,” he said. “Same to you.” “I figured it’d be more discreet for me to appear in everyday clothes rather than in uniform. Tends to attract less attention that way, unlike your Tunroth bodyguard. Though at least he’s at the front booth so people can wonder who he’s watching. If he were over here, then we’d really stick out like a sore thumb.” “I figured you’d say that.” “Did you now?” “Why do you think he’s over there, Annita?” “I see. Well, let’s eat first. I wouldn’t want to make you tell me what you’re up to on an empty stomach.” Sarth and Annita both turned their attentions to the menus in front of them. Sarth settled on a local fish and vegetable dish known as nautico, while Annita ordered nerfsteak au Coruscant, grilled rare. “Still favor pricey food, I see,” Sarth said. “I prefer to have my meat fresh and tender,” she replied. “Besides, these are department creds.” After the serving droid took their order, delivered a cup of caf to Annita, and wandered off, Annita began her questioning. “Sarth, what’s going on?” Sarth feigned innocence. “We’re sitting at a café and waiting for our food.” She sighed. “Don’t go evasive on me, Kraen. Why are people attacking you?” “I thought you said you were going to wait until I’d eaten before you started grilling me.” “I did, but I changed my mind. As I said, I like my meat fresh.” “No.” “No?” “No, I’m not telling you anything until I’ve eaten. You can wait.” “Sarth, if you’re trying to get out this—,” she said. “No,” he stopped her. “I’ll tell you what you need to know, but on my time. Logically, you have no option but to accept, because your one other option is to take me into the Investigator station.” Annita glared vibroblades at Sarth, but sat back. Sarth counted it a victory. If Annita had been suitably distracted from her line of questioning, she wouldn’t press as hard, and hopefully she’d even forget some of her questions in between now and when they were finished. However, Sarth didn’t really think he had a chance of that happening. It was a quiet half an hour until the food arrived. When the serving droid finally unloaded a tray, setting their plates on the table, Sarth was quite ready to eat. The nautico was steaming hot and delicious, seasoned well, and with a thick, meaty fish. Sarth guessed it was imported from some other planet—Naboo maybe? The food also seemed to loosen up Annita, and they talked about local happenings and exchanged other small talk as they ate. “Good nerfsteak?” he asked. “Yes, it is,” she said. “And your fish?” “It’s delicious. Good choice of restaurant.” “Thank you,” she said, forking another piece of the tender nerfsteak. Sarth, finishing his meal, sighed contentedly and pushed his plate back. He waited for Annita to similarly finish her meal, which she did a few minutes later. He had been busy thinking of how he was going to explain his situation to Annita. It was no use avoiding the topic of the Mistryl, but he had to avoid discussing Selu’s identity at all costs. The only problem was that if he told her about the lethality of the Mistryl, he was going to have a hard time explaining how Selu took down two of these opponents as a former starfighter pilot, particularly given the number and quality of the weapons the Mistryl had possessed. There was also the fact that Annita had to have already examined or read the report on the two Mistryl bodies. Sarth decided that the best way to start was to bait Annita a little bit more, distracting her. Annita folded her hands on her lap and looked pointedly at Sarth. “Well?” “Are you sure you want to know this?” She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t, Sarth.” “Ah, so you’re not happy to see me.” “I am happy to see you again, Sarth. I didn’t mean it like that, and you know that.” “Fine. Sorry. You know I’m glad to see you too.” Inwardly, Sarth smiled. He’d already thrown Annita off of her original line of questions. “Of course. Oh, and it won’t work.” “What won’t work?” “Sarth, I’ve known you for too long. You’re trying to trip me up by distracting me because you know you can set off all my alarms. Don’t deny it. Quit stalling and spill it already.” Sarth bit his lip. She’d figured him out, and quickly too. He made a mental note to not underestimate Annita again. Apparently, her time in the Investigators had developed her skills at penetrating the fog around an issue. Which was perfectly fine, except those talents were focused in his particular direction at the exact moment when he wanted to fog the issue the most. Perfect timing, he thought. “I trusted you back at your parents’ house, right? I need you to tell me what’s going on now. Look, you know me. Whatever you’ve gotten yourself into, I can help you.” “You can help me? I don’t think so,” said Sarth, shaking his head. “Is that so hard for you to accept? Are you ashamed to take my help? Is that what this is about?” Annita’s emotions were starting to seep into her previous casually conversational tone. Sarth considered her last statement. Was it just that he was afraid of giving away Selu’s identity, or did Annita have a point? He’d never really considered himself as needing much from others, at least not until Selu had suddenly popped into his life a few months ago. Had he gotten to the point where he saw himself as above other people? Thinking about it, Sarth realized that she was more right than wrong. It was time to come clean, while still keeping in mind other considerations such as Selu’s identity. “I’m sorry Annita. I just didn’t want anyone else to get involved.” “Involved in what?” “I’m a hunted man,” he said slowly. “Hunted? By who?” “I used to work at a Republic Science Division laboratory doing weapons research and analysis after I got out of school. It paid well, looked good on my career experience, and helped out the war effort. I started off analyzing warships and starfighters, but after they found out about my talent in computers and droid programming, they put me to work on captured Separatist droid types. My specialty was destroyer droids. One day, I figured out how to decrypt the entire code package that controls them.” “What does that mean?” “It means I could remotely command any droideka I wanted to, as long as it used that basic code framework. It was immensely valuable research, and that’s where the trouble started.” “What happened?” “Someone infiltrated my lab. They took my research and drugged me so I couldn’t remember everything. It was too complex for me to reconstruct it, literally months of work erased. Then they tried to kidnap me.” “Who did?” “I’m being chased by Mistryl Shadow Guards. The only reason they haven’t caught me is because my cousin Micor has been there. He’s ex-military, and he helped fend them off.” Annita sat back in her chair. “Mistryl?” she replied. “Sarth, I suppose you already know that that’s bad news for you. They’re lethal, and incredibly hard to detect. They also don’t give up easily.” “I do,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to place you in danger.” At least, that was part of the reason for why he didn’t want to tell her. If she was knowledgeable about Mistryl, she’d know that even ex-military pilots didn’t stand a good chance against them. “Sarth, I appreciate the thought, but you’re so far off, it’s not even funny.” “Oh?” “I don’t need you to protect me or pity me. Maybe that’s how you’ve always felt towards me, but it’s not what I want from you. I can take care of myself. And serving in the Investigators means that stopping people like this is part of my job.” “Then what do you want from me?” Sarth asked. “Professionally, I want you to cooperate with the investigation. Personally, I’d like you to treat me like an adult, and not the kid I was when you left for school.” Sarth considered what she said, and once again, came to the conclusion that she was correct. He had been talking down to her, treating her like an inferior instead of an equal. He wondered if he did that a lot. It was something he had to consider, but at a later time. “Fair enough,” he answered. “I can do that, within reason.” “Glad to hear it,” she said. “How’s the investigation going?” he inquired, changing the topic to keep her from resuming her questioning, at least temporarily. “We’ve gotten some leads, but not too much. We’ve been trying to track the location of the ship they came on. Also, I did an autopsy on each of the bodies. One died of violent trauma from a fall, the other from a razor blade through the sternum. Unfortunately, we haven’t got anything major from them yet—the lab’s still working on analysis.” “You did the autopsy?” “It was late, and I was impatient. Besides, I’m the best one in there.” “That’s good, I think.” “We’re still not sure how many of them there are, or if those were the only two on the planet.” “Is there any way to find out?” “I suppose we could try going door to door and asking.” “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll start tomorrow,” he said facetiously. “For now, my guess as a profiler says that they’ll be cautious. Set back by this loss. They’ll lie low until they launch a more detailed plan, assuming there are still Mistryl on the planet.” “That’s good. How certain are you of that?” “Sarth, I’ve been trained in profiling. Based on what data I have, this is my best guess: they’ll try again, but not immediately.” “So we have time to prepare and set up a defense. And maybe even you’ll catch them first.” “I hope so. Hey, look out!” Annita lunged across the table at him. Then their world exploded and they both went flying. Jirnza had sat on the rooftop of the clothing store for longer than she wanted to, peering through a pair of electrobinoculars at the Core of Cuisine café. Clad in a fairly innocuous looking jumpsuit, she had scaled the roof with the aid of her climbing claws and spotted her target, Kraen, a minute earlier. Helsi hadn’t liked this particular idea—snatching someone in broad daylight was generally frowned upon, but Jirnza felt that the surprise alone would guarantee success. If grabbing Kraen wasn’t an option, she could always slip quietly off or she could rattle him somehow. At the present moment, though, he didn’t seem to have a large number of bodyguards with him. There did appear to be a member of the local law enforcement with him, but Jirnza didn’t think she’d be a problem. Local patrollers usually weren’t, and this one didn’t look particularly threatening. She wasn’t wearing body armor or carrying a large blaster, and she was alone. Obviously, the locals weren’t aware of what they were up against. Jirnza clambered back down the side of the wall, reaching a powerful swoop bike parked in the recesses of an alleyway. She slid a concealing mask over her head to conceal her identity and ran a quick check on her equipment. Everything seemed sound. It was time to go. Mounting the bike, she gunned its repulsorlift engine and roared out into the street. Rather than merely hover half a meter above the ground though, she pointed the swoop’s forward maneuvering vanes skyward and the powerful engine launched the craft into the sky, reaching an altitude of several meters above the ground. She goosed the craft forward, heading straight for the Core of Cuisine’s second floor. Reaching into a bag at her side, she pulled out a highly illegal hand grenade and hurled it at the window next to Sarth and Annita as she cranked the swoop into a hard left turn. The grenade hurled end-over-end through the air until its contact fuse detected the window a meter in front of it. The fuse sent a pulse of energy into the compact detonite core, triggering a detonator. A three meter ball of fire and shrapnel burst into existence, turning the window into deadly transparent shrapnel. Annita had seen the swoop coming out of the corner of her eye, noticing its unusual flight pattern and altitude. Three years in the Investigators kicked in, and she had lunged for Sarth, grabbing him and pulling them both down below the table, just as the grenade detonated. The top floor of the restaurant experienced mass pandemonium from the explosion, with people running everywhere screaming, some cut by flying pieces of glass. Annita couldn’t be bothered with that now. The blast had thrown her and Sarth several meters backward, slamming her painfully into the balcony rail. Something gave in her ribs, and she gasped in pain. No time for that at the moment, nor for the partial deafness she was feeling. Annita’s right hand darted into the left side of her jacket, and she drew a small blaster. Peering over the edge of the overturned table, she saw the swoop coming around for another pass. She ducked back, counted to three, and then popped back over the table, blaster in hand. Annita pulled the trigger four times, sending scarlet energy flying at the swoop, which quickly maneuvered out of the way while the pilot returned fire with a heavy blaster. While only one of Annita’s bolts hit the swoop, the Mistryl’s shots all sizzled into the table. Annita, her back pressed up against the table, yelped as the metal superheated and caught her jacket on fire. Sarth, who had just regained his senses, saw the flames rising from her jacket as Annita turned around and backed away from the ruined table. Crawling forward, he pulled the burning and shredded jacket off and stomped on it, extinguishing the flames. “Good, you’re up,” she said. “Here, take this.” Annita reached down and hiked the skirt of her dress up to her thigh, revealing a hold-out blaster strapped to her leg. “Two blasters?” Sarth asked, surprised. “No one ever expects it,” said Annita, tossing him the hold-out. “Where’s your Tunroth friend?” “I don’t know,” said Sarth. “I hope he shows up soon.” The swoop returned for another pass and Jirnza changed tactics, holstering her blaster in favor of a small canister tossed underhand into the shattered window. Sarth suddenly leaped up, grabbing Annita’s handbag from the floor. Annita cursed and fired a pair of shots at the Mistryl to distract her from Sarth’s foolhardy maneuver. Sarth lunged over to the canister, shoved it inside the handbag and sealed it before chucking it out the window. It landed on the ground and the bag bulged slightly as a slight haze came out of it. “Sarth! My comlink was in there!” Annita shouted. “So is the canister.” “What was it?” “Czerka 317-sleep gas canister,” said Sarth. “We tested them at the lab I told you about. Very effective for knocking out groups of people within thirty meters, and it’s perfectly invisible and odorless.” Jirnza smiled as she brought the swoop around. Soon, the two would be asleep and the scientist would hers. Local law enforcement hadn’t shown up yet, but even if they arrived now, her swoop could outrun anything they had. She’d scoot out of town and then double back to the ship in the evening with her prisoner. Success was hers. A pair of shots flew by her. Apparently the local law enforcement took issue to kidnapping, and Jirnza dropped the swoop’s nose, bringing her out of Annita’s line of fire and sending her skimming along the ground. As she swerved through a group of pedestrians, a massive Tunroth appeared out of nowhere with a sizable kilter battle staff. Jirnza lashed out at the alien with a kick as she flew by, and the battle staff thrust that would have knocked her off the vehicle through merely smashed through her swoop’s controls as the Tunroth staggered from the impact. Drelve wrenched the weapon, and the swoop went out of control, throwing Jirnza off head-first. Mid-air, she released a smoke grenade, blanketing the street with a noxious opaque cloud of red smoke. The landing nearly knocked the wind out of her, but she staggered into an alleyway and disappeared, making her way back to the ship via a circuitous route to throw off any pursuit. Helsi would not be pleased. Sarth and Annita heard the tremendous crash from the swoop and saw the plume of red smoke. Both slowly stood, weapons at the ready. Suddenly, a massive spiked hand appeared at the base of the shattered window. Two blasters were aimed at it, but the following hand and face that followed the first one over the ledge was Drelve’s. The Tunroth, wielding a large battle staff, hauled himself up. “Area secure,” he said. “Is she still alive?” asked Annita. “I don’t know. She ran away,” replied Drelve. “I called the Securers. In the mean time, I will check the lower floors. Stay here.” With that, the Tunroth went down the stairs, checking the restaurant and its frightened patrons for further threats, staff at the ready. “I don’t know how he’s so calm,” said Annita. “I’ve done this for three years, and I’m still scared whenever I get shot at.” “That’s what Micor is like. Nothing ever bothers him.” Annita holstered her weapon, and Sarth returned the holdout to her, which she strapped back into place in the leg holster. “You saved my life, Annita,” he said softly. “Thank you.” “Oh . . . it’s nothing,” said Annita, waving him off. “Don’t worry about it.” “I won’t forget it,” said Sarth. “I was just doing my job,” she told him. “Are you hurt?” “Just a little bruised. Some small cuts and such, and I’ll have a killer headache tomorrow. And you?” “I’m fine,” she answered quickly, but the grimace on her face told Sarth otherwise. “No, you’re not,” he replied. “You were on fire a minute ago.” “True,” she admitted. “I think I bruised a rib too.” She ran a tentative hand over the injured rib and winced. Sarth reached over and grabbed one of the large cloth napkins from one of the upturned tables, collecting some ice from a glass. Making a small bag out of the ice, he pressed it against Annita’s rib and she gave a slight gasp from the contact. “Hold that there,” he said. “I’ll get another one for your back.” “Don’t worry about it,” said Annita quickly. “It’s not a big deal. Just forget it.” Sarth, ignoring her, quickly collected another napkin and ice, wrapping it into a pack. Gently, he turned Annita over to check on the cuts on her back she’d sustained from the grenade blast and the burn from the melting table. They seemed to be minor and mostly absorbed by the jacket, but those that had pierced it had hit skin and left small lacerations; her dress didn’t cover her shoulder blades. Sarth started to place his ice pack there and then noticed something: a pattern of small white scars lining the skin of Annita’s back from her shoulders down. There was no way, short of serious genetic alteration, that they were recently created. “Annita, what happened?” he asked incredulously. “These aren’t recent.” “No,” she said, her eyes dropping to avoid meeting his. “Did you get these on the job?” he asked. “No,” came her reply, small and pleading. Her professional demeanor had evaporated upon his inquiry. “Did your father do these to you?” “Yes,” she admitted after a long time, her voice more a sob than anything else. “Please don’t say anything more, Sarth. Just don’t.” “So that’s why you always wore long sleeves all those years. You didn’t want anyone to see,” Sarth surmised. Crying and shamed, Annita nodded, pillowing her face on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Annita,” he said. “I never knew. I never knew how bad it was for you.” Gathering her in his arms, he held her close to him as she cried softly, pulling the burned jacket over her shoulders to once again hide the marks of abuse and shame. In the distance, the sirens of Securer vehicles wailed, creating an auditory backdrop to the pain and chaos in the shattered café.
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