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| - Spectre was waiting for Selu and Milya at the entrance of the hangar as the Hawk-bat swooped back through the azure blue Yanibar sky, having no doubt been informed of their approach by Yanibar Control. Master Daara, a lithe red-skinned Lethan Twi’lek female and an eminent member of the Zeison Sha, was also there, but her presence had been requested at the private hangar. He stood there quietly as the ship noisily set down, its rumbling repulsorlifts echoing through the hangar as it found its berth. As the ship powered down and the boarding ramp at the ship’s neck lowered, Spectre walked forward casually to meet his friends. Soon enough, Selu and Milya emerged, followed by a small, predatory-looking alien with steely gray skin. “Welcome back,” Spectre greeted them. “Thank you,” Selu said quickly, shaking Spectre’s outstretched hand while bowing slightly toward Daara. “Master Daara, thank you for coming.” “Any time,” she said. “I take it that this is-,” “Yes,” Selu replied. “Morgedh clan Kel’nerh, meet Master Daara. She’ll be taking care of you for the next few days or so until we can get you settled in at permanent quarters.” The diminutive creature bowed at the waist. “I’m honored,” he said, his voice coming out as a gravelly mewing. “This way, Morgedh,” Daara said, leading him off toward a waiting speeder. As the pair left, Milya walked up and gave Spectre a warm hug. “What brings you here?” she asked, a quizzical look on her face. “We weren’t expecting a welcoming party.” “There’s news,” Spectre replied. Selu instantly picked up on the tone in his friend’s voice. “What kind of news?” he asked cautiously. “Am I going to like this?” “Probably not,” Spectre admitted. “Over my recommendations, we have now entered into a business deal with the Zann Consortium.” “You’re kidding,” Milya said. “So, Councilor G’lopsan decided to push it to a vote while we were absent.” “Yes,” Spectre said regretfully. “I conducted the negotiations and everything went more or less smoothly. In fact, I personally met with Tyber Zann himself.” “And how did that go?” Selu asked. “He didn’t try and shoot me, which I took as a good sign,” Spectre replied jovially, then he sobered. “On the other hand, I can’t believe the Council approved this idea. The Zann Consortium is a bunch of thugs and slavers.” “I know,” Selu said. “Not to mention that Zann is quite the ambitious little crime lord,” Milya remarked. “Word has it that he’s constructing his private battle fleet.” “Well, now we’re supplying him handsomely with buzz droids and droidekas, courtesy of Kraechar Arms,” Spectre said. “And Sarth went along with that?” Selu asked incredulously. “I don’t think Sarth knows,” Spectre replied evasively. “He doesn’t oversee everything at Kraechar Arms.” “On something like that, he should,” Selu answered sharply. “I’m going to have a word with him about this whenever he gets back.” “Maybe even two words,” Milya added darkly. She was just as displeased about the idea of supplying a known criminal organization with lethal weaponry such as droidekas as Selu, possibly even more so. There were reasons that the Yanibar Guard placed such stringent restrictions on exporting weapons-most of their exports were old Separatist hardware such as hand blasters and were sold to planetary militias. Not growing criminal empires with unsavory ambitions. “I’m glad to see you agree,” Spectre said. “I’ve also taken the liberty of signing off on a couple covert operations against the Consortium in an effort to maintain a balance of power.” “Not sure how successful that will be, but you have my approval,” Selu said. “You can even borrow some of the Elites if you need them. Just keep it quiet.” “Understood,” Spectre replied. “We’ll make sure to keep our operations as surgical and covert as always.” “Good,” Selu answered. “Now,” Milya said. “How was Rhiannon? Did she behave herself while we were gone?” “No,” Spectre said flatly. “She was the most obnoxious child I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. She drove my poor wife nearly to tears and me to anger. I’m not sure that I will ever allow her to spend another night with my daughter-I fear she’s a terrible influence on Jasica.” Milya stared aghast at Spectre for a moment, then realization crept into her features. She scowled and slugged Spectre in the arm while Selu chuckled. “You almost had me going,” she said. “Want to try that again? The truth, this time.” Spectre smirked at her. “If you insist,” he said. “Your daughter was well-behaved and polite, as always. She had a great time with Jasica and, aside from some disagreements about bed time, she was no problem at all. Sheeka and I loved having her over.” “Well, that’s better,” Milya said, mollified. “I do suggest that you take a certain trip with her, though,” Spectre advised. “She’s practically bursting with excitement over it. I think I heard about it thirty times in the past two days.” “First thing I do when I get back will be to pack my bags,” Milya replied. “I hated delaying it.” “And while you’re gone,” Selu said mischievously. “Spectre and I will have some fun of our own.” “Just make sure the house is clean and pick up all the sabacc chips,” Milya replied lightly. “We’ll be sure to,” Selu replied as he climbed into his and Milya’s speeder. “Need a lift, Spectre?” “No, I still have business to take care of back at the command center,” Spectre said. “Just wanted to welcome you back and personally update you on some things. I dropped Rhiannon off on my way here, she’s supposed to be working on a surprise in the kitchen with Jay Seven for you.” “We’d better get back, in that case,” Selu said with a grin. Slowly increasing the throttle on the speeder, Selu waved to Spectre and then drove off towards his house. Nar Shaddaa “All clear, stand by,” the comlink earpiece crackled in Sergeant Nate Kraen’s ear. He was flattened against a dirty, graffiti-scrawled wall in the seedy side of Nar Shaddaa-though to be fair, there weren’t any other sides to Nar Shaddaa. Unlike most individuals in the area, though, he was on a mission. The pouring rain dripped and splattered off his Kraechar Arms Battlesuit52-A combat armor and off the waterproof barrel of the S-2C blaster carbine that he cradled. Cautiously peering around the corner, Nate poked his helmeted head around to see the silhouettes of two heavily armed bouncers. “Execute on my mark,” rumbled the comlink again, the sound coming from the Zabrak squad leader, Captain Wyslond. Nate tensed, every muscle in his body coiled up and ready for action. He knew his squadmate behind him, the veteran slicer, Lieutenant Dex Naresco, had his back covered, and that he was about to be in combat. Adrenaline surged through his system, and he checked the energy level on his carbine for the tenth time, just to be sure. An hour of skulking and waiting in the Nar Shaddaa streets for the preliminary scouting report was about to pay off. “EXECUTE! EXECUTE! EXECUTE!” the comlink shouted. Nate acted on instinct, rounding the corner with the carbine already raised to shoulder level, his legs spread slightly more than shoulder-width apart to provide him a steady firing stance. The infrared mode in his helmet’s optical system highlighted the two well-armed bouncers standing at the entrance. Nate pumped the trigger on his S-2C blaster twice, sending stun bolts rippling forward to knock both of them unconscious with perfect headshots. He could hear the sound of glass shattering above him as two more Cresh Squad members rappelled in from the roof and breached into an upper floor window. The eight-man squad had been split into teams of two, and Nate’s and Naresco’s job was to clear and secure the back door, disarming the security system. Staying about a meter off the wall, Nate and Naresco pushed forward, blasters at the ready, each covering each other’s back, muzzles tracking as they steadily advanced. Finding the side door closed, Nate swapped his optics over to infrared again, checking it for traps or guards waiting for them. Finding none, he planted his armored boot against the door, and kicked open, bursting in. The back room was empty, so with Naresco covering his flank, Nate moved forward. His ETA-Enhanced Tactical Advisor-guided him up a pair of stairs to a security room, where this time, the door was locked. Infrared view showed that there were a pair of seemingly panicked guards there, grabbing blasters. Nate made a hand motion to Naresco as he flattened himself against the wall next to the door. Naresco nodded and passed a slim package up to Nate, who set it on the door-a breaching charge. As soon as it was set, Naresco held up three fingers, folding them down one by one as he silently counted down. Nate backed off the door and readied his blaster, tucking a stun grenade into the underslung launcher that was fixed to the bottom of his weapon’s barrel. The door blew into fiberplast splinters and Nate burst through, giving the panicked guards inside the security room no time to react. One, a hulking Trandoshan, had been literally right on top of the door and had been thrown back, stunned by the blast of the breaching charge. Nate whipped the barrel of his carbine across the reptilian alien’s face, sending him flying back. Behind him, Naresco pumped a pair of stun blasts into the Trandoshan, felling him. Nate swiveled as a crimson blaster bolt sizzled through the air to impact squarely between his eyes-only to be stopped a centimeter away by a hazy energy field. Each Battlesuit52-A carried a personal deflector shield that had saved Nate’s life on numerous occasions, and Nate grimly added one more tally to that list even as he leveled his carbine at his assailants. Unfortunately for the other two guards in the room, they were not similarly equipped and Nate’s stun blasts dropped them one after another. As soon as the guards were down, Naresco set up his datapad on the security system, and began wreaking electronic havoc. Nate checked to make sure that the room was secure, but the three guards had been the only individuals in the back area of the cantina. Even though it was night, it was simply still too early for most of the clientele to have arrived, so the establishment’s main floor was maybe only a third full. “Security room secure,” Nate reported into his comlink. “Three hostiles stunned.” “Copy that,” came the reply from Captain Wyslond. “Upper rooms are secure.” “Confirmed, Lead. This is Three. We’re ready to take the main room,” put in another voice. “Wait until the security’s offline, Three,” Wyslond admonished. “All teams move in on the main room once we have their security offline.” “Got it,” Naresco sounded off. “They’re ours.” “Affirmative, move to the main room.” Nate acknowledged the order and, with Naresco once again close behind him, headed out of the security room, down a hall that would lead them to an upper-floor balcony overlooking the main room where, not two weeks ago, his stepfather had conducted a dangerous business deal with Tyber Zann. Reaching the door that led to the balcony, Nate again stopped and scanned the area with infrared vision. There were a few people on the balcony, and while he wasn’t sure if they were a threat, it would be a terrible tactical mistake to ignore them. Holding up three fingers, he then pointed to the right, then back at Naresco, signaling to the slicer that Nate wanted him to deal with them. He got a double-forward wagging motion from Naresco’s black-gloved right hand in response-an affirmative. “Squad, execute on my mark,” the earpiece crackled with Captain Wyslond’s command. Nate kept himself flattened against the door, weapon at the ready, adrenaline coursing through his system as he anticipated the action to come. He waited, as ten seconds passed, then twenty. He was keenly aware of the sound of both his own breathing pounded in his ears and the bead of sweat rolling down his face. He could see the silhouettes of the three beings on the balcony highlighted in infrared. While on any other given day, he would have treated them with fellow sentients-perhaps not the most savory of characters-but still living beings with rights of their own, Nate would not do so now. As soon as his helmet came on, or he received orders to do so, in the case of incognito missions, he immediately regarded all beings as allies, targets, or possible threats. When in combat, he simply had to push everything else but the mission out of his mind-the old axiom went that a distracted soldier was a dead soldier and that was one organization whose ranks Nate had no desire to join. “EXECUTE!” roared Wyslond. At that point, Nate again kicked open the flimsy door with a load crash and lunged out onto the balcony, the snub-nosed tip of his carbine tracking for any possible threats. Naresco was right behind him, taking a sharp turn to the right to cover the three individuals on their level, while Nate trained his S-2C on the floor below. Other members of Cresh Squad had performed similar actions-two bursting in from the back entrance that led to the kitchens and two more from the front door. “Nobody move!” Captain Wyslond shouted. “Everyone get down on the ground right now!” Of course, one foolish young blood went for his blaster. He was immediately gunned down with a tight grouping of stun shots to the throat before he could get his weapon out of the holster. “I said get down!” Wyslond bellowed at the twenty or so people on the main floor. For the most part, they complied, but the rash act of that first idiot made several others jumpy enough to reach for their own weapons. Several blaster bolts were fired at the Yanibar Guardsmen, and were immediately countered with blazing streams of stun bolts. Knowing that the situation on the floor was getting dangerously close to becoming completely out of hand, Nate fired stun bolts as fast as he possibly could, striking the twenty individuals indiscriminately. The protocols for this mission had not particularly worried about the concept of excessive force, and as far as Nate was concerned, there were no civilians in the cantina. There was a muffled groan to his side, and Nate suddenly realized that Naresco was down. Little did he know that the three individuals had rushed Naresco, and while the slicer had put down the first, a pasty green Rodian, his hasty shot had failed to stop the second charging attacker, a burly Whiphid. Before the veteran could switch to a stun baton or vibroblade, he’d been clubbed with a sizable metal chair brandished by the Whiphid. Nate turned just as the Whiphid struck out at him with the chair, and got his arms up just in time to partially deflect the tremendous blow, though his carbine was sent flying from his hands from the impact alone. Pain shot through his arms-had he not been wearing armor, both his arms would have no doubt been broken. He had no time to reflect on that now, though. Thrusting his forearms through the rungs of the chair, he yanked it closer to him, pulling his assailant along with him thanks to his earlier forward momentum, only to immediately plant a sharp thrust kick into the Whiphid’s midsection, folding the furry nonhuman on his stomach. Nate quickly disentangled himself from the chair and tossed it aside, feinting a hard right at the Whiphid. The angry alien bellowed with rage and charged with surprising speed at Nate, who pivoted at the last instant to just barely transform a crushing full-body tackle into a grazing blow across his right side. The alien partially hit and slid off of Nate, and the Guardsman smashed his right elbow across the Whiphid’s muzzle, hearing the bone break. Even as the Whiphid stumbled, Nate seized him roughly about the shoulders and rammed the alien’s head into his armored knee before shoving him into the balcony’s railing, which sagged upon impact. Nate planted a spinning kick right between the Whiphid’s eyes to make sure he was unconscious, which had the undesired side effect of breaking through the railing and sending the alien plummeting the ground floor in a limp hairy bundle. At that point, a pair of strong hands grasped his belt, seeking to grab his vibroblade, and Nate reacted instantly. Gripping the intrusive hands as hard as he could, the force of his motion combined with a single-worded command to his helmet activated the strength gauntlets, magnifying the effect of his grip and literally snapping the attacker’s wristbones. This was pure Stava, an unarmed combat form taught to all Yanibar Guardsmen which taught techniques designed to allow soldiers to quickly, efficiently disarm and incapacitate assailants. It was not pretty, nor elegant, nor at all considerate of temporary injury inflicted on the target, but it got the job done-fast. Since a second was forever in combat, Nate had a distinct appreciation for its efficiency even as he broke his attacker’s wrists. Nate heard a piercing shriek of pain, but he wasn’t done. Whipping his attacker around his hip by jerking his ruined forearms around, Nate found himself face-to-face with an insectoid Gand screeching an unintelligible imprecation at him. The Guardsman delivered a thunderous headbutt to the alien before landing a right cross that collapsed the attacker in a crumpled heap. Even over the noise and distraction of battle, Nate saw a flicker of motion off to his right and reacted first even as the Rodian that Naresco had stunned had apparently recovered enough to reach for a blaster pistol on the floor. Nate did not let him reach it, though. Instead, the Guardsman coolly drew his S-5XS silenced pistol and drilled the alien through the heart with a pair of tungsten-durasteel slugs, the firing of the weapon marked only by a pair of whirr-chirps. Nate felt no remorse in doing so-while he originally not intended to kill anyone, the plan had quickly gone to hell. Moreover, the Rodian had been a threat. Killing him had been a necessity and, for the moment at least, Nate was rather dispassionate about killing others. Later, he might regret his actions. If he survived. Scanning the immediate surroundings for other threats, pistol at the ready, Nate slowly backed up and scooped up his carbine. Finding no other threat, and with the battle on the main floor winding down, he scrambled over to Naresco. “You okay?” he asked the downed sergeant, transmitting a comlink command that would activate the medical package in Naresco’s armor. Naresco stiffened as his suit flooded his system with stimulants, antishock, analgesics, and healing compounds, then stirred. “Yeah,” he said woozily. “Just got a little stunned. That Whiphid packed quite a punch.” “Can you stand?” Nate asked him. “Just give me a second,” Naresco replied, while Nate peered over the balcony. In the time it had taken for them to deal with the three balcony attackers, Captain Wyslond and the other four members of Cresh Squad in the intrusion team had stunned every being on the main floor. Even now, they were securing the perimeter. “Sound off!” Wyslond commanded. One by one, the squad sounded off. “All here, and no casualties except for Six’s bruised head. Good, that’s what I like to hear,” Wyslond said. “I’d like to register a complaint,” Cresh Eight broke in. “Somebody nearly dropped a giant Whiphid on me.” “Duly noted,” Captain Wyslond said dryly as the others chuckled. “Captain,” said Cresh Two, the unit sniper, who with another person was outside checking the perimeter. “We have a problem.” “What kind of problem?” Wyslond asked suspiciously. “Looks like a hovertruck filled with Zannists come to investigate the party, or maybe just out for a good time. They have weapons.” “Stang!” Wyslond swore. “All right, get out of there. Fall back to the rear and bring the truck. Five and I will deal with our guests, then swing by and pick us up. Three, take the rest of the squad and get the slaves out of here.” “Affirmative,” Nate said in response to the order. Following a map overlay of the cantina flashed up on his helmet display by his ETA, Nate led the other three members of the squad back to the slave quarters. About a dozen dancers, along with a cook or two, were there, huddled together in one room, shaking with fright as Nate burst in. “Easy there,” he said, taking one hand off his weapon and stretching one hand out to them. “I’m not going to hurt you.” There was no response from the terrified slaves, and he could see the sheer fright in their eyes. “We’re going to get you out of here,” he said. “We’re going to free you. Follow my friends.” At first, they simply answered him with astonished looks, then, one by one, they headed past Nate for the door. As they headed down the back hallway towards the exit, each was stopped momentarily by Naresco, who ran a special gadget that Kraechar Arms had cooked up for this type of raid by them. Its purpose was to safely disable any hidden stoprunner implants or restraint devices in the slaves, until they could be surgically removed later. Then, the slaves were ushered into a waiting hovertruck that Two and Eight had driven up to the rear entrance to exfiltrate the squad. “Wait,” the last slave, a lanky Yarkona male dressed like a cook, said before exiting, his voice tremulous. “What is it?” Nate asked. “There’s two more, up in the rooms above,” the cook told him. “Can you help them?” Those must have been the rooms his uncle had stayed in. Nate nodded grimly. “I’m on it,” he said. “Seven, back me up.” Following ETA’s directions once more, Nate entered the hallway, its innocuous décor belying what went on daily behind the closed doors. His blood boiled as he checked room by sordid room. Infrared told him what he would find in one room, and his mouth became a feral slash as he burst in on a human gangster in the process of taking out his glandular urges a screaming Twi’lek girl. Loathing for the scum filled Nate, and he increased his strength gauntlets to full strength as he harshly threw the gangster onto the floor. The naked man yelped in surprise and pain, a sound which was rapidly turned into a hoarse scream of agony as Nate’s armored boot vindictively descended on the source of his urges. Nate ignored the screaming man, turning his attention to the Twi’lek. “You’re free,” he said. “No one will ever do this to you again.” She stared at him in fright even as he picked up a discarded robe and offered it to her. “Head down to the rear entrance,” he told her. “My friends will get you out of here, and you’ll never have to go back.” Something in his voice must have convinced her, as she managed a nod, snatched the robe, and scampered out. Nate then turned back to his methodical search. There was one room left, and according to his infrared vision, it was occupied. He opened the door and immediately stopped. Standing there was a shirtless man and a Togrutan dancer wearing only a few patches of fur and boots in the grasp of one of the man’s arms, his other holding a Mandalorian blaster pistol to her head. She looked both frightened and plaintive even as she was held hostage. There was a defiant, wicked smile on the man’s face even as he was astonished by Nate’s appearance. “Back off now, or she dies,” the man growled triumphantly, the sigil tattooed on his bare arm marking him as a member of a roving Mandalorian clan. Nate took a step back even as his finger gently brushed the trigger of his carbine, though not enough to activate the weapon. If he fired, there was no guarantee that the man would not kill the Togruta first. “Good,” the Mando said encouragingly, sliding his open weapon to cover the Togruta’s back. “Now, drop your weapon.” “That’s not going to happen,” Nate growled at him, though he did lower the barrel of his carbine even as he subtly changed its setting from stun to semi-auto. “Let her go, and you’ll live.” “Who? Her?” he said sadistically, indicating to the Togruta. “She’s nothing. She’s just a piece of flesh-but if you don’t do as I say right kriffing now, she’s a dead piece of flesh.” Nate’s mouth moved before he could stop the retort, even though the scum wasn’t worth wasting his words on. “No,” he countered swiftly. “She’s a person, with rights just like you or me. She’s not something you can abuse at will.” “Oh really?” the Mandalorian asked. “Watch me.” He jerked down on one of the montrails descending from the back of the Togrutan’s head, eliciting a stifled scream. Nate’s grip around his carbine tightened as rage built inside him and he quickly slackened off, lest he break the weapon. “This is my last offer,” Nate snarled, his voice barely under control. “Let her go, or else.” The Mando shook his head with mock resignation and chuckled, not noticing the hate-filled look the Togruta was skewering him with. “For whatever reason, you still think this slime is worth something. You hopeless barve. The only thing she’s good for is for a hostage and for her-,” At that point, the man’s speech was cut off as suddenly, the Togruta screeched with rage and bit down—hard—on the arm wrapped around her neck. The man shouted and let go of her, and Nate’s carbine immediately snapped up. However, he was a nanosecond too late. Even as the blaster bolt sizzled from his weapon’s barrel, he heard the distinctive report of another blaster discharging. The Togruta gasped and clutched at a giant hole in her midsection, the hideous wound inflicted by the blast from the oversized Mandalorian heavy blaster. Simultaneously, Nate’s bolt flew through the air to bury itself in the man’s chest. The Mandalorian looked down, as if surprised by the smoking char on his body, then looked up to offer one last smug smile and stinging comment. “Sorry,” he said tauntingly. “She moved.” Nate’s hands tightened on the trigger again, but the Mando’s eyes lolled up and back as he collapsed on the floor, dead. The Guardsman immediately rushed over to the staggering Togruta, helping her over to the bed. She was trying to speak, trying to cover the wound with her hands. “Calm down,” Nate said to her, then switched over to his comlink. “Med-,” His call for the medic was suddenly stifled as he pried the Togrutan’s hands away from the injury. “Kriff it,” he swore, taken aback. He could see right through a six-centimeter diameter hole in her abdomen. She would be dead in seconds, and even as blood began to spill from her ruined midsection, he could see her chest heaving as she tried to breathe with muscles that weren’t there anymore. The tough warrior mask he wore over his emotions momentarily slipped as he knelt beside the Togrutan, one gloved hand reaching out to stroke a tear falling from her eyes. “It’s okay,” he lied. “He’s dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.” “You . . . you said I was worth . . . worth something,” she wheezed. “Yes,” Nate said, meaning it with every gram of his being. “You are.” One slim red hand reached up to brush his helmet, and Nate realized what she wanted. Reaching up, he deactivated the seals and slipped the headgear off to reveal his face. Her eyes started in surprise and recognition. “You . . .” she started as her dirty, bloodstained hand touched his face, even as blood starting to spill from her mouth. “You came . . . for me.” “Ssshh,” Nate hushed her reassuringly even as he tried . “Don’t try and talk. Help is on the way.” She shook her head, grimacing with pain and anguish. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. “Thank . . . Seshaak . . . free at last.” The last statement was exhaled slowly with the Togruta’s dying breath and the sight was like a dagger of pure fire being rammed into Nate’s heart. Nate swore quietly, fists clenched tight around his weapon as she died. He knelt there motionless in stony silence, trying to sort through the emotions racing through his head. His eyes smoldered with anger as he regarded the man he had slain, and his only regret was that the kriffer hadn't died a lot slower. In considerably more pain. He swore again, this time out loud, and smacked his fist against his knee. Life in the Yanibar Guard had exposed him to the dregs of the galaxy, but here, here in this seedy cantina, Nate realized that he had finally seen the ultimate depravity. He solemnly, quietly promised to himself to do whatever was necessary to wreak vengeance-no, he reminded himself. Vengeance was wrong. Justice, then. Justice for the abused, the mistreated, the forgotten-these concepts were now implanted into his mind and spirit. No matter what happened, he would not forget what he had seen here and the guilty parties would pay-starting with the Zann Consortium. Picking up his helmet, Nate slid it back into place, reorienting himself physically and emotionally into the role of a Yanibar Guardsman. Albeit, a very angry Yanibar Guardsman. “Three? Come in, Three?” his comlink queried. “I’m here,” he said, his eyes still fixed on Seshaak’s corpse. Taking a sheet from the bed, he draped it over her body and closed her eyes one last time. “Three, it’s time to move,” Captain Wyslond said. “We took out one group of Zannists, but more are on the way. Are there other slaves?” “Negative,” Nate replied tersely. “I lost one.” “Fall back, then,” the captain instructed. “Prepare for rendezvous.” “Copy that,” Nate said, doing his best to maintain a steady, level tone. Heading back out into the hallway, he made his way back to the speeder truck where the rest of the squad was at. As he passed by the last window before descending the staircase to the rear exit, he happened to glance down and saw a hovertruck unloading a group of men, all armed with blaster rifles. Its front bore the sigil of the Zann Consortium. Nate smiled grimly. After swapping out the stun grenade in his underslung launcher for a fragmentation grenade, he set the carbine down to retrieve two detonators from his harness. Picking up his carbine, he smashed the window with the barrel, then armed and rolled the dets out the window right into the midst of the Zannists. Even before they fell, he pulled up his carbine, pointed the launcher at the hovertruck and unloaded the grenade, right into its engine compartment. The craft burst into flame and exploded up impact, followed a nanosecond later by two concussive waves from the dets he’d tossed. The impact was devastating and bodies were flown everywhere. One hit a wall and bounced off with a soggy thud. Nate quickly canvassed the scene, looking for survivors. An arm twitched and he blasted the body it was connected too instantly. At that point, a blaster bolt flashed by his head, sparking off his shield. A single Zannist had managed to scramble to his feet and was running away, firing blindly behind him with a blaster pistol. Only by sheer chance had he hit Nate’s shield. Nate smiled coldly and switched his carbine over to focus fire mode, a new improvement placed on the S-2Cs when Kraechar Arms had introduced the S-2CB a few years back. A single command to his helmet superimposed a scope image, highlighted in infrared. The man’s glowing body heat stood out against the rainy alley he was fleeing down. Nate took careful aim and fired, sending a lance of brilliant purple fire out to pierce the man right between the shoulder blades. He checked the area, but there were no other survivors. Keeping the same grim smile on his face, Nate regrouped with the other members of Cresh Squad, piling into a nondescript hovertruck bearing them and the freed slaves off into the dark, malevolent weather of the Nar Shaddaa night. Even as they pulled away, though, his mind was focused on two things: the sight of a dead Togruta girl, and the massive score that was owed for the beyond callous treatment of her and countless others.
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